As Darwin pushed his plate aside, Guail’s second set of three taps startled him.
Seven voluptuous women, two with skin darker than the rest, dashed inside the tent, coming to a breathy rest in a row at the table’s edge. Sultry music coaxed from fluted, drummed, corded, and shaker instruments started up from the back. The women danced, undulating from shoulders to hips, their sheer silk tops and skirts adding only a sense of color to bare skin.
Slurping wine, Darwin leaned back in his chair to watch. The women were in fine shape and pleased him. He gave an appreciative nod to the host, who flashed a brief smile.
At his elbow, the slender woman refilled the wine. He brought the mug to his lips, glancing at Malkor. His lanky servant was slumped over the table, his bony arms tucked under his narrow head.
Darwin was surprised to find him asleep. True, they had braved the desert’s heat through the morning interviewing the merchant caravans camped at the outskirts of Shimmer, but it had not been that far. So why did he too share Malkor’s exhaustion?
*****
Strong arms pulled Darwin across a hard surface, then blazing light reddened the inside of his eyelids, and unrelenting heat baked his lungs each time he took a breath. A pressure under his shoulders indicated someone carried him. He opened his eyes when the left side of his cheek and head burned. He lay on his side in the red desert sand.
“They awaken,” a pleasant female voice said.
Darwin blew sand from his nose and fought to sit up, no small feat with one hand tied behind his back and the other as good as useless, yet he eventually succeeded. Nearby, with both hands tied behind him, Malkor squirmed as if a larval snake fed on him from the inside out. He, too, finally made it to a sitting position.
Squinting from the midmorning sun, Darwin looked around, shifting the pain of his throbbing head to the background, likely a side effect of the sleeping draught.
A group of five men and women wearing light armor over kell leather clustered together in a tight circle. The pudgy merchant, Guail, sat atop a high-sided caravan wagon pulled by a team of six horses close by. Several men and women with curved scimitars—the servants from the tents of last night—sat on camels that ringed a small circle of wagons. Beyond them, the desert city of Shimmer flickered tiny with great distance.
“As you are now aware, the delivery arrived intact,” Guail said. The self-assurance in the merchant’s smooth voice bespoke command; gone was the squeaky placating tone of one who only desired to please.
How did I not see the traitorous scum for what he was? Darwin asked himself.
Of those grouped in the circle, the tallest man replied to Guail, though he kept his icy blue eyes on Darwin. “You have earned the bounty, which you shall receive as soon as they are shunted back to the Dark Citadel through the nearest gateway.”
Guail’s face darkened. “We did not agree to anything of the kind. I had it from the highest assurance the Red Rock Clan was trustworthy, yet you speak of delaying payment. In keeping with the bargain, I have delivered the Spear. Now make it right or I leave with the property; there are other buyers. Five silver daggers as we agreed, for each man.”
Guail’s tone had slipped back into his familiar whine at the end of the tirade.
The tall man’s hand rested on a long sword at his side. “The red robe is not required. You may do with him as you will.”
The soft shurrup sounds of swords drawn quickly from wooden scabbards lined with animal hide and wrapped in leather made Darwin glance sharply around the circle of wagons. All of Guail’s servant-mercenaries held the bared steel of their scimitars.
A woman strode from within the circle of six Red Rock clan people and pulled Guail roughly from the wagon, her sword at his throat as soon as his silk shoes touched sand. “Tell your people to sheathe their weapons and you shall have your ten daggers. Is this not so, Bronz?”
The woman’s voice was the same pleasant one Darwin had heard upon awakening. He spoke to her, striving to keep the tone of his voice amicable. “Where do you expect to locate a gate in the desert?”
Her blue eyes shifted toward him briefly and then continued her perusal of those around the camp as she talked. “That is not your concern, Dark User. You would do well to ask if we need you alive for delivery. We do not. As for the rest of you,” she said, raising her voice, “put away your swords before the rest of the clan draw. Once they do, your lives are forfeit.”
“Do as she commands!” Guail shouted.
The dark-skinned women who had danced at the pudgy merchant’s tent stabbed their blades into their scabbards last, glaring fiercely at the desert clan woman.
As soon as they had, Darwin drew upon the Flow, trickling it from his mangled arm to the rope binding his right hand behind him. The rope heated, searing his hand. Though he could smell his flesh, he kept going. There was no pain. The ropes were too tight.
The clan woman’s gray eyes widened. In one swift movement, she kicked the back of the merchant’s legs, forcing him to his knees. “I told you to bind both their hands behind them with their palms facing upward,” she said, her voice a hiss.
“We tried, but his mangled arm will not bend behind him,” Guail whined. “Please!”
“Then why did you not break it!” Roughly, she kicked the merchant between his shoulders, sending him sprawling face first in the sand, and then strode past him, marching toward Darwin with her sword raised.
Darwin snapped the charred rope and brought his right arm forward in a scooping motion as if he had dug into the sand at his feet. His mangled left hand drew the Flow as his right raised a physical barrier from the brown desert sand as the woman lunged at his chest, jabbing with the point of her long sword. The translucent sparks repelling the steel an inch from his heart flashed a warning how close it was, but he didn’t dwell upon it. He moved to Malkor and worked at the knot binding his hands, keeping his body between him and the woman.
The woman chopped at the shield at his head. “Help me, you imbeciles!” she screamed.
Darwin steadied the robe with his mangled arm and picked at the knot with his right hand. Finally, Malkor’s hands pulled free, installing his own barrier.
The clan warriors came to the woman’s aid. Revealing strong discipline, all of them took turns chopping at Darwin’s shield, leaving Malkor’s unblemished. Long jagged cracks opened above his head running beyond his neck; he hadn’t much time. He leaned toward Malkor until repelled by his servant’s shield. “I need room to end this. Replace my physical shield with your own.”
Malkor’s eyes widened with the knowledge the command would leave him unprotected, but he drew upon the Flow, the translucent conduit of glowing red-tinged energy running from his left palm to the raging river below the sand visible to all who used.
“The red robe uses!” Bronz shouted, swinging his sword at Malkor.
The moment Malkor’s barrier enclosed his, Darwin dissolved his own and then raised it around Malkor.
Malkor cringed, but the clansman’s sword chopped at his neck and bounced harmlessly away with a flash of light, as if it were a steel rod striking a stone of flint. “Bah! The red User is protected too,” the Red Rock warrior snarled. Turning, he rejoined the clan with trading blows on Darwin’s barrier.
Darwin counted on the precise discipline of the Red Rock clan’s training. As soon as Bronz’s blow landed on his barrier, he dissolved the protection around his servant and then released an explosion of air that swept outward ripping those surrounding him from their feet and hurling them into the cloud of sand it created. Motioning for Malkor to dissolve his barrier, he reinstalled as the sand cloud cleared.
The clan warriors wearing the supple but flexible kell leather armor struggled only a little to regain footing, coming to their feet almost as soon as they stopped moving, but Darwin had prepared for it. In rapid succession, four of his dark cones streaked to the warriors. Exploding on impact, the cones blew the warriors high into the
air, rending them apart.
Bronz died right after, when one of Darwin’s black javelins impaled his heart. His body thumped to the hot sand.
Darwin finished with black netting, pinning the gray-eyed woman’s arms and legs to her body. Tugging on the part of the net tied to her feet, he pulled her legs out from under her and let her fall hard on her back to the hot sand. Satisfied she was out of the way for a time, he looked around. Though no one made to flee, the merchant’s people looked at him with glazed eyes and pale faces.
He had no patience for them. “I should destroy you all. However, who speaks for the caravan?”
Sliding his pudgy arms under him, Guail pushed away from the sand with a whimper. “Thank you for your—”
“Put your treacherous face back to the sand, Merchant. I have not yet decided if you shall live.”
Guail dropped to his stomach, lowering his head to the ground without protest.
A woman climbed out of a high-walled and unadorned wagon. The willowy auburn-haired female who had served him wine in Guail’s tent took a step forward. “Permit me to act as the voice of my clan,” she said.
Hearing her speak for the first time, Darwin was pleasantly surprised. He liked the sound of her, and she was even more beautiful than he had seen the night before. “How can I trust the wine-bearer, the one who brought the stupor of unconsciousness?”
The woman’s green eyes widened, but she kept her face smooth. “My lord, Guail has purchased the clan from an old debt; I served only the drink given unto me without being privy to the pitcher’s contents.”
Darwin believed her though it had little bearing with the present situation. He had little inclination to exact revenge, only to make a point. “Very well, then tell me. Will your clan follow you?”
For an answer, she waved a delicate hand at the wagons. “Tell him what he asks. Does the Searing Sun clan listen to me?”
A chorus of masculine and feminine assents sounded all around.
“I do believe you,” Darwin said when the voices grew silent. “The Clan of the Searing Sun follows you, which is unfortunate,” he added.
The woman frowned with confusion, which detracted none from her beauty.
Darwin drew upon the Flow. His black cone struck the slender woman full in the chest, flinging her into the wagon she had climbed from with a sickening thud. “I need them to follow me,” he said softly as her broken body slid to the ground. The bright stain of her blood trailed down the wagon’s wall, darkening quickly in the heat of the sun.
“No! Blast you, you filthy User!” a male clan member sitting upon a horse yelled. He spurred his mount and charged, pulling on the scabbard of his scimitar.
Drawing deeply from the Flow, Darwin’s thrice-sized cone carried both rider and horse beyond the clan’s ring of wagons. Then he drew a minuscule amount of the Flow into the bottom of his lungs and abdomen, enhancing his voice. “How many of you shall I destroy before you accept me as your new leader?” His words, though soft-spoken, boomed to the farthest wagon with ease.
No one spoke; none moved. All looked sullen. Two men and a woman glared at him boldly, stark hatred shining in their blue-gray eyes. He’d have to watch those. “How many strong is the Clan of the Searing Sun? Is this all of you?” His questions rang loud all around but not to anyone in particular. Gauging the cooperation level of the camp with accuracy would determine his next move.
The silence lengthened. Then, a woman, one of the dark- skinned dancers, spoke. “Someone give him the answer he seeks or your clan’s blood will drench the Searing Sands. He is prepared to destroy you.”
Scowls darkened many a face.
Darwin waited. He allowed ten full heartbeats for a reply to the woman’s plea. As he had expected, none came. He drew from the Flow, creating his dark net again, wrapping it around Guail. Tying the net to his hand, he lifted the merchant from the sand.
Guail squealed. “Please! The net is too tight!”
Ticking against his barrier, crossbow bolts created small sparks that flashed brilliantly before vanishing, even in midday. Darwin ignored them. Swinging the merchant toward the bloodstained wagon, he tightened the nets ropes slowly.
Guail screamed. “Too tight! Release me! Please!”
Darwin cinched the net again.
Guail’s second scream was weaker, though prolonged. The constriction to his lungs left his cries a croaking gasp, as the excess skin of his rotund body bulged through the squares in the net.
Darwin prepared a final squeeze. He drew upon the Flow, pulling the drawstring he’d created. He would pull the net through the flesh and bone of every member here if he had to.
Too weak to scream, Guail moaned.
“Stop!” a man sitting on a roan horse to his right shouted. The yellow robe he wore was open at the front, revealing the suppleness of brown kell leather beneath. He slid to the ground and walked over to Darwin. “Merchant Guail has the answer you seek, no one else. Kill him and you shall hear only lies given in desperation after you have destroyed many of the clan.”
Malkor laughed. “You have the volunteer for the next example, my Lord.”
Darwin considered. The clansman had the haughtiness of confidence, and no fear shone in his brown eyes. He would die bravely protecting his beliefs, a good man to have on one’s side. “What is your role and designation in the clan?”
“I am Long Sand, sand reader for the Clan of the Searing Sun. I know you for who you are, Great Lord.”
Darwin swung his burden to the right side. “Then you admit to freely aiding this one with our abduction from his tent of hospitality.”
Long Sand wore no cloth wrapped about his head, yet his face and skin remained light, showing no sign of burning despite his bright red hair and clean-shaven face. “Nay, Great One, I advised against it. The clan has enough enemies without adding a lord to those wishing to darken the sand with our lifeblood.”
“Kill him, Master. Kill them all,” Malkor hissed.
Darwin regarded his longtime companion. Malkor lowered his eyes. Then he continued as if there had been no interruption. “You would vouch for this one?” he asked, giving the bundle a shake.
Guail moaned weakly.
Long Sand’s muscular shoulders rippled with his shrug. “Nay, Great One, there is no affection in the clan for him. Yet he has far-reaching connections. He can show you the way to the knowledge you seek.”
Wary, Darwin glanced around while drawing in more of the Flow’s sweet radiance. He filled every nook inside the vessel of his body, drinking until he thrummed with power, an inferno raging for release. “How would you know what I look for, Sand Reader? What have you read?” he asked, the tone of his voice mild though he was ready to burst.
Long Sand gave a slight bow. “Forgive me for not speaking of it sooner. Clan leader Sia, the woman whose blood streaks the wagon and darkens the Searing Sands, informed many of the clan of your inquiry about the Servants of Eons.”
Darwin glanced at Guail floating above him. The robust man deserved death for his devious actions, but he had asked the merchant of what he sought at the meal the former caravan leader hosted.
Reluctantly, Darwin severed the link to the Flow. With a puff of black radiance at every knot, the net dissolved. Guail thudded to the sand. Curling into a fetal position, he lay moaning softly.
Again, Darwin enhanced his voice. “Your sand reader is now clan leader, do not forget this.”
No one spoke.
“What is your wish, Great Lord?” Long Sand asked, breaking the silence.
Darwin dropped into his normal way of speaking for Long Sand’s ears alone. “Do not address me as great lord outside my personal chambers again. Inform the clan. Should anyone inquire, I am but an advisor to you. Have someone bring my servant and I your clan attire.”
Long Sand bowed low. “As you command, oh, Gre—Revered One,” he said.
Darwin dismissed the man from his thoughts thoug
h not his presence as he bent over the gray-eyed woman still bound by the Flow, which blocked the sun from her face with his body. The woman’s tanned face looked up at his, failing to mask the fright her brief quivers revealed. “Do you know where the Servants of Eons may be found?”
The woman shuddered, longer this time. Her eyes dulled as she nodded.
He expected so; it was likely she was a Servant of Eons or one of their mercenaries. With every revelation, Guail’s use descended. For now, he would keep him around for eyes on the clan, if nothing else. Wishing to gain favor lost by his treachery, the merchant would attempt to ingratiate himself at every opportunity. He turned to the sand reader. “Instruct your men to erect a tent to shade us as we wait.”
Malkor came close. “What do we wait for?”
Though he replied to Malkor, Darwin kept his eyes on his new clan leader. “Long Sand is going to send his most trusted into Shimmer to sell the wagons. Where we travel, the wagons cannot.”
The sand reader blinked with surprise, but his deeply tanned face remained impassive. “What of Guail, Revered One?” he asked.
“Malkor shall heal him. After that, put him to work tending the horses.”
Long Sand bowed and then turned to make the preparations.
“There is one other thing, Clan Leader,” Darwin said.
Long Sand froze.
“After the wagons are sold, instruct them to purchase sixteen camels. Load them and the extra horses freed from harness with provisions for one month. Make certain to locate a shade tent for the horses.”
Long Sand’s back stiffened, though he did not turn around. “I shall ensure it completed, Revered One,” he said, striding away.
“Are you certain you can trust them in the city?” Malkor asked, bending over Guail.
“I cannot, that is why you are going with them.”
Malkor froze. Looking up, a frown creased his forehead. “Is that wise to separate us?”
Beyond the Dark Gate Page 9
