Lhaurel scanned the ground, hoping to spot a fin or two poking up out of the sand or evidence of a marsaisi—she’d never seen one, only heard the tales—and almost missed the large depression in the sand. A long, wide pit cut through the dunes, stretching for over a hundred spans in width and over twice that in length. A genesauri nest? She made a mental note to ask Khari when they landed.
Before too long, the high stone walls of the Oasis appeared on the horizon, and Khari signaled that they were to land with a sharp whistled pattern that she had taught Lhaurel in the Roterralar eyrie. Lhaurel held on tightly as they descended, though she felt Fahkiri shift before he dipped into his dive and was ready for the gut-wrenching fall and sudden stop. She still rocked forward at the sudden change of direction, but not far enough to snap the safety lead or slam her face into the pommel, which was already stained with her blood.
Lhaurel unclipped the harness and dropped to the sands, her feet sinking a few inches into the loose, red-grey terrain. They were still a hundred spans away from the Oasis. She’d forgotten how much she hated walking in the loose sands of the desert. The warren floors were all coated in a thin layer of sand, true, but beneath it was solid rock. In the dune fields and outside of the stoneways, the sand had nothing beneath it except for more sand, where each step forward also included several inches of sliding backwards and down.
“What was that massive depression back there?” Lhaurel asked, checking her sword.
Khari slid down off of Gwyanth’s back with more grace than Lhaurel could have ever mustered, though the woman’s face was dark and brooding. She landed and bent at the knees to absorb the blow, her red robes billowing up around her for a moment and exposing form-fitting tan leggings beneath. Khari checked her sword and divested herself of the leather riding harness before responding. “That is trouble.” She pulled out a waterskin and took a small mouthful. “The depression is made when a karundin, the third type of genesauri, breaks the surface of the sands.”
Lhaurel’s eyes widened. “A karundin?”
Khari glanced back over the sands where they had come. She rubbed the palms of her hands against the sides of her robes, shoulders hunched. “There’s only the one. That point where the two paths crossed—we see them from time to time during Migrations. From what we can tell, the karundin eats the sailfins.”
“The whole pack?”
“In one go.”
Lhaurel swallowed, her mouth dry. Something that large could devour an entire clan. Something that large could destroy the Oasis on a whim. Maybe the Roterralar were right to remain hidden.
“What does it look like?”
Khari shrugged and turned back to face Lhaurel, expression more firm. “No one knows. We’ve never been able to see it, just the evidence of its passing.”
Lhaurel swallowed vainly again and then took out her waterskin and took a small sip. “So what now?”
“Now we head into the Oasis, where I’ll meet with my contacts. I’ll tell Makin Qays about the karundin when we return. We’ll be gone from here first thing in the morning.” Khari tossed her harness up Gwyanth’s back and attached some of the leads to keep it in place. As she did so, the sleeve of her robes pulled back, exposing the tattoos on her wrists and forearms. Lhaurel puzzled over them as she copied Khari’s actions, removing her harness and stowing it on Fahkiri’s back. Lhaurel wondered whom the woman had lost.
The short woman took a few steps back in the sand, cursing softly as she stumbled on the loose footing. Lhaurel walked up next to her and the woman let out a shrill dismissive whistle. Their two aevians launched into the air, winging their way toward the setting sun.
“I’ll call them when we’re ready to leave in the morning,” Khari said, and she turned to walk toward the Oasis. Lhaurel hurried after her, half tempted to take out her sword to use as a walking staff to aide her in climbing the slippery sides of the dunes. The thought was discarded as quickly as it entered her mind. The sword, even a loaned one, was worth far more than any discomfort she experienced walking through sand.
Khari seemed to have almost no trouble at all moving through the sands. Her steps were light and springy, barely leaving an impression on the sand. By comparison, Lhaurel moved with the grace of a sailfin.
“Why are we doing this, Khari?” Lhaurel called.
“We protect the clans as best we can. That’s our job. We assail the genesauri, protect them during the Migration, etc.”
“So I’ve been told,” Lhaurel said.
“Well, that’s only part of it. We also watch out to make sure that the clans survive themselves and the desert. There wouldn’t be much use for us if the only things we could do for the clans were during the Migration. We try and help steer them politically and, when necessary, we help them find places to live and ways to adapt to this ever-changing environment. In a way, we are their guardians and protectors.”
“Yes, as if the Roterralar are the parents of all the clans,” Lhaurel interjected.
“In some things, perhaps, but in many ways we are more like the child than the parent. The Roterralar are formed from the other seven clans. They are a part of us and we are a part of them. You, for example, were once part of the Sidena.” Khari paused for a moment and hiked up one of her sleeves. The banded tattoos stood out on her skin, though all were older, faded. “Just as many small streams joining together form a river, so too do the seven clans join together in us.”
“What does that have to do with the tattoos?”
“Even those of us who were born a Roterralar have relatives or ancestors who were once a part of the seven clans. They are our fallen family. When we swear fealty to the Roterralar, we renounce our ties to the clan that gave us birth and we cement our ties to all the clans. Each color represents a particular clan, the width of the band the number lost. When we go out to protect and defend, we remember those who we were unable to save. Each member of the party has at least one new band to add. We track back and count the number of the dead each time. None of them are forgotten if we can help it.
“Makin told me what you said to him. How you called us all cowards. Perhaps we are, but not for the reasons that you called us such. If we are cowards it is because we do not have the strength to let them survive as nature and fate see fit. Perhaps we are cowards because we seek to postpone that which is inevitable.”
Lhaurel rankled at the words, slogging through the sand to grab Khari by the shoulder and spin her around. “Nothing is inevitable if you fight it. Yes, the clans fear the genesauri Migration, and there are those who die. But our people die defending them, allowing them the freedom to live as best they can.”
Khari smiled, ignoring Lhaurel’s grip on her shoulder. “That, Lhaurel, is called duty. Often the price of freedom is someone else doing their duty. These bands,” she said, holding up her arms and shaking the sleeves down to show the tattoos, “remind us why we get up every morning to do our duty and protect this people. Even if those who find out about us think us cowards.” She softened the last remark with a wink and then firmly removed Lhaurel’s grip from her shoulder and resumed her walk.
Lhaurel stood still a moment, lost in thought, before hurrying after Khari. There was still much about the Roterralar that Lhaurel didn’t fully understand or agree with, but she was beginning to realize that much of what they did was steeped in rich traditionalism and duty. They were a people fighting to protect as best they could with the resources that they had available. She wasn’t sure if she agreed with or even understood why they kept themselves aloof from those they were protecting, but they were doing what they did for a reason. They weren’t overtly unkind; they were simply performing their duty in the best way they knew how. And that, above all else, was something that Lhaurel could understand.
The walls of the Oasis grew larger as they neared. Lhaurel had been inside the protective embrace of those enormous walls, but something was different this time. She could sense something coming from the walls. Almost a presence, like she
could feel off the Roterralar except with Kaiden and Khari on occasion, but somehow different.
As they neared the cliffs, the sense intensified. There was something ominous to it, something not quite right. It made the hair along her arms stand on end and sent shivers through her bottom lip. She bit it to keep the quivering from showing.
They approached the narrow canyon that led into the hidden lushness of the Oasis. Lhaurel cringed away from the sickly sweetness that exuded from the walls.
Khari turned to her. “Pull your hood up,” she whispered. “And stay quiet. No matter what.”
When Lhaurel had done so, the matron of the Roterralar entered the narrow opening without any trace of hesitation in her step.
Lhaurel followed much more slowly. It wasn’t just the feeling of wrongness that came from off the walls. The pathway they walked was narrow, barely wide enough for them to walk through without their shoulders touching the rough sandstone. Lhaurel remembered years where some of the cattle, large, well-fed beeves that had grown fat in the relative safety of the warrens, had been unable to fit through some of the narrow passageways and had to be slaughtered and carried through in pieces.
It was a hard enough passage in full daylight, with the sudden twists and turns. It was twice as difficult a task in the semidarkness. There was something else, too, besides the cloying claustrophobia of the narrow canyon. Lhaurel, suddenly free to do many of the things she had wanted so desperately to accomplish in her youth, was walking back into the arms of her original tormentors. People who had literally sentenced her to death.
Ahead of her, Khari cursed. “Damn rashelta.”
Lhaurel paused when another voice, a deep male one, spoke up in response to the outburst. She hadn’t sensed his presence beneath the overwhelming sense of foreboding that surrounded her.
“Halt! Identify yourself!”
Flint sparked in the darkness, and a torch crackled to life. The flickering orange flame threw the speaker, an older man bearing a large spear and with a sword girded at his waist, into sudden relief. He stood directly in their path, blocking their way. He squinted at them, unable to make out much until his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. His furrowed brow stuck out over his eyes like fronds on a coconut tree.
“Oh, you,” he said when his eyes had adjusted fully. “What do you want? We ain’t had any wandering types here in the Oasis in seven years. What is going on now? Bringing more ill tidings, are you? Come on now, speak up.”
“We come seeking shelter. That is all,” Khari said. “We will be gone in the morning.”
“A woman?” the old man said, voice incredulous. “Well, I’ll be a sun-crazed fool. I never seen a woman Roterralar afore. Shelter, you say? Well, I reckon that won’t be too hard to find around here. So long as you don’t go stealing anything during the night.”
“You can’t let Roterralar into the Oasis.” another voice cut in from behind the old man. “We’ve bad enough luck as it is without bringing in the bad fortune they will give us.”
The first man turned, shouting back at the other guard behind him. “They’re women. What harm will it do? I’m letting them in, so get outta the way back there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Khari said with a slight bow when the older man turned back to gesture them forward.
“Name’s Honric, and I’ll not leave a woman out for the genesauri, Roterralar or not. Just promise me that you won’t do anything—well, anything unnatural tonight. Alright?” The tone of his voice was almost pleading, something that Lhaurel had not expected to hear from any man.
It felt odd to be standing there, in Roterralar robes, being the object of suspicion and discomfort. And yet she knew now it was justified. The Roterralar were a strange people with many secrets. But not the kind these men believed.
“On our honor, Honric,” Khari said.
They followed him down the narrow passage, his torch casting odd shadows.
“You must forgive Shelton,” Honric said, his voice echoing slightly against the rocks. “He’s superstitious, and with everything going on, he’s got every right to be. We’re all a might nervous.”
“What’s happening? Besides the genesauri, of course. That was the worst of all luck this year, I’d say.” Lhaurel smiled beneath her hood, though it was wan.
“Well, I have it on good authority that there’s a new Warlord among the Sidena, see. The old one up and died all of a sudden. I never met the man, seeing as I’m Olarin myself, but I’ve got a friend of a friend who knows some of the Sidena women, see. And they told me that the old one, he wasn’t old exactly, you know, just saying that he was the old one ‘cause there’s a new one now—anyway, they told me that this old one went to bed last night and didn’t wake up again this morning. He was all stiff as a waterlogged cactus, if you’ll pardon the expression, and with lips as blue as the water from the springs here. And his wife, the Matron, she found him like that when she woke up the next morning. Wailed for hours, so I hear. How do you figure that if not for bad luck? Just up and died in his sleep. No one knows what to make of them blue lips, neither. Leastwise no one is saying anything.”
Lhaurel was taken aback at the torrent of words. The more passionate that Honric got, the faster the words came out and sort of slurred together. All that Lhaurel had understood out of it was that the old Warlord, Jenthro, was dead and a new one had taken his place. Did that mean that Taren was the new Warlord?
“That is bad luck,” Khari agreed. “And they replaced him already?”
“Aye, that they did,” Honric said with a nod. “They held a big vote, so I hear. Seeing as the water oaths forbid the shedding of blood in the Oasis, I guess a vote is as good a way as any to decide who’s going to lead a person. Some fellow called Taren is the new Warlord.”
Taren was the Warlord now. Lhaurel suppressed a small shudder.
“Will you shut up already, Honric?” Shelton’s voice echoed from ahead of them. “You don’t need to tell them all this. For the love of water, man, they’re Roterralar! They’d as soon use what you just told them against us like as not. You’re a foolish old man.”
“That I may be,” Honric shouted back, “but I can still best the likes of you and yours any day. So quit your whining and move along before I shove my spear up your skinny arse.”
Lhaurel stifled a weak laugh.
Honric turned to glance back over his shoulder at Khari, an apologetic look on his wrinkled face. “Pardon me for the language,” he said. “That fellow is a bit of a fool. I didn’t want him to sit watch with me, but, you know, orders is orders. What was I supposed to do except let him tag along?”
“You are a good and obedient soldier, Honric,” Khari said, patting the man on the shoulder. “I’m sure that fortune will place water and shade in your path throughout your life.”
“He’s just a little jumpy, see. These younger warriors don’t know how to ride out the tension. They want to react to everything. Always got an answer, they do. Take the two missing clans, for example. Me, I figure they’s just late, or else managed to hole up inside their warrens. It’s been done before, see. They’re high enough up, some of them, that they could do it. But clans are nervous. Most of these here are young. They think that the genesauri got them all, the whole clan.” Honric shrugged. “Well, maybe they did, but that doesn’t affect us here. Life goes on in the Oasis. There’s no use fretting over it if there’s nothing to be done about it.”
Two missing clans? Both Makin Qays and Tieran had mentioned that there were two clans that hadn’t yet made it to the Oasis, but she had forgotten about it. She had just assumed that they had made it eventually. It had been almost three fortnights since Kaiden had arrived in the Sidena Warren and upended the life of the clan. Surely something must be known about them.
“So you’ve not heard anything from them? Not even by pigeon?” Khari asked. Her voice seemed off-hand, only mild curiosity mingled with politeness driving her to keep the conversation going. But Lhaurel noticed the ten
sion of her shoulders, the slight tilt of her head. The woman had expected something different, hoped for better news.
“Not a word. Leastways, nothing that anyone has told me. My clan isn’t too close with either of the two missing clans, see. Maybe some of the others would know better than me. Ah,” he said, gesturing broadly. “Here we are.”
The narrow canyon walkway ended abruptly, as narrow at the terminus as it was where it began. Some of the omnipresent oppression from the cliffs faded. It was too dark to see much outside of the small pool of light provided by Honric’s torch, but Lhaurel sensed vast amounts of water and thousands of people arrayed in camps in the space ahead of her. It smelled of life and the sharp musty smell of wetness and dirt.
“We thank you for your kindness, Honric,” Khari said, placing a hand on his arm. “We will go our way now and let you get back to your watch.”
Honric grinned. “It was nothing. Come on, you.”
Shelton stood at the edge of the torchlight, hidden in shadow. He grumbled something unintelligible but followed Honric back into the canyon. Lhaurel sensed him go and then hesitate once he was far enough into the passage to not be seen. Honric moved on, taking the torchlight with him.
“Where to, Lhaurel?” Khari asked. “We need to get to the Sidena camp.”
Lhaurel didn’t answer immediately. She could sense the sullen man creeping slowly closer. She bent down and felt the ground until her hand found a small rock. In one smooth motion, Lhaurel stood and hurled the rock back into the narrow canyon. She smiled when a yelp suddenly sounded from the darkness.
Khari spun toward the sound, sword half out of her sheath.
“Don’t worry,” Lhaurel said. “He’s leaving.”
“How can you tell?” Khari asked.
Lhaurel hesitated. “I can sense him leaving.”
“You can sense him? So he’s a mystic? Odd, I don’t sense him at all.”
Sharani series Box Set Page 17
