“There’ll be one full moon tonight, Amrell the beauteous. She’s said to favor travelers. We can continue until Amrell begins to set, and thus make up some of the time we lost after skirmishing with the Maiskhan.” Rothan provided his assessment as his chariot took the lead, moving to the west, deeper into the mountain pass.
“I don’t like the appearance of the sky, my lord,” the chief archer called out as the chariots and riders proceeded. “There could be trouble.”
Mark glanced at the clear, flawless blue bowl of the sky. Maybe a few wispy clouds far, far out on the horizon. “What kind of trouble?”
“Sandstorm, my lord.” Apparently detecting skepticism on Mark’s face, the archer provided details. “Bad weather comes from the east with scant warning. To be caught in a storm is certain death. But perhaps the winds will batter themselves into oblivion against the mountains.”
“Or we’ll be far enough into the Empty Lands to escape the full fury,” Rothan said. “The gods and omens have favored us so far, my friends. Let’s not divine new catastrophe in a few clouds.”
Mark could tell Djed remained unconvinced, as he and the other archers exchanged glances but said nothing further on the topic.
Another concern was bothering Mark more than issues of chancy weather. “What about the Maiskhan? Do you think they’ll persist in following you?”
Rothan shook his head. “Doubtless, the enemy believes you were a demon from the underworld. You took Tia from them. I’ve been told by my men that you slaughtered many of the enemy with invisible arrows. Also, the Maiskhan believed me dead and saw our other casualties lying on the sands, so their leader will report a largely successful outcome to Farahna. Even she wouldn’t expect soldiers to pursue a demon to the underworld in an attempt to secure Tia for her.” He paused for a moment to kiss his lady on the cheek as she blushed. “No one travels in this desert without desperate cause. Paid mercenaries aren’t loyal enough to proceed into the Empty Lands when they can convince themselves of our removal from the playing board.”
“Would you look at that?” Cresting the final rise, Mark rode away from the foot of the towering mountains. He whistled and reined in his horse, stunned by the vista. Ahead on all sides stretched hundreds of square miles of scrub brush and golden sands, baking in the sunlight. Towering dunes marched to the horizon. There were no signs of life.
“This area is well named the Empty Lands,” Tia said.
“We’re following the ancient trade road.” Rothan took a drink from one of the waterskins before passing it to Mark. “The route runs straight and true through the desert to the city we seek. There’ll be an oasis about one day’s travel from here.”
“And there’ll be water?”
Taking the waterskin back and raising it to his lips, Rothan answered seriously, “The gods must continue to favor us if we’re to succeed. Not too late for you and the Lady to change your minds, go home to your oasis.”
Mark heard the challenge hidden in the mild offer. “We’ve made our choice. We ride with you, wherever the decision takes us.”
The day grew even more scorching. Under Sandy’s eagle eye, constantly evaluating his recovery from the head wound, Rothan didn’t push the horses too hard. Scrubby brush dotted the terrain, with small dunes here and there. The genuinely immense dunes lay ahead of them, shimmering golden in the sunlight. Distances were deceiving in the desert.
“This path we’re on does resemble a road,” Sandy said as her horse trotted beside the lead chariot.
Mark translated the remark.
“Yes, we’re following the main caravan route dating to when the city of Khunarum was inhabited. For many hundreds of years, the traders brought goods inland from the coast over this road and other items back to the coast to sell. The Empty Lands were much more fertile and friendly to life eons ago,” Rothan said.
“So no one lives out here at all? No nomads?”
Rothan shook his head. “The people of Khunarum either fled or died when the city was destroyed.”
“But why didn’t the survivors take this scepter and crown with them, if they’re such important symbols?” Mark found this the most puzzling aspect of the legends he’d been told.
Rothan frowned. “The ancient tales aren’t clear about how the city met its doom, nor about what happened on the final day.”
“The civilization ended all in one day?” He supposed a cataclysmic event would expain the loss of even the most significant relics.
“So the old scrolls say. There were floods and the earth shook for moments on end. Buildings collapsed or were washed out to sea. Chaos reigned. The temple where the crown and scepter were housed sat in the hardest-hit area of the city.”
“Maybe no priests survived to bring the items to safety,” Tia said.
Mark frowned, guiding his horse past a large rock formation jutting from the hard-packed dirt. “But you think you can find these things three thousand years later and get to Nakhtiaar in time to save your prince?”
“We must.” Rothan was as stubborn as he’d been the night before in the oasis. “Our land can’t be ruled by a person not fit to sit on the throne. We won’t submit to the Maiskhan overlords, nor honor their bloodthirsty gods, as Farahna wishes to do. Hutenen must retake the throne, proclaim his status as king, and put affairs into order and balance.”
Mark was happy to see the pitiful little oasis ahead as the sun moved steadily toward the horizon. A handful of scrubby trees surrounded a small, brackish pond. The horses drank eagerly, but the humans were more reluctant. Djed got a fire going, and the group huddled around it, eating the rations brought from the Oasis of the Travelers.
Rothan neatly refolded the maps he’d been studying while he ate. “Tomorrow’s journey includes a loop around a lake where we can refill our canteens again. There’s nothing else before we reach the city on the coast.”
“No sandstorm today,” Mark reminded Djed.
The archer shook his head. “The clouds are mares’ tails, and the moons have red rings. Tomorrow may be a day of demon weather, my lord.”
“Too bad you don’t control the weather, Lady of the Star Wind,” Mark teased Sandy.
“I hardly feel in control of anything at the moment.” She walked away from him to sit with Tia.
Mark let her go without comment, watching her chat with Tia in broken Nakhtiaar, trying out a few linguistic tidbits she’d picked up during the day, both women laughing. Sandy’s attitude puzzled him, chafed at his nerves. She was polite to him, friendly, but nothing more. There was a reserve, some emotional barrier. Did she harbor resentment because he hadn’t wanted to remain in the oasis? But if so, why hadn’t she said something else? He reviewed their discussion, satisfied he’d made a compelling case for journeying with Rothan. She’d said yes, after all.
Rothan joined the women, apparently teasing Tia about something, and all three laughed. Rubbing his chin, Mark considered for the first time the fact Sandy didn’t have to stay with him now that they’d joined other people. She was perfectly free to choose another man. And he was free to bed other women. They had no agreement to remain together, a state of affairs made painfully explicit after the discussion in the oasis.
The idea roiled his gut.
Sandy glanced in his direction, raised her shoulder, and pointedly gave all her attention to Tia.
Next day the small procession passed through the empty lake bed in the late morning, pausing to refill their canteens. The lake was mostly gone, the landscape marked with the signs of historical and ever-retreating water levels. Rothan had to proceed way out onto the dry lake bed to get at the water, leaving the road and traveling at a slow pace over the uncertain surface. The ground was crusted and white in spots with leached minerals. At one point the lead chariot broke through the thin top layer of hard dirt and became mired in muddy quicksand. It took an hour or so of hard work to get the vehicle loose before they could continue the trek toward the diminished lake.
After filling
the canteens and watering the horses, Rothan circled the chariots on the long trek to the road. For several hours the path followed the shoreline of what had been a massive lake at one time in the distant past.
Rothan kept referring to the map, apparently not wanting to miss the point where the road diverged from the shore. Ancient, drawn on supple leather, the guide was rolled around a carved wooden spindle. When not perusing it with Djed, the captain kept the map in a pouch fastened to the side of his chariot.
“How did you get the charts?” Mark asked while Rothan stowed his charts away again. “I don’t imagine you kept them handy all the time in case some day you decided to make this journey.”
“No.” His companions exchanged wry glances before the captain explained. “We broke into the royal library. We weren’t even sure maps existed. I asked one of the priests an idle question at dinner one night, concerning his knowledge of old legends. He boasted he knew where such a map could be found.”
“We were nearly caught the first time we entered the building. We had to sneak in again the next night, and then we found the archive.” Djed slapped his knee, seeming amused as he discussed the adventure.
“We’ve a number of petty crimes to atone for. Hutenen will have to give us clemency as one of his first acts.” Rothan smiled as well, like a boy who’d successfully robbed a cookie jar.
“No one at court believes the legends, I fear,” the chief archer said. “Even the priest was scornful.”
“But it’s a powerful legend.” Tia’s voice held conviction and resolve. “If my brother holds the crown and scepter of our ancestor, no one will dispute his claim to rule.”
Mark withheld his own skepticism. As he’d told Sandy earlier, for all either of them knew this token of ancient royalty had mystical powers for Tia’s brother to wield against Farahna. Stranger things happened on many worlds.
Rothan stopped for late lunch in a tumbled ruin of a village. Scrawny trees growing in an abandoned garden on the edge of the settlement provided welcome shade. Tia declined all but a few morsels, despite much coaxing from her beloved. Sandy watched this byplay with a slight frown, whispering to Mark behind her hand, “I think Tia might be pregnant.”
“Quite a complication. No telling how this society views children born out of wedlock. He told me they don’t have permission to marry.” Mark chewed his bite of fruit. “You have anything to help with the nausea?”
“I think so, but I can’t offer it to her without some conversation and a diagnosis.” The mere suggestion appeared to offend Sandy’s medical ethos. “Maybe tonight when we camp, I can broach the subject with suitable finesse.”
Mentally marking the topic dealt with, since he was sure she’d take care of Tia, Mark eyed a heated discussion occurring between Rothan and Djed, standing next to the vehicles. “I better go see what the two of them are arguing about.”
“You do that.” Sandy sipped her water as Mark walked away. Sighing, she capped the canteen and stowed it securely in her makeshift saddlebag. What would Mark have done if she’d decided to stay in the oasis by herself, rather than join this expedition? Anger fueled by hurt feelings had tempted her to make the choice. He’d known who he was for all those years he lived in exile in the Sectors? Yet he’d never tried to return for her? Hearing him admit these truths hurt like a knife in the heart. An even more devastating blow was his belief that she could have betrayed him to Ekatereen in a fit of pique. How could he think such things of her, if he’d truly loved her?
Unable to sit still with her bleak thoughts, Sandy rose and strolled farther along the road, staying in the shade. She found a tiny stone altar propped against the trunk of the sturdier trees, and paused to admire the carving. Although smoothed by wind and sand, the main piece of the altar bore discernible stars and moons surrounding a vaguely female figure. Remnants of colorful pigment lingered in the grooves, purple and red.
“Nuet.”
Startled, Sandy realized Tia had joined her. “I’m sorry, what?”
The other woman touched the carving and repeated what Sandy now understood to be a name. “Nuet.” She touched her belly and said, “Mother.”
“A fertility goddess?” Although she had bits and pieces of the Nakhtiaar language now, Sandy spoke in Outlier, not having the words for her question. At least now she didn’t have to hold back on the subject of Tia’s pregnancy. She decided she’d better wait for Mark to translate that medical discussion, which would probably make him uncomfortable. Smiling to herself at the idea of Mark’s discomfort, she peered more closely at the details of the altar.
“You and your warrior fight?” Tia asked, touching her elbow. “Not happy?”
She shook her head and made herself smile, all the while thinking she’d need to be more careful not to let her feelings show so openly. She was indeed unhappy with Mark Denaltieri at the moment, exercising a lot of restraint not to say bitter, hateful things to him, permanently ruining any chance of a reunion. Her heart might be bleeding from emotional wounds he’d inflicted, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to close the door forever.
“No need to tell me.” Tia pulled a piece of fruit from her pocket, placing it carefully in the center of the tiny altar, and drew a symbol in the air, bowing her head for a moment. Then she extended one hand to Sandy, as if inviting her to make a similar offering. With a smile, raising her hands as she stepped away, Sandy declined. Making sacrifices to an alien symbol of motherhood and fertility wasn’t going to solve the problems burdening her heart.
“What are we waiting for?” Sandy was puzzled why they’d stayed so long at the ruined town, given Rothan’s compulsion to reach the abandoned city as soon as possible. Pleasant as the respite was, time to sightsee and stroll was an oddity.
“Djed argues. He fears the storm.” Tia shrugged, pivoting as Rothan called to them from the vicinity of the chariots.
“Must be time to go,” Sandy said.
Since Rothan was in command and refused to listen to Djed’s misgivings about the weather, they proceeded down the road somewhat after noon. On the outskirts of the abandoned town, the chariots passed a large structure in much better repair than anything Mark had seen previously, although an indisputable ruin. A double row of statues flanked a short passage to the wide steps. The figures were defaced and crumbled, rendering it impossible to tell what kind of creatures the sculptors had created. Half the building lay in a messy pile of jagged slabs and toppled columns, but the impressive main area remained intact, although in disrepair. Faint remnants of colorful murals marched across the pocked walls. Several large trees grew inside and through the wreckage.
“A temple to one of the oldest goddesses, I’m guessing,” Tia told them as the chariots rumbled past. “Nuet, the Mother of All. We found a small altar to her earlier in the village. With none left to worship her, her power would be much depleted. But enough lingers to keep the most sacred portions of the building standing against wind and weather.”
“This whole society is about superstition and mysticism,” Mark observed to Sandy in Outlier. “A mythical explanation for all events. Typical for a culture at this stage.”
Then the chariots and riders were on the open road again, and Mark gave no more consideration to the nameless village and its shrine until an hour later, when the wind began rising.
One moment, the weather was hot, bright, and dead calm. A few heartbeats later, distant thunder rumbled and the light became brassy. Rothan called the column to a halt. The horses were nervous, stamping their hooves and chewing at their bits, ears flicking back and forth as they sidled. The chariot drivers had to stand beside their teams, holding the rains while the officers conferred.
“The storm comes, my lord.” Djed didn’t allow any hint of triumph in his voice or demeanor, merely pointing toward the east. Mark swung around to follow his gaze, appalled and amazed to see gigantic, dirty yellow clouds boiling on the horizon, anvil-headed tops reaching for the outer stratosphere already. The weather front advanc
ed with terrifying speed. Flashes of lightning sparked below the massed clouds.
“I’ve never seen anything so ominous.” Sandy stared at the wide-open plain around them. “No shelter of any kind out here.”
“Scarier than hell,” he agreed.
The wind was now steady from the east, with gusts.
“I threw the gaming sticks and chose poorly for us in my haste,” Rothan apologized, his face grim. “I hoped Djed read the signs wrong, and I should have known better. Interpreting weather omens is his gift.”
“The question is, what are we going to do now? Wind’s rising.” Mark gathered his borrowed robes more closely around himself.
“Winds like shrieking hordes of devils will surround us soon,” Djed said. “Do we not take shelter, our skin will be stripped from our bones and we’ll die here unmourned.”
“Shelter, huh?” Mark cast a sardonic eye around at the flat territory they were riding through. A towering dust devil swirled by him, spooking his horse, before dissipating a few feet away. “How far to the city?”
“Too far.” Rothan shook his head. “Our only chance is to retreat, hope we can reach the village where we ate lunch today before the storm advances to meet us.”
Mark and Sandy mounted their horses as the drivers took the chariots in a wide loop. The horses were reluctant to go toward the storm, but there was no choice. All too soon, Mark rode into the teeth of a rising gale. Visibility became limited. The wind-borne sand stung any exposed skin, and Mark realized Djed hadn’t been speaking metaphorically about the power of the storm to strip a man to bones. The group stopped for a few precious moments to link themselves together. Anyone straying from the main party would never be found again. Sandy dismounted and huddled in one of the chariots. Mark took point, leading the horses, head down, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other on the barely visible road. If he deviated from the road and missed their one chance at shelter, he and his companions would perish.
Lady of the Star Wind Page 8
