A small bit of fortune was the fact that even if they made it to the valley ahead of him, they would not yet have heard that the Rahaji was sending his men to exterminate them. If he didn’t catch up quickly, he would be facing an unknown number of armed men, all fanatical devotees. His wound was already stiff and beginning to throb, and it would only get much worse.
Pushing these thoughts from the fore, he pressed on. His mind must be sharp, even if his body was lacking.
The road to the Valley of the Gods was broken and weathered, though years ago the entire region had been exceptionally lush and fertile. The Rahajis of old had ordered the Ganshi River diverted to make it so – a tremendous undertaking costing mountains of gold and thousands of lives. But the old gods were now long gone and their names only spoken in guarded whispers. These days the land was dry and barren, and the temples of the past no more than shattered ruins. Only the occasional remains of some disused structure along the way suggested that this had once been a road along which thousands of pilgrims had journeyed to demonstrate their faith.
Romi kept his eyes on the horizon. Six mounted travelers would kick up a considerable amount of dust that could be easily spotted. Of course, should anyone look behind them, they would probably see him coming as well. If that happened, he hoped they would turn and fight, though that seemed increasingly unlikely as he drew closer to the Valley.
It was dawn on the second day of the pursuit when he caught sight of the telltale cloud drifting up from the ground several miles ahead. As he feared, he would not be able to reach them before they made it to the Valley. That being so, he slowed Jala to a walk and began considering the best approach.
As the sun waned, he left the road to avoid being seen by anyone the cult might have left behind to keep watch. Surely someone in their group had looked over their shoulder at least once, so he would assume that they knew he was coming, which was all the more reason to exercise caution.
When a mile from the edge of the Valley, he dismounted and took from his bag what he thought he might need. After that he allowed Jala to wander free. She would not go far, and would be sure to hear his call should he need her. If only people were so reliable, he considered wryly.
The area was vast and filled with dozens of abandoned temples. Most had been desecrated by those who rejected the old gods and were now barely standing. However, a few remained untouched. The temple of Hajazar was one of these. Some gods were still greatly feared far too much to risk tempting their wrath.
He waited until nightfall before taking a path into the Valley that led only to temples of some of the lesser gods, of which most were in complete ruins. The descent was treacherous even in the light of day, making it impossible to be silent, but as he made his way down the winding, rock-covered trail, he neither heard nor saw any sign of a sentry. Only the howl of the wind and the chirp of the desert insects reached his ears.
The trail led onto a broad avenue strewn with stones and debris. On either side, captured clearly in the moonlight, were the crumbling statues and once-proud columns of the old gods. A few were still recognizable, their eyes staring unblinkingly into the night, but many had already turned to dust.
“Even the gods are not eternal,” his father had once told him. “The old gods have been replaced by new ones. And one day, they will be gone as well. In the end, the world is nothing but dust and sand. Kings and peasants alike fall prey to time. Remember that, son. You will rule my lands one day, and the lives of those under your protection will be determined by how you use what little time you are granted. Use it wisely and perhaps your name will live on, even though your body will not.”
The crumbling ruins now surrounding him were a vivid testament to those wise words.
The Valley had been built with three avenues stretching from east to west, with one main avenue splitting them down the center. The closer a temple lay to the heart of the Valley, the more powerful and important the god was considered to be. Hajazar was regarded as being neither important nor powerful. At least, not to those of ancient times. A gatekeeper, a herald, and sometimes a messenger, that was all. It was those mighty gods he served that terrified the people and ensured that his own temple remained untouched.
Romi crept from cover to cover, pausing each time to listen for voices. Upon reaching the crossroads, he saw torches lit at the corner of the next street. He hurried across, waited until he was satisfied that there was no guard posted, and then crept to the corner and ducked down behind an arm of what had once been a statue of the goddess Lutheria, Mistress of the Dawn.
More torches had been set further along the street, leading to the entrance of a lesser, and as expected, untouched temple. Standing there were six men dressed in dark robes, each with a curved blade at his side. Five horses, still saddled and laden with belongings, had been tied to a nearby hitch. As far as Romi could tell, there was no-one else outside.
With careful steps, he moved closer until he had a better view of the area. The guards were gathered at the foot of a tall staircase leading to a stone archway, with statues of a winged lion standing sentry on either side. Higher still, massive columns supported a triangular frieze depicting a pitched battle, at the very top of which a hand reached down as if ready to pick the dead from the field. At each end of the building stood a statue of Hajazar himself – naked and bearing a scythe in one hand and a ram’s horn in the other. His grim expression sent a chill down Romi’s spine. It was said that the eyes of Hajazar could rob a man of his soul with just the slightest glance. He had to remind himself that there was no god within the temple. Only humans made of flesh and blood.
There was no way for him to kill all six guards without alerting those inside, and sneaking past them undetected would be impossible.
The horses were tethered a few yards away from the foot of the stairs. Even though all was quiet at present, they still seemed to be restless as they stomped and snorted, every now and then jerking against the ropes that held them. Grinning, Romi picked up a stone. He waited until he was certain the guards were not looking and then threw it as hard as he could. The missile struck the middle horse firmly on the haunches, sending the already anxious animal into a wild frenzy. Snorting and whinnying loudly, with its tail swishing furiously from side to side, it took only two violent rears for it to rip itself free from the post. Panicked by its actions, the other horses did the same.
The commotion couldn’t fail to grab the attention of the guards, three of whom ran toward the frightened animals with arms waving in a vain attempt to calm them. This only made matters worse. Two horses bolted off toward the main avenue, while the remaining three flailed their hooves at the men, forcing them back.
Romi scurried further down until he was at their backs. By this time, another guard had joined in the effort to contain the horses. The two who remained in front of the stairs were laughing and hooting at their comrades’ clumsy efforts.
“You’ll never catch him like that,” called one. “Hurry now. Lady Lyndora intends to leave before dawn. It won’t do if her mount has escaped.”
This brought harsh laughter from the second man. “Yes. And I hear she has quite a temper. You don’t want to end up having your balls cut off.”
Romi crossed the street and crept up behind the duo, dagger in hand. In a final flurry of movement, he plunged the point deep into the back of the nearest man’s neck. The second guard turned and reached for his sword, but he was far too slow. Jerking his dagger free, Romi slashed the keen edge of the blade right across the man’s throat.
Without a pause, he rushed toward the remaining men. Though most of them were still distracted with the horses, one had spotted his comrades’ demise and was already fumbling with the hilt of his blade. Romi hurled the dagger, but the years spent away from battle had soured his accuracy, causing it to fly wide of its target. Still on the run, he drew his sword. His foe tried desperately to parry his thrust to no avail. Romi was an unstoppable force. His blade sank deep into the man’s gull
et. This was enough to get the attention of the remaining three.
Pulling his steel from his third victim, Romi rolled beneath one of the spooked horses. It was a dangerous gamble, but luck and good timing combined to see him safely through the flurry of flying hooves. Emerging unscathed on the other side, he was now in the perfect position to jab his sword up in a precise strike to the next foe’s leg. This sent the man staggering back into his comrade, who, cursing loudly, was forced to shove him roughly aside.
The delay gave Romi enough time to get back on his feet and turn left to block the heavy blade intent on cutting him in two. He countered with three successive swings designed to leave him room to pivot. Even so, the pressure from both sides was intense. A wild cross-slash from an enemy blade had him leaning sharply back to avoid having his head removed from his shoulders. Despite this, the tip still cut deeply across the side of his neck. An instant later, a second strike from the other side found the flesh of his thigh.
Romi knew he needed to end this quickly. The frenzied animals would not mask the sound of fighting for much longer. One of the remaining horses had already bolted, and the other two were steadily moving clear of the fray.
Lunging at the man to his front, he planted his heavy boot hard into his knee. A cracking sound followed by a wail of pain confirmed his accuracy. Just as this was delivered, the guard he had stabbed in the leg came limping forward, sword held low. A foolish move. Romi stepped left and brought his blade up. Hampered by his wound and with a blade far too heavy to defend with quickly, the man’s head was rolling from his shoulders before he could blink.
Even before the head had hit the ground, his remaining foe struck. Pain shot through Romi’s spine, and with blood soaking his neck and back, he swung around, his blade held in a high defensive position to block a flurry of vicious attacks from the enraged devotee.
His shoulder was throbbing, and he could feel himself growing ever weaker from loss of blood. Even in this condition he knew he was the superior swordsman, and with a series of precise sweeps, he pressed the final foe back. When he had his opponent exactly as he wanted him, he cleaved him clean through his collarbone. He kicked the man in the chest to dislodge his blade, and then finished things off by opening the man’s chest as he fell.
Breathing heavily, Romi knew he didn’t have much longer to complete his mission. The continued loss of blood would soon make him too weak to fight, but there was no time to dress his wounds. He would find the strength from somewhere. He would get his son back if it…
All thoughts were stopped by a sudden sharp pain in the back of his neck, as if he had been stung by a vicious desert wasp. Reaching around, he pulled a small dart from his flesh. The sound of footsteps came from behind, but he was already reeling and had dropped to one knee.
“Impressive,” came a voice from the shadows. “Particularly for a man who hasn’t held a sword for so long. Your wife warned us about your skills. Now, seeing them firsthand makes me wish I could have witnessed them in your youth. I imagine it would have been a sight to behold.”
Romi tried to speak, but his tongue had become numb. He slumped over onto his side, helpless. A figure in red robes, his face obscured beneath a deep hood, knelt in front of him.
“If you feel you have failed, let me at least give you a small portion of comfort in your final moments. Your wife is dead. I would show you her body, but that would mean allowing you entry into the temple, which I’m sorry to say is not permitted. So you must settle for knowing that the one who truly betrayed you is no more. She was too…unstable. As to your son…”
He reached over and lifted Romi’s closing eyelids. “Vareem is safe with us. He will learn to serve Hajazar. And when the end comes, he will be among the chosen.”
The voice seemed distant, as if in a dream. The pain from his wounds was gone. He had failed. His body would soon be dust and sand…his deeds forgotten. Despite all his efforts and ambitions, he had lived and died a fool and a failure. His only comfort was that soon the Rahaji’s men would come.
Before taking what he knew would be his final breath, he prayed that they would arrive in time to free his son.
Chapter One
Akiri shielded his eyes from the sun while searching the seemingly endless expanse of sand and dunes. It had to be close now. Yet even with his unnaturally keen vision, he still could not see it. Kyra’s screech from high above seemed to taunt him – though she was keeping any such thoughts to herself. She didn’t mind the heat at all, even descending occasionally to roll in the scorching sands as if bathing in a cool spring.
The Great Valharoth Desert had claimed the lives of countless travelers, and was not a place any sane man would attempt to cross alone. But he was not about to succumb to the fate of a fool, even if his actions did tempt such a fate. He was Akiri.
To the east, he spotted a dune rising higher than the others, and he slogged his way towards it. His legs ached, and the blisters forming on his arms and neck promised an uncomfortable evening ahead.
With his boots sinking deeper with every step, it took more than five minutes to crest the dune. In parts of the desert the sand was so soft that it could swallow a man entirely, but fortunately this dune was only knee deep at its apex. Better still, it gave him a perfect view of the miles ahead.
He cracked a smile. The top of a palm peered out from the shimmering horizon – almost lost in the rising fumes of the heat. He unslung his pack and retrieved a water skin. It was his last. Another call from above grabbed his attention.
Not alone. Kyra’s thoughts invaded his mind.
He tipped half of the water over the back of his neck and drank the rest. The precious liquid evaporated from his skin almost immediately.
After returning the empty skin to his pack, he descended the dune and started out toward the oasis even though it was not on the map he had purchased. Kyra had directed him here. It was closer, and the image she had sent him suggested it was little used, with no structures or any sign of nomadic traders. All she had showed him was a cool spring and an inviting canopy of palm fronds. But that had been two days ago. It seemed that others had arrived since then. Little matter. It was unlikely they would have any interest in a lone traveler beyond the possibility of robbing him. And Akiri certainly did not fear that.
The first stars were just appearing in the sky when he finally caught the taste of moisture on his tongue and the scent of grass in his nostrils. He paused long enough to hear the muffled voices of a small group of men. From what he could make out, there were four of them.
As he approached the oasis, he made as much noise as possible. There was no point in startling these men and ending up in a needless fight. The ringing of their steel sharpened his senses, but he did not draw his sword. His eyes ran over the four dark skinned men who were waiting for him. Their loose, colorful vests were in the fashion of the east, while the curved blades they held were well oiled and gleamed, even in the failing light. At their backs lay a small pool, beyond which their camels rested lazily, oblivious to the newcomer.
“I mean you no harm,” Akiri said, holding up his palms.
The man on the left motioned for the others to spread out. A gold hoop hung from his right ear, and the tattoo of a serpent crawled its way down his left cheek. Akiri kept his eyes on the group’s movements and posture. These were clearly experienced fighters, and the way they positioned themselves would make it difficult should things become violent.
“How did you find this place?” the man with the tattoo demanded, his voice as rough as dry twigs being rubbed together.
“What matters is that I mean you no harm,” Akiri responded.
“I’ll decide what does and does not matter. And if you think I'm worried about you harming us…” He spread his arms and gestured to his companions. “Then it would seem you cannot count.”
“Press this further and I’ll be counting your corpses,” warned Akiri. “I am hot, tired, and thirsty. And as I imagine the next source of water
is too far away for me to be able to make it alive, I’m not going anywhere until I fill my water skins. So stand down or find out how fierce you really are.”
The air was thick with tension as the two men locked eyes. Then, gradually, the leader cracked a grin.
“You are brave,” he said. “I’ll give you that. Come. Take your ease. There is no need for blood today.”
The rest of the men sheathed their weapons and backed away.
“They call me Palazar,” the leader said, giving the slightest bow. “Forgive our suspicion, but there are certain oases known only to my order...and perhaps a few chosen others. And they never approach uninvited.”
“I am Akiri.”
Palazar raised an eyebrow. “A westerner, I see. Only a man of great need would try to cross this desert alone.”
“Or one of little brains,” added a younger man with gold teeth and several scars on his arms and face.
“That’s enough out of you, Fazal!” snapped Palazar. “A man who tries to tame a Leapra Beast with his bare hands should not be talking about brains.”
Fazal glared, but said nothing further.
“Forgive my young friend,” he said. “If balls were brains, he would be the greatest scholar in all the land.”
This elicited raucous laughter from the others.
“But I am still curious as to how you found this place.” He eyed Akiri for a lengthy moment. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the dragon we’ve been seeing flying about lately, would it?”
Akiri tensed. In the east, dragons were highly prized. Men of wealth viewed them as a symbol of their status, sometimes paying enormous sums to keep them as pets, caged, and with their wings bound.
“The dragon is not your affair,” he stated flatly.
“You need not fear my motives. To capture a dragon is a dangerous business. Likely as not you’ll become the hunted rather than the hunter. I was only curious.” He motioned toward the spring. “Drink and replenish your skins. We can talk when you have had your fill.”
Akiri: Sands Of Darkness Page 2
