“And we’ve two swords, a bow and quiver of arrows, and two dozen daggers and knives among forty-six of us,” pointed out Calis.
“Not much of an army,” agreed Nicholas. “How are our food and water?”
“We have enough dates, goat meat, and water to last five days if we’re careful,” said Ghuda.
Recalling some desert lore he had heard as a child, Nicholas said, “Should we move at night?”
Ghuda said, “Given our health, that’s best. I’ll show everyone the proper way to rest during the day, and we’ll move at night.”
Nicholas nodded. “Then we’ll spend tonight and tomorrow regaining our strength. We’ll start at sundown tomorrow.”
14
BANDITS
The winds came.
Nicholas lay on the ground dozing, a stick held in the crook of his arm, propping up a makeshift shelter above him. Ghuda had insisted that everyone try to find a way to shade himself during the day, using whatever was handy, to keep an airspace between the material and the skin. They had all donated whatever clothing they possessed beyond tunics and trousers. All vests, great cloaks, sail scraps—anything used to protect them from the bitter cold of night, even food sacks—had been cannibalized to make head coverings. They had even taken the clothing from those who had died the first night in the desert. As he tried to rest during the second day of unrelenting heat, Nicholas understood why Ghuda had been so insistent that the protection of the living was far more important than any concern for the dignity of the dead. They all had to have shade for their heads and protection for their feet. The sands were hotter than Nicholas had imagined possible.
The desert was nothing like what Nicholas had expected. Like most citizens of the Kingdom, he knew of the Jal-Pur Desert at the northern frontier of the Empire of Great Kesh, but he had never seen it. He had imagined an endless expanse of shifting sand.
Instead, this desert was mostly broken rocks and salt flats, with enough sand wastes in between to make Nicholas thankful it wasn’t all sand. Whenever they came to the sand there was an audible groan from at least half the party. The travel was slowed by more than half as fatigued legs had to fight terrain that slipped away underfoot and provided nothing to push against as they tried to step.
The wind rubbed his nerves raw; it was a dry thing, sucking moisture from the body even if cold. And there was always a grit in it, a sand so fine that no amount of cover could keep it out of eyes, mouths, or noses. As much as his parched mouth made Nicholas dream of water, he longed to wash his face, his hair, and his clothing. The constant friction of the fine grit had rubbed raw spots on arms and legs, as well as making food crunch between the teeth.
They had moved out two nights before and made slow but steady progress. Ghuda had taken it upon himself to circulate through the party, ensuring that no one broke the order of march, drank before it was permitted, or stopped walking. They all knew that any who fell would be left behind. There simply wasn’t enough strength among them for any to carry anyone else.
Nights in the desert were as bitter cold as they had been on the beach, and moving kept everyone warm, but exposure was taking its toll. Then when the sun rose, the heat came in waves.
Nicholas remembered the day before. At first the sky had brightened, and when the sun topped the plateau, it seared. As soon as the sun had cleared the cliffs, Ghuda had ordered the halt. He then squatted and took out one of the sticks—a long twig cut from a plant in the oasis—and showed how to sit upright with the stick holding his cloak above his head, fashioning a tent. He then hurried to supervise everyone else’s attempts.
When sundown had come the night before, Ghuda had ordered everyone to their feet, telling them to scan the horizon for any sign of water, either birds in flight or changes in the heat pattern. There were none, and they discovered that three more men had died. Now they were forty-three. Nicholas knew that when they rose for their third night’s trek, it was likely more men would not get up. He felt a dull ache of frustration at not being able to do more for them.
Nicholas dozed, unable to sleep. When he at last fell into a deeper sleep for a moment, the movement of the stick jerked him awake. A few had tried to dig holes or use rocks for the sticks, but they were resting upon hardpan, and it was as unyielding as stone. Ghuda had promised that while they would feel tired, they would get enough rest during the day to continue on at night. At this point, Nicholas doubted it. When he peered out at the desert surface, waves of heat rose in shimmers that distorted the horizon.
Nicholas let his mind wander as he tried to sleep. The desert made him remember his brother Borric’s tale of being carried as a prisoner through the Jal-Pur, but nothing he had told Nicholas compared with this. Since leaving the oasis behind, there was no sign of life upon the plateau. Nicholas thought about his brothers, and how they had changed during their journey to the Empress’s court in the City of Kesh. They had blundered into a convoluted attempt to destroy the Empress’s family by pulling the Empire into war with the Kingdom. Borric had been captured by slavers and had escaped and during his travels had met Ghuda and Nakor. There had been another, a boy named Suli-Abul, who had been killed attempting to aid Borric. The experience had made Borric much more considerate of the little brother he had once teased unmercifully. Nicholas felt a stab of nostalgia and came fully awake. He suddenly felt very young again, and wished deeply he could be back at home once more, a little boy in the bosom of his family, defended from the harsh realities of the world by a warm and gentle mother and strong, protective father.
Nicholas closed his eyes again and tried to will sleep to come. His memories drifted and soon he was thinking of Abigail, but in this dream he couldn’t quite make out her face. He knew she was beautiful, but details shifted in his memory and suddenly she resembled a serving girl in Krondor or a girl glimpsed in the village of Crydee.
A voice cut through his half-dream. “It’s time.”
Shaking himself awake, Nicholas unbent from his cramped position and stood, pulling the loose cape around his shoulders. He carried the stick in his left hand. Without being told, he started peering at the horizon, toward the sunset, seeking any sign of birds heading for water. The others looked to different quarters, but no one shouted any news of birds.
Nicholas glanced around them and saw that two more figures still lay upon the ground. Swallowing bitter certainty, he went to examine the two and for a moment felt a stab of fear when he saw one of them was Harry. He knelt next to his friend and was almost overcome with relief when he heard a faint snore. Shaking him awake, he said, “It’s time.”
Harry came slowly awake, blinking eyes swollen with heat and lack of water. “Huh?”
“It’s time to move.”
Harry came reluctantly to his feet, and Nicholas said, “I don’t know how you can manage to truly sleep.”
“You get tired enough, you sleep,” said Harry thickly.
Ghuda came and said, “One more dead.”
Now they were forty-two. Others quickly stripped the body and passed out the clothing to those who needed additional protection from the sun. Ghuda handed a waterskin to Nicholas, who shook his head no.
“Drink,” commanded the mercenary. “It’s murder to drink more than your share, but it’s suicide not to drink when it’s time. I’ve seen men refuse their ration and be dead two hours later before they had a chance to ask.”
Nicholas took the skin, and the moment water touched his lips, warm and sour as it was, he started drinking. “Two mouthfuls only,” cautioned Ghuda.
Nicholas obeyed and passed the skin to Harry, who also drank his allotment and passed the skin along. Nicholas was glad the men were Royal Kingdom Navy, for their discipline kept a desperate situation from becoming hopeless. He knew each of them longed to gulp as much water as possible, but each followed orders and limited their intake to two swallows.
Nicholas glanced at Amos, who stood motionless, watching three of his men push rocks over the dead man. Nichol
as knew he had seen many of his crewmen dead over the years, but he was doubly troubled by the death of these men, who had left Krondor expecting a simple voyage to the Far Coast, then home to their Admiral’s wedding.
Nicholas wondered how his grandmother was enduring Amos’s absence. He knew that word of the raids had reached Krondor by now, and most likely his father would be leading a fleet of relief ships to the Far Coast, ready to run the Straits of Darkness even as the weather of late fall and early winter closed them down. Aid would be coming over the North Pass through the Grey Towers mountains, from Yabon, as well.
Nicholas then wondered how his uncle Martin was doing. Was he still alive? Thinking of Martin, he turned to look at Marcus. Marcus had changed his attitude toward Nicholas profoundly since the climb up the cliffs, and while no one would ever accuse his cousin of being a demonstrative man, Nicholas could feel the difference in him when they spoke. They might never be friends, but they were no longer rivals. Both knew that whoever Abigail chose, they were agreed to honor her choice.
Ghuda signaled and they set off. They moved south, for the same reason they had traveled south along the beach; with no clearly superior choice, they picked the route that would lead most directly to their ultimate destination.
Within an hour of sunset, the air turned cold. Those walking along began gathering their assortment of shirts, tunics, and cloaks around them.
They tried to keep their rest breaks to a minimum, but they couldn’t move continuously throughout the night. One fact Amos had gleaned from the position of the stars and the rising and setting of the sun was that indeed the seasons were backward here, and the days were lengthening, as spring approached summer—which meant the days would be getting hotter. Nicholas judged that at the present rate they must find shelter and water in two more days or they would all die.
They trudged on through the night.
—
NOW THEY WERE thirty-four.
Nicholas knew that this night’s march would be their last unless they found water. They were moving at roughly half the speed they walked the first night. Ghuda estimated they had come less than ten miles the previous night, and they would be lucky if they could match that tonight.
Ghuda rose from his tiny tent of shirts and cloaks, and said, “It’s time.”
They scanned the horizon and suddenly one of the sailors shouted, “Water!”
Ghuda glanced at the direction the man pointed and Nicholas followed his gaze. There, in the west, a faint blue shimmering on the horizon beckoned. Nicholas said, “Ghuda?”
The old mercenary shook his head. “It could be a mirage.”
“Mirage?” asked Harry.
Nakor said, “Hot air does funny things. Sometimes it acts like a mirror in the sky, showing you the blue of the sky on the ground. Looks like water.”
Ghuda didn’t move, as he stood rubbing his chin. He looked at Nicholas and his expression showed he did not want to make the decision. If it was a mirage, they were all dead. If it was water and they ignored it, they were dead.
Nicholas said, “Keep looking until the sun’s down.”
It was Calis who saw them. “Birds.” The sun was just vanishing below the western horizon when he spoke.
“Where?” said Nicholas.
“There, to the southwest.”
Nicholas stared and saw nothing. All the remaining sailors peered to where the elfling pointed, but no one confirmed his sighting.
“Your eyes must be magic,” said Amos, his voice gravelly from lack of water.
Calis said nothing but started walking toward his sighting of birds.
—
AN HOUR LATER, they reached the edge of the desert. In the darkness it was hard to see, but they all felt it underfoot. Suddenly there was a springy feeling instead of the harsh, unyielding sand or rock. Brisa fell to her knees and said, “I’ve never smelled anything so sweet.” Her voice was a croak of dryness.
Nicholas bent and plucked a long blade of tough, dry grass and rubbed it between thumb and finger. If there was ever water in it, it was now a memory. He said, “Calis?”
The elfling said, “That way,” pointing to the southwest.
Leaving the desert and entering the grasslands added a spark to the party. They moved a little faster and with more purpose. But Nicholas knew they were still only hours from death.
The terrain rose slightly and the sandy soil underfoot soon changed to hard dirt. As night deepened, Calis said, “Over there!”
He took off at a weak half-trot and Nicholas and the others attempted to follow his lead. At a staggering, lurching run, Nicholas forced his fatigued legs up the small rise and then he saw it in the moonlight. A spring! He half ran, half stumbled down the little hillock to the depression. A few birds nesting in reeds squawked and took flight as Calis plunged facedown into water.
Nicholas was there a moment later and did the same. He took a long drink and was about to take another, when Ghuda’s large hand gripped his collar and pulled him back. “Drink slowly, or you’ll just vomit it all back up,” he warned.
He repeated the warning to the others, who barely seemed to hear. Nicholas let the warm water run down his face. It was muddy and had an aroma and taste he thought it best not to dwell on, with the nesting of birds so close by, but it was water.
He rose unsteadily to his feet and inspected this second oasis. The water hole was screened on three sides by palm trees, while to the east the desert continued. Nicholas moved among the men with Amos and Ghuda, ensuring they didn’t drink too much too fast. After the first gulping swallows, most seemed content to follow orders, while a few had to be physically pulled away from the edge of the pond.
Calis said, “I’ll scout around.”
Nicholas nodded and motioned for Marcus to accompany him. Seeing Marcus unarmed, Nicholas pulled a large knife from his belt and handed it to him. Marcus nodded thanks and followed after Calis, saying nothing of the unspoken warning: there might be others nearby, now that they were free of the desert, and those others might be hostile. They moved off to the southwest.
Some of the men had recovered enough of their strength for Amos to organize a foraging party and post some sentries. A couple of the fitter sailors climbed trees to bring down dates. Nicholas signaled for Harry to accompany him. He left the oasis, heading toward the northwest, and when they had traveled a hundred yards, they saw that the desert was changing.
“Look,” said Harry.
Nicholas studied where he was pointing, and nodded. Odd-looking plants stood in clumps all over the landscape, and in the distance some sort of alien trees rose up, rough and without leaves. But they didn’t look dead. Nicholas said, “Perhaps they’re dormant in the heat.”
“Maybe,” agreed Harry, who knew less about plants than Nicholas. “Margaret would know.”
Nicholas was surprised by the remark. “How?”
“Last time we were in the garden, she told me she’s spent a lot of time in the forest with her father, brother and…mother.”
Nicholas nodded. “I’m scared, Harry.”
“Who isn’t? We’re a long way from anything familiar and I don’t know how we’re going to find the girls, let alone get them home once we do.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Not that. Anthony will lead us to the girls, I’m certain.”
“You think?” asked Harry.
Nicholas thought it best not to mention Anthony’s feelings for Margaret, not because he considered Harry a serious rival for the girl’s affection, but because he wanted to spare his friend any distress, and most of all, because he was simply too tired to deal with it. He just said, “I think so.”
Harry said, “How about getting home?”
Nicholas surprised Harry with a grin. “With the most famous pirate in the Bitter Sea with us, you can ask that? Why, we steal a ship.”
Harry grinned, but it was a weak one. “If you say so.”
“No, what has me scared is that somehow I’m going to caus
e us to fail.”
Harry said, “Look, I’m a good-for-nothing, or so my father’s told me often enough, but I wasn’t totally asleep on those rare occasions when he forced me to help him run the barony. And I’ve seen enough of your father’s court to know that a lot of what makes one man a ruler and another not is simply a willingness to be wrong.”
Now it was Nicholas’s turn to say, “You think?”
“Yes. I think a lot of it is just saying, ‘Here’s what we are going to do, even if it’s wrong,’ and then doing it.”
“Well,” agreed Nicholas, “Father always did say that you can’t be right unless you’re willing to risk being wrong.”
A shout from the water hole caused them both to turn and hurry back. Marcus and Calis had returned, and Marcus said, “You’d better come and see this.”
Nicholas, Harry, Amos, and Ghuda followed Calis and Marcus out of the oasis and across a gentle depression to a rise. When they reached the crest, they moved down into a small gully, then up to an even higher ridge.
Once they had topped it, Nicholas could see that they were at the southwest corner of a plateau, or tableland, and that the terrain fell away rapidly, turning greener as it receded from the plateau. The desert extended off to the northwest a great deal farther than Nicholas’s eye could follow and at last he said, “South was the right choice.”
Calis said, “Certainly. Had we moved westward, we surely would have died.”
Marcus said, “There’s more. Look.” He pointed, and in the distance Nicholas made out a faint haze in the air.
“What is it?”
“A river,” said Calis. “Given the distance, a large one, I’d say.”
The King's Buccaneer Page 34
