by Cindy Dees
It made sense to live below the earth like this, tucked away from the violent storms and heat of the Thirst. In the long journey to reach this great trading center, she’d gained a rich appreciation of just how harsh the desert could be. But she’d never imagined a city could be entirely contained in caves.
Four caves sheltered Kahfes, perched not only on the intersection of overland trade routes but also on the intersection of several great underwaes—navigable underground rivers traversing Under Urth—and at the intersection of several great ktholes, deep underground tunnels of mysterious origin and usage. The city came by its informal nickname, the Crossroads, honestly.
Kahfes was the capital of the landhold of Hari, situated in the center of the Thirst, bounded by Amadyr and its Silver Sands to the east and Iridu to the west—a strange place of cracked earth, disappearing rivers, and creeping mists. Few were brave enough to venture there, let alone live there.
“Where to, Emissary?” Lakanos asked. He’d reverted to her formal title, no doubt because they were in public and he might be overheard addressing her.
“Is there somewhere around here we can get a drink and a hot meal?” she asked.
“I know a pub called the Desert Rose. It serves excellent food if you like Ordan cuisine. And the silverware is clean,” he replied.
“I’ve never eaten Ordan food. But I’m willing to try. Lead on, sir knight.”
Ayli said, “I have friends in Nhem I would like to visit. I’ll meet you at the Desert Rose later.”
Lakanos turned to their guide. “Please go with her, Hatma, and look after her safety.”
The guide nodded, and the two women departed, fading into the crowd of shrouded desert dwellers.
“Want me to follow them?” Cicero murmured.
“No. They’ll be fine,” Lakanos replied. “With the amount of magic Ayli can cast and Hatma’s speed with a knife, I pity anyone who tangles with them.”
How did he know how much magic Ayli had or how fast Hatma was? Raina would have asked, but she was distracted as they ducked into the Desert Rose.
The pub was actually a large tavern with rows of long, wooden tables able to seat at least two hundred people. She shed her cloak reluctantly, revealing her White Heart tabard, but the heat pouring forth from the fire in the great hearth gave her no choice. Thankfully, she was not mobbed immediately by locals demanding healing.
“Is there a Heart chapter nearby?” Raina asked as she settled with her back to the room, happy to hide her colors from casual observation.
“Yes. Do you wish to visit it?” Lakanos asked.
“Actually, I’d rather not. I don’t have time to get sucked into lengthy Heart business.”
“As you wish, Emissary.”
Lakanos really was a wonderful bodyguard, patient and nonjudgmental with her. His presence was both reassuring and comforting. “Are you sure there’s nowhere else you need to go?” she asked him as they waited for food to arrive. “Surely you have other responsibilities besides babysitting me.”
“Once you are safe behind a locked door tonight with Cicero standing guard in my stead, I will slip away to the Heart to make a report to my superiors. They will be eager to know you are safe.”
“And interested to hear what you have to say about my recent experience with our mage friends, no doubt,” she added.
“No doubt.”
Cicero asked, “Why did we come to Kahfes?”
“Besides the fact that both Hatma and Ayli said a big storm was coming and we needed to seek shelter,” Raina replied, “if our companions have passed through this region, someone here will have seen them. Everyone in the Thirst passes through the Crossroads. At least that’s what Hatma says.”
Lakanos murmured, “I asked her to inquire with her contacts after your companions, Emissary. When she returns, mayhap she’ll have news for us. Until then, we wait.”
* * *
Will looked over his shoulder yet again. A strange cloud boiled in the distance, obliterating both horizon and sky. White like a cloud at the top, it faded to beige at ground level where it was picking up and tumbling sand as it boiled forward. It took no great knowledge of weather to see that a massive storm was coming.
The sun must be setting somewhere behind that terrible cloud, for the light faded around them and a bizarre yellow-green twilight turned into full night much earlier than normal.
Every time they topped a dune, a tantalizing glow in the east marked the great crossroads of Kahfes. But the lights ahead were not drawing closer nearly as fast as the storm was overtaking them from behind. A sinking feeling heavy in his stomach, Will realized they would not reach the city’s shelter before they were swallowed by the roiling blackness behind them.
Without warning, a large, fast-moving shadow raced toward them from their right, towering three or four man-lengths in height.
He drew his staff in alarm and summoned magic that crackled across his palms tonight as if reacting to the storm drawing near.
“Get on!” a man shouted from within the moving shadow, his words all but torn away by the rising winds.
The shape resolved itself into a sled of some kind with a trio of giant sails attached to a tall mast. Two other men manned lines attached to the swinging booms holding the bottoms of the sails rigid.
“Who are you?” Will demanded.
“Does it matter? If you don’t make shelter at Kahfes before that crawling cloud catches you, you’re all dead! We don’t have much time. I’m cutting it close as it is, and I’ve stopped to pick you up! Climb aboard and be quick about it if you would live!”
Will helped Rosana clamber over the raised lip of the sled as the others jumped on, and then he tumbled aboard himself. He’d barely hit the deck before the conveyance was under way once more, flying down the face of a dune and zooming up the next.
“What is this thing?” he shouted at one of the crewmen.
“Sandskimmer. The Last Wind. Here. Grab this line and help me hold the boom steady.”
Will grabbed the rope with both hands and was stunned by the power of the wind vibrating down the sail and into the line.
“Captain Maahes is the best. You’re lucky we found you. No other skimmer captain out here would have stopped for you with a storm so close behind us. As it is, we’ll barely make Kahfes before the caves are sealed.”
The ride was like nothing Will had ever experienced, with wind whipping in his face till his eyes watered and the undulating landscape flying past at an unbelievable speed. The great cloud roiled forward relentlessly behind them, but now it was not gaining on them … at least not as much.
They topped a great dune, and a huge, open plain opened out at their feet. The crew let out the skimmer’s sails all the way as they zoomed down the last dune, and the sled barely seemed to touch the ground as it lived up to its name, skimming across the flats stretching between them and safety.
The cloud was close now, a growling, rumbling roar behind them, devouring each crest behind them in its turbulent depths. Will look back fearfully and could swear he saw some sort of creature emerge briefly from the wall of the cloud, taking form out of magic and dust, its lower body a whirlwind, its upper body humanoid in shape. Void magic crackled across the being’s hands, black and angry. The creature smiled at Will, showing pointed teeth, its eyes glowing dull red, as it extended forward ahead of the cloud, reaching for him.
Will yanked his staff down over his shoulder and aimed at the being, sending a blast of force magic at it. The magic flew erratically, and by lucky happenstance struck the creature full in the chest. It dissipated back into the cloud with a screech audible even over the roar of the cloud.
A tall cave entrance loomed ahead. From each side of it, massive, paneled doors were slowly rolling inward toward one another to seal off the entire cave.
The captain shouted orders, and the crewman Will was helping let out the line to the very last inch. The silken sail overhead strained so hard Will held his breath, exp
ecting it to rip from stem to stern at any moment. The ride became so smooth that he actually thought the runners no longer touched the ground. It was terrifying and exhilarating flying on the breath of the storm.
The storm devoured the plain behind them, seeming to pick up speed as it tumbled over the flat landscape, chasing them with stubborn determination to eat them all.
The door operators must have spotted them, for the blast panels halted with only a narrow opening between them. The Last Wind would never fit through that tiny gap, assuming Captain Maahes could even manage to point the skimmer at it as it flew along at the mercy of the howling winds.
Will looked back, and the storm was so close he could almost reach out and touch the violent wall of dust and debris. If he weren’t so scared, he’d be hurling his lunch over the side of this vessel. But as it was, his entire body was paralyzed with fear.
“Hang on! This is gonna be close!” Maahes shouted.
The doors loomed. The storm loomed closer.
And then, all of a sudden, they flashed through a tall, narrow opening. Will cringed away from the edge of the sled, convinced the door was going to decapitate him. By some miracle, the entire vessel fit through the gap.
And then Maahes and the crewmen were all yelling, and everyone aboard grabbed the lines and hauled back on them with all their strength. A dock flashed by as the skimmer tipped up onto one skid, careening sideways and throwing up a great rooster’s tail of sand as it screeched to a halt mere feet from the back wall of the cave. Slowly, majestically, even, the craft righted itself and came to rest on both skids.
Will drew what felt like the first breath he’d taken since the storm topped that last dune. Behind them, the howl of the storm abruptly cut off as a great clanging thud accompanied the closing of the blast doors.
“Better close than never,” the captain declared cheerfully. “Jehan Maahes at your service.”
Rynn seemed to be the only member of the party able to summon his voice after the paralyzing panic of the past few minutes. “Thank you for the timely rescue, Captain. May we buy you a drink?”
Will’s throat thawed enough for him to guffaw, “One drink? After that, we’ll buy a feast for the whole crew and all the ale you and your men can drink.”
That caused much back thumping and laughter, which gave Will time to recover his composure after that close call with certain death.
“To the tavern, boys!” Maahes cried after his men had secured the Last Wind and lowered her shredded sails.
And that was when Will’s reaction to the last few minutes finally set in. His knees knocked together, and his stomach felt on the verge of turning inside out. He sagged against the cave wall, barely able to stand.
“Buck up, Will,” Rosana said jauntily. “That wasn’t nearly as bad as a regular sailboat. Let’s get some food in you, and your stomach will settle in no time.”
Easy for her to say. She’d never experienced a second of seasickness in her life.
Maahes said, “There’s a fine spot in Phul, the western cave, where the locals like to eat and drink. It’s got gambling parlors and singers. Even has a Diamond. If we’re lucky and enough gladiators are stranded here by the storm, the owner might throw together a tournament. Gotta watch out for him, though. Name’s Ylvaro. Wandrakin. Wears the coat of an Antillan general he bested. Never make a bet with him.” The skimmer captain said jovially, “Place is called the Three Veils. A bit pricey, but since you’re paying, all’s well.” Laughing, he slapped Will on the back, and they headed into the great caves of Kahfes while the most violent crawling cloud in recent history howled outside.
* * *
Endellian lurched awake, startled to have fallen asleep in a chaise under one of the bejeweled gazebos in the Imperial gardens.
“Ah, she is a vision of loveliness and awakens as gently as a summer breeze to gaze upon me,” a smooth male voice said nearby.
Alarmed, her head whipped around—
Vlador Noss stood there, a perfect white rosebud held out to her. She took the flower from him, bemused at how he’d gotten past her guards to approach her this closely. After he’d helped the Man in Amber kill the chamberlain, she’d kept her distance from the Child of Fate.
One thing was undeniable. He was the most accurate seer her father had had since the prophetess Oretia had been killed by Ammertus.
“What prompts you to disturb my rest, Vlador?”
He ignored her question and instead murmured in that rich, mesmerizing voice of his, “Yon flower holds no advantage in beauty over a woman such as you, caught in the first bloom of her life, dewy and radiant, untouched by frost or time.”
Her irritation at having her nap interrupted faded in the face of his flattery. “Go on.”
“Like that rose, you will open into full bloom and come into your glory. But unlike the rose, you will not wither slowly, fading and dying one sad petal at a time.”
She realized with a start that he was prophesying. Vlador was known for his extraordinary bluntness and clarity with his predictions, which was why she’d almost missed this one. Replaying his words in her mind, she asked, “How will I die?”
“I do not see death for you, my princess.”
“What do you see?”
“I see a truth as incontrovertible as it is inevitable. But if I dare utter the words aloud, my life is forfeit.”
She glanced around. “We are alone. My guards stand well off and cannot hear you. Cover your mouth lest one of them read your lips. But I would hear what you see.”
“I see the end of Maximillian. He will put up a great storm of fire and fury, but he will end nonetheless.”
Her heart blazed with hope, and her innards clenched with excitement. “When?” she whispered. “How soon?”
“For people like you and me, time is a fluid concept.”
“Nail it down for me. I want to know when, exactly, your prophecy will occur.”
“I cannot tell you that which I do not know. However, I will attempt to find some event or reference within my visions that might give you a reasonably exact time frame.”
“As soon as you know, I want to know. Day or night. You’ll come to me. Yes?”
He smiled knowingly and bowed deeply. She noticed, not for the first time, how tall and well turned his physique and face were. Too bad Vlador and Laernan were fast lovers. She would have enjoyed sampling his pleasures in her bed. Maybe she still would one day. But for now, she had no wish to cause tension with her brother. If Vlador was right, she might have need of Laernan’s services and loyalty soon. Very soon now.
A thousand years and more she’d waited for this chance to seize the throne that was rightfully hers. She’d never entertained any illusions that Maximillian would willingly hand over his power to her. She had always known that if she wanted it, she would have to pry power away from him by trickery or treachery.
So. The portents were aligning, and Oretia’s old prophecy of the end of Koth was starting to come true at last. Immense satisfaction coursed through her, along with ferocious determination to have her due.
Yes, indeed. Her long wait was nearly over.
* * *
Aurelius leaned back in his chair, patting his full belly. “Harun, your cook outdid herself this time. I do believe I might burst.”
The landsgrave of Hari, Harun Sandclaw, stroked his wind tamga, which curled around his left ear and onto his scalp, shaved on the left side to display the marking. “I’m sorry you gentlemen have been stranded here by the crawling cloud, but it’ll give us time to catch up on what you’ve been doing since the campaigns.”
Aurelius glanced over at Selea, who seemed pained at the idea of days’ worth of small talk while the storm blew itself out. “It’s been a long time since Mindor and Pan Orda. What about you, Harun? I heard you served in the Cunning Legions of Archduchess Cassamyr of Scythia. Weren’t you on the front lines of the fight at the Sultan’s Scar?”
“Indeed. I captained the Sadalcass, an
d a faster sandskimmer there never was…”
Aurelius caught Selea’s grateful glance as Harun launched into a recitation of every detail of the great battle of the Sultan’s Scar. And then, like his nulvari friend, Aurelius tuned out, worrying instead about where his grandson was tonight and praying the boy wasn’t caught out in this horrendous storm, audible even through the thick stone walls of the underground.
All the portents said a crisis was coming to a head and that this forsaken place was where the storm would break. The real storm. Not the wind and dust blowing around outside. No, the next storm to come to this land would be of a different kind altogether and would determine its fate for all time.
CHAPTER
29
The storm had finally blown itself out, taking five days and nights to do so. Even the locals were impressed by the rare congruence of a crawling cloud and a major sand hurricane, and everyone was speculating on how dramatically the landscape had changed as a result. A line of scouts was waiting at the great blast doors to head out and remap the Thirst, redrawing the trade routes from water source to water source. Apparently, old oases would be entirely buried and new springs revealed by a storm of this size. The first scouts to come back with passable routes would get hired by the biggest, richest caravans.
Raina followed Cicero as they moved impatiently past the line of scouts and plunged down a broad staircase into the western cave. Phul, she believed it was called. Raina balked, however, when he headed for a huge establishment with a long line of patrons outside betting on the gladiatorial combat apparently taking place inside.
“I have no desire to watch slaves bash each other’s heads in for the pleasure of the betting public,” she muttered at Cicero.
“Then come into the restaurant of the Three Veils with me instead,” he said with unusual good cheer.
Raina ducked inside doubtfully, pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust—
A fast-moving person slammed into her, nearly knocking her over, and then laid a bone-crushing hug on her.
