“We are to be your companions on the hunt,” Creyath said, coming to stand beside Karin. His charger snorted as if in the affirmative. Ceth’s gray-blue eyes did not waver but merely slid from one of them to the next, settling on Iyana last.
“You are bringing horses?” he said, judgment evident. “To slay a hammerhorn?”
“Worked well enough the last time,” Karin said. Then, to Ceth’s confused stare, “We ran into a herd in the east, near Center. They were driven against our caravan by a Landkist native to those lands.”
Ceth nodded as if he knew of what Karin spoke, even in the vaguest terms. Still, he did not look convinced.
“This is no herd,” he said. “They are the stoutest of the fighters. They are cunning, and so must we be.” Karin thought to ask if that were true for Ceth, whom he had seen destroy a man in half a breath with little more than his fist. He refrained.
The expressions of Ceth’s fellows were difficult to read. They were young and lean—likely chosen for speed and cunning. They both wore red sashes and carried dark bows with quivers and shafts that might have been more rock than wood—all glinting obsidian but for the blue and yellow fletches that stuck from the ends.
“Perhaps we will learn from watching you,” Creyath said, swinging up into the saddle. “Perhaps you will learn from watching us.” He said it as a joke, and while the two men flanking Ceth took it as such, the Landkist only regarded the Ember with that cold look. Karin made to turn and collect the other horse before he felt a nudge in the back, the captain’s mare having come up unbidden.
“Looks like she wants to run,” Iyana said, joining him back up on the shelf. She pulled herself into the saddle and Karin swung up behind her, surprising her.
“I may have to jump down,” he said. “Better you take the lead. Don’t worry,” he said to her sharp intake. “You’re a natural. I watched the caravan the whole way through the gap, remember?”
Ceth did not look convinced, but he turned and took off, kicking up a surge of stinging gravel that startled the horses and left his companions outstripped at the outset. Karin glanced at Creyath, wondering if the Ember could keep up with the Landkist on foot. Creyath’s look had dimmed. He was not amused.
The two hunters took up Ceth’s wake as Karin guided the mare down from the lowest section of shelf, Creyath following behind.
“Let’s hope the sand is shallow out there,” Karin said as he slapped the mare on the rump, the horse taking off without another word as Iyana clutched the reins. Creyath passed them by and followed the path of the nomads, which took them around the southern spur and away from the west.
“Shallow sand means faster bulls,” Iyana said against the wind.
Karin smiled. “When it comes to killing and dying, Iyana, always choose to do either on solid ground.”
A hint of movement caught his attention and he craned around, looking behind. There, at the edge of the black shelves and their crags, he saw a lone figure with hair like Iyana’s, staring west. It was Sen, and though Karin could not make out his face, he sensed his expression—a searching, serious look—and tried to put it from his mind.
All eyes settled west, these days. Why not Sen’s as well?
Iyana was glad it was Karin riding behind her. Though he gave her the reins, she felt his knees guiding Talmir’s mare whenever she pulled too hard in one direction. The wind whipped as they sliced through the dry air and turned it into a welcome and cooling blast. The caves and caverns beneath the sand were shaded, but there was a heat ever rising from below that did not cook so much as boil. It was a heat that got into the pores and hung, sticky and metallic until the winds of the new day snaked down and laid a welcome freshness over it all.
“Lean right,” Karin said at her back. “Ridges have pockets.”
She didn’t know exactly what he meant, but Iyana had already begun to nudge the horse in that direction. The ground had sloped upward, and Iyana could tell by the forceful jarring of her mount’s gallop that the sand beneath was closely packed, likely covering some great shelf of black rock that could go on for leagues. To the east, jet-black ridges rose like a spine before dropping away into the crescent canyons they had trudged through to get to the nomads’ hideaway. Karin had come to know the land as well as anyone could in a short span. If he feared to stray a certain way, there was a reason.
Creyath cut in front of them with his black charger, its obsidian flanks rippling with an exertion the beast delighted in after spending the better part of three days pacing around a still pool beneath the spur. It could have been carved of Everwood, as could its rider; Creyath wore little but for a thin shirt and a red sash that recalled a smoother, softer version than those of the hunters running alongside him.
And run they did, the two dark-skinned tribesmen keeping pace with the measured gait Creyath set without any seeming undue stress. Iyana knew they could outpace the hunters with ease, if they wanted to. She also didn’t need Karin to tell her how foolish it would be to strike far ahead without them for guidance, lest they run into a herd of feuding hammerhorns without them.
Impressive as the red-sashes were, it was the cut of gray that kept most of her attention. Ceth, the strange Landkist whose power only Karin had witness firsthand seemed to skip across the surface of the sand like a smooth, polished river stone sent across still water. The crests and troughs of the horizontal dunes seemed to propel him more than slow him, and though his back was to them, the muscles of his legs barely bunched as he moved, his ribs expanding only slightly and every so often so that his movement seemed effortless.
Still, there was something strange about his passage. Iyana knew the Embers could cover distance at a quicker speed than most. The heat could be turned inward as readily as out. She had no doubt Creyath could tear through the sands and catch up to the strange Northman quickly enough—maybe even outstrip him for a time. But the Embers flashed and flared. They could not keep pace for long. They might be the most potent of the World’s Landkist—as far as the folk of the Valley knew, which, Iyana was learning, was decidedly less than they thought—but they had limits and tended to reach them quick. Kole had discovered that the hard way.
Watching Ceth run now, Iyana did not think he had the same kinds of limits. She both hoped and feared she would come to learn the truth of it. And though there was a grace—even a beauty—to the way he moved across the fast-flowing canvas beneath him, there was a suppressed violence beneath. Ceth oozed control. But Iyana knew for truth what the others might guess.
There was a fire within the Northman that had nothing to do with his gifts, whatever they might be. The Sage knew it. She’d even sensed a touch of fear mixed with the pride he clearly held for the man he had referred to as his knight—a word from the north and east. A word from a different time and for a different people, but one carrying its own sort of reverence. Iyana had seen the like before. She’d seen it in those closest to her and her sister.
Fire like that had a way of finding a way out, and when it could not, of making one. As she contemplated all the ways that could turn, Iyana thought perhaps she had erred in joining the hunt.
Just as Iyana was about to spur her mount on faster, hoping to match pace with Creyath, Ceth slowed some and angled toward the west, the yellow-brown spray slicing behind him like a current. Creyath turned in and Iyana followed, the captain’s horse following the firm pull on the reins quickly and without complaint. As they turned, she caught a glimpse of colour and glanced back to see the red-sashes carving a wide path. She thought they were looking to the east and wondered if they were looking for signs of pursuit or ambush.
She tried to cast the thought away with the sand they kicked up.
A tug on her right hand nearly had her pulling them off-course—perhaps going over entirely—until it turned to a quick tapping. She realized Karin had spoken and tried to recall what he had said. He pointed past her right ear so she could see without turning, and Iyana followed his finger as it jutted toward Cet
h and twitched beyond him.
“Our guides,’ he said, his voice warring with the wind that was now turned against them in full.
Iyana squinted against the glare. Beyond Ceth and his shimmering grays, she saw red of a lighter sort than the deep scarves that trailed behind them. It could have been fire with white-hot tips running across the horizon, but as she peered closer, she recognized the strange, loping run of the desert foxes. There looked to be half a dozen, and Iyana could not help but smile.
“Maybe he truly does control them,” she said, not having to shout, as the wind carried her words back.
“Could be,” Karin said, sounding far from convinced. “Or maybe they know what we’re up to. I’d wager the dumbest fox here to be double as cunning as any of their Valley kin. Have to be, land being what it is.”
And that was changing, and rapidly. They had only been riding for a span of minutes, but already the sand had changed, showing them a new skin that was darker. Iyana couldn’t see the stuff being kicked up under their own mount—she was too busy concentrating on keeping her seat and course to look—but she saw the trail Creyath’s charger left behind. Though coated with the same yellow and white that formed a pale canvas over the whole of the desert, the horse’s hooves picked up clods of dark earth, betraying the presence of soil that had settled onto the black and gray slabs beneath.
Iyana wondered what held it all together when she noted hints of green and yellow that began to disrupt the sameness of the ground ahead. She squinted against the afternoon light and was shocked to discover the presence of green shoots that sprouted to ankle height. It was a sparse field of thick stems, the shoots rounded and stiff, engorged with the water they jealously guarded, and Iyana was reminded of how rare the week’s storm must be in this section of the World, close as it might seem to the jungle of Center.
“It’s like a lattice,” she said, the thought bringing a smile to her face.
“How so?” Karin called up.
“The darker earth below,” Iyana said, nodding as the speckled flat rushed past them. “The roots grip it and keep it all together. The dry sand on top protects it. Those blades might look like solitary towers on the surface, but they must be working together to keep the fertile dirt from blowing away out here. No telling when they’d get it back.” She felt the smile grow and let it. “Life is a thing, isn’t it?”
“That it is,” Karin said, and though he said it soft, she could feel him staring, considering the ground in a new light. Iyana thought about dipping into her other Sight, but she saw Creyath slowing up ahead as Ceth came to a halt before him, his gray sash stealing some of the vibrancy from the picture ahead.
Iyana pulled on the reins, the horse’s turn giving her a view back in the direction they’d come. She saw the red-sashes streaking toward them, looking like two more of the desert foxes from a distance. Behind them, she saw how high they had climbed in relation to the black ridges and unburied shelves they had come from. They had gone farther than she thought and now found themselves atop a leaning expanse of high ground.
“That must be the dunes,” Karin said, and Iyana swung around in the saddle to look. In the distance, peeking out of the light blue, were great hills that could have been mountains, though the red cliffs to the north towered high above them. They were dunes, Iyana could see now, and though she could only just make them out, she thought she saw a strange glow tinting the atmosphere that way, like sunset come too early.
A snort and Creyath was upon them, his black charger able to greet Iyana at eye level.
“Where is the herd?” Karin asked. He swung himself down from the saddle and began to walk toward the rise Ceth crouched atop. Creyath and Iyana watched him go, and now she could see the air turned brown and dusty there, like a wisp of cloud settling in a canyon. When she looked closer, she could see that the ground dropped away there too sharply to be anything but.
“What is it?” she asked, more to herself than to Creyath. The Ember swung himself down as well and Iyana followed suit, brushing the mare on the snout. Creyath had to give his own steed a command to stay, while Iyana’s seemed always to do exactly what she wanted, though she was as new to riding as she was to the desert.
“The Valley of the west, maybe,” Creyath said. She couldn’t tell if he was joking—one never could—but as she drew near to the place where Ceth and Karin crouched, she thought it didn’t much matter.
The land fell away so sharply, Iyana felt a weight drop out of her chest. She felt like falling and nearly did, settling on one knee. Karin had been looking to Ceth, but now his eyes were ahead and down.
“Smart things, eh?” he said, more to himself than the rest, but Iyana saw Ceth nodding. “How do they get down?”
Ceth pointed, but Iyana was too taken with the sights to pay much attention. The ground around them was full of growth, with the sand between the shoots clumped together, the crust unbroken since the rains had passed through. There were even white flowers, dancing and bobbing in the wind like any other, and though it was a shock to see it atop their perch, Iyana could see that the whole of the canyon was full of the stuff, and plenty more besides.
The brown and dusty cloud they had spied was indeed the work of a herd, and though it was a smaller one than that which had come against them in the east, it rumbled with a thunder that recalled and redoubled it, like a black and roiling ocean storm surrounded by a sea of yellow, green and bobbing white. It was a canyon twice as deep as the gap they’d come through upon first entering the west, and its sides were made up more of carved earth and the crust they stood on than the black rocks and ridges the folk of these lands sheltered in. There were crescents and ribs cut into the sides of the sheer vertical bowl like stairs for giants, but Iyana thought they looked more precarious than inviting.
Cracks resounded like small splits of thunder as the hammerhorn bulls ran and came together before breaking off again. Each time, it seemed they left a few beneath their hooves. These went down in tangled heaps and did not rise, and despite the awesome nature of the scene, Iyana felt nauseous watching them kill their own and pass beyond them, continuing their violent dance.
“How many will die?” she found herself asking.
“Half,” Ceth answered without turning. “At least.” He now stood to his full height, taller than Creyath and quite a bit more than Karin, who still crouched. It seemed the Landkist had abandoned all measure of secrecy now that he saw the bulls locked in their combat ritual.
Iyana heard the crust break behind and turned, expecting to see the other hunters coming to join them. She nearly squealed and went over as a pack of desert foxes approached. Seeing her reaction, they shrank back, fur raising.
“Do not mind them,” Ceth said as Karin and Creyath stepped between her and the canines.
“Did Pevah send them?” Iyana asked, fighting to keep her heart level.
Ceth did not answer.
Now that she knew they were no threat, she saw the way they looked, their yellow irises focusing on each in turn. They set to yipping and clipped short barks at one another, none still for long as they twined and milled behind the rise. And behind them, the red-sashed hunters split off, one heading south and the other west.
“Will they join in the hunt?” Karin asked, trying a different tact, and Iyana watched for Ceth’s response. He shrugged.
“If they choose to.” He glanced back at the largest of the foxes, which met his eyes and stepped forward. Something passed between them—almost like Ceth was communing using the same empathic powers that coursed through her veins. But there was nothing tickling the atmosphere, and though she hadn’t dipped into her Sight she knew he was not wielding his tether or touching theirs. This was an understanding brought about by time, and nothing less. It was an exchange couched in silence and between two leaders of tribes, the fox and the strange northern Landkist.
“It seems our party has grown,” Creyath said, amused as he stepped among the rest. The leader watched him as the fe
males and leaner males stepped around the Ember, scenting the air in a way that reminded Iyana of cats, teeth exposed and tongues lolling.
“Perhaps they remember your scent,” Karin said, speaking to Creyath. The Ember squatted before the smallest and stuck his hand out, steady. The leader took a step toward Creyath but made no move to intercede, watching the exchange expectantly. The lean fox stretched out, leaning on its forelegs, and flared its black nostrils over Creyath’s skin. It was impossible to gauge recognition, but the fox did not recoil, and when Creyath stood, it seemed to Iyana that their new companions stood closer to him.
“What’s the plan?” Karin asked. He watched as the other two hunters fanned out in either direction. Iyana was surprised to see the one to the west had already started down, picking his way among the loose and shifting crust, more sliding than skipping as he held the short black bow free, feathered fletches bouncing in the quiver across his back.
“We go down,” Ceth said, again without turning.
“To gather one of the freshly dead?” Creyath seemed disturbed at the thought of it, and while Iyana couldn’t blame him, she knew it made the most sense. Why kill a creature living when they could scavenge like the desert foxes?
“No.” Ceth said it sharply. “Do that, and we’ll have to kill them all.”
“I don’t like our chances,” Karin said. “No matter how good your men are with the bow. Not enough arrows for the herd.” Now Ceth did turn, his gray scarf covering the lower half of his face as the wind shifted. If the bulls weren’t so busy killing one another, they’d have surely caught the hunters’ scents on the breeze. The Landkist looked beyond Karin and Iyana, eyes focused on Creyath. He looked him up and down before turning back to the bowl.
Iyana caught the disconcerting impression that Ceth had not misspoke, and that—whether by his hand or the combined might of he and the Ember they’d brought—they could bring down the herd. Every one.
The Midnight Dunes (The Landkist Saga Book 3) Page 18
