Sands of Memory

by Melissa McShane

  “Well,” he said in Meiric. “Intruders.”

  No one spoke. Sienne caught Vaishant looking at her and cursed inwardly. She stepped forward and said, “We meant no harm,” just as Ghrita said, “How did you know we were here?”

  “I don’t speak to women,” the rakhyanam said. “Be silent.”

  Sienne didn’t need to see Alaric’s face to know he was close to exploding. “We didn’t want to disrupt your city,” Kalanath said. “Since some of us are not Omeiran.”

  “What do you mean, not Omeiran?” The rakhyanam stood and descended the dais steps, bouncing in a frivolous way. He skipped to Alaric’s side and grabbed his chin, forcing the big man to look at him. He seemed not at all afraid of Alaric’s furious glower. The rakhyanam snapped his fingers toward the man holding Sienne’s spellbook. The man handed it to him, and the rakhyanam released Alaric roughly and held the spellbook up to his face. “This looks like nothing, but it’s a weapon. What is it?”

  “It is powerful magic, and you should release us before we use it on you,” Kalanath said.

  The rakhyanam laughed and returned to his throne, flopping down on it and setting the spellbook on his lap. “You’d have used it already if you could,” he said, toying with the ring he wore on his right hand. His eyes grew distant, as if he were listening to someone Sienne couldn’t hear. “You’re not the leader,” he said to Kalanath. “I think…he is.” He pointed at Alaric, and said, “I would like to speak his language.”

  Sienne and Kalanath looked at each other, mystified. The rakhyanam worked his jaw as if chewing a particularly stringy piece of meat, yawned, and said in Fellic, “Is this it? This strange tongue that feels like coughing?”

  “We understand you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Alaric said.

  The rakhyanam’s face lit with delight. “Astonishing! And do you all understand me?”

  Sienne nodded with the rest.

  “It’s truly amazing. My name is Darinikh Mekhalgohti, and I am the rakhyanam of Jamidaara. Now, tell me, why have you come here, and why did you sneak around like thieves instead of entering openly?” He addressed Alaric, who remained silent. The delight left Darinikh’s face. “You came to steal from me, didn’t you? Admit it!”

  Alaric continued in his stony-faced silence. Darinikh made a gesture, and one of the black-clad men approached, sword drawn. “Kill the small one,” Darinikh said.

  “No!” Alaric shouted, turning as the man advanced on Sienne. She backed away into Alaric and wished more fervently than ever for her spellbook.

  “So you’re capable of speech when you’re properly motivated. I wondered,” Darinikh said. “It’s a simple question. Answer, and nobody has to die.”

  Alaric stayed close to Sienne. “We came looking for Ma’tzehar,” he said.

  “That’s an old name. Not one that applies anymore.” Darinikh leaned forward. “Jamidaara is so much nicer a name, don’t you think? Oh, but you don’t speak my language. It means ‘happiness’, more or less. I gave the city a new name when I rebuilt it. And why did you want to find Ma’tzehar?”

  Sienne, pressed against Alaric’s side, could feel his chest moving with each heavy breath. “We wanted something from the temple,” Alaric said. “We thought the city was uninhabited.”

  “The temple?” Darinikh sounded as appalled as if Alaric had suggested he eat puppies. “The temple is destroyed, unconsecrated.”

  “Then you won’t mind if we finish what we came for,” Alaric said.

  “Of course I mind! You could have entered openly, like normal people, but you chose to sneak about. I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth.” Darinikh snapped his fingers again, and one of the black-clad fighters came forward to go to one knee before the throne. “Take the men to the dungeon. Let’s give them time to think about what’s in their best interests. The women…they can go to the harem with the others.”

  Alaric snarled and rushed the throne. Black-clad men tackled him and brought him down on the dais steps. Darinikh hadn’t so much as flinched. He laughed. “You’re attached to the small one, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her. But you might want to think about your best interests quickly.”

  Kalanath leaped into the air, bringing his knees close to his chest and his bound arms down and around so they were in front of him. Ghrita, half a breath behind him, did the same. In total silence, the two attacked the nearest guards with feet and hands. Sienne hurried to put herself back to back with Perrin, who was closest. “They did not take my blessing papers,” he said, “but I cannot reach them.”

  The rakhyanam was sitting upright on the throne, watching the fight with avid amusement. The spellbook sat untended on his lap. Sienne grabbed it with her invisible fingers and pulled it toward herself, willing it open to force as it came. She saw Darinikh stand and shout something, and then the book hovered in front of her and she read as rapidly as she dared.

  Something smashed into the side of her head, something hard that made her bite her tongue and sent her vision swimming. Her spellbook fell to the floor with a crack. Dizzy, she blinked tears out of her eyes and reached for the book again with invisible fingers. It resisted, and she blinked again and saw one of the black-clad guards had picked it up and was holding it tightly at arm’s length as if it were a venomous snake. She switched targets and yanked at his robe, hoping to distract him. He let go with one hand and beat at his chest, swearing. She pulled on the spellbook again and this time freed it from his grasp.

  “Enough!” Darinikh shouted, clapping his hands together once. A thunderous roar shook the throne room, accompanied by a tremor that knocked everyone except Darinikh to the floor. Sienne pressed her spellbook close to her chest as she struggled upright. The guards were faster. Two held her while a third wrenched the spellbook away, several more secured Kalanath and Ghrita, and the rest restrained her other friends. Alaric still lay pinned, struggling, under the weight of five guards. Sienne screamed as one reversed his sword and struck Alaric across the temple, leaving him limp and motionless.

  “Interesting,” Darinikh said. His voice was higher-pitched than before, and he was breathing heavily, though he didn’t look frightened. “Lock them up as I directed. And give me that book. I want to examine it.”

  Sienne watched helplessly as Darinikh tucked her spellbook inside his jewel-embroidered robes. Two guards took her by the arms and marched her away despite her struggles. The last thing she saw was Alaric’s limp body, hoisted between several guards and dragged in the opposite direction.

  She was barely aware of the elegant halls the guards led her down, all of which were nearly as opulent as the throne room. She couldn’t see Dianthe or Ghrita, though she could hear their footsteps. How were they going to get out of this? Her mind skittered back and forth between hopeless plans for escape and her last sight of Alaric. The latter threw her into a panic. What if they’d killed him with that blow?

  She became conscious that the halls were narrower and their ceilings lower just before they stopped in front of a door with a latticed upper half. It was normal sized, which made it look minuscule in this vast palace, and the diamonds of the lattice revealed little of what lay beyond except that it was well-lit. A key hung from a peg on the wall about five feet from the door, and one of the guards used it to open the door. Sienne’s guards unfastened the manacles and shoved her inside so she tripped and fell, catching herself on the wrist she’d injured earlier and making her cry out in pain. Beside her, Ghrita and Dianthe hit the floor somewhat more gracefully. The guards did this in total silence, which frightened Sienne more than leering or cursing would have. Then the door shut, the key scraped in the lock, and the guards’ footsteps retreated.

  “Who are you?” a woman asked.

  Sienne looked up, cradling her wrist. A woman dressed in blue silk robes that covered her from head to toe, leaving only her face exposed, came toward her. Several other women dressed as she was hovered in the background, watching the newcomers curiously
. “You’re not Omeiran,” the woman continued. She had a sharp, keen-eyed face with thin lips and the typically narrow eyes of an Omeiran. “Did the bastard capture you, too, travelers?”

  “What’s she saying?” Dianthe said.

  “She wants to know who we are,” Ghrita said just as the woman said, “What language is that?”

  “We’re from the land west of the mountains,” Sienne said. “The rakhyanam captured us. Our friends are in the dungeon, and…is this the harem?”

  The woman scowled, an expression that made her look capable of disemboweling someone with nothing but a dinner knife. “The bastard thinks women are unimportant. I hope to prove him wrong on his dead body. My name is Lashwanti Haliankhoti, and he has enslaved my people through his foul magics.”

  Sienne quickly translated for Dianthe, who said, “Her people? Do you suppose these are the pakhshani?”

  Playing go-between was going to get old, fast. Sienne repeated this question to Lashwanti, who nodded. “I am chief of chiefs,” the woman said, “and he keeps me here through threatening them. But I can’t stay here forever. My sisters and I intend to escape. Will you join us?”

  “I can probably make it easy,” Sienne said. “Will Darinikh come soon?”

  Lashwanti laughed. “He never comes to the harem. We think he is incapable of…” She made a crude gesture that made Sienne blush and Dianthe and Ghrita laugh. “And the guards…they were ours, too, but they seem to have forgotten us. They fear him too much to trifle with the women of the harem, though.”

  “Well,” Sienne said. “That helps. Now, does anyone have a mirror?”

  “Damn,” Sienne said. “That was a really good idea.”

  “It’s a mirror,” Ghrita said. “You wanted a mirror.”

  “Yes, but I need a glass mirror. Something that will break. It has to fit through the lattice of the door.” Sienne examined her reflection in the polished steel mirror. Her head scarf was askew and her hair straggled around her face because the guards had pushed her around. “I was going to use magic to retrieve the key and unlock the door. But I have to be able to see or touch the object. Even pressing my face flat against the lattice doesn’t work.”

  Ghrita pursed her lips in thought. “Are there guards anywhere near?” she asked Lashwanti.

  Lashwanti shook her head. “We tried to break the door down, and no one came despite the noise we made. We think Darinikh has no regard for women, that he doesn’t post guards. He thinks we’re helpless.” Her scowl said she felt helpless, and was furious about it.

  Ghrita strode to the door. “Stand back,” she said, and repeated herself in Meiric. Sienne stood to one side, where she could still see the woman’s face. Ghrita closed her eyes and breathed in and out, slow and rhythmic. She clasped her hands in front of her face, one balled up and pressed against the other’s palm. Then, in one swift movement, she drew back her fist and slammed it against the lattice, letting out a sharp hah! as she did so.

  The lattice shattered, spraying outward in a cloud of sharp pieces. Ghrita opened her eyes and shook out her hand, which was undamaged. Sienne gasped. Ghrita glanced at her. One corner of her mouth twitched upward in a mocking smile. “Not something your magic can do, eh?”

  Sienne’s awe turned to irritation. “Thank you,” she said, suppressing an angry retort. Ghrita’s smile widened. “Now, unless you’re capable of fitting yourself through that hole, let me take a turn.”

  Ghrita stepped aside, and Sienne stuck her head through the smashed remains of the lattice. It was a tight fit, and the sharp edges of the broken wood scraped her cheek and tangled in her hair, but she was barely able to see the key, hanging on its peg five feet away. It was almost too easy. With her invisible fingers, she lifted the key off the peg and drew it toward her, withdrawing into the room at the cost of a few more scrapes. The key landed in her hand, and she swiftly unlocked the door.

  Lashwanti immediately made for the exit, followed by the other women. “My thanks,” she said. “Will you join us? Turn your fists and your magic to defeating Darinikh?”

  “We have to find our companions. They’re in the dungeon,” Sienne said.

  “My male chiefs may be there as well,” Lashwanti said. “Or they may have been turned like the guards. We will come with you to the dungeon. Though we don’t know where it is.”

  “I’ve already got a sense for how this place is laid out,” Dianthe said when this conversation was relayed. “There are three doors between here and the throne room that might lead down—I assume the dungeon is below ground. It’s possible the stairs are on the far side, but we should try those three first.”

  “Lead the way,” Sienne said.

  There were too many of them, with Lashwanti and her six companions, to remain perfectly silent, but the pakhshani were barefoot, and they didn’t sound like a herd of rampaging camels. Sienne had no idea how Dianthe was able to keep track of all the turnings. The halls all looked the same to her, though some were more gilded than others. Dianthe stopped before a door and tried the handle.

  It opened smoothly on a room Sienne at first thought was painted in a thousand random colors that radiated magic blinding to her inner eye. A second look showed her it was full of— “Rugs,” she said, stepping inside to examine them more closely. “Rugs, hanging from the ceiling.” Each was about ten feet long and six feet wide, with tassels dangling in a fringe on the shorter sides.

  Lashwanti followed her, tugging on one of the rugs and making it sway. “Flying carpets,” she said. “Worth a fortune.”

  “Flying carpets? Like in the stories?” Sienne realized the rugs weren’t hanging from anything; they simply floated vertically in midair. To her eyes, they glowed with magic. “Why are they stored here instead of being used?”

  Lashwanti shrugged. “Who knows why that bastard does what he does,” she said. “They’re useless to us now. They’d only hamper our escape.”

  “They’re actual flying carpets,” Sienne told Dianthe. “I wish—”

  “I know, but they’d just get in the way. It’s not like we know how to use them.”

  Sienne scowled and shut the door. “I always wanted a flying carpet.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you don’t get your wish,” Dianthe said, “because it would probably mean failure.”

  They proceeded down the hall. The complete absence of other people, guards or servants or even Darinikh himself, made Sienne nervous. It was an enormous palace, true, but not so enormous that all its inhabitants could vanish into it so completely. Dianthe tried another door, which was locked. She grinned, and pulled her lock picks out of her left boot. “Sloppy,” she commented. Sienne patted her sides and discovered she still had the hazard deck. That might be useful if she were desperate. Though with her increasing anxiety over Alaric, desperation might be just around the corner.

  The lock clicked open, and Dianthe opened the door, revealing stairs…going up. Dianthe swore. “I was sure that was it.”

  “Next door,” Sienne said.

  Dianthe nodded and trotted off around a corner, and immediately said, “Guards! Run!” She and Ghrita took off down the corridor to the right.

  Sienne shouted, “Run!” in Meiric and put her own command into action, turning and fleeing back the way they’d come. She immediately realized how stupid that was, separating their little group, and tried to turn around, but the pakhshani crowded the hall, and fighting through them was pointless. So she let them sweep her along, taking turn after turn until she found a cross-corridor, where she shoved through to the side and let them pass her. Then she trotted back the way she’d come.

  The corridor was as empty and silent as it had been before Dianthe’s warning. Sienne slowed her steps, fearing running into more guards. Nothing looked familiar. She wished for once they had Perrin’s blessing that let them speak to each other mind to mind. She was lost and had nothing but questions. Where had Dianthe and Ghrita gone? They’d vanished as thoroughly as the guards
had.

  She was positive she’d never been in the hall she currently found herself in. It was long and had a high ceiling, dim because its only light came from the translucent roof. A few doors at irregular intervals lined the walls. If only she knew which way the front door was, or even the throne room! That thought made her feel stupid, and she worked the small magic that told her which way was north. The entrance was on the west, so if she kept heading to her left, that should eventually bring her to it.

  She continued down the hallway, her soft desert shoes making almost no noise on the tiled floor. The gilded walls glimmered, reflecting her image as a shadowy, unformed blob pacing her as she walked. She couldn’t imagine living in this place, however opulent. Everything was hard and sharp-edged without any softening influences. Even the solid gold throne couldn’t possibly be comfortable. And it smelled of nothing at all, which was more unnerving than if it had stunk of refuse or acid.

  She neared the end of the hall and froze. Booted footsteps approached from that direction, distant yet unmistakable. Sienne turned and hurried back the way she’d come only to hear more booted footsteps approaching from the other direction. Trapped. It was almost funny.

  She tried the nearest door, but it was locked. So was the next. The footsteps were growing louder. In a panic, she took hold of a third door and wrenched the handle. It turned, and the door swung open. She bolted inside and shut the door firmly but quietly behind her.

  Breathing heavily, she leaned against the door and surveyed her surroundings. Filmy drapes dividing the room in half hung from the low ceiling, moving in an intangible breeze. Giant pillows lay on the floor, which was thickly carpeted over the ubiquitous tile. It had all the softness Sienne had believed absent from the palace. Formless shapes lay beyond the gauzy curtains. Sienne tiptoed forward and pushed one of the drapes aside. It was a bedroom, with a bed tall enough to require the little stepladder propped beside it and a dressing table with a mirror, not steel but fine glass, mounted above it.