He went still. The sound wasn’t their own horses shifting. It was a rhythm, controlled and deliberate, carried across the dunes by the wind.
Alarik rose swiftly, stepping away from the rock’s shade. He scanned the horizon, eyes narrowing against the blinding glare. For a moment, he saw nothing but the endless sands.
Then, he saw movement: a cloud of dust, kicked up by galloping hooves. Their shadows didn’t look like a line of caravan, not travellers either.
His pulse quickened.
Mercenaries.
“We have to go,” he snapped, voice leaving no room for hesitation. “Now.”
Kaelen barely stirred, his body sluggish with fever and blood loss. Reiya’s face had gone pale, but she didn’t hesitate. She dropped to Kaelen’s side, gripping him, her voice urgent as she tried to rouse him.
Alarik crouched low, gripping Kaelen’s arm and hauling him to his feet. His brother sagged against him, legs barely holding. Alarik didn’t hesitate—he anchored Kaelen’s weight, teeth gritted as he forced them both upright.
There was no time.
They mounted fast. The horses kicked into motion, hooves tearing into the sand, flinging dust as they surged toward the open dunes.
They had minutes—no,less.
Behind them, shouts split the air—mercenaries closing in. Then came the sound Alarik dreaded most: a whistle, high and sharp, slicing through the wind.
His gut twisted.
A spear struck Kaelen’s horse square in the flank. The beast shrieked, legs buckling mid-gallop. In one violent lurch, it crumpled—and Kaelen fell. He hit the sand with a brutal thud, the sound ripping through Alarik like a blade.
“Kaelen!”
He yanked his reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt. Reiya was already moving, swinging down from her saddle. Before her feet even hit the ground, the fight erupted.
Shadows loomed. Mercenaries poured over the dunes, blades flashing under the unrelenting sun.
Alarik’s bow was already in his hands.
“Reiya, down!” His voice cut through the chaos as he fired an arrow.
The nearest attacker crumpled mid-stride. Another spear slammed into the ground near Reiya’s feet. She flinched but didn’t freeze, scrambling toward Kaelen. Slinging his arm over her shoulders, she helped him stagger behind a jagged boulder as dust and debris swirled around them.
Alarik turned, another arrow already nocked. Three shots. Three men down. Not enough. More were coming—too many.
His fingers found another arrow, but it was too late. A shadow loomed at his flank. He twisted. Jodhar was already there, broadsword cleaving toward him. He barely ducked in time, the blade whistling past his head. Sand scattered as he rolled, coming up on his feet in one fluid motion.
His hand closed around the hilt of his dagger. A curved Asadian blade—light, fast, made for precision over brute strength. Not his preferred weapon, but in close combat, it would do.
Jodhar grinned, eyes flashing with glee. “We meet again.”
Alarik didn’t waste breath on words. He lunged. Steel met steel, the force jarring through his arms. The clash of blades echoed across the dunes, but there was no time to revel in the fight.
More mercenaries dismounted, surrounding him in a tightening ring.
He counted at least two dozen. Against one.
Jodhar struck again, his broadsword swinging heavy and brutal.Alarik sidestepped, slipping through the attack with practiced ease. His counter was swift, blade carving a shallow line across Jodhar’s ribs. The mercenary hissed but recovered quickly, striking harder, faster.
Jodhar fought like a man withnothingto lose.
But Alarik fought like a man witheverythingat stake.
