Page 34 of Blood of the Sands

The Viper

My body rebelled against me. It was likely due to the heavy training I had been leading the riders of the combined tribes through, but my muscles ached. I hadn’t hurt like this since I first came to Lord Alasdar and he taught me to master my magic through a combination of exhaustion and pain.

I looked down at my breakfast and wrinkled my nose. I had been eating more than usual, trying to keep up with the demands of increased exercise, sleeping heavily every night. Even when I was unconscious, my mind joined my body in unbalancing me, sending me odd dreams. My usual nightmares of being encased in stone had eased, only to be replaced by the face of the exiled woman I had almost killed, her defiant expression illuminated eerily by a flash of lightning. Sometimes I saw her galloping away on a too-large horse into the darkness, as I had spied her before she disappeared, a beautiful, wild thing. It was as if the desert wanted me to go after her, but there would be no point. Traveling alone without supplies, she would likely be dead by now. I shook the notion from my head.

I needed to eat, but today an undercurrent of nausea had my meal looking exceptionally unappetizing. I pushed it aside and picked up my mask, fastening it on my face, the weight giving me the separation from myself I needed to push away the unpleasant sensation.

A squawk and a peck indicated Zephyr found my meal more satisfactory than I had. I cursed internally as I found myself using the name Izumi had bestowed on the bird, despite my insistence that a name made him a pet. Zephyr had stuck, and so he stayed.

Mask firmly in place, I pushed out of the tent to greet the first rays of dawn. The riders were not required to report to the edge of the camp until the sun was fully risen, but I preferred a moment of solitary practice before having to wrangle dozens of sloppy fighters.

At the open space alongside the horse’s enclosure, I began my forms, my muscles protesting the movements despite having done them hundreds of times over the last decade. Perhaps I had been forgoing my exercises more than I realized as I rode around doing Lord Alasdar’s bidding. I needed to be more diligent in my practice, as they were one of the more pleasant ways of controlling my magic.

The forms were a tradition of clan riders, passed down through the generations since the first time the desert had been crossed. They were still just as essential for those wanting to hone their skills as a warrior as well as those who served the desert’s will.

I finished with an exhale as I lowered my hands, the riders of the four clans congregating around the fence. I grimaced, wishing my magic had calmed more throughout my forms, but it tugged on its leash more insistently these days. It was in league with my body in rebelling it seemed. Still, I had plenty of practice ignoring the whispers in my mind, the shadows of my connection to every grain of sand in the desert, stretching from the mountains to the sea.

I pushed those thoughts aside as I approached the riders, each gathering their training weapons and mounts. They still seemed to separate into their clans, limiting any mingling to nods and glances as they pushed past each other. Such divisions would need to be patched before we could move on Kelvadan.

Izumi stepped up beside me, leading Alza as well as her own mount and echoed my thoughts. “We need to run drills as a group today.”

I nodded as Alza butted my hand with her head. I leapt up onto her back using only a hand on her neck for leverage.

“We will be riding in practice meles of four against four today,” I announced from Alza’s back. “Each group of four will have one rider from each clan.”

This announcement was met with general grumbling from the assembled group. However, it quieted quickly as I scanned the crowd. While they couldn’t see my face, I knew my posture projected my disapproval.

Izumi and I wove between the riders as they milled together, reluctantly mixing and recombining themselves. A pocket of riders I recognized as being from Clan Ratan was slow to disperse, and I nudged Alza toward them.

“—let the warlords command their own riders.”

One of the voices carried on the wind. I stopped Alza behind the man who had just spoken.

“You wish to offer a critique of my techniques?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

The man spun in his seat so fast he nearly fell from his horse, having to dig his hands into the stallion’s mane to stay on. The steed didn’t appreciate this and stamped at the ground in irritation.

Another man in the group came forward, rescuing the rider who clearly hadn’t expected me to be listening.

“The warlords of the clans know their riders best,” he insisted. His posture was proud, but his eyes flicked over my mask as if they didn’t know where to look. I knew it unnerved many, and I made no effort to change that.

“Did Clan Ratan not swear fealty to Lord Alasdar? I remember it distinctly.” Indeed, I could feel the blood of Lord Einil dripping over my hands even now. His daughter had been quick to comply.

“We did, but the warlords of each clan should remain in command of their warriors even as we fight Lord Alasdar’s war.” He lifted his chin. “I am the warlord of Clan Ratan, and I would lead my own riders into battle.”

“Lord Alasdar’s war?” My voice dropped low, the hiss of snake hidden in its den preparing to strike. The voices in my mind murmured in response. “Does the fate of the desert not belong to all the clans?”

“If it does, then why should Lord Alasdar be the one who we follow? And why should you be the one put in command of all the riders, when he won’t even make you a proper warlord?”

A murmur swept through the surrounding riders, as all attention now gathered on our confrontation. I kept my tone even, but firm enough to ensure all could hear me.

“Because I am Lord Alasdar’s fist, and I will come down on any who seek to undermine his plans. You would do well to remember what happens to those who oppose the leader of Clan Katal.”

I stared down the knot of riders from Clan Ratan until one by one they bowed their head in deference. My gaze lingered on one with a close-cropped beard that I didn’t think I had seen before. His eyes held something calculating just before he averted them, staring down at his horse’s neck in respect. Perhaps I had been away too much recently to know the riders as well as I should.

With that, I turned away from the warlord, ready to lead the riders out into the flatter plains beyond encampment where there was more space to ride. The clash of swords would calm the clanging in my mind.

I hadn’t made it more than a handful of horse-lengths away when a screaming erupted in my mind. I wheeled Alza around, throwing my arm out as I did it.