Page 20 of Crown of the Dunes

A grunt escaped me as I heaved up on both my sword and the hood at the same time, biceps straining and my forearms shaking as I tried to use my strength over this monstrous bird. The gravehawk reared back, pumping its wings forward to slow its speed, bringing us down toward the ground.

Still, we weren’t descending fast enough. At this rate, the beast would crash into the encampment talons first, taking down all the clansmen and horses in its wake. I redoubled my efforts, sweat dripping down behind my mask and pooling in its ridges.

It reared back even further, flapping its wings forward like a horse digging in its hooves at a sudden stop. At this steep angle, my weight shifted from its back. Its spine scraped my thighs as I tried fruitlessly to hold on. Instead, my feet dangled uselessly as I hung from my combined grip on my saber and the loop of my hood.

As we hurtled toward the ground, my sword jerked, causing me to drop a few inches. My heart leaped into my throat as I fell before stopping as my sword caught again. I looked up to find it had finally come loose in all the mayhem and was now pinched precariously between the creature’s wing and its shoulder.

The voices of the desert rushed in my head, no longer held at bay by pain and determination. The sands always hungered for blood, and now, it might get mine.

On the next wingbeat, my saber slipped free. A ripping sound cut through the thunder of wings as the fabric of my hood gave under the burden of my complete weight.

Then, I was weightless, untethered as I plummeted toward the ground.

I was going to hit the ground. And I was never going to see Keera again. Never again would I feel the heady mix of peace and life that washed through me when her hands touched my skin or breathe in the warm, sunshine scent of her hair. I’d never see her golden eyes bubbling with fury or glazed in pleasure. Desperation and resolve rushed through my veins in equal measure.

A split second of clarity washed over me, and I clenched my fists, grabbing whatever fibers of the desert’s power surrounded me. They pulled taut, and pain lanced through my head as some of them ripped under the strain.

Breath crashed out of me as my back hit the sand, slower than I might have if not for the threads of my power slowing me down. Still, my vision went white as I struggled to draw in air.

I had been closer to the ground than I thought when I fell.

Blinking hastily my vision cleared to see the gravehawk flapping above me. Before I could tighten my grip around my saber, an arrow whizzed through the air, embedding in the dark pit of one of its eye sockets.

The creature screeched one last time, backpedaling and rising in the air once more. It wheeled away and headed off toward the horizon. Apparently, I had caused it enough trouble for one day, but I had no illusions that it would stay away. The people of the Ballan Desert knew just how powerful a motivator hunger could be, and it would soon be drawn back to the smoke of our fires.

For now, I rolled over onto my hands and knees, grateful to find that all my limbs still answered my commands. I raised my head to find Lord Elion across from me, bow still raised.

My attention skittered over her, though, drawn in by something else. The dark width of the chasm stretched between us.

I had escaped the plateau.

I scrambled to my feet, brushing sand off my clothes as I turned around. The endless dunes undulated before me, and I was free to cross them. I could go to Kelvadan—to Keera—if I wished.

My feet rooted themselves to the ground. Keera had not replied to my letters, and I could feel that she was alive, even though the strange bond between us was often quiet. The people in the encampment at my back would not survive without help.

Help I could now give them.

I had pledged myself to healing the desert, and I could not accomplish that without the people of the Clans at my back. Even if Keera was lost to me for now, my time with her had made me hope that I could be the type of man these clans would follow—not just the fist of a tyrant who thought to command them. Nurturing that hope was the only way to be free of Lord Alasdar’s shadow.

Now, I turned away from the horizon, making a silent promise on my blood that I would ride toward it once the clans were safe.

The eight lords of the clans had gathered on the far side of the chasm, and though they could not meet my eyes in my mask, I felt their gaze on me like a brand.

I shouted across the divide so all could hear, “Those winged terrors are not our enemy. They are our saviors.”

Chapter five

Keera

Pain lanced up my side as I lifted my dulled practice saber, and Cail’s hooves clopped against the stone ground of the courtyard. I wished for the tenth time that I rode Daiti—who had a much smoother gate than the placid mare—or that we were able to go outside the gates to ride on the softer dirt.

Aderyn had convinced me that my first few times training with a sword on horseback after my injury, I should stay close by—at least until I was sure I wouldn’t injure myself. We rode in one of the private yards normally reserved for training riders. Aderyn had cleared it for me, and when I protested that I could share, she looked at me appraisingly.

“Once your strength is back,” was all she said.

I yearned to ride outside the city walls again, like I had with Calix, but I needed to train with my saber—to feel like I was doing something to protect this city, even if a sword did no good against hunger.

In reality, I was grateful for the privacy. As I ventured out of the infirmary more and more, I found all the servants and officials I passed in the palace hallways rapping their knuckles to their temples deferentially and calling me “hero” as I stretched my legs, trying to regain my strength.