Page 5 of Crown of the Dunes

“The clans also sustained many losses and injuries in the ambush. We were not in a position to launch a siege immediately.” Lord Dhara of Clan Otush gave me a quick nod, and I echoed the gesture as thanks for her support. In the divisions between the splintering clans, she tended to come down on my side. Saving her people from the lava wyrm had earned me some degree of loyalty.

“Once again, you jump to the defense of the man who has caused us to be trapped here,” Lord Nathaira sneered. “We joined under the Champion of the Desert because he was supposed to have the strength to do what was necessary. Maybe he is a false Champion. After all, under the old ways, where magic was allowed in the duals, a mere exile would have been crowned the winner of the Trials. Now he can’t even undo his own mistakes.”

“Saving all of the riders of all nine clans from Kelvadan’s attack was a mistake?” My voice pitched dangerously low. I turned my face to each of them in turn, and while some of the lord’s gazes fell to their laps, others did not shy away from the expressionless mask.

“You may be powerful, but you’re nothing without the guiding hand of Lord Alasdar.” Lord Cahir’s lip peeled back in derision. His bared teeth shone starkly against his cropped beard, although he kept his head shaved smooth. “It is a shame the one person who actually had the cunning to destroy the Great City fell to the hands of a Kelvadan rider—one whom you let into our midst.”

A splintering sound split the air, the tip of my dirk cutting deep into the table before I even realized I had pulled it from my sash. The Lords froze, and there was a moment of stillness where the only movement was the glittering of lamplight off the handle of my dirk. The flames danced in the eyes of the snake’s head decoration, making it look positively alive.

I bit my tongue until it bled, wanting to insist that Keera was a hero for ridding the world of Lord Alasdar’s manipulations. Instead, I schooled myself. “If Lord Alasdar was so easily felled by an injured adversary, then he did not have the strength it took to destroy Kelvadan and return the desert to the old ways.”

It was a frustrating facsimile of the truth, but it was the explanation that Izumi had given to the clans for the sudden shift in leadership while I lay unconscious. Blaming Keera for Lord Alasdar’s death kept Kelvadan as the clans’ unifying enemy, and her absence made her a convenient target. Nobody needed to know that if she had not stabbed him through the heart, I would have.

“I did not swear allegiance to you, Lord Viper,” argued Lord Cahir. “I joined Clan Miran with Lord Alasdar.”

I exhaled heavily through my nose. Indeed, Clan Miran had been the first to join Lord Alasdar’s cause, leaving their lord the most disgruntled by the shift in power. Clan Miran was among the most determined to see Kelvadan destroyed, and all the people of the desert returned to the warring ways of the clans—where she would be fed enough battle and blood to keep her anger sated.

“And we swore to follow the Champion of the Desert,” Lord Elion of Clan Tibel argued. “Our Lord Viper won the Trials this year, not Alasdar.”

“But he was never crowned.” Lord Nathaira cut in. “Even then, he won by default. Having no true Champion emerge from the Trials for the second time in succession is a sign: The desert is angry. Perhaps her anger could be assuaged if we made more sacrifices.”

“There will be no sacrifices, and my decision on that is final,” I spat at her. I wanted to be angry at their doubt in me, but the truth was that doubt gnawed away in my chest more with every passing day. Still, I hardened my voice. “You were one of the Lords who resisted pledging allegiance until after the Trials. If you had not, perhaps Kelvadan would have fallen, and the desert would be sated by now.”

Lord Nathaira opened her mouth again, but a new voice cut in from over my shoulder, making everybody jump.

“Would you like to continue arguing about things that cannot be undone, or should you perhaps make plans to feed and protect all those outside this tent looking to you for guidance?” Izumi asked.

A few Lords seemed sobered by her comments, while Lords Nathaira and Cahir looked enraged by somebody who was not a lord contributing to the conversation.

“My warlord is right,” I said. “We have practical matters to consider.”

“The well in Clan Otush’s section of the encampment is nearly dry,” Lord Dhara chimed in quickly, successfully cementing the change in subject.

I pried my dirk out of the table as the conversation turned to plans for distributing water and sharing food fairly. As the Lords went back and forth about breaking down the clans’ wagons and furnishings and using the materials to attempt constructing a bridge across the chasm—even though they would not yield nearly enough wood—their words started fading into the background of my consciousness.

Instead, the chatter of the desert in my mind came to the forefront, the nonsensical words drowning out the conversation. Reaching up, I dug my fingers into the burn on my chest. After weeks of healing, it didn’t hurt as much as I needed it to. The dull ache was nowhere near enough to quiet the desert’s power in my mind. It grew louder with each passing day apart from Keera.

Somehow, the thought of her only made it worse.

She had freed me of Lord Alasdar’s cage, forcing me to confront the truth of his torment. He had tortured me, not saved me. Yet here I was, grasping onto the last vestiges of pain he had caused me as if it could be my salvation.

I refused to miss him, but in the absence of the stillness Keera gifted my mind, I found myself missing the reprieve from madness his torture gave me. Beneath my gloves, my cuticles were ragged as I picked at them, desperate for scraps of pain. Too often, I stared into the fire wondering if burning lines into my own flesh would give me a reprieve, but Keera’s face when she had seen my scars swam in my vision and dashed those thoughts away.

Another hour slipped by, or maybe two, and I struggled to pay adequate attention to the concerns of the lords. The lanterns began to dip low, and several attendants slipped in to refill them with oil. Still, the Lords went in circles about the best locations on the plateau to try and dig new wells. I didn’t contribute as much as I might have—guilt roiling in my gut from the lack of ideas—but it took all my focus to stay seated instead of running out of the tent and screaming at the sky in a fit of frustration. If they already doubted my fitness to lead in Lord Alasdar’s place, such a display wouldn’t help my case. While leadership chafed, I couldn’t afford infighting in the clans if we were to heal the desert.

As the conversation around the table turned to the amount of hunting falcons among the tribes, and the amount of small game they could bring in to fend off starvation. I wracked my brain for ideas on how to acquire more food, but my gaze slipped to the dirk laid across my lap. Perhaps, I could drive it into my thigh. Maybe that would cause enough pain to give me a moment of reprieve.

Instead of pain though, a scream cut through the droning voices in the tent. My muscles jumped to action as if I were the string of a bow pulled taut, and the shouts from outside the tent had set me loose.

I was shoving out of the tent before I even realized I was on my feet. I broke into a run as the commotion got louder, following the sounds away from the meeting tent and toward the encircling chasm.

The earthy scent of the desert after rain permeated the metallic air inside my mask, and the hairs at the nape of my neck stood up.

Magic.

The clattering of bones met my ears just as I skidded around the line of tents at the edge of the encampment, warning me of what attacked. I unsheathed my saber from across my back with a shout. My heart leapt into my throat at the sight before me.

I recognized not one bone spider but several. The twisted conglomerations of limbs scuttled across the sand, away from the chasm and toward the encampment. Already, two had reached a tent and ripped it down, canvas and poles giving way under their misshapen weight.