Page 91 of Crown of the Dunes

She dismounted her horse, and before I could tell her to be careful or ask what she had in mind, she was slinking off into the sands like a caracal setting out on a hunt. Dhara and I did as she asked. I gripped my hands tightly on my thighs as I compelled myself to wait for long minutes, even as sitting still became more difficult the further Keera went from me. Even as I grew tense, I could feel her alive and well on the other end of our tether, and I let it calm my worry.

Finally, Dhara and I dismounted, and I patted Alza on the nose and told her to stay. Then, we set out after Keera in the direction the smoke came from. The sand squeaked underfoot as we crested the top of one dune, to find the sprawling encampment covering the flat expanse at its base. Thankfully, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving our silhouettes shadowed as we descended quietly, trying to make as little sand fall as possible as we hurried toward the camp.

Keera was nowhere in sight, likely already sneaking between the tents as she searched for the means to whatever disturbance we had planned.

It wasn’t difficult to dart between the shadows of the outermost tents, likely supply tents or the dwellings of single riders who would currently be milling around the fires near the center of the encampment. Even so, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as we pressed ourselves against one canvas wall, checking around the corner to make sure we were alone before darting to the next one.

The air was heavier in this second encampment than it had been in the first. It was the palpable feeling of anticipation and dread in equal measure—the feeling of a night before a battle where one knew blood would be spilled, and you could only hope it would be your opponent’s and not your own. This feeling of simmering violence had been ever present in Clan Katal under Lord Alasdar’s rule, but now the air was thick with it, instead of hanging around the edges of my consciousness.

I led Dhara further into the camp, toward where bonfires flickered. Voices drifted on the air and dogs barked, but the sounds were subdued. No children played, and there was a hard edge to the inaudible conversations.

I held up my hand, motioning for Dhara to stop as we crouched in a shadow, peeking around a canvas wall. From here, it would be impossible to navigate the camp without stepping into open spaces or patches of light.

As I chanced another glance out of our cover, searching for the best route forward, my eyes caught on the center of the cleared area. In the center was a stake, driven into the ground and pointing up at the sky like an accusing finger.

One like it had stood in the center of Clan Katal’s encampment. My eyes drifted up to the sky, finding it moonless and dark. Tonight was the night of a sacrifice. It was a new moon, and tonight somebody would be hauled out and tied to the stake—as Keera had been—to have their blood fed to the desert.

Lord Nathaira had fought tooth and nail for the sacrifices to be continued after Lord Alasdar’s death, but I would not hear of it. Now, she had been allowed to continue.

I flexed my hands, making my leather gloves creak.

We needed Keera’s distraction.

I laid one hand on my dirk, willing myself to be patient, even though I could nearly taste the bloodlust of these clans thick on the air. It was seductive in its simplicity after weeks of politics. Just as it had been simple under Lord Alasdar, when he claimed to have all the answers to the troubles of the Ballan Desert and had tied them to a common enemy in Kelvadan.

War had been a simple answer that it was all too easy to convince the clans to believe. Persuading them otherwise would be much more challenging.

A rumbling like thunder interrupted my thoughts as we stayed hidden, and I raised my face to the sky. Keera had called down a storm before, but I didn’t feel the tell-tale tug of wildness at the tether in my mind telling me she had done it again.

The thunder grew louder and closer until I could detect hoofbeats in its overwhelming rumble. Before I could realize what Keera had done, a herd of horses stampeded past our hiding spot. Shouting and bellowing followed as everybody hurried to get out of the way or chase down their mounts.

The cacophony was so loud that I guessed Keera must have freed and spurred every horse in the encampment, likely hundreds, into a frenzy. And I could not argue with its effectiveness. As the last of the horses passed us, Dhara and I started running through the camp. With all the clansman darting this way and that, nobody paid us any mind. We were just another in the panicked crowd trying to figure out what had spooked the horses.

It wasn’t hard to pull the thinnest veneer of slippery magic over us as we wove toward the black and white banner of Clan Katal, so any who did lay eyes on us found us unremarkable and instantly moved on to more interesting thoughts.

We skidded to a halt in front of the largest tent in the camp, the flag of a snake fluttering above its peaked roof. Dread dripped down my spine to pool in the hollow of my belly, as it had so many times standing outside this tent. Even as I leaned forward to set my ear against the tent flap to see if I could hear anybody inside, I had to remind myself that I would not find Lord Alasdar within.

Still, the skin on my back itched as if I would find him sitting at the fire with a red-hot iron rod, ready to make me ask him for another cruel lesson. Hearing nothing, I ripped the tent flap open with too much force, as if to prove to myself that I would find nothing but empty darkness beyond.

The large circular space was empty, as expected. Dhara and I ducked inside, letting the flap close behind us, plunging us into darkness.

“Find a large wooden chest decorated with brass fittings,” I whispered, and we set off, feeling our way around the tent. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the shine of a metal whorl in one corner drew my attention.

I hurried over to the chest, falling to my knees in front of it. I flipped the latch and opened it as quickly as I could without making a sound. Inside, lay a mess of strange objects: vials of viscous liquids and gems of all colors and sizes. I pushed them aside, wincing as they clattered and clanked. At the bottom of the chest lay my prize: yellowed and cracked paper marked by harsh, angular handwriting. Izumi likely didn’t even realize the treasure she had, leaving it so loosely guarded.

I plunged my hand into the chest, only for a sharp intake of breath and a thud behind me to make me freeze. I spun in my crouch to find a familiar woman standing in the entrance to the tent, sword half drawn.

“Lord Dhara,” breathed Badha.

I drew in a sharp intake of breath. She had belonged to Clan Otush, under Dhara’s command, before she had protected me from Lord Cahir’s warlord. Izumi had named her her warlord though, and Badha’s loyalties would have been torn in two with the clans divide.

The noise drew Badha’s attention, and her gaze flicked to me for a second before her eyes widened. She opened her mouth as if to call out, but Lord Dhara took a step forward, reaching out her open palms.

“Wait.”

Badha did, still as if she were holding her breath, teetering on the edge of indecision.

“You were a loyal rider for many years,” Dhara whispered. “We are not here to do harm, but we need to find something to heal the desert. Our clans may have disagreed on method, but your lord would agree that is a mission of utmost importance.”