Page 72 of Heart of the Desert

Erix

Keera walked at my side toward the camp set up by the men from Doran. I kept glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. Perhaps we should have done something more to show that we had established ourselves as leaders of the clans—some marking or symbol. My mother had always harped on about the importance of being seen as a poised leader.

But the Clans were different from the city. The traces of blood still crusted on Keera’s lip were a stronger mark of leadership than any crown she could wear out here among the sands. Strength was the true mark of leadership, and she had shown that today.

I hoped it was a language General Warrick understood as well.

Curious glances trailed us as we walked through the camp, the men from Doran seemingly unsure of our presence, even as they had been brought to our shores under the pretense of an alliance. I saw several hands reach for weapons, but I clenched my fists to keep myself from reaching for mine.

We were here to persuade them to set sail without bloodshed. Besides, if one of them drew their weapon, I could call on the magic of the desert before they could reach me. Its threads were always tangled in my fingers these days, even though her voices seemed less insistent since I had spoken with Kelvar.

I spotted General Warrick near one of the boats that had been pulled up onto the beach. He was directing some men who appeared to be doing some work on it. Despite the tension in my muscles at the thought of a potential confrontation, I couldn’t help the way my curious gaze roved over the vessel.

It was long and narrow, crafted from long thick planks of wood that were notched together seamlessly. I tried—and failed—to imagine the type of trees that would produce such sturdy planks. The date palms that grew in scattered groves in the Ballan Desert were sparse enough that it would be difficult to harvest enough of them to build one of the large ships, let alone a fleet.

A tall pole extended from the middle, carrying a square sail that had been full of wind when they first arrived, but was now rolled up to avoid blowing. The front corner of the vessel bore a tall stem, and at its top was a wolf’s head. It looked similar enough to the red wolf sigil of Clan Ratan, but it was not snarling as their crest was so often depicted. Instead, it seemed to calmly stare into my soul. I shivered despite the heat.

“Warrick,” Keera called from beside me, wrenching me from my contemplation.

He turned, a frown pulling on the scars across his cheek. “Have you resolved your petty squabbling?”

“If you find our fighting petty, then perhaps you should see how you fare at the end of a lord’s saber,” I retorted.

“I don’t doubt your people’s skill.” Warrick held up his hands. “Just their wisdom in turning their blades on each other when the true enemy is elsewhere.”

“True.” Keera put her fists on her hip. “Perhaps the real adversary is camped next to us, pretending to be our ally when really they wait for us to sleep before they slit our throats.”

“If my plan was to kill you, then I would have attacked while divisions still ran through the Clans. But I waited,” Warrick pointed out.

“And now your waiting is over. We speak for the Clans, and we demand you leave. You are not welcome in the Ballan Desert.”

Warrick seemed to ignore the last part of my sentence, his brows rising. “So, my gambit paid off. You are the true king after all?”

I sucked in a breath. “We are High Lords of the Desert. And to undermine Keera again would be to undermine me. I still kneel before her, and you would do well to fear her as well.”

The tether at the base of my skull sparked with Keera’s reaction—satisfaction and pride mixed with an edge of surprise. Even after everything, she seemed almost shocked that she was worthy of leadership, and that I would state it so openly. Still, she did not shy away from it as she had once.

Warrick’s face spasmed. “It seems there is much I don’t understand about leadership in the clans.”

“Why do you hate me?” Keera asked outright. “We danced around the topic in the politics of Kelvadan, but here in the desert, we have not time for such things. So just tell me, and be done with it.”

“I don’t hate you,” Warrick admitted, scrubbing a hand over his chin and the beginnings of a copper beard. “But I don’t understand you. And I’d rather not deal with people and situations that I can’t predict. I prefer to win battles by anticipating my opponents.”

“Even more reason to leave,” I said. “The desert is not an opponent you can simply outwit, and there is much you don’t understand about her.”

Warrick’s face twisted in distaste. Indeed, it seemed the desert did not suit him. His pale skin was already reddened with sunburn, and sweat poured down his chest, darkening the green shirt he wore to almost black. The lack of a hood to protect him and his men from the sun seemed almost cruel. “There is much that is strange about this land, but I also have much information you do not—information that could cost you dearly in battle.”

“We know how to fight. And none can stand against the horses of the Ballan Desert,” Keera snapped. “You know it well, as did Calix. It’s why you have thirsted after our friendship. I don’t doubt that it is why you are here now.”

Warrick shook his head. “I do not deny that I seek an advantage over our enemies in Viltov, but I would rather neither of us have cavalry. It will only extend the war that has already raged for a century. And that is why I am here. You do not know how we wage war, and you will be slaughtered if you ride against Kelvadan. Calix will fortify it.”

Keera and I exchanged a sidelong glance. Doubt panged through my chest, and I knew she could feel it too. I squared my shoulders, though. Just because Calix had been the first to make a move on Kelvadan didn’t mean that Warrick would not have taken the opportunity had it presented itself.

The clans were united now, and it would be enough. We did not need Warrick and his men. They could not be trusted.

“The riders of the clans are more skilled than you give them credit for,” I said, letting my hand drift to the hilt of my sword. “You will find out just how skilled if you and your men do not leave these shores.”

Warrick’s face twitched but then smoothed into the neutral visage of the political bargainer I remembered. He may present himself as a man of action, but he too was duplicitous.