Page 86 of Heart of the Desert

She was the high lord—both the wrath and the mercy of the desert embodied in breathtaking beauty.

“We protect all those who call the desert home. We will fight together, or we will die apart.”

Warrick stared at her for a long moment. I did not miss the way the other lords held their breath; they too had misgivings about defending other clans while our true opponent left themselves vulnerable.

But if what Warrick said about Calix and Viltov were true, then there would be no defeating him with anything less than the full might of all nine clans.

Then, Warrick nodded. “It seems once you are in your element, you are no longer so easily manipulated by foreign powers. Doran will fight at your side.”

“How long until your ships can leave?” I asked.

“If we work through the night, then we can leave at dawn.”

I set my lips in a hard line. “Then be prepared for a sleepless night. We leave when the sun rises.”

The time to face our enemy was here.

Chapter thirty

Keera

Daiti seemed pleased to be ridden again, and if it was into battle, it did not perturb him. He was a warhorse, and he itched to spill blood as much as I did when it came to those who invaded my home. He pawed the ground and tossed his head, as if asking what I was waiting for.

Perhaps he knew what Calix did to his brethren—how he tied and bridled them—and wished to exact vengeance of his own.

I patted his neck. We would set off in a moment. We only waited for Warrick to unfurl the sails of the newly modified ships. Then Erix and I would summon the wind needed to take us to our destination.

As I watched the men from Doran scurry about, tying a knot here and securing a rope there, a voice called out.

“High Lords!”

I looked down to find the swordsmith from Clan Padra hurrying over, a bundle in his arms. He stopped before Erix and I and lifted his burden up toward us. “You will need proper weapons if you are to lead the riders into battle.”

My heart stuttered as I took in what was in his hands. Two matching sheaths, one long and one short. I recognized the handle on the long one, wrapped in black cord with curved quillons. The shorter weapon gave me pause. The handle was similarly shaped, with the grip only slightly narrower. The pommel bore an engraving of larrea flowers etched in gold, and the grip was also wrapped in cord. Maroon, the color of Clan Padra.

I swallowed thickly.

“Kelvar’s saber is made anew,” he announced proudly. Erix took his familiar sword—much shorter now—and unsheathed it. Despite the direness of the battle we rode to, a smile quirked his lips. It was as razor sharp as ever but glistened like new in the dawn light.

“It’s familiar but… better,” he observed.

“And the other half…” the smith prompted.

Slowly, I reached out and took it. The grip felt warm in my hand, despite the sun not being high enough to heat the metal. I examined the beautiful craftsmanship.

“Alyx was of Clan Padra,” the smith said without prompting. “And many of us still believe the larrea flower is her symbol. I think Kelvar would have liked to have a piece of her in his sword.”

I swallowed and unsheathed it, holding it in my left hand. While I would still prefer to carry a full-length saber in my right hand, a side arm to guard my unprotected left side would be invaluable in the chaos of war. The grip fit my hand like it was molded to it, yet the weapon felt so light, it might as well have been a piece of my own body.

“Thank you,” I choked out.

“May the spirits of Alyx and Kelvar watch over you in the coming battle.” He rapped his knuckles to his forehead and retreated to the chaos of riders ready to set out, likely to find his own horse and mount up.

Erix looked at the blade in my hand, and his silver eyes softened. “When we were apart, it comforted me knowing you had my sword. It felt like at least in some way as if I could protect you.”

“We’ll protect each other,” I observed.

He pursed his lips. “And the entire desert. It shouldn’t be too hard.”