Page 91 of Heart of the Desert

As I spoke Lord Noc and Vidar emerged from their tents as well. I barely waited for them, telling them of how Keera led the other clans against the army and diving into the explanation of our battle—how the riders could attack from the rear to claim the oasis while the army was distracted, enveloping Viltov’s forces.

Lord Noc only frowned, while Lord Koen’s expression grew grim.

“We’re not in a position to attack,” Koen said. “Viltov has harried us for weeks, and our riders are tired or injured. We’ve only survived by evading them in the desert, but our supplies have grown thin, and the warriors are thirsty and tired.”

Frustration burned in my chest, hissing and spitting like a growing fire. It was fed by the sudden feeling pouring down the bond and flooding my skull: The call of battle from Keera. She was charging into danger, and I was not at her side.

I had promised I would meet her there with my own forces in tow, but I would fight across the battlefield by myself if I had to.

“They will only grow thirstier and more tired if we do not take the oasis,” I urged. “Do not let riders of the other clans die for nothing.”

Lord Noc opened his mouth as if to argue.

“We will fight.”

Shock washed over me as the interruption came from Neven.

“The man who has encouraged us to retreat and wants peace more than anything now calls for war when we are barely standing?” Koen asked, his tone full of surprise, but not argument.

“Retreating isn’t about avoiding the battle; it’s about waiting for the moment that gives you the biggest advantage in a fight. And right now, with our friends—our families—risking their lives? That moment is here, and we must seize it before it is too late,” Neven spoke, gesticulating widely.

Lord Noc narrowed his eyes at him, his tone far more derisive than Lord Koen’s had been. “Wise words for a weaver.”

“I may have picked up a thing or two in all my years of tailoring dresses for a queen,” Neven deflected. “But I doubt a lord would appreciate his people knowing that a weaver would choose to fight when he would not.”

If the rush of battle in my chest from Keera hadn’t stolen half my attention, leaving me half praying to the desert that she would be all right long enough for these clans to muster an attack, I might have laughed. Neven had quickly outmaneuvered the lord, for he was right.

The Clans respected strength, and now was the time for the lords to show what metal they were made of.

“Muster every rider who can still hold a sword,” Lord Koen declared. “Today we will claim the water we desperately need, and if we cannot, then at least the desert will drink our blood so that some thirst might be quenched.”

I nodded sharply at him.

The camp sprang into action, the riders quick to arm themselves after days of retreats and skirmishes. The warriors might have looked tired, their swords scratched and dented, but I recognized the grim determination in their eyes.

“We must approach quickly, while the soldiers are distracted. Their camp at the oasis will only have the barest of defenses while the army is engaged with the other clans,” I instructed the lords. “We will slip in and take the water before charging at their lines from behind.”

“And if the distraction of the charge does not work?”

“Then we will still only have half an army to contend with, instead of their full forces.”

The faces of the assembled riders were grim, and there were less than half as many as I hoped, but there was no time to wait for more—and there may be no more to be had.

To my surprise, Neven mounted up on Cail’s back, bearing a sword I had never seen him carry before. I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t bear the thought of Aderyn returning to find her husband injured in battle—or worse—after she had been so desperate to get to him in time. We weren’t too late yet, and he was not the warrior she was.

I opened my mouth, but Neven cut me off.

“You told me that my wife is fighting in that battle. I will not be kept from her,” he declared. “I may have found a new home away from the clans, choosing a life of creating rather than destroying. But I was raised among them, and I know when it is time to draw your blade.”

I snapped my mouth shut. I would not let the word of any man—high lord or not—keep me from fighting toward my own wife. And I thought of the growing swell of Aderyn’s belly. Neven had created something that he didn’t even know of yet. Perhaps one of his most beautiful creations of all.

I almost told him of his child, but I swallowed the words down, instead replacing them with a silent vow that they would both survive to reunite, and Aderyn would share the news herself.

Neven nodded to me, and I nodded back. I would see them both safely through this battle.

As Neven melted into the assembled riders, I lifted my fist to the sky before them, drawing their attention. I may no longer be The Viper some of them recognized, but when I had shed that skin, I had allowed myself room to grow into something more. Something better.

Fear threatened to leak in that it may still not be enough, but I pushed it away. My doubts did not matter. I must be the leader these people needed or the life of every last soul in the desert would be lost—either by the swords of Viltov or the desert’s fury.