Page 92 of Heart of the Desert

“We will ride quickly and quietly. We will not be able to avoid being seen, but if any archers among you have a shot at their lookouts, take it before they have a chance to raise the alarm. If we can catch them before they form ranks, our horses will trample them.” Alza pranced and tossed her head at these words, as if indicating she too were ready for battle.

I saw the handful of riders with bows checking their strings and selecting their arrows. I drew my sword.

“Now ride, and fight until we meet our brethren on a field of our fallen enemies!”

We set out, a long train of riders armed to the teeth and ready for a raid. This is how the clans of the desert fought—quick and lethal raids with little warning and unmatched ferocity. Calix could hide behind the shining lines of his army all he wanted. We would find a way through.

The shape of Viltov’s camp appeared on the horizon. Tents were clustered between palm trees, surrounding the glittering pool of the oasis—likely the only water source for miles. We needed to capture it if we were to survive.

What drew my eye though, was the cloud of dust beyond it. Battle raged, turning the peace of the wilderness into chaos. Even from this distance, the clashes and screams carried through the hot air.

Keera was in the middle of that chaos. The string in the base of my skull tugged me toward her, as if it tried to bind us together, but I shook my head. She had left me with the task of capturing the oasis, and when I met her on the battlefield, it would be with that victory in hand.

There was a scurry of movement in the camp ahead. Individual forms started to become visible as we barreled closer. A soldier on the closest edge spotted our approaching line, his posture immediately stiffening.

Before I could shout an order to one of the riders or let the magic rise in my chest, Lord Vidar who rode off my shoulder nocked an arrow and let it fly. It whizzed past my ear with a penetrating hiss and arced impossibly far across the distance between us. Even as the thrill of the charge thundered through my chest and the knowledge of the battle in the distance made every inch of my body buzz, a bolt of admiration shot through me.

The lords of the desert were not to be trifled with.

Then we were only fifty meters from the edge of their camp and closing fast. The small guard that had been left behind could hear our approach now, and scrambling broke through the camp as they rushed for weapons. But it was too late to form lines.

We were only twenty meters away. Ten.

I raised my newly forged sword into the air, but before it could drop, lightning split a cloudless sky.

The crack of thunder echoed through my chest loudly enough I thought I had been struck. But my arm fell unhindered toward my first opponent as the fibers of power pulled taut around me. The earthy, metallic smell of magic filled my senses as we crashed through the camp, cutting down all in our path.

I roared with the rush of battle and the realization that the desperate rush of magic had come from Keera. Frantically clinging onto the tether between us, I crashed through the camp. As long as I could hold on to that, I would know she still lived.

And no matter what happened, I would not sever that bond again.

The stifling heat of the air and the blinding light of the sun seared through me as if matching the intensity of the fighting—the desert contributing her fury.

My sword rose and fell, coated with blood in a matter of moments, but my arm did not tire. Maybe it was that the blade was so much lighter and more balanced after being reforged—or perhaps physical discomfort did not concern me anymore. Only retaking the water and leading the riders to meet the other clans.

Tents burst into flames around me as riders fired flaming arrows, decimating Viltov’s supplies.

“Toward the water!” I shouted over the din, my voice carrying over the crash of swords. I raised my sword to rally the riders to me, and they followed. By now, our momentum had slowed, as our horses were forced to weave between date palms and closely packed armaments.

The pool of water that would be these clans’ salvation shimmered in the sun within view, but the guard around it was much denser. The initial surprise of our attack was lost, and the remaining soldiers were armed and waiting for us.

Horses screamed, and the smell of hot blood baking in the desert sun filled the air with a choking scent. But we could not stop.

I kicked Alza into the best gallop we could muster in a confined space. She surged forward at the barest of commands, sure footed enough to accelerate even over fallen soldiers. The riders nearest to us followed, their horses following orders I had not given out loud, as if spurred into action by Alza’s own charge and the pull of magic that connected me to the desert’s flame in their mind.

With a deafening crash, we collided with the line of foot soldiers nearest the water. Pain bloomed in my side as I brushed past one of the long spears, the blade just scraping my ribs. The wooden handle of the weapon broke under the force of my next attack, and its wielder fell to Alza’s striking hooves.

The riders beside me slashed and let out wild fearsome cries as we fought toward the water’s edge. Thirst and desperation were powerful allies, lending strength to their blows that let them cut through the enemies’ thick armor.

The lines of Viltov scattered like dust on the wind, but the roar of victory in my throat died as a growing feeling of unease washed over me. It was a cold trickle of water down my spine, sharp and unsettling against the roaring fire of battle.

Something wasn’t right.

We hadn’t encountered any cavalry, although Calix had shown his willingness to chain and subjugate our forces before. And where was their commander? An army of this size might be led by Calix himself, but I had seen no place where he might be protected and directing the battle—leading the charge with a sword was not his style.

The ground shook as lightning struck again. I whipped my head in the direction of the noise. In the middle of an endless sea of soldiers—writhing and churning in the throes of combat—Keera sat astride Daiti.

A drop of blood ran down her cheek from a cut over one eyebrow, and the earth around her was charred and blackened. She was the lightning and the storm.