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Her horse’s coat gleamed, black as oil, its mane long to protect against flies and the sun’s fierce rays. She worked a hand into it, tightening her grip, letting the feel of the horse ground her.
One Spindle is closed.How many others remained, how many others Taristan knew of, she could not say. Sorasa doubted even Valtik knew, but now was no time to ask.
The Falcons kept their swords sheathed, but Sorasa still felt like a prisoner. They formed up in a column, with the Companions in their middle. Sigil and Sorasa rode ahead of Corayne while Andry and Dom flanked her, with Valtik and Charlie clustered behind.
Snapping his reins, lin-Lira set his Falcons surging forward, and their sand mares with them.
All Sorasa could do—all any of them could do—was follow.
The king’s bodyguards were silent escorts, herding them southeast as the sun began its descent across the sky. Lin-Lira set a good pace, fast but not grueling.
Dom kept close to Corayne, a nervous mother hen, his eyes never leaving her back, ready to catch her should she fall. Hisnannying put Sorasa somewhat at ease, letting her fall into the familiar rhythm of a sand mare’s smooth gait.
Sigil’s voice broke through the steady tattoo of hoofbeats, indecipherable at first. The language of the Temurijon was rare in the south, and Sorasa had to concentrate to understand. She glanced left, to the bounty hunter riding alongside her.
Sigil leaned toward Sorasa, repeating herself, the words slower and easier to translate. Her native language was an easy shield against everyone around them.
“What will they do with Corayne?” Sigil hissed. “What does the Heir of Ibal want with a pirate’s daughter?”
“We all know she’s more than that,” Sorasa answered, her own Temur shaky at best.
She glanced ahead, through the charging mass of horses kicking up sand in a grim line. Lin-Lira rode at the column’s head, bent low over his mare’s neck.
“I don’t fear for Corayne, not yet,” Sorasa added. “The Falcons seem straightforward enough—but why does the commander ride for the Heir? And not the king he was sworn to protect?”
Sigil frowned. “Too many questions, too few answers. I miss the days of good, simple contracts,” she said. “Grab, drag, and collect. Instead I’m burning my face off in your godsforsaken desert, and I still stink of kraken.”
Sorasa’s skin prickled at the prospect of traveling through the Great Sands, dragging the rest of their band with her.
“We can lose them,” Sigil said suddenly, her voice sharper.
“Lose them where?” Sorasa growled back.
Sigil shrugged her broad shoulders, gesturing with her chin.
The desert stretched in almost every direction, with only the barren red cliffs of the Marjeja or the cruel salt waves of the Long Sea to break the sand. While the horses were well cared for and good steeds, they had no saddlebags. Even if they could somehow escape the Falcons, they would do so with no food, no freshwater, and no aid for weeks.
“What are they whispering?” Dom rumbled behind them, glancing to Corayne.
“I don’t speak Temur,” Corayne answered, annoyed.
Sigil ignored them. “They let us keep our weapons. My ax, Dom’s sword. We can cut a hole in these birds and be gone.”
Sorasa wished that were true. She shook her head, tightening her grip on the mare’s mane. “Forget the Falcons. We are in the claws of the Dragon now.”
By the way the bounty hunter scowled, falling back in the saddle, Sorasa could tell it was not the end of her argument. Sigil wouldn’t submit, even under the worst of odds. The Temur were skilled tacticians, taught to fight to the bitter, glorious end, and it usually meant victory.
Not today,Sorasa knew.
But perhaps tomorrow.
They rode through the night. It was well into autumn, with the spring blooms of Ibal long dead, but Sorasa still caught the herbal tang of juniper trees, clinging to water somewhere. Sorasa’s muscles ached, stiffened by the dropping temperature and the long hours of riding without rest. Lin-Lira finally whistled a halt afterdawn, when the heat returned and the sun began its climb. Both Corayne and Charlie nearly fell from their horses, stumbling to the sand on weak legs. They exchanged small smiles.
“At least I’m not the only one,” Charlie chuckled, fighting to his feet with Andry’s help.
Corayne rose on her own, dusting off her knees and flexing her fingers, clawed from hours gripping her reins. Dom stayed glued to her side, unbent by their travels. He glared in every direction, as if his eyes alone could send the Falcons running.
The Falcons dismounted as one, following lin-Lira’s example, and drew their horses into the shadows of a sand dune. Within minutes they strung up a rope paddock to enclose the sand mares. Sorasa watched as the rest of the camp went up in seemingly the blink of an eye, the Falcons working in swift unison. They unraveled sheets from their packs, some big as a ship’s sail, tying them off and nailing their pegs into the sand. The one-sided tents were simple but effective, creating a blanket of shade. The Falcons knew how to cross the Great Sands without dying. They would sleep through the worst of the heat and continue to travel through the cool hours of night.
