Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Keera

I let the men who dragged me away throw me into a tent without resistance, and I rolled across the ground. I stayed lying on my side, spitting sand from my mouth, although it was a hopeless cause. Grit always found its way between my teeth, especially when I had so little water, the stickiness of my mouth trapping the particles.

The sound of the tent flaps closing announced that the men had left me alone. I briefly considered how foolish of them it was to leave me unattended so that I might escape, before I realized I was too weak to mount much of an effort. The journey had sapped the last of my strength. They would have known I couldn’t escape my bonds, let alone attempt to run, from the dead weight of my body as they dragged me across the camp.

The size of the clan’s migrating encampment surprised me, at least twice the size of what I remembered of the last clan I had scavenged supplies from. The clash of swords drifted through the air, but the lack of panic spoke of a population used to the background of combat training. Even now, the metallic clangs filtered through the thick canvas of the structure around me. They must boast a large contingent of riders for such training to be a regular occurrence. The sounds of so many people jangled my nerves, at odds with the strange calm of resignation that had dawned over me.

I struggled to sit, flopping around uselessly for a few moments before getting myself upright without the use of my arms. From the baskets and bundles piled around me, along with the lack of rugs creating a floor, I surmised myself to be in a storage area. Apparently preparing me to be sacrificed included treating me as a bag of grain until the appointed hour.

I slumped back against a stack of baskets in relief, happy to be left alone and in the shade. It seemed the last few days of my life in captivity might be more comfortable than the preceding years. After all, this tent did more to block the sun and sand than my lean-to at the oasis. Instead of clinging to survival by the tips of my fingers, I could spend my final days contemplating what I was leaving behind. I almost laughed, the noise dry and strangled in my throat. Everything that a person might regret leaving—a horse, a clan, a family—they had all left me years ago. My eyes burned and my throat closed. Nobody would remember me, and the desert winds would scour away all traces of me. The only person who knew my name was the one delivering me to my doom. Maybe I was already dead, if nobody knew me, let alone cared for me. This could be a mercy.

A whispering in the back of my mind drove those thoughts away, telling me I needed to escape. I grit my teeth at the thought, recognizing the voice that had driven me to crawl to shelter each time the elements bested me, and I considered laying down and letting the sands take me. The voice always came when I was on the edge of starvation, of thirst, of delirium from the heat. It insisted that there was something worth staying alive for, although I had yet to find what it was—what purpose my existence may yet serve. Maybe the isolation had truly made me delirious. I bargained with the voice, saying I would have a better chance of running if I gathered my strength.

The whisper urging me to run died down enough for me to close my eyes and let a dreamless sleep take me.

I roused to a hand on my shoulder, the foreign feeling of human touch chasing all relaxation from my limbs, and I tensed. I tried to thrash, not remembering I was bound and only succeeding in wriggling where I lay on the ground.

“Stop struggling, or you won’t get food and water,” commanded a female voice, although I could not see the owner.

I froze. The promise of food and water cut through my addled brain like a knife.

With my fighting ceased, I found myself hauled to a seated position, meeting a curious gaze. We contemplated each other for a moment, and I took in her sharp eyes and freckled complexion. While her expression was hard, it didn’t hold the cruelty I expected from one of my jailers.

With business-like efficiency, she lifted a water skin to my lips, and I swallowed greedily. She tsked lightly, but I didn’t get the sense that she disapproved of me.

As she pulled the skin away, I tilted my head in silent question.

“The desert is harsh these days,” she said.

I frowned at her words. “The desert is always harsh for an exile.”

She ignored my answer, instead picking up a small plate from the ground next to her, holding a small piece of flatbread and a small lump of what appeared to be goat’s milk cheese. I nearly cried at the sight. As meager as the clan might consider such sustenance, I had survived on little but dried meat and dates from the palms at my oasis for too long, without even spices enliven the flavor.

The woman looked back and forth between me and the food, and I fidgeted impatiently, as if the meal might suddenly disappear.

“You either have to feed me or untie me,” I said.

She considered me for a moment before putting the cheese on the bread and holding it up to my lips. I didn’t waste time leaning forward to shove as much of it in my mouth as possible, nearly choking myself.

“The clans don’t often have prisoners,” she commented, meaning clear. The clans tended to deal with enemies and criminals decisively, either by death or exile. I knew this all too well.

Still, it explained why I was shoved in a storage tent.

I didn’t care where they put me, too busy leaning forward to snag my next bite of bread and cheese .

“I’m Izumi,” the woman said, clearly trying to carry on a one-sided conversation while I focused on chewing before swallowing. I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering why this woman would bother introducing herself to a sacrifice.

She shrugged. The rest of my small meal passed in silence. Once the food was gone, she stood, picking up the plate and turning toward the exit.

Despite having just slept, I found myself drowsy again. The fullest stomach I had had in a while, mixed with the disconcerting lack of anything to do, made my limbs heavy. I slumped back into the sand. Before pushing out of the tent flap though, Izumi paused.

“The new moon is in three days.” She didn’t look at me as she said it.

I don’t know if she meant it to be a kindness, warning me of the date of my death, but I oddly had no reaction. Three days or ten, it didn’t matter. My breaths were numbered.

Closing my eyes, sleep claimed me before I even heard Izumi leave.

The next two days passed similarly, Izumi bringing me water and a meal twice a day, and me sleeping the rest of the time. I didn’t think it was possible for me to sleep so much, but I consistently surprised myself. By the second day, I chided myself that I should be thinking of an escape plan, but something in me urged patience. An odd sense of waiting overtook me. It wasn’t quite peaceful, but I was filled with the stillness of a caracal about to pounce. I was content to wait.

On the third day, the morning that would be followed by the night of the new moon, the routine broke. Izumi walked into the supply tent earlier than usual, carrying no food or water.

“The clan needs this tent today, so you’ll have to stay outside,” she said by way of explanation.

She hauled me to my feet, and while my legs cramped with disuse, they still held more strength than they had when I had first arrived. Waiting had done me some good. With a hand around the rope at my wrists, Izumi led me outside, and I squinted in the sudden light, looking around to get my bearings.

Based on the thin density of the tents here, we were somewhere near the edge of the encampment, as I would expect for a little-used supply tent. The center would be reserved for the living tents of prominent riders and clan members, arranged in circles around communal cooking fires and areas for people to gather and work while children played and hunting dogs rested.

Izumi led me to a tent at the very fringes of the encampment, where she motioned me to sit before tying my bound hands to one of the stakes driven deeply into the sand at the corner.

“I’ll be able to keep an eye on you here, so don’t try and run,” she said before striding off purposefully.

I watched her go for a moment before more movement caught my eye. For the unpopulated edge of the clan, there seemed to be a large amount of hustle and bustle. Riders trickled in, horses laden with bundles and tents as if they had been traveling, although this encampment seemed to have been present for days.

It was almost as if the clan had split up, and now part was rejoining with the whole. I watched curiously, mostly admiring the horses of the new arrivals as they trickled in bearing supplies. Likely that was why I had been kicked out of the supply tent, so the newcomers’ reserves could be reorganized with the rest of the clan.

I didn’t mind, as it was a welcome break in the monotony of considering my impending death. I faced the appointed hour with numb resignation, but every so often the instinct to fight for survival at all costs would rear up again. The desperation to escape would strangle me until I reminded myself there was no point—no family to welcome me home with open arms, or horse waiting to be fed and pampered. Death would be a welcome respite from unending loneliness.

Today, though, I was saved from the repetitive cycle of panic and exhaustion by the chance to watch the influx of people. Even as my gaze was constantly drawn to the horses of the incoming riders, movement in the open space beyond the encampment caught my eye. I turned to find a crowd of people trickling out onto the packed area of sand, and my gaze landed on their weapons. Each carried a saber. These would be the clan’s riders.

They boasted an impressive number, appearing to be several hundred strong. I had never seen a clan with such a large fighting force, although rumor had it that the Great City of Kelvadan boasted a force of nearly a thousand riders, the most formidable army in the Ballan Desert. To be a rider of Kelvadan marked you as one of the most impressive warriors in the desert, and supposedly, the world. As a child, I had dreamed of ranking among their numbers, although that dream seemed impossibly far away now.

I had only seen the Great City of Kelvadan once, camped outside its walls with my parents when I was nearly too young to remember. The haziness of childhood memories added to its dreamlike quality in my mind—the towering walls and the skilled riders on the most beautiful horses I had ever imagined. Even now I could feel my eyes widening and my jaw hanging open the sight of the Kelvadan riders in action. My parents had laughed at me when I declared that I would be a rider of Kelvadan, reminding me that we were proud members of Clan Padra. Now I had no clan, and riding for Kelvadan was an even sweeter and more unattainable dream.

The riders before me now were much more real but lacked the exaggerated prowess of the Kelvadan riders in my memory. As I watched, they formed long lines, facing off in pairs. Walking to the front, as if to lead, was a figure that caused an odd flip in my belly.

Even from this distance, I recognized the man in the mask. His unremarkable gray tabards and robes distinguished him as much as the broad set of his shoulders and something understated yet powerful in the way he held himself. My gaze snapped to him so quickly, it was like a falcon zeroing in on their prey. Perhaps it was because he had been the one to bring change to the monotony of my existence, but he had impressed himself deeply in my mind.

He unsheathed his own saber, which he carried across his back as opposed to at his hip, and moved it into a ready stance. The lines of riders copied him, but I didn’t spare them a glance.

As he led them through drills of strikes and parries, my eyes remained fixed on the way the man in the mask moved. Even as his movements remained slow in demonstration, he held all the power of a coiled snake, waiting for the right moment to strike. That controlled strength spoke of danger, but there was something undeniably mesmerizing about the sight.

Like the desert, he offered both beauty and death.

I don’t know how long I watched, absolutely entranced and blind to all else in the world. By the time the riders stopped training, the sun was well past its zenith and evening fast approached. Soon, night would fall and bring with it the new moon.

My last day to escape, and I had spent it in stunned admiration of the one who had hauled me across the desert to serve as a sacrifice. I grit my teeth that I had wasted so much of a prime opportunity to get away, but some strange sense of stillness still lingered within me.

I looked around, wondering if I could still take advantage of the time outside my tent, but one of the riders broke from the group, walking back into the encampment and approached me. I recognized Izumi.

Sweat clung to her hair, turning the dark brown nearly black, and she breathed heavily but seemed used to the exertion of training. Her grip still hauled me to my feet with ease as she untied me from the stake.

“The new clan should be done with the supply tent by now,” she said by way of explanation, leading me back to my temporary prison. She deposited me there before scurrying away. While she hadn’t been harsh with me in my days with Clan Katal, even offering me her name and feeding me by hand when I had the feeling nobody would have faulted her for leaving me to starve, she refused to look at me now.

Maybe I imagined it and she was simply tired, or maybe she felt guilty about her clan sacrificing my life tonight.

I still had a few hours before nightfall to escape, but as I collapsed to the floor of the tent, my body urged me to rest. I let darkness take me, figuring it was a better way to spend the last minutes of my life than contemplating why I had been so enthralled by the man in the mask with his saber.

Rough hands grabbed me, pulling me from the escape of unconsciousness. Not waiting for me to rouse properly, they yanked me from the tent. The sun didn’t hammer down on me as we pushed through the flaps, indicating that night had fallen.

Smoke laced the air, as the dancing light from braziers illuminated the spaces between tents. The riders on either side of me barely spared me a glance as they dragged me back through the labyrinth of tents toward the large open circle I guessed would mark the center of the encampment. Catching sight of a crowd in the clearing, I began to struggle but quickly stilled. While days of sleep and shade had strengthened me, something in me stirred, telling me to be patient just a little longer. The opportune moment to slip away would come if I just waited.

I couldn’t wait too long though, as it seemed my time was limited. The crowd murmured in excitement and celebration as my handlers dragged me to a wooden stake driven into the ground and pointing straight up to the sky like an accusing finger. As they forced me to stand with my back to the pole, one warrior began binding my ankles to the stake, while the other untied my wrists, currently held in front of me. A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as my hands sprang free. This might be my chance to escape. The urge to run was quickly dashed by the tight rope wound around my ankles and the throngs of clansmen blocking my way out of the circle.

Before I could consider my escape further, the guard wrenched my arms back, affixing my wrists to the pole behind me as well. Then, they left me, melting back into the surrounding crowd as I awaited my fate.

My gaze darted around my immediate vicinity; the area was more densely packed now than it had been during my day tied outside. I found myself curious after years without so much as hearing a human voice beyond my own on the occasions I had been desperate enough to talk to myself. The wave of chatter washed over me like an icy balm, simultaneously overwhelming and soothing. The general tone of the voices was that of excitement for my death, but as I listened closer, an undercurrent of something much more potent and sinister cut through—something I was far too familiar with: Desperation.

There were dozens of onlookers, but as I watched, they seemed to stay in self-contained groups, not mixing, even as they talked amongst themselves. A child with sunken eyes and tattered clothes eyed me from where he stood, clutching on to his mother’s hands with spindly fingers. Usually flourishing clans boasted the highest number, but while this was the largest encampment I had ever seen, many looked to be struggling.

A hush fell over the clearing, halting my musings. The crowd parted, and a tall figure came forward, approaching where I stood bound. I recognized the cold gray stare of the man who had commanded my sacrifice, the one the masked man called Lord Alasdar . He had the gall to smile at me, although it didn’t reach his eyes, before turning to address the onlookers.

“People of the Ballan Desert, we come to celebrate today’s great progress in restoring our home to its rightful state. Already we have three clans together here under one banner, and Clan Ratan joined us just today.”

My eyes widened as a cheer went up around me. I had never heard of clans uniting, let alone this many. The new arrivals today weren’t a faction rejoining with the whole, but a whole clan arriving to add their numbers to the encampment.

“While we face the wrath of the desert for the desertion of the old ways, united we will return our people to the ways of the past, giving the sands the blood they deserve. When all nine clans of the Ballan Desert are united, we will march on Kelvadan!”

The roar that went up from the crowd in response wasn’t enough to drown out the pounding of my heart in my ears. Kelvadan, the Great City, stood as the bastion of hope at the edge of the desert. A city where even an exile would be welcome if they were lucky enough to make it there and a testament to the power of the sands. The idea of violence against the only permanent settlement on this side of the mountains was unfathomable.

The lord continued, raising his arms and whipping the crowd into a frenzy with an impassioned tirade. The fervor in his eyes would have bordered on lunacy if not for the way it was mirrored in the gazes of many onlookers. It was a fanaticism that could only be bred into the desperate who saw no other options.

The clans weren’t just united—they were itching for war .

“The desert sends her storms, the disease, the hunger and the thirst to punish us for letting Kelvadan make us complacent. We clansmen have always been a warring people, spilling blood on the sands so they may give us life in return. With the peace brought by a unifying city, we have forgotten that the desert demands death in repayment for the life she gives us. The Ballan Desert does not want the peace and unity promised by the city. She wants blood.

“Those of us who still live among the dunes know this, although those in the city turn a blind eye. It has not even occurred to them that we would unify and attack them! They have truly forgotten the warrior’s way. But the nine tribes of the Ballan Desert will raze Kelvadan, spill their blood on the sands, and free our home from this curse. In return for blood, the desert will protect us from the storms and starvation that plague us more each day. The desert gives and it takes!”

“The desert gives and it takes,” echoed the crowd, rapping their knuckles to their temples in respect for their lord.

Panic rose in my throat, choking me. Kelvadan couldn’t fall. The dream of Kelvadan had always been hazy, but it still became the only real hope a clung to through the years. As my only real chance for a better life, Kelvadan was an aspiration that had etched itself into my soul. A haven from my exile, where one without a clan could still live among others. A place where it wouldn’t matter that I was cursed by the desert. The vision of Kelvadan had always represented in my mind the one thing I craved more than anything: A home.

They had to be warned.

It barreled into me with the force of a galloping horse. I had to be the one to warn them. That was why I still lived.

As if my newfound drive to survive hastened my death, Lord Alasdar now turned his gaze on me, formerly cold eyes burning with the fire of zeal.

“We will start with her. A promise to the sands that we will give them the battle they crave! A gift from the Viper himself.” The lord stepped aside and gestured into the crowd.

A familiar dark silhouette came forward, the backlighting of the braziers ringing the circle accentuating the width of his shoulders and his prowling gate. The flickering firelight danced across the metal mask, but the smooth surface still looked lifeless, like perhaps there wasn’t a person underneath at all.

He reached up to his shoulder where the hilt of the saber I’d almost stolen rested and unsheathed it with deliberate slowness. Unlike the sabers of many riders, it was too long to be worn at his hip. The power of his limbs and the light flashing off the lethal edge screamed of violence, but something within me stilled, like a wild caracal preparing to pounce.

He stepped forward, the tip of the blade level with my throat, just inches from where my pulse hammered beneath my skin. I stared at his face, and just for a moment, the light illuminated the dark pits of his eyes, and I remembered the proud nose and angular jaw hidden underneath.

I lifted my chin. We had been in this position before, and he had hesitated, just as he hesitated now. The blade inched forward, and as the tip touched my skin, it quivered ever so slightly, scratching me. A warm rivulet of blood dripped toward my collarbone, and I became aware of every millimeter it traveled, the cold steel barely brushing my neck. I could count the grains of sand beneath my bare feet and see through the metal mask before me to the closed off expression of my captor. Time froze, sucking away the shouts of the crowd and whistling of wind across the dunes into deafening silence. The only things to exist were me and the man in the mask. The Viper.

Fire exploded through me, accompanied by a crack so loud, I was sure my skull had been cloven in two. When the white behind my eyelids faded, and I peeled them open, unsure when I had shut them, I was greeted by the sight of my hands in the sand. Somehow, I had fallen on my hands and knees.

Looking up, the crowd before me scattered in panic, mouths open wide as if screaming, but I could hear nothing as my ears still rang from the noise. I glanced over my shoulder to see the pole I had been bound to split in half, charred as if it had been burning for hours.

Lightning flashed again, this time striking a nearby tent, which burst into flame. I staggered to my feet, coming face to mask with the man who had been tasked with taking my life. He stood frozen, sword no longer pointed at me. Before I could move, he spun on his heel and dashed toward the burning tent as lightning continued to flash around us, alternately blinding before plunging the camp into chaos.

Not pausing to consider my captor’s retreat, I turned and ran the other way. My bare feet churned through the loose sand, and I pumped my arms furiously, driven by a singular thought. I had to get to Kelvadan and warn them of the impending attack.

As weak as I was, the adrenaline of my escape fueled me, and the ongoing lightning strikes distracted those who might have stopped me. My sense of hearing returned, greeted by the crash of thunder and the crackling of yet another tent set ablaze. Horses screamed in fear in the distance, and I veered toward them.

Near the edge of the camp, I came upon an enclosure, horses bucking and stamping in agitation. One stood nearest the temporary fence, seeming calmer than the others, although its ears pulled back flat along its head, a full circle of white around its eyes illuminated by another bolt of lightning.

I sent a silent apology to whomever this mount belonged to as I clambered to the top of the fence. Horse theft was akin to murder in the clans, but I was already an exile, and I had a mission to fulfill.

With a leap from the top slat of the fence, I landed on the horse’s back. It whinnied and bucked, but I threw my arms around its neck, barely staying on as I squeezed with my thighs. This spurred the horse further in its frenzy, and it charged toward the opposite edge of the enclosure.

Desperately I readjusted my grip, trying to center my weight more firmly on the animal’s back. Fear gripped my heart as we approached the fence, but something came along with it: Exhilaration. My mount took to the air, my heart leaping into my throat as we soared over the barrier.

Then we were free, and the horse ran, me bent over its neck as it lengthened its stride. I chanced a glance back at the encampment. For a moment, a bolt of lightning illuminated a dark silhouette between the tents, but then we were cresting over a dune, and the clans were lost from view.

I didn’t try to slow my mount as we put distance between us and the spot that was to have been my grave. The storm seemed centered around the encampment, and the desert around us remained dark as the lightning grew more distant. The farther away we could get before anybody tried to follow us, the better.

Not only that, but I couldn’t bring myself to give up the wind in my hair, the powerful animal surging between my thighs as we dashed across the desert. I had missed this, these wild gallops under a star-spangled velvet sky. I threw back my head and did something I hadn’t done in far too long. I laughed, an unpracticed broken sound, but something I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

Who would have known that I would come closer to death than I had ever been before to find a reason for my survival? Not only that, but now I felt alive, an energy still crackling through my body as if the lightning had struck me, and the sparks still danced across my skin.

Surely the desert would guide me to Kelvadan when I carried such dire news. Perhaps this is why she had allowed me to scrape by all these years. So I could warn the city that was the testament of the desert’s power and save it from the mad lord of Clan Katal—surely he must be mad.

For now, I let my horse carry me across the open sands, thinking of the Great City and how I had to save it.

As beams of light broke over the horizon, my mount slowed to a stop with a disgruntled snort. He had slackened to a walk long ago, and hours had passed as we traversed miles. At the stop, my head snapped up from my chest where it had been bobbing in a fitful doze.

My mount apparently needed rest as much as I did. Leaning to one side, I tried to swing my leg over and dismount, but only succeeded in sliding off and landing in the sand with a bone-rattling thump.

The stallion pranced and whickered as if amused by my ineptitude, and it surely was a stallion based on how far up I had to look to glare at him. After a moment, he settled, bending his forelegs to lay down on the sand next to me. Absently, I reached out to pat his nose, reveling in the velvety softness beneath my fingers.

I had certainly stolen a prime specimen. In the gray light of dawn, the coat that had appeared dark at night glimmered a golden chestnut. Even covered in sweat and dust as it was now, it shone silky, with a mane and tail to match. He tossed his head and snorted, as if he could sense me admiring him. I huffed in amusement at his pride.

“What are you called?” I asked, as if he might answer. Only a few days around people, and I craved conversation again.

He flicked an ear back and bumped his nose into my hand as if wondering why I had paused my admiration.

“I’m Keera,” I continued on, resuming my petting. I cocked my head consideringly. “How about Daiti for you?” A swift name for a fast mount, for he had certainly carried me far in a short amount of time.

He snorted, and I took that as acceptance.

We sat there in the sand as the sun rose, and I pulled my hood up over my head, wrapping the end across my face. I didn’t speak anymore, having become comfortable with silence, but unspeakably pleased with Daiti’s company. I continued to run my fingers through his mane, which he enjoyed if the way he stretched his neck to give me better access was any indication.

Soon though, Daiti began nuzzling my torso, investigating for food or water. He was right—we wouldn’t last long without supplies. I didn’t have anything on me right now I could use to hunt even if we were lucky enough to come across an oryx or a jackrabbit. We would have to hope to reach Kelvadan before either of us died of thirst or hunger.

The memory of Kelvadan rose in my mind at the thought, the city enormous against the backdrop in the mountains, magnified in size by the forced perspective of childhood memories. The hazy sight of the city walls and the plains beyond had only grown in my mind during exile—blown to mythical proportions. The dream of Kelvadan, as shadowy a hope as it had been, had kept me alive through many a harsh season. I couldn’t let it fall now—not when I had a chance to save it.

I crawled over to Daiti’s back and began to swing my leg over. He whickered unhappily at my rather undignified method of mounting when he still laid in the sand, but I slapped his shoulder lightly to tell him to get over it. None of the horses I had ridden before my exile from Clan Padra were nearly as large as Daiti, and therefore they’d been much less difficult to mount. Not to mention, I was out of practice.

While Daiti snuffled his disapproval, he suffered my clambering ineptitude before begrudgingly standing, little puffs of dust rising around his hooves as he stamped. With a slight nudge from me, he ambled forward. I didn’t bother directing him, as I had no idea in which direction Kelvadan lay. Daiti’s instincts would be better than mine, as I was far away from the oasis I’d called home. Besides, the sands had a way of speaking to horses, and direction hardly mattered in the Ballan Desert.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, I squinted at the horizon, wondering if the light was altering my vision as it slowly transformed from endless golden sands to sharp rocks. My doubts melted away as mountains came into view, reaching up to the sky in jagged gray peaks. Relief filled me, palpable as cool water dripping over my burning skin. We were headed in the right direction.

After hours, Daiti’s gait flagged, hooves dragging in the sand as he walked. He continued on doggedly though, as if he could sense our destination ahead.

At first, I didn’t recognize what I was looking at as the city, instead just seeing an odd texture in the rocks at the base of the mountain in the distance. Getting closer, the pattern became more regular, rectangular and organized in a manner at odds with the rolling curves carved into the dunes by wind.

Squinting at the rock formation, squares organized themselves into tiers of buildings, carved from the same gray rock of the mountain. Growing ever closer, it became clear the buildings weren’t just made of the same stone, but the whole structure was carved directly into the side of mountain. Dozens of buildings climbed up the face of the cliffs, stacking on top of each other in an incredible feat of architecture. So seamlessly did they fit with the rocks that it seemed they had grown from it instead of having been carved.

Even now that Kelvadan was in sight, it took ages to traverse the distance, the base of the mountains seeming deceptively close. Even as Daiti plodded determinedly along, the shade of the high stone peaks grew no closer. I wavered on his back, barely keeping my seat as the heat and dehydration clawed at me. I kept my eyes fixed on the arch in the stone wall that had just come into view, repeating to myself that if we could just make it there, everything would be alright .

What seemed like a day but was probably only an hour passed. My vision narrowed to the opening in the stone wall by the time we reached it.

From far away, it had seemed small, like the opening flap to a tent. Walking through it though, it was wide enough to fit at least five horses abreast, and twice that tall. Daiti’s hooves clopped against the ground as it transitioned from sand to stone. I swayed in my seat, ready to topple to the ground as the determination of reaching my destination faded. I had made it.

I had no clue what to do next.

People milled about in a courtyard, streets branching off in half a dozen directions. My eyes refused to focus on any of the figures—where to go? Who to approach? Who would even heed my warning to in a place like this?

Daiti’s sharp whinny cut the air, and he pranced sideways. I glanced down to see the source of his displeasure—a woman, with her arm outstretched as if she had been patting Daiti’s withers. A burnished breastplate topped the leather tunic covering her down to her thighs, but my gaze zeroed in on the large, curved dagger sticking out of her thick crimson sash.

“Are you all right?”

I opened my mouth to respond, not sure if to insist I was fine or beg for help. With my dry throat, I only managed a croak. This was a theme as of late, a challenge of thirst that rarely came up in my life, as isolated as it had been.

I choked around the sand in my throat and hacked a cough. My eyes watered, and I began to slip sideways.

“Kelvadan… in trouble,” I managed to grit out as my surroundings blurred, dismayed that I had come this far only to be unable to deliver my message.

Daiti shifted under me as if to try and help me keep my seat, but it was too late. My already tunneled vision darkened, and I toppled sideways. I was too tired to even brace for impact with the stones below but landed in strong arms instead.