He seemed at a loss for words. Something that I doubted a skilled statesman did not experience often. His lips parted. A soft scratch at the tent flap pulled our attention from each other. No sooner had we pulled apart than a duo of peach-faced parrots wiggled through the flap, hopping along as birds on the ground do, glistening tubes on their legs.

  “Amazing,” I whispered as Teryn left my embrace to drop down to offer his arm to one of the birds. How these birds knew how to find the one receiving a missive always left me in awe. Yes, I knew a druid whispered to the bird and through those magicked invocations, the birds could track the recipient, which was a level of skill above the common ravens that flew between set points such as Celear and Renedith.

  “They are highly intelligent birds,” Teryn replied as he loosened one tube and then the other, each bird flapping to his arm and patiently waiting with a leg out. They would not come to me, so I knew each missive was for Teryn, which was understandable. He was the ambassador, and I just a guard. “Perhaps we could find them some food while I read over these. They are from your king and my vahasi.”

  “I could step outside and allow the villagers to hurl fruit at me.”

  He threw me a look of amusement. “You are quite funny at times. I like that cutting tongue of yours.”

  “Yes, I noticed how you enjoy my tongue.”

  That tugged a snort from him as he sat on one of the mats and leaned closer to a brazier to open the tightly rolled scrolls. A small bit of paper fluttered out of one of the missives as I poked about in the basket. Inside were several small loaves of bread, some fruit, and a jar of dark red jam as well as utensils. I removed two round, purple prickly pears, cut them in half, and tossed the pieces to the parrots. They hopped over to eat, curved beaks tearing into the soft yellow flesh of the pears. I poured some water into my helmet for them, slid it closer, and sat back on my heels.

  “Pasil, this is for you,” Teryn said softly, pulling my sight from the birds enjoying their pears. The small bit of paper that had fallen from the main scroll was pinched between his thumb and index finger. The rings he wore as part of his disguise as a wealthy merchant caught the light of the oil fire in the brazier as I leaned over to take the note. It was hard to read until I got closer to the flame, the writing minuscule and uneven, but once I took note of the hand, I smiled in great relief.

  KILL THE KIDNAPPING BOAR FUCKERS

  I needed no more than that to know that my friend, and one of the best guards I have ever served with, had recovered and was feeling much herself. Tezen was alive. A weight the size of this tent lifted from me.

  “I shall kill every one of the kidnapping fuckers,” I vowed softly. I dropped to my backside, my legs tight from another long night in the saddle, and stared at the tiny letter. Joy filled me. A feeling that I had not felt for several long days. It was a mere speck of joy, a trickle of relief. There were still two children who were in danger. Their lives could be a flash point if they were to perish on Sandrayan lands. Turning at the sound of a disgruntled moan from Teryn, I found him scowling at the scrolls lying on his lap. “Troubles?”

  “Many sadly,” he said, rubbing at his face, dark brown eyes moving to the birds and then to me. “There have been some small upheavals at the docks in Galesdi, mostly shoving and name-calling amongst the Sandrayan and mainland workers. The same has broken out in Celear and the vills. The mainlanders hold us accountable for the taking of the beloved royal twins, even though there is no clear proof that any Sandrayan took part. Our only known abductor is Jaska Ashwish, one of yours, but that seems to matter little to the people or the nobility of the mainland. I have wondered if Jaska is perhaps responsible for the rapid decline in health seen in Umeris Stillcloud. The missive from Aelir says that the grand advisor is slipping away rapidly, where he has moments of clarity but then falls into long stretches of living in past memories.”

  “He has lived for nearly a thousand seasons. Even we elves are susceptible to the ravages of age on our bodies and minds. I’ve seen many elderly lose themselves in the past. It’s quite sad.” As for the possibility of Jaska Ashwish forwarding the decline of Umeris, I had no proof but would not rule it out. A man capable of stealing small children is capable of any evil.

  “Yes, the goddess calls us all eventually.” He sighed. “On our side,” he picked up and then shook a sheaf of paper with a large red seal, “the accusations of the mainlanders against our people are not sitting well. Each of the smaller bawans—our vills leaders, if you will—are now calling on the vahasi to terminate all dealings with the Ivory King and halt all trade. The vahasi, a wise man with many centuries of leadership, has refused to do any such thing until the proper avenues of investigation have been pursued.”

  “Those avenues being us attempting to either take the twins back or negotiate a release with the Court of the Gray Ice,” I offered.

  He nodded as he lowered the letter. “I am not sure negotiations with people who would steal a prince and princess to use as leverage is ever wise, but that is not my decision to make. King Aelir is being as diplomatic as possible, but even his patience is wearing thin as the alignment of the moons grows closer. It is, as the dwarves are known to say, a briny pickle with knobs the size of your pecker.”

  The smile that tugged at my lips was a fleeting one. Hearing him toss out dwarven sayings was amusing, but the direness of our situation was not amusing at all.

  “Could we travel during the day?” I asked, feeling the exhaustion pulling me down now we were in a place where one could lay their head.

  “We could, yes, although it is unbearably hot. I worry over you in the high sun. You are not accustomed to the searing heat of the Black Sands.”

  “I have the coil root armor,” I reminded him, and that did lessen the cloud of worry about him. “I think we should rest for a bit, eat, drink, and then set out. I have cost us enough time already, and if things are as bad as is being reported—”

  “Do not blame yourself for things that are out of your control.” He patted my arm and heaved a strong sigh. “I fear that you may be right though. We cannot waste any more time. We will linger here a bit, long enough for the quadoth to eat and drink. Then we shall set off before the sun rises too high. The desert is not a forgiving place. You must promise me that if you feel weak or light in the head, you will mention it, and we will stop.”

  “I promise.” I had no intention of doing so.

  “Hmm, I suspect you may have just told me what I wish to hear, but I shall take it. Let us eat and drink, perhaps take a short nap. The ride ahead will be unpleasant to say the least.”

  I nodded, nudged the parrots away from the basket, and handed Teryn a loaf of seeded bread with several fat figs. I’d faced many unpleasant rides before. This one would be no different.

  Neither of us slept.

  We talked in hushed tones, lying down facing each other, after the replies to our kings had been sent off. The sun rose on a nearly silent settlement, the sounds of revelry dying off as the day began. Small sounds now filled the warming air. The chatter of women, the odd grunts of the quadoth, the cry of an infant.

  “We should gather ourselves,” Teryn whispered, his nose brushing mine, our gazes locked. “I wish we could lie abed for the day. Your body moving inside mine…”

  I pressed my mouth to his. Yes, I wished for that as well. For all the worries and troubles of our world to burn off as a fog does when the sun touches it. That was not to be though, and so when the kiss ended, we rose. We’d barely exited the tent when a young woman with bright eyes approached us, an old, old woman on her arm. The old woman had the darkest skin of any Sandrayan I had ever seen. Her thick braids were coiled atop her head, and when she smiled up at us from her stooped position, one only saw gums.

  The young woman began speaking to Teryn as the elderly woman dug into a small satchel and pulled out a round, pale cookie. I smiled. She poked it at me. Unsure of the proper protocol, I glanced at Teryn.

  “Ah yes, you may take it. Grandmother here wishes to travel with us to Shar-Aab.” Both women nodded at me as they repeated Shar-Aab. “She has recently lost her husband and wishes to go to her daughter who lives at the port.”

  “Oh.” I took the cookie, bowing slightly in thanks. “Will she travel the desert safely?” I had no wish to cart the old woman into the burning sands only to have her expire halfway across.

  “They assure me that she is able to ride to her daughter.” Teryn took the cookie now being pressed into his chest with a soft, loving smile. “She is too poor to own a steed.”

  Ah. All eyes came to me. As the lowly guard, it would be me to walk while the old woman rode. I would have offered my beast to her without the class distinction.

  “She can ride mine,” I offered. Teryn made a face that I could not discern but relayed the message to the women and presented her with his teapot. Obviously, this was the new bride. They spoke for a few moments more before I was bid to fetch our rides.

  So it was that shortly after meeting her that Grandmother Areza was astride Razgol while I walked ahead, the reins in my hand, leading the contrary beast out of the sleepy settlement. Teryn kept glancing back at me uneasily as we stepped into the black sand. The old woman was covered from head to toe in pink robes, with nothing but her cheery eyes exposed. She started singing a song in Sandrayan. And she kept singing it, or others, as we made our way over dune after dune of inky sand. The sun rose high. Sweat coated me, but now and again, when I would place my foot down, the armor would cool as the roots traveled downward to find water. Only a moment or two would pass as I stood there, then, when I would lift my boot, the roots would pull back into the armor, and we would start again.

  By the time the sun was high overhead, we had traveled for many miles without seeing a thing other than sand. Teryn and Grandmother chatted back and forth in their native tongues, her songs broken only by her chit-chat with Teryn. The quadoth walked along, not flagging or breathing heavy like a horse through its nostrils. They seemed uncaring of the fiery temperature. Truly a beast made for these lands. To our right sat an old, old building. Round with palms growing about its exterior. Vultures, too many to count, sat atop the ruins. Sand lay blown high up one side of the circular temple.

  Grandmother began shouting at me as she attempted to get off the quadoth. Teryn looked back at us as I argued with her to stay put until the beast could lower itself. Things got rather tangled for a few moments as our travel came to a fast halt. The old woman was not having any arguments from me—not that she understood me—and was determined to toss herself off Razgol’s humped back. Teryn arrived, talking to the old woman in soft, placating tones, as I tugged on the reins to lead Razgol downward.

  “She wishes to take what remains of her husband to the Saanin tal Rustam,” Teryn told me as the weathered old woman held up a small tightly wrapped package, no bigger than a small dog, her cheeks wet with tears. I had many questions. Sweat ran into my eyes.

  “What is a Saanin tal Rustam?” I asked, watching Grandmother set off across the dune, her tiny feet sinking into the black sand. She was determined. I had to credit her for that.

  “House of the Resting Dead,” Teryn explained as we set off after the old woman. “Here in the outlands, the people lay their dead to find eternal slumber in these holy places. The doors and roof are open to invite the vultures and desert scavengers to claim the body so that it does not taint the soil or sands as your city dead do in vast cemeteries or vaults under your temples.”

  I had heard of similar practices for the wood elves, only they placed their dead in trees for nature to retake. “It should not take long. A short prayer to the goddess to guide him over and we can set off again.”

  “That is fine.” I hurried up to one side of her, Teryn on the other, and we made our way to the ancient circular building. There were no carvings of any kind on the worn black bricks. The vultures took to wing at our approach. The stench of death leeched out of the open doorway.

  “She will enter alone as there are no kin with her. She’ll pray and lay his remains on a short rock bed. The birds and gray hyenas do as nature intends, and his soul will be freed to join the goddess.” Teryn and I let go of her bony arms. She tottered inside, humming a song that was low and sad, and I turned to Teryn.

  “What happened to her husband that all that remains is a bundle the size of a pair of boots?” I asked in a whisper as the old woman began chanting.

  Teryn never did reply. He turned slowly to gaze into the house of the resting dead, his eyes widening at whatever he saw inside the doorway.

  “Damnation,” he muttered, stepping backward out of my line of sight.

  “What? Did the old woman fall?” I bolted through the doorway to scan the area for the feeble old thing when a monster made of sand and bones wrapped in dried skin like leather lunged at me, its hand finding purchase on my chest plate. Long fingers slid under the edge by my neck. The reek of death billowed off the unholy thing as it clutched at my armor, vacant eye sockets filled with swirling dark purple energy locked onto my face. Its jaw unhinged, falling to its chest, and a foul cloud of rot hit me in the face. It made a sound akin to the death peal of a hundred widows. The howl made me wince.

  “Sand wraiths! Do not let them touch your flesh or they will drain your life force!” Teryn bellowed from behind me. I fumbled for my sword at my hip. My shield was hanging off Razgol. Who needs a shield to escort a tiny elderly widow to a burial temple? I was a dolt. My sword shattered a bony arm, dislodging its hold on my armor, but not before a finger raked over my skin. The slice was small, barely a nick, but it began to bleed copiously.

  “How do we kill what is already dead?” I shouted over my shoulder as the doorway filled with sand wraiths. A dozen, perhaps more, many in terrible states of decay, while a few were newly dead. The chants inside the building grew louder.

  “Kill the necromancer!” Teryn bellowed as I retreated back to place myself between him and the wraiths.

  “It’s an old woman! She gave me rosewater cookies!” I yelled over my shoulder just as a whipping wind thick with sand engulfed me. He was shifting form. What help he felt a tiny fox would be in this kind of confrontation, I had no clue, but—

  The sand settled. A large hissing sound pulled my attention from the mass of undead rushing at us. I’d never heard a sound such as that, so when I shot Teryn a glance, my sight landed not on a fox or even a bird but a massive red scorpion, tattered bits of robing stuck to its carapace. It was easily the size of our quadoth but far more terrifying. The curled tail carried a stinger as long as my leg, venom leaking from the tip to its hard outer shell. I gaped in wonder and no small amount of fear as it skittered forward, mouthpieces rubbing to produce that unearthly hiss before striking out. It—Teryn—drove its stinger through the head of a wraith. The skull exploded, and it went limp.

  Right. Aim for the head. Heads. There was no time for precision or strategy. We struck out wildly, dropping wraiths one by one, only to see more falling over themselves to exit the building. Teryn was right. The necromancer must be slain, or this battle would turn quickly as the bottleneck at the door was the only thing slowing them down.

  “The dark sorceress is mine!” I shouted at the scorpion, and it chittered back at me as it ended another wraith. I dodged a bony hand, using my sword to knock it aside, and began making my way to the side of the building. I did not fear for Teryn. He was well able to defend himself against this horde of walking corpses. If only my entire body was covered in chitin as his was. The blood seeping from the gash on my upper chest had soaked through the thin tunic under the chest plate.

  Several of the wraiths followed me, drawn by the smell of blood perhaps or just to my possessing a soul. I scrambled up to where the sand had drifted up the side of the wall, ran at the dune, and leapt. One hand found purchase on the top of the wall, and the other swung back and forth at the grasping fingers that were trying to tug me down. I kicked out, knocking a wraith backward, then began to slide downward as my fingers began to slip in something pasty. Vulture shit no doubt. Using the shoulder of a wraith as a step, I pushed upward enough to get my chest onto the top of the round wall.

  A wraith grabbed my ankle as I hefted myself upward, wide mouth gnawing at the coil root greave on my left leg. I moved to my back, kicked upward, and busted its skull into bits with the heel of my boot. Getting to my feet, I glanced down to see Teryn battling through the throngs of undead. Many were on his back, but their gaping mouths and long nails could not find the flesh below the plating. Seeing that he was well for the moment, I spun, nearly going off the side of the wall as my boot came down on a pile of bird shit that stank of rotting flesh and the contents of their stomach as the birds vomit when threatened.

  The necromancer looked up, her braids loose and floating around her head, eyes now black as the sand. She looked nothing like the sweet widow woman who gave me cookies. This dark witch was intent on using the dead to kill us. For what reason remained to be seen. The chanting continued on, her hands wreathed in glowing sigils, the long dead rising from the hundreds of stone slabs where they had been laid to rest.

  She threw her hand at me. The undead turned from the door to the wall and began trying to scale it. Most were too rotted to walk properly as the newer dead were outside being torn to bits by a scorpion as big as a war horse. Eyeing the witch, I jumped, coming down with my sword, my goal to drive the blade through her head. Midway through the leap, a hand found my ankle, tugging me down to the ground, where I landed on my side at the edge of a stone slab. I heard and felt a rib crack. The pain was sharp, and when I moved, drawing a breath made the agony flare, but there was no time for pain. The undead were racing at me. I rolled off the slab, gasping at each movement, and got to my feet. The witch continued chanting as she moved in reverse, her little sandals catching on the bodies of those she had raised but were unable to walk well. I charged at her, using my sword to cleave the heads from two wraiths, sand exploding into the wind as I ran her down.