Chapter Ten #2
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.