Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
ALARIK
D awn had barely broken when they left the oasis behind. The desert unspooled before them in waves of gold and rust, quiet but watchful, as if biding its time.
Alarik rode ahead, guiding them east—away from the main road, away from danger.
The longer path would cost them hours, perhaps more, but the risk of ambush on the trade route was too great.
With Kaelen pale and silent in the saddle and Reiya still unfamiliar with a blade, it wasn’t a risk they could afford.
He glanced over his shoulder, taking stock. Kaelen was upright but straining. Reiya’s posture was stiff, determined but weary.
He exhaled, adjusting his grip on the reins. He’d led through worse. Bleeding, half-starved, outnumbered—he’d survived.
They’d survive this too. They had to.
To their right, the Qirathi Highlands loomed, their jagged peaks slicing into the sky.
As a boy, he’d imagined them as the ribs of a slumbering giant, a creature that might one day stir and shake the desert apart.
The cliffs were sheer walls of rust and shadow, their craggy surfaces swallowing the sun.
What seemed like barren rock was alive with unseen watchers—silent figures blending into the terrain, betrayed only by the faintest glint of steel .
The Qirathi were one of the fiercest tribes of the Numeria Desert, their warriors hardened by its brutal expanse. They owed loyalty to no Crown, bowing only to their Chieftain and the unyielding laws of their land. Few dared trespass into their strongholds uninvited.
A flicker of movement caught his eye high on the massif’s face. To the untrained, it might’ve been a bird’s shadow or the trick of the light, but Alarik knew better.
A Qirathi spy was watching.
His grip on the reins tightened. He’d considered leading them into the highlands, seeking shelter under the Chieftain’s rule. But the Qirathi didn’t offer sanctuary freely, and bringing an unclaimed Omega into their domain—when Kaelen could barely sit his horse—wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.
For years, his role had been Kaelen’s trusted counsel, a position he’d found fulfillment in. But now, with his brother incapacitated, the weight of command had fallen on his shoulders.
Every decision felt like the edge of a blade.
A sudden shift in movement drew his attention. Kaelen swayed in the saddle, his golden complexion ashen, his breathing ragged. He clung to the reins with fierce determination, but Alarik saw the truth.
His brother was barely holding on.
“Alarik!”
Reiya’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he pulled his horse to a halt.
She was already at Kaelen’s side, steadying him as he threatened to slide from the saddle.
“He’s feverish,” she murmured, pressing a hand to Kaelen’s brow.
Kaelen’s lips curled in a weak semblance of a grin. “Tie me to the saddle. Can’t stop now.”
She looked at him, concerns etched onto every line of her face. “He can’t keep going like this. We have to stop.”
His jaw tightened. He saw how Kaelen clung to the reins, muscles locking in place to keep himself upright. The sandshrike venom was merciless, and the desert heat only drained him faster.
Kaelen needed rest, but stopping in the open would make them easy targets. He scanned the horizon, gaze sweeping over the shifting dunes, the vast desert stretching in all directions. A faint outline in the distance snagged his attention.
“There.” He nodded toward a cluster of rock outcroppings barely visible against the shimmer of heat. “We’ll stop there.”
Nudging his horse forward, he picked up the pace, each step a race against the sun.
As soon as they reached the rocky outcrop, he pulled his horse to a stop.
His eyes swept the area for any signs of movement.
Satisfied they weren’t being watched—at least, not yet—he dismounted and strode toward Kaelen.
He swayed in the saddle, his fingers slackening on the reins. His skin was too pale, sweat beading along his brow.
“Easy now,” Alarik murmured, already moving to catch him.
Kaelen didn’t protest—not even a joke to mask the pain. Just a faint grunt, barely conscious, as he slipped an arm around his waist and eased him down from the horse.
Alarik’s jaw tightened as he guided him toward the shade of a rock outcrop, each step a grim reminder of how close they’d come to losing him.
“Here.” He lowered Kaelen carefully, bracing him against the warm stone.
A sharp breath wheezed out as Kaelen sank, head tipping back against the rock. His skin was like parchment beneath a sheen of sweat, his pale lips dry and cracked.
Reiya was already kneeling beside him, uncorking a waterskin. “Drink,” she ordered, pressing the opening to his lips.
Kaelen grimaced but obeyed, taking a few sips before coughing weakly.
“More,” she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.
He took another slow gulp and coughed.
Reiya pulled out a dry graincake from her satchel, breaking off a piece and pressing it against his lips. “Eat.”
Kaelen turned his head away. “Don’t . . . want?—”
“You need strength to fight this.” She nudged the food closer.
Alarik let out a short, dry chuckle. “Might as well listen, brother. You know she’s not going to let this go.”
Kaelen muttered something under his breath but parted his lips and bit off a small piece of the graincake, swallowing with visible effort.
She didn’t stop there. From the folds of her shawl, she retrieved a small vial—the tonic Ru Rong had brewed the night before. The elder woman didn’t know the precise prescription for sandshrike venom’s antidote, but she’d concocted together a few herbs and ingredients good for cleansing the body.
Kaelen eyed it warily. “That . . . looks awful.”
“It doesn’t matter what it looks like,” Reiya insisted. “Drink it.”
His moue of distaste deepened, but she uncorked the bottle and pressed it to his lips, tipping just enough to force him to swallow.
He spluttered, his face one of pure disgust. “Tastes like . . . horse piss.”
Her expression remained unmoved. “Oh? Didn’t realize you were an expert on that.”
Alarik smirked despite himself. Kaelen scowled but took another swig, though his nose wrinkled like she’d just poisoned him further. Finished, his head lolled back against the rock, his breath slowing as exhaustion pulled at him.
Alarik watched for a moment before glancing at the sky. The midday sun was relentless, the heat radiating off the dunes in shimmering waves. Their horses stood nearby, tails flicking against sand flies, their ears twitching.
For now, it was quiet.
He exhaled and settled against the rock, letting the moment stretch. He wasn’t fool enough to close his eyes, but he allowed himself a few minutes of stillness, his body tuned to every shift in the air, every distant sound carried on the wind.
Kaelen dozed, his fevered murmurs quieting into uneasy sleep. Reiya sat beside him, watching him closely, brushing the hair sticking to his damp forehead.
The desert stretched wide before them, its golden dunes rippling like an endless sea, the sky vast and piercingly blue.
Alarik had lived his whole life beneath this sky, had ridden through these sands more times than he could count.
He knew how quickly the desert could turn— from merciless heat to frigid cold, from dead silence to the roar of an oncoming sandstorm.
But the first hint of danger came as a whisper. A distant tremor in the ground. The faintest shift in the wind.
His instincts flared. Sitting up, his gaze snapped toward the horizon.
Something wasn’t right.
Then he heard it: hooves. Faint, but unmistakable.
He went still. The sound wasn’t their own horses shifting. It was a rhythm, controlled and deliberate, carried across the dunes by the wind.
Alarik rose swiftly, stepping away from the rock’s shade. He scanned the horizon, eyes narrowing against the blinding glare. For a moment, he saw nothing but the endless sands.
Then, he saw movement: a cloud of dust, kicked up by galloping hooves. Their shadows didn’t look like a line of caravan, not travellers either.
His pulse quickened.
Mercenaries.
“We have to go,” he snapped, voice leaving no room for hesitation. “Now.”
Kaelen barely stirred, his body sluggish with fever and blood loss. Reiya’s face had gone pale, but she didn’t hesitate. She dropped to Kaelen’s side, gripping him, her voice urgent as she tried to rouse him.
Alarik crouched low, gripping Kaelen’s arm and hauling him to his feet. His brother sagged against him, legs barely holding. Alarik didn’t hesitate—he anchored Kaelen’s weight, teeth gritted as he forced them both upright.
There was no time.
They mounted fast. The horses kicked into motion, hooves tearing into the sand, flinging dust as they surged toward the open dunes.
They had minutes—no, less .
Behind them, shouts split the air—mercenaries closing in. Then came the sound Alarik dreaded most: a whistle, high and sharp, slicing through the wind.
His gut twisted .
A spear struck Kaelen’s horse square in the flank. The beast shrieked, legs buckling mid-gallop. In one violent lurch, it crumpled—and Kaelen fell. He hit the sand with a brutal thud, the sound ripping through Alarik like a blade.
“Kaelen!”
He yanked his reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt. Reiya was already moving, swinging down from her saddle. Before her feet even hit the ground, the fight erupted.
Shadows loomed. Mercenaries poured over the dunes, blades flashing under the unrelenting sun.
Alarik’s bow was already in his hands.
“Reiya, down!” His voice cut through the chaos as he fired an arrow.
The nearest attacker crumpled mid-stride. Another spear slammed into the ground near Reiya’s feet. She flinched but didn’t freeze, scrambling toward Kaelen. Slinging his arm over her shoulders, she helped him stagger behind a jagged boulder as dust and debris swirled around them.
Alarik turned, another arrow already nocked. Three shots. Three men down. Not enough. More were coming—too many.