Race the Sands

by Sarah Beth Durst

  High Augur Niasa occupied a throne with herons and a river dolphin.

  High Augur Teron, a butterfly and a turtle.

  High Augur Gasadon, a crocodile, a cricket, and a man.

  High Augurs Utra, Siarm, and Nolak, all on thrones with birds and fishes.

  The eighth and newest high augur, High Augur Gissa sat on a black obsidian throne with no carvings. By tradition, the vessels of the holy assassin were kept a secret, even—or especially—from his or her successors.

  A ninth throne sat empty. It was carved with the image of a kehok.

  High Augur Etar began the meeting.

  There were no pleasantries. Only this:

  “When must he die?”

  One by one, the high augurs stood and reported.

  “There’s violence in the eastern cities.”

  “Revolts in several of the quarries. The overseers have controlled them, but they are increasing in frequency and destructiveness.”

  “Ships were sunk at the docks of Carteka.”

  High Augur Utra, who was in charge of external affairs, leaned forward, and the others fell silent. “Credible reports have come out of Ranir. King Hamra of Ranir has begun mobilizing troops in earnest. There is little doubt in my mind that he is planning a full-scale invasion. I estimate he will be ready by the end of the flood season. If our military is not deployed to repel such a force, it could spell the end of the empire.”

  High Augur Teron exhaled a heavy puff of air. “The laws must be changed—”

  “And cannot be until an emperor sits on the throne,” High Augur Etar said. “Even then, overturning centuries of tradition will not be a simple task. There will be resistance, and rightly so. The sacredness of our laws is what protects civilization itself.”

  “The mood of the people is tense,” High Augur Niasa said. “It will explode, and we will have large-scale riots in our cities. With that kind of internal chaos, the empire is indeed ripe for invasion.”

  “And even if Ranir had no interest in conquering Becar by the end of this flood season, we are exposing ourselves to an economic crisis that will weaken Becar for decades—they could simply bide their time and invade later,” High Augur Teron said.

  All the high augurs, except for Gissa, began talking at once, expounding on how the crisis would worsen the longer the problem persisted.

  High Augur Etar held up his hands. “This is known. We have only one question before us: When must he die? It is a terrible thing to take even an emperor-to-be from our people. It will end a dynasty most see as eternal. We must be certain the time we pick is right. His death must do more good than harm. Given the news from Ranir, can we still afford to wait until the end of the races?”

  “We must wait until the end of the races,” High Augur Siarm insisted. “You know the mood of the people during race season—it is their festival and their joy. If we take that from them, it will spark the very reaction we hope to prevent.”

  There were nods from around the room.

  “Then nothing has changed?” High Augur Etar asked.

  The only response was a heavy silence.

  High Augur Gissa rose. “One thing has changed. A small thing. But we can’t protect the empire if we ignore the small things. My sources have told me that an augur I know—a dedicated, holy man—is returning from his travels with a kehok for the emperor-to-be, as well as a rider, a trainer, and a race consultant. It is believed that the emperor-to-be has an interest in sponsoring a racer, and he has ordered the reestablishment of the royal stables, beginning with this one. If this is true, the emperor-to-be will undoubtedly recruit more, bringing a variety of kehoks in close proximity to the palace, under the scrutiny of a well-trained, highly skilled augur.”

  More silence.

  “This may not be a small thing,” High Augur Teron said.

  “Since the augur in question is my friend, I will speak with him. He does not lie, and he certainly will not to me.” This was fact. Gissa did not allow emotion to color her voice. She knew she was best suited to learn what Augur Yorbel knew and also the most likely to influence his future behavior. “Perhaps he can be persuaded that this is not an endeavor appropriate for augurs. To be near such vile creatures is a threat to one’s soul, and Becar cannot afford the corruption of one of its most precious lights, especially in times such as these.”

  “And if you do not like what you hear? Or if he will not listen to reason?” High Augur Etar asked her.

  Gissa did not hesitate. She knew her duty. “Then I will kill my friend, with sadness in my heart but strength in my hand.”

  “And those who accompany him?”

  “If they are innocent, they live,” Gissa said. “However, if they do not have the best interests of our beloved Becar at heart, then they die with him.”

  “So be it,” High Augur Etar said.

  The others echoed him, and the council ended.

  Inside the palace, in a suite with a view of the Aur River, Ambassador Usan of Ranir decided he despised sand. It wormed its way in everywhere, making even the finest silks feel gritty when the wind blew, which seemed to be all the blasted time. When he’d first arrived in Becar, he had found it mildly irritating. But now, he reflected, he loathed it.

  Home was across the desert, on the shores of the Callifan Sea, where the breeze was crisp with salt and you could eat a slice of warm bread without having to chew grains of sand. He hated the bread here, and he hated the insistence of Becaran chefs on putting onions in everything.

  But most of all he hated the people and their dewy-eyed insistence that all animals and birds were long-lost relations and thus should be honored. He hated the smug augurs, who treated the Becarans like goats to be herded and fed garbage until they were stuffed with self-righteousness.

  The sooner his king could conquer this sand-blasted country, the sooner Usan could go home. He merely had to withstand its irritations a little longer. The country had almost reached its boiling point—even the augurs were having trouble keeping their herds soothed. Usan had done his part to stoke the fires, fueled by the unprecedented access to King Hamra of Ranir’s treasury, with careful whispers in important ears and judicious bribes in the appropriate pockets. His work was nearly done.

  It won’t be long now, Usan thought. Everything was in place, and soon, very soon, he’d be able to return home, triumphant.

  Humming to himself, he exited his suite, nodded politely to the guards, and progressed to the Court of Statues, where the elite liked to amuse themselves with petty gossip. He graced several courtiers with friendly smiles before inserting himself into a conversation near a platter of honey-drenched pastries.

  It was there he realized all his careful plans were on the verge of falling apart. A noble with a high-pitched voice was talking about those barbaric races and how there were rumors that the emperor-to-be was contemplating reopening the royal stables. Word had come to him from his contacts who worked the river that an augur, a highly respected one, was soon arriving with a recently purchased kehok that would be Prince Dar’s prize racer.

  “An augur is bringing one of the desert abominations to the palace?” Usan asked, as if this were of only mild interest to him. His mind raced through all potential consequences. “How unusual.”

  “Indeed! The royal stables have been closed for decades,” the noble said. “I do not understand what could have prompted Prince Dar to prioritize restarting the royal racing program during such a time of need.”

  “Perhaps that’s exactly why—it’s a time of need, and the people need hope,” said another noble, a woman with a bit of honey smeared on her cheek that blurred her carefully applied makeup. She shoved another pastry into her mouth after her statement.

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “When is this ‘prize kehok’ due to arrive?” Usan asked. He hid his alarm under a veneer of casual charm, smiling at a server who delivered a flute of amethyst-colored liquid. He’d given up trying to identify the various fru
ity drinks Becarans liked to serve. All of them tasted sickly sweet to him. He sipped this one and schooled his face to hide a grimace.

  “Imminently!” the first noble said, warming to the topic. “Prince Dar can’t expect to solve any of Becar’s problems with this distraction. Surely the people won’t forget his failures merely because he chooses to participate in the races!”

  “It is a clever move,” the woman said around the pastry she had stuffed in her cheek in order to speak. “He’ll win over the populace if his racer performs well.”

  The man snorted. “Foolishness.”

  “Popular foolishness,” the woman corrected.

  Potential disaster, Usan thought, downing the rest of his unpleasant drink and discarding the glass.

  The woman with the pastry was correct. The mood of a nation was a fickle, variable thing. A freshly placated populace wouldn’t riot as quickly or as expansively as he needed them to. It was his job to ensure that the Becarans ran out of patience with their darling emperor-to-be on a very specific schedule, so that when the time was right, the city would explode. Then, before a new emperor could be selected and crowned, King Hamra of Ranir would sweep into the city to restore peace and order. This new stunt by Prince Dar could jeopardize that dream.

  He scanned the Court of Statues until his gaze landed on one of its most important members: Lady Nori. She was gracefully weaving between other nobles, gifting them with a smile or a light laugh. Young and beautiful, she was a natural jewel in a river full of artificial ones. It was no wonder Prince Dar was reputed to favor her. Everyone did.

  Usan angled his path through the crowd to intersect hers, watching her without seeming to. She was truly skilled at the art of delighting everyone while favoring no one. If he were advising Prince Dar, he would tell him to secure her allegiance as quickly and permanently as possible—she would be a valuable asset to a new emperor. But since he was, by definition, on the opposite side, he was not rooting for the couple to, well, couple.

  “Ah, Lady Nori, a pleasure to see you,” he said. He smoothed his expression into one of gentle surprise at their encounter. It didn’t much matter if she saw through that—the appearance of casual conversation was all he needed.

  She inclined her lovely head. “Ambassador Usan. You look well.”

  “I am sunburned in places that haven’t even seen the sun, and when I look in the mirror, I see a parched skeleton.” He liberated a flute of mango wine from the tray of a nearby server. “I fear I will never not be thirsty again. How do you Becarans do it?”

  Lady Nori laughed, a sound that reminded him of bubbles. “Didn’t you know? We were all sand beetles in our past lives. The desert is in our blood.”

  “I half believe that.” He took a sip of the treacly wine. Must these people sweeten everything? “I also half believe the rumors circulating about Prince Dar and his new kehok. I’m not quite sure what to think of it. Playing with toys while his people suffer.”

  Her smile dropped. “Prince Dar thinks only of his people.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s an ingenious attempt to boost morale. He will be a spectacular emperor!”

  From her reaction, it was clear that the noblewoman returned the emperor-to-be’s affections, though he couldn’t gauge whether either had confessed to that. Ugh, spare me the defensive indignation of a young woman whose lover has been insulted.

  “I only meant that he should devote some attention to what is going on in his own palace, rather than focusing on activities beyond it.” Leaning closer, he said in a voice barely louder than a breath, “I have heard rumors of discontent among his own guards.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Yes, that was all he needed to do. Plant doubt. Turn the Becarans on one another.

  “Warn your prince,” Usan said.

  She clasped his hand, her expression every bit as concerned as he’d hoped it would be. “Thank you. I will.”

  He hated so many things about Becar, but this was one thing he loved: its people were so easily manipulated. Raising his glass, Usan toasted the lovely, innocent, and gullible Lady Nori before he drifted back into the crowd, looking for other opportunities to serve his king.

  Chapter 17

  Tamra had visited the Heart of Becar, the glorious capital of the Becaran Empire, countless times over the years. Still takes my breath away, she thought as they sailed beneath an archway made of two stone figures crossing swords. Ahead was the city: white spires with gold domes, palm trees along the streets, and colorful markets near the docks. And of course the statues.

  The statues of the emperor’s city lined the river and dominated the city squares. Made of stone, bronze, wood, clay, and glass, they’d been carved by artisans over many generations. Many were hundreds of years old, and a few were reputed to be a thousand. They depicted every creature that had ever walked, swum, crawled, or flown in Becar—every type of vessel that a human soul could be reborn as. Except kehoks, Tamra thought.

  Beside her, Raia was gawking at everything.

  Tamra grinned at her. “Wait until you see the palace.”

  “The Heart of Becar is a marvel,” Augur Yorbel agreed. “It is said that three hundred years ago—”

  Lady Evara interrupted. “Yes, lovely. Spare us the history lesson, and tell me: Are the royal stables and training ground ready? I know Trainer Verlas will want to start immediately.”

  Augur Yorbel looked uncomfortable, as he usually did whenever Lady Evara issued one of her demands. So far on this trip, she’d insisted on private sleeping quarters on the riverboat, as well as ripe mangoes at every meal and buckets of fresh flowers to cover the scent of kehok. She’d also brought a glass bowl with three koi fish in it that she insisted one of her three servants carry near her at all times, because she said she found it soothing when traveling.

  Rich people are strange, Tamra thought.

  In this case, though, Lady Evara was correct. Tamra did want to resume training with Raia and the black lion as quickly as possible. It was mere days until the next round of races.

  “I’ve sent messenger wights, and we will be met at the royal dock with a transport,” Augur Yorbel said. “But you will understand if the facilities require more time to be restored to their former glory.”

  “Sadly, I am not a particularly understanding person,” Lady Evara said. “If you wish the emperor-to-be’s return to the Becaran Races to be triumphant, we must be supplied with all we need to make our debut on the national stage a success.”

  “Um, yes, well, of course.” He looked rattled, and Tamra almost felt sorry for him. She wondered if he was underselling the royal training ground, or overselling it. Exactly how neglected was it? She’d been on plenty of less-than-luxurious tracks. Odd that the emperor wouldn’t prepare the stables before recruiting a racer. She wondered if all this was some spur-of-the-moment whim, like Lady Evara’s fishbowl.

  He turned to Tamra and asked, “What do you need?”

  “Supply of raw meat and fresh water for the kehok, a stall he can’t break, and a track. And no audience until we’re ready.” She felt Lady Evara glaring at her for not asking for more, but that was truly all she needed. They’d be at the royal stables for only a couple weeks, just until the major and minor races started and all racers converged on the Heart of Becar. They’d be required to stay at the official race campsite then, a few miles beyond the city. “We can sleep in the stables.”

  Lady Evara sniffed. “You cannot. Quiet quarters are a must for a well-rested rider, as well as private baths, funds for new racing clothes, and a chef dedicated to our needs. I will draw up a list.” She flounced away from them, into the silken tent that had been erected for her at the back of the boat. Her three servants followed, one still carrying the fishbowl.

  Augur Yorbel was watching her leave as if she was more alarming than a kehok, and Tamra decided she did indeed feel sorry for him. “Raia, can you check on the kehok? The new sights might be alarming him.” She waited until
Raia scurried across the deck to the cage before saying in a low voice, “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

  He jumped as if startled, then looked sheepish. “It’s obvious?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “I am out of my depth. Ask me to read a soul, ask me to save a soul, and I can do it! I have trained for that. But ask me to restart a racing program at the highest level on the most public stage . . . Well, I am wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.”

  She laughed, liking that he was so honest about it. “How did you get stuck with this?”

  He hesitated. “I volunteered.”

  “That was your first mistake.”

  “I’ve made a few.” He sighed mournfully, as if he were cataloguing every single mistake he’d ever made.

  “You’re the first augur I’ve ever met to admit he’s ever made any,” Tamra said. Certainly you’d never catch Augur Clari saying anything as vulnerable as that. She guarded her infallibility as if it were a precious jewel. “Us ordinary people are in over our heads on a daily basis. You get used to it.”

  “Then will you be my guide?” He sounded so innocent, with a hint of pathetic, that it was charming, and Tamra couldn’t help smiling. She wondered if he’d ever spent much time out of the temple. Poor sheltered augur, she thought, and found herself actually believing it. “Tell me what’s needed, and I will see you get it.”

  “Just the basics for me. And whatever will placate Lady Evara. You don’t want her making your life miserable.”

  He shot a look at the silken tent.

  “She’s testing you right now, to see how far she can push her demands. Like a toddler. My advice? Listen to everything she says, and then do what you think is best, regardless of whatever she demands. Really, that’s the only way to handle the wealthy.”

  He smiled, and it transformed his whole face, changing him from an unapproachable augur to a man with warmth and humor. “You’re the first ‘ordinary person’ I’ve met to ever give life advice to an augur, instead of the other way around.” Then, more seriously: “Thank you.”