The Inquisitor had finally risen at their backs and the barren Desert of Sazan stretched before them.
“How are we going to find it?” demanded Vered. “I can’t see ten paces in this dust.”
“We’ll find a way. We must.”
Vered grumbled a bit, then said, “We owe her much. It’s a pity her phantom cannot aid us now.” No phantom could locate the body from which it came. No one had been able to give a reasonable explanation; Santon and Vered had aided more than one phantom in Claymore Pass and other battlegrounds to find eternal rest. For Alarice they could perform the same service.
Without her, Porotane would not have a decent queen on the throne and peace for the first time in over twenty years.
“Patrin’s City of Stolen Dreams was near this spot,” said Santon.
“How can you tell?”
“I’ve not lost my tracking sense. We found it before, when Alarice led us here. I can always retrace my steps.”
“I’ve heard of birds being able to perform such a feat,” muttered Vered, pulling his cloak up to protect his nose and mouth. He took a step forward and stumbled over something buried in the sand.
“What’s that?” Santon pounced on the broken pot.
“It looks like one of Patrin’s dream jars. Do you think it remained when his entire city just…vanished.”
“It might have. If so, that means she is near — her remains are near,” he corrected, his voice choked with emotion. Vered rested a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“There is much desert to search and the sands will have drifted over her,” said Vered as gently as possible. “It might be the work of a lifetime finding her skeleton. This storm makes it even more difficult to do.”
“I’ll do it.”
“We’ll do it,” said Vered.
They began their hunt until both dropped to the ground in exhaustion.
“It’s so cold and the demon-damned wind never stops,” said Vered. “How can we be sure that we’re not simply searching the same spot over and over? I’m so turned around, I cannot tell where I am.”
“We’ve been…” Santon’s voice trailed off as the wind died. In the distance he saw huge pillars of cloud rising to form black anvil heads. Lightning crashed within the clouds.
“Those look exactly like the storms Kaga’kalb conjured,” said Vered.
“Quiet. Listen!”
“Music!”
“The thunder. It…it’s a song!” Santon stood and made his way to the top of a sand dune. From here he was able to get an unobstructed view of the two towering columns of lightning-filled storm.
“The winds still rage except down the corridor,” said Vered. “Do you think Kaga’kalb is aiding us?”
“He is,” came Alarice’s faint voice. “I cannot help you to help me. But Kaga’kalb can — and so is Lokenna.”
“Lokenna?”
“The Demon Crown. She can see anything no matter where it is!”
Santon said, “The cloud warriors — look. Kaga’kalb sends one toward us.”
“Lokenna guides it, Kaga’kalb sends it,” came Alarice’s voice, hardly more than a whisper in the desert.
“I see no remains of Patrin’s city,” said Vered, “but the cloud warrior must. He’s stopped and is pointing.”
Santon rushed forward, Vered following. They approached the cloud warrior cautiously. The huge, nebulous figure pointed to a spot in the desert. Santon dropped to his knees and began digging frantically with his good hand. Vered took the shield from his friend’s left arm and used it as a giant scoop to move even more sand.
“A skeleton,” Santon announced. He gingerly pushed away the sand until the entire body was revealed. “The ants have stripped off the flesh and there is no clothing left — the elements have done them in. How can we know this is Alarice’s body?”
“By this,” said Vered. He had continued to dig and had found a long glass sword. He held it up so that it gleamed in the bright sunlight and reflected a beam down to a rocky outjutting.
“There,” said Santon, pointing to the rock the light beam selected. “We’ll entomb her there.”
“That’s a major undertaking. It’s solid rock. How can we — ”
Vered and Santon were blown backward by the lightning bolt that struck the rock prominence and burned a cavity in it.
“Kaga’kalb,” saluted Vered. He flourished the long glass sword in the direction of the distant Castle of the Winds. “Thank you.”
They carried the bones and put them into the crypt. Santon took the glass sword from Vered and gently laid it across Alarice’s skeleton. The Glass Warrior had found her final resting place.
“Rest in peace, my love,” he said.
“Thank you, dear Birtle,” came the phantom whisper.
Santon and Vered stepped back when the cloud warrior motioned them away. Another bolt from the twin storms at the edge of the desert fused the stone over Alarice’s remains. Santon quietly recited the ceremony that would lay Ala-rice to rest for all eternity.
As he finished a cold wind blew choking dust in his face.
“Kaga’kalb has done what he can,” said Vered. “We again have miserable winter storms in this miserable desert to plague us. Let us find somewhere cosy and warm to spend the winter. You mentioned an hospitable town to the south?”
“Let’s see what we can find,” said Santon. “It’s been too many years since I’ve been in that direction. Porotane holds no real challenge for us.”
Vered mounted and began singing a bawdy ballad he had learned in a western province seaport tavern. Birtle Santon did not listen to the off-key song. In his ear he heard the faint whispers of his lover.
Then they were gone.
He joined in Vered’s song and did not look back.
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 22