“Don’t you dare grumble,” Dannymere chided him. “This was all your idea, remember?”
“Not all my idea,” Borin retorted, nodding in the direction of Felis and Hugo, who were riding out in front.
“Humph! Well I hope the Prince appreciates the lengths we’re going to, to keep him safe. I bet he’s home already, feasting and bathing and…”
Borin laughed. “After what he’s been through, you can hardly begrudge him a few home comforts! I doubt they’re back yet anyway. Felis said about nine days by sea but there’s still plenty of time before the coronation.”
Dannymere thought about a half-elf sitting on the throne of Elms-haven and smiled to himself. Too often, as a child, he had been made to feel ashamed of his mixed heritage, as if it were somehow a disadvantage. It was liberating to know that a half-elf could be King. It was a sign of acceptance and of progressive thinking; and he was proud to play a part in it.
The four men stopped at a watering hole at midday when the heat from the sun had intensified four-fold. “It’s unseasonably hot today,” Felis remarked. “We must make allowances and rest awhile.”
There was a dense patch of foliage and a cluster of tall palm trees to the left, and the men made their way there once they- and their horses- had taken their fill of water. The animals were exhausted and in no mood to wander so they did not need tethering.
Borin lay in the shade with the warm sand at his back. He closed his eyes, listening to his heart hammering away in his chest and the beat echoing in his ears. He concentrated on staying as still as possible until the sound became quieter and less disturbing.
Felis ripped the hem off his tunic and tore the frayed fabric into strips. He returned to the water to soak them, then shared them around. “Here. This will help lower your body temperature,” he said, putting two saturated strips on the crown of his head and replacing his hat on top. The others followed suit and lay back. Felis offered to stay on watch, allowing his comrades to doze.
After a while, Hugo woke up and went off to search for dates. When he returned, half an hour later, it was with a full bag and a big grin. They ate the dates with left over crackers from their saddle bags. It was meagre fare but supplies were running low. Felis assured them there was another garrison just a day or two away but until then, they had to stretch out what little food they had left. The men collected enough wood for their evening fire then went on their way.
At night, when the temperature dropped, the desert really came to life. The creatures that hid away in the day, started to venture out of hiding. There was nothing too dangerous. The biggest thing they had seen so far was a fox, the colour of burnt amber. It had watched them from afar, hoping for scraps from their camp, but it had slipped away into the shadows once it realised there was nothing going spare.
That night, the men decided to make sport out of catching cockroaches and roasting them over the campfire. The roaches were enormous in the desert- which made them an easy target for thrusting swords- and they were an excellent source of protein.
“Tastes like chicken,” Dannymere said, chewing hungrily. The juice from the meat ran down his chin and he used his sleeve to wipe it away. “I never thought I’d eat a roach though.”
“I’ve had far worse,” said Hugo, “and it beats going to sleep on an empty stomach.”
“What is the worst thing you’ve eaten?” Dannymere wanted to know.
Hugo thought for a while and then he clicked his fingers as a memory came back to him. “Muskrat. Definitely the muskrat.”
“Anything with ‘rat’ in it could never be good!” Dannymere quipped. “What was it like?”
“Furry. But we skinned it and took off most of the fat. Then we roasted it and ate it with potatoes. It tasted like gone-off beef.”
“It was bitter and it made us retch,” Felis admitted, grimacing at the memory. “I have eaten many things but nothing worse than muskrat.”
Borin cracked the hard shell off another roach and separated it from the meat inside. As he ate, he thought back to the contest. He had managed to catch six cockroaches and he was only surpassed by Felis, who got eleven. The old fighter had excellent hand-eye co-ordination. It was not the first time that Borin had been thankful for such an experienced and knowledgeable companion.
The next day was much cooler and the men were relieved. They rode with fewer and shorter rest breaks, determined to reach Elms-haven and be reunited with their friends.
It was during the afternoon break that Hugo noticed something peculiar happening to the sand. Instead of lying flat and still, the sand had started to move.
Hugo watched as it swirled around his feet and then flowed away in an easterly direction. He looked behind and saw that the same was happening there. It was as if some unseen force was sucking the sand away.
The young man bent down to look more closely at the strange phenomenon. Beside him, his horse stamped and flicked his tail. “It’s alright boy,” Hugo said, patting him on the neck. “Felis- what’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the ground.
The old fighter was already squatting to study the movement of the sand. He watched it race up to him, then passed him and he frowned. He let the grains trickle through his fingers for a couple of minutes then he scratched his beard thoughtfully. “It’s moving like an ocean… an ocean of sand,” he said, perplexed.
“But why? Have you seen the likes of it before?”
“No. Never.” Felis stood back up, shielded his eyes from the sun and looked off into the distance. He could see nothing that would explain the shifting of the sands.
“What’s going on?” Dannymere asked as he and Borin caught up. They dismounted and stood with the other men. Behind them, Jasper and Duchess were making small snickering noises as if they too were discussing the sand.
“Good question,” Hugo murmured.
“We don’t know,” Felis admitted ruefully then he went stiff as a worrying thought suddenly occurred to him. “I’ve never seen this in the desert but when this happens to water…”
“What?”
“I hope I’m wrong but when water gets sucked away in this manner, it makes a-”
Borin looked up and his mouth fell open in shock. Just ahead of them was a huge wall of sand, easily thirty feet high. It had not been there a moment ago.
“Tidal wave!” Felis finished and there was a moment of stunned silence.
“Move!” Hugo yelled, snapping them out of their trance. The men mounted their horses, wheeled around and raced away, desperate to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the ever-growing wall of sand. It was difficult for the horses to run against the tide, but they sensed grave danger and used every ounce of their energy to gallop.
“Come on Duchess,” Borin yelled, kicking her flanks, and she responded with an added surge of speed. He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder and focused instead on Felis, his long grey hair streaming behind him as he galloped his horse for all it was worth.
“That cannot be natural!” shouted Dannymere, drawing level. His thoroughbred snorted in fear and tossed his head in agitation.
“Magic?” Borin yelled across to him.
“Got to be!”
“Where’s Hugo?” Borin asked, finally giving in and turning around in his saddle.
Hugo was the backmarker. His horse was tired and struggling to keep up. No amount of coercion was making a difference and he watched in dismay at the others put more and more distance between themselves and him.
All around, dunes were collapsing and disappearing as the sand was harvested. Where once there were hills, now there was just flat land. Behind them, the wall of sand kept growing. It topped fifty feet and started to shake in the anticipation of release.
There was nowhere to run or hide. The truth of the matter struck Borin like a hammer to the heart and he screwed his eyes shut. He heard the roar as the wall crashed down and a few seconds later, the tidal wave broke over the men, knocking them out of their s
addles and burying them deep below the sand.
Chapter 15
Face to Face
Albin hid the sword and the spy glass under his cabin bed and he covered them with a sheet. He did not want Talia or Arius finding them and asking awkward questions, and he was not sure if he would be able to answer them anyway. His brain was in a muddle. Readers and magic, and a sword engraved with his name. It was all too much.
Albin lay down and closed his eyes. His brain was a whirr of activity and unanswered questions. Several times, he rolled over and punched his pillow into a more pleasing shape but sleep still evaded him.
The young boy got up and paced the cabin floor. It was a tiny room and just two steps forward took him to the door. He spun on his heel and paced back to his bed. He started to feel claustrophobic and was tempted to return to the top deck but deep down, he knew that the magician would not be there. No. This was not helping. He needed sleep.
Albin lay back down and stilled his thoughts. He concentrated on nothingness and, once his brain had calmed down, sleep washed over him like a soothing balm. Albin slept soundly until Talia knocked on his door at midday the next day.
“It’s not like you to sleep so late,” Talia said when he opened the door. She saw his pale, washed-out face and asked, “Are you ill?”
“I don’t think so,” he responded sleepily, yawning and stretching. “Didn’t sleep well- that’s all.”
“You look awful,” she said playfully, ruffling his hair. “Can I come in?”
Albin smiled sheepishly and stepped aside to let her pass. “How’s Arius?” he asked once she was sat on his bed, her legs folded beneath her.
“Oh you know, laying low as usual. Being cooped up like a chicken has put him in a black mood these last few days. He’s no fun to be around!”
Albin smiled ruefully. “I should go and see him.”
“He’d like that but don’t take any notice of him if he’s rude to you- he’s acting like a bear with a sore head this morning. Speaking of bears, where’s Minkle?”
Albin’s jaw dropped as the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. The last time he had seen Minkle, he was up on the top deck. “He didn’t sleep here last night,” the boy confessed.
“Ah. He needs his exercise and it makes sense for him to be out when everyone else is in bed,” Talia smiled. “Remember we’re due to dock this evening- just make sure that you and he are ready.”
“Well I don’t have much to pack!” Albin joked, looking around his small quarters but secretly thinking about the items under his bed.
Minkle appeared at the open door, looking as bedraggled as his owner, and Talia said, “You two are more alike than you know!”
Albin and his pet exchanged a knowing look before the Reader leapt onto the cabin bed and nuzzled down. “That’s right- make yourself comfortable,” chuckled the boy and his Reader winked at him when Talia was not looking.
Once Talia had left and the coast was clear, Albin locked the door, dropped to all fours and pulled the spy glass out from its hiding place under the bed. He wanted to check on his friends so he conjured their faces from memory and waited until an image of the desert began to form.
The image on the glass was confusing at first and Albin did not know what to make of it. The four men were galloping at break-neck speed, their mouths moving as they shouted to one another but without sound, Albin could not tell what they were saying. They were obviously in a panic but he could not see any cause for alarm.
Then the picture shifted further to the right, and he saw it. Behind them. A wall of sand. “What the-” Albin began and Minkle shot off the bed to take a look.
The Reader growled- a low sound in his throat- and he pointed at Albin.
Albin looked back at the spy glass. There, on the one remaining sand dune was a tall, imposing figure, dressed in a long cream-coloured robe. A scarf covered the lower part of his face, keeping sand away from his nose and mouth, but a pair of black eyes were visible above it and there was no doubt in Albin’s mind that he was looking at the sorcerer from the Isle of Arcan. “Pelleus was right- they are in trouble,” he murmured.
“Go there,” said a voice in Albin’s head.
“Did you just say that?” he asked and Minkle nodded.
“Go there. Save them.”
“I don’t know how. I’m on a boat in the middle of the ocean and they’re in a desert, miles away.”
“Think of the desert. You have the power to get there.”
“I can’t!”
“Pelleus moves across time and distance. You can too. Concentrate!”
Albin screwed his eyes shut and his first thought was of sand; nothing but sand. He tried to imagine the grittiness of it and how hot it would be to touch. Next, he focused on the dry heat of the desert. He concentrated on the colours from the spy glass- oranges and reds and a dash of bright blue for the sky. He imagined white clouds, light and devoid of rain, and he willed himself to travel there.
All of a sudden, he imagined he could feel the sun beating down on the top of his head while a hot breeze swept through his hair.
When he opened his eyes, he was standing on the dune, just behind the figure in the robe. He found that somehow he had the engraved sword in his hand but he did not remember picking it up.
The boy did not have time to dwell. The magician, without even turning, had sensed his arrival. “Albin the Great,” he rasped.
Albin gulped and tightened his grip on his sword as the sorcerer wheeled around. His look was so penetrating that it made his skin tingle. Albin averted his eyes and scanned the horizon for his friends. To his right, he saw the four galloping horses, so small in the distance that they could have been dogs. One horse was significantly behind the others and Albin wondered which of his comrades it was, so clearly in the most danger.
“You’re much younger than I imagined,” said the sorcerer, removing his scarf and throwing it down on the sand. Beneath the scarf, he looked unremarkable except for a patch of waxy, melted skin on the lower left-side of his face which pulled his mouth down at the corner, creating the impression of a sardonic smile. The sorcerer was not carrying a weapon and this gave Albin the courage to speak.
“Stop the sand,” he said, with a lot more authority than he was feeling. He raised his sword in front of him, ready to use it if he had to.
The sorcerer looked at him quizzically and took a threatening step forward. Albin instinctively drew back. He lost his balance and found himself sliding down the side of the sand dune. “Pelleus should have sent someone more worthy,” the sorcerer laughed scornfully.
A long black staff had materialised in his right hand and a bright purple light was throbbing at the top of it. The sorcerer lifted his staff and pointed it at the sandy tidal wave. He chanted words that were incomprehensible to the young boy, and a flock of huge, black birds screeched overhead like harbingers of doom.
Albin watched in horror as, in the distance, the wall of sand caught up to his friends. There was a giant whoosh as the tidal wave broke over the men and their horses; burying them alive. A dense dust-cloud appeared over the crash site and silence fell.
“No,” Albin muttered to himself as his eyes took it all in but his brain refused to accept it. This was not supposed to happen. Pelleus had not found him and given him the gifts, just for him to fail.
Albin trembled with fury; his sword-bearing hand began to shake and the knot in his stomach travelled up to his throat like a beast seeking release. He opened his mouth and what came out was not his voice as he knew it, but a roar so powerful that it knocked the sorcerer clean off his feet and sent him tumbling head-first down the sand dune behind him.
The mighty blast stripped back the sand for miles and it dispelled the dust-cloud in an instant. Albin was vaguely aware of the sorcerer stumbling around in the background but his attention was firmly fixed on the scene in front of him.
The blast set the tidal wave in reverse and it was almost as if time
itself was running backwards. The landscape changed and shifted once more as the sand returned to the dunes from whence it came and, when all of his energy was expended, the young boy closed his mouth and dropped to his knees.
His throat burned as if it was on fire so he breathed hard through his nostrils instead. Beads of sweat flowed freely down this face and neck and there was an empty feeling in his gut, as if he had just vomited.
Albin ignored the pain and fatigue and he raced forwards, desperate to reach his friends. He found himself running faster and covering more ground than ever before and he briefly wondered if his new-found magic had a hand in it. As he got closer, he saw distant but familiar scraps of material in the sand and hope was reignited within him, replacing the anguish from before.
“Not so fast,” growled a voice behind him and a giant surge of energy knocked the boy down. He landed face-first in the sand. “Get up!” commanded the voice.
Albin rolled onto his side and squinted up at the sorcerer who looked more menacing than ever; silhouetted against the red setting sun of the desert. “How did you-” he began but his words were interrupted by a powerful blast from the staff. Albin instinctively raised his sword, deflecting the light and saving his life in the process.
“The time for talking is over!” yelled the sorcerer, taking another step closer. He grabbed the boy’s arm and within moments he had teleported them back to the dune where they had started.
Albin groaned in frustration. His friends were as far away as ever and he did not know if they were alive or dead. There was nobody there to help him.
In a desperate move, he lunged forward with his sword and the sorcerer countered it easily with his staff. Albin backed away and used his free hand to wipe the sweat from his eyes. The sorcerer raised his staff again and Albin closed his eyes, waiting for the killer blast to come with a sense of inevitability. It never came.
The sorcerer had lowered his staff and was staring aghast at the horizon, where two dozen black steeds were charging forward carrying the elite Elms-haven guard, whose golden garb was gleaming in the setting sun. “Interfering elves!” he hissed, forgetting the boy for a moment.
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