Sower of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Moussad crumpled against Amir, mumbling into his shoulder, “The moons, the moons.”

  Amir shook him off.

  Moussad collapsed at Amir’s feet in a tangle of loose limbs, still babbling in Arabic.

  Amir glanced up. Two moons floated in the velvety purple sky—one gold and the other silver. Unfamiliar constellations of stars speckled the darkness.

  A chill froze Amir’s body. Although he’d suspected they were on another world, the confirmation of the fact was almost enough to set him howling, too. Nevertheless, he closed his teeth against the moans of terror that wanted to spill forth. Moussad was making enough noise for both of them.

  He looked down at the shaken man, resisting the urge to kick him. Then he saw the clip of the AK-47 had only about five rounds left. His foot lashed out, connecting with Moussad’s back.

  The man grunted in pain, cringing away, but at least he quieted.

  Bloody idiot. Who knew when he’d snap again? Next time I might be his target.

  Any sign of that happening, and I’ll have to kill him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Amir awoke from a dream of a monster that looked similar to the crab-thing, only bigger, attacking him. The monster grabbed his tongue with an enormous claw, tearing it out of his mouth. Half awake, he clapped a hand to his face, smacking his own lolling tongue. He cracked open one eye.

  The early dawn cast a pearly-gray light around them. Only one moon hung low in the sky. Too early to be up.

  His limbs felt leaden, and he wanted to return to sleep. But his parched mouth wouldn’t let him. With a groan, Amir crawled around the fire pit, where the three coal-rocks still burned with sullen orange centers, and over to the pool. He splashed water on his face, and then lapped up more like a dog. The liquid brought no relief to the dryness of his throat.

  Moussad stirred, moaned. The man’s eyes blinked open, and he stared with bewildered blankness at Amir.

  Amir could swear the man was losing intelligence points every hour. Before long, he’d be senile. Or dead.

  Moussad groaned and rolled toward the water, plunging his face in. When he came up for air, he groaned again. “So thirsty, need to drink an ocean.” He stood and fumbled with the zipper of his pants.

  “You fool. Go outside. Don’t foul our campsite”

  Seeming only half-awake, the man climbed up the rock and stumbled out of sight.

  Amir shook his head, then rolled onto his back and drifted back to sleep.

  Rapid shots woke him, and he started to his feet, heart pounding. He snarled. If that idiot was shooting at moons or suns, Amir would shoot him.

  But just in case there was actual danger, Amir crept from boulder to boulder. As he came more awake, he realized his mouth tasted drier than an old bone left rotting in the desert for months.

  The first stirrings of alarm rumbled across his consciousness. Amir rubbed his free hand across his face. They’d had plenty to drink, yet couldn’t quench their thirst.

  Something was wrong.

  Was it this planet? A drying ingredient in the air? Spores in the dust? Was he going to die?

  His chest squeezed, and his breath wheezed in his throat. A few seconds passed before he wondered if his brother had found a way around the problem. All the more reason to capture him.

  Amir crawled up a rocky outcropping for a view of the area, close to where he’d thought the shots had originated.

  No Moussad.

  Several flying beetles buzzed through the air like bumblebees. One narrowly missed hitting his face.

  Annoyed, he swatted at the bug. Missed.

  He heard muffled noises coming from beneath him. He crept to the edge of the outcropping and looked over, his gun ready.

  Below him seethed a tan pool of what looked like bubbling quicksand, but when Amir blinked to clear his vision, he realized they were some kind of alien worms.

  Moussad’s head emerged from the morass; he screamed for help—for Amir—his mouth partially blocked by a worm clinging to his upper lip.

  Amir didn’t move.

  Moussad thrust the hand holding the AK-47 into the air and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The fool had used up all his ammunition.

  Cursing, Amir aimed his Glock at Moussad. Then at the last minute, he reconsidered. Waste of a bullet. Either the worms would eat the man, or he’d escape.

  Amir sat, preparing to wait.

  ~ ~ ~

  From behind the protection of a broken brick wall, Khan watched Moussad climb out of the pile of boulders surrounding the toxic pool. Several gaps in the broken brick of the wall made for perfect spy holes. He had one, Daria another. He shared his with Shad, who perched on his shoulder, while Daria held Shir so the monkey-bat’s head was high enough to see.

  Moussad staggered over to the edge of a rocky outcropping that leaned over one of the biggest gagh pits. His gorilla body in rumpled, dirty clothes stood out against the pale lavender of the dawn sky. His skin was drawn, and his dark eyes didn’t seem quite awake.

  At least he didn’t scan their surroundings with the alertness Khan had seen the man displaying on Earth. Moussad flipped the strap holding the AK-47 so the side of the gun rested against his back and fumbled for the fly of his pants.

  With a mighty push, Shad launched himself into the air.

  Khan grabbed for him, but was too late. He bit off an exclamation, hoping the monkey-bat wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

  Shad flew arrow-straight at the man peeing into the gagh pit. Arms and legs extended in front of him, he slammed into Moussad’s back.

  His arms flailed, but Moussad couldn’t regain his balance. Limbs pumping, he took a spectacular tumble headfirst into the gagh pit.

  Shad backpedaled into the air and then zoomed back to Khan. With only the tiniest chirp of satisfaction, he settled into Khan’s arms.

  “Good job, old boy,” Khan whispered, stroking the fur on the monkey-bat’s back.

  Daria reached over and fondled Shad’s head.

  Khan winked at her, pleased the first part of their plan had far exceeded his expectations. In fact, he hadn’t been quite sure how to get either Amir or Moussad into the gagh pits. Shad, the clever little devil, had taken care of that for him.

  Moussad thrashed around in the gagh pit.

  Khan could almost feel sorry for him. Those suckers attaching to his skin must really sting. He wondered how long before the man would find his way to the surface and pull himself out of the pit.

  A series of shots split the air; several gagh splattered out of the pit.

  Daria winced.

  Khan frowned. In signaling for help, Moussad was using up precious ammunition.

  Moussad’s head popped up; gagh suctioned onto his face. He gulped for air, screamed for help. He wiggled an arm out of the mass, aiming the AK-47 toward the sky.

  Khan ground his teeth. With the man making so much noise, Amir was bound to come running to the rescue. Surely, the man wouldn’t fire more rounds, wasting ammo he and Daria could use against Thaddis.

  Suddenly, Amir darted out from behind a boulder, crouching low. He crawled up the rock and lay there. Extending his gun in front of him, he looked down at Moussad and then screwed up his face in an angry scowl.

  Khan recognized that look. No telling what Amir would do now.

  Moussad’s fingers moved on the trigger. No shots.

  Khan suppressed a groan and resisted tearing out his hair. They could still take possession of the Glock, but he had so wanted to get his hands on that AK-47. Nothing like an assault rifle to mow down an approaching army. The loss put a severe dent in his plans to deal with Daria’s enemy.

  Amir didn’t move. Slowly, he raised his gun.

  Is he going to kill Moussad?

  Khan instinctively cringed before realizing that Amir would do half their job for them.

  Amir dropped his hand, tucked the Glock into the waistband of his pants, and sat down on the rock, obviously preparing to wait, to watch his own bodygu
ard suffer and perhaps die painfully.

  Khan glanced at Daria. Her face remained expressionless, but something in her eyes hinted of her horror of seeing the man tangling with the gagh. She couldn’t know that the AK-47 was no longer functional, at least not on this world. He’d tell her later.

  Khan debated about sliding his arm around her—just for comfort, he assured himself and any Goddess who might be watching the actions of her Tanmargis.

  The howling of reptile-dogs, followed by high-pitched yipping, added to the cacophony of Moussad’s yells.

  Khan’s stomach couldn’t help but clench in response, and he forgot all thoughts of comforting Daria.

  In tandem, both he and Daria set down the monkey-bats, drew arrows from the quivers on their backs, and nocked them. Khan’s plan included using the arrows only if the reptile-dogs survived the bullets and turned to attack him and Daria. He doubted they’d need the arrows, but felt better for having his bow ready-to-hand.

  He leaned close to Daria’s ear. “Remember, if we have to shoot the reptile-dogs, aim for the throat patch.”

  She nodded, chin set, green eyes determined.

  The yips grew closer. The first of the beasts ran around a hill.

  He tensed. “Here they come. Be ready.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The howls sent shivers across Amir’s skin and puckered his gut. Each yip-yipping sound thumped his heart against his ribs. He swiveled around, frantic. Where could he run and hide? He scanned the area—piles of boulders, open sandy patches, a few broken-down walls. Nothing safe.

  Before he had a chance to decide, a nightmarish monster raced around a hill of rubble. The beast had prominent fangs and a lolling tongue and looked somewhat like a mastiff, covered in gray scales.

  Amir shuddered. He didn’t want that beast anywhere near him.

  He brought the Glock level with the dog-creature’s chest and shot. In his panic, the bullet went wide, but the noise seemed to get the beast’s attention. Its malevolent black eyes focused on him, and it bounded toward the outcropping, jaw open, fangs bared.

  This time, Amir squeezed the trigger, pumping several rounds into the dog-creature. It yelped, then dropped. But even that didn’t stop it. Staring at him with a red spark of malice in its obsidian eyes, the beast began crawling, inch-by-inch, dragging itself closer.

  Amir watched in horror. That monster’s a tank. He shot again, three or four times, until the dog-creature collapsed without moving.

  He took a deep breath, but before he could exhale, another of the dog-creatures, smaller than the first, skidded around the hill. Amir didn’t wait for the monster to see him, but poured a barrage of bullets into the creature until it dropped in its tracks.

  Another howl. More yips.

  Amir trembled. His hand shook. How many more?

  A dog-creature cut in front of a slagheap. This one was the largest of the bunch, the size of a wolfhound. The sun glinted off its yellow fangs. It lifted one paw. A long claw extended. Wetness glistened on the tip.

  Amir’s bullet went wide. The dog-creature leaped in zigzags, almost as if it understood Amir’s kind of attack.

  Amir stepped back. Shot.

  The bullet grazed the scaled hide, but didn’t stop the beast. Instead, it hurdled toward him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Amir’s using up all his bullets. I’ve got to stop him!

  A wave of rage raced through Khan’s body, rushing to his brain, wiping out all rational thought. He dropped the bow and arrow to the dust, then yanked the strap of the quiver over his head and threw it down. He erupted, dashing toward his brother.

  Daria made a grab for him, which he evaded.

  Only about twenty feet separated him from Amir. Khan stayed behind his brother’s line of vision, running silent and quick. For the last few yards, he veered at an angle. He knew when he tackled Amir, he had to avoid rolling into the gagh pit.

  A few feet away, Khan dove, slamming into his brother’s waist.

  Amir yelled out.

  They crashed into the ground, Khan on top.

  The Glock flew from Amir’s hand.

  Khan hit his elbow on a rock. His arm went numb, almost unusable.

  The momentum slid them down the slab. They landed in the sand.

  Amir growled; his face contorted with hatred. He freed one arm and smashed Khan’s face. But his angle was off and instead of driving the cartilage into Khan’s brain and killing him, his fist slipped sideways over Khan’s nose.

  His nose broke with a spurt of blood; agony lanced through his head. Gray hazed his vision. Feeling his strength ebb, he fought for consciousness.

  Amir pushed Khan off him, scrambling to his feet.

  Pain obscured Khan’s sight. He reached out blindly, seizing Amir’s foot, pulling himself up by walking his hands up his brother’s leg. He gripped a handful of shirt.

  Amir tried to kick him off.

  Khan clung to the fabric, barely able to see. The shirt tore, but he managed to remain on his feet. Dizzy, he gulped for air through his mouth, trying to focus. He dug an uppercut deep into Amir’s stomach.

  His brother gasped and doubled over. He staggered upright. With a growl, Amir grabbed him by the throat, squeezing his windpipe.

  His air supply cut off. Dark specks floated in front of his eyes. Khan tried to pry Amir’s fingers from his throat, but they remained locked, choking the life out of him.

  ~ ~ ~

  The minute Daria saw Khan barrel into Amir, she turned her attention to the hellhound.

  The creature had paused several feet in front of the gagh pit, ignoring the floundering bodyguard, seemly transfixed by the spectacle of its prey fighting another of its kind. Once again, head arched, the hellhound lifted the poison-tipped paw—the white patch on its throat a perfect target.

  Before the beast could move, Daria raised her bow, sending the arrow straight into the exposed throat. The hellhound swayed, then crashed nuzzle-first into the ground.

  That’s for Micfal!

  She glanced over to see how Khan fared. The men had rolled out of sight. She pulled out another arrow and nocked it. Creeping toward the gagh nest, she tried to ignore the rotting fish smell.

  Moussad lay on the dirt, where he’d climbed out of the pit, gagh clinging to his exposed skin. He moaned.

  Further to the right, Amir had a death grip around Khan’s throat. Blood covered Khan’s face.

  She raised her bow, but the men moved just enough to prevent her from getting a solid shot at Amir.

  Khan’s back was to her. He fought to spin Amir around, pushing him toward the gagh pit.

  Moussad rose to his knees. He crawled to the Glock glittering in the sunlight only a few inches away. His hand closed about the base of the gun. He half-stood, half-crouched, pointing the weapon at Khan.

  Just as Moussad squeezed the trigger, Daria’s arrow took him in his shoulder.

  The bullet struck Amir in the back. He jerked and spun to the right. His hands fell from Khan’s throat, and he careened into the gagh nest. The thrashing gagh eagerly closed around him until he sank from sight.

  Khan swayed against the outcropping, grabbing hold of the rock, and propping himself up.

  Moussad lurched away from them, the arrow sticking out from his shoulder. Before he could get far, three small hellhounds, no bigger than adolescent puppies, lumbered into view.

  As soon as the lead one saw Moussad, it howled and headed straight for him. The other two bounced after with a big-footed clumsy gait.

  Moussad cried out, but before he could run, the first one reached him, swiping at his leg with the poisoned claw. The bodyguard took two faltering steps forward and pitched to the ground, dead.

  Daria grimaced. Baby food.

  But the baby hellhounds were no less dangerous than adult ones, so Daria made sure an arrow dispatched each one.

  Then, slinging her bow over her shoulder, she ran to Khan, catching him just as he lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

  The rasp in his breathing drew Khan back into painful consciousness. But then he saw Daria’s beautiful face above him, concern making a frown line between her dark brows. Her arms tightened around him, and he became aware of lying in her lap. Bliss.

  He tried to smile; the movement crackled hurt-darts in his nose that radiated across his cheekbones. He wanted to make a joke to remove the worry in her eyes, but the words seemed stuck in a dry place in his throat. Instead, he reached up to smooth the skin between her eyebrows with his finger.

  Khan swallowed. “Amir? Moussad.” He croaked.

  “Moussad shot Amir. Lethal wound.” She jerked her head to the gagh pit. “He’s in there. And since the gagh stopped frothing a few minutes ago, we can assume he’s dead.”

  Khan closed his eyes, attempting to assimilate the information that his lifelong tormentor was gone. He tried to feel triumphant, instead found only gut-deep weariness. He groped for sadness, loss, but there was only an emptiness as vast as the desert.

  The gun.

  The realization that they’d achieved part of their goal—killing Amir and Moussad, and capturing a gun to use against Thaddis—was enough to pull him to a sitting position.

  Daria helped, propping him up while he waited for the dizziness to pass.

  Instead of bothering to get to his feet, Khan twisted away from her and crawled to where the Glock lay in the dust by the gagh pit. He almost gagged on the stench. Having Amir to feast on increased the reek. He scooped up the Glock, cradling the gun in his hands. They’d paid a high price to obtain this—the key to saving Daria from her enemy.

  He snapped open the chamber, eager to see how many bullets they had.

  Empty. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. But no bullets remained.

  We’ve failed.

  In a surge of anger, Khan threw the Glock into the gagh pit, where the slimy worm-creatures soon closed about the gun, and it sank from sight.

  ~ ~ ~

  Thaddis halted his golden stallion at the edge of the precipice, dropping down to the desert floor, and looked with distaste at the arid panorama before him. The hot wind kicked up, ruffling his hair and bringing the dry odor of sand to tickle his nostrils. But despite the warmth of the afternoon sun, he remained chilled by the medallion lying heavy against his chest.