He decided to take a chance—to start in the direction that felt right, based on where the moons were rising—and hope for the best. Better than standing here waiting to be attacked.
With new determination, he took one step, then another. With each pace, he felt better, more sure of his decision. He kept the sword ready, scanned the way before him with every step, stopped occasionally to check behind and around. He was going the right way, and he started to breathe easier.
That certainty lasted until he had been walking for a while—longer than he had walked on the way out. Then it abandoned him all at once. He gave an anguished, wordless cry.
“Aric!” he heard in response.
“Ruhm?” Wind whisked his words from his lips.
“Aric!”
The voice seemed to come from off to his left. He adjusted his course and started toward it, calling out every few moments.
Finally, he saw torches, borne aloft by Ruhm, Amoni, and some others. He ran to them, rushing gratefully into the overlapping circles of light. “There—there’s something out there.”
“Course,” Ruhm said.
“There are no doubt many somethings out there,” Amoni said. “Ruhm said you wanted to see what it was like in the darkness.”
Aric was shivering. The cold, he told himself, but not convincingly.
“I d-did.”
“Like it?” Ruhm asked.
“Not a bit.” That wasn’t precisely true. At first, he had. He had liked the novelty of it, had liked the solitude, the sensation that he was alone in the world instead of hemmed in by a city full of greed and strife and anger. But that hadn’t lasted long, and the parts he hadn’t liked had taken over.
Ruhm clapped him on the shoulder with one big hand, and led him back toward camp. Because he was a goliath, stern and sullen much of the time, not given to excessive conversation, he didn’t say “I told you so.”
But Aric knew he was thinking it, just the same.
4
On the sixth day out from Nibenay, they left the trade road. Each day they had passed at least one caravan, bound for Nibenay or Raam, usually glad to see a large armed force. The Gith Horde, people said, had been leaving their ancestral homes in the Blackspine Mountains to raid travelers, and although fifty soldiers might not be much of a deterrent, it was better than nothing.
But after they struck out north from the road, they stopped seeing anyone. These wastelands weren’t entirely deserted. The group saw the domed roofs of a wezer colony, and a couple of the giant insects even buzzed the expedition. Probably put off by its numbers, they apparently decided not to try to abduct any of its members and hurried back to their own colony. At one promising oasis, they saw a sand bride who took on the appearance of the most beautiful woman Aric had ever seen. On his own, he would certainly have gone to her, and would just as certainly have perished in her embrace. But the expedition had enough experienced hands along that they recognized the oasis for the trap it was.
After these dangers were spotted, along with numerous less-lethal creatures, word was spread to encourage everyone to ride inside the argosies rather than walking. As Ruhm had predicted, when the heavy wagons were hot and crowded, the smell grew worse and the unceasing rocking and swaying made Aric think his spine would splinter before journey’s end.
For the first couple of days, he had been enjoying the novelty of the trip. That had not lasted long, however. Now he just wanted it to be over. He had been coerced into coming in the first place, and although no one had died yet, everyone swore it was only a matter of time.
The ninth day, Aric was outside the argosy for a short while, just wanting to breathe fresh air and stretch his legs. On earlier days there would have been plenty of company outside, but there was little now, and while he tried to watch the horizons for attacks of any kind, he kept stumbling over the dips and rises of the sand beneath his feet.
“Aric, isn’t it?” a woman’s voice asked.
He looked up and to his right. Kadya leaned out the window of the lead argosy.
“Yes.”
“Have a care out there, Aric, we don’t want anything happening to you.”
“Thank you. I don’t think we want anything happening to anyone, do we?”
“Of course not. But you especially.”
He didn’t ask why. Ruhm had said it early on—he was the only psionic they had with an ability that could help find hidden stores of metals. Without him the whole expedition might fail.
“I just needed some air,” he said. “I’ll get back inside soon.”
“See that you do. And if you want to walk outside, take a couple soldiers with you. I can let them know they’re to obey your commands.”
A sensation of power welled up in Aric, but he pushed it back down. He knew he was important to the trip, but he didn’t want that importance going to his head. That would only make it harder to live his half-elf’s life once they got back to Nibenay, and would make his traveling companions resent him. On the road, as in the city, he believed his best hope for a peaceful life lay in keeping his profile low. “Thanks,” he told her. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
5
Kadya was annoyed with Aric. Nibenay, her husband and king, had specifically instructed her to keep the young man out of harm’s way. If he wouldn’t take the simplest steps to protect himself, though, what could she do for him?
Well, quite a lot, actually. But she didn’t want to waste any of her magic on him if she could help it. Arcane magic required the use of life forces to power it, and in this environment there wasn’t much life force around, except that belonging to those in her own expedition. She had already had to use magic a couple of times. The first time had been to destroy a gold scorpion that had approached her personal maidservant, their first day off the caravan road. That night at an oasis, another of the slaves in her retinue had been seized by some sort of road sickness, and started convulsing, pink froth showing at the edges of her mouth. Many thought the sickness was a result of Kadya’s magic, as if the life force of the slave had been tapped for earlier spells.
Everybody knew templars used magic, of course. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things, and Kadya thought that for the good of the expedition, she was better off keeping it discreet.
Still, she tried to keep an eye on the half-elf. Letting him die before the metal was located would infuriate Siemhouk as well as Nibenay. Nibenay could kill her in an instant, but it was Siemhouk’s vengeance she feared. She could make Kadya’s life long and miserable. And she wouldn’t hesitate to do so if Kadya crossed her in any way.
Which made crossing her a dangerous game.
But Kadya hadn’t wanted to come on this trip just to serve her young mistress. To the extent that serving Siemhouk also worked toward her own goal, she was glad to do it. In the long run, what she wanted was to take Djena’s spot—and from there, just perhaps, restore the position of Templar of the King’s Law to the dominant position it was meant to have. That would require Siemhouk either dying or losing favor with her father, of course. But Kadya had seen his moods swing from one extreme to another, and his love for Siemhouk, even though she was his own kin, could change in time.
Kadya was sure Siemhouk had her own hidden objectives for this expedition. Such was life inside the Naggaramakam, a constant struggle for position, the never-ending play of strategies and counter-strategies.
So she planned to keep Aric safe, at least until the metal had been retrieved. But if he made it necessary, he might find himself riding the rest of the way, bound and gagged inside her private argosy. She had smiled and wished him well, when he declined her offer of assistance. She just hoped, for his sake, that he didn’t mistake her protection for friendship.
Aric was simply another tool, like the shovels and picks and hammers brought along for the slaves to use once they got there. And once a tool’s usefulness was at an end, it could be discarded without a second glance.
6
&nb
sp; They had spotted the oasis hours before, from a cleft in the rocky ridge they were crossing. Myrana was trying to keep them on the path her dreams had set out for her, but the dream route occasionally lacked specifics, and each night she had to plumb those dreams for clues as to the next day’s travels.
They had departed the caravan with only one soldier kank, as that had been all that Welton could spare. Although Myrana tried to argue the point, Sellis and Koyt would not ride the creature, insisting it was meant for Myrana alone. She had relented, secretly thankful. She wanted to be fair, but walking all day made her legs ache, and since she didn’t know what they were headed toward, she wanted to save her strength.
On the fifth night of the journey, they had lost the kank.
Koyt had been standing watch while the others slept, Myrana hoping desperately for a dream that would chart the next day’s course. Koyt sat near the fire, longbow across his lap. The kank, four feet tall and eight long, was asleep just outside the firelight. Koyt claimed later that he heard nothing until the first dagorran used its concussive blast attack on the kank. The kank lurched upright, letting out a squeal of pain that woke Myrana and Sellis. Koyt quickly nocked an arrow and scanned for a target. When he saw the dagorran charging the kank, he led it slightly and let fly.
The shaft darted into the dagorran’s open maw, driving through so that the point jutted from between its bulging eyes. The crystals on its back, which people said powered their psionic abilities, dimmed from a dull glow to none at all as it dropped to the ground just inches shy of the kank.
But there had been more than one dagorran, and they attacked from several directions at once. The second hit the kank with another concussive blast. With what was left of its strength, the kank caught that one in its pincers. Koyt hit another with an arrow, and Sellis moved in, a sword in each hand, and dispatched the one the kank held.
One more dagorran’s psionic attack, however, was all the kank could bear. The huge insect dropped to the dirt, twitched a few times, and then lay still. Sellis and Koyt slaughtered the other two dagorrans trying to move in to feed on Myrana’s mount, but it was too late for the kank. No one slept well for the rest of that night, and by morning the dead kank’s stench was so foul they couldn’t wait to travel, even though Myrana’s dreams had been interrupted so she didn’t know for sure which way to go.
They had briefly debated returning to the caravan, but decided against it. The caravan had no doubt continued on its way, the opposite of the general northwesterly direction they had headed, so five days gone meant ten days’ travel to catch them. For all they knew, their own destination was far closer.
But with three of them on foot, one of them half-crippled, their progress was quite a bit slower. By the time they sighted the oasis, the water bladders were growing perilously light. Regardless of where Myrana’s dreams might have wanted them to go, they all agreed that detouring to the oasis was the best idea.
They approached it at late afternoon, after it had hovered there in the distance all day, taunting them with promises of shade and fresh water. When they were still almost a quarter of a league away, Sellis halted the group.
“Oases can harbor all sorts of dangers,” he said.
“Sellis, I’ve been living in the desert my whole life. You think I don’t know that?”
He folded his arms across his chest, his muscles bunched and round, forearms veined, tracked by scars. He was almost thirty, and was in many ways the most capable, experienced man she had ever known. His pale blue eyes missed nothing. He was quick to laugh, and when he did, head thrown back and mouth open, it was all she could do not to join right in. But when he was serious, those eyes narrowed and a deep gash appeared between them, as though a tiny hatchet had split his brow, and his usually smiling mouth turned into a thin, grim line. Jutting over his shoulders were the hilts of his twin swords, worn crossing each other on his back.
“I’m not saying it to educate you, Myrana. I’m only explaining why I’m going ahead alone.”
“What, so you can drink first?”
“Myrana!” That was Koyt, shorter and leaner, but just as deadly with his bow as Sellis with his twin swords. His face was round, with liquid brown eyes, and she might have thought him soft if she didn’t know him. He mopped sweat from his eyes. “You know that’s not what he means.”
“I was teasing, Koyt.”
“Koyt will cover me from here,” Sellis continued. “If it’s clear, I’ll wave you in.”
“It had better be,” Myrana said. “We need to stock up on water.”
Sellis flashed her a quick grin, dimples carving his cheeks. “Now who’s telling us what we already know?”
Without another word, he trudged toward the oasis. Koyt drew an arrow from the quiver he kept on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and fitted it onto his bowstring.
“Can you really hit something from this distance?” Myrana asked. She knew he was a skilled archer, but this seemed impossibly long.
“Let’s hope Sellis doesn’t have to find out.”
The oasis appeared calm from this distance. A light but steady breeze ruffled the fronds of tall palms, so they flashed light and dark in the afternoon sun. Beneath them was thick shadow, and somewhere in that shadow, Myrana knew, was water.
So close. She slipped the bladder off her shoulder and took a drink.
“Easy,” Koyt said, his voice calm but firm. “Save it.”
“But there’s bound to be plenty there.”
“If we can get to it.”
As she had said, Myrana had lived on the road, cutting across one desert or another, since the day of her birth. She was fully aware of the dangers an oasis could conceal. She just wanted this one to be different, to be safe, so they could drink their fill, get out of the sun, and make camp in a grove of trees that would offer shelter from the night winds.
Sellis walked right up to its edge and paused. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and Myrana guessed he was trying to peer into the shadows. Apparently satisfied, he stepped into the shade of the palms, and an instant later he was gone.
“Now what?” Myrana asked. “How can you shoot something you can’t see?”
“Let’s go a little closer,” Koyt said. He kept his tone even, but she could tell he was worried, too. If he hadn’t been he wouldn’t have so quickly disobeyed Sellis’s instructions.
They started forward. After they’d been walking for a couple of minutes, Sellis reappeared on the fringes of shadow and waved them in. “Looks fine to me!” he shouted.
Koyt offered a relieved sigh and slipped his arrow back into its quiver. He and Myrana picked up their pace, Myrana’s staff digging into the earth with every step. It seemed forever, but then the cooling shade cut the day’s heat and she could smell water, see its reflection casting shimmering light onto the undersides of the palms.
“Everything seems clear,” Sellis said as they approached. “Drink up, and fill those skins.”
“Can we camp here tonight?” Myrana asked.
Sellis eyed the horizon. “We still have almost an hour of daylight.”
“But we’re not even sure we’re going the right way, Sellis. Let’s stay here tonight, and I’ll dream tomorrow’s route.”
Koyt had outpaced her and dropped to his knees beside the shimmering green pool, shoving knife-edged blades of grass out of his way. “I agree with her,” he said. “Camp here, push on tomorrow.”
He lowered his face toward the water, cupped his hands, and drank. Myrana had almost reached the stiff, broad-bladed grass. Sellis stood watching, a sword in each hand, as the water began to churn and roil before tentacles burst from beneath the surface.
“Water worm!” Sellis cried.
Myrana let out a shriek, dropped her staff and yanked the dagger she wore from its sheath on her belt.
Water rolled off the creature in sheets as it shot up from under the surface. The thing was a translucent green, invisible inside the water. As it rose into the
air, it revealed a thick cylindrical body, like a massive snake, with squirming rose tentacles encircling it.
Koyt scrambled back from the pond’s edge and snatched up his bow. A tentacle darted at Myrana and she dodged it, slashing at it with her dagger. Thick green blood spurted where she cut it, and a foul, rotten stench filled the air. Sellis hacked at it, too, slicing a tentacle and being drenched in awful blood for his trouble.
Koyt’s bowstring twanged and an arrow flew into the creature’s side.
Myrana’s blade cut into a tentacle, but then another wrapped around her ankle. It released before she was able to swing at it, but where it had touched her, the flesh burned. She took a step backward, then another, and the leg the creature had caught—her right leg, the good one—almost gave out beneath her.
She remembered what she had heard about water worms, also called cistern fiends. Their tentacles contained a paralyzing poison, which they used to bring down their pretty. Once they were subdued, the fiend would suck out their bodily fluids, feeding the nutrients and eliminating the rest as pure water into the well or pond they inhabited.
“Don’t let those tentacles touch you!” she called. She slashed at another one coming toward her.
The thing had twenty feet or so of its length out of the water by this point, thrashing around madly. Koyt sank two more arrows into it. Sellis lopped off another tentacle. Myrana dodged one, but her good leg was already partly paralyzed, and she slipped on the damp grass by the pond’s edge. She went down on her knees, and a tentacle snaked around her waist. Even through her clothing she could feel the fiery sensation of its touch.
She raised her dagger to chop at it. Before she could, yet another arrow slammed into it. The cistern fiend jerked back, its tentacle pulling taut, and Myrana was hauled into the water.
She hit with a splash, but the surface was so roiled from the creature’s writhing that it was barely noticeable. She pawed at the surface, but the tentacle circling her waist dragged her under. Another caught her right leg, just above the knee, and then one twined around her right wrist.
City Under the Sand: A Dark Sun Novel (Dungeons & Dragons: Dark Sun) Page 12