Stormlord’s Exile

by Glenda Larke

  And there was Kedri… He swallowed back a lump in his throat. How was it possible to love someone that much? To feel so responsible? So protective? Kedri had changed everything. A child had made him into a man who cared about people and the world more than he cared about himself. A man who wanted to build a legacy for others to enjoy long after he had gone.

  But first, he had to live through this day. In the run of a sandglass he would confront a man who hated him, who wanted nothing more than his death. Oh Ryka, when I think of what he did to you, I burn. Ravard must die today. I don’t care if he is Jasper’s brother. He has to die, and by my hand.

  Perhaps this new Kher Kaneth wasn’t such a good man, after all.

  But please, let me live through this day.

  What the withering spit’s going on?

  Dibble was driving now, so Jasper glanced around, struggling to understand the unexpected. Their pede was in the middle of a row of pedes flowing over the landscape, their natural fluidity interrupted by the occasional jerk when their feet tangled in the creepers. Moving towards them from the east came Vara, Rubric and their men; he could feel them, a block of living water, the other side of the pincer to close around his brother. With Rubric’s help, he kept the mist thick where it surrounded Ravard’s encampment, or where he felt the presence of sentries and scouts. Somewhere below, he heard the dune thrumming in answer to the pattering of myriad feet. Not a sound he was comfortable with and, sunblighted hells, this dune made for a difficult ride anyway. They had to plough their way up slopes, then plunge down them, half falling from their saddles, lurching this way and that. He’d seen several fall.

  Still, all that was as he expected. It was something else that was terrifying him.

  Nothing was as he’d expected. That was it.

  Ravard’s armsmen were fleeing to the south. All of them, wheeling their pedes and charging away to avoid the pincer. Why would they not stay to fight?

  Another strangeness: he couldn’t feel Mica. Perhaps that was to be expected in the confusion, but still…

  I thought a fight was what he wanted. A chance to kill Kaneth. And me, too, perhaps. A desire to wipe rainlords and stormlords from the face of the Quartern. Yet they were definitely racing off. Jasper could feel the pedes flowing away in a number of distinct lines of pedes down the long fissured slope of the dune to the south.

  And he couldn’t feel Mica among them.

  Kaneth was aware of the fleeing men more as a set of emotions. Conflicting emotions bombarding his senses from a hundred different directions and from thousands of men… Far too many, far too much. Jostling together in lines of four abreast, pouring down the slope. Sand-brains. They should have spread out. They were a perfect target, if he could shift the sand beneath them. If.

  Not so easy.

  Jasper yelled out to him, telling him what was happening. And then asking, “Why? Why would he do that? What’s he up to?”

  “Scared of what I will do to the sand!” he shouted back. It was the only reason that made sense. Their assumption might be that Uthardim could not move the solid soil of the plain, and they were right. It was odd, though; from what he remembered, Ravard had been sarcastically sceptical of the idea that Uthardim could move the sands at all.

  Well, he’d learn, the raping bastard.

  They were heading away, down the southern slope of the dune towards the plains. Yet if they were scared, why had they been on the dune in the first place?

  He projected his senses forward, delving deep into the sand. He pulled, twisted. The sands began to sing. It was difficult. Too much vegetation held the dune together. And he was moving too fast. He couldn’t concentrate. As he and his men hit the now-empty camp where the bulk of Ravard’s men had been, they were joined by the leading riders of the other half of his forces. He could see Rubric and Vara and Cleve. Cleve was grinning happily.

  Blast the lad. This isn’t a game, you blithering sandworm.

  Vaguely aware that Jasper and Rubric were pilfering moisture as they ploughed their way through the abandoned encampment, he noted strands of water twisting through the air in all directions, shining in the sun.

  He tugged at the sand ahead, pulling more of it from under the plants and the Watergatherer pedes. Dust billowed, staining the mist, obscuring the view still further. He wasn’t sure how successful he’d been, but Rubric gave him a thumbs-up. From the slivers of information impinging on his mind, he knew Watergatherer pedes had stumbled and fallen, tumbling their drivers and riders. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.

  The two pincers of his army, now on a broad front, rode on into the dust and flowed after Ravard’s men. The first clashes occurred as they caught up with stragglers and those who had fallen. Men died. He felt their deaths in their last exhalation; the water of their breath changing from animation to… emptiness. His pede rippled on.

  When they reached the edge of the dune, Kaneth indicated to Fassim, the man with the bullroarer who rode behind him, that he was to sound a halt. The undulating whuuurrr started and was taken up by others up and down the front line of their army. Drivers heard and hauled on their reins. Pedes dropped their heads, looping their feelers backwards, grateful for the rest. Rubric cleared the air of mist and the dust settled.

  Kaneth surveyed the downward slope, scored where he’d moved it. It was dotted with bodies, some of them visible only as a hand or a leg sticking out of the red sand. Damaged pedes struggled out of the soil. Wounded men tried to right themselves. And died as they shrivelled, water taken.

  No mercy here. They had agreed on that beforehand, and Rubric was playing his part.

  Battle is the ugliest thing any man will ever see.

  Down on the plains, about a mile away, those who had escaped joined the bulk of Ravard’s men who had apparently never been on Dune Koumwards in the first place. They were all spreading out in their lines, facing the dune. A battle array.

  Kaneth said quietly to Fassim, “Signal the ‘ware ziggers’.” The man fitted a different board to his twine and began to swing. The sound it made was higher pitched, whiny. Around them, men adjusted their headgear to cover all but their eyes and rearranged their tunics to swaddle their necks.

  Dibble drove up and lined Jasper’s pede, Chert, beside Burnish. Jasper waved a hand at some sheets of water hanging in the air above their heads like rows of curtains. “We’ve brought in more water from the two nearest waterholes down on Singing Shifter. If anything happens to Rubric and me, make sure you replace it afterwards, all right?”

  Nodding his acknowledgement, Kaneth asked, “Will you have enough?”

  “Not as much as I’d like. We’re joining the sheets up into one big one. We’re building a wall of water, about half a hand-span thick, in front of us all. Any zigger trying to fly through that will ruin its wings. But neither Rubric nor I are certain how long we can maintain the integrity of the sheet once we start moving. Kaneth, do you think it’s wise to attack him before our southern forces put in an appearance? Half of our armsmen could be dead by zigger before our front men reach them, and down there we’ll have lost our main advantage—your ability to move sand. Out on the plains, it’s mostly compacted soil. Can you move that?”

  He shook his head. “Where are our southerners? Can you sense them yet?”

  “Yes. They aren’t as close as I’d hoped they’d be. They’ve met with some resistance from more of Ravard’s men and are still a couple of sandruns off. It feels as if they’re unable to break through. The longer we delay, the better. Listen, Ravard’s men left most of their water and food behind in the camp. Our men could do with a rest and something to eat.”

  “With ziggers coming at us all the time?”

  “Leave that to Rubric and me. We’ll deal with them. It might help if you could compact the armsmen a bit more so we don’t have such a large area to protect.”

  Hearing his name mentioned, Rubric dismounted and walked over. “I’ve been killing bumble bees for practice,” he said in his u
sual off-hand way. “I felt a bit like a mean lad who pulls the wings off butterflies, but I’m quite good at it.” He shrugged. “Not sure why I should still feel bad about bees when I’ve been killing men.”

  Kaneth felt foolish, suddenly made aware he was failing to make decisions based on the larger picture. “Stand the men down,” he said. “Raise your water wall at the beginning of the slope. You two stay in front of it to give warning. Select some sentries to help you—and tell them to dive back inside the water wall yelling louder than an irate snuggery madam if they hear a zigger.”

  Only later, once he was certain that everything was in order, did he accept the food and water his driver thrust into his hands. He was hungry and attacked the roasted goat meat tucked inside cold damper with gusto. But he wasn’t happy. Something didn’t smell right—and it wasn’t his nose that was failing him, nor was it just his sense of little pieces of water informing him of danger. It was his logic, his reasoning. He couldn’t sort out why Ravard would come all the way to Koumwards only to flee when the force from God’s Pellets confronted him. Somehow he couldn’t accept that it was just Ravard’s fear of Uthardim’s sand-moving abilities, not when the man had been so scathing about those same abilities to Ryka and others.

  He stepped through the water curtain to check on the stormlords. Rubric was munching his way through his meal as if he was enjoying a picnic with friends. Kaneth continued on some distance away to where Jasper was stoically eating looking more as if he was being poisoned. Something about his stance didn’t sit well with Kaneth. An uncertainty. A troubled pain. Because he didn’t want to confront Ravard? He almost let it ride, but some instinct, or perhaps those little pieces of water, told him it wasn’t just that.

  He walked over to the stormlord and squatted next to him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Jasper smiled slightly. “You mean other than the fact that there’s an army out there twice our size and better equipped, bent on slaughtering us?”

  “Yes, other than that.”

  “I can’t sense Mica.”

  Mica. Not Ravard. “Just now, or from when we left the Pellets?”

  “I had a vague sense of him early last night. After we left the Pellets. Now we’re so much closer and that’s still all I’m getting—a faint hint of his water.”

  “And you thought it would be stronger by now.”

  Jasper nodded. “Although, well, you remember what it’s like. Sometimes other things overwhelm what you ought to feel.”

  “I remember.”

  Jasper ran a hand over his forehead in a gesture of concern. “I’m tense and worried. And scared too, I suppose, if I’m honest. Maybe all that affects my water-sense.”

  Kaneth stayed rock still. Behind him the sheet of water shimmered and shifted. In front, Ravard’s army had settled down too. No sound of ziggers rent the air. Not yet. “You think we ought to be worried about where he is?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s with the smaller force that’s fighting our southern supporters right now. Or he could be hiding somewhere else along the dune to attack us from the side once we engage the forces down there.” There was doubt in his tone. “If so, it’d have to be only a small scattered force because I can’t sense them.”

  Kaneth felt himself growing cold. His thoughts were racing, and the horror of what he was thinking momentarily paralysed him. Finally he asked, his voice soft, his tone wooden to his ears. “What about one man? Or two or three, taking care to keep apart? Men approaching the back of God’s Pellets so you couldn’t feel their water through the rock? Guyden will have passed on that little fact to him, the traitorous louse.”

  “Traitor—or brave-hearted spy, depending on which side of the coin you are paying,” Jasper said. Then he added flatly, “You think Mica might be inside God’s Pellets.”

  “I—yes. Think, Jasper. I’m his worst enemy. I have the woman he purports to own and the son he wanted to steal. I’m the man he blames for his humiliation when he lost Davim’s slaves. I defeated him in a fight on the back of a pede. Men think I’m Uthardim, come to lead the tribes to a renewed prosperity; he thinks I’m the usurper. If he holds my wife and child, he can force me to do whatever he wants.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Red Quarter

  God’s Pellets

  Dune Koumwards

  “Hold on,” Jasper said calmly. “Firstly, if you are right, and Ravard plans to kidnap Ryka and—or—your son, how could he possibly get into the valley? During the day, even a single man would be seen. There’s no cover out on the plains. All the canyons are guarded anyway. Every single one. In fact, all but one are blocked or trapped as well. A night approach? Not on a pede. The sentries on top would spot a pede even in the starlight.”

  “On foot at night,” Kaneth said, fighting his horror. “It’s possible.”

  Jasper raised an eyebrow. “That would be a very long walk over several days, hiding during daylight hours. Just possible, with luck, I suppose. But Ryka is taking the night watch and she’s a rainlord. She doesn’t have to see someone to know they are there.”

  “She can only guard one aspect.” Jasper’s composure had its effect; Kaneth was gathering his wits. Even so, his certainty grew, matched by rage. “Guyden—he was always up on the knobs. I put him on sentry duty for half a withering cycle. He used to climb about up there all the time. I thought he was just having a lad’s fun. What a sun-fried fool I was; he was checking how to climb in!”

  “You could be right. But it wouldn’t be easy. Possibly one man, or two or three. Any more than that—difficult.” He shook his head just thinking about it. “And is Ravard the kind of man to abandon an army on some sand-brained scheme of revenge all by himself? Anyway, if he’d been hidden close to God’s Pellets, I think I would have sensed him the moment we left the valley. There was that meddle of wild pedes hanging around, not particularly close—but you sent men to check them out, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. The meddle fled into the scrub to the west, but my men got a good look first. Cleanskins, definitely no one with them. They’ll hang around until they get thirsty enough to brave entering the valley. When we get back we’ll have to open up a canyon for them.”

  If we get back.

  “Then it’s probably just my sensing that’s at fault. It has limitations.”

  The effort to stop himself from shaking, to appear rational and composed, knotted Kaneth’s muscles. He said, mustering confidence in his tone if not in his thoughts, “And Ryka’s got the better of Ravard before. If he turns up alone, or with Guyden and a couple of others, she’ll stuff him full of stones and toss him off one of the knobs.”

  Jasper whitened around the mouth, but he didn’t speak. Only then did Kaneth remember they were talking about the Cloudmaster’s brother.

  Well, you’ll have to forgive me, Jasper, if I don’t exactly care.

  Anyway, the man must know how he felt; his own daughter was being used as a hostage for his good behaviour. How the salted hells did he stay so withering calm about that? Kaneth wanted to tear Ravard apart just thinking of him coming anywhere near Kedri and it hadn’t even happened yet. That he knew of.

  “What do we do?” he whispered.

  The silence was painful.

  Finally Jasper said, his words deliberately formal, “Lord Kaneth, you lead an army on its way to battle. What you should be thinking about is how to even up the odds so we don’t get slaughtered on our way down there.” He pointed in the direction of the waiting Watergatherer army.

  Kaneth pushed away his fear—no, his terror. He stood and signalled Rubric to join them. Jasper was right. He had to have faith in Ryka to look after herself and their son. His task was still in front of him. What had come over him? It’s this business of being a father. It changes you. It makes a blithering dryhead out of a warrior. Ry, I’m sorry. I’ll be there as soon as I can…

  When Rubric arrived, he addressed them both, glad to hear the calm of his voice, “I’d like to know why they ha
ven’t used their ziggers yet. We are vulnerable up here, and they must know it.”

  “If we were dealing with my father,” Rubric said after some thought, “I’d say he wanted us to be plunging down that slope at full speed.”

  “Some sort of trap?” He regarded the slope doubtfully. “It looks normal enough.”

  Jasper scanned the slope with his water-senses. “A lot of plants holding the surface stable, which means I can feel more water and insect life than usual. Nothing odd that I’m aware of.”

  “Insect life?”

  They looked at one another.

  “Salted damn!” Jasper said.

  “You two take a look,” Kaneth ordered. “Split up.”

  He watched as they began to walk along the top of the slope in opposite directions. They hadn’t gone very far before Dibble, ever protective of the Cloudmaster, burst through the wall of water and ran after Jasper. Kaneth smiled as the two men had a short argument, which Dibble must have won because, when they stopped talking, he followed in Jasper’s footsteps.

  Kaneth went to find Vara. She was behind the water wall, haranguing a stoic Cleve about how he should treat his mount with more respect. Cleve rolled his eyes, which Kaneth took as an invitation to interrupt. He wanted to talk to the two of them about just how they should approach the Watergatherers below. Anything was better than thinking of the danger his family might be in.

  “I have an idea of how Jasper and Rubric can use these water walls when we ride on,” he said. “Listen.”

  The Watergatherer tribesmen had buried cages of ziggers on the slope, the lids of each level with the ground. It was cleverly done; the sides and base of the cages were solid enough and large enough to contain ten or so of the beetles, but the tops was made of loosely woven leaves. Strewn with a few strands of the succulent thick-stemmed, thick-leaved creeper common on the dune, the cages became invisible, both to the eye and to a casual search by the water-senses.