She scowled, the expression etched so deeply in her face the lines were becoming permanent. The scent of the camp was overwhelming: The odor of dozens of long-term travelers would be bad enough, but there was such a universal rejection of all forms of hygiene among the Circle’s men that the smell made Rox’s head spin. Rox thanked the Mother once more for her decision to spend some of her last coin on a charm that warded against lice and other parasites. She could see the tiny bugs in the moonlight, leaping into the air off the men’s hair and beards. She shuddered and turned away.
Rox turned and started tying down her canvas rain-guard. As she reached the last knot, she was shoved from behind. Rox fell with a hard crash, slamming into the ground with a grunt. Pine needles and gravel dug into her arms and scattered beneath her, clacking against nearby trees and bed mats. Fisk raced out of her pocket and into the bushes, confused by the fall and wary of an oncoming fight. She instantly leapt back to her feet, charging forward to meet the marauder who’d shoved her. Her small, lithe frame barely reached the man’s shoulder, but the ferocity in Rox’s sage green eyes made any difference in their size negligible.
In an instant, every member of the Circle was awake and on their feet, knives and swords at the ready, searching the darkness for the source of the crash.
Rox glared up at the man above her, his sharp, square jaw clenched in rage, his long, mud-brown hair streaked with grey tied at his nape. He wasn’t much older than Rox, maybe 80 tenmoons, but he hadn’t aged well. Rox’s lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral growl. When had he gotten back? “Push me again, Calder.”
“Gryert’s dead. I found his body dumped outside Pinewood. Stripped of everything. Even his charms.”
A tense silence fell over the clearing, every eye on Rox.
Rox’s voice was cold and even. “Gryert left the party.”
“You were hired to keep us safe.”
Rox hissed between her teeth, the heat of rage and determination resting just under her skin, waiting to be unleashed at the slightest slip of control. “Only on the road. What you do at rest stops is your issue.”
“It’s your issue if we’re being followed.”
“We’re not being followed. It was probably highwaymen.” Rox snorted at the irony.
One of the younger marauders, Tyrius, shifted uncomfortably, making his blonde beard sway in time with his anxieties. He clenched his sword with a white-knuckled hand. “No highwayman could kill Gryert. He was a mage.”
Calder glared down at Rox, his grey eyes slits of anger. “His sword was taken.”
“Then the Twins will find whoever robbed him.”
Tyrius fidgeted, his eyes growing wider as he muttered to a nearby companion. “Or he called up something. Something magical from his sword. A demon from the Fates’ Cellar.”
“The sword was a way to spy on us, not cast spells,” Rox groused, trying to stop Tyrius’ line of thought before it spread through the party. Gryert had been using small tricks and flashy spells since they’d left the Core to keep the Circle nervous of his abilities. Rox had never taken him seriously. A good magician didn’t need to show off. Still, the Circle was comprised of bullies and raiders; vicious fighters but often lacking in common sense. She could defend the party from physical attackers, but she was powerless against fears of the supernatural.
Calder wasn’t as easily swayed by as his companions. He wasn’t a member of the Circle because he was a brute with no other path in life. He was a genuine psychopath. Rox had heard once he had been picked up by the Twins before he was to be executed for torturing and murdering his neighbor. Rox wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was true. “That doesn’t change the fact that it would take more than a highway robber to take down Gryert. You should have known we were being watched before he circled back.”
More eyes on Rox. She crossed her arms over her chest, deadly from head to toe. “I wouldn’t have been hired if I didn’t know how to protect my perimeter. Whatever followed Gryert wasn’t with us before he left and isn’t with us now.”
Calder stepped forward, keeping his voice low enough to hiss in Rox’s ear unheard by others. “You’re only safe here because you hold a contract with the Twins. If one of us dies, that contract is broken. And what good are you to us if you can’t do your job? You may be fierce, but no one could take all of us. Least of all a woman.” Calder ran his fingers through Rox’s hair and Rox’s stomach turned.
In a single motion, Rox drew a knife from her sleeve and leveled it at Calder’s stomach, the blade pressing firmly against his leather tunic, piercing the top layer. It would only take two motions: the plunge, and then a twist. Two motions and his threat would be eradicated. But in those motions she would give up everything she’d been working for. “Touch me and you offend the Twins.”
Calder sneered, his curved, hawk-like nose flaring. “Kill me and you won’t get paid.”
They stood in a lethal stalemate, eyes locked with warring motives and desires. Rox forced her breath to remain steady, her muscles taut, her eyes narrowed. If there was any doubt that the Twins would honor their contract, death would be the least of her worries. Especially at Calder’s hand. But more than their respect of the Twins, many of the Circle respected her ferocity, her cunning. If the party attacked, she would take many of them down with her, and the dissolution of the party for any reason would enrage the tyrannical mage Twins of the Core. She couldn’t appear weak. Couldn’t slip. Couldn’t give them any reason to doubt her value to their masters.
The clatter of horses’ hooves, riding fast, echoed through the forest. Another fraction of their party was returning. The sound broke the tension between Rox and Calder, drawing the Circle’s attention. A dozen men, weary from riding hard to meet the rest of the Circle, rode into sight. Rox recognized Kasin, Calder’s second in command, leading the group, his beard wild and tangled across his face, his eyes weary. Calder would need to check in with him quickly if either man hoped to rest before leaving again in a few hours.
Calder took a step back and Rox sheathed her dagger. “We leave at dawn,” Rox called to be heard over the sounds of the new party dismounting. “Better sleep now if you want to sleep at all.” She met Calder’s eyes again. “I’m sure you and Kasin have plenty to talk about.”
Calder glanced her over, evaluating her. Rox saw in Calder’s eyes what she already knew: she was still too much of a threat to attack. Too dangerous. Too well connected. But he’d be watching.
He spun on his heel, turning to Kasin. “With me! We’ll chart our next course.”
Rox watched him leave, turning her back on him only when he greeted Kasin. No matter how tired she was, she needed to get out of the camp. She stomped into the forest after Fisk, searching for him in the brush, her gloved hands catching on thorns and briars. She wasn’t trying to be silent. Twigs and dead plants crunched under her boots. She accidentally kicked a rock, sending it soaring into a nearby tree, then rebounding into a bramble bush where a bird exploded into the air in shock. She watched its wings, sparkling white in the darkness as it flew to safety.
She let out a heavy breath as she escaped the Circle’s hearing range. Calder wanted her dead. She could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. He would enjoy making her suffer first, but his main motive was to leave her corpse behind on the roadside. No one would recognize her. She didn’t have family to look for her. Even if she was discovered by a nearby town, she’d just end up in an unmarked grave. If the Circle attacked her, Calder was the first she’d take down, and he knew it. Only fear kept her safe.
Her boots sank deep into the mud with a graceless schloop as she continued further into the forest. She could tell from the consistency of the soil and the musty, earthy scent that clung to her nose and mouth that there was a swamp nearby. She paused as she stepped again and sank to the middle of her calves. Fisk wouldn’t have traveled much farther. He hated mud.
Rox stopped, resting her fists on her hips, her face twisted in a crooked, dark
grimace. Fisk should have heard her coming. He was sulking. “Stop messing around, Fisk. Get out here, it’s safe now.”
Fisk scuttled toward her from beneath a nearby tree and raced up her arm to her neck, complaining loudly about his forced foray into the wet underbrush. She grunted as his wet, dirty paws clambered across her nape. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Fisk huffed in response.
Rox contemplated searching the perimeter once again, but decided against it. After the look in Calder’s eyes, she wouldn’t put it past him to try to find her away from the Circle. For once, there was safety in the ranks of the Circle.
She marched slowly back to camp, her jaw clenched tighter than her gloved fists. She didn’t allow herself to feel bad about her position, to dwell on how disgusted she was by her charges. There were more important things to focus on: payment. No matter what she did, no matter where she led these marauders, it would all be worth it. She just had to do her job and survive. Still, she treasured her alone time, the hours she spent scouting and creating a perimeter. The longer she could be away from the Circle and their foul stench, fouler mouths and murderous impulses the better.
Most of the Circle were sleeping again when she returned. She spotted Calder, Kasin and a handful of other party leaders meeting on the far edge of camp. They’d lit two torches, the light glowing across a series of letters and maps laid out across a fallen tree. Calder held his chin in his hand, deep in thought.
Rox paused in the shadowy depths of the forest, watching with a single arched eyebrow. It would be wise for her to stay a step ahead of Calder.
She moved silently, staying deep enough in the forest not to attract attention until she was as close to Calder’s meeting as possible. She crouched beside a thick, thorny bramble bush, focusing intently. She couldn’t see them anymore, she was too close to stand without being betrayed by the light of the torches, but she could hear them just fine.
“We found the third piece has been returned to the Core, but the Twins say the second two are in the desert,” Kasin reported. The sound of a finger striking parchment echoed. They were looking at a map.
Calder’s voice was low and thoughtful as he plotted his next move. “There aren’t a lot of villages in the desert.”
“Initial scryings have placed one artifact buried in the sand and the other in the Great Market.”
“We’ll need a larger party if we’re going to take on the Market.”
“We may not be able to take it at all. It will require more subtlety than our usual ventures.”
“Subtlety? From these brutes? By the time we get to the Market they’ll be frothing at the mouth for a raid.”
“We’ve been given clearance to pillage as we please. The Twins believe the random violence will disguise our true purpose.”
Calder’s voice was thick with pleasure. Rox didn’t have to see him to know he was smiling. “Good. Then we head south. Perhaps we’ll run across a merchant’s caravan on our way into the desert.”
Their voices faded as the meeting broke and they returned to the main camp. Rox waited for them to go silent and settle into their beds before standing. She drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the destruction and mayhem to come. She’d always known the Twins had a purpose for sending out the Circle, but she’d assumed it was to amass wealth, maybe sow fear. She had never involved herself in their raids, staying behind as they’d pillaged and plundered a half dozen villages, leaving behind only corpses and ash. She didn’t realize they’d been searching for something.
The mention of artifacts was intriguing. She wondered exactly what they were, if she’d seen one of the artifacts in the loot bags constantly coming in and out of camp. Still, she decided not to dwell on the thought. Whatever the Twins were looking for was bound to be dangerous. She would do well not to research them any further. Her curiosity didn’t matter. She didn’t want to be involved in their plans. She wanted to finish the mission and earn her wage. The moment she was paid, she could break ties with them forever.
She circled back around in case any of the men were awake enough to be suspicious of where she re-entered camp. She slid onto her sleeping mat, pulling a light-weight wool blanket over her shoulders. She was small enough that the cheap lap-blanket she’d been given when she joined the party nearly covered her entire body. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Still, resting in silence was a luxury she never took for granted.
Fisk slinked out of her jacket, curling in the crook of her arm and burying his head beneath her sleeve before promptly falling asleep. Rox stroked the top of his head with one finger, marveling again that despite everything they’d been through, he still trusted her so much.
“You’re a fool,” she whispered affectionately, laying a gentle kiss on his downy head and saying a silent prayer to the Mother for safety. “But it will all be over soon. One way or another.”
Chapter Four
Wind and sand howled past the city gates, engulfing Oasis in it torrential wake. Jacquin crawled across the desert floor, her mouth and lungs filling with sand, the tiny grains drowning her as if she’d been plunged underwater. Her nails clawed at the shifting desert, searching desperately for something to hold onto as the storm ripped at her hair and skin, slicing her open then filling her bloody cuts with more sand.
Her hands reached out wildly, hoping to find a sanctuary, and found the front step of her wagon. She grabbed it with trembling hands and pulled herself up, flinging the tattered, weatherbeaten wooden door to her home open as she slid inside, closing the door behind herself.
She lay collapsed on the carpeted floor, gasping and coughing, trying to purge her lungs of the deadly sand. Finally, fresh air flooded her mouth and she breathed deep, closing her eyes as she clung to life. Oasis had never been hit like this before. She worried about Khalisa, about the rest of her Tribe. The storm had descended so suddenly: had they made it to safety? She imagined her sister, swallowed forever in the depths of the desert and trembled. She needed to find her, but she knew if she opened her front door she’d destroy her only safe haven.
She heard a scuffle across her carpet and felt silken fur brush her hand. When she didn’t move, a quick, sharp sting, a bite, on her arm demanded her attention. She opened her eyes to meet gold eyes full of concern. Her brows knit in confusion. When had she acquired a waterferret? The creatures rarely journeyed beyond the coastal towns in the south.
She pushed herself up onto her hands and shouted with surprise as she realized she wasn’t alone. A figure cloaked in silver, hidden from head to mid-calf sat on the far side of the cabin, a sword with a demonic red gem in the hilt resting blade-down before it. The figure turned to her, piercing eyes examining her from the depths of the hood. It spoke in a whisper, in a language Jacquin couldn’t understand. Its voice was inhuman, distorted by magic and the pounding of the storm against the walls of the wagon.
“Who are you?” Jacquin’s voice trembled as she realized she had to be dreaming. Her silver-cloaked guardian only appeared in visions and dreams, and the storm was too severe, too symbolic to be a vision of what was to come.
The figure sat in silence, one gauntlet-clad hand stroking the red jewel. In an instant, another figure, mirror-image of the first, appeared on the opposite side of the wagon. The waterferret let out a shrill cry of alarm and disappeared from existence, abandoning Jacquin to the strangers. Jacquin shrank back against the door to her wagon, the energy in the room growing heavy and malevolent. She knew in an instant that these two were not her protector. They were false copies.
They stood as one, crossing slowly toward her in perfect unison. The storm howled around her, raking at the wagon like a beast, but she suddenly found she trusted the chaotic, unbiased wrath of the storm over these malevolent creatures.
She reached up and threw the door open, instantly engulfing the wagon in sand, allowing herself to be swept outside. She was lost in the wind, gravity and physics disappearing into the science of the dream world. She couldn’t b
reathe. Couldn’t see. Everything was pain and confusion,
Finally, she relaxed, giving herself up to the storm. Like a rag doll tossed about in a heavy current, she flew, twisted and bent in time with the tempest. Just as she was about to loose consciousness, to release the last bits of her being to the ether, she felt strong hands grab her around the waist, pulling her back to her feet. The sand continued to howl, but for a moment everything directly around her was still. She was standing in the eye of the storm, no more sand in her throat, no grainy sensation in her hair of clothes. She’d been washed clean. Purified.
She looked up to see a third figure, still clad in silver, but radiating warmth. She reached up, hear hand disappearing into the darkness of the hood, her fingers touching smooth skin, a narrow jaw. The ferret rested on the figure’s shoulder.
Jacquin pressed tight against the silver traveler, still trembling from the storm and the false copies I her wagon. “My protector.”
Jacquin woke with a gasp, instantly surrounded by the dark safety of her wagon. The night was still and peaceful outside. A thin fog of incense, nearly dissipated out the small nooks and crannies in her wagon, tinted the air with jasmine and cinnamon. Her skin was damp with sweat and tears. She’d been crying in her sleep.
Memories returned slowly. She’d spent the night trying to meditate, to find answers in the depths of her visions, but nothing had come. The magic must have settled around her while she slept, weaving into her dreams.
Sands of Aggar: Amazons of Aggar Book 3 Page 4