City Under the Sand

by Jeff Mariotte

  Corlan picked up his creature. He stared at it for a minute, then closed his eyes, trying to picture it in every detail. He searched his mind for that mental link. But concentrating proved difficult; his mind wanted to dance around from one thing to another to a third, without reason or warning. The psionocus of the girl next to him, who had been sculpted so unevenly it almost fell over every time she set it down. The breeze that had blown through Nibenay that morning, cooling and sweet-scented. An argument with his father, two nights before.

  He opened his eyes again when he heard squeals of delight and the rapid flapping of many small wings. All around the room, psionoci had taken flight. Some crashed in midair, others swooped and soared with graceful ease.

  Corlan’s sat in his hand, immobile.

  He knew what the problem was. Not the breeze, or the other students, or the fight with his father.

  He couldn’t concentrate, and he knew full well the reason why.

  “I’m sorry.” He rose, psionocus in hand, and made for the door, ducking beneath the swoop of someone else’s small, animated beast. “I have to go.”

  “I knew you would,” Tenavry said. “Remember, Corlan, wherever your path takes you, to deserve every gift you receive.”

  Good advice, Corlan supposed as he hurried out the door. He had no idea what it meant, but it sounded smart. Maybe if he had time someday, he would try to figure it out.

  XVIII

  MAGIC

  1

  Three days later, the sword was done.

  Aric had polished it with stones of ever-decreasing grit, and finally with a stiff cloth. He had cut fuller grooves most of the way down the blade, decreasing its weight and making it stiffer, and making it easier to withdraw after stabbing someone. The blade was two inches wide, with edges as keen as any he’d ever honed, and it tapered to a sharp point. The cross-guard was straight across the blade, then curled down at the inner end. At the outer, it curled up and joined the hand guard, forming a protective basket around Aric’s hand. The hilt was wrapped in soft leather, with fine wire twisted around it.

  By this time, the steel had lost any traces of those who had handled it before. When Aric held it, his only psionic connection was to himself, a mental loop that allowed him to “communicate” with the sword. He knew where every inch of it was at every moment; however fast it sliced through the air, he was in absolute control. He had never before known a weapon so thoroughly, or had one so responsive to his will.

  Myrana had bargained with a leather worker in the village and had a custom scabbard made, according to specifications Ruhm provided her, and when the sword was done so was its new home.

  They had celebrated that night in the tavern—a celebration tempered with anxiety, because they knew they had to hurry back to Nibenay. Scouts had not reported any raider activity nearby for the last day, so they planned to leave in the morning.

  In the morning, they packed up what little they owned. Aric hung the new scabbard from his belt and shoved the sword into it. Did wearing it truly make him taller, stronger, more handsome? Probably not. But harsh reality didn’t change the way it made him feel.

  At the livery, they ran into Mazzax. He was dressed for travel, with a knapsack over his shoulders, and he stood among seven agitated kanks. “I’ve sold your erdlus,” he said.

  “You did what?” Sellis asked.

  “Sold ’em.”

  “Why? They weren’t yours to sell.”

  “Kank’s more comfortable for long trip. Plus they hold more.” He indicated one of the kanks, with bundles strapped to its back. “Plenty food on that one, more than a bird’ll tote.”

  “But Mazzax,” Aric said, “Sellis is right, they were not yours in the first place. And we don’t own kanks.”

  “Sure you do. Wasn’t my money bought these.”

  The dwarf was a hard worker, and Aric appreciated his contributions to the sword he wore. But the dwarf was also as maddening as ever. Nothing he said made sense, or it did but only after you figured out all the parts he wasn’t saying. He already knew those parts, so he assumed everyone else did too. “You bought these kanks with our money? Without asking us? We don’t even need seven of them. What were you thinking?”

  Mazzax pointed at each traveler, while he spoke their names. “Aric. Ruhm. Amoni. Myrana. Sellis. Mazzax.”

  “That’s the five of us, and I suppose one to bear supplies, if we had any, but—”

  “He’s going with us,” Myrana explained. “Or did you miss that part?”

  “You’re coming?” Aric asked.

  “Course I’m coming.”

  “But …”

  “Nothing here for me. Hotak’s gone. I’m apprentice, not master, not even journeyman, so can’t run smithy. What else keeps me here?”

  “Friends?” Sellis asked. “Family?”

  Aric already knew, from handling lots of iron that Mazzax had touched before, that he had no real friends in the village other than Hotak, and no family. “He’s alone here.”

  “Aric is right. All alone.”

  “Then you might as well come,” Myrana said.

  The meaning of the supplies on the kank’s back sank in. “You bought all that?” Aric asked.

  “Aye, food and water and shelter for long journey.”

  “With our money?”

  “Your money bought five kanks, no more.”

  “So you purchased two kanks and all those supplies?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well then, I guess you’d better come with us.”

  Aric thought Mazzax would be happy, but the dwarf simply shrugged. “I have been saying that.” As if that had been clear all along.

  “Right,” Aric said. “It appears we’re ready, then. Let’s get out of here. On to Nibenay!”

  “On to Nibenay!” Mazzax repeated.

  “Oh, and Mazzax?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you. For all this, and everything else.”

  The dwarf shrugged again, clambered onto a kank’s back, and started to ride.

  2

  The village was barely out of sight behind them when they saw a smudge of dust in the distance ahead. When they got closer, they could see riders, a small group of them. They didn’t look numerous enough to be a problem, so while they readied their weapons, they didn’t hide or change course.

  Aric didn’t recognize the riders until they were almost right on top of them. Then familiar faces swam into view.

  “Rieve!” he shouted as soon as he caught a glimpse of her coppery hair gleaming in the sun.

  “Aric, is it really you?”

  He jumped from the kank’s back and sprinted toward her. “It’s really me!” he cried. “You’re not a desert mirage?”

  Rieve pinched her own cheek, leaving a red mark there, like a kiss. “I don’t think I’m a mirage.”

  The rest of the family rode with her. Aric recognized her mother, her grandparents, her brother Pietrus. Another man Aric hadn’t seen before, but guessed he was Rieve’s father. Half a dozen soldiers accompanied them, armed and tense—two of them had started forward when Aric ran to Rieve, but relaxed their guard when it was obvious she knew him.

  Rieve climbed down from her mount and met Aric, embracing him in a hug that took his breath away. Not just because it was firm, though it was, but because he had forgotten her scent and the way her orange ringlets tickled his nose, and the way her body swelled under her clothing. The depths of her light brown eyes, the warmth of her smile.

  His sword bumped her hip as he held her. “Is that new?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’ve just made it for myself.” They parted, took a step back, and he saw that she wore the sword he’d crafted for her. He drew his own—again, attracting the nervous interest of the soldiers—and showed it off. “How’s yours?”

  “I’ve been practicing with it. It’s wonderful.”

  “What are you doing so far from Nibenay?”

  Rieve took his hand. Her grip pleasantl
y warm, the skin so soft he could hardly believe it. “Pietrus has been accused of a terrible crime,” she said. “He is innocent, of course. I know he’s not like other people, but he isn’t bad or vicious. He’s the most innocent person I know. Anyway, we had to flee Nibenay before the authorities arrested us all—him for the crime, and us for harboring him. Grandfather was convinced we would all be enslaved.”

  “That’s terrible!” Aric said. He hardly knew Pietrus, and from their single encounter he had been left with the impression that the young man was sometimes gripped by sudden, inexplicable furies. But he didn’t know that Pietrus had ever actually hurt anybody, and at this moment, he would have believed Rieve if she had told him that the whole of Athas was under water, including where they stood. “Why would they—”

  “We know not. Someone made an accusation, obviously false because Pietrus was home with us while this crime occurred. But there were so-called witnesses. There was amob. They stormed our gates and sacked our house. We were lucky to escape alive. Apparently there’s been a rash of these killings, of human men and elf women, and now they’re saying that Pietrus must have done them all. Djena has some grudge against grandfather, so he decided we were best served by fleeing while we could.”

  “I am so sorry, Rieve. If there were anything I could do …”

  “I’m sure there’s not, Aric, but thank you.”

  “What of Corlan?”

  “Corlan’s still in the city,” she said. Her tone had turned glacial, its meaning unmistakable. For an instant, Aric felt like singing. He tried to downplay his enthusiasm, and the knowledge that he still had to rush toward Nibenay, not away from it, made that sadly not hard to do.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve no idea. Grandfather has some destination in mind, or so he claims. But he won’t tell us. He says it’s safer that way.”

  He might never see her again. The idea was almost too much to bear, especially since she was no longer betrothed to another. By the time he finished his business in Nibenay, she could be anywhere. “There have been raiders active ahead, so warn your family, and make sure those soldiers stay alert. But … if I should want to find you …”

  She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes. “I know, Aric.” Then she smiled and dug into a pouch hanging from her belt. “Wait, I have it.” She brought out a small, round pebble, almost as clear as glass. “Take this.”

  Aric took it. Everything was slightly distorted, but he could see all the way through it. “Why?”

  “Put it in a shallow bowl of water,” she told him. “It will show you an image of me, and tell you which direction to find me in. If I’m very far away, the image will be small, and it will grow bigger the nearer I am.”

  Aric closed his fist around it. He had never heard of such a thing, but he was glad it existed. “But … you do magic?”

  “Not myself,” Rieve said. “But grandmother … she does some preserving magic, when she needs to. It really is different from defiling, she has told me all about it. And if one has enough wealth—as we do—one can acquire all sorts of odd things. The clear stone is one of those. I had thought to leave it with Corlan, until he made clear that he wouldn’t be using it.”

  “Well, I will. That I swear.”

  “I hope you do, Aric.” She went up on her toes, pressed her hands against his chest, and planted a kiss on his lips. “I must go—my family’s patience wears thin. Find me.”

  “I will, Rieve.”

  “Soon as you can?”

  “Soon as I can.”

  “Good.” She broke away from him, ran back to her mount, and climbed on. The family and their soldiers were already moving by the time she was mounted, and she had to hurry to catch up.

  “Who was that?” Myrana asked when Aric returned to his group.

  “Rieve,” Ruhm answered.

  “Yes,” Aric said. “Rieve, of the House of Thrace. I made her sword.”

  “And more,” Myrana said, her words clipped, precise. Was she angry?

  Well, of course she was. There had been a certain tension between Myrana and him since they had first met, an attraction that, for his part at least, had been immediate. No promises had been made, no declarations of love, but there had been something growing between them. The hand-tooled scabbard on his belt was only the most recent expression of it.

  Then she had seen him completely lose his mind over some other woman, who was, to Myrana’s eye, an utter stranger. Even now, aware of Myrana’s discomfort, and knowing all he would see of Rieve was her swiftly departing back, it took all his will not to watch her go.

  They set off again, following the Thrace party’s tracks. Aric hadn’t thought to ask her when they’d left, how far they had yet to travel. His belly would be full, for a change, but he still worried about beating Kadya to Nibenay.

  3

  Late that afternoon, a lone rider came toward them. Since this individual appeared even less threatening than the group of that morning, the companions again held fast to their route. When they got closer, Aric recognized Corlan, making speedy progress on an erdlu’s back.

  Corlan recognized Aric moments later, and they drew near each other. “Aric! I’m surprised to see you.”

  “And I you, Corlan. We’re on our way home. Where are you bound?”

  Corlan shook his head sadly. “Rieve and I had … a misunderstanding. It’s complicated, but she’s left town. I should have gone with her, but I didn’t, and …”

  Aric pointed the way, although doing it made his guts churn. “Follow our path,” he said. “You’re less than a day behind them.”

  “Really?”

  “And you’re traveling faster. You’ll catch up today. Tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Thank you, Aric!”

  “Ride fast, my friend, you’ll find her.”

  “I’m grateful to you.” Corlan started to continue on his way, then halted again. “Oh, and Aric? You said you’re bound for Nibenay?”

  “Yes.”

  “You might want to pick a new destination.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Shadow King has declared you an enemy of the state. I nearly forgot—I heard about it just before I left.”

  “What? An enemy of the state, why?”

  “There’s some story going around. That you’re a traitor, or something … a member of the Veiled Alliance.”

  “Who’s saying that? Has the expedition returned?”

  “No, not yet. I assumed they’d sent a messenger ahead to warn Nibenay. Or … you know, the sorcerer-king and his templars have their ways.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “There’s a bounty on your head, Aric. You’re to be captured or killed on sight. That’s what I’ve heard. So you would do well to steer clear of Nibenay.”

  “But …”

  “I’m only telling you what I heard before I left the city.”

  “I know,” Aric said. “I’m not blaming you.” He wished he could. Instead, he could only believe that Kadya was behind the lies. The story would make his task more difficult … not that it had seemed easy to begin with.

  “I should get after Rieve.”

  “Go,” Aric said. “Thank you for the news, and the faith.”

  “I’m glad I saw you, to warn you.”

  “One more thing, Corlan. How long have you been riding, from Nibenay?”

  “This is my fourth day,” Corlan said. “Does that mean you still mean to go there?”

  “I’m not sure I have any choice.”

  Corlan touched his own neck, gingerly. “Well, I hope you keep your head.” He kicked the erdlu, and it raced off across the desert.

  “What do we do now, Aric?” Amoni asked after Corlan was gone. “You can’t go to Nibenay, right?”

  “I don’t know. I meant to speak directly to the Shadow King, to warn him about Kadya and the demon Tallik. But now … that might not be possible.”

  “Then perhaps we should do as he sugges
ted,” Myrana said. “Give up on Nibenay and go someplace else. Someplace safe.”

  “We can’t,” Aric said. “The demon possessing Kadya is too dangerous. Together, they won’t be satisfied with just Nibenay. If they’re not stopped, there will be no safe place. If there were a way to stop them ourselves, then maybe …”

  He let the sentence trail off, conscious that the others were all watching him, waiting for him to come to some sort of conclusion.

  He hadn’t. “Let’s keep riding,” he said. “It’s not that far now. Something will present itself, before we arrive.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Myrana asked.

  “It has to.”

  4

  Sitting close to a fire that night, Aric had still reached no conclusions. But he had arrived at the beginning of an idea. After mulling it over for a while, he decided to give voice to it. “Magic,” he said.

  “What?” Ruhm asked.

  “We can’t defeat Kadya and Tallik ourselves. But if we could use magic …”

  “We need to reach the Veiled Alliance,” Sellis said. “Do you Nibenese have any contacts in that organization?”

  “I don’t.”

  “No,” Ruhm said. “Not me,” Amoni said.

  “But … Rieve might. Her grandmother, anyway.”

  “Rieve?” Ruhm echoed.

  “She told me her grandmother practices preserving magic. She gave me a magical pebble I can use to locate her.”

  “She did?” Myrana said. Her tone hadn’t changed much over the last several hours. Aric had tried talking to her a few times, and been rebuffed more or less politely.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like magic,” Sellis said.

  “Neither do I.”

  “There are times,” Myrana ventured, “when it can be helpful.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Sellis asked.

  “I know you don’t trust it, Sellis. And that’s why it’s hard for me to admit this, but … well, I’ve been using it to keep us safe ever since we left the House Ligurto caravan.”