Sands of the Soul (25 page)

Fannah spread her arm to point at the desert.

“This,” she told Tazi, “is the price of their confinement.”

Tazi stared at the lifeless dunes of sand and the miles of salt flats. The golden-white vastness was something she had never seen. Her youth had consisted of towers and streets packed with nobles and the grimiest of urchins. Parks and forests, all things green and lush, were as much of nature as Tazi had ever seen until then, until she was faced with a sea of white. It was almost incomprehensible.

And she and her friends were going to have to cross it. Somewhere in the middle of the deadly wasteland, Ciredor was hiding.

They decided that using any type of magical means of travel in the desert would shine like a beacon and tip Ciredor to their location. None of them were too eager to trust other sorcerous types in Calimport after their tragic encounter with the followers of Ibrandul, anyway.

So they purchased horses and plenty of supplies to take with them into the desert. Fannah had warned them that they

would probably find little water and even less food so they had to be very careful with their provisions. They needed to pack every conceivable item they might need, and special clothing must be purchased as well, to protect them all from the harsh glare of the desert sun. They all sported light cotton abas and cotton head cloths.

Two days later, as Tazi also shifted in her saddle and winced at the ache in her muscles, she thought back longingly to the fleet of flying carpets tethered in a stall they’d passed. She placed one hand on the small of her back and attempted to ease the knot that had formed after two nights of sleeping in the saddle. Even she had to reluctantly agree that this was wearing on her.

“So tell us what you’ve figured out,” she told Steorf. “Anything to get my mind off my aching bones.”

Steorf knew her statement was only half jest. He took a sip of water from his flask and wiped his mouth with the back of his dry hand.

“As far as I can tell,” he began, “we’re still heading in the right direction.”

“I would certainly hope so,” Fannah chimed in, and both she and Tazi giggled.

Her horse was loosely tied to Tazi’s mount. She had admitted that it had been quite some time since she had ridden and wanted to be close to one of her sighted companions. For the first time in their friendship, Tazi actually thought of Fannah as blind.

“I know now that Ciredor plans to complete his ritual tomorrow night,” he told them.

“The first night of the new moon,” Fannah remarked.

“Yes,” Steorf answered, “when everything is shrouded in darkness. Ciredor’s most recent addition in his sacred book reveals that this particular night has been declared a ‘Kiss of the Lady’ by the Temple of Old Night.”

” ‘Kiss of the Lady?’” Tazi asked.

“As best I can tell, that appears to be the most important

holy day for those who worship Shar,” Steorf explained. “It is supposed to be a night of horrific deeds done in Shar’s name and ends with a feast at dawn.”

“Have you deciphered where, exactly, this event is going to occur?” Fannah wondered.

“I am fairly sure he is going to conduct this dark ceremony in a specific set of minarets that are near the heart of the desert.”

Steorf paused and scanned the horizon.

“I don’t know which exact ones yet,” he finished.

Tazi knew he was frustrated at what he perceived to be slow progress translating Ciredor’s writings.

“You’re working as fast as you can,” she said, trying to console him. “I can only imagine the frustration, though. Every page you translate causes the next page’s code to change, and you have to start anew.”

Steorf merely grumbled. Tazi realized he didn’t want anyone else making excuses for his ability or lack thereof. She tactfully redirected the conversation.

“Just how many towers could there be here in the Calim?” she asked Fannah. “How could anything survive?”

“Back during the Shoon Imperium, the Trade Way was constructed. Magic was combined with the stones used so that they would be almost impervious to some of the more natural problems associated with the desert,” she told Tazi. “Every two miles, a pair of minarets was constructed. The towers are forty feet tall, and each one has what appears to be an open parapet at the top. There are elaborate arches that hold up the gilded roofs. Some say there is glass or other wards at the top that keep anyone or anything from reaching the braziers in the center.”

“So nothing can extinguish the lights within,” Tazi guessed.

“I have heard stories that when the braziers from each pair of minarets are lit with the blue crystals inside the minaret, something amazing occurs.”

“What?” Tazi asked as she rearranged her head covering to keep more of the desert glare from her eyes.

“A blue glow encompasses both towers in a protective sphere that neither beast nor foul weather can penetrate.”

“But if that’s the case,” Steorf asked, “why is it so difficult to cross the Calim Desert? I mean, I understand why we can’t march down the paved road to Ciredor and announce ourselves,” he observed, “but wouldn’t other travelers and traders find the route convenient and faster even than the sea?”

“Many years ago, much of the road fell into disrepair as naturally occurring sinkholes broke many of the Way’s enchantments,” Fannah answered. “Some of the towers were partially or completely buried some time ago and the gems from many of the towers stolen away. Our syl-pasha would like to repair the road and has even made a tiny bit of progress, but the work is slow.”

Tazi glanced at both Fannah and Steorf. While Fannah was spared the terrible brilliance of the desert sun bouncing off the reflective sand into her eyes, the blind woman was not any more immune to the intense heat than she or Steorf. The three had been riding for hours without a break, and Tazi decided to call one.

“I think we could use an hour to rest,” she suggested.

“Good idea,” Steorf agreed. “This will give me another chance at those scrolls.”

They stopped the horses near an outcropping of rocks. The terrain varied slightly as they progressed deeper into the desert, but only slightly. They passed over miles and miles of rolling dunes only to have the terrain completely flatten out to salt flats with the occasional rock pile. The ground around the knoll was more salt flat than sand, and there was even a section between the rocks that was slightly marshy. The horses went immediately over to lick up what little moisture there was. Tazi gratefully slid out of her saddle and stretched her sore legs. It took a moment for her to move around any way other than bowlegged.

When she’d loosened up some, she helped Steorf stake down a silk cloth and attach it to some of the rocks to fashion a makeshift lean-to. They spread another on the ground, and the three collapsed in the temporary shade.

Tazi sipped greedily at her water skin. Though she had opted for a cotton aba to protect herself from the sun, she still wore her leathers underneath. She knew she was perspiring and had to keep up her water intake to prevent dehydration. There was no effective way to cover her hands that were exposed on the reins. They were turning a fiery red. She rubbed at them gingerly.

“Perhaps you should have considered taking some of the lighter clothes we saw in the market,” Fannah remarked after she heard Tazi take a deep drink.

“It was a hard decision,” Tazi agreed, “but I would rather sweat a little and have more protective gear than the reverse.”

Tazi refused to part with her leathers in the market, secretly fearing to lose anything else she had come to rely on, like the ring she no longer possessed.

“We brought more than enough water, so you should be all right,” Fannah said thoughtfully.

Tazi turned to Steorf, wondering why he was so quiet. While she had been talking to Fannah, he had pulled out all the parchments they had of Ciredor’s and spread a few across the salt flat. He was now lost in his studies. Tazi shook her head.

He doesn’t give up, she thought.

She ran her hand through her short locks and was startled by how stiff they were. She studied her hand and saw that it was lightly sprinkled with sand.

“This stuff is insidious,” she said to no one in particular, and rubbed her hand against her leathers.

She pulled off her boots and shook them out. To her dismay, a small amount of granules emptied out onto their ground cloth.

“It’s everywhere.”

While Fannah checked on their provisions and prepared a light snack for them, Steorf said, “I’ve got a better sense where those minarets are.”

Tazi crawled over on her hands and knees to where he had propped himself up against the rocks. She looked at the parchment he was studying, and recognized it as one of the few she had stolen from Ciredor two years before.

“From what I can tell,” Steorf told her, “those minarets are somewhere near a place called Teshyll.”

Tazi studied the words he was translating. The elaborate scrawls meant nothing to her. They were vaguely reminiscent of Alzhedo in their physical beauty, but that’s where the similarity ended. From the corner of her eye, she saw that as Steorf pointed out the name of Teshyll to her on one document, all the other pages shimmered. The writings came alive like slender worms and repositioned themselves on the vellum. Every page except the one Steorf held in his hand was a mystery again.

How are we going to defeat him? Tazi wondered morosely.

“Teshyll was a city that provided a centralized farmer’s market eight thousand years back when the Teshyll Fields were rich and fertile,” Fannah told them. “Calim also kept his harem there in a palace that was one of the greatest examples of gravity-defying architecture ever seen.”

Tazi smiled at her friend’s keen hearing. Fannah had looked deeply absorbed in preparing a plate of succulent fruit for them all, yet she had been listening closely to their exchange.

“Is there anything left of this city?” Steorf asked and took a bite of a slice of fruit.

“No, there isn’t,” she informed him. “All that remains of the buildings are a few cornerstones.”

Even though she was thirsty, it was hard for Tazi to eat much. She noticed Steorf had the same problem. The overwhelming heat was like a heavy blanket, and putting food in

“I don’t think rest is going to turn the tide for us,” he said quietly.

His words struck deep into Tazi. She had been thinking almost the same since they’d left Calimport. The fact that she had failed to purify herself hounded her ruthlessly, but she couldn’t let the others see her worries. Fannah’s life depended on her, and she wouldn’t let Steorf fall victim to that despair either.

“We’ve come this far,” she told him with false confidence. “We’ve survived every pitfall that has come our way. If Ciredor wasn’t frightened of us, I don’t think he would’ve run here. I believe he would have stayed behind in Calimport to kill us. ‘ That’s worth something.”

“I wish that were true,” he told her kindly. “I’m afraid he went into the desert because this is where he needs to be to complete his gift to Shar. His time is running out to finish this so he had to come out here. I’d love to believe he was frightened of us, Tazi, but I know he’s not.”

Everything he said made complete sense to her, but Tazi refused to accept it. To do so would be to accept defeat.

“He should be,” she said seriously. “He should be very frightened.

“What else have you figured out?” She added to focus them both on something they could do.

Steorf replied with a faint smile, “I am getting closer to the exact distance that the minarets are from Calimport, but I don’t quite have it yet. Every time I put these papers down, they’re all rewritten the next time I look at them.”

His voice was heavy with barely concealed frustration.

“I’ve been wondering something,” Tazi said. “Why do you think Ciredor even wrote this down if it holds so many clues?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself. We’ve probably been less than accurate thinking of him as a mage. I think he must be a nightcloak of Shar’s, one of her elite priests.

“As far as I know,” Steorf went on, “they aren’t supposed

Sands of the Soul “

to take on any special tasks without orders. Ciredor might have been reporting to someone else, and this was the way he did it.

“Or,” he added thoughtfully, “he might be operating on his own, and this collection is his written record for others to find after he presents his gift to Shar.”

“Something to leave behind for others to find,” Tazi whispered, her mind only beginning to guess at the ramifications of what Ciredor might be attempting.

“That may be why he told the followers of Ibrandul that it was a book from their god,” Steorf agreed slowly. “He wanted a dedicated group to protect it for… afterward.”

They were both silent for a time. Eventually, Steorf turned to Tazi. “There is something I would like you to know,” he said.

The tone in his voice made Tazi nervous for some unexplained reason. She drew shapes on their groundcloth with her finger but didn’t look at him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know how this is going to end for us,” he started. Tazi looked at him and placed her fingertips over his chapped lips. “Don’t,” she implored.

He gently took her hand away from his mouth and squeezed ‘ it briefly.

“I have to,” he told her. “Neither of us can say what will happen. I just want to make sure that you understand something, and there might not be another chance to tell you.”

“Make sure this is something you’re going to be able to live down,” she told him lightly. “You know I will forever remind you of it when we get back.”

“//we get back,” Steorf corrected her gravely, “I don’t want you to ever forget it.”

“All right,” Tazi answered, no longer flippant.

“I know how much it hurt you when Ciredor told you that I was on Thamalon Uskevren’s payroll.”

He watched as Tazi dropped her head. He reached over and cupped her chin in his hand and tilted it up to face him.

“It was true that your father paid me for many years to watch over you as best I could. What you don’t know is that I’ve been watching you far longer than that. I’ve been watching you since we were children.”