Sands (Sharani Series Book 1) (18 page)

“Thank you, sir,” Khari said with a slight bow when the older man turned back to gesture them forward.

“Name’s Honric, and I’ll not leave a woman out for the genesauri, Roterralar or not. Just promise me that you won’t do anything—well, anything unnatural tonight. Alright?” The tone of his voice was almost pleading, something that Lhaurel had not expected to hear from any man.

It felt odd to be standing there, in Roterralar robes, being the object of suspicion and discomfort. And yet she knew now it was justified. The Roterralar were a strange people with many secrets. But not the kind these men believed.

“On our honor, Honric,” Khari said.

They followed him down the narrow passage, his torch casting odd shadows.

“You must forgive Shelton,” Honric said, his voice echoing slightly against the rocks. “He’s superstitious, and with everything going on, he’s got every right to be. We’re all a might nervous.”

“What’s happening? Besides the genesauri, of course. That was the worst of all luck this year, I’d say.” Lhaurel smiled beneath her hood, though it was wan.

“Well, I have it on good authority that there’s a new Warlord among the Sidena, see. The old one up and died all of a sudden. I never met the man, seeing as I’m Olarin myself, but I’ve got a friend of a friend who knows some of the Sidena women, see. And they told me that the old one, he wasn’t old exactly, you know, just saying that he was the old one ‘cause there’s a new one now—anyway, they told me that this old one went to bed last night and didn’t wake up again this morning. He was all stiff as a water-logged cactus, if you’ll pardon the expression, and with lips as blue as the water from the springs here. And his wife, the Matron, she found him like that when she woke up the next morning. Wailed for hours, so I hear. How do you figure that if not for bad luck? Just up and died in his sleep. No one knows what to make of them blue lips, neither. Leastwise no one is saying anything.”

Lhaurel was taken aback at the torrent of words. The more passionate that Honric got, the faster the words came out and sort of slurred together. All that Lhaurel had understood out of it was that the old Warlord, Jenthro, was dead and a new one had taken his place. Did that mean that Taren was the new Warlord?

“That is bad luck,” Khari agreed. “And they replaced him already?”

“Aye, that they did,” Honric said with a nod. “They held a big vote, so I hear. Seeing as the water oaths forbid the shedding of blood in the Oasis, I guess a vote is as good a way as any to decide who’s going to lead a person. Some fellow called Taren is the new Warlord.”

Taren was the Warlord now. Lhaurel suppressed a small shudder.

“Will you shut up already, Honric?” Shelton’s voice echoed from ahead of them. “You don’t need to tell them all this. For the love of water, man, they’re Roterralar! They’d as soon use what you just told them against us like as not. You’re a foolish old man.”

“That I may be,” Honric shouted back, “but I can still best the likes of you and yours any day. So quit your whining and move along before I shove my spear up your skinny arse.”

Lhaurel stifled a weak laugh.

Honric turned to glance back over his shoulder at Khari, an apologetic look on his wrinkled face.               “Pardon me for the language,” he said. “That fellow is a bit of a fool. I didn’t want him to sit watch with me, but you know, orders is orders. What was I supposed to do except let him tag along?”

“You are a good and obedient soldier, Honric,” Khari said, patting the man on the shoulder. “I’m sure that fortune will place water and shade in your path throughout your life.”

“He’s just a little jumpy, see. These younger warriors don’t know how to ride out the tension. They want to react to everything. Always got an answer, they do. Take the two missing clans, for example. Me, I figure they’s just late, or else managed to hole up inside their warrens. It’s been done before, see. They’re high enough up, some of them, that they could do it. But clans are nervous. Most of these here are young. They think that the genesauri got them all, the whole clan.” Honric shrugged. “Well, maybe they did, but that doesn’t affect us here. Life goes on in the Oasis. There’s no use fretting over it if there’s nothing to be done about it.”

Two missing clans? Both Makin Qays and Tieran had mentioned that there were two clans that hadn’t yet made it to the Oasis, but she had forgotten about it. She had just assumed that they had made it eventually. It had been almost three fortnights since Kaiden had arrived in the Sidena Warren and upended the life of the clan. Surely something must be known about them.

“So you’ve not heard anything from them? Not even by pigeon?” Khari asked. Her voice seemed off-hand, only mild curiosity mingled with politeness driving her to keep the conversation going. But Lhaurel noticed the tension of her shoulders, the slight tilt of her head. The woman had expected something different, hoped for better news.

“Not a word. Leastways, nothing that anyone has told me. My clan isn’t too close with either of the two missing clans, see. Maybe some of the others would know better than me. Ah,” he said, gesturing broadly, “here we are.”

The narrow canyon walkway ended abruptly, as narrow at the terminus as it was where it began. Some of the omnipresent oppression from the cliffs faded. It was too dark to see much outside of the small pool of light provided by Honric’s torch, but Lhaurel sensed vast amounts of water and thousands of people arrayed in camps in the space ahead of her. It smelled of life and the sharp musty smell of wetness and dirt.

“We thank you for your kindness, Honric,” Khari said, placing a hand on his arm. “We will go our way now and let you get back to your watch.”

Honric grinned. “It was nothing. Come on, you.”

Shelton stood at the edge of the torchlight, hidden in shadow. He grumbled something unintelligible but followed Honric back into the canyon. Lhaurel sensed him go and then hesitate once he was far enough into the passage to not be seen. Honric moved on, taking the torchlight with him.

“Where to, Lhaurel?” Khari asked. “We need to get to the Sidena camp.”

Lhaurel didn’t answer immediately. She could sense the sullen man creeping slowly closer. She bent down and felt the ground until her hand found a small rock. In one smooth motion, Lhaurel stood and hurled the rock back into the narrow canyon. She smiled when a yelp suddenly sounded from the darkness.

Khari spun toward the sound, sword half out of her sheath.

“Don’t worry,” Lhaurel said. “He’s leaving.”

“How can you tell?” Khari asked.

Lhaurel hesitated. “I can sense him leaving.”

“You can sense him? So he’s a mystic? Odd, I don’t sense him at all.”

Lhaurel almost chuckled. “I don’t think so. Mystics feel different,” she said, realizing the difference for the first time. “Like the difference between salt and fresh water.”

“You’re telling me you can sense
everyone
?” Khari’s voice was incredulous. She sheathed her sword, the sound a slick hiss of metal on leather.

“Yes. You said that one of the abilities of a wetta is locating people.”

“Not people, mystics. Normal wetta can only sense mystics. They can’t sense everyone. How long have you been able to do this?”

“Since the day after the sandstorm,” she said, “but it’s not constant. Sometimes I can sense everyone and sometimes I can’t.” Lhaurel shrugged and glanced back down the canyon one last time.

Khari muttered something that Lhaurel didn’t catch but then spoke up more loudly. “So, which way to the Sidena camp?”

Lhaurel pointed to the northeast and then realized that the gesture was meaningless in the darkness, so she simply started walking in that direction. Khari followed.

Though it was dark, their eyes quickly adjusted to the little light offered by the stars and the edge of the moon that poked up over the top of the Oasis cliffs. Lhaurel led the way, careful to skirt the guards of the two clans whose territory they had to pass through in order to reach the section that was controlled by the Sidena. Though Khari didn’t say anything, Lhaurel could tell that she was troubled. The information the talkative old Honric had given them was certainly cause for concern. Taren was Warlord. Two clans were still missing.

Lhaurel swallowed and refused to let herself be cowed. The ground sprang up beneath her feet. She breathed in the sweet pungencies of earth and plants. She’d always loved the Oasis, and compared to life within the Roterralar Warren, it was even more beautiful now. Lhaurel stopped next to a narrow stream that bisected a section of meadow abutting the Oasis walls. Though she couldn’t see it well, it was enough to recognize the boundary of the Sidena territory. She could make out the tiny pinpricks of light to the east that marked their camp.

“The camp is over there,” she whispered.

The area was surprisingly devoid of guards. Lhaurel couldn’t sense anyone closer than the edge of the camp in the distance. Something registered this fact as discordant in the back of her mind.

“Good. Well, then, who should I approach?” Khari asked, stretching and suppressing a stiff yawn.

Lhaurel thought a moment and then came up with the only name she could honestly recall. “You can try Ami. She had a daughter about my age who was the only one in the clan that I was somewhat close to. She’ll probably talk, given enough encouragement.”

“As good a place to start as any. You stay here—and stay out of sight. Hide if anyone comes. At the very least, don’t do anything stupid like try to run away on me. I spent long hours talking Makin into letting you come with me. Please don’t make me regret this.”

“He didn’t want me to come?”

Khari didn’t answer. Instead she turned and walked off toward the distant lights.

How does an ant rise to the challenge of defending its colony from the threat of invasion? How does it defend itself from the booted heel that crushes it?

A multiplicity of numbers. Soldiers. Unity

But what if the ant became suddenly a larger thing? Able to fight against the boot and win as an individual? What then? Would the colony’s ability to swarm then make it so that all booted heels would cease to crush their kin? I think so. And if we harness this strength?

-From the Journals of Elyana

The stars shone in the sky far above, twinkling like fires on a distant sea of black. Lhaurel lay on her back in the thick green grass, gazing up at them. There were so many of them. The Oasis afforded an unobstructed view of the sky, which allowed her to bask in the glory of the various night scenes and constellations. Her favorite, a group of three stars that some called the “witch’s
shufari
,” shone like a beacon in the western sky. The moon was only half formed, resting just above the rim of the wall.

Lhaurel breathed out a long sigh of contentment. After the confinement of the Roterralar Warren, the open air was a welcome relief and afforded her a sense of freedom. Freedom from the Roterralar; freedom from this new life that had been thrust upon her; freedom from strife and stress and pain. This was the sort of night she lived for.

She stifled a yawn.

Khari had been gone a long time. Lhaurel could sense her, vaguely, intermingled with a number of people within the Sidena camp. As with Fahkiri, Lhaurel found that she could pick out Khari’s presence from the others with only a little more focus.

Khari could spend all night speaking with the Sidena for all that Lhaurel cared. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, sighing in contentment. Water dripped somewhere, lulling her toward sleep and forcing her thoughts more deeply adrift.

Someone approached where she was lying. She sensed them before she saw them. One of them was far larger than the other, and the other one was being pulled along behind them. The smaller figure stumbled and fell. The larger one bent down and made a sharp motion with one hand. Even from where Lhaurel stood, she heard the sharp crack of flesh striking flesh. Then shouts came.

“Get up, woman,” the larger one, a man, shouted. “Get on your feet before I have to drag you myself.”

Another sharp crack sounded, and the smaller figure was tossed to one side as she tried to rise.

“You’re a lazy, worthless creature,” the man shouted. “I don’t know how I ever let Taren talk me into marrying you. With as many times as I have bedded you, a decent woman would have let my seed take root and given me a son. And now I know why. Consorting with Roterralar. You’ve cursed yourself and my seed. Worthless.”

The woman crawled on all fours, head sagged toward the ground and sobbing in short, pained bursts.

“I should rid myself of you now,” the man said. He pulled his leg back to kick the woman at his feet.

In that moment, Lhaurel lived in memory. Once again she stood before the women of the Sidena, feeling their eyes upon her and demanding that they stand up for her. She looked into their phantom eyes, and this time, she didn’t see a lack of emotion. Instead she saw her own questions reflected in their eyes. Where was she when they were being abused? Where was she when they were forced into marriages that they had not wanted? She had been as silent and shaken as they.

The foot never fell.

Lhaurel didn’t know how she suddenly made it to where the man was. Perhaps she had already started running while he had been busy yelling. Perhaps he took a lot longer to ready himself to kick out than a normal person did. Regardless, Lhaurel found herself in between the man and the sobbing woman. Her sword glittered in the moonlight, the tip bouncing with the slight trembling of her fingers. Her power coursed through her, summoned by her anger. It burned in her blood, clutched at her heart, and froze in her veins. The wind whipped her robes up around her, enshrouding her in a halo of red cloth.

“If you touch her,” Lhaurel said, her voice thick with anger, “I will kill you.”

The man gulped, looking down at the blade dancing just beneath his chin. Then his face hardened. “How dare you draw your sword against me,” he said in a snarl. “Do you know who I am? We’ll never let another of your kind into the Oasis.”

The earth seemed to tremble beneath her. The blood pounding in her veins turned icy. The hand holding the sword steadied. She could feel the blood swirling through her body, could feel it swirling through
his
body. For years she had been what this woman was now, chastened by the Warlord for acting in a way different than a proper young woman should, punished by Marvi, abused and tormented and tortured for years. But she was no longer powerless. Now she had the sword and the power. The blade inched closer, drawing a thin line of blood that dripped down the man’s neck like a scarlet bead of sweat.

“I think,” a voice said softly, “that you should leave, warrior.”

Khari stepped out of the shadows into a pocket of moonlight, her sword in hand.

The man grumbled something but raised his hands and took a step back.

Lhaurel reached out a quick hand and snagged a part of his shirt. He tried to pull away, but Lhaurel’s grip was strong, stronger than even she expected. She stepped up to him, pulling him down so that she could whisper in his ear. Her sword was pressed against his side.

“If you touch her again, I will know. I will find you. And I will kill you.”

She shoved him away, sending him staggering back with an expression of terror on his face. He scrambled to his feet and dashed into the night, his presence fading.

Lhaurel turned back to Khari, her blood still pounding, but Khari wasn’t where she’d been. She was on the ground, holding the woman as she sobbed.

“Stop that, Lhaurel,” Khari said. “You’re scaring her.”

“Stop what?” Lhaurel asked, stepping forward to kneel in the grass.

“Making the ground tremble. I think you scared Saralhn as much as you scared her unfortunate husband.”

Lhaurel nearly dropped her sword in shock. Her racing blood stilled and color drained from her face.
Saralhn?
They’d told her Saralhn was dead. Kaiden—Kaiden had broken her with that news.

It had been a trick.

Lhaurel reached out a weak hand and placed it on the trembling woman’s shoulder. “Saralhn,” she said, “it’s me, Lhaurel.”

The woman looked up. Her face glistened with tears and blood, yet her eyes reflected the moonlight. They focused on Lhaurel and, for a moment, appeared confused. Then recognition dawned and returned to confusion.

“You’re dead,” Saralhn stammered. “They left you on the rocks. Khari said you were still alive, but I didn’t believe her.” Her voice was weak and she coughed wetly.

Lhaurel wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. Saralhn shifted for a moment, as if she were about to pull away, but then she collapsed into Lhaurel’s arms. Lhaurel felt close to the woman, closer than they ever had been before.

“I lived,” Lhaurel said, stroking Saralhn’s hair.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t arrive any sooner,” Khari said. “I saw him drag you away, but I couldn’t leave then without arousing suspicion.”

Saralhn gave a barely perceptible nod. Her eyes were locked on Lhaurel’s face.

Lhaurel, for her part, registered the strange comment a moment delayed. “What was that?”

“I saw Saralhn’s husband drag her away while I was speaking with some of the other women. He’d seen me talking to her and his look was murderous. I knew she was in trouble, but I couldn’t get away.”

“Well, at least someone was here to protect her,” Lhaurel said harshly.

“He was drunk and angry,” Saralhn coughed. “His uncle had just died and the senior warriors had voted Taren in as Warlord over him. I—I was just the tool he used to let out his rage.”

“He would have killed you!”

“I don’t think so.” Saralhn’s arguments sounded hollow and empty. She hung her head again and fresh tears dripped down her cheeks.

Khari gave Lhaurel a hard look and shuffled closer to the sobbing woman. “Saralhn, you must do as I have asked. You must be our eyes and ears here within the Sidena. We can’t protect you unless we know what is going on. Lhaurel scared your husband bad enough tonight that I doubt he will ever touch you again for fear of calling down the witch that makes the earth rumble and who has the strength of ten men. We will protect you.”

“How can you protect me when you’re not even here? You’re Roterralar—no one trusts Roterralar. The saying ‘as wayward as a Roterralar’ came from somewhere. Lhaurel, how could you be one of them?”

Lhaurel sniffed and tried to ignore the sting of the words, the mistrust and confusion in Saralhn’s words. Saralhn had always been far more superstitious than Lhaurel had been herself.

“It’s alright, Saralhn. They—we—are not what the stories make us out to be. We’re normal people, just like you.”

Khari reached out and wrapped a hand around Saralhn’s shoulder. The woman winced in pain, but Khari did not let go. “I have messenger birds hidden throughout the Oasis. I will tell you where they are. Send us one bird every three days. If we don’t hear from you by the third day after your last bird, we will come.”

Lhaurel looked over at Khari, gratitude evident in her expression, though the darkness obscured it. Saralhn coughed but was silent for a long moment, contemplating.

“Alright,” Saralhn said at last, “but not for you.” She turned to look at Lhaurel, her eyes tear-filled. “If Lhaurel agrees to come if I need help, then I will be your eyes and ears.”

Khari nodded and released her grip on the woman’s shoulder. “Thank you, Saralhn.”

Khari got to her feet and gave Lhaurel a significant look. Even in the darkness, Lhaurel could feel the seriousness of the expression.

“Can’t we take her with us?” Lhaurel asked, suddenly feeling protective and more than a little frustrated at the sudden turn of events. “Just until she’s healed?”

“No, Lhaurel.” Khari shook her head. “She can’t come with us. She needs to stay here and keep an eye on this place for us. She’ll heal with time, maybe even faster with some help.”

Lhaurel missed the significance of the remark for a moment, clouded in disbelief and anger, but then it dawned on her. Could she do it? Khari had healed her twice now. Once after shattering her nose on Fahkiri’s pommel and, she suspected, once after her terrifying encounter with the sandstorm. But she’d never shown Lhaurel how to do it.

“I—I can’t,” Lhaurel stammered, shrinking in on herself. “I—”

“It’s alright, Lhaurel,” Saralhn gave her a wan smile that twisted into a grimace as she struggled to her feet. “This isn’t the first time he’s beaten me, and it wasn’t the worst, either. I’ll be ok. I will still find water and shade before my time is through.”

Lhaurel realized that she couldn’t have healed Saralhn anyway.

The clan would be suspicious if a beaten woman came back looking like she hadn’t been touched. The realization brought her relief that soured with guilt.

Saralhn limped over to Lhaurel and put her arms around her. Lhaurel basked in the sudden warmth, the joy of friendship and acceptance. She hugged Saralhn back, clutched at her hair and breathed in the salty, tangy mix of her scent.

And then the moment was gone. Saralhn released her and turned to Khari, hand extended before her in a gesture of respect and gratitude. Despite the bruises on her face and the funny way she leaned to one side to take the weight off of her damaged ribs, the woman radiated strength like a beacon of hope. When had Saralhn suddenly gotten so strong-willed?

Khari smiled and returned the gesture.

Saralhn nodded once, smiled at Lhaurel, and then shuffled off into the darkness, limping slightly but straight-backed and proud. Noble.

“She’s got almost as much fire in her as you do,” Khari said once the woman was lost from sight.

Lhaurel looked over at the other woman, following Saralhn’s retreat in her mind. “She’s not the same girl I left behind. She didn’t have that kind of strength before. The Saralhn I knew would never have agreed to go back and face that man again. She would never have had the courage.”

“Maybe you didn’t know her as well as you thought. Strength like that isn’t something that just appears overnight. The seed of it is born within you. It doesn’t just come from outward defiance. Sometimes strength comes from learning when to bend and silently follow.”

“Won’t she get into trouble? Her husband’s going to know we spoke with her.”

Khari snorted and gave a short laugh. “Do you really think a Sidena warrior is going to admit he was bested by
women?
”

Lhaurel smiled and shook her head.
No, he most certainly would not.

Lhaurel turned away, gazing back toward the Sidena camp. Perhaps she’d never given Saralhn the credit she deserved. It was something to consider.

“What did you learn?” she asked.

“Not as much as I would have hoped.” Khari’s voice was suddenly sour. “Taren should never have been made the Warlord. Jenthro’s sons are far more prominent in the clan, even if Taren has the most experience. There’s something going on there besides simply murdering the old Warlord.”