The Ivory Road: A Walk in the Sand (3 page)

“What are you doing back, woman?” He looked ready to throw a knife at her.

“I'm here to save your ass.” Iliana urged Aristotle forward. “The army is close and it just so happens I
do
know the way across the desert. You wanna come, that’s fine with me, but I suggest you fill your canteens and get on your horses now.”

She rode past him into the trees and stopped at the edge of the pool, unhooking the water skin she’d found on the saddle. She dismounted and soaked the bag in the pool. Crowe watched her a moment, his stance still angry and resistant. She ignored him and filled the second skin.

Men. So stubborn.

After a few more moments, he snarled something incoherent and barked orders to the others. She sealed the second bag as the pool became crowded with men. She stored the bag and swung up into Aristotle’s saddle.

“How much time do we have, Aristotle?” She whispered the words to keep the others from overhearing.

“Ten minutes to be away safely before the army sees us.”

“Shit.” She grasped the reins. “Which way do we go?”

Before Aristotle could turn his head, Crowe caught the reins and held him fast. “Where are you going?”

“Is that some sort of trick question?” Iliana shot him a withering look. “West, young man, I'm headed west.”

“Not without us, you’re not.” His hand tightened on the reins.

“Not one half hour ago you were willing to trust me. What changed?”

“You left us here to rot,” he stated matter-of-factly. She couldn’t argue with that. “I might actually ask you the same question, Kyra. In two years, what changed?”

She sighed. “Listen to me, Mr. Crowe, I'm not Kyra. In fact, the person you think Kyra was doesn't exist. Kyra was a man, the dead man you found on the sands out there.” She pointed back toward the advancing army. “The name Kyra was short for Kyram and he was the one who was supposed to lead you across the desert. But an assassin got here first and killed him before I arrived.”

“How do you know this?”

“I saw the evidence of it just as much as you did.”

“Where is this assassin you speak of? If he did this thing, he’d be here.” Crowe paused and his eyes narrowed. “Unless you killed the dead man. That must be why you were hiding. You’re the assassin.”

Iliana gave a short laugh. “No way. I can barely kill the spiders that come into my house. I don’t have the inclination to kill a man. I hid because I’d just discovered Kyram dead out there and you came riding in like the Huns. What was I supposed to do? Wave and greet you? You’d probably accuse me of killing Kyram. Oh wait, you have.”

“You're lying,” he stated angrily.

She groaned and shook her head. “I don't know why I'm trying to explain this to you, but we’re out of time. So, if you're coming, fill up your water bags and get on your horse. We have a long way to go before the end of the day.”

They stood staring at each other for a several heartbeats before he scowled and released the reins. She nodded to him and moved Aristotle out of the way of the other men trying to get back to their mounts. Crowe watched her closely before he grabbed his own horse and swung into the saddle. She waited for them without moving, her gut churning with anxiousness.
Come on, get it together. We gotta go.

Everyone had enough water after a few minutes and mounted up. Iliana nodded when Ahmad joined her and Crowe. Neither man had a friendly look on their faces.

“Ready?”

“Yes. Which way, woman?” Crowe asked.

“The name’s Iliana.”

He grunted and gestured with one hand toward the desert.

She sighed and shook her head. “Follow me.” She urged Aristotle into a ground eating trot west from the oasis.

Chapter Three
: “Go west, young man…”

After three days in the saddle, Iliana was sure of three things. Her ass would be forever sore, walking straight would be a challenge, and the men she traveled with would never trust her. They barely spoke to her other than to get bearings for the next oasis, and no one would share water with her.
Thank God I have my own water skins…or Kyram did.

To get a greater lead on the army pursuing them, they slept in the saddle and she only stayed there because of the rope anchoring her to her horse. Aristotle kept going despite the grueling march and she secretly marveled at his stamina. Not that she told him. The talking horse had a larger ego than most of the Hollywood producers she’d met.

By the time they reached the oasis at the end of their third straight day, Iliana damn near cried in gratitude when Ahmad said they could stop for the night.
Oh, thank you, God.
The other men with them tumbled gratefully from their saddles and all the horses lay down under the shade of the palm trees. Her legs almost folded up under her as she landed in the sand.

“Jeez, I’m not sure I could ride another mile.” She leaned her forehead against the saddle.

“At least you didn’t have to walk it.” Aristotle flicked an ear at her.

“I don’t think I feel any better than you having ridden it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “This oasis looks bigger than the others.”

“It is. Biggest one before a real town.” Aristotle dropped his head toward the water hole. “We should be safe for this one night, but to stay ahead of the Knalish, we’ll have to leave early.”

She groaned as she loosened Aristotle’s girth before she pulled his bridle off. “Great.”

She turned him loose before digging around in her saddlebags for food. Exhaustion set in as she nibbled on some dried meat and fruit. She let her mind wander and chewed, her thoughts blessedly blank for the first time in days.
Too damn tired to think.

She roused enough to dig out one of the dry cakes made from oats and honey, and some grain for Aristotle. She stared dully at her sleeping mat, but decided the sand would be soft enough given her fatigue.

Despite her exhaustion, she shot a look over at Ahmad and the other men traveling with Brandon Crowe. A little warning voice chimed in the back of her head to keep an eye on Ahmad. His remarks about women in the oasis didn’t bode well. Taking a firm grip on her sword, she leaned back against her packs and closed her eyes.
Just resting them a little.

Iliana woke some time later, the sky full of clouds obscuring most of the stars and a chill wind ruffling the fronds of the trees. She looked around as she sat up. Her honey cake had fallen into the sand and swarmed with ants. She grimaced and tossed it away before she grabbed some more dried meat. Aristotle dozed on three feet and the rest of the men snored at various volumes around the oasis.

She wanted to walk out to the top of the nearest dune to the west, but something in her gut warned her to clean up her gear first. She felt bad packing everything back onto Aristotle and sliding on his bridle, but she had no idea how quickly they’d have to leave.

“Time to go already?” Aristotle opened one sleepy eye.

“No. Just want to be prepared.”

He yawned. “Like the Boy Scouts?”

“How do you know about Boy Scouts?”

“I told you. I’ve visited most of the worlds.” He closed his eyes again.

Iliana shook her head and picked her way through the sleeping bodies of her companions toward the windswept sands outside. The desert sat quiet except for the occasional breeze plucking at her clothes. The temperature had dropped with the sun’s departure and she shivered a little as she settled into the crest of a dune.

Her mind turned to the events changing her solo trip across White Sands into a group trip across the Karobis Desert. Aristotle told her they’d be in a place called Sandur in another day, and in another place called Ros Torach two days after that. Ros Torach apparently perched on the coast of the continent in the country of Torhaine. From there, the group would go their separate ways.

Which leaves me where, exactly?
She had no idea what she’d do, and she hadn’t shared her concerns with her reluctant companions. Not that she could tell them she didn’t belong to this world.
Yeah, that would go over well.
She wanted to get back to her life and the filming she’d agreed to do in Australia. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but she understood this place had no relation to her own world. Brandon Crowe was simply Brandon Crowe, not Taggart Crowe playing some sort of strange game.

Aristotle’s words came back to her
.
You can’t come to a new dimension unless the current version of you does not exist.
Maybe Brandon was the local version of Taggart.

She sighed and brought her knees up to her chest as she nibbled on some dried fruit.
My brain hurts.
They hadn’t spoken much since leaving the first oasis ahead of the army. She didn’t blame Brandon. She hadn’t been inclined toward friendliness, either. She wasn’t normally such a bitch, but between being disoriented and scared, she’d reacted badly.

Not that he’d take my apology even if I gave it.
Especially once she realized he’d been telling the truth about his name.
Can’t say the same, can I?
Who was she, really? Was she Ivory, the actress who had twenty Hollywood films under her belt, or was she Iliana, an adventurer across the Karobis Desert?
Both or neither?
At this point it didn’t matter. She just had to follow Aristotle’s lead and get everyone out of Knalland.

The sounds of sifting sand overrode the wind and Brandon Crowe appeared at her side like a bearded shadow. He stared east, back toward the threat of the Knalish Army encroached on their encampment.
Hopefully not tonight. They gotta sleep some time, right?
She didn’t acknowledge him beyond a short glance. To be brutally honest, she didn’t feel like having another confrontation. The men had left her alone and she offered them the same consideration. She dropped her gaze to the palms of the oasis waving in the desert breeze.

“How long until the next stop?” Brandon’s voice held no inflection.

“A day and a half.” Iliana glanced up at him, but away again when he refused to meet her gaze. “We'll stop in Sandur for supplies and rest. Then we leave for Ros Torach.”

He nodded and settled himself in the sand beside her. Another silence ensued and she wondered why he’d chosen today to join her.

“Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “I woke when I heard you leave the oasis.”

She grimaced. “Worried I was skipping out on you?”

He didn’t react. “I did until I saw your gear on your horse still tied to the tree.”

She nodded. “Hard to travel across the desert without a horse.”

“Camels are better.”

“But they smell and sound worse.”

Brandon barked a surprised laugh. “Yes.”

“I’m very sorry I reacted badly when I first met you, Mr. Crowe.” Iliana took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t make her eat her words
.
“I didn’t understand the situation and I was caught completely unaware.” She sighed. “And I thought you were someone else.”

He snorted. “That makes two of us.”

“Yeah.” She held out her hand to him. “Let me properly introduce myself. My name’s Iliana Rory.”

He stared at her for several heartbeats, his expression still closed. Slowly he reached out and grasped her forearm, allowing her to grasp his.

“Well met, Mistress Rory. I’m called Brandon Crowe.”

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Crowe.”

“You may call me Brandon.” He shrugged. “Mr. Crowe sounds like a respectable business man, and I’m certainly not that.”

She raised her brows. “What exactly
do
you do for a living? What’s your profession?”

He turned his head to look at her with a surprised expression. “Is this the beginning of a friendly conversation?”

“Would’ve had one earlier with you if you’d deigned to talk to me.”

He grunted and nodded. “True enough, I suppose. As to your question, I don't think I have a profession. Maybe adventurer, or swordfighter, or even treasure hunter.”

“What about actor?” She had to be sure he wasn’t Taggart.

“Me?” He grinned and shook his head. “No, I’ve never had much interest in plays and I’ve never been on stage myself. Besides, actors are often weak, cowardly, and spoiled people who don’t know how to take care of themselves in the real world.” He shrugged. “And you, Iliana, what do you do, since you have striven to convince me you’re not Kyra?”

“I’m an actress.” She scowled as she rose.
Good to know his opinion of my profession
.

He laughed. “No, be serious.”

“I
am
serious.” She strode down the dune, the sand giving way before her strides.

“No, wait.” Brandon lurched to his feet and skidded after her. She’d almost reached the swale when he grabbed her arm. When she swung toward him with her free fist, he released her.

“I’m sorry. I meant nothing personally to you. I didn’t know you were an actress.” He held up both hands in surrender. “Please, forgive me. Come, sit down and talk with me a while longer. I really didn't mean to insult you. Please.”

Iliana studied him for sincerity under the light of a blue moon above them. Its light made the sand look green.
If I didn’t believe I’d made it to another world, that should clinch it.
She would’ve liked to smack him for the remarks about her profession, but they’d hit too close to home. Too many actors started out as nice people then became jaded, paranoid, and selfish. The number of sycophantic handlers around them didn’t help. She settled into the sand again without a word and he sat beside her, still looking at her.

“You’re an actress.”

“Yep.”

“Really?”

“Really and truly.”

“But you’re not Kyra.”

“No, not even in my day job. At least, not yet.”
Not until the day after tomorrow if I counted the sunsets right.

Brandon narrowed his eyes. “If you're an actress, what are you doing out here in the Karobis?”

“I have no idea.” She glanced up at the blue moon.
Wow, the song wouldn’t be so poignant here.
“I didn’t start out here. I was somewhere distinctly different a few days ago.”

“In the oasis with Kyra.”

“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “No, I’d never been there before the moment I met you. I really have no idea where I am other than what you’ve told me. Before three days ago, I’d never heard of the Karobis or Knalland.” She grabbed some green-tinted sand and let it sift through her fingers. “But now I’m the leader of an expedition across the Karobis, just ahead of the Knalish Army.” Iliana sighed again. “I don’t know how I got here. The day after tomorrow, I'm supposed to fly to Australia to begin acting with a man who looks just like you.”

His eyebrows rose. “Like me?”

“The spittin’ image. His name is Taggart Crowe, and he’s a famous actor.”

“He even has my name? Is he well liked?”

“What do you care? Actors are weak, cowardly, spoiled people, remember?”

Brandon dipped his chin. “You seem to be trying to change my mind. So change it.”

She snorted, but shrugged. “Other actors say he’s an arrogant bastard, but the public loves him and so do the directors, because he’s apparently very focused when he’s working. I’ve never actually met him, so I don't have my own opinion.”

“And what about you? What do people say about you?”

She turned her head to look at him squarely as some of the film reviews flashed through her memory. A few of them hadn’t been complimentary. She brushed her hands of sand.

“I think they say I’m average. I've heard no major complaints and I haven’t received incredible accolades. But I’m good enough to have been offered parts in several major film projects. Some of them as the lead.”

“What are ‘films’?” Brandon frowned.

Iliana paused, trying to figure out if he teased, but his expression never cracked.
Which could be a testament to his skill.
But the more she saw of Brandon, the more she believed he couldn’t be Taggart.

“Film is another word for moving pictures with dialog and music.” She waited for his expression to show comprehension, but it never arrived.
Good thing I’m not holding my breath.
“None of this is ringing a bell?”

“No, unless you mean a play where the actors become characters before an audience.” He glanced out at the oasis. “I saw one once in a little town called Keel. The actors were pretty good and they gave a good show, but it seemed like a rougher life than mine.”

“It’s exactly like a play, except the actors aren’t in front of you, they’re recorded on film, a thin plastic, and replayed for people all over the world.”