The Ivory Road: A Walk in the Sand (4 page)

“So, people no longer sit in front of the actors, but watch them from afar where you’re from? That doesn’t seem possible.”

“It's a relatively new technology. Only about a hundred years old.”

“Strange that I’ve never heard of it, this ‘technology.’” He grabbed his own fistful of sand.

You have no idea.

“Were you very renowned as an actor?”

She nodded with a half smile curling her lips. “I was pretty well recognized as Ivory.”

Brandon frowned and she snorted. “Ivory’s my stage name, combining my first and middle initials with Rory.” She laughed and held up her hands. Her skin had cracked from the hard travel and her nails had chipped. “I'm definitely not her now. For once, the adventure is real and dangerous. My agent would have a fit if he knew I was actually doing my own stunts and having to fight for my life. Not that we have had to do that yet, but I don’t think the Knalish Army is going to be very forgiving of me for helping you.”

“No, they’ll run you through if they catch you. If they catch all of us.” He returned his gaze to the sands east of them. “Are you certain you're not Kyra? You speak just like her and—”

“Brandon, Kyram is dead. You saw him yourself.” Iliana unwrapped the silk from around her face. “Does this look like the person you remember?”

Brandon shook his head. “Kyra never removed the mask.”

“And you didn’t think that was weird?”

He shrugged. “I assumed it was her culture.”

“His. He was a man while I’m a woman. A real woman. Even my breasts are natural.” Her smirk faded at his frown of confusion. “Never mind. I’m not from here. Where I’m from the world has gotten into a big hurry for everything. Transportation, fighting, entertainment, and communication. It’s not a better world, far from it, just a more convenient one.”

“Is that why you came here?”

“What? No. I don’t have any clue as to why I’m here. I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.” She held up her hand before he reiterated their location in the Karobis desert. “I mean I don’t know where the Karobis is in relationship to where I thought I was.” She looked up at the blue moon. “Home seems pretty far from here. Most of the people I know don't communicate with each other in person very often. Your world still communicates face-to-face I bet.”  She gave a crooked smile. “Unless someone stabs you in the back.”

“That happens more often than you might believe.” Brandon grunted, but his head came up when a sound filtered through the air from the oasis.

Screams and shouts erupted from the palms still swaying in the pre-dawn desert.

“Holy shit. What’s that?” Iliana scrambled to her knees as she peered into the moonlit sands.

“Be quiet and stay low.” Brandon tugged at her shoulder. He pointed to the rise of the dune as figures fought each other against the lighter sky.

She swallowed back bile.
Dear God.
Intellectually, she’d known the Knalish army pursued them, but it had always been just a vague threat after the first day. Now they swarmed over the dunes into the oasis with deadly intent.

She froze, wondering where she could hide. The army had reached the oasis.
How the hell are we gonna get away?
Death had never been in her short range plans. She had obligations she needed to take care of when she got home.

“Bloody hell, woman, get down.” Brandon jerked her into the sand next to him.

“How did they catch up to us so quickly?” She pushed up to her hands and knees, ready to crawl somewhere, anywhere, safe.

“I don't know. I thought we had a good lead, but no help for it now.” He looked up at the sky. “There’s still enough darkness we might be able to escape before they see us. Let’s go.”

“But we have no supplies or horses or even a destination. If we go on foot, they'll have us.” Not to mention Aristotle was the only one who knew how to actually cross the rest of the desert.

“We have to try, or stay here to die. This way we have a chance.”

Brandon crouched and ran hunched over along the swale of the dune. Iliana muttered under her breath about friggin’ action heroes and scuttled after him. The sounds above them sickened her, but they managed to stay undetected by the horde as they crested the edge of a dune to the north. She took a moment to look back, but the swarm of dark fighters made her skin crawl and she shuffled over the backside of the dune until the oasis dropped out of sight.

Brandon stopped a few feet from her and she tugged his arm. “What about Ahmad and the others? Are you just going to let them die?”

He grimaced and his hands tightened into fists. “They will just have to take care of themselves. We can’t really do anything for them.”

“But he’s your partner.”

“And what can I do against an entire army? Better that I get away to come rescue him later.”

“What if they just choose to kill him?”

Brandon groaned and closed his eyes, his hands still in tight fists. “Dammit!” He sighed as he met her gaze, but finally shook his head. “All right, fine. We’ll go back for them.”

They circled around the north side of the oasis, keeping one dune between them and the fighting. The last place she wanted to be was closer to the battle, but she couldn’t just leave the men to die without help.

Like I can do anything.

They rounded a dune and movement out of the corner of her eye made her duck. The whistle of a blade over her head made her shiver as she dove into a roll her stunt instructor would be proud of. She scrambled to her feet and jerked her blade free, hoping she had enough sword-fighting ability to stay alive.
Thank God I have a little from my last film.

“Brandon!”

Iliana hoped he heard as she got her blade up in time to parry a jarring blow. The impact rattled through her arms and shoulder, but she twisted as she’d been taught and allowed some of the force to slide away. Unlike her practice bouts, this opponent was fast and intent on killing. She didn’t have time to wonder if she’d made a nice move.
Never use too much motion. That gives too many openings. Keep your sword near you and you will have a better chance of surviving.
The words of her instructor echoed through her head as her body flowed into motions she’d used before.

I might not be a master, but I’ll be damned before I let him walk all over me.

Her opponent seemed to be laughing at her through a furious bout of blade work. At the last moment, he easily batted her sword aside and she knew she stood too exposed. In a last ditch effort to avoid being skewered, she kicked him directly in the balls. It caught him by surprise and he dropped with a grunt. Unfortunately, it overbalanced her and she fell into the sand on her back, but rolled again before he attacked her while down.

The man had regained his feet as well, but he stood doubled-over, swaying.
Just stay down, dammit.
She didn’t want to kill him, just make him leave her alone. He jerked out a tiny knife and pulled his arm back, his dark eyes focused on her chest. She froze, not sure what to do.

Before she could decide, a sharp
twang
ricocheted through the air and a crossbow bolt sprouted through the front of his jacket. The knife dropped from his relaxing fingers as he crumpled into the sand.

“Oh, my god.”

More motion caught her eyes and Brandon finished off another assailant before breaking into a run toward Ahmad with the horses. The mounted man still held the crossbow at the ready. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, but she couldn’t make her mind work.
Aristotle...dead guy…army.
None of the words made sense.

Brandon launched at his bay horse as Iliana broke into a lumbering run, her mind still trying to process the image of the man dying in front of her. She didn’t look back, but the scene replayed no matter how she tried to get past it.

“Come on, Iliana!” Brandon waved sharply, his face tight with fear.

She nodded dumbly and scrambled up on Aristotle. The horse shifted into a trot as soon as she settled into the saddle. She almost bounced back off, but she tangled her fingers in his mane and held on.

They’d gone some miles before she remembered she still held her sword. She fumbled with the sheath and almost couldn’t get it around the blade. Her eyes filled with tears as her frustration mounted, but at last the sword sank home.

She chanced a look over her shoulder back the way they’d come, but the dunes had swallowed the oasis and the killing grounds.
We gotta get safe. We gotta get away.
She didn’t want to die in a foreign desert with no one to know where she’d gone. She didn’t want to kill anyone, either. The screams of the dying still haunted her memory and she closed her eyes, letting the horse carry her across the world.

Things had to get back to normal soon, or she’d lose her mind.

Chapter Four
: “The greatest role an actor has to play is herself…”

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this…”

Iliana, bent over on Aristotle’s neck, tried to take comfort in the constant motion and the scent of the horse. After they’d escaped by the skin of their teeth, the reality of her predicament hit home and panic set in. She’d nearly lost her life to some maniac who wanted to spill her blood on the sands.
And you know there’ll be more of them
. How could she live in this world?
Brandon’s right
. She epitomized the weak and cowardly actress who had no hope to survive in his world.

She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember to breathe. But the sounds of men dying and the sight of the crossbow bolt sticking out of her opponent’s chest wouldn’t leave her alone.
Dear God, he just stopped and died. This is a nightmare.
She wanted to be somewhere safe to take stock of her current life.

“You
can
do this, Iliana.” Aristotle sounded exasperated and she opened her eyes to look at his ears.

“How do you figure, Aristotle? I nearly got myself killed.” She whispered low enough the others wouldn’t hear her.
The last thing I need is for them to think I’m crazier
. “I’m not a swordswoman. I don't have the skills or the confidence to do it for real. Killing someone is serious. No one yells “cut” and everyone gets up. Who am I to decide that the other person's life is meant to end?”

“Let me tell you something of this world. Pay attention because I’m only going to say this once.” The horse snorted and shook his head. “It’s not an easy world to live in and there are many out there who don’t have your compunction about killing. They’ll kill you if you have what they want. Right now, this world is focused on killing or being killed, and you have to discover your place in relationship to that. It doesn't mean you have to kill, but it does mean you have to defend yourself, and curling into the fetal position isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not in the fetal position.” She pushed herself up to validate her statement, refusing to admit he’d been right.

Aristotle snorted again. “If you have doubts about your abilities, get someone to teach you to improve. But don't wallow in fear and give up. That’s pathetic.”

Nothing like having a horse lay it all out.

“It’s obvious you’re inexperienced in this sort of life, but you can remedy that by asking someone more knowledgeable to teach you.”

Iliana swallowed hard. “But I don't want to kill anyone. And I definitely don't want to get killed.”

“So learn how to incapacitate without killing.”

“How?”

“Throwing knives? Using your sword as a baseball bat rather than a blade, martial arts?”

“Are you well, Iliana?” Brandon’s voice interrupted their discussion.

She met his gaze and read uncertainty and concern in his face.
Yeah, he’s ready to send out for the guys in white coats.
“Yeah. Good. Better now.”

Her short, staccato answers seemed to convince him she didn’t want to talk and they settled into an uneasy silence as the sun rose over them. Long black shadows shortened as they kept riding west, and she kept her mind on the problem of living in this world.

Not living, surviving.

In light of her last adventure, she’d come here rather ill-equipped.

So what can I do?
She ran through the things she’d learned over her decade of acting and some of them had possibilities. She’d taken some martial arts to focus, mostly Tai Chi, but it would be too slow for survival. She’d also thrown knives for a fantasy movie where she’d been an assassin hired to kill her love interest.

Maybe that would work. I just have to get some knives.
She’d let the skills lapse, but she hoped it would be like riding a bike. A little practice and she’d be good enough.
Same with the sword fighting.
Though she’d barely learned enough to look good on screen. She’d been damn lucky Ahmad had arrived when he did.

Iliana shot a quick look at her companions. Ahmad looked cold and serious, but Brandon wore a look of concern.
Or pity. They’re not exactly friends with whom to explore new places.
But until she found a way back to her home—if
I find a way back
—she’d have to make the best of it here.
And I’m gonna survive, dammit.

She sighed and scrubbed her hands over her face. Her right arm shrieked a warning and pain pushed its way into her awareness. She groaned and twisted to inspect her arm. Blood stained her sleeve below her bicep, filling the air with a sharp tang.
What the—

She hissed as little as she peeled back the cloth from around her arm, exposing the wound. Pain flashed like a blinking neon sign in the back of her head. Even the wind against the open cut hurt. Somehow she’d managed not to notice when the swordsman got a stroke in.
Gotta love adrenaline.
She sure as hell noticed now.

“Damn.” How would she clean this? She’d seen some supplies in Kyram’s saddle bags, but until now she hadn’t paid very close attention. The wound didn’t appear to be deep, but it could become deadly if infection set in.

Iliana dug through the saddlebags, searching for a clean cloth and the make-shift first aid kit. She found a rag and wet it down with some of her precious water.
God, this is gonna hurt.
She took a deep breath before carefully wiping it across the wound. With the barest pressure, her arm sent shock waves of pain through her body. She gritted her teeth and tried not to groan as tears sprang to her eyes. She rubbed her face against her shoulder to clear her vision, trying to ignore the gamey scents of dirt and sweat in the cloth.

It took her several tries to clean the wound and pain sat on her shoulder like a little demon, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Neither of her companions said anything or made overtures to help, though she could feel Brandon’s gaze on her. But they had to keep moving and any help would require stopping the horses.
Plus I’m not sure I want either of them touching me.

Taking a deep breath, she let the last of the tears slide down her cheeks and dug out the first aid kit. Kyram had collected various bottles of liquids and powders. She left the powders alone, but carefully uncorked the little glazed ceramic bottles. One smelled like frankincense, another like lavender, and a third like whiskey. She snorted at the last.
Only a guy would keep whiskey in a first aid kit.

She opened the bottle of frankincense and dabbed a drop onto her tongue, a grimace twisting her lips. It tasted awful, but the naturopath she’d been seeing in L.A. said frankincense oil acted as a natural antibiotic against infection. She exchanged it for the bottle of lavender and took another calming breath.
What’s a little pain now to survive a lifetime?
Good words, but still hard to put into practice.

Iliana patted lavender oil onto her open wound and bit her lips to keep from whimpering.
Dear God, it burns.
More tears leaked out of her eyes, but she’d given up trying to stop them. It hurt and she didn’t care who noticed. It took several moments and three more deep breaths for the pain to settle into a throbbing ache. She wrapped up the first aid kit and stored it in her saddle bags.
Let’s hope that helps.

Her blood had stained the bandana-like rag, but she wet it down once more to squeeze as much blood out of it as she could. She wished she had another dry one, but this appeared to be the only cloth she could reach. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tie the bandana one-handed.
Bite your pride in the ass and ask for help, Ivory.

She gritted her teeth. “Brandon, can I have your assistance for a moment?”

He shot her a surprised glance. “What can I do for you? You looked like you had everything well in hand.”

“Hand, singular. This requires two.”

He snorted with a half smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d let anyone touch you after last night.”

“As long as you’re not trying to kill me, I think I’ll be okay.”

“Not anymore.” He grinned at her snort.

They drew the horses to a stop and he scooted his bay up beside Aristotle. He tied the ends of the bandana in a square knot around her arm and he met her eyes for a moment, his gaze warmer than she remembered. She bore the scrutiny steadily, unwilling to look away.

“Where did you learn to fight, Iliana?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but caught sight of Ahmad listening in behind Brandon. Something about the guy gave her the creeps. She didn’t want him to know too much about her so she shrugged a little and urged Aristotle back into motion.

“A few years ago I was put into a position where I needed to defend myself.”
Happens when you’re
an assassin in a fantasy movie.
“I had a sword instructor for a time, but only learned enough to survive until my colleagues nullified the threat.” She’d died at the end of the film. “Since then I haven’t had much need for those skills. I think I might need a bit more training to survive here.”

That was an understatement.
If I don’t improve, I’m gonna be a blood stain on the sand
. But she was an actress. She’d play the part of a capable warrior and adventurer. She ignored the voice in her head laughing hysterically.

“You didn’t do too badly. You lived through it.” Brandon gave her a cheeky smile.

She shook her head. “I lived because Ahmad showed up.” She nodded to the other man and he nodded back. “I would’ve been vulture-feed if he hadn’t been there.”

Brandon said nothing and they rode in silence until the sun hit its zenith. Sweat from the heat poured down Iliana’s back and seeped into her eyes. She dragged her arm across her face and wished she had a fan. Or a glass of iced tea.
Hell, simple shade would be nice.
Her arm throbbed and exhaustion threatened to drag her awareness under.

“Aristotle, how far is the next stopping point, do you think?” she whispered, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“A few more hours ahead to give us enough of a lead on the army.” The horse swung his head to look at her from the corner of one eye. “Why?”

“Because I’m exhausted and need to rest.” She nodded in time to his footsteps. “I haven’t tied myself to the saddle this time. Do you think I could just lean over your neck and sleep a little while you keep walking without falling off?”

“I won’t let you fall, Iliana.” Aristotle sounded so confident, she smothered a smile.

“Thanks.” She patted his shoulder as she leaned over.

“Iliana, are you all right?” Brandon’s voice intruded over the creaking tack.

She opened her eyes and turned her head. Brandon rode close to her, his expression filled with the same concern she’d seen earlier. Surprise bloomed. Why did he care what happened to her, except for her knowledge on the way across the desert? He could let her fall, take the horse, and he’d be fine.
Let’s not tell him about that.

“I’m fine, Brandon.” She didn’t bother to sit up. “I’m just very, very tired and want to sleep. Aristotle knows where to go and won’t let me fall. He’s a good horse. He’s made this ride far more times than I have. Trust him.” She closed her eyes. “Wake me in a few hours.”

She laid her head against the silky neck of the dappled Arabian, the scent of horse filling her nose. Her exhaustion gave a shout of triumph and claimed her body within moments, her worries and decisions swallowed by sleep like a ship in the fog.

Aristotle stumbled and brought her awake a few hours later. Iliana sat up and tried to get her bearings. The sun sat close to the western horizon, bathing the sand in an amber glow. Some of her aches and pain had retreated, but her arm throbbed and her back complained over the position she’d kept.

Ahmad rode a little behind, dozing in the saddle, but Brandon met her eyes and nodded with a half smile. She returned the salute and stretched as they stepped into the long shadow of a great spire of rock.

“Whoa. What’s that?”

“That’s where we’re going.” Aristotle spoke up just ahead of Brandon.

“They call that the Sand Lion’s Fang.” Brandon shaded his gaze as he looked west. “I didn’t know we were so close. I’ve heard it marks the compass point straight to Sandur. I’ve never seen it, though.”

“It’s a helluva spire, that’s for sure.” Iliana rubbed her nose and whispered, “How far do you think we are from it, Aristotle?”

“No more than an hour away. It should be safe to rest for a couple hours there before moving on.” The horse sounded as tired as she felt.

“We’ll rest there for a bit before we head on the Sandur.” She stretched carefully to keep from pulling on her arm. “God knows we could all use a little time out of the saddle.”

“How far is Sandur from the Fang?” Brandon rolled his head on his shoulders to loosen his joints.

“Only half a day’s ride west of it.” Aristotle answered without her prompting.

“Half day’s ride. We should get there around dawn even if we sleep for a bit at the Fang.”