Sands (Sharani Series Book 1) (13 page)

“Wife?” she said. “You’re married?”

Tieran grinned and spread his hands wide. “What can I say? Love does strange things to people sometimes. Besides, I’m an outrageous scoundrel and notorious flirt. It helps to have a wife who is so supremely confident in herself that she doesn’t wonder after a husband’s failed attempts at humor. And every now and then it helps me remember my place when she sticks a sword in my face. So it works out on all counts.” Tieran chuckled, a deep throaty sound, and gestured for her to follow him toward the opposite side of the eyrie.

She did, shaking her head and chuckling at the man behind his back. It was one of the first times that she had been able to laugh in a long, long time, and it was a welcome relief to the suspicions and frustrations that had become so commonplace. There was so little left in her life to be happy about. Tieran, somehow, still managed to find that glimmer of joy in almost all situations.

They reached the far wall where the storage bins were kept, and Tieran immediately pulled out a jumbled mess of leather and metal. He tossed the tangled mess to Lhaurel, whose confusion melted away when she recognized it as a harness. Her pulse quickened.

“Is this what I think it’s for?” She asked, untangling leads so she could slip the contraption over her shoulder. She dropped her sword to the sand.

In response, Tieran grinned and then pursed his lips to produce a single, sharp whistle that rose in pitch. A piercing screech rent the air and a shadow passed in front of the sky. Lhaurel turned, sensing the aevian’s dive. She knew who it would be even before the massive bird opened his wings and pulled out of his spectacular dive. She’d spent too much time with him to not recognize the presence of the fledgling. He landed on the edge of the cliff with surprising grace.

Steely talons dug into the sand. Light gleamed off coal black eyes. He clicked his hooked beak at Lhaurel expectantly, turning his body as if to allow her to inspect him. It had only been a few days, but even that short time had changed him. The few remnants of white, downy feathers had vanished. The black bands of adulthood worked up his legs and the underside of his wings, ending partway up his chest. A harness was fastened under each wing, across his chest, and extending around the legs.

“Hello, Fahkiri,” she said softly. The name sprang from her lips unbidden, but it felt right.

He chirped, a quiet sound that was both intimate and personal. As if he were saying her name in return.

He lowered his head so they were almost eye to eye, a short distance, but enough to show he was deferring to her. Lhaurel reached out a trembling hand and stroked the warm feathers on the side of his jaw.

“Welcome to the Roterralar.”

The hope of our people rests in my hands—hands trained by the masters of the Orinai. Hands that could just as easily crush their hope as save it.

-From the Journals of Elyana

Marvi swallowed the mouthful of salted fish, savoring the strength of the flavor. She took another bite. The fish had been part of some negotiations Taren had played a part in with the Aeril clan. They were a strange lot, living in mobile tents in the northeast part of the Oasis, where a salty sea cut through the edges of the Forbiddence. The trade she’d worked out with the Frierd was working out well also, despite Jenthro’s meddling. Taren had stepped in to assist with that as well.

Marvi took another bite of the fish, washing it down with a sip of wine. All in all, she was quite pleased with herself. Everything was going well, despite living in the dank, dark wetness of the Oasis. Everything, including Jenthro’s death.

“This tastes like dirt,” Jenthro shouted from the other side of the tent. He took his platter of fish and threw it across the room. “Give me lamb any day over this Oasis filth.”

He had to stop then as a fit of coughing overcame him.

Marvi almost smiled. Almost. The cough was the only symptom of the poison she had procured. Thankfully coughs were something easily attributed to living in the Oasis. The wetness of it all was an easy and believable scapegoat.

“I’ll have someone slaughter one for you,” Marvi said. “We only have a few lambs left, but I’m sure we have one or two we can spare for you.” She smiled at him pertly and turned back to her fish.

“Damn you, woman. I don’t have time for your games today. The Warlords want to call another meeting about borders again. The Frierd are stealing every bit of space from us, and you sit there letting them, prattling on about the use of a well and goats.”

“The clans do seem a bit restless this year, don’t they?”

Jenthro raised an eyebrow. “Restless? They’re at each other’s throats.” Another fit of coughs. “We’ve only been here a fortnight, and I’m already not sure how we’re going to survive each other.”

“The blood oaths will hold,” Marvi said.

The fish really was amazing. Maybe she should negotiate for more.

Jenthro snorted. “The blood oaths are about as useful as the ones you swore to me on bonding day. They’re both only as strong as the people who gave them.”

Marvi pursed her lips and nodded. It was an astute observation for him. She studied him for a moment as he picked at the rug that covered the cursed grass blanketing the ground.

“What about the rumors?” she asked before turning back to her fish. It was almost gone, so she took small bites, barely enough to get the full flavor out of it.

“You mean the ones about the voices in the walls?” The scorn was evident by his tone. “Don’t tell me you’ve started believing those, too? They’re just tales told by the weak minded to try and increase the tension between the clans.” He trailed off as if thoughtful, scratching at a spot on the back of his arm. “It’s almost as if—as if someone were trying to get us all to violate the oaths. As if someone were trying to get us to fight one another here in the Oasis.”

Marvi didn’t look up, but she felt her pulse quicken slightly.

“Agh, I’ll find my own lamb. Woman, you give me a headache sometimes.” With that, Jenthro got to his feet, coughing only slightly, and pushed open the tent door and into the bright sunlight.

Marvi put down her fish and rubbed a hand across her forehead, feeling suddenly chill. There
was
something strange going on, but it had to be more obvious than she’d assumed if Jenthro was starting to see it, too. From the sound of things, the other Warlords were starting to question things as well. She’d have to reach out to her informants, spread some false rumors, and get the clans more interested in one another than they were of anything else.

A noise came from behind her. Marvi turned her head, pulling a small, poisoned dagger from a hidden sheath in her sleeve. It was only Taren.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, stowing the dagger back in its sheath. “Would you care for some fish?”

Taren scowled. “That idiot was right about that, at least. The stuff is terrible.”

Marvi shrugged, got to her feet, and served herself another helping from the larger platter off to one side. “It really is excellent fish. Are you sure you won’t have some?”

Taren gave her a flat look.

“I just thought I’d ask.” She took a seat on the ground across from Taren. “So what did you think about what he said? I assume you heard all of it?”

Taren nodded, unknowingly picking at the exact same spot on the rug that Jenthro had. “Tensions are high here, he’s right about that, though I’m surprised he noticed. That one would miss a sandtiger eating his own feet.”

Marvi smiled. The description was harsh, but accurate.

“His cough is getting worse,” Taren continued. “We should increase the amount you’re giving him.”

Marvi took another bite of fish, chewing slowly. This one wasn’t as good as the first one. There wasn’t as much seasoning.

“What are you thinking?”

Marvi set aside her platter. “Maybe we shouldn’t kill him just yet.”

Taren’s face immediately hardened, and he clenched one hand into a fist. The scars on his arms whitened with the pressure of his muscles against taut skin.

“And why is that?”

“With everything going on, it may not be the right time,” she said. “If we kill him now, with tension between the clans so high, the clans may blame one another for the supposed assassination, even if we make it look like a simple sickness.”

“And if they do?”

Marvi blinked. Of course he knew what they’d do. Why was he asking?

“They’ll fall upon one another like sandtigers among sheep. The blood oaths would be broken. More death and destruction.”

“It’s a perfect opportunity,” Taren said. “We can blame it on one of the other clans even. There aren’t many of them left, actually. If we do this right, we could even end up the most powerful clan in the Sharani Desert instead of one of the weakest.”

Marvi sniffed and raised an eyebrow. Was he really suggesting they go through with it? Taren got to his feet, stepping toward her.

“Think on it. If we do this right, we can rule the Rahuli people altogether. You and me.”  He looked down at her, his expression cool and appraising. Inviting. Marvi’s pulse quickened.

“You’re behind all this, aren’t you?” she asked, staring back at him with a question in her gaze. “This tension, the rumors.”

Taren raised an eyebrow and gave half a grin. “If only I was that capable. No, I’m not behind it, but I do plan on exploiting it now that it’s here. Jenthro dies. Now’s our chance.”

Marvi looked into Taren’s eyes, seeing the passion and intensity there. He was right. It was time to get rid of her husband.

*              *              *

Saralhn strode along the well-worn path, marveling at how fragile the grasses of the Oasis were. After only a fortnight, the Sidena had walked this same route to the market enough times that the soft, springy plant had died away, leaving behind a swath of brown dirt. Several other women walked with her, bantering back and forth as they walked. They carried baskets and smaller goods for trade.

Saralhn carried her own basket under one arm. She hoped it would be big enough. She’d had to start over after leaving the pack behind. Enril had beaten her badly for that. She still walked with a slight limp. But she’d deserved it. Carrying the pack had been her responsibility, after all. It’d been destroyed when Lhaurel—

No, don’t think about that.
She shook her head in an attempt to banish away the memories.

“Alright there, Saralhn?” Jerria asked.

Saralhn gave the older woman a wan smile. “I’m fine. It’s just all this water in the air. It fogs my mind sometimes.”

Jerria nodded knowingly and pursed her lips. Around her, the other Sidena women made various signs of agreement.

“Ah, the Oasis is full of wonders, true, but sometimes I wish we could avoid this cursed place,” Jerria said with a sniff. “It’s just so . . .”

“Strange.”

“Yeah, strange. All this green, and the water flowing everywhere. Give me good red sand and a warren over this any time,” another of the women agreed.

Saralhn let the women talk, falling into step. She wasn’t sure what she thought about the oddities in the Oasis, but she wasn’t sure she’d take the sand and rock any more than the grass and water. Neither one was really better than the other. They both simply existed. Both had a purpose and use where they were, or nature would have long since destroyed them.

Something in the conversation pulled her from her thoughts. “What was that?” she asked.

Maryn stopped talking mid-sentence, giving her a stern frown.

“My pardon,” Saralhn said. “I didn’t mean to forget my manners. What were you saying just now, mistress? My thoughts wandered off.”

Maryn’s frown deepened and she pointedly dropped a hand to a hip, drawing Saralhn’s eye to the purple
shufari
about her waist. Saralhn still had a few more fortnights to go before she would even get to wear the brown.

Saralhn bit the inside of her cheek.

“Leave the child be, Maryn,” Jerria, who also wore a purple
shufari
, said. “She was just saying her husband heard the voices last night while on patrol.”

“The voices?”

“Yes, girl, the voices,” Maryn interrupted, still frowning at her. “My husband, Cobb, was on patrol duty last night. He was passing near the walls of the Oasis, near our border with the Frierd.” Her frown grew into a scowl.

Some of the other women muttered under their breath. Something to do with water thieves.

“He heard the voices. Like whispers of dead men coming from the walls.”

Jerria clasped a fist over her heart, a sign of warding protection against evil. “By the seven hells.”

“It’s the Frierd,” Maryn said. “My Cobb says so, too. He thinks they’re after more than just our water. It’s a trick.”

“Do you really think so, Maryn?” Jerria asked, looking anxious. “What if the voices really are the spirits of the dead, come to haunt us? The genesauri coming early this Migration, the death, old allies renewing strengths. What if this is a sign of the end?”

Maryn frowned at the woman, her brows coming together over her eyes.

“Shame on you for saying such things. Of course it’s the Frierd. They’ve always hated us. This is retribution for our raid three moons ago. They’re trying to scare us, but it won’t work. We’re Sidena, not Londik cowards.”

“And if it is the Frierd?” It really wasn’t Saralhn’s place to get involved in a conversation between the two women, but she asked anyway.

Maryn glanced at her and then gave Jerria a pointed look. Jerria looked away, as if embarrassed.

“If it is the Frierd,” Maryn said in a firm, confident voice, one bolstered by the look of absolute resolve on her face. “Then they’ll understand the true strength of the Sidena. And live to regret it.”

*              *              *

The Oasis sat in a strange circle of grey and red stone, interspersed with pockets of a dull grey metal. The cliffs rose hundreds of feet into the air, reaching upward toward the sky and protecting the clans from the genesauri. They were a rough, craggy mass of stone and rock and metal with only two points of ingress, both of which were too narrow for even the smallest sailfin to pass through. Towering monoliths, they’d stood against sailfin and marsaisi for hundreds of years. His grandmother told him once that there’d been a time when the sailfin packs had come. Hundreds of them surged against the walls, but they were repelled.

She’d also told him the stories about the score of outcast brethren and sisters who had died trying to scale them. Gavin had lived through one of them. He hadn’t understood what had driven his parents to try and do the impossible when he was a child. He didn’t fully understand it now, though part of him still blamed the goading, taunting insults the Sidena warriors had lobbed at them. That wasn’t entirely true, though. His father had talked about making the climb for years beforehand, talked of living up to the legacy of their ancestors. For Gavin’s parents, the story of Eldriean wasn’t just a story. It was a lesson handed down to them by their parents. It was fact, something they could hold on to as a chance at redemption from their lives as outcasts. He hadn’t understood that then.

He climbed now, knowing he would likely meet the same fate as they. The walls had easy handholds for the first few spans, but they came farther and farther apart the higher he climbed. It was an impossible task, set to attain an imaginary goal. Yet Gavin climbed anyway.

His parents had died attempting this very task, something they had sworn him to do when he was just an infant, as his grandmother had sworn Gavin’s father to do in
his
infancy. It was impossible, but he was going to do it anyway. He climbed for honor. He climbed to uphold an oath. And he climbed because there was nothing else for him to do. With his grandmother gone, the other outcasts had no more hope left. He’d seen it in their faces in the days that followed her death, while he’d visited each family in turn.