"How did you hold them off without Gray Dancer?"

"With my dagger and a torch. Not the more formidable of weapons, but sufficient to give the creatures pause."

"Evidently." Kevin hesitated. "Sir, are you angry at me for trying to fool you?"

"I was, but… I know why you did it, and maybe it did shake something loose inside me. Maybe it was meeting the fellow you rescued. That shamed me, by reminding me what a knight is supposed to be. Perhaps seeing King Shadow die has made me feel a little better. At any rate, I still sorrow, but I guess I'm no longer in such a hurry to join Pelethen on the other side. I’ll see him when I see him."

"I'm glad." Kevin's gaze fell on Gray Dancer, lying ingloriously in a pool of rainwater. He picked it up and proffered it.

Ajandor made no move to take it.

"Keep it, lad, it fits your hand quite well. I was puzzled what to do with it, but now I see that I have an heir after all."

The Shifting Sands

Peter Archer

13Kythorn, the Year of Wild Magic

The camel's hooves kicked up clouds of dust that added to the swirling mist surrounding the travelers. A hot wind howled around them, tearing at their robes, driving the dirt into every crevice of their clothing, probing them with harsh fingers, seeking to hurl them across the rolling plains into oblivion.

Both men clung to the swaying saddle, their heads bent against the storm. The camel soldiered onward, its head bowed stoically before the blast. Its footsteps were almost immediately buried behind it by sheets of fine gray that blew across the desert steppes, making it appear that the travelers had never been there.

One of the men, the taller of the two, turned in the saddle and shouted something to his companion, who bent his head to hear. The smaller man shook his hood and gestured forward. The other gave a shrug and again bent against the wind.

A flash and thunderous report echoed across the dunes of Anauroch, almost knocking the men and their faithful beast over.

The tall man turned and shouted to his companion, "Lighting! In the middle of the godsbedamned desert! We must stop."

"No!" The other was equally vehement. "We keep on."

He reached behind him and slapped the camel's rump. The beast started forward again, and another report knocked it to its knees, tumbling the travelers to the sand. The camel panicked and darted forward.

The tall man recovered first and lunged after the beast. He had not gone five steps before a third thunder blast, much louder than the previous two, electrified the air around them and hurled them facedown in the sand. Their robes whistled and snapped with the impact.

The shorter was the first on his feet this time. Through the whirling sands of the storm, he could see a black mass a few yards from where he lay. Smoke rose from it and was whipped back by the wind, which also carried to his nostrils the sickening smell of burnt camel meat. The saddle and other accoutrements that had been on the creature had been hurled aside by the lightning strike.

As if the storm had expended its last ammunition with this disaster, the wind dropped and the sand settled around them in a fine rain then ceased. The howls and shrieks of the sandstorm wandered to the west, passed over the next dune, and faded from their ears.

Both men walked forward on unsteady feet to view the remains of their mount. The taller glared at the shorter.

"I told you we should have stopped."

The other shrugged. "If we had, we'd be lying there, cooked to a turn. You don't suppose that lighting was hurled by chance?"

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, the merchant was probing amid the supplies that had been scattered around the carcass. The taller man-whose face the desert sun now revealed as scarred and pitted, worn by weather, age, and drink- glared at him and repeated the question.

"What do you mean by that, Avarilous?"

"I mean, my dear Garmansder, that we're dealing with people who would think no more of killing you than of stepping on a spider. You'd do extremely well to keep that in mind. You'll probably live longer if you do."

Avarilous's eyes flickered from side to side, and his fingers, laced across his fat belly, wore a complicated gesture.

Garmansder's eyes widened, then he glared at the merchant and raised his voice. "I know precisely what I'm dealing with: a twisted little serpent who can't tell the truth without his forked tongue falling out of his mouth. I should never have agreed to travel with you, even for the gold you're paying. You'll regret it."

From the sash around his waist, he had drawn a scimitar and brought back his arm for a blow. There was a sudden crack of a whip, and the blade flew from his hand to land sticking in the desert sand twenty feet from where he stood. Garmansder cursed volubly and spun around.

Behind him, in a dark line, stood a band of Bedine. Their black robes flapped in the wind, but apart from that they were motionless as statues. One, clad in a robe of red, was clearly the leader, standing a bit forward of the others. In his upraised hand was the whip with which he had disarmed Garmansder.

Avarilous cautiously raised one hand, palm outward.

"Peace be upon your* tents, my friends. I stand in your service. My friend and I have lost our camel and had despaired of finding our way when you…"

His voice trailed off as the Bedine moved around them, surrounding them and efficiently disarming them. From Garmansder's robe, the tribesmen pulled a pair of ugly looking daggers. From the merchant, they took three throwing stars and a slender blade that had been strapped to one of his stout legs. All this was done in unnerving silence. The travelers' hands were bound tightly behind them, and they were linked together by a short rope. One of the Bedine took the end of the rope and gave it a sharp jerk.

At a gesture from the red-robed leader, the party started forward in the direction Avarilous and Garmansder had been travelling. They mounted the next dune and saw a herd of camels, standing quietly, chewing their cud. Two or three Bedine stood near them, guarding the pack. Without a word, they mounted and rode on.

Like most Bedine settlements, the travelers did not really see this one until they were upon it. The dun-colored tents blended with the endless sands and revealed their presence only by a soft flapping in the wind. A few faces peered from the tents to look upon the strangers and then* silent captors as the tribesmen led the caravan to the largest of the tents. Avarilous and Garmansder were jerked roughly from their perches and dragged inside.

A small fire burned in a brazier at the center of the tent. Some of the smoke escaped through a hole in the roof, while the majority swirled and eddied on air currents. The strong smell reminded Avarilous that the Bedine, in common with most desert dwellers, used camel pads for fuel. Garmansder coughed and retched then coughed again. His face was scarlet and shiny.

Around the edge of the tent were seated a row of robed figures, who stared coldly at the two strangers. Avarilous sat quietly on the floor as his captor muttered in the ear of one of these observers. Garmansder, having recovered from his coughing fit, gazed wildly around the scene.

"What are we doing here? What do they want?" he snarled to the merchant.

"Be silent." Avarilous's voice was cold and decisive, unlike his usual whining tone.

Garmansder sat in silence for a moment then made a desperate lunge for the tent entrance. Haifa dozen hands snatched him back in an instant, and a curved dagger appeared at his throat. Avarilous did not move a muscle.

One of the robed figures-he to whom then- captor had spoken-flicked back his hood, revealing a head of graying hair and dark, smoky eyes.