Page 15 of Crown of the Dunes (The Ballan Desert #2)

My blade skittered to the side, over the exposed vertebrae of the skeletal bird, and wedged between two boney protrusions where its neck met its shoulders.

The creature’s cry of rage and pain barely cut through the clamoring in my mind. My world shifted dizzily, a swirl of sand and sky as the creature reared, lifting me higher in the air as I clung to the handle of the sword stuck in its joint.

I kicked my feet, trying to find purchase I could use as leverage to pry my weapon loose. A sound like thunder split the air as the monster spread its wings with a snap. Joints shifted beneath me, keeping me from getting a foothold as the creature pumped its massive wings once, twice.

My stomach dropped as we took to the sky.

My feet dangled in the air as I swung precariously from the handle of my sword.

I gripped the pommel so hard that it would leave imprints on my hands through my gloves, strain shooting through my forearms as I tried not to be knocked lose by the jostling of wings.

I had flown through the air before, but only briefly and under the power of the desert. That experience was much more like riding a horse—wild and free and exhilarating—and one of the only times I felt in control.

This was the opposite of that—the overwhelming and untethered feeling of falling into the well of the desert’s power with nothing to ground you.

The monster lurched with another mighty heave of its wings, bouncing me hard enough to nearly dislocate my shoulder.

The searing pain in my muscles was enough to give me an anchor in the swirling of both the power in my skull and the world around me.

I zeroed in on it, letting it clear the shouting in my head enough to come up with a plan.

Pulling my sword from the creature—now the only thing keeping me from falling to my death—was no longer a viable option. I had to get in a more secure position.

I chanced a glance down, only for my heart to jump into my throat at the sight far below us: the horses and clansmen scurrying around in terror looking tiny compared to the dark gash encircling the encampment, and the even more endless stretch of the desert beyond .

I refocused on the pain in my shoulders, letting that drown out any hints of fear and apprehension in my mind as I began to swing back and forth.

The creature screamed, clearly unhappy with the strain it put on the sword embedded in its joint, but I did not halt.

Instead, I redoubled my efforts, needing to find a more secure position before it shook me loose.

I forced myself to swing higher, swaying precariously back and forth twice more before lifting myself with an almighty heave.

With a grunt, I managed to hook one leg over the base of the creature’s wing.

The bony prominence of its shoulder dug into my thigh, and I let that pain feed my consciousness too, giving me the control I needed to unravel the knot of power thrumming violently in my head and find the string that would lift me atop the creatures back.

With the aid of the desert’s power, I clambered over its wing, swinging my other leg over so I now sat with my thighs cradled in the dip between its wings and neck.

If I could just get my sword free, I could drive it into the space between vertebrae—and then hope I could survive the uncontrolled descent of its death throes.

I squeezed my legs around its spine and yanked on the handle of my saber, my palms sweat-slick inside my leather gloves. The creature heaved under me, my stomach leaping at the sudden change in momentum as it swerved toward the side the blade was embedded in, nearly dislodging me.

The sword didn’t budge. I yanked again, and the creature swerved to the left again, as if being pulled by my actions.

I frowned. I had heard tell of people from beyond the mountains using some sort of bridle to direct their horses, as opposed to subtle shifts of weight and the seeming sixth sense of mounts in the Ballan Desert.

Despite the pounding of my heart in my ears, a thought—an idea laced with insane hope—took shape in my mind.

Steeling myself, I kept hold of my saber with one hand, using the other to unwind the length of fabric that served as a hood from my shoulders. As quickly as I could with only one hand, I formed it into a loop, holding the loose ends in my fist .

Wind tugged at my uncovered hair, whipping it around in the stiff current of the creature’s wings. I fought against it, hooking the loop around the bony prominence of the monster’s shoulder joint on the opposite side of my sword.

With a silent prayer that the desert would reward my madness for once, I gave the hood an experimental tug.

My heart leapt as the creature swerved toward the pull, even as I had to redouble my grip to not fall to my death. I took a chance and looked toward the ground, still feeling the height like a punch in the gut, despite being more prepared for it this time.

The curling smoke of the bonfires was far off to the creature’s right after our chaotic careening through the sky. I tugged on the makeshift reins around the bird’s right shoulder, hauling on it as hard as I could until it veered toward the encampment.

It shrieked in protest, the sound echoing through its body and reverberating in my chest so forcefully it rattled my ribcage. Still, it was forced to acquiesce to my strength.

The encampment reappeared in my sights below.

Sands.

I had to land.

As the encampment approached, I tried to reason with myself that if Keera could ride a beast as wild as Daiti, then I could conquer this mount.

A grunt escaped me as I heaved up on both my sword and the hood at the same time, biceps straining and my forearms shaking as I tried to use my strength over this monstrous bird. The gravehawk reared back, pumping its wings forward to slow its speed, bringing us down toward the ground.

Still, we weren’t descending fast enough. At this rate, the beast would crash into the encampment talons first, taking down all the clansmen and horses in its wake. I redoubled my efforts, sweat dripping down behind my mask and pooling in its ridges.

It reared back even further, flapping its wings forward like a horse digging in its hooves at a sudden stop.

At this steep angle, my weight shifted from its back.

Its spine scraped my thighs as I tried fruitlessly to hold on.

Instead, my feet dangled uselessly as I hung from my combined grip on my saber and the loop of my hood.

As we hurtled toward the ground, my sword jerked, causing me to drop a few inches.

My heart leaped into my throat as I fell before stopping as my sword caught again.

I looked up to find it had finally come loose in all the mayhem and was now pinched precariously between the creature’s wing and its shoulder.

The voices of the desert rushed in my head, no longer held at bay by pain and determination. The sands always hungered for blood, and now, it might get mine.

On the next wingbeat, my saber slipped free. A ripping sound cut through the thunder of wings as the fabric of my hood gave under the burden of my complete weight.

Then, I was weightless, untethered as I plummeted toward the ground.

I was going to hit the ground. And I was never going to see Keera again.

Never again would I feel the heady mix of peace and life that washed through me when her hands touched my skin or breathe in the warm, sunshine scent of her hair.

I’d never see her golden eyes bubbling with fury or glazed in pleasure.

Desperation and resolve rushed through my veins in equal measure.

A split second of clarity washed over me, and I clenched my fists, grabbing whatever fibers of the desert’s power surrounded me. They pulled taut, and pain lanced through my head as some of them ripped under the strain.

Breath crashed out of me as my back hit the sand, slower than I might have if not for the threads of my power slowing me down. Still, my vision went white as I struggled to draw in air.

I had been closer to the ground than I thought when I fell.

Blinking hastily my vision cleared to see the gravehawk flapping above me. Before I could tighten my grip around my saber, an arrow whizzed through the air, embedding in the dark pit of one of its eye sockets.

The creature screeched one last time, backpedaling and rising in the air once more.

It wheeled away and headed off toward the horizon.

Apparently, I had caused it enough trouble for one day, but I had no illusions that it would stay away.

The people of the Ballan Desert knew just how powerful a motivator hunger could be, and it would soon be drawn back to the smoke of our fires.

For now, I rolled over onto my hands and knees, grateful to find that all my limbs still answered my commands. I raised my head to find Lord Elion across from me, bow still raised.

My attention skittered over her, though, drawn in by something else. The dark width of the chasm stretched between us.

I had escaped the plateau.

I scrambled to my feet, brushing sand off my clothes as I turned around. The endless dunes undulated before me, and I was free to cross them. I could go to Kelvadan—to Keera—if I wished.

My feet rooted themselves to the ground. Keera had not replied to my letters, and I could feel that she was alive, even though the strange bond between us was often quiet. The people in the encampment at my back would not survive without help.

Help I could now give them.

I had pledged myself to healing the desert, and I could not accomplish that without the people of the Clans at my back.

Even if Keera was lost to me for now, my time with her had made me hope that I could be the type of man these clans would follow—not just the fist of a tyrant who thought to command them.

Nurturing that hope was the only way to be free of Lord Alasdar’s shadow.

Now, I turned away from the horizon, making a silent promise on my blood that I would ride toward it once the clans were safe.

The eight lords of the clans had gathered on the far side of the chasm, and though they could not meet my eyes in my mask, I felt their gaze on me like a brand.

I shouted across the divide so all could hear, “Those winged terrors are not our enemy. They are our saviors.”