Page 20 of Crown of the Dunes (The Ballan Desert #2)
Lord Cahir’s warlord mirrored his snort of derision, and my head snapped in his direction. The air rustled as hands moved to the hilts of weapons, threads of tension threatening to snap as everybody tried to guess who would draw swords in favor of whom.
“You mean to imply that I didn’t win leadership of the clans through my own power?” My voice pitched low, its calm a sharp contrast to the roar of blood in my ears. “As I recall, I won the Trials and your loyalty before you knew that I was the Prince of Kelvadan.”
“So, you admit, you are the queen’s brat?” Lord Cahir hissed, turning to face me fully. I did not miss the way one hand rested on his hip in defiance, while the other caressed the pommel of his saber. The dark red of blood glass shards shimmered dangerously on the hand guard.
I swallowed, feeling like the shards of glass were lodged in my throat. Then, I squared my shoulders, knowing the time for hiding the truth had passed.
“I am.”
Ripples ran through the crowd like a shockwave, and the balance of power teetered on a knife’s edge. The repercussions of this revelation rent a fissure in the already splintering unity of the clans. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to grab on to the power I bore so uncomfortably.
“This does not change my purpose,” I said louder, so the whole crowd might hear. “You were united to heal the desert, and I will see it done.”
Lord Cahir sneered, his upper lip pulling up and contorting his face into a mask of derision.
“For all we know, this could be just a grab for power—using our forces in a war to settle some personal vendetta, or to trick us into conquering the city so you can take a throne you feel cheated out of. After all, you were so conveniently placed to take power when Lord Alasdar, the desert’s true savior, was killed by the prisoner you let into our midst.”
A growl built in my chest, and my vision started to blur as the grip of my magic threatened to drag me away on the current of my anger.
Run as I might from the mistakes of my ancestors, they continuously nipped at my heels like hunting dogs—from the constant threat of madness to the burden of a legacy I could never live up to. The one thing I could do was give the desert the blood her whispers in my mind begged me for.
I had not shaped myself into a Lord, but a sword, and that’s what I would be.
“If you think I united the clans by trickery instead of power, why don’t you test your strength against mine?”
Lord Cahir smiled viciously, pulling his saber free and leaving the tip pointing toward the ground in an overhead guard.
The crowd surrounding us backed up, forming an empty circle for a duel of honor. Only two people didn’t retreat: Lord Cahir’s warlord behind him and Izumi at my shoulder.
Clan Miran’s warlord spoke first. “Let the warlords fight to determine disputes between clans as is tradition under the old ways.”
Izumi’s clothes rustled as she reached for her saber, but I held up a hand to halt her.
“This is not a dispute between clans,” I pointed out with difficulty, as words seemed to lose meaning as the bottomless power in my skull swelled in anticipation of a fight. “The clans are united, and Lord Cahir insults me personally. I’m happy to give him the fight he clearly wants.”
After a second, Lord Cahir jerked his chin at his warlord, and he and Izumi shuffled backward to give us room.
Slowly and deliberately, with the deadly stillness that always came right before I knew it was time to spill blood, I raised my saber. I held it before me, and for a moment, the only movement was the flutter of the cloth tied to the hilt.
I struck before my opponent even drew breath.
My blade whistled through the air in an overhead strike. Cahir’s blade flew up to block me preternaturally fast, as if he had seen my blow before it happened. The magic of the desert was strong in him.
But it was stronger in me.
At the last second, I switched directions in a reverse arc. I whipped my saber under his guard. With a flick of my wrist, I snapped my blade up underneath to hit his hand .
A sharp clang cut through the rush of battle in my veins as my sword hit the thick metal cup of his handguard instead of knocking the sword from his grasp.
I snarled. My sabers had never had such protection. I had no need for it, and that same skill would bring Lord Cahir to his knees.
Wrenching my saber away, I brought it around in a brutal side swipe. Lord Cahir jumped back, the lethal edge of my blade missing his abdomen by inches. I bared my teeth, red rising in my vision as screams amplified in my head.
I pushed forward, lunging and slashing again and again. My opponent dodged and parried, avoiding each blow more and more narrowly until he was backed up against the edge of the ring of onlookers.
I had him cornered. And like a wild caracal, he lashed out.
His saber swung at my face, fast as lightning—faster perhaps than any opponent I had faced besides Keera and Izumi.
I threw my upper body backward, out of the way of the blade. But my feet remained planted in the sand, refusing to give Cahir a chance to escape. The edge of the saber barely skittered across the metal of my mask, throwing sparks into the air with a horrible screech.
On the edges of the terrible sound curled the voices of the desert, and for a miraculous second, I thought I heard words—one voice louder than the others, trying desperately to tell me something.
I straightened again, bringing my saber up in an overhead guard, searching for that voice in the tumultuous roar of battle.
I slashed down viciously, overcome by the seductive thought that if I could just give the desert what she wanted—feed her Lord Cahir’s blood—I might finally be able to make sense of the power in my skull.
My opponent tried to force me to block with a blow of his own on my protected side.
My off hand shot out like the snake that was my namesake, grabbing the base of his blade and stopping him mid-strike.
The blade cut through the leather palm of my glove, and the warmth of blood welled between my fingers.
The feeling cut through the tangled knot of magic shivering in my skull, and it snapped .
With a roar, I whipped my head forward, smashing the unforgiving metal of my mask into Lord Cahir’s face. He stumbled back as if dazed, blood dripping from his forehead.
I didn’t let him retreat, my hand still around his sword pulling him in—and straight onto the point of my saber.
The world stilled, and I stared for a long second as the blood welled around the blade in his chest, seeming to hover for a moment before dripping on the ground.
As the parched earth drank up the thick crimson liquid, the pounding in my skull quieted, and instead of relief at the quiet, I almost clung to the cacophony as it faded, trying to find that one voice that had been clearer than the rest.
Still, it slipped out of my grasp like water out of cupped hands.
I was left staring at Lord Cahir’s face as it drained of life.
His mouth hung open in the same shocked pain that Lord Alasdar had worn when Keera shoved a saber through his chest. For a moment, my former master’s face swam in front of my eyes.
I was back in a dimly lit tent with a burning brand on my chest.
I took two large steps back, wrenching my sword free. Lord Cahir’s face appeared again, as he slumped to the ground, already dead.
As the vision slipped away from me, the murmurs and shocked expressions of the crowd around me filtered in.
“I will hold true to my purpose of restoring the desert and returning us to the old ways that placated her wrath. And I will accept the help of the riders from Kelvadan who wish to join us,” I said.
It was all I could promise, but it should be all I needed.
The clans respected power, and I had shown that.
The riders from Kelvadan, at the front of the onlookers, tapped their knuckles to their foreheads in deference.
When I met their leader’s eyes, the feeling of a crushing weight dropped onto my chest. The responsibilities of leadership I had run from when I fled Kelvadan had hunted me down, tracking me like a caracal zeroed in on its prey.
The sand squeaked underfoot as I turned abruptly on my heel. Before I had made it two steps back toward the chasm and the clansmen waiting beyond, a shout came from behind me .
I whirled around, already throwing my hand out in protection, but the screech of blade cutting bone rang out first.
The sight of Clan Miran’s warlord’s hand falling to the ground, separate from the rest of his body, registered first. With a strangled scream, he fell to his knees clutching his bloody wrist to his chest.
Next to him stood Badha, the rider from Clan Otush, her saber drawn and bloody, a look of grim determination on her face.
I blinked at the sight, painting the picture of what had happened—the warlord lashing out to avenge his fallen master, and this rider from another clan jumping forward without a moment’s hesitation.
I grit my teeth. The discontent of Clan Miran ran deeper than their Lord, and we couldn’t afford infighting if we were to breach Kelvadan.
“It seems Clan Miran is in need of new leadership,” I said, glaring down at the kneeling warlord before me. “Izumi, I appoint you the new Lord of Clan Miran.”
Izumi’s eyes widened before hardening. She had always grasped for more power, and I had dropped it in her lap.
Now, she tapped her fingers to her brows deferentially, even as the crowd bristled.
I couldn’t afford trust in a time like this, but Izumi’s devotion to healing the desert bordered on zealotry, and she would do what was necessary to keep the clans in line.