Page 55 of Crown of the Dunes (The Ballan Desert #2)
Bile burned in my throat. I remembered the clans fighting often in my youth, but such encounters were normally limited to brief skirmishes over the best spots for an encampment, or duels of honor based on questions of skill, or occasionally the favor of a woman or the breeding rights to a particularly fine horse.
Such a dramatic divide now only seemed to reflect the way the cracks running the length and breadth of the desert widened with every passing day.
“Lord Izumi cannot feel the magic of the desert,” Erix said. His voice was hard, but I detected an uncurrent of something bitter—like the echo of guilt. “She is following the path that Lord Alasdar set before us.”
His brow furrowed as he continued. “What reason did Lord Nathaira give for continuing to follow Lord Izumi. From the blood glass in her weapon and her fervor for feeding the desert blood to sate her anger, I had assumed her connection was strong.”
For a moment, my blood stopped in my veins as my heart stuttered in my chest.
Lord Nathaira.
The name echoed in my head as her merciless gaze flashed in my memory.
Clan leadership was volatile enough that I had assumed—hoped that she had lost the rule of Clan Padra in the past decade.
But her name brought back the vision of my clan riding away as I kneeled hopelessly among the sands, my horse gone and my hope with it.
The bottomless emptiness of isolation reared its maw at just the memory, and I nearly pitched headfirst into it. At the bottom of that well lay the spring of my boiling rage—at Lord Nathaira for exiling me and at my parents for not fighting for their only daughter.
If she had maintained power this long, it had been through her cruelty more than any loyalty from her riders .
The air began to crackle around my fingertips, but a cool presence pushed into my mind, dousing the heat of my ire.
I inhaled sharply as the touch of Erix’s magic against mine pulled my consciousness back into the tent.
Lord Dhara stared at me as if she had felt the wild pulse of my anger, but her expression held neither fear nor judgement.
My attention was drawn to the Lord of Clan Vecturna as he pulled back his lips to show his teeth, snarling like the hunting dog that adorned his people’s banner.
“Lord Nathaira only pretends to carry the deserts strength, but she has no appreciation for our home. She only revels in the power it gives her.”
“She fears the strength of the desert’s power, for she knows it is far greater than her own,” I said, the words spilling from my lips unbidden.
Lord Elion raised his chin. “For Nathaira, siding with Izumi may be a path to control. But Izumi itches to fight for her home. She sees continuing the war with Kelvadan as the path to the desert’s redemption.”
Dhara’s mouth was a hard line, but she nodded. “I cannot say it is easy to simply try and endure when our people are forced to scrape by on less every day. We are trained to fight, but now we face invisible enemies. I would welcome a chance to use my sword in defense of the desert again.”
I exchanged a glance with Erix and raised my brows slightly.
He turned his attention back to the lords. “We are on an errand related to the desert’s magic,” he explained. “I believe Lord Alasdar had some artifacts stored among his belongings that are of great importance. We need to find them.”
“I don’t think you’d be welcome in Lord Izumi’s encampment,” Lord Elion said, his deep, resonant voice serious.
“We need to find them, welcome or not,” I said. As his gaze turned to me appraisingly, I squared my shoulders. I braced for the wave of discomfort that I often felt when the archons judged my decisions, but instead, Lord Elion just nodded, and the feeling abated before it could take hold.
“I will accompany you to Clan Katal’s encampment,” Lord Dhara volunteered. “I know which direction they set out in, and you will likely need help to slip behind their ranks. Besides, I grow restless and will welcome any chance to fight for the desert. We can leave at dawn tomorrow. ”
Lord Elion frowned. “I should ride along as well.”
Dhara exhaled sharply, tossing her head in what looked like annoyance. “We can’t afford to have two of us leave the encampment at once. You should remain with your people. The three of us will have an easier time going unnoticed.”
The furrow between Elion’s brows deepened, but he looked down at his lap, his expression making it clear he was biting his tongue.
“I’m surprised you have been able to keep the peace between this many clans when all the riders must be growing restless in the face of the desert’s displeasure,” I admitted.
“Oh, they are,” Lord Elion admitted. “But we have come up with a balm for the bloodlust that runs in the clansmen of the desert. You all will see tonight, and maybe we can even convince you to participate.”
“I hope we can,” Lord Dhara chimed in. “It would hearten the clans to see the Champion they swore loyalty to among them once again.”
A tightness formed in my chest, and I glanced down to avoid the discomfort. These people saw Erix as the Champion who had risen to save them, but in Kelvadan, I had stolen that crown from him. The clans had often said the desert having no true Champion was an ill omen, and I was beginning to agree.
Dhara drew me from my thoughts by gesturing to the carpet in front of Erix. Dark metal glinted in the dim lamplight where he had set the mask down before him.
“You are a symbol to my people,” she admitted. “Seeing the Viper again might give them the strength—and the patience—they need to endure.”
Erix reached out, his fingers hovering above the now-scarred surface that had once served as his face. His current expression was nearly as unreadable as the lifeless metal, but for the turmoil that danced in his silver eyes.
“Then he will be there,” Erix promised.
Woodsmoke drifted in the air along with the happy yips of hunting dogs back from their day.
I sat cross-legged in the sand near a small fire.
The gentle crackle of the dry brush burning and the sounds of an encampment in the early evening relaxed me, despite knowing I should likely be on my guard around the clan lords who sat around the fire with me.
Erix’s knee brushed my thigh as he twisted to greet yet another clansman who approached the fire.
Many had filed by over the course of the afternoon, most pausing briefly to rap their brow respectfully, a few expressing their gratitude that he had returned.
This one paused after tapping his knuckles to his forehead, hovering as if he wanted to say something more.
While I couldn’t see Erix’s face behind the scarred surface of his mask, I sensed he was trying to remember something by the tilt of his head.
“Nabu?” Erix asked.
A smile softened the corners of the rider’s lips, despite the hard set of many clansmen’s faces that was born of difficult times.
“I’m surprised you remember, Lord Viper,” the man, Nabu, said. “But I hope you did find what you were looking for in Kelvadan, both for your own sake and for the desert’s.” His gaze darted over to me so quickly I thought I imagined it in the brief moment before Erix spoke.
“My search continues, but I will fight for all who call the Ballan Desert home,” Erix responded. A roiling wave of discomfort rolled down the tether in my belly, tinged bitter with something akin to guilt.
“Well, then I hope you will join us in our fight tonight,” Nabu invited before inclining his head and turning away toward his own fire.
At his words, Lord Dhara stood and dusted off her loose linen pants, the movement making the bangles at her wrists and the knives at her waist jangle. “Speaking of which, we should head to the field before the riders start to get restless.”
I wondered at what she might mean as I stood and trailed her and the other lords toward the edge of an encampment, where there lay a patch of sand smoother than the rest, as if it had been combed into a flat surface. At each end of the long rectangles stood bent arches of date palm branches .
Lord Elion strode over to a rack nearby and lifted a length of wood from among a large stack.
He tossed it back and forth in his palms a few times before turning to Erix.
He held it out, and I took in a long, thin branch, sanded down smooth with a flattened hook on the edge. Familiarity sparked in my mind.
“Do you play kaman , Lord Viper?” Elion asked.
My lips quirked. Kaman was a common past time among Clan Padra during my youth, although the game of athleticism turned brutal more often than not.
On one occasion, crossing paths with Clan Caillte resulted in a match of kaman between the two clans, suggested by the lords in favor of a duel of honor that seemed inevitable between two of their riders.
The match had ended in several broken bones and even more bruises, but it had been preferable in the eyes of the lords to the death that would be the inevitable end to a duel.
It seemed that these four and a half clans were looking to keep the peace that sustained their alliance in the same way.
“I’m familiar with the game, but I’ve never played,” Erix admitted.
I stared at him for a long moment before snapping my mouth shut, not realizing it had fallen open. In my youth, I had wormed my way into almost every match of kaman played by Clan Padra, something about the ruthlessness of the game always calling to the constant restlessness in my veins.
“I take it you’ve played?” Lord Dhara asked, picking up another curved stick and passing it to me. I hefted it in my grip a few times, finding it lighter than a saber and slightly unfamiliar, but still solid and reassuring under my fingers.
“It’s been years,” I admitted. A decade, really.
“Something tells me you’ll fare all right,” Lord Dhara said, jerking her chin toward the field.