Sefar stood atop the dune and gazed northward. The fair city of El Khadir stretched out on the baked land between the dune and the rich, blue waters of Lake Erras. Countless buildings with red and gold domes stood proudly among more humble stone dwellings and tapestried market stalls.
A minute later he was joined by Pylos, his face bathed in sweat as he reached the top of the steep dune. The Helyan threw down his haversack and sword, and bent over, placing his hands on his knees, exhausted after the brutal march up the mountain of sand. His laboured breath filled the still air and despite his level of supreme fitness, minutes passed before he had enough energy to speak. ‘That was one big pile of sand,’ he groaned.
Sefar beamed. ‘Thank-you Pylos. We do our best.’
Pylos lifted his head, noticing the city of El Khadir far below them. ‘So that’s home is it, Sefar?’
‘Yes,’ the Kheperan replied. ‘Right where I left it.’
Pylos straightened up and stretched. As he did so he slowly turned on the spot taking in his surroundings. They were high, much higher than he would have expected to be on a sand dune. The dune was as high as any mountain found in Helyas. Had there been clouds in the Kheperan sky, Pylos would have been looking down on them.
On the northward side of the dune, the sandy slope fell away quickly. A feeling of vertigo touched Pylos, making his skin tingle. A broad, flat plain of bright sand lay at the base of the dune’s northern face. On the far side of this white field lay the colourful domiciles that marked the outskirts of El Khadir. The city itself was a claustrophobic maze with no clear sense of structure or design. Houses, palaces, mosques and bazaars competed with one another for room. Here and there a tall kor-kor tree stuck its head out of the crowded space, its large, circular leaves providing a small amount of shade to the dense metropolis below.
Beyond the city Lake Erras filled the northern horizon. So great was the lake that it held within its reach the curvature of the world. To Pylos the immense lake resembled a gigantic longbow, drawn ever so slightly, and at the centre of the lake, where the arrowhead would be resting lay his destination – the great vortex known as Caliban’s End.
Turning westward Pylos could see league upon league of sandweeds filling the inaccessible soft land at Lake Erras’ south-western corner. Beyond the sandweeds, Pylos could make out the grey shape of the Amaranthine Mountains. The mountains now appeared so far away that the horrors of the squads’ passage through them now seemed as hazy as the heated air that drifted above the shifting sands over which they had trudged for the past five days.
This seemingly endless succession of dunes to the south of El Khadir resembled golden waves frozen in time, threatening to crash down on anyone foolish enough to venture out into them. Pylos was amazed when Sefar had told them that the dunes to the south of El Khadir were home to thousands of nomadic Kheperans who somehow managed to survive in this inhospitable environment.
Far below him under the lip of the southern face of the massive dune, Pylos could make out tiny figures slowly approaching as they crawled and clambered their way up the torturously steep dune.
Sefar had been in charge of navigation since the day they had exited the Thin Grey Line. Pylos had lost all sense of direction in the sea of dunes but Sefar had pushed on confidently, only stopping occasionally to reassure his companions that they were not lost.
Pylos could make out Trypp’s squat shape, silhouetted against the brilliant white of the sand. The Sapphyrran was accustomed to climbing but the constantly shifting sand was a dramatic change to the still and stab le granite of the cliffs above Skyfall Town. The lack of water had taken its toll on Trypp, but he had maintained a positive outlook despite the difficulty of their passage through arid Khepera.
Some way behind Trypp, Pylos could make out the unusual shape of Remiel Grayson bearing Mulupo on his shoulders. The Spriggan had somehow talked Remiel into carrying him up the dune. Although Mulupo was light and small, after five hours of clambering up the steep slope of sand, he must have felt like a bag of heavy rocks. Pylos could see Remiel’s feet slide back a step for every two he took. Occasionally he put out a hand to steady himself as he pushed on up the incline and it was clear he was struggling. Deep down – although it was not something he would admit – Pylos was pleased Remiel had taken on such a burden. Penance for past sins.
About two hundred yards behind Remiel and Mulupo, the dark figure of Maeldune Canna could be seen scrambling up the dune. Maeldune’s path was erratic. He criss-crossed the dune’s face, trying to avoid the pain the steep slope dispensed in large doses. Occasionally the rings on his hands sparkled in the midday sun and Pylos mused how unimportant such ornaments must now seem to the Acoran in his struggles to climb the mountain of sand. An image floated into Pylos’ mind.
Maeldune was just reaching the top of the dune. He was teetering on the sandy edge, so spent that he could not take another step. His hand reached out for water. In his mind’s eye Pylos saw himself approach Maeldune and push him back the way he had come. A chorus of laughter erupted as Maeldune bounced and slid all the way to the bottom of the dune, many leagues below. A voice whispered in Pylos’ ear: ‘He had it coming to him.’ Pylos turned to see the perfect face of Jehenna Canna staring back at him, a gentle wind playing with her hair as she stepped forward to kiss him.
‘Do you want a bite?’
Sefar had just pulled a sugarapple from the sack of provisions he had lugged up the dune. His deep voice stripped Pylos of his daydreams and the Helyan stood there on the crown of the dune feeling guilty of the thoughts that had crept into his head. It wasn't the thought of sending Maeldune plummeting to the bottom of the dune that worried him. He knew that everyone else would want to do the same to the arrogant bureaucrat. But his vision of Maeldune’s wife...
Pylos turned away from Sefar, aware of the blood rushing to his cheeks. He knew Sefar had no way of guessing his thoughts, but he felt vulnerable all the same. After all, Pedaeus Rhodes had once guessed them.
Pylos wondered how many other people were aware of his interest in Jehenna. Gunther Ross obviously knew. Maeldune suspected, that much was clear. No doubt Jehenna knew. He had been caught gazing at her far too many times for her not to know. He felt stupid. He coveted another man’s wife, a man he hated almost as much as he hated the Ghul. Jehenna was beautiful – everyone said so – but she had given Pylos no indication that his interest would be reciprocated.
‘You know what I’d like to do?’ Sefar said as he joined Pylos on the southern edge of the dune’s crest.
‘No. What?’ Pylos said without turning to face his companion.
‘I’d love to shove Maeldune back down the dune! Right at the moment he reaches the top!’ Sefar struck out a hand in front of him, pushing the imaginary figure of Maeldune back down the slope. ‘Wouldn’t you love to do that?’
Pylos didn’t answer but offered the Kheperan a conspiratorial smirk.
They both looked down at the figures below them. Gerriod was just a dot. He had fallen far behind Maeldune and did not seem to be making much progress.
‘The mariner’s doing it hard,’ observed Sefar.
‘Yes,’ said Pylos, ‘but he doesn't complain. He’s tough as Tethran leather.’
‘He wants his father back. I understand his motives. Maeldune, well, his motives I’m not so sure about.’ Sefar lowered his voice. ‘Do you think he’s working for Caliban?’
‘I think he’s working for himself. I don’t trust him.’
‘I don't like him, but then I don’t like any Acora. Far too precious for my taste.’ A broad smile spread on Sefar’s face as he thought about what he had said. ‘Actually, there are some Acora that would taste just fine. Maeldune’s wife for example...’
It was a deliberately provocative comment. Pylos wasn’t sure whether Sefar meant what he said, or just said it to get a reaction from the Helyan.
Sefar burst out laughing. He slapped Pylos hard on the back which almost sent the Helyan toppling over the edge of the dune. ‘Pylos, I’m playing with you!’ He laughed again and the sound of his joviality was so loud that fifty yards below Remiel stopped to look up at the pair atop the dune.
‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ Pylos said sulkily. He moved away from Sefar and focused his gaze upon the land to the east. On this side of the dune, the desert rose and fell for many leagues until the sands flattened out, their white sheen eventually fading into an expanse of red that lay on the horizon like a scar. Keen to change the subject, Pylos pointed out across the desert and said, ‘That’s the Marid, isn't it?’
Sefar, pleased that he had unsettled Pylos, decided to drop the subject of Maeldune’s wife, and let the Helyan save face. ‘Yes, you’re right. If you think the dunes were hard-going, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve visited the Marid. Over fifty leagues of burning rock and soul-destroying heat.’
‘Then it’s a good thing we don’t have to go there.’
‘Yes, as much as I hate the water, I’d rather travel over Lake Erras than the Marid.’
Instinctively, they both pivoted to the north to face the great lake. For a few minutes they were quiet until Sefar broke the silence saying, ‘That’s funny.’
‘What’s funny?’
‘No ships.’
‘What?’
‘There are no boats on the water beyond the city.’
‘Is that unusual?’
‘Yes. Usually Lake Erras is filled with merchant ships making their way to and from El Khadir. I’ve never seen the lake empty like this.’
Pylos could detect some anxiety in the Kheperan’s voice. Sefar placed his hands behind his neck as he tried to make sense of the situation.
‘You don’t think it’s anything to worry about do you?’ Pylos asked.
Sefar paused before answering. His eyes remained focused on the lake until he shrugged his shoulders and turned away. ‘I guess not. There might be a festival on in town or something. It’s probably nothing.’
Pylos nodded in agreement, but inside he wondered if El Khadir held some new danger with which they would have to contend. Despite his desire to allay Sefar’s fears, he asked, ‘Do you have family there?’
‘Yes,’ said Sefar distantly. ‘A younger brother called Saul.’
Suddenly a groaning sound behind Sefar and Pylos startled the pair.
It was followed by the soft thud of Remiel Grayson’s body upon the sand at the top of the dune. Mulupo rolled off Remiel’s shoulders as they hit the ground and quickly stood up to wipe the sand off his garments.
‘Master Hadith,’ he said, addressing Sefar in a formal tone, ‘there are few places in the Myr that I have not laid my eyes upon, so I must say with a certain degree of authority that this albescent, xeric kingdom is the most interminably sudorific land I have ever had the misfortune to visit.’
Sefar placed his hands upon his hips and shook his head in amazement. ‘What are you talking about Mulupo? You have nothing to complain about. The priest just carried you up the sand dune.’
Mulupo cast Remiel a quick look. Remiel’s eyes were open, staring into the sand beneath his face. Sweat had plastered his hair to his scalp and his drenched robes indicated that his perspiration was not confined to his head alone. Despite his sunburnt skin, Remiel looked deathly pale.
The Spriggan placed his hands on his hips mirroring the Kheperan who was almost twice his height. ‘We are a partnership, something an obstinate Kheperan would know very little about.’
Pylos grinned at the exchange. He liked the Spriggan. ‘Mulupo, please ensure that you and your partner replenish your supplies of water,’ he said as he picked up the drum of water he had hauled across the dunes for the past five days. ‘There is still a mouthful or two left in the drum.’
Mulupo pulled a face. ‘Ugh! Water!’ he sneered. ‘General Castalia, please cast some illumination upon the decision to carry a barrel of the Myr’s plainest liquid when the same container could have been employed to carry wine, thus keeping us in a state of relative euphoria instead of incarcerated in the dismal state of sobriety that has characterised this mission from its inception.’ Mulupo took the lid from the water drum and thrust his head into it. He remained submerged for some time despite the fact that the water was specifically meant for drinking purposes only. Pulling his head out of the drum he sneered again as water ran down his neck and back. ‘I can hardly bring myself to touch the stuff. This transparent and tasteless liquid is but a hollow reminder of the joy that is contained in a Nessan grape until it is picked and crushed by Garlot’s finest oenologists.’
‘Considering your stance upon the issue,’ Sefar said smiling as he tried to imitate the Spriggan’s manner, ‘it would be appropriate to offer what is left of the water to Father Gideon.’
Mulupo eyed the Kheperan warily before turning to Remiel and saying, ‘Father, I have brought you water in recognition of the cooperative relationship that has delivered us to the pinnacle of this silica-encrusted peak.’
Remiel pulled himself up to take the water drum from the Spriggan. ‘Thank-you Mulupo – you are too kind.’ Both Pylos and Sefar thought they heard a note of sarcasm in Remiel’s voice, but Mulupo was so busy rummaging in Sefar’s bag for fruit, he failed to notice.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that the last of the company hauled himself onto the crest of the dune. Pylos had gone back down the dune hours earlier to carry Gerriod’s pack and to bring him what remained of the water in the drum. Whilst Gerriod was appreciative of Pylos’ assistance, he could say nothing. He had invested every ounce of energy in the climb up the dune. He had none to spare for conversation. It fatigued him just to lift his eyelids. The thought of opening his mouth to say thank-you was too much to expect. Recent days had seen the mariner retreat further and further into himself until internal monologue was all he heard. He just repeated the same phrase over and over: ‘There’s no such thing as an endless hill.’
Shortly after Gerriod collapsed on the soft sand at the dune’s crest, Sefar picked up his pack and said, ‘We should be going soon. I’d like to be in El Khadir by nightfall.’
‘Going?’ said Gerriod disconsolately as he lay on the sand, gasping for breath. ‘I just got here!’
Mulupo gazed at the city far below. The western side of the countless buildings, minarets and walls were awash in orange light as the westering sun continued on its endless journey. ‘Sefar it’s over five leagues to the base of this dune and at least another league across the flats before the city. It is delusional to believe we’ll be down of this sandy scarp and indoors by nightfall.’
Pylos looked down the sharp incline in front of them. ‘Sefar, the Spriggan’s right. It will take hours to climb down and cross the plain. There’s no way we could do it by nightfall.’
Sefar grinned. ‘Pylos, you of all people should know, there is always a way.’
He raised two fingers to his lips and blew hard. A shrill, oscillating whistle split the air. Mulupo put his hands to his ears and winced. ‘I hope, my young, desert-dwelling friend, that you can justify this dissonance.’
Trypp was sitting on the lip on the dune’s northern face trying to enjoy the view. Sefar’s whistle felt like a knife in his head and he was glad when the noise ceased. The whistling sound had disturbed two shatterbugs that had been perched upon the Sapphyrran’s toes as he sat looking out over the lake he had called home his entire life. It warmed his heart to see it again, especially after marching for almost a week across a landscape that yielded little but pain. Late afternoon had always been his favourite time of day. Lake Erras was afire in tiny, silent, twinkling explosions of light. Perhaps this is why Trypp enjoyed the presence of the sparkling shatterbugs as much as he did; they were a lambent reminder to him of the way light glimmered off the gentle waves of the lake at either end of the day.
But as he gazed across the twinkling panorama something else caught his eye. Things were moving on the edge of his vision, moving quickly and silently, like Kompiran assassins of old. He tried to focus on what had distracted him but he could not see anything specifically. The skies were empty. Nothing moved on the steep face of the dune beneath him. There was nothing to be seen but something told him that the company was not alone.
Suddenly the sand around them erupted. Numerous creatures leapt out of the dune and flopped onto the sand around them. Mulupo screamed in horror which contrasted starkly with the deep chortle that bubbled out from Sefar. ‘Relax,’ he said casually, placing a hand upon Pylos’ forearm to stop him from drawing his sword. ‘They are sandgups.’
‘And we are supposed to know what they are?’ Maeldune said scornfully, glowering at Sefar. Like Mulupo, Maeldune was alarmed at the dramatic arrival of the sandgups and had jumped back when they had appeared, tripping over his robes and landing in the sand in a most undignified fashion.
‘I would not expect an Acoran to know much about anything he could not profit from,’ Sefar rejoined as he knelt down beside one of the large, red creatures which outnumbered the company by two to one. ‘The sandgup is indigenous to the area and are few in number. We are lucky to have so many respond to my call.’
‘Can I ask why they are here?’ Gerriod asked, backing away from the nearest sandgup which seemed to be staring at him as if he were dinner.
‘Relax Gerriod,’ Sefar laughed. ‘It won’t bite you. In fact they can’t – they don’t have mouths.’
‘Oh that’s very reassuring,’ Gerriod returned, unsettled by the creature that was nuzzling against his leg.
The sandgups lay on the sand like red rugs. They were over three yards wide. They had no arms; their flat diamond-shaped bodies tapered out to thick leathery wings on the sides and a small nub of a head. The head was nondescript except for a single yellow eye that sat at the end of a two foot long trunk. This trunk was a crucial part of the sandgup’s anatomy as the creatures often travelled long distances under the surface of the sand with its single eye sticking out so it could navigate. Long powerful legs and webbed feet helped the creature thrust itself along under the sand, but it was its long flat tail that gave the creature its phenomenal speed. This muscular tail swished backwards and forwards supplying the sandgup with enough forward momentum to put any other land-bound animal to shame. Halfway between the sandgup’s head and its wingtips, two red horns curved upwards like bloody scimitars giving the creature a somewhat ferocious appearance.
‘Why did you called these things, Sefar?’ Maeldune asked coldly. ‘What are they doing here?’
Sefar took a step forward, onto the wide, flat back of the nearest sandgup. Gerriod winced as he waited for the sandgup to retaliate but nothing in the animal's behaviour suggested it had a problem with the eight foot Kheperan standing on it. If anything, the gently wagging tail conveyed a sense of contentment. It seemed the sandgup actually liked having Sefar standing on its back.
‘What are you doing?’ Gerriod exclaimed as Sefar knelt down on the sandgup and took hold of its horns.
Sefar gave a roguish grin. ‘It’s probably easier for me to show you!’
He leaned back as he held the horns. The sandgup’s small head rose as it drew up its feet to its body, preparing to jump. Its leg muscles bulged as its webbed toes dug into the sand.
And then it was gone.
It burst forward so quickly it resembled an iron ball being shot from a cannon. For a moment the sandgup and its passenger hung in the sky but gravity quickly took over and within seconds they were hurtling down the steep sands on the northern face of the dune. The creature skimmed over the surface of the sand like a flat rock thrown across a pond, only it increased in speed the further it went.
Gerriod felt sick as he watched Sefar plummeting down the dune’s face. ‘He can't be serious,’ the mariner groaned as he noticed the wagging tails of all the other sandgups hoping to follow where their brother had gone.
Pylos stepped onto the nearest sandgup and its tail flapped back and forth happily. ‘Time to go,’ Pylos said with obvious glee. He copied Sefar, jerking back on the sandgup’s horns. In a cloud of sand, the sandgup shot itself out into the air and began its headlong descent to the desert far below.
‘They're both insane,’ muttered Gerriod.
A number of sandgups jostled for position at the edge of the dune, hoping to be the next to be chosen to race down the dune. ‘I think they actually enjoy it,’ observed Remiel.
‘Of course they enjoy it,’ grumbled Gerriod. ‘Sefar’s showing off and Pylos is never happy unless he’s doing something that puts his life at risk!’
‘No. I mean the sandgups. Look at them. They want to be ridden.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ scoffed Gerriod, a little annoyed that the priest seemed to be approving of a mode of transport tantamount to suicide.
Remiel stepped onto the closest sandgup and its tail slapped the sand in a show of eagerness. ‘See! It wants me to ride it.’ He pulled back on the horns. As he did so Mulupo leapt forward and jumped on his back, assuming the position he had taken for the long march up the dune.
A second later they were gone, sliding down the face of the dune like a raindrop on glass.
‘I don’t believe it. Has everyone lost their senses?’
Maeldune gingerly stepped onto the next sandgup and tentatively pulled its horns. The sandgup exploded into the air and disappeared over the lip in the dune.
And then there were two.
‘Trypp, we should find another way down,’ Gerriod urged his companion but the Sapphyrran wasn’t listening. He was looking curiously at the sandgup at his feet. Its bulbous eye was looking back up at him, expressing as much emotion as a single eye could. There was no mistaking it – the creature was hoping Trypp would climb onto its back. But the Sapphyrran did not feel comfortable about doing so. ‘I am sorry, strange one,’ he said softly, ‘but I have other means to get down from this peak.’
Trypp stepped past the sandgup and threw himself from the dune. The sandgup’s eye followed him, sadness welling up in the yellow orb as the creature realised it had not been chosen. Trypp curled his long limbs into his body as he twisted in the air so that the shell on his back was facing downwards. After falling twenty feet through the air, the Sapphyrran made contact with the sand and skidded off down the dune at a speed matching that of any sandgup.
‘What is it with these people!’ Gerriod yelled to the empty sky. ‘Has everyone gone totally mad?’
Gerriod grumbled a number of Palian curses as he reluctantly approached the edge of the dune. He leant forward to peer over the sharp edge. It was such a long way down. A sense of vertigo swept over him and he crumpled back onto his knees, feeling his heart rate double in the space of a few seconds.
He felt something pushing softly against the small of his back. It was the sandgup that had nuzzled against him earlier. Its large eye gazed at him gently as if to say, ‘Trust me.’
‘I’m going to regret this,’ he gulped as he slowly crawled onto the creature’s back and took hold of its horns.
Moments later Gerriod was hurtling through the air. He gripped the horns so tightly that he feared he would rip them out, but the sandgup did not seem to mind. For the first thirty seconds of the stomach-churning ride, Gerriod clenched his eyes shut. He could hear the air streaming past his ears which did nothing to quell his fears about the breakneck speed at which he was heading for the bottom of the dune. The sound of the sandgup’s body sliding over the fine sand was occasionally broken by long seconds where the creature was actually airborne in steep places where the dune was almost vertical.
He forced his eyes open to see how far he had to travel. Directly below him, perhaps a hundred yards ahead, he could make out the round shape of Trypp sliding down the sand on his back. Beyond Trypp, he could just make out the black shapes of Maeldune and Remiel hurtling down the white slope. Gerriod could not see Pylos or Sefar who were probably somewhere amongst the small dunes at the bottom of the incline.
Gerriod was surprised to find he could keep his eyes open without the vertigo consuming him. The sandgup felt incredibly stable despite the dreadful speed it had built up. He comforted himself in the fact that there was nothing in front of him into which he could collide.
At the base of the dune Pylos and Sefar stood watching the remaining members of the company speed down the sands. Both men were smiling; the exhilaration of the ride down the dune still coursed through their veins.
‘Sefar, that was extraordinary,’ said Pylos contentedly.
‘It’s been years since I last rode on a sandgup. It was worth the trip up the dune, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m not sure the mariner would agree with you, but yes, it was worth the walk up the dune.’
Remiel Grayson came barrelling off the dune. His sandgup was travelling at a phenomenal speed, but the priest did not seem bothered at all. The sandgup spun around sharply, digging into the sand as it did so, resulting in a dramatic but controlled stop. Remiel stepped off the sandgup and Pylos was surprised to see that he was actually smiling. It was strange to see a smile upon his face. It was the first time Pylos had seen any show of happiness upon his face. He looked years younger.
‘You seem to be enjoying yourself,’ commented Sefar, also noticing Remiel’s beaming face. Remiel just smiled back, unable and unwilling to put into words the joy he had experienced whilst shooting down the incline.
Meanwhile Maeldune, unsure of how to stop and somewhat apprehensive about his sandgup’s speed, had slapped the creature’s trunk with the flat of his dagger. The sandgup, angered by this cruel treatment had stopped abruptly sending the Acoran flying headlong into a small mound of sand.
Maeldune's legs kicked pathetically in the air, trying to find something to lock onto so he could free his head and shoulders from the mound. Sefar looked over at the sight of the Acoran struggling to extricate himself and collapsed into a fit of raucous laughter which continued long after Maeldune had pulled himself out of sand.
Maeldune’s eyes flashed red as Sefar wiped tears from his eyes. ‘You just keep laughing, boy,’ the Acoran snarled savagely. ‘You’re headed for a fall of your own.’
With a lingering glare Maeldune watched the smile slowly fade from Sefar’s face, the Acoran clearly not intimidated by the Kheperan’s size. Content he had made his feelings clear, Maeldune turned and started walking towards the nearby city.
‘I think you've upset our favourite minister,’ observed Pylos wryly before Maeldune was out of earshot. Maeldune’s long steps slowed down as he contemplated biting at Pylos’ bait, but he thought better of it and kept walking out across the flats.
Sefar turned Pylos and said, ‘Did he just threaten me then?’
Pylos put a hand on the Kheperan’s shoulder and said, ‘I’d watch my back if I were you.’
‘That’s why you're here isn't it?’
Out of the blue, Pylos thought of Bannick Landen. Sefar’s comments were increasingly like the things Bannick would say. Impudent. Provocative. Amusing.
But Bannick was dead. Pylos gave his head a shake and walked off in the direction Maeldune had gone.
Moments later, Trypp slid across the sand at the base of the dune, shortly followed by Gerriod. The mariner rolled off his sandgup and lay frozen on the warm sand. His eyes were fixed on the towering dune he had just flown down. He did not move nor did he say anything.
Sefar walked over to him, concerned that the ride had been too much for his companion. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked nervously.
At first Gerriod did not respond, but then his eyelids flickered as he became aware of the Kheperan standing over him. Suddenly a smile as wide as his mouth would allow broke out across his face. ‘Sefar, if I wasn’t so damned tired, I’d climb back up to the top and do it again!’
Sefar realised something was wrong as he and his companions approached the city, crossing the flat expanse that lay at the southern edge of El Khadir. Daylight had faded to darkness but very few houses had any lanterns lit. No sounds could be heard which was unusual as nightfall was usually accompanied by the songs of priests who sang lamentations from the minarets that dotted the city’s skyline.
‘That’s odd,’ remarked Sefar to Pylos as he quickened his pace across the flats.
Pylos was also surprised by what he saw and matched Sefar stride for stride. He slid his sword from its scabbard and scanned the area for anything unusual.
A figure carrying a lantern containing shatterbugs emerged from the city gates and made his way towards the company. He was Kheperan – the horn made that clear – but even in the subdued light of the shatterbugs, Pylos and Sefar could tell something was wrong. The Kheperan was limping slowly. His face was hidden behind a scarf and his hands were bandaged.
Before the company could get close to the Kheperan, he stopped and bellowed, ‘Stop where you are, Sefar!’ His voice was harsh, and his manner uncompromising. He held out a bandaged hand that made it clear that he did not want Sefar to take another step closer.
Pylos could not help but state the obvious. ‘He knows you,’ he said turning to face Sefar who stopped with a look of absolute dismay upon his face.
‘Of course he knows me,’ Sefar said slowly. ‘He’s my brother.’
All eyes returned to the bandaged Kheperan. He was tall, about the same height as Sefar, but all other comparisons had to end there as he was shrouded in cloth from head to foot.
‘Saul, what has happened here?’
‘Is it the Ghul?’ Pylos added anxious to formulate a strategy should the enemy be nearby.
The Kheperan shook his head. ‘Not quite. What has affected us is a contagion of a different sort.’
‘Contagion?’ asked Remiel who had stepped into the lantern light to join Pylos and Sefar.
‘Yes,’ Saul replied. ‘It started a month ago. A huge, black creature flew out of the east and bombarded us.’
‘Bombarded?’ Sefar said, his voice strained. He had imagined his return to El Khadir numerous times over the journey from Cessair, but it was nothing like this. He was confused and distraught, struggling to keep his emotions in check in this most unexpected family reunion.
‘Yes. The creature dropped body after body upon our city. At first we had no idea where the bodies were coming from until one of us recognised the corpse of a woman who had been sent to Sanctuary a few years back. We were being bombarded with bodies from the leper colony.’
Trypp put his hands to his face as he tried to quell the nausea that rose up in his stomach. ‘Is there no limit to the Morrigu’s evil?’ he gasped.
‘The Morrigu?’
‘Saul, the creature that has attacked the city is known to us,’ explained Sefar. ‘It has laid siege to Skyfall Town, Palia and who knows how many other towns bordering the lake. One of us, the Sapphyrran here, has engaged with the monster directly and was lucky to escape with his life.’
Saul nodded. ‘It is good to see you still alive Sefar.’
‘And you too,’ Sefar replied automatically. His expression was vague as his brain tried to digest everything his brother had told him.
Pylos took a step closer to Saul who instinctively stepped back, painfully aware of his own contagious condition. ‘Saul, for the leprosy to spread so rapidly… it is unheard of.’
‘I don’t understand such things, Helyan. I’m not a doctor. But what I do know is what I see. Not a single person in the city has been unaffected. Men, women… even the children. Sefar it is terrible. The leprosy is so…’ He paused searching for a word.
‘Virulent,’ suggested Mulupo.
‘It spread so quickly that we could not even send someone to help. It is agony, Sefar. Our skin burns every day. The Morrigu dropped so many carcasses upon us that many still lie out in the street. Few people leave their houses. The stench of decay hangs in the air like a cloud of shatterbugs.’
‘What are you doing here Saul?’ Sefar asked as he pointed to the ground at their feet. ‘I cannot believe this is a chance meeting.’
‘No, it is not. A group of us decided we would warn any outsiders approaching the city. I have been waiting for you Sefar. Waiting for many weeks. I knew you’d come from the south. Any excuse to ride the dune!’
Sefar wanted to run across the empty space between them and embrace his younger brother, but he knew that Saul would not let such a thing happen. He was far too practical.
Gerriod’s mind was brought back to the night he was attacked by the inmates of Sanctuary.
His hand slid down the railing and grasped hers. Although her hand was wrapped in course bandages, and the skin underneath insensitive to touch, she was aware of his gesture and she curled her fingers around his in response.
‘We must help these people,’ the mariner implored his companions.
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Saul said flatly. ‘Many people have died already, preferring suicide to this half-life.’
‘There must be a way we can help them,’ added Trypp whose soup-bowl eyes were filled with tears in contrast to Maeldune who just looked at the ground before the Kheperan’s feet, his face blank, betraying no indication of the thoughts beyond it.
‘There is a way we can help,’ said Pylos sternly. ‘We can end this. We can’t do anything for the people of El Khadir this night, but a day will come when all the injustices that have been dropped upon us are avenged. We must finish the mission.’
‘Mission?’ queried Saul, who had been wondering about Sefar’s strange companions since laying eyes upon them from his spyglass an hour earlier. He had seen the party atop the great dune and watched each one slide down to the desert floor on the back of the sandgups. He had assumed Sefar was on a consular exercise, but the word mission gave it a weight that he seldom associated with his light-hearted brother.
Pylos turned to his group and said, ‘We cannot go further. We cannot go back. I am open to suggestions, if you have any.’
It was Gerriod who spoke first. ‘I agree with Pylos. If we cannot assist the people of El Khadir, then we must finish what we set out to do.’
‘Can we access the lake if we do not go through the city?’ Pylos asked. ‘If we could get a boat –’
‘No. We can’t. On either side of the city are steep cliffs that plunge into the lake. We will not find any boats that way.’
‘Then we need to find another town or city that will give us access to a boat,’ Pylos said plainly. In his role as Helyan General, he was accustomed to making decisions in difficult situations and although he could not imagine a situation more difficult than the one before him, the skills he employed were the same. Assess options. Choose the best. It was a simple process that had kept him alive for thirty-three years. He would never allow himself to consider that one day there may come a time when it would fail him.
‘What about El Silat?’ Saul suggested. Despite the fact that he was eight foot tall, Saul looked small and frail, standing there defending his city with nothing more than a lantern in his hand. ‘If you head due east you will find the city of El Silat. From there you take a boat to wherever it is you’re going.’
‘You can’t be serious Saul? No-one can make it to El Silat by land!’ Sefar exclaimed.
‘You have,’ replied his brother.
‘Then in the absence of all other options, that’s the way we’ll go,’ Pylos said with such conviction that none would oppose it. He sheathed his sword, nodded to Saul and marched off into the east.
‘Why do I think things are just about to get a whole lot worse?’ Gerriod grumbled to himself as he turned to follow Pylos who was already twenty yards ahead.