Текст книги "The First Stone"

Автор книги: Mark Anthony

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 38 страниц)

27.

They made ready to leave the village of Hadassa as evening drew near.

“It’s best if we journey into the desert by night,” Farr said as they let the camels drink their fill from the village’s oasis. “The moon is almost full. We will have more than enough light, and it will be far cooler than traveling by day.”

The T’golAvhir crossed lean arms, his bronze eyes on the former Seeker. “The heat is not the only danger in the Morgolthi.”

“No, but it’s the only danger we can hope to easily avoid,” Farr said. He turned his back on the assassin. “I will be on the south edge of the village. I want to see if I can spot any storms while there is still light. Meet me there when you are ready.” He walked away among the white huts, his dark serafigusting behind him.

“Well, it’s nice to see he’s as cuddly as ever,” Travis said.

Grace followed Farr with her gaze. “He’s only doing his job. He’s promised to take us to Morindu.”

“And the brooding helps with that how?”

“I’m going to go get my things,” Grace said, and headed toward one of the huts.

Travis sighed and turned his attention back to the four camels, amazed at how much the animals could drink. A thought occurred to him. He approached Avhir. Of the three T’golwho had accompanied Grace south, the tall man seemed the most talkative—which wasn’t saying much.

“We’ve packed water for ourselves,” he said to Avhir, “but where will the camels get water?”

“Nowhere. I do not imagine the beasts will survive this journey. I can only hope they will bear us close to our destination before they perish.”

His words shocked Travis. “This isn’t right. We can’t kill them for nothing.”

“So you believe this journey is for nothing?”

Travis clenched his jaw. They both knew the answer to that question. “Maybe we could go on foot.”

Avhir shook his head. “You cannot travel as fast on foot as T’gol, and time is against us. The sorcerers are already on the move.”

Travis couldn’t disagree. However, he doubted that saving Nim was the assassin’s sole reason for hurrying.

They want to find Morindu the Dark. They’ve been searching for it for three thousand years. Now it’s been found, and they think I’m going to raise it from the sands that bury it.

And was he? Travis didn’t know. If that was what it took to save Nim, he would find a way to do it. Otherwise, Morindu the Dark could stay buried for countless eons more for all he cared.

“Do not pity the beasts, Sai’el Travis.” Avhir stroked the neck of one of the camels as it used its long tongue to draw water into its mouth. “After all, you do not pity the animal whose flesh you eat. Instead, be grateful for their sacrifice and accept it.”

These words were scant comfort. Travis started to move away, then paused. “So how are we going to get back? If the camels don’t survive, how will we leave Morindu?”

“You and the dervish are great sorcerers. Once the power of Morindu is at your disposal, there will be little either of you cannot do.”

Travis stared at him; the assassin’s eyes shone in the gloom.

“Come,” Avhir said. “The camels are ready. It is time to go.”

They set out as the enormous Eldhish moon rose above the horizon, flooding the desert with white light so that the dunes seemed made of snow rather than sand. Of the four T’gol, only Vani and Avhir were in view, and even they were difficult to see, skimming over the sand like shadows. Travis could only assume the other two were up ahead, scouting.

The camels moved at a languid but unceasing pace, keeping to the troughs between the dunes, and the huts of the village quickly vanished from sight. Just as when she rode a horse, Grace looked assured and regal atop her camel, clad in a flowing white serafi, as if she had done this all her life. Even Farr did not seem so at ease as she though he was clearly a practiced rider.

Travis, in contrast, bounced in the hard, square saddle that perched on the hump of his mount, his black serafiflapping around him. The camel paced with an odd gait that rolled from side to side, and he felt like an egg sitting on a tray balancing on the top of a mountain. In an earthquake. The sand was shockingly far below him, but at least it would provide a soft landing if—or more likely, when—he took a tumble.

Besides, Travis could take consolation in the fact that he wasn’t having nearly as hard a time as Master Larad. The Runelord’s scarred face was pasty in the moonlight, and evinced a greenish cast.

“Up and down, back and forth,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Cannot this wretched beast stop rocking? By Olrig, this is worse than being on the sea. Steady, now. Steady!”

Travis made a poor attempt to stifle his laughter. He had planned to speak to Larad once they set out; the Runelord had wanted to talk about the rift. However, Travis decided it could wait. Besides, he had other matters on his mind.

Once the power of Morindu is at your disposal, there will be little either of you cannot do. . . .

Travis’s laughter died. What had Avhir meant by those words?

You know what he meant. Morindu was an entire city of sorcerers—the most powerful sorcerers that ever lived. Who knows what knowledge is buried in there, what secrets, what artifacts?

He found himself gazing to his left. Did Farr know what was buried in Morindu? Is that why he was helping them? Not to get Nim back, or to stop the Scirathi in their quest for power, but rather to claim those secrets, that power, for himself?

Travis studied the former Seeker, as if the moonlight might reveal secrets that daylight had not. Before they had set out, Farr had cleaned himself up. He had shaved his beard and trimmed his hair, and except for the black serafihe looked like the man Travis remembered: darkly handsome, compelling, but dangerous as well, like the haunted protagonist of a noir film. Then Travis looked past Farr and saw that his was not the only gaze locked on the former Seeker.

He waited until they began to wind around the base of a curving ridge of sand, then—with far more tugs on the reins than he would have thought necessary—brought his camel close to Grace’s.

“Can we trust him?” he said in a low voice.

Grace gave him a startled glance, then her gaze moved ahead, to where Farr rode.

He seems di ferent, Travis said in his mind. He knew she– and only she– could hear him.

Heis di ferent, Grace’s voice—her presence—spoke in his mind. Sareth said that working blood sorcery changes a man, and that’s why we shouldn’t trust him. But I don’t think we have a choice.

Travis licked his lips; they already felt dry and cracked. “He fell in love with you, Grace, when he was watching you as a Seeker. Deirdre told me about it.”

“I know,” Grace said. “At least, I think I did.”

“And do you love him?”

She smiled: a sorrowful expression. In Malachor, I would think about him sometimes. I would wonder what I might say if I saw him again, what it might be like if he was near. But I didn’t believe it would ever happen. That made it safe to think about him. Only this feels . . .

Dangerous, he said in his mind.

She shook her head. Whatever I feel for him isn’t important. The only thing that’s important is finding Nim. I’m no expert when it comes to feelings, but there’s one thing I am certain of: I love you, Travis, and I love Beltan. And we will find your daughter.

“Thank you,” he managed to croak.

“Don’t worry about him, Travis,” Grace said, speaking aloud now. “If Hadrian tries to do something, she’ll know about it.” She nodded toward a shadow that flitted just behind Farr’s camel.

Travis sighed. We don’t love each other anymore, Vani and I.

I know.

He felt Grace’s reply as much as heard it, and it was enough; she understood. And even though he didn’t love Vani, he knew he could trust her. Vani had spent the last three years doing everything she could to protect Nim. She was not going to stop.

They rode in silence after that. Travis concentrated on breathing through his nostrils, to preserve the moisture in his breath. And to keep himself from breathing too deeply. He had not forgotten Vani’s warning; the air of the Morgolthi was intoxicating to sorcerers. This place was dangerous because it could make himdangerous.

The moon soared to its zenith, then began to descend. The dunes rose and fell like ghostly waves, and the rocking of the camel caused Travis to drift into a kind of waking sleep. From time to time he saw a shadow slink down the lee side of one of the dunes, or flit by on the edge of vision, and he knew one of the T’golwas close. They were keeping watch, and if there were any perils in the desert, the assassins skillfully led the party around them.

Travis jerked in the saddle. They had come to a stop. He looked up and saw the last sliver of the moon just vanishing behind a ridge.

“We will stop here,” Avhir said.

They made camp in a hollow beneath the lee side of a dune. Travis clambered down from his camel, limbs stiff and aching. He noticed Grace shivering, fetched a blanket from one of the packs, and wrapped it around her shoulders. The desert night had grown cold, though Travis didn’t really feel it. These days, his blood was always hot.

Once the sun crested the horizon, the need for blankets evaporated, and in minutes the air began to shimmer with heat. The T’golerected a simple shelter by tying the blankets to wood staves pounded into the sand. The tent offered a small patch of shade, and as the blankets were woven with desert colors, it offered concealment as well.

Not that Travis could imagine there was anyone who might detect them. As far as he could see, there was only desert. No trace of any living thing—plant, animal, or person—broke the monotony of sand and sky.

They spent the day dozing as best they could beneath the cover of the shelter, though even in the shade the heat was oppressive, and any sleep led to fitful dreams from which they woke sweating, with heads throbbing. Travis considered speaking to Master Larad as a way to pass the time, but his mouth was too dry for conversation, and he had already drunk his ration of water for the morning. Besides, the Runelord was curled up on a small carpet and lay so still that Travis began to worry about him.

He’s fine, Grace spoke in Travis’s mind, touching his arm. At least mostly. He’s still feeling seasick from last night’s camel ride. Or sandsick, I suppose. I gave him a simple that’s helping him keep down some food and water. He just needs to rest.

Travis nodded, glad Grace was keeping an eye on Larad, then tried to rest himself. He could speak to the Runelord later.

Throughout the day, the T’golmoved in and out of the shelter, appearing and vanishing like the shadows in Travis’s half dreams. He saw more of them than he had at night; even the assassins needed rest. In addition to Avhir, there was Rafid—a compact man with a harsh, brooding face—and Kylees, a dark-skinned woman who would have been lovely if she smiled. She didn’t.

Travis did not speak to the T’gol, though he often felt their eyes—bronze, copper, and gold—upon him. Also, Rafid seemed often to glower at Farr, though the dervish appeared not to notice.

At last the sun sank toward the western dunes. The T’goldismantled the shelter and lashed the packs to the camels.

“You’ve got a cut on your hand,” Grace said to one of the assassins. It was the woman Kylees.

“It is nothing,” the T’golsaid, starting to pull away, but Grace caught her hand with surprising speed and turned it over.

“The wound is small,” Grace said in her brisk doctor’s voice. “However, there’s some swelling. It could be infected.”

“I said it is nothing. There was a sand scorpion in my hut in the village yesterday. I was foolish enough to be slow in smashing it with my hand, giving it time to sting me. However, their poison is weak, and I bled it out with my knife.”

“Good. Then it should heal well. But let me give you an ointment—”

“I do not need your petty northern magics,” Kylees said, pulling her hand back and stalking from the camp.

“Proud much?” Travis said, watching the assassin walk away.

Grace sighed. “I think I embarrassed her. She shouldn’t have let that scorpion sting her. T’goldon’t like to make mistakes.”

“Only sometimes they do,” Travis said, his gaze moving to Vani.

Grace took his arm. “Come on. I think your rear end has a date with a camel.”

They set out again as dusk stole over the desert. As before, the night zephyrs soon died down, and the silence of the desert was broken only by the groan of sand settling: an eerie sound that made Travis think of distant voices moaning in pain.

Master Larad appeared to have grown somewhat accustomed to the gait of his camel. He looked only moderately nauseous, and Travis decided to see if talking might take his mind off his discomfort. With some effort, he managed to get his camel close to the Runelord’s.

“So what was so important that you traveled hundreds of leagues, crossed the ocean, and rode a camel just to tell me?”

Larad grimaced. “If I had known what the journey would be like, perhaps I would have rethought undertaking it.” His grimace became a bitter smile. “But is that not always the way, Master Wilder? The foolish blithely go where the wise dare not venture. So here I am.”

“And?”

“And magic is failing, Master Wilder,” Larad said, his eyes glinting in the light of the full moon. “Both runic magic and the magic of the Weirding, which is spun by witches.”

Travis let out a breath. “Grace told me. But I think I knew it before I even came to Eldh. Magic is always weak on Earth, but the last few runes I spoke there seemed to keep going awry, even though they should have been simple.”

“The runestones are crumbling,” Larad went on. “As are all bound runes. Do you understand what that means?”

Of course he did. How could he not? He was the one who had broken it, then bound it again.

“Eldh,” Travis said softly. “It’s a bound rune.”

“Yes, it is. And if the power of runes continues to weaken, soon there will be nothing to hold that rune together.”

Travis clutched the reins in numb hands. “Did you tell Grace this?”

“Her Majesty’s thoughts have been focused on the rift in the sky, and on finding you. I saw no need to add to the knowledge that already weighs upon her.”

“She believes I can stop the rift,” Travis said, sighing.

The scars that crisscrossed Larad’s face were silver in the moonlight. “So the dragon said, and dragons can only speak truth. You have the ability to discover the Last Rune, Master Wilder, and to wield it. But there is one thing Queen Grace does not realize.”

To Travis it was as clear as the moon. “The end of magic. If runes no longer work properly, how can I speak the Last Rune? Or bind it?” He was sweating despite the chill air. “But maybe there’s still time. Magic hasn’t stopped working, not completely.”

“Yet it grows weaker each day, and you tell me that for you even simple spells go awry. What of greater magics? Have you tried any powerful runespells of late? Perhaps they cannot be worked anymore. Perhaps time has already run out. I journeyed here to tell you that. And to bring you these.”

He reached inside his robe and drew out an object: a small iron box, carved with runes.

Travis gave him a startled look. “You brought the Imsari with you?”

“Magic is weakening, but the Great Stones can amplify the power of a runespell many times over. I thought you might need them in order to speak the Last Rune.”

Larad held out the box. Travis started to reach for it; his hand ached to hold the Imsari, to feel them pulse against his palm.

By force of will, he pulled his hand back. There was already too much temptation to use power in this place. “You keep them for now,” he said, the words hoarse.

Larad gave him a quizzical look, then shrugged and tucked the box back inside his robe.

They rode in silence after that. As the camel paced, Travis rubbed his right hand, feeling the tingle of the rune of runes on his palm. It was quiescent now, but if he spoke a rune it would flare to life.

Or would it? Magic was growing weaker, and Travis hadn’t tried speaking a rune of significant power in over three years. What if he tried and couldn’t?

Why not find out, Travis?Jack’s voice spoke in his mind. How aboutLir ? The rune of light can be used to work wondrous magics. It’s always been one of my favorites. We shall all speak it with you in chorus, and create a midnight sun blazing in the sky!

A thousand voices murmured in Travis’s mind; he moistened his lips, preparing to speak the rune.

“By Olrig!” Larad swore, gazing upward, his camel coming to a halt.

The camel Farr rode halted as well. “So it is true, then.”

Travis pulled on the reins, managing to bring his camel to a stop beside Grace’s. He followed her gaze toward the sky. The moon had set, and the stars were brilliant against the heavens—

–except for a jagged gash in the south where there were no stars. Only darkness, grinning like a black mouth.

“It’s another rift,” Grace said, her voice quavering.

So the rift wasn’t a single tear in the fabric of the heavens. Instead, that fabric was full of holes. How long did they have before it unraveled completely?

Before Travis could speak his thoughts, the night coalesced into a lithe shape: Vani.

“We must seek shelter,” she said. “A blood tempest comes.”

28.

A keening rose on the air as they guided their camels after the shadowy shapes of the T’gol. Dust whirled on the air, and Travis fastened a cloth tight over his nose and mouth. Farr did the same.

One of the T’golglided down the slope of a dune. It was hard to see in the murk, but Travis recognized the short, compact shape of Rafid.

“The blood tempest comes quickly!” Rafid shouted above the growl of the wind. “We will not be able to outrun it. It is almost as if it is drawn to us.” He cast a dark glance at Farr.

Farr ignored the look. “We have to find shelter now.”

Only there was none. The surrounding dunes were low with wide, wind-scoured flats between them. Already the air was thick with blowing sand. The stars winked out in the sky.

Kylees stepped out of a swirl of sand. “Quickly, this way– there is a high dune ahead. It may offer some shelter. We must take the A’narai. Leave behind the weak if we must.”

Vani moved past her. “We leave no one.”

Kylees glared at Vani, then turned away.

The wind had risen to a howl, and sand buffeted them from all sides. The T’golused cloths to cover the faces of the camels, then each assassin took the reins of one of the beasts, leading them on. Travis huddled close to his camel’s neck, holding on with all his strength. He could not see three feet ahead of him; if the wind knocked him down, he would be lost.

They had not gone far when the voices began.

Lie down, hissed the wind. Let the sand cover you. . . .

Before he realized what was happening, Travis was slipping out of the saddle; his fingers had let go of the camel’s neck. He groped but could not regain his grip.

Strong hands caught him, pushing him back.

“Do not listen to the voices!”

His eyes stung and watered; he could not make her out, but he knew her touch. Vani. He thought he saw a shadow circle around to the front of the camel, then the beast began moving again.

Travis wrapped his arms around the camel’s neck and shut his eyes. The voices continued to hiss in his ears; he clenched his teeth, trying to shut them out. However, that only seemed to make the storm angrier. The wind clawed at him from all sides, shrieking in his ears.

Let go! Lie down! Your blood will join ours!

He was so weary; his arms ached to let go. The wind scoured at his being, wearing it away like a stone. It was no use. He could not resist. . . .

Just as Travis let go of the camel’s neck, the force of the wind lessened, and the shrill voices receded, growing fainter. He tumbled to the ground, then sat up and coughed sand out of his lungs. In the faint light he saw Vani crouching before him.

“Are you—?”

He gripped her hand. “The voices are more distant now.” She nodded, then vanished. A moment later Grace appeared out of a swirl of sand, collapsing next to Travis, followed by Master Larad. Farr stumbled into view and crouched beside them. His face was a mask of dust, and his eyes were hazed with pain. So even Farr had not been able to resist the power of the voices with ease. For some reason Travis felt a grim note of satisfaction.

They were out of the worst of the wind now. In the gloom Travis made out steep slopes rising around them on three sides.

“Where are we?” he called over the wind.

“I don’t know,” Farr shouted. “I have never seen a dune shaped like this. But the high slopes are protecting us.”

“We are still in danger,” Vani said, reappearing from a cloud of sand, along with the other T’gol. “We are in the center of the blood tempest now. If the winds shift and blow from the north, we will die. And even if the winds do not shift, we may not yet survive. Cover yourselves!”

They huddled beneath blankets at the base of one of the slopes as the storm raged around them. Time no longer had meaning. There was only the keening of the wind, and the hiss of sand, and the murmur of voices. Travis curled up next to Grace beneath the blanket as a weight slowly pressed down on him. . . .

The quiet was so sudden and complete it was deafening, making Travis’s ears ring. He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t move. It was as if strong arms held him, pinning his body in place. His lungs could barely expand to draw in a scant breath. Next to him, Grace made a small sound of pain. He tried to reach for her but could not.

“They’re here!” called out a voice, though it was muffled, distant.

There was a scrabbling sound, then all at once the crushing weight vanished. With a rasp of sand the blanket that had covered him and Grace was torn aside.

Air rushed into Travis’s lungs. He blinked against the white light, then made out two dark silhouettes above him: Larad and Farr. Larad took Travis’s hand, pulling him out of the drift of sand, while Farr helped Grace to stand. She was coughing violently, but she waved her hand, indicating she was all right.

“We could see no trace of you,” Larad said. “It was as if the sand had swallowed you. But Kylees told us to dig here, that we would find you. I don’t know how she knew.”

Travis looked back. Part of the dune had collapsed, covering the place where he and Grace had huddled beneath the blanket with a mound of sand. Above, a row of tall, slender shapes jutted out of the top of the dune, exposed by the winds of the storm. At first Travis wondered if they were trees. Then he realized what they were: stone columns, their tops broken off so that they looked like a row of teeth.

“What is this place?” he croaked.

Farr gazed around them, his dark eyes narrowing. “Somewhere we should not be.”

It was not a natural dune that had sheltered them from the storm. Sand had covered it, but the tempest had scoured much of that sand away, revealing the columns and walls of pitted, buff-colored stone. In one place the remains of a broad stairway plunged down into the sand.

Grace turned around. “It looks like a temple.”

“Or perhaps a palace,” Farr said, shaking sand from his black robe. “This might be the ruins of Golbrora, or perhaps one of the royal villas near Xalas. It is difficult to say. Those cities have been lost for eons, and their precise locations can only be guessed at.”

Travis moved toward a rectangular block of stone that was half-exposed by the sand. The stone was large, its narrowest edge as wide as the span of his arms, and there were carvings on it, though they were too worn to be made out. Perhaps if he brushed away some of the remaining dust . . .

Fingers closed around his wrist, halting him.

“Do not touch anything,” Farr said, his eyes locked on Travis. “We are deep in the Morgolthi now. There’s no telling what ancient magics yet remain.”

Travis pulled his hand back. “Isn’t that why you’re a dervish now? To look for things like this? For ancient magics?”

Farr turned his back. “It’s time to make camp. Let’s find the T’gol.”

The T’golfound them first. The assassins had explored the ruins, but they had not discovered anything that warned of immediate danger, and so had decided it was safe to stay in the ruins for the day. Not that they had much choice. Although it was still morning, the day was already blistering, and there was no sign of any other shelter.

Rafid drew close to Farr. “Do not go exploring among the ruins, dervish. I will be watching you.”

The former Seeker’s expression was unreadable. “And who will be watching you?”

The T’golspat on the sand, then turned and stalked away, vanishing like a mirage.

“He fears magic,” Farr said. “It will be his death.”

Vani gave him a sharp look. “Let’s set up a shelter.”

They used blankets to create a makeshift canopy in the corner of a half-crumbled wall and huddled in the scant shade. As the hours passed, they sipped a little water from their skins and ate some dried fruit, though Travis could hardly gag it down. He did not feel hungry.

He must have fallen into a fitful daze, for he woke with a start and sat up. His mouth was parched, and dried sweat crusted his skin. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, and the shadows of the stone columns stretched across the sand. In another hour, it would be time to start traveling again.

Grace was curled up on a rug next to him, asleep. Larad lay nearby, and beyond him was Farr. Their eyes were closed, their breathing shallow but steady. Travis gazed around. The camels huddled in the scant shade of the wall, heads drooping. There was no sign of the T’gol. No doubt they were keeping watch.

Travis picked up the waterskin, took a sip, then sealed it, careful not to spill a drop. He started to lie back down, then halted.

His eyes focused on the block of stone he had drawn close to earlier. It was canted at an angle in the sand, so that one end was completely buried. How big was it? There was no way to know how far it went into the sand. The block was a different color than the rest of the ruins, a nearly pure white. The low angle of the evening light cast shadows in the carvings on the stone so that he could almost make them out, only he was too far away. . . .

Before he thought about what he was doing, Travis was walking toward the stone.

I’m just going to look at the carvings, he told himself. I’m not going to touch it, so I’m not doing anything wrong.

All the same, he moved quietly, and he cast several glances back over his shoulder to be sure the others were still asleep.

He halted beside the stone. Its top was smooth, though here and there dark flecks, like the remains of black paint, were embedded in its porous surface. The carvings on the sides were easier to discern in the angled light of the sun, though they meant nothing to Travis. They were long and sinuous, forming interlocking patterns. It occurred to him that if Grace was right, if this really had been a temple once, then the stone must be some kind of altar.

Travis licked his cracked and blistered lips, and the metallic taste of blood spread over his tongue. He was sweating, and a rushing noise sounded in his ears, along with a low susurration like a whispering voice, though it did not speak in words. At least not human words. All the same, Travis understood. The voice wanted him to touch the stone. His fingers stretched toward the stone’s surface. . . .

A shout broke the spell.

Travis snatched his hand back. Beneath the shelter, Grace and Larad sat up, eyes wide. Farr sprang to his feet, glaring at Travis.

The shout came again, from the other side of the mound of sand from which the columns jutted. Travis started running. The others followed, but he was closer. He ran around the edge of the mound, to the other side of the row of columns.

The storm had exhumed a section of a stone wall from the mound. Set into the wall, beneath a massive lintel, was a stone door, shut. One of the T’golstood in front of the door: Rafid. His face, always before stern and hard, was now pale with fear. He struggled as if trying to get away from the door, the muscles of his compact body straining beneath black leather, only something was holding him in place. Then Travis saw what it was. There was a hole in the center of the door, about as large as a splayed hand. Rafid’s arm was stuck in the hole, up to the elbow.

The T’gol’s body jerked, and his arm was drawn several more inches into the hole. He shouted again.

“What’s going on?” Grace said, panting as she halted next to Travis. Farr and Larad were right behind her.

“Idiot!” Farr said, clenching a fist. “He should have known. I thought T’golwere trained better than that.”

Rafid opened his mouth, making a dry, weak sound. By then his arm was completely consumed by the hole, his shoulder against the stone door. His skin, once bronze, was ash gray.

Larad started forward. “We must help him.”

Farr grabbed the Runelord’s shoulder. “You can’t help him. Not now. Not unless you know the rune of death.”

Travis didn’t care what Farr said. They had to do something. He started moving; Grace was with him. However, before they could go three steps, the air blurred, and Vani was there before them.

“Do not go near him!”

They stumbled backward, colliding with one another. Ahead, a patch of air shimmered like a mirage, then Avhir appeared, gripping a curved scimitar. The tall assassin swung the blade, lopping off Rafid’s arm at the shoulder. Vani pulled the man back, away from the door; no blood pumped from the stump of his arm. Rafid stared at the other T’gol, opening his mouth as if to speak something. He shuddered once.

Then his body crumbled into dust.

The wind snatched the dust, blowing it away in gritty swirls. Avhir threw Rafid’s empty black leathers to the sand, his bronze eyes hard. Vani stalked toward them. Travis and Grace ran after, Larad behind.

“Stay away from the door!” Farr shouted, but they ignored him.

Just as they reached the assassins, Kylees appeared. “What has happened?” she said, staring at Rafid’s crumpled leathers.

Avhir uncoiled long legs, standing. “I am not certain. I had posted Rafid at this wall to keep watch to the east. I came when I heard his shout. He was—”