And then the full light of a winter midday dimmed as if some giant, silent wings had somehow blotted out the sun. A chill wind swept across the desert, and there was a wailing sound like the sum of human woe.

The suddenly stricken Cyrgai, rank upon rank, died soundlessly in mid-stride, falling limply to earth to be trampled by their blindly advancing comrades, who also fell, astonished, on top of them.

Kring and Tikume, both pale and trembling, watched in awe-struck wonder as the ancient Styric curse did its dreadful work. Then, sickened, they wheeled and rode back eastward, turning their backs on the perfect soldiers rushing blindly into chill, wailing obliteration.

These clothes are good enough for Arjuna and Tamul Proper, neighbor,’ Sparhawk told the shopkeeper later that same day, ‘but they don’t exactly turn the trick in a duststorm. I think that last one put about four pounds of dirt down my back.’

The shopkeeper nodded sagely. ‘Other races laugh at our customary garb, good Master,’ he observed. ‘They usually keep laughing right up until the time when they ride through their first duststorm.’

‘Does the wind blow all the time out there?’ Talen asked him.

‘Not quite all the time, young Master. The afternoons are usually the worst.’ He looked at Sparhawk. ‘How many robes will you be needing, good Master?’

‘There are six of us, neighbor, and none of us are so fond of each other that we’d care to share a robe.’

‘Have you any preferences in colors?’

‘Does one color keep the dust out better than the others?’

‘Not that I’ve noticed.’

‘Then any color will do, I guess.’

The shopkeeper hustled into his storeroom and returned with a pile of neatly-folded garments. Then he smiled, rubbed his hands together and broached the subject of the price.

‘He overcharged you, you know,’ Talen said as they emerged from the cluttered shop into the dusty street.

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

‘Someday I’m going to have to teach you about the finer points of haggling.’

‘Does it really matter?’ Sparhawk asked, tying the bundle of Cynesgan robes to the back of his saddle. He looked around. ‘Anarae?’

‘I am here, Anakha,’ her whispered voice responded.

‘Were you able to find anything?’

‘Nay, Anakha. Clearly the messenger hath not yet arrived.’

‘Berit and Khalad are still several days away, Sparhawk,’ Talen said quietly. ‘And this isn’t such an attractive place that the messenger would want to get here early to enjoy the scenery.’ He looked around at the winter-dispirited palm trees and the muddy pond that lay at the center of the cluster of white houses.

‘Attractive or not, we’re going to have to come up with some reason for staying,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We can’t leave until the messenger gets here and Anarae Xanetia can listen to what he’s thinking.’

‘I can remain here alone, Anakha,’ Xanetia told him. ‘None here can detect my presence, so I do not need protection.’

‘We’ll stay all the same, Anarae,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Courtesy and all that, you understand. An Elene gentleman will not permit a lady to go about unescorted.’

An argument had broken out on the shaded porch of what appeared to be a tavern or a wine-shop of some kind. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Echon!’ a wheezy-voiced old man in a patched and filthy robe declared loudly. ‘It’s a good hundred miles from here to the River Sarna, and there’s no water at all between here and there.’

‘You either drink too much or you’ve been out in the sun too long, Zagorri,’ Echon, a thin, sun-dried man in a dark blue robe scoffed. ‘My map says that it’s sixty miles – no more.’

‘How well do you know the man who drew the map? I’ve been here all my life, and I know how far it is to the Sarna. Go ahead, though. Take only enough water for sixty miles. Your mules will die, and you’ll be drinking sand for that last forty miles. It’s all right with me, though, because I’ve never liked you all that much anyway. But, mark my words, Echon. It’s one hundred miles from the Well of Vigay there to the banks of the Sarna.’ And the old man spat in the direction of the pale brown pond.

Talen suddenly began to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘We just had a stroke of luck, revered leader,’ the boy replied gaily. ‘If we’re all finished up here, why don’t we go back to where the others are waiting? We’ll all want to get a good night’s sleep – since we’ll probably be leaving first thing in the morning.’

‘Oh? For where?’

‘Cyrga, of course. Wasn’t that where we wanted to go?’

‘Yes, but we don’t know where Cyrga is.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Sparhawk. We do know the way to Cyrga – at least, I do.’

Chapter 23

‘Did he die well?’ Betuana asked. Her face was very pale, but she gave no other outward sign of distress.

‘It was a suitable death, Betuana-Queen,’ the messenger replied. ‘We were at the bottom of a gorge and the Klæl-beast was hurling the sides of it down upon us. Androl-King attacked the beast, and many escaped that would have died if he had not.’

She considered it. ‘Yes,’ she agreed finally. ‘It was suitable. It will be remembered. Is the army fit to travel?’

‘We have many injured, Betuana-Queen, and thousands are buried in the gorge. We withdrew to Tualas to await your commands.’

‘Leave some few to care for the injured, and bring the army here,’ she told him. Tosa is no longer in danger. The danger is here.’

‘It shall be as you say, my Queen.’ He clashed his fist against his breastplate in salute.

The Queen of Atan rose to her feet, her still-pale face betraying no emotion. I must go apart and consider this, Itagne-Ambassador,’ she said formally.

‘It is proper, Betuana-Queen,’ he responded. I share your grief.’

‘But not my guilt.’ She turned and slowly left the room.

Itagne looked at the stony-faced Engessa. ‘I’d better pass the word to the others,’ he said.

Engessa nodded shortly.

‘Could you speak with the messenger before he leaves, Engessa?’ Itagne asked. ‘Lord Vanion will need casualty figures before he can change his strategy.’