The Eye of the Hunter (61 page)

Night fell, and ahead they pressed, over the endless dunes ‘neath a bright yellow gibbous Moon. And when mid of night came, they were yet some twenty miles distant from Sabra. Halíd knew not when the tides flowed, yet he did know that now Captain Legori and the
Bèllo Vènto
were free to sail on the next one.

“Hut, hut!”
he called to the camel, but the weary beast could go no faster. Through the moonlight they trotted and
over the lip of a high dune, and of a sudden the beast pitched forward, the sand beneath its feet giving way, and down the slope they slid, sand enveloping them, the dune behind cascading upon them. But it was not the avalanche of sand coming after that was covering them, instead it was the collapsing sand at their feet, for the
hajîn
had stepped into a sink hole and, camel bellowing in terror, both Man and beast were being sucked under and buried alive!

Even as the animal sank, Halíd scrambled up the camel’s back and leapt outward, landing on the slope of the funnelling sand, his feet and legs scrabbling for purchase, the Realmsman clawing upward even as the cascade drew him backward toward death. On he went and up, barely ahead of the collapsing sand, gaining the rim of the funnel and out to safety at last. He stumbled some distance away and fell to his hands and knees. And when he turned and looked back, sand yet slithered down…but of the camel there was no sign.

Tumbling through Halíd’s mind again were the childhood legends of the evil demons who lurk under the sands, waiting for innocent victims to draw them down unto suffocating death.

After long moments, wearily Halíd got to his feet and set out across the dunes, trudging toward Sabra, twenty miles away.

* * *

Just after dawn, a dirty, disheveled, exhausted Man staggered out of the Karoo and in through the city gates of the desert port of Sabra. He had no water, no food, no camel, having lost all to the sands of the
Erg
. Yet he had survived the
mai’ûs safra
—the desperate journey—and inward he stumbled and wearily made his way down toward the harbor, toward the quays. When he got there he asked a dock worker the whereabouts of the harbormaster, and was directed towards a portly Man overseeing the offloading of a white stallion down the ramp of a three-masted dhow and onto the quay, a group of admiring
shaikhîn
gathered ’round the prancing animal. The exhausted Man, Halíd, approached the harbormaster and spoke to him. The master drew back somewhat from this filthy wretch and pointed out to sea. There sailing away from the anchorage against the turning tide fared the
Bèllo Vènto
.

Rage flashed over Halíd, and he cursed at the sky, the
harbormaster backing away in alarm. The Realmsman looked about wildly, then bulled past these desert chieftains and knocked aside the groom leading the stallion, leaping upon its bare back and thundering away northward, crying,
“Yah! Yah!”
racing through the city streets and out the north gate, shouts of pursuit lost in the distance behind.

Up along the headland he ran, galloping in full, racing for the promontory a mile or so away. In moments, it seemed, he had reached the high point, hauling the stud to a skidding halt, the horse squatting on its haunches to stop, dirt flying, dust boiling upward. The Realmsman leapt from the blowing stallion and wrenched his curved knife from its scabbard, turning the gleaming blade into the early morning Sun, light glancing from the glittering steel.

Long he stood on the promontory, holding the blade out horizontally before him, shifting and turning it in the bright rays. And as he heard an angry mob of people rushing up the hillside after him, he saw the
Bèllo Vènto
heel over in the wind and come about.

Captain Legori had finally seen the Realmsman’s flashing signals.

Late 5E989 to Early 5E990
[The Present]

S
traight into the teeth of the hot southwestern wind rode Aravan and Faeril on one
hajîn
, Riatha and Gwylly on a second, and Urus on the gelding, each dromedary trailing two pack camels after. Out into the
Erg
they fared, aiming now for an oasis marked on Riatha’s map, an oasis some one hundred forty miles hence, a journey of perhaps some four days. It was but the first way station on their long trek, the distant goal being Nizari, the Red City set on the far rim of the Karoo, eleven hundred miles away as the raven flies. But their plan called for travel of some twelve hundred miles in all, their route zigzagging from oasis to waterhole to well for their passage across the sand.

As they rode, the wind blew hotter, a fine grit lashing at them. They drew thin scarves across their eyes, seeing out through the mesh. Even so, now and then a tiny grain would penetrate, seeking out an eye.

Faeril, blinking and squinting, tears washing away one of these grains, asked, “What about the camels, Aravan? Won’t they get sand in their eyes, too?”

Aravan smiled. “Nay, wee one. Thou hast seen their thick lashes, thick enough to stop most sand. Yet couldst thou get close enough without risk of being bitten or spat upon, thou wouldst see that even should granules get through, each eye has an inner lid to protect it and push out the grit.”

“I am relieved, Aravan, for I would not relish being the one to bind an ill-tempered camel’s eyes against the blowing sand.”

Aravan barked a laugh, and onward they rode into the rising wind.

They camped that night in the lee of a stony, rock-laden hill, the wind yet warm upon them, blowing harder still.

* * *

An hour before dawn, Urus came down from the hilltop and awoke all. Wind moaned past, and he had to shout to be heard. “A black wall comes, blotting out the stars.”

“
Shlûk!
Sandstorm,” cried Aravan.

While Aravan and Urus pulled the camels into the shelter of boulders, the others gathered up all the belongings at the campsite and stowed them behind the rocks as well.

Aravan just had time to call to each of them to cover their faces, when the blast was upon them. Faeril leaned her head against Gwylly’s and shouted, “Oh, Gwylly, I do hope that Halíd doesn’t get caught in this, too.” Gwylly reached out and squeezed her hand, and they hunkered down behind their boulder, black wind shrieking past.

* * *

For ten hours the roaring wind hammered at them, but even so, both Gwylly and Faeril dozed in fits and starts. So too did the others, the
shlûk
howling them to sleep. But as suddenly as it had come, just as suddenly did it go, leavings behind a silence that seemed almost deafening in its utter stillness.

Aravan was the first to his feet, and he trudged toward the hilltop, his boots scrutching loudly upon the grit. Urus hauled Riatha to her feet, and together they followed, casting long shadows down the slope behind them, the afternoon Sun shining in a clear sky above. Gwylly and Faeril busied themselves with shaking sand from all of the belongings. “I’m hungry,” said Gwylly. “What say we break out something to eat?”

* * *

It was late on the night of the fourth day of travel that they came to the oasis, the camels sensing the water first, surging forward.

As they pitched camp, Aravan said, “Here we should stay this night and the next as well, for the camels need to graze, and we could do with a respite. The next watering hole is some one hundred leagues hence, and though we may find suitable forage along the way, we should give them some time to feed before moving on.”

* * *

“The circle of Elves can only grow smaller on Mithgar.” Riatha stirred the embers of the fire, though the full Moon sliding down the western sky shed enough light to see far and wide. Faeril sat with the Elfess and they spoke softly so as not to wake the others. “With each one slain, we are diminished. With each that returns to Adonar, the circle here is diminished again, for the way back to Mithgar is sundered.” Riatha looked at the damman. “And as thou dost know, we cannot bear young here on this world.” Riatha’s eyes glittered, and Faeril reached out and took her hand.

“Someday you will have a child, Riatha.”

Riatha’s gaze flew to Urus, the Man asleep. “But I would have the child of Urus, Faeril, and that can never be. He is mortal and of Mithgar; I am immortal and of Adonar. I cannot have a child here, and he cannot go there…and even should he somehow find his way to the High World, still we could not have a child together, for love between mortals and Elves is ever barren of offspring.”

Faeril started to reply, but ere she could say a single word, Riatha’s hand flew to her throat.
“Swift!”
hissed the Elfess, casting sand on the fire, smothering it,
“wake the others. The warding stone grows cold.”

Faeril awakened Gwylly and Aravan, while Riatha raised up Urus.

Long they waited in the night, a circle facing outward, peering through the moonlight. In the distance beyond the oasis, Faeril thought she saw dark shapes running across the dunes, yet when she called for the others to see, the shapes were gone.

Slowly the chill went from the blue stone amulet, the danger fading away.

After the stone returned to normal, Faeril, Gwylly, and Aravan took to their bedrolls, Riatha and Urus remaining on guard.

But the damman found sleep eluding her, her mind shuttling between sadness at Riatha’s plight and apprehension at what could have caused the stone to grow cold. After an hour or so of restless tossing, she moved over to Gwylly and curled up against him; the buccan snuggled closely and held her tightly…and in moments slumber reached out to clasp her as well.

* * *

In the early morning light, Gwylly climbed up a long, sandy slope to look for tracks, Faeril accompanying him. As they stood at the crest, the damman pointed at a nearby dune. “What’s that, Gwylly? Looks like a…a toppled pillar.”

“It does at that, my dammia. Let’s go see.” Gwylly turned and whistled at the others in the distance below, and with a series of piping signals he told them of the find.

As they trudged toward the object, they came across sets of impressions dimpling the sand, running east and west. “Well, something
was
here, all right,” said Faeril, “but what it or they might be, I cannot say, for too much sand has trickled down into these prints.”

Gwylly squatted beside the trail. “More than one something, love. Several, from the looks of it.”

Urus, Riatha, and Aravan caught up to them, but none could say what made the impressions, though Urus hazarded a guess. “Four-legged, I deem. Running east, I would think. Smallish.”

After a moment, onward they went, toward the slope of sand ahead. When they reached the dune, they found a huge, partially buried obelisk lying on its side, some forty feet or so visible before it disappeared under the sand, strange pictographic carvings in the stone. Gwylly asked, “Can anyone read this? What does it say, I wonder.”

None knew the language, though Aravan said, “’Tis my guess that it was placed here by some Human King, seeking a kind of immortality.”

They brushed off additional sand, revealing more pictographs but no more knowledge. Birds, dogs, horses, camels, other beasts were carven thereupon. Shocks of wheat, boats, Humans, pottery, wheels, chariots, bows, arrows, and the like, all manner of people and items could be discerned, though no Elves, Dwarves, Warrows, or Folk other than Humankind appeared.

Aravan said, “In Khem, south and east of here, Men have erected great stone pyramids, burial chambers, memorials to their eminence, as well as stone monoliths and other structures to last for all time, conferring immortality unto their names.”

Gwylly shuddered. “
Ooo
, immortality or not, I would not like to be shut up forever in hard, cold stone. Instead, bury me in soil…or better yet, offer my soul up to Adon on the golden wings of fire.”

Faeril reached over and squeezed her buccaran’s hand.

Aravan made a vague gesture easterly. “Pyramids, monoliths, monuments: all intended to confer everlasting fame, but most are as this obelisk—bearing inscriptions that no longer have any meaning unto the living.”

Urus rumbled, “Immortality they may have, yet recognition they have not.”

* * *

“What if Mankind were immortal, thou dost ask?” Riatha looked down at the damman. “
Aro!
With his lack of discipline, he would soon o’erburden the world and drag it down unto destruction with him.”

Faeril rinsed the clothes she washed in the oasis waterhole. “Like lemmings? Aravan told Gwylly and me about lemmings and their rush to destruction.”

“Worse than lemmings, Faeril. Much worse. Lemmings have not the intellect, the power, the ability to destroy the world. Mankind has.”

Faeril handed the
brussa
to the Elfess. As Riatha hung the shirt over the line tied between trees, Faeril took up a pair of pantaloons and plunged them into the water. “Will Man ever change? I mean, will he ever see that he is part of the world, and what he harms, harms him in return?”

Riatha shook her head. “I know not, wee one. I know not. But this I do know: Man is clever, inventive, and can he extend his life, he will. Yet, adding years without also adding a sensitivity to his effects upon the world can only lead to a disastrous ending. Can Man overcome his insatiable appetites, then there is hope for Mithgar. Yet should he retain his greedy grasp, then this world will not last.”

“Yah hoi!”
came Gwylly’s cry.
“Fruit for each and all!”

To the waterhole came Gwylly and Aravan and Urus, a cloth bag filled with clusters of ripe dates. Gwylly’s mouth was stained brown. “Watch for the seeds, love, they are like long, skinny peach pits and are as hard as rocks.”

As Aravan squatted beside Faeril and took up clothes to wash, laughing, he said, “That buccaran of thine, Faeril, has monkey blood in his veins. Just like the one thou didst see entertaining for coins in the streets of Sabra.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Gwylly. “Urus alone boosted me more than halfway up.”

Riatha took up a date and bit into it, smiling at its sweetness.
“Had we time, we would dry some of these to bear with us across the Karoo.”