“Hugo...It’s for you. It’s Margaret O’Brien again.” The other homicide detective passed him the phone, her dark-brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “She says she had a dream.”
“Oh, God. Not again.” Pendleton took the phone reluctantly. Amusement parks. Weird sightings. Fantastic stories. And busy-body parents who don’t know when to step out of the way. This case was making a mockery of him. If he didn’t want so badly to see those young people healthy and whole again.... “Good morning, Mrs. O’Brien. You wanted to speak with me?”
He listened for a few moments. “No, Mrs. O’Brien. I really don’t think that’s necessary. We’ve been over that site many times, as well you know.”
“Lights? Last night on the ride? Again?” Pendleton sighed. “If you’re certain, and if it would make you feel better. I can swing by at noon. I’ll meet you for lunch.” He hung up the phone, and shook his head. The other detective laughed aloud at his expression, eliciting a sneer of disgust from the more experienced detective.
“What?” he asked with annoyance. “They have good hot dogs at the amusement park.”
A light rain drizzled down, keeping the crowds at the park to a minimum, especially since it was a week day and school was in session. Margaret O’Brien held a floral umbrella to keep the rain off her red hair and her gray trench coat protected her clothes. She glanced over at Detective Pendleton, over by the hot dog stand loading up a Park Special, and decided that she wasn’t going to feel too badly about dragging the man out in the rain. He was trying hard, she knew, but he could be a bit of a jerk at times.
Above her, the Dungeons and Dragons ride loomed like a great, hulking beast...which, of course, it was. The dragon’s maw glistened wetly in the damp, giving it an even more life-like cast. The ride was not running for the moment; it too was shut down while its operator was on his lunch break. A lunch break soon to be shared with Detective Pendleton, no doubt, but it gave her the opportunity to look for the doorway Amanda Grayson had described.
Steven Montgomery had been very, very clear in his description of what to look for. Margaret stepped past the chain that blocked the entrance to the ride, and right down into the dragon’s mouth.
There was no door.
She ran her hands over the surface of the inside cheek of the dragon, feeling for any crack or indentation that might hint at a concealed panel. She could find nothing. The plastic panel ran back into the ride over thirty feet, well beyond what Steven had described. But it was still smooth and seamless.
Margaret moved to the other side, and ran her hands over the other panel, just in case Steven had been mistaken. But that side was also without a mark. She returned to the first side, tracing her hands along the panel until it was enveloped in the darkness of the ride. No doorway. She crouched next to the seam she did find, where the plastic panel fitted into the next on the ride. The light was dim, filtering in from the outside, but she could make out lines of scratches and wear on the next panel, scratches that terminated against the panel she was touching. Odd, she thought. Shouldn’t the two panels wear out together? The panels both looked about the same age, but the scuff marks between the two seemed not to meet perfectly.
She made her way to the entrance of the ride and peeked out at Pendleton. The detective was sitting down at a covered picnic table and speaking with the ride attendant. Margaret bit her lip. She knew something was different about this portion of the ride, but had absolutely no reasonable way to explain the difference to Pendleton, or anyone else, especially without explaining what Amanda Grayson had been doing here last night.
It wasn’t that Pendleton was unfamiliar with her illogical claims. Ever since Bobby and Sheila had disappeared, sometimes, rarely, she would have strange, vivid dreams that somehow her children were back in the amusement park. How they got there, she couldn’t tell, but the dreams were so real, she let slip about them to Pendleton in one of many rounds of questioning. He dismissed the claims as a natural byproduct of an anxious mother. However, one night, she had a terrible nightmare...a dream where Sheila and Bobby and the other children were in the amusement park at night, pursued by a terrible winged demon on a flying black stallion with fiery eyes. She dreamt that they had run from him, and went back onto the Dungeons and Dragons ride, the winged figure close behind.
That dream had been so real to her, and so terrifying, she called Pendleton herself and begged him to go back to the amusement park to look for clues with her. The amusement park seemed to have suffered some wind damage, but the forecasters just spoke of micro-tornadoes and the storm front. There was no sign of the children. She had had no dreams since Bobby’s return, and that troubled her. Still, when Steven had explained what Amanda had seen, Margaret knew why they contacted her. It protected Amanda from whoever owned that doorway. Now, however, there was no doorway at all. She decided she could not afford to tell Pendleton anything more, for Amanda’s sake. But that didn’t mean she would stop looking.
She took one last look at the dragon’s cheek. A tiny piece of white she had not noticed before peaked out from under the bottom of the panel. She knelt down to look closer. It seemed like a piece of paper or gum wrapper wedged into the panel against the wall. She pulled a pair of eyebrow tweezers out of her purse and used them to tug the paper free.
Held tightly in the grip of the tweezers, she held a scrap of wet, white paper. The ink was beginning to run, but she could still make out a sequence of individual numbers separated by periods. She slipped the fragment into her purse.
Maybe it was a clue, after all this time?
Pendleton was finished with his hot dog and was looking for her. She took a deep breath and strode out to meet him.
The huge beasts were placid black silhouettes against the pink dawn, waiting patiently as their handlers ran around them, loading their packs heavily for the journey ahead. Sheila could hear their bass rumbling from here, underpinning the shouts, songs, and prayers of an embarking merchant caravan.
She felt distinctly uncomfortable. Much of the palace had come out to see her off, and she was unused to such attention, especially at being the center of the hubbub. Many had come to wish her well on her journey as a daughter of Ramoud, offering small gifts of sweetmeats and prayer-scrolls for the road. Some earnestly exhorted her to seek out the Dungeon Master and find an end to the curse of the Undead quickly, especially those with family outside the city walls. But some, especially Ramoud’s highest ministers, stood in the shadow of the palace and stared at her coldly as she prepared to depart. She could feel the weight of their scorn.
Whether they resented her or resented what Ramoud had done for her, it had been the same since she had entered the King’s palace. Ramoud did not protect her from them, but taught her that there was no shame in being thought of as unworthy by those who are of little credit themselves. The memory of his advice strengthened her enough to turn and face the King with a smile when he came striding out to meet her.
“So, my daughter Sheila! Is the caravan ready? Do you have everything you need? Do you miss us yet?” His booming voice cut over the caravan’s din. There was laughter in his eyes.
Sheila blushed. “Yes I miss you already. Everything looks like it’s all set to go. But this is so much more than I need!”
Ramoud surveyed the caravan with a critical eye. “I do not think so.” He clapped his hands over his head three times. A unit of twelve soldiers march towards them. They wore black turbans through which the sharp point of an armored helmet could be seen, and around their waists, like a wide belt, was an etched cuirass of heavy bronze. Each carried a weapon...scimitars, long knives, morning stars, or heavy flails. The man who led them also carried, coiled like a black snake at his waist, a long whip. Ramoud gestured at them. “These men have volunteered to travel with you, to protect you and to help you. I would go with you if I could, but I am needed by my people now more than ever.”
The soldier with the whip stepped forward and knelt on one knee before Sheila. His dark, weather-beaten face seemed familiar to her, but she could not recognize him. “I am Akbah, Princess Sheila, commander of these men. I hope you find my company more pleasing now than it was last time we spoke.”
The memory of the guard who had chained her to the whipping post flashed into her memory, and she turned quickly away from him. He stood. “Do not be afraid. I understand why all was done as it was done. I treasure what my King has treasured, and seek only to keep it safe. You have my word and my life.”
Sheila swallowed and turned to face Akbah again. She nodded. “Thank you.”
Akbah bowed to her and stepped away to command his men to take their positions in the Caravan. Ramoud stepped forward to wrap Sheila in his warm embrace a final time.
“Be careful, my daughter. Please take my love and my heart’s warmest wishes to the others. And know that you are never, ever alone in this world. Our prayers will be with you always, and you will always have a home here, with us.”
Ramoud hugged her tightly, and Sheila pressed her head against his chest, letting the fragrance of myrrh surround her. Although tears still sprang to her eyes when she remembered the strong arms and pine-scent of her father, she knew she had another father here. She didn’t trust herself to speak; her voice was caught in her throat. She nodded instead, and Ramoud released her.
Aiyesha stepped forward and threw her arms around her in a hug. “Goodbye, Sheila! We will see each other again soon, I know it!” Her voice was exuberant, her smile radiant.
Sheila nodded again, a smile forming in spite of itself. “I will return when I can,” she answered.
Aiyesha let her go. “Then you may tell me of your golden haired warrior and how he has languished over you these many long years,” she said with a laugh. “Speaking of which, I have brought you a gift.” She held out a pouch.
Sheila accepted and opened it. Inside the pouch were two crystal vials. The larger vial was a pale blue color, glowing slightly in the shadow of the bag. The other was deep red. Sheila looked up quizzically. “What are these?”
Aiyesha smiled. “One is a potion fermented from the tongue of the purple dragon.” Sheila had to suppress her smirk at the name, but Aiyesha continued, “As you know, it will cure any disease. If Presto or another is ill with a disease that it can cure, you have it.”
Sheila nodded.
“The other...is from the fruit of the Maid-of-Tusinda blossom.” Aiyesha giggled. “Remember that when the one you love has become your friend!”
Sheila blushed again, as scarlet as her hair. It was with as much laughter as tears that she mounted the great Mamut and began the long journey to the West.
“Ku-trrrrrrrassh!!”
Unearthly moans grew louder and louder through the forest twilight, louder than the oxen’s frustrated struggles and the terrified weeping of the two children in the mired ox cart. Two torches held aloft lit a pool of flickering light around a man and woman garbed in the clothes of simple farmers. They shouted brave reassurances to their children, and waved the torches fiercely at the source of the moans, but the voices were getting closer. There would be no escape this night.
The first shambling form broke free of the treeline. It wore filthy tatters of clothing, rotten and crawling with insects. White maggots writhed in open sores across its pallid grey flesh in its face and shoulders, but the flesh hung off the bone, exposing the brown-white paired bones of its forearm. Skeletal hands, marred by scraps of clinging skin, reached towards the frightened family.
The farmer thrust his torch in the creature’s face, causing it to rear away. But it would not stop. Three more forms, similar in their state of decay though different in build and dress, emerged from the woodlands.
The farmer’s wife swung her torch at the undead, but tears sprang into her eyes at the hopelessness of their situation. Her voice was a strangled sob as she pleaded, “What do you want? Why are you doing this?”
In a voice as hollow as an empty grave, the first of the undead answered, gazing at the farmer before it with hollow eyes. “Obey the soulsong. Obey the master.” With an arm powered with hellish strength, it ripped the farmer’s torch away and cast it aside. With its other arm, it reached for the man’s throat.
Suddenly, an arrow exploded through its chest with enough force to send it staggering forward. The arrow tip burned with a brilliant white fire that set clothing and dead flesh ablaze with equal ease. The farmer jerked out of the way quickly before it could catch him, and it stumbled blindly as it became a ball of flame illuminating the clearing.
Three more arrows arced through the darkness, each lodging firmly in the bodies of the undead. The couple together knocked one away before it could come near the cart, and, with a few more arrows, the other beings met the same fate as the first. The sounds of moaning in the darkness rose into unearthly shrieks of pain for a moment, but then they were gone.
The farming family embraced, even the infant in his sister’s arms growing still at the relief and comfort of his parents’ touch. The farmer then turned away to scan the woods for their savior. After a few moments, he appeared. A tall young man clad in leather armor, his face was illuminated by the flickering arrow that he held primed in his longbow. He had hair of golden yellow and quiet blue eyes, like a man who had seen much of the world and was coming to accept that world as it is.
“Hello,” he asked. “Are you all right? I think I got the last of them.”
The farmer found his voice again. “Aye. Though the ox is mired. We were hopin’ to make Ranstead before nightfall, but...”
The young man nodded, and released the tension on his arrow. He drew it back, and then pressed the arrowhead into the earth, extinguishing its flames. He slid it back into his quiver, and strung his bow over his shoulder. “Gotcha. Let me talk to her.”
The farmer drew back from his struggling ox’s head and allowed the young bowman to approach. Their rescuer slowly approached the animal, speaking soothing nothings in a soft voice. He laid his hands on the ox’s head and scratched her behind the ears. The beast’s snorting and grunting stilled, and her breathing eased as she calmed.
“All right, big girl. One more pull to get these folks out of here. I’ll help.” He nodded at the farmer, and the family members all took places to help push the cart out of the muddy rut. “One...two...three.”
With a great heave, the ox threw herself into her yoke while the others pushed and pulled at the cart. The cart strained and then broke free of the mud, landing up on the road again. The ox gave a smug-sounding snort, and the bowman scratched her nose again.
“We can’t thank you enough, stranger,” the farmer said, extending his hand to the young man. “Travel with us to Ranstead. My brother has a bakery there. It’d be our honor to have you stay with us as long as you like.”
The young man gave a rather amused smirk and shook the farmer’s hand. “I’d be glad too. But I’m looking for something, and I haven’t found it.”
The farmer nodded, and climbed into the seat of the wagon next to his wife and son, while his daughter peered shyly at the handsome stranger from the back. “What are you looking for?”
The bowman waved. “I don’t know yet. That’s what I’ve got to find out”
The young man stayed in the clearing and watched the farming family recede down the track into the darkness. Then he looked down at the charred corpse that lay, blessedly still, on the forest road. “So...” the bowman said to the nightcrickets as they began their song anew. “What were you seeking in these woods tonight? And who is your master?”
Presto frowned, concentrating. The magic did not come quite as easily to him as it had in the days before the Accident. Oh, the power was there, vast waves of it just waiting for him to scoop it up and use. But when he reached for the power, it dribbled through his fingers as through the holes of a sieve. Within a second or two, it was all drained away.
For that, he found himself grateful.
He scooped up the magic quickly and splashed it across the sky, where it spun into a fireball that hovered and glimmered in the air between himself and his mentor.
“Impressive. Now, the water. Do not let the fire slip.” A dry voice focused Presto’s concentration, and he tried to obey.
Presto bit his lip and threw a bit more magic into the fireball so it wouldn’t sputter out. He tried to imagine himself reaching with a different hand towards the spell that held the sphere of water just beyond his reach, but as soon as he began concentrating on the water, the fireball spell began to unravel. With a mental snatch he grasped at the magic with the intent of forming a sphere of water, hoping that acting quickly would help him to hold both simultaneously. Instead the fireball spun itself out of existence nearly instantaneously, and a quivering crystal ball of rainwater materialized in its place. He glanced at the stern old man, who was frowning at him, and tried to recall the ball of flames. The lapse of concentration was enough. Water splashed to the ground, staining the bottom of Melchior’s robes, and the fireball was long gone.
The young magician hung his head.
A table galloped across the grass. It careened around a flower bed to pull itself up short next to the elderly gentleman clad in a long, lavender robe embroidered with silver stars and other mystic symbols. Then it settled in place, looking as immobile as the garden statuary.
The man smiled, his crooked teeth white beneath his long, grey handlebar mustache. “Ah. Here we are.” He unscrewed the lid from an inkwell on the table’s surface and dipped in his quill. “So, you’ve demonstrated all the greater and lesser elemental techniques, yes?”
Presto shifted his feet, looking at the rain-soaked garden gnome, the flattened and frozen rhododendron bushes and the patch of scorched earth that had once been a rather offensive collection of stinging nettles. “I think so...”
The older man turned to peer at the young man. “That wasn’t a question.” He turned back, and drew a large check on a piece of parchment on the table’s surface. He did not smile, but a certain wry amusement seemed to glimmer in the corners of his gray eyes. “Your power is significant, certainly. You even seem to have moderately decent control. And yet, despite every attempt, you cannot seem to sustain the effort sufficiently to hold two effects simultaneously. You cannot even let one effect linger without your focused concentration.”
Presto reddened as the wave of failure washed over him. “I tried. I just don’t think I can do this.”
Melchior watched him for a moment, and then said quietly, “No. Maybe not.” He snapped his fingers. A red velvet cushioned ottoman came trotting across the path and stopped in a quiet spot behind the desk. Melchior stalked over and sat down on it, setting his staff at his side.
“Very well. Let us try something different.”
Presto’s shoulders sagged. “Okay.”
“I want you to travel from my desk , to the top of that rock over there.” Melchior gestured to the large boulder to one side of the clearing . “Without walking. Some other way, please. That is something new, I believe.”
Presto walked silently over to the wizard’s desk. “Now?” After receiving Melchior’s nod, he made a casual gesture, and was instantaneously standing on the rock. “Is that all? Or was I supposed to do something else?”
Melchior’s lips tightened, if that were possible, and he scrutinized Presto with bright, intense eyes. “I expected levitation.”
Suddenly, a metallic spider, remarkably similar to a walking silver doorknob, hurried across the grass and tugged at the hem of Melchior’s robe. The magician bent to pick it up. He held it in his hand for a moment, scrutinizing its surface closely. He looked up with a worried expression.
Presto clambered down off the rock, tripping over the hem of his robe on the way down to land on his backside at the bottom. He stood and brushed himself off.
Melchior set the doorknob spider on his desk gestured at his clumsy student. “I...think we have less time than I thought. It is time for your final lesson. May the gods help us.”
Presto followed the magus and felt afraid.
The platinum dragon looked down at her with violet eyes and a knowing smile.
The smile was reassuring, and she thought would introduce herself. “Hello! I’m a princess. What’s your name?”
The dragon’s mouth did not move, but she heard a deep voice that seemed to fill the air around her.
“BAHAMUT.”
She smiled and held up the stick, and the two white marshmallows it pierced, before the creature’s huge head.
The dragon opened his mouth wide, his red tongue curling upwards, as if to unleash the fire which would burn her and her marshmallows to ash. But instead of flame, a loud ringing sound came from its lips. The sound drove away the dragons and she stirred, once again in the deep comforters of her own bed. The telephone beside the bed rang again.
The illuminated numbers on the clock blinked ‘3:07 am’.
Oh, for pity’s sake.
Eileen Curry picked up the receiver blearily, holding the phone to her ear. “Curry Residence.”
A warm southern drawl tumbled out of the other end of the receiver, “Hey, Eileen. I’m in. Need your help, though.”
“God, Scanner. It’s 3am.” Eileen buried her head deeper in the pillow and wished, not for the first time, that her husband was there to pass the phone to. But Ethan was at a conference, and wouldn’t be back until Monday.
“Yep. This moment brought to you by Mountain Dew.” Scanner sounded entirely too cheerful considering the hour.
Well, he wasn’t going away. Eileen tucked the blanket under her arms and sat up in bed. “OK. What are you ‘in’ exactly? It better not require bail.”
There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “Oh no. Remember that number you gave me to research? It was an IP Address. Took a while to break down the security, but I’m almost in. I’m just having a hard time cracking the final password.”
Eileen snapped fully awake. “The number I gave you? From Tuesday?”
“Yep. I’m hoping you know something about it because I don’t really know what this links up to. We could be hacking the CIA for all I know.” There was a pause. “Not that I would consider breaking US Government confidentiality of course.” There was a touch of paranoia in Scanner’s tone.
The number Amanda Grayson had found. It could have been nothing...it probably was. But Eileen was not going to let even the tiniest clue to her daughter’s whereabouts slip through her fingers. Scanner, also known as Joe Petrosky, had a gift for finding information that wasn’t easy to find. He also owed her a favor or two. That the code should actually connect to a computer system was exciting and terrifying at the same time. She struggled to think of anything that could be used to help Scanner crack the password.
“Amusement?”
The sound of clicking keys punctuated the sound of Scanner’s breathing. “Nope.”
“Ride?”
“Nope.”
“Dungeon?”
“No...there something you’re not telling me? Because if this is porn, I’ve got plenty, and I’m willing to share.”
Eileen humphed, disgusted and amused. “I’m sure it’s not. How about Dragon?”
“Nope.”
The image of the huge platinum dragon from her dream came to mind, so she rattled off, “Bahamut?”
Clicking. An excited hoot. “Yes! You got it. How’d you know? We’re in.”
Eileen shook her head as she settled back in her pillow and grabbed the notepad by her bed. “Just a lucky guess. So, what do you see?”
After a long pause and many keystrokes, Scanner answered, “It’s the project planning documents for a facility relocation. But the equipment they’re moving is straight out of a science fiction movie. Dimensional boundary analyzers? Temporal phase shift buffers? Plasma generators and portal breach devices? Wild.”
“Where are they moving to?”
“Doesn’t say. Someplace remote, I’d guess. They’re moving some of this stuff in army vehicles. Huh. This is cool.”
“What is it?” Eileen leaned forward eagerly, holding the phone tightly against her ear.
“Says the move has to be complete in two weeks. The document calls it the next ‘rift event threshold.’ Hey, this doesn’t have anything to do with Diana, does it? Cause I could do some more digging...”
“Scanner...you’re a sweetheart. Anything you could find out, we could use. I’ve got to call Ethan. Thank you!”
Sleep long forgotten, Eileen reached for her bathrobe.
Diana could be alive!
The swaying motion of the palanquin and the rosy tones of sunset had been lulling Sheila with an offer of sleep, but she had not heard the cries of the drivers signaling their huge beasts to stop for the night. She stretched, trying to get the kinks out of her back. These ships of the desert were far better than walking in the sand-dunes, and better than camel-back too. But the caravan had been traveling for weeks, stopping only in the evening to rest, and she felt stiff and sore. Fortunately, the climate had grown cooler, and irrigated farmlands lay only a day’s travel further to the west. She smiled. It would be good to get out and walk again.
Beyond the white silk curtains of the palanquin, she could hear the sound of armor jangling and a voice calling out. She quickly leaned over and pulled the curtains aside to see Akbah climbing smoothly up the side of her mighty Mamut. Although she could see nothing wrong, instinct born of too many years on the run as a thief made her check the knives she had stored at her wrists and in her boot. The captain of her guards always seemed ready for war. So was she.
The guardsman climbed over the lip of the palanquin, perching on its edge. He had caught the gesture. “You are wise to be cautious, but you need not worry, Princess Sheila. I will not let the caravan stop if there is any risk of attack.”
Sheila dropped her hands. “Is that why we have not stopped yet?”
Akbah frowned. “Yes. We are too exposed here. There are only drywater gullies and knife canyons surrounding us, too narrow even for a horse to travel. No place where we will not be exposed. There should be shelter beyond the ridge to the west which we should reach only in a few hours.” He looked out across the desert to the east, where night was gathering in shades of black and dark blue. “If we are careful and avoid laming any of the animals, we will be safe enough to camp. None will dare attack while we are armed and ready for them.”
The thief could feel the edge of tension in the guardsman’s voice. The worry in her heart mirrored it. “They’re dead. Akbah. Maybe they won’t care.”
Akbah turned to her and then wrapped the black cloth that hung around his head and shoulders so it covered his face. Only his eyes, dark and determined, gleamed from beneath the turban and shining helmet he wore. “Then they can die again,” he said fiercely.
Sheila dropped her eyes and looked away, but he reached out and caught her chin gently with a gauntleted hand. He turned her face towards his. “No. No shame. You have been bought with the blood of the king. You are treasure beyond price. And no fear either. The king does not call daughter one who is a coward, nor entrust the safety of his kingdom to a child. You will prove worthy of him.”
“I will try.” Sheila breathed.
Akbah nodded briskly. “You shall. Now, let us walk together a while. It would be far to fall should this great creature stumble in the dark.”
For great ages of the Realm, Shadow Demon had been denied the privilege of touch. Now, he had what he had treasured. He could feel the black marble floor beneath him. He could feel the icy wind that howled through the midnight palace.
But there were other feelings that had come to him in these recent days.
He groveled at the feet of his Lich-Lord with homage. He could feel the blazing red eyes looking down on him. An unfamiliar sensation tingled across his back and down to his wingtips at that regard. He cleared his throat. “My Lord Master, you have succeeded. The soulsong of the skull has awakened the bones of mortals across the whole Realm. They rise and await your orders.”
A voice devoid of warmth, of life, spoke. “Rise.”
Shadow Demon gracefully pulled himself upright, but maintained his humble posture. “What will you have of me, My Lord?” His voice trembled.
Towering above him, gaunt blue flesh had caved to wrap a skeletal skull. Wings once of black velvet now were skeletal white bones, sheets of flickering blue energy filling the void between them. The robes of black and gray hung loosely about an empty ribcage. Still, the single, gleaming black horn remained. But most of all, Shadow Demon felt the red flames of Venger’s gaze peeling away the layers of his shadow-flesh. Those eyes held only one emotion now, to fuel the arcane energies of eternal life. Only hatred remained.
“Now, my minions shall hunt them and kill them. All of the pupils of Dungeon Master. I will destroy them all. Then I shall tear apart the very earth until I find the old man, and he shall die also. And after...after...I will leave the Realm for the Dead. I shall be satisfied.”
Shadow Demon licked his lips, a new pleasure, and felt one more sensation that made his whole body quiver with its power.
Awe.
“Princess. Princess. Look at me.” His voice was an insistent whisper that cut through the red darkness that enfolded her. She lifted her hand to her forehead. Her hair was wet. All around her, there was the sound of steel clashing on steel and the screams of dying animals.
She opened her eyes.
Above her hovered the covered face of the captain of the guard. Akbar’s dark eyes were shadowed, and blood stained his helmet and the cloth that hid his face. “Listen to me. You were hurt in the fighting by your Mamut. The Dead...they will not stop their attack. It is too long until dawn. We cannot hold.”
The blur that was the last few hours jerked into focus. Sheila twisted to her feet, ignoring the pain in her head to feel for her knives in the dark, blood-soaked sand. Akbar handed her two of her blades, hilt first.
“The daggers, they can do nothing against these enemies. Princess Sheila, only the shadows can save you now. You must run.”
Sheila shook her head fiercely, long training keeping her silent.
“There is no choice!” Akbar commanded. “Reach the canyons and make your way to the farmlands where you can take shelter. We can keep them back, but not for the whole night. You must take the messages of Lord Ramoud to the other lands, and find a way to defeat this evil.”
Sheila beckoned towards herself, then pointed towards the west.
The guardsman shook his head. “My men need me. I may be able to lead a fighting retreat to safer ground where we can hold firm, but your message is more important.”
A silent tear slid through the blood on Sheila’s cheek. Akbar pulled the whip from his belt and handed it to the young woman. “Be strong. Remember you are worthy. You will not fail. Now Go!”
With a push, he forced Sheila into the shadows away from the lantern light and the sounds of fighting. Already he had turned, scimitar drawn to return to battle against the legion of bones that had erupted from the desert sands.
Sheila clutched the whip and drew her hood over her face. Silent still, she raced into the darkness, seeking the hidden canyons and the promise of safety that lay beyond. She left no footprints, and her tears were lost into the dry sands.