Desert Wind Read online

  “If it comes to protecting my prince or letting that darkling escape with his precious charge, which do you think I’ll do, Halim?” Sabir challenged.

  “I know which your prince would demand you do,” Halim warned.

  Sabir ground his teeth, his anger showing, but he wisely kept his mouth shut to Halim’s assertion. His attention was riveted on Bhaskar’s back and his hand was on his dagger hilt.

  Chapter Nine

  It had started to drizzle again by the time the riders crested the hill and the sweep of the Dingir Sea came into view. Far out on the water where dark cloud met waves, lightning was forking downward in rapid spears. The tide was beginning to swell and the ships anchored out in the bay were rising and falling, their lowered small boats bobbing beside them.

  The way down to the beach was along a switchback trail that was strewn with rock. Walking the horses down the incline was slow going. Bhaskar had already started down the steep descent by the time Halim and Sabir reached the summit.

  “Everything looks normal,” Halim stated.

  “At least the small boats are down and the sailors ready to row in to us,” Sabir said. “From the looks of the approaching storm, we got here none too soon.”

  A loud boom of thunder shook the ground under their feet and it began to rain in earnest. Overhead, the sky was swirling with darkening clouds and the wind was kicking up.

  Halim took one last look at the six rowboats starting out from the ships and urged his mount onto the trail leading down to the beach. Sabir fell in behind him.

  Sitara’s first glimpse of the ocean filled her with wonder and dread in equal portions. Her childlike nature took great delight in watching the heaving waves rolling inland, but that part of her that had been uneasy on the journey to the coast was even more unsettled than before. She turned and looked behind them but there were no warriors in sight save those who belonged to her husband. She looked to either side of the high hill upon which they were sitting, but again, her father’s men were nowhere to be found. Yet still her nerves were rubbed raw.

  “Can you hear the waves breaking on the shore?” Ardalan asked her.

  “Aye,” she said.

  “I have always found it a soothing sound.”

  She nodded. Fear had lodged in her throat, almost choking her. She was gripping the reins so tightly the leather was cutting into her palms. She counted the men riding in front of her, some already starting down the path to the beach. There were twenty-eight riding before her and Ardalan, including Halim and Sabir. She knew there were fifty-two men in all so that meant twenty-four were bringing up the rear.

  “We will take the first,” she heard her husband saying. “I want Malahk with me. That way I know Sabir won’t leave my horse behind.”

  Four rowboats, eight or nine people to each boat plus one horse, Sitara thought. She swept her eyes over the sailors rowing toward shore and counted six men per ship. She reached out to touch Ardalan’s arm.

  “Can each ship safely hold nearly fifteen people?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Ardalan told her. “The boats can hold up to thirty.” He glanced at her then turned his full attention to her. “What’s bothering you, milady?”

  Sitara looked out at the big ship with the soaring sails flanked on either side by the smaller Asaraban dhows. She could not answer her husband for she did not know what was making her so uneasy. Perhaps it was the sea and the swelling waves that were rolling beneath the ships and crashing to shore. Perhaps it was the fast-approaching storm and the rain that had already drenched her, making the hooded robe Ardalan had provided for her cling to her as though it were a second skin. Or perhaps it was that nagging thing Sahan had said that she could not recall that had brought about the anxiety. When a loud crack of lightning broke overhead, she flinched and her mount became skittish, sidestepping and trying to break free and run from the harsh noise.

  Ardalan snaked out his hand and grabbed his wife’s reins, stilling the horse with a sharp command. He motioned the men behind them to go ahead of them and reached out to drag Sitara from her mount to his, settling her before him in the saddle and enclosing her in the safety of his arms.

  Saqlian and Kahlid were close by the prince and his lady. Along with them were fifteen warriors who refused to descend the pathway to the beach until their prince did. Each of them kept a constant watch behind and around them.

  Already on the beach, Halim and Sabir turned their mounts so they could watch the warriors skittering down the trail.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Sabir asked.

  Halim frowned and reached up to arm away the rain blinding him. “Her horse must have spooked.”

  “Why isn’t he getting his ass down here?” Sabir demanded.

  “Why don’t you ask him,” Halim suggested, “and in just that tone of voice when he joins us, fool?”

  “He’s sending his escort down ahead of him,” Sabir growled.

  “Only some of them,” Tarik said. He had walked his horse over to the major’s. “He’s coming down now, see?”

  The rain was slanting down in cold sheets, making the trip down the switchback trail even more difficult. The wind had shifted so that it was now coming from the north, pushing at the backs of the riders descending the steep grade.

  “You got your wish, Halim. The Wind is at my back,” Ardalan grumbled, “and it’s as cold as the peaks of the Serenian Alps.”

  “Have you been to the Serenian Alps, milord?” Sitara asked, her lips trembling from the chill wind.

  “Once, long ago,” her husband replied. “I accompanied my father to the wedding of one of the Oceanian princesses.”

  “Oceania,” Sitara said with a sigh. “I’ve heard it is a beautiful place with warm winds that are temperate all year.”

  “I’ve heard it can get cold in the mountains there,” he remarked. His arms tightened around her for his horse was skidding down a portion of the pathway, the loose rocks beneath its feet skittering along before it.

  Sitara looked up the trail over which they’d traveled and watched the last of her husband’s warriors start down. Turning to look out over the ocean, she knew a moment of hope that fate would, after all, allow her to remain with Ardalan. There was no sign of her father’s men either on the hill above them or on the shore. Perhaps she had miscalculated her father’s desire to keep her in Kishnu and out of the hands of an Asaraban marauder.

  “What is that look on your face, sweeting?” her husband asked.

  She laid her cheek on his chest. “I don’t know when you did it, milord, but you have stolen my heart. Is that a bad thing to say to you?”

  Ardalan took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. “No, milady. It is not a bad thing. I believe it to be a very wonderful thing.”

  His mouth went to hers in a sweet, heady kiss that made her toes curl and fire pool low in her belly. She wrapped her fingers around his strong wrist as he held her face to his and knew a solitary moment of the dearest pleasure she had ever felt. When his lips left hers, she saw a glow in his eyes she had not noticed before.

  “Dare I hope that is affection I see building in your gaze, my Prince?” she asked.

  “It is far more than simple affection, my Princess,” he whispered. “Far more.”

  He had to forego another kiss for the trail had ended and his mount was making its way to the group of men already gathered on the shore. The first rowboat was only a few hundred feet out in the bay, the sailors pulling hard against the plunging sea. The rain was almost a solid curtain drumming down from the heavens and the lightning was drawing closer.

  “You must take the first boat, Your Grace,” Halim ordered as he came up to take the bridle of Ardalan’s steed. “This weather is getting much worse.”

  Ardalan swung his leg over the horse’s rump and reached up to help Sitara down. “I agree. We need to get her into dry clothing before she catches cold.”

  The sailors were having a hard time forcing the rowboats to shore. The
boats were pitching and yawing in the turbulent sea and one capsized, though its crew managed to get it turned right side up again without too much trouble. Even though they were protected by hooded, long, oilskin coats and britches, the men were drenched from the wash of the waves and the pounding of the rain. With their faces all but hidden within the protection of their ghutras or headcloths, the sailors were having a hard time maneuvering the rowboats to shore.

  “You’ll need to blindfold Malahk or we’ll never get him in the boat,” Ardalan reminded Halim.

  “Aye,” Halim agreed, and pulled off the long scarf he’d been wearing around his neck to keep the rain from finding its way beneath his robes. He made quick work of tying the scarf around the horse’s head.

  Sitara was shivering with the unexpected cold, her lips quivering. She had wrapped her arms around herself but even the heavy robe in which she’d been dressed was doing nothing to dispel the chill that was seeping through to her flesh.

  The men in the first rowboat jumped out and manhandled it to shore, pulling it as far out of the water as they could. Halim walked the horse over to the boat and managed to get the beast to lift its legs and get in, though Malahk seemed none too keen about the idea. Hobbling the horse so it could not jump back out of the boat, Halim waved his arm for Ardalan and his bride to hurry.

  Ardalan lifted Sitara in his arms and put her in the boat, indicating the best place for her to be seated. He got in behind her, motioning Halim to join them.

  “I’ll take another boat, Your Grace,” Halim called out, having to yell to be heard over the roar of the storm. “Sabir, you go with your prince.”

  Sabir nodded and got into the boat as the sailors pushed the heaving boat out to sea. Jumping in before the craft hit deeper water, the men began to row hard against the incoming waves, their grunts punctuated the sweep of the long oars.

  Bhaskar was sitting astride his mount, well out of the way of the men dismounting and climbing into the rowboats. He sat with his hands crossed over the pommel of his saddle, seemingly mindless of the deluge that fell all around him. When he met Sitara’s gaze, he bowed his head respectfully. As lightning branched across the sky, his horse shied and he drew on the reins, controlling the beast with a practiced clamp of his legs.

  Halim was among the last warriors to take to the rowboats. As had the rest of his troop, he had taken a seat with his back to the brisk, harsh wind. He too was shivering from the unseasonable cold, mentally cursing the weather.

  “How will we get the horse onboard?” Sitara yelled to her husband.

  “They’ll winch him up,” Ardalan yelled back to her.

  The impending sense of doom had not left her and she looked back to shore, expecting to see the beach lined with warriors but there was no one there save Bhaskar who sat as still as a statue in the rain. She turned back around, the churning motion of the sea starting to make her feel sick to her stomach. Grateful the rowboat was less than a hundred yards from the huge ship upon which they’d sail, Sitara gripped the front of her robe to her chest in an attempt to get warm.

  Ardalan could see the green cast beginning to form on his bride’s face and knew the tossing of the sea was the culprit. As soon as the prow of the boat slid along the side of the barkentine a rope ladder was dropped over the rail.

  “You’re going to have to climb, milady!” Ardalan shouted.

  Sitara nodded and took the hand he offered, stumbling as the boat pitched from side to side. She fell against him, grateful for his strong arms as he helped her to the ladder. With him steadying the bottom of the contraption, she began to climb, gripping the rope sides as tightly as she could. Her palms stung from the hard grip she’d kept on her horse’s reins and she knew before nightfall, she’d have a score of blisters to tend.

  While his lady made her way cautiously and slowly up the ladder, Ardalan saw the winch being lowered into place for his horse. He looked to Sabir.

  “I’ll handle it!” Sabir yelled.

  Sitara was almost to the top of the ladder before Ardalan began his climb. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sabir strapping Malahk into the heavy canvas sling that would pull the horse up onto the ship. He was thankful he did not have to leave his beloved steed behind. Rysalian stallions were worth their weight in gold and Malahk was a highly trained, experienced destrier. Hearing the horse neigh loudly in protest, he knew the beast was on its way to the deck.

  Fumbling for the hands reaching out to steady her, Sitara could feel the strain of the climb in every muscle in her body. She was reluctant to let go of the rope but strong hands circled her wrists and she was lifted free of the ladder. Beneath her feet, the ship was rolling with the violent waves. Someone threw a heavy blanket over her shoulders and she looked to thank him and found herself looking into the face of a demon.

  “Greetings, my Princess,” Sahan said, his mouth twisted in a brutal grin. “I have been waiting for you.”

  Sitara flung the blanket off and started to turn back to the ladder, intending to warn her husband, but as she did, she saw the warriors—her father’s warriors—lined up on the hill overlooking the beach and she froze in horror. His archers were standing there with their bows nocked, arrows aimed for the men in the rowboats. Horrified, she watched as the sailors who had been plying the oars dropped their implements and jumped overboard and began swimming quickly, moving out of the range of the archers. Hundreds of deadly missiles arched through the air, their trajectory and speed aided by the savage north wind and hit target after target, pitching Ardalan’s troops into the roiling sea.

  Unaware of what was happening behind him, unable to hear the screams of his men over the booming thunder and shrieks of lightning stabbing into the ocean, he had barely reached the top of the ladder when he thought he heard Sitara scream. His heart stopped beating in that instant and he was scrambling over the rail as quickly as he could. The sight that greeted him took the breath from his lungs.

  Sahan was holding Sitara’s limp body in his arms, her long black braid nearly touching the deck. There was pure evil in the Kishnu man’s stare and six men between Ardalan and his wife.

  “Take him alive!” he heard Sahan shout, and the armed men who advanced toward Ardalan didn’t seem inclined to do so.

  Glancing quickly toward the sea, Ardalan saw his men being struck, falling into the turbulent waves. He swung his head around and was relieved to see Sabir scuttling up the ladder but then his friend’s face twisted with agony as an arrow buried itself deeply into his back.

  “Sabir!” Ardalan screamed, bending over the rail, stretching his hand out to his childhood playmate.

  Sabir let go of one side of the rope, lifted his hand to his prince. The tips of their fingers met briefly then with a look of apology, the major fell backwards from the ladder, crashing into the bottom of the boat, his neck hitting the side, snapping, his eyes wide open and staring.

  “No!” Ardalan yelled, and spun around, dragging his sword from the shibriyya at his waist. He started forward—intent on taking as many lives as he could before they brought him down—but his boot slipped on the wet deck, his feet went out from under him and he lost his balance, pitching back over the railing in a somersault that landed him atop Sabir in the rowboat.

  Sahan’s men rushed to the rail just as the ship rolled brutally starboard, waves crashing up and over them. They stumbled back, grabbing at one another to keep from sliding across the heaving deck.

  Gripping Sitara tightly, Sahan watched as the rowboat into which the Asaraban had plummeted towered above the deck of his own ship with the swell of the sea. He fell back against the topmast, crying out from the pain that radiated down his spine and slid to the deck, grabbling to keep hold of Sitara as her limp form began to slide away from him. The ship dropped into a trough and the rowboat spun away, caught in what looked to be a vortex. Bodies were crashing into the ship, one body was washed onto the deck and went skimming past Sahan to crash into the starboard rail where its lifeless limbs floated in a
pool of salt water.

  Lashing his arms around Sitara and dragging her up beside him, Sahan wrapped his legs around her lower body and held up, staring up at the horrific sight of the Rysalian stallion swinging wildly in its canvas sling.

  “Get the horse down!” Sahan yelled at his men. “Get it down before it is damaged!”

  His men scrambled to their feet and ran to the winch system, two men working the crank on the windlass while the other three struggled to hold the rope pulleys that covered the canvas sling holding the steed, and another worked to lower the hatch so the horse could be swung through.

  “Be careful of him!” Sahan ordered. “He is worth a hundred of you!”

  The Rysalian’s worth was more than monetary. It was an enemy’s destrier, a trophy of war, like the woman Sahan held so tightly against him.

  Wave after wave of piercing shrieks scraped across the heavens as lightning stair-stepped all around the barkentine. The pitching of the boat, the roll, the continuous wash of salt water over its inhabitants seemed to last for hours though in actually in was far less than that. Rain pounded against the men as they managed to lower the stallion to the deck. The agitated animal was still hobbled as its trembling legs touched the deck and its eyes were rolling, the blindfold lost to the wind. It neighed pitifully and tried to buck.

  “Take off the hobbles,” Sahan shouted. “Get it below to a stall!”

  The barkentine swung around on its anchor, turning so that Sahan could see the beach through the hatch. Men were struggling to shore—arrows sticking from their backs—only to be met by the lancers who finished the job the archers had started. Four of the rowboats had been dragged to shore and a fifth had apparently been torn apart by the raging sea for its hull was split in twain, one half bobbing in the breakwater. As for the sixth…

  Sahan shouted for one of his men and when the man came skidding across the deck, the prince demanded to know the location of the boat into which Prince Ardalan had fallen.

  Struggling across the deck, the man pitched into the side of the ship, grabbing at the rail to keep from being tossed into the rolling sea. He hung on fiercely, turning his head from left to right then looked around at his prince. “I do not see it, Your Grace!” the man yelled.