Poisonwell
Page 48
Annon breathed easier when he did.
A firm hand jostled Annon’s shoulder, rousing him from his sleep. “The storm is easing. We will go.” It was Tyrus.
Annon rubbed his eyes, his neck stiff and his legs cramped from the awkward position inside the tent. The others were coming awake as well and the tent door flapped open in the breeze. Annon stood and stretched and tried to speak to Nizeera, but she was still angry with him and skulked out of the tent ahead of him. Ducking his head to pass through the flap, he saw the air had a strange greenish cast to it, still full of dust, but the visibility was much improved. The wall of the storm was ahead of them now and the amount of sand that had built up around the tent wall was surprising. The camels were hacking and snorting, their hides thick with dust and sand, and several rebuffed the drovers who were trying to tend them.
Craning his neck, Annon stared up at the sky and saw that the sun had already faded into twilight.
Tyrus emerged from the tent and tossed a water bladder to Annon. “Fill your pack with provisions, as much as you can safely carry. There will be no other food inside the Scourgelands. We’re going tonight.”
“Why not wait until sunrise?” Annon asked, brushing the dust from his sleeve. The drovers were beginning to load the camels with burdens.
“A thought,” Tyrus replied, approaching him. “That sandstorm is blowing directly toward the Scourgelands. It will lose its fury when it reaches the trees, but if we approach from behind it—”
“Then it will shield us from the gaze of those who watch the borders,” Annon said, realizing it. He chuckled to himself. Tyrus was a cunning man. “You are right. And approaching by night will also help hide us.”
“Precisely. I thought the storm would delay us, but actually it comes as a boon. It was impenetrable, remember? The darkness lasted for a long time before the storm blew past us. The drovers know we are close to the borders of the Scourgelands. The presence of the Vecses tells me that Shirikant is watching the borders closely for us. Let’s take advantage of the storm to slip inside unnoticed.”
“I didn’t realize we were that close,” Annon said nervously.
“We are,” Tyrus said, and then motioned for him to return to the tent and fetch food for the journey. Annon did so, stuffing his pack with dried meats and fruits, nuts, and seeds. The Boeotians did not make things like cheeses or breads. Their fare was hunted or collected among the roots or other edible plants that were unfamiliar to Annon. He missed Dame Nestra’s bread and honey, wishing selfishly that he could borrow the Tay al-Ard for just a moment to return to Wayland and fetch some for them. He longed for the simple Druidecht life he had left behind when he had chosen to answer Tyrus’s summons.
Annon secured the straps of his pack and shouldered it. There was still plenty of food left behind, and Tyrus gave instructions to the drovers to take it back along the path they had come from. He described a rock formation that he had pointed out to them earlier, one with a distinctive tower-like structure that stood above the rest. He instructed the drovers to leave the food there and that it would be used after their quest was finished. The drovers glanced at each other and looked at Tyrus in wary disbelief. Annon could see that they did not believe any of them would survive. But they agreed to do as they were bid out of loyalty to the Empress.
Tyrus explained his plan to the others and they set off into the darkening night. The storm had left so much dust in the air that the stars were invisible. The heat from the day was still oppressive, even though the sun had set. Annon trudged through the sandy dunes and noticed Hettie scouting ahead. She stopped and studied the series of tracks left by the Vecses. Crouching by them, she gazed at the shape and followed the trail a short distance.
Annon approached her. “I wish I had your skill,” he muttered softly. “Are those even tracks at all?”
Hettie looked up at him and nodded. “Heavy creatures, judging by the depth of the prints. These are still fresh. See how their tails drag behind it, like this? I’ve never seen such tracks before.”
Her eyes showed her alarm and unease. He knelt and gripped her shoulder. “Be careful, Hettie. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
She could have said the same thing in return, but she did not. They stared at each other, feeling a sudden surge of intense emotions. Their mother had been pregnant when she had ventured into the Scourgelands. Eighteen years ago, under a similar starlit sky. Annon and Hettie were children of the Scourgelands in a way. The thought sent a black chill through him. They both rose and Hettie gave him a quick, forceful hug.
A firm hand jostled Annon’s shoulder, rousing him from his sleep. “The storm is easing. We will go.” It was Tyrus.
Annon rubbed his eyes, his neck stiff and his legs cramped from the awkward position inside the tent. The others were coming awake as well and the tent door flapped open in the breeze. Annon stood and stretched and tried to speak to Nizeera, but she was still angry with him and skulked out of the tent ahead of him. Ducking his head to pass through the flap, he saw the air had a strange greenish cast to it, still full of dust, but the visibility was much improved. The wall of the storm was ahead of them now and the amount of sand that had built up around the tent wall was surprising. The camels were hacking and snorting, their hides thick with dust and sand, and several rebuffed the drovers who were trying to tend them.
Craning his neck, Annon stared up at the sky and saw that the sun had already faded into twilight.
Tyrus emerged from the tent and tossed a water bladder to Annon. “Fill your pack with provisions, as much as you can safely carry. There will be no other food inside the Scourgelands. We’re going tonight.”
“Why not wait until sunrise?” Annon asked, brushing the dust from his sleeve. The drovers were beginning to load the camels with burdens.
“A thought,” Tyrus replied, approaching him. “That sandstorm is blowing directly toward the Scourgelands. It will lose its fury when it reaches the trees, but if we approach from behind it—”
“Then it will shield us from the gaze of those who watch the borders,” Annon said, realizing it. He chuckled to himself. Tyrus was a cunning man. “You are right. And approaching by night will also help hide us.”
“Precisely. I thought the storm would delay us, but actually it comes as a boon. It was impenetrable, remember? The darkness lasted for a long time before the storm blew past us. The drovers know we are close to the borders of the Scourgelands. The presence of the Vecses tells me that Shirikant is watching the borders closely for us. Let’s take advantage of the storm to slip inside unnoticed.”
“I didn’t realize we were that close,” Annon said nervously.
“We are,” Tyrus said, and then motioned for him to return to the tent and fetch food for the journey. Annon did so, stuffing his pack with dried meats and fruits, nuts, and seeds. The Boeotians did not make things like cheeses or breads. Their fare was hunted or collected among the roots or other edible plants that were unfamiliar to Annon. He missed Dame Nestra’s bread and honey, wishing selfishly that he could borrow the Tay al-Ard for just a moment to return to Wayland and fetch some for them. He longed for the simple Druidecht life he had left behind when he had chosen to answer Tyrus’s summons.
Annon secured the straps of his pack and shouldered it. There was still plenty of food left behind, and Tyrus gave instructions to the drovers to take it back along the path they had come from. He described a rock formation that he had pointed out to them earlier, one with a distinctive tower-like structure that stood above the rest. He instructed the drovers to leave the food there and that it would be used after their quest was finished. The drovers glanced at each other and looked at Tyrus in wary disbelief. Annon could see that they did not believe any of them would survive. But they agreed to do as they were bid out of loyalty to the Empress.
Tyrus explained his plan to the others and they set off into the darkening night. The storm had left so much dust in the air that the stars were invisible. The heat from the day was still oppressive, even though the sun had set. Annon trudged through the sandy dunes and noticed Hettie scouting ahead. She stopped and studied the series of tracks left by the Vecses. Crouching by them, she gazed at the shape and followed the trail a short distance.
Annon approached her. “I wish I had your skill,” he muttered softly. “Are those even tracks at all?”
Hettie looked up at him and nodded. “Heavy creatures, judging by the depth of the prints. These are still fresh. See how their tails drag behind it, like this? I’ve never seen such tracks before.”
Her eyes showed her alarm and unease. He knelt and gripped her shoulder. “Be careful, Hettie. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
She could have said the same thing in return, but she did not. They stared at each other, feeling a sudden surge of intense emotions. Their mother had been pregnant when she had ventured into the Scourgelands. Eighteen years ago, under a similar starlit sky. Annon and Hettie were children of the Scourgelands in a way. The thought sent a black chill through him. They both rose and Hettie gave him a quick, forceful hug.
