Disoriented, taken from her sleep, Womba shook herself, her little yellow eyes not believing what they saw. Her huge green face was covered in flaking mud, her coarse black hair fell in chopped, uneven lengths over her eyebrow. She yawned capaciously, revealing a complete set of red-stained teeth, her upper lip catching in a delicate sneer above a crooked canine. Pointed ears, pierced along the edges and hung with teeth and bits of carved bones, framed her face. She wore a tunic of gaudy ghoma skin, its leathery scales glinting orange and purple in the bright light of day.
'Womba!' Og rasped pitifully, finally able to let go of the song. Yob's daughter perked her ears at the sound of her name, coming fully awake. Instinctively, Cheyne and Claria scrambled to push Og under a nearby bush, but Womba had already seen him. She bellowed triumphantly, ran to his side, picked him up, and clutched him to her scaly chest in a death grip.
'Put him down!' Claria shouted.
Womba blinked feebly until she could find the source of the sound. Then she turned, Og still flailing in her arms, his suffocation advancing nicely, and stomped over to Claria.
'He is mine. You cannot have him. Mine,' she snorted, jabbing a grime-encrusted fingernail at the girl and shifting Og under one enormous arm.
'Put him down, my dumpling,' growled Yob, raking from his arms the wilting mushrooms, perfectly nonplused at her appearance. 'I think I have traded them a path across the erg to hear the song about my finest battle. I had almost lost the words from my head about how brave I was. No one sings better than Og. Besides, you are killing him. I told you to be careful, they die so easily.'
Dejected, Womba slacked her grip and Og fell unconscious at her scaly, corn-studded, feet. Cheyne stepped in and propped the little man up as he regained his senses.
'What happened?' Og said hoarsely.
'Oh, I think you'll figure it out. You all right now?' asked Cheyne, picking orange scales from the top of Og's nose and eyeing the restless ores. They had found their spears again. The chance to leave was gone.
'I think we will take you to Rotapan, Og. He is smart enough to figure out your words. We leave now,' said Yob, pushing his gnarled hand into his daughter's face. She had apparently already forgotten his words of a moment before. She looked at Og longingly through her father's splayed fingers and began to bray softly.
Cheyne turned resignedly to Og. 'Looks like you'll get what you wanted, Og.'
Og shrugged and held up his bony hands, feigning innocence, but not very well. 'Just one minor detour in your journey. They can get us across the erg safely, too. Won't take long, might save some time in the end. What choice do we have anyway?'
Javin's mouth felt like cottonwool. He trudged across the erg in the darkness, the three sisters lighting his way, steering him ever westward. There had been no horse, no drom to be had in Sumifa. At least, no one would sell him one. From every livery he had tried, he received the same response: 'We have nothing available today.' Then silence, the attendants' eyes lowered and their voices fearful. It was as though they had expected him. The Ninnites had been there before him, of course.
Ahead of him, Riolla covered her eyes against the brilliant dawn on the western erg. It had been years-her childhood, really-since she had braved the full light of day; the Fascini never went out earlier than the late afternoon and not then without being completely covered. Sumifa's royalty were all very pale, and Riolla grimaced as she felt the sun penetrating the sedan's thin canopy.
She unrolled the map, checking for landmarks and direction, but until they passed the oasis, she had to hope that the Neffians knew where they were going. Riolla sniffed distastefully at Saelin, who drowsed in the other side of the chair, snoring softly, his long, curved knife loose in one hand and his sword resting in the other. She had had to let the assassin ride in the sedan when it became apparent that he could not keep up with the thin, wiry Neffians. She scanned the horizon, looking for Og and his friends, then checked behind, searching for any unwelcome followers.
She never saw Javin.
And Javin never saw the Neffian.
'Javin has left the ruin, presumably to find his son. He is wounded, but will not last long enough to do so. We have received a stroke of perfect luck from… from Caelus Nin himself, Raptor. The lad has fled his father and travels toward the Borderlands in the company of treasure hunters. He will search out the Clock and present himself to you without Javin's protection at the same time.™ The agitated voice fell silent.
'What you are telling me is that you have failed to kill the Circle's last mage,' whispered the Raptor. 'I like it not, Kifran. Such sloppiness is not what I have paid you so well for. I put Javin in his dream state- and I summoned the vermin. Was it too much for you to stay with him and make sure he was dead? Now he knows too much of me.'
'Raptor, the water boy came to fill the jugs before I could make sure it was finished. I had to call for help, then; they would have killed me on the spot. The big foreman has a way with knives.' Kifran scrambled for words, but found none of the right ones. The Raptor signaled to the tall, hooded guard at the door.
'Of course. So he does.'
Kifran, thinking he was dismissed, bowed deeply, grateful to be leaving with his life.
'But so do others.' Kifran never felt the guard's poniard as it entered his neck, pinning his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
'You know what to do, Naruq. I'll be watching,' breathed the Raptor as the hooded guard reclaimed his poniard, wiped it on Kifran's cloak as the body slumped to the floor, and nodded.
The assassin replaced the blade in his silver cloakpin and strode out the door.
The sun broke over the dunes behind him as Javin drained the last of his water from his water skin. He looked up at the three sisters, almost faded from the eastern sky, and hoped his memory of the caravan route was accurate. It had been a decade, but he had once known this road well. His hand ached, the fire of
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the scorpion's sting now reaching up his arm in painful twinges, and his knuckles were swelled to rigidity. The wind had blown hard all night, but now, at least, it was at his back. The sun would be overhead soon; he would have to find the caves sooner. A mile or two more and there would be the refreshment of the spring, the cool of the date palms for the worst of the blazing day.
He collapsed fifty yards from the oasis. The Neffian caught up within seconds and hoisted him over his massive shoulders and moved into the shade of the palms with practiced stealth.
'Put me down here. Gently!' Riolla curled her bright pink lip in reprimand as the slaves let her chair down upon the thick carpet of watermoss near the little spring. She stepped into the green softness and smiled again.
'Saelin, wake up. We are here. The men have to rest. And I myself am so worn out from this rigorous journey that I must find a cool, dark place and lie down for the remainder of the day.'
She picked her way over to the spring and waited for the Neffians to place her kneeling cloth on the ground. When she had finished her ablutions, Saelin had awakened and stood yawning and stretching by the chair.
'Most marvelous of maidens, you have led us to par-adise,' he said chortling, eyeing a cluster of dates high in one of the palms.
'Go on up, slave, and bring me those dates. I will await you.' He motioned casually to the Neffian to retrieve the fruit. The Neffian bowed his head, but did not obey.
'He goes only where I send him, Saelin. Like you. Remember that. And I hate dates,' said Riolla. The Neffians had begun to break out bappir and cheese, a skin of wine, and some oranges. Riolla did not invite Saelin to join her. 'You can stand guard at that rock.'
'Of course, Schreefa,' Saelin deferred, his smile magnificent while his left eyelid twitched with anger and his stomach growled fiercely.
He positioned himself at the edge of the oasis, looking toward the west, and settled in for the duration. But he was so hungry that he could not sleep. Instead, he began to pace the small shelf of flat rock above the spring, thinking about how he would dispatch the young digger who had so insolently escaped him the first time.
Two red-tailed parrots chattered overhead at the cluster of dates he had wanted. They busily devoured every date as Saelin eyed them contemptuously. He threw a stone at one of them, but the parrot was not of a mind to take the abuse and swooped over Saelin's head, flapping her wings and screeching in his ears, while her mate scattered him with droppings. He ducked her second pass, fell against the stone wall, and searched blindly
