“Now you be on your best behavior!” Scar tells them.
“If you aren’t,” says Potbelly, “we’ll have to come and thump you.”
“Leave them alone,” Delia says to them, “they will be fine. A lot better than the last guards I had. They were a bunch of drunken layabouts!”
Shorty laughs and says, “You take care.”
“I will,” she says and moves to give him a hug.
Blushing, he sits there in the saddle and hugs her back. Behind him, barely heard jeers and inappropriate comments come from his friends.
Aleya gives Delia and Tersa both a big hug goodbye.
Turning to the pit fighters, Delia says, “You boys better be on your best behavior as well.” Nodding to Aleya she adds, “If I hear of anyone being rude or belligerent around her I’ll come back and do a little thumping of my own!”
“Yes ma’am,” Stig says with a serious expression on his face which lasts all of a second before he breaks into a grin.
“We better go or we’ll never get home,” states Delia. To those not going with her she says, “You be careful and bring Tinok home.” Then she turns her horse toward the Pass and begins the last leg of the journey back to The Ranch. Tersa and the recruits follow along behind.
Jiron sits there and waits until they disappear further into the Pass then turns to James. “Ready?” he asks.
Nodding, he says, “Let’s go find Tinok.”
They spread out in a search pattern not long after leaving Abi Salim. In the dark they went slow as they kept a close eye out for any of the others who might be lost in the dark. By the time dawn comes, none of the young men have yet been found.
“Zyrn, look,” one of the men who accompanies him says. Pointing off to the south, he directs their attention to a dozen wagons moving on an almost parallel course with them.
“They’re heading to the battlefield,” Zyrn says. He knows those who are driving the wagons, they belong to a town south of theirs. Not known for their sociability, Zyrn decides to give them a wide berth. “If they are on the way to scavenge the dead, they won’t act kindly to anyone who happens by.”
“Maybe they would help us look for the others?” another suggests.
Shaking his head, Zyrn turns his attention to the man and replies, “Not these people. They would just as soon kill you as not.”
Just then, the men driving the wagons take notice of Zyrn and his group. With a flick of the reins they race forward to be first to the battlefield, apparently not knowing the dead have been almost completely scavenged already.
Zyrn gauges the distance between them and figures the wagons will reach the battlefield first. “We’ll keep our distance,” he tells the others. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”
Kicking his horse into motion, he moves quickly across the desert. He doesn’t travel far before he sees a body lying in the dirt a little to the north. “Over here!” he hollers. The others move to join him and they soon reach the body of one of the missing young men.
Hoping down from his horse, he’s quick to realize the young man is dead. Lying on his stomach the way he is, the man almost appears to be sleeping. Reaching out, Zyrn turns him over.
Jumping back in startlement, he almost loses the contents of his stomach. One of the men traveling with him does double over and begins vomiting. The skin of the young man is gray, gray like the sand surrounding the battlefield. Not only that, but his features seem to be sagging like wax held too close to heat. The young man’s eyes are open, the pupils are gray as well.
“I think it is Hakim,” one man says.
“He is,” confirms Zyrn.
“What happened?” another man asks.
“I don’t know but we better find the others quick,” he says. Mounting he turns to the others and says, “We’ll come back and get him on our return.” With the rest following he continues toward the battlefield.
When they reach the beginning of the gray area he pauses. The face of the dead man they left behind comes to mind. The fact that his face was gray gives him pause in entering the gray sand.
“There’s another!” cries out one of the men.
Further into the area of gray sand lies another of the missing young men. As one of the men makes to enter the grayness, Zyrn yells, “Stop!”
“But he may need our help, Zyrn,” the man says.
Dismounting, Zyrn moves to the edge of the gray sand. Bending over, he hesitantly reaches down and touches it. The feel of it is the same as it was when they were here before. Turning to the man he stopped, he nods.
Kicking his horse in the sides, the man races over to the body lying in the sand. By the time Zyrn has remounted the man has stopped and is kneeling by the body. When Zyrn and the others approach, the man glances back to him and says, “It’s Ibala.”
His features mimic that of the other dead man; gray skin that looks like melted wax and pupils that have turned gray. “Do you think anyone is left alive?” one man asks.
Gazing out over the grey desert Zyrn shakes his head and replies, “I doubt it.” Further toward the sight of the battle, he sees the wagons of the other scavengers. They have stopped before reaching the area where the dead soldiers lay.
“They stopped,” he comments.
The others look to see what he’s talking about. “What do you think made them do that?” one of his companions asks.
“I don’t know,” he replies. Putting his hand across his forehead to keep the sun off his eyes, he tries to get a clearer view. Then movement catches his eye. Six figures are running away from the wagons back the way they came. “They are running away,” he says nervously.
“What should we do?” asks the man next to him. Despite his attempt to sound calm, fear has crept into his voice.
“I’m not sure but we better find out what’s going on,” he says. Kicking his horse in the sides he bolts toward the fleeing men. Before he has gone half the distance, three of the men fall and don’t get up. Then another falls and then another.
He reaches the last man just as he hits the ground. “Stay back!” Zyrn orders the others. Moving closer he watches as the man writhes upon the ground. Not a sound does the man make other than that of his limbs moving in the dirt. A spasm rips through him and he flips onto his back.
Most of his skin has turned gray and is beginning to sag in the same manner as the young men they found. One pupil is gray and the other is almost there. The man’s jaw opens and closes as if he’s trying to say something. Then another spasm tears through him before his body becomes still.
“Zyrn,” one man says with barely controlled fear evident in his voice, “let’s get out of here.”
“But we haven’t found my son,” another man argues.
“He’s dead!” the scared man exclaims. “They all are!”
“I’m not leaving here until I find my son!” the man shouts.
They look to Zyrn for a decision.
He glances from one to the others and then says, “I’ll stay here with Zaki. The rest of you return to the village and tell them what is going on.”
The fearful man immediately turns his horse and heads in a straight line home. The others turn to follow him.
“Thanks Zyrn,” Zaki says.
“Come on,” he replies. Glancing to the wagons, he sees the horses are down even though they are still in their traces. Angling away from the wagons, they begin to creep further toward the battlefield.
Before they go very far Zaki sees another body further into the gray area. Recognizing the cloak upon the body he cries out, “My son!” Kicking his horse in the sides he bolts toward where his son lays.
Zyrn makes to follow him when he notices the ground ahead of them seems to shimmer and shift. A bad
