74 The Great Desert

Traveling with a large caravan, Adreala enjoyed the rolling countryside of the Missinia soldanate while her grandfather regaled the merchants with stories of his journeys. Adreala had heard the tales before, but she listened anyway with a new perspective. She was on an adventure herself now. Whenever she got hot, dusty, or uncomfortable, she reminded herself that her sisters were spending their days in the church studying Urec's Log. Compared to that, even the biting flies were tolerable.

They arrived at Desert Harbor near sunset. Imir pointed out a cluster of sturdy canvas tents, a few pavilions of colorful silk, and three permanent structures made of wood and stone. He explained to Adreala that the population of the camp town had swelled in preparation for the next departure of sand coracles as soon as the winds turned.

“Each year this place grows busier and busier.” Imir nodded with satisfaction. “I see we have fifteen coracles ready to go—five brand new, and ten repaired and refurbished.”

The soldan's son Burilo, who administered the camp town, emerged from the main building and regarded Adreala in surprise. He had tried to grow a full beard, but it remained patchy, though well combed. “So, this gangly girl is my cousin? Ah, I remember Omra was scrawny when he was your age, too.”

Adreala returned his teasing. “Would you rather I was a fat horse-maiden? Then I'd never fit in a saddle, and I intend to travel far and wide.”

Soldan Xivir came strutting up, guiding Imir and Adreala to the main administrative house. “I promise you a fine meal and a comfortable bed—enjoy it. Aboard a sand coracle, you'll barely have room to stand, much less sleep.”

Throughout dinner, Imir continued to tell stories about his adventures among the Nunghals, bragging that he was the first true Uraban ever to gaze upon the southern ocean. But Adreala had heard a different version of the events from Saan. “I thought my brother and Sen Sherufa were the first to see the ocean. Didn't you come up afterward, Grandfather?”

Imir flushed. “A matter of semantics, my dear girl. Sherufa is a Saedran, and Saan—much as I love the boy—has a Tierran mother. And so, by default, I am the first true Uraban to have laid eyes upon the new sea.” Adreala rolled her eyes at the frivolous distinction.

Later, her grandfather tucked her in as if she were a little girl, but Adreala didn't mind. She found the attentions comforting. Though tired, she slept restlessly, excited about the impending dangerous voyage across the Great Desert. Despite all his exuberance for the upcoming trip, Imir slept deeply and Adreala could hear him snoring in the next room.

Just before dawn, she crawled out of bed and pulled on her traveling clothes. She stood outside in the dry coolness, watching the first faint light of dawn seep into the eastern sky. Lamps burned in a few of the pavilions, in the windows of the main offices, and the cookhouse. A handful of early risers worked among the coracle baskets, which had been packed with cargo and supplies the previous evening. Two groggy merchants went in search of cookfires where they could find a cup of tea to accompany their morning meal.

As daylight brightened and people began to stir, Adreala watched the glow of a burnished gold sunrise spill across the dunes. She saw movement. Silhouetted figures rose like ants from behind the sandy slopes. Men on horses. First a dozen, then twenty, then more, in a long line. At least a hundred riders gathered there at the desert's edge, looking toward the camp city.

At first she thought they must be riders that Burilo had sent out to patrol the wasteland, but something seemed ominous about this group. Finally a merchant pointed them out to one of the local workers, and the man yowled an alarm. “Urec protect us—bandits! Bandits! We're under attack!”

The alarm acted as a signal to the strange riders. Adreala heard their leader whistle, and with a loud rumble the line of bandits rode down into the camp. The girl added her own screams of warning as the people in Desert Harbor scrambled about in panic. Guards, merchants, and harbor workers burst out of their pavilions and tents, grabbing weapons.

The bandits charged into the camp, slashing with swords, shooting arrows, creating total chaos. They kicked at campfires, hacked down tents, killed anyone in their way. Behind the first group of raiders came a second line of fifty men, carrying torches. Whooping, laughing, and goading each other, the bandits threw the burning torches onto the pavilions, igniting the cloth. With shouted curses, men scrambled to and fro, trying to save what they could.

Adreala saw that the raiders' target was the cluster of fifteen sand coracles that were packed and ready for departure. Striking down any man who stood in their way, the horsemen tossed fiery brands into the wicker baskets. The silk balloon sacks caught fire, and the flames grew larger and hungrier.

Adreala looked desperately for somewhere to hide in the turmoil. Burilo, Soldan Xivir, and her grandfather burst out of the main building and tried to rally the guards. Waving to get their attention, Adreala heard a galloping horse close by and turned to see a hideous rider bearing down on her. He had black paint on his face and clumps of red dye in his matted hair. His sword was raised, his eyes wide and gleeful, but when he saw her, he thrust the scimitar back in his sash and swooped an arm down to grab her.

Adreala crouched, ready to fight, although she had no weapon. She tried to jump out of the way, but the bandit second-guessed her. As his horse thundered past, he grabbed her roughly by the waist and threw her like a rolled rug onto the saddle in front of him. She struggled, but he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back so fiercely that the pain sent a thunderclap through her skull. She tried to claw him, but his grip was like iron. The horse kept running.

Attackers poured through the camp in an unstoppable wave. Another bandit rode up alongside, regarding her with scorn. “She's a child, Norgo—why waste time on her? Slit her throat and save the weight for supplies we can steal.”

The painted bandit growled, “Think about it—why would a girl be here? Must be someone important.”

“You have sand in your brain. Do what you will. I'm grabbing more wineskins.” The other bandit peeled off. Many of their comrades continued to wreak destruction. When Desert Harbor was in flames and bodies lay strewn on the ground, they all wheeled around and raced back into the open dunes, their horses laden with wine, food, and stolen goods.

Behind them, all fifteen sand coracles were engulfed in fire and smoke.