In Thy Name

Chapter 8 - Wings

The cold breeze tugged at his hair, his capewrap, ran chill fingers along his cheek and bare hands. The sand under him had long since lost the sun's heat; it sucked heat from him. He felt part of the sand, part of the desert. He wished he could disappear into it, burrow into the sand like a toad. Any moment now the Centarchos Frostarrow would come after him, and he had no strength left to fight.

The sound of wings beat through the darkness, and a soft, hoarse cawing reached his ears. "Djusra?" His voice came out a croak.

A shadow hopping and bobbing toward him. He raised his hand, felt the long pinions like gossamer swords, the shorter feathers near her shoulder. She stood patiently as he tried to push himself up, but he could hardly raise his chest off the ground. "Come closer," he gasped.

The shadow cocked her head at him.

After several attempts, he managed to get a whistle out of his parched mouth, but that only made her hop about. He tried again and again to lift himself from the sand, but each time he raised himself less, until he couldn't bring his arms to try again.

"Iquyullah's balls..." he muttered. He really was going to die here. It wasn't fair. He hadn't even accomplished anything yet, except clearing that stupid rockfall away from the entrance to Castle Caran. Was that what he was going to be remembered for?

Let them all be eaten by maggots, he thought. The Masunyi and the Gladiari, the families of Gallad and Caran and Tainian and....Not Averian, he thought, and a wave of loneliness washed over him. "I swear to be by your side always..." But he would never see Teshem again.

Well, what of it? He had already said goodbye to so many people. What was one more? Nothing could be counted on. Everything, from the desert on down, was bent on his undoing.

The desert. What a fickle place. He had always counted on it as his ally, his protection, his hiding place, but now it was complicit in his destruction. Even Djusra wouldn't help him, sitting there next to him just out of reach. "Stupid bird," he muttered, then tried to shout it. His voice emerged as a raw croak. "Stupid bird!"

The shadow cocked her head at him again. "Go to the devil," he muttered and let his head fall on the sand. His eyes closed, or perhaps the world simply disappeared. Darkness enveloped him like a soft blanket, and he sank into it wearily.

The next thing he heard was Teshem's voice. "Sareb...ophilos...caros..."

Stop imagining things, he told himself.

Hands gripped his shoulders and arms, more than one pair of hands. He was lifted off the sand. "Here," Teshem said in Sev-Halla, and an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Sareb recognized the lean contours of Teshem's body, the weight of his arm. It was really him. "Tesha," he murmured, clung to him.

"Have some water," Teshem said in Samrych, and held a canteen to his lips. Sareb swallowed with great effort.

"When have you last eaten, ophilos?"

Sareb shrugged. He wanted to go back to sleep.

Teshem spoke to someone. As soon as his voice faded, Sareb sank into darkness, but he was called back again by Teshem's voice. "Ophilos..." Teshem's finger touched his cheek. "I have horse's blood here. I don't think you're going to like it, but you have to try to drink it. You'll get your strength back faster than with those blasted bread-rocks."

"Hm," Sareb said.

"Pick up your head...all right, now open your mouth."

Sareb was too tired to disobey. He cracked open his eyes to see Teshem dip his fingers into a bowl in the sand, glistening wetly under a golden light. Catching Sareb's eye, Teshem said, "Yes, I do have to feed you like a baby goat. Not even the horse has any energy to spare on spilling." He raised his hand to Sareb's lips.