Excerpt

The wind howled across the Kushari Desert, carrying a roiling cloud of sand that tinted the sky in shades of dull yellow and dirty red. A caravan, racing at the leading edge of the sandstorm, fled as though driven by the stinging lash of the blowing sand, a dozen large, shaggy camels out-pacing the half-dozen horses that struggled for footing in their wake.

"Can you see the city?" shouted Yolara, spitting the fabric of her head-scarf from her mouth so she could speak, only to have it blow back between her lips as her horse plunged forward through the sand.

Kusan, who rode alongside her, said nothing, pointing toward the dark shadow of the mountains and the golden-brown smear of Nizam's ochre walls at their foot, just visible through the cloud of dust kicked up by the camel's hooves.

Leaning low over their horses' necks, the pair pressed forward, their mounts laboring for each precious length. Sweat caked their haunches and spittle flew from their foaming mouths, but the dull pounding of their hooves was lost in the roar of the wind.

Behind them, the whirling sands closed in, scouring away all evidence of their passage.

Then, as though they had passed through an invisible wall, the wind stopped.

Yolara pulled up sharply, her mare dancing skittishly and shaking its head in nervous exhaustion.

A moment later, Kusan reined in his own horse, circling back to put himself between Yolara and the storm, even as the other horse-riders burst from the churning cloud and skidded to a stop behind her.

Ahead of them, Nizam rose from the desert, deep, sloping piles of sand at the base of city walls in the same shade of golden brown. The walls towered above the sands, creating the illusion of the city having risen from the depths. The massive wooden gates were closed against the storm, but a smaller, inset door stood open, the last of the caravan's camels disappearing through it.

Behind them, the storm churned in place, a towering mass of swirling sand rising like a great wall that extended to the right and left as far as the eye could see. The cloud loomed over them, blotting out the sky, but no longer advanced.

"How…?" Yolara asked, pressing her legs against her restless horse's flanks to control it as she unwound her head-scarf. Her dark, sweat-soaked hair tumbled down over her shoulders and lay there, unruffled by even the slightest of breezes.

She stared, wide-eyed, at the raging – yet impossibly immobile – storm, the sand that caked the strip of skin around her dark eyes framing them like a yellow mask against her golden-brown skin.

Kusan gazed at the billowing cloud, a slight frown wrinkling his brow as he pulled his own sand-encrusted head-scarf from his sun-bronzed face, folding it over to find a clean spot to clean the grit from around his dark eyes. "That is the work of the weather witch, my lady."

He turned his hooded gaze to Yolara. "Your grandmother, Queen Nayira, Daughter of the Wind."

⬧

Kusan was glad to be back in Nizam, the familiar clay walls, scents of spiced meats, and cool air of the oasis a welcome relief after over three months of travel. As Captain of the Queen's Guard, he had taken a small contingent of his fellow soldiers and had ridden westward into Tusya to collect the Princess, release her from fosterage, and return her to Nizam.

It should have been a simple enough task, but he had been met with confusion at the Tusyan royal court, where, he was informed, Princess Yolara had left some years before, it being the court of her first fosterage, when she was but a child of nine years old.

They headed east, toward Gerlach, through high mountain valleys, men and sturdy desert horses suffering from the cold as they followed roads that were often little more than narrow, tracks through deep snow that was only beginning its spring thaw. Half-frozen though they were, Kusan allowed no grumbling from his men at their prolonged journey, even after they lost a horse to the harsh conditions. Rather, when the opportunity presented itself, he simply sent one of his companions back to Nizam to inform Queen Nayira of their altered route.

Privately, however, he believed her having sent him in the wrong direction was but one more indication of the Queen's advancing years. This only increased his urgency to find the Princess and return her to Nizam with all possible haste.

But when they reached the Court of Gerlach, the Princess was not there, either.

"This is most unusual," the Gerlachi fosterage mistress said, frowning over the massive book that held the records of each noble youth's placements. "Princess Yolara began her fosterage very early…" She looked up at Kusan. "I remember – it was the year of the fevers. Her parents were both taken by the illness and she was sent to Tusya. Poor child, to be set adrift so."

"Where might I find her?" Kusan asked, thinking it would have been helpful if the Tusyan fosterage mistress had kept such comprehensive records.

The fosterage mistress turned back to the book. "She came to us from Erembourg, and remained with us for an additional year at the request of the king, her uncle. But when she left here, she was sent to Zuria, and from there…" her finger moved down the page, "…on to Kushar two years ago." She looked up at Kusan. "She is there yet. Surely Queen Nayira is aware of this."

"The error is mine, of course" Kusan said politely, for he would not speak ill of his queen, He pulled on his gloves. "I shall ride for Kushar immediately."

"You will want to keep to the eastern roads as much as possible," the fosterage mistress advised. "It is early in the season, but I am told the desert sandstorms are not to be endured. If you have the time, you may wish to travel along the coastline."

Kusan well knew the Kushari sandstorms, having endured them all his life. After sending a falcon to Queen Nayira bearing a message informing her of yet another alteration to their route, he and the remaining two men who accompanied him rode hard across the grassy plains that formed the eastern border of the desert, choosing speed over the safety of the coastal route. They considered themselves fortunate to encounter only one storm of only a few hours' duration during the journey to the Court of Kushar and to have lost only one horse in the crossing. The storm that pursued them across the open desert to the gates of Nizam had been much more powerful. Kusan had seen the remains of unprepared travelers who had been trapped in those storms, the flesh sliced from their bones by the wind-driven sand. They were lucky to have reached Nizam alive.

He looked at Princess Yolara, now riding calmly beside him through the streets of Nizam. She was not what he had expected, this sober beauty nearly ten years his junior, and whose unexpected laughter was like the ringing of tiny silver bells and as refreshing as falling water. When he had been shown into her chambers in Kushar, she had met his request to travel immediately to Nizam with a steady gaze, as though she had been expecting it – and having already reached twenty years of age, she probably had.

"I will need a few hours to gather my belongings," she said, turning briefly aside to murmur instructions to a handmaid who hurried hastily away. "And to bid farewell to my sisters."

"Of course, my lady."

"I am told that the crossing to Nizam is perilous, and will take nearly a month," she had continued. "A caravan is leaving at dawn; we will travel with them."

"As you wish," Kusan murmured.

And so Princess Yolara had taken charge of the journey, and captured his interest. It was only after he had left the room that Kusan had realized that there were no clouds in her eyes and that her fingers were tipped in stone.

He was grateful now that she had not yet removed her gloves. While he had gladly answered her many questions about Nizam and its people during their journey across the desert, there were certain topics that were best left to the Queen to address.