The sun was a growing white hole, searing across the sky.

  So far, Isaac had never ventured out during the day. He had been very careful to only travel under cover of darkness. Every night, he’d stopped hours before morning just to make sure he had adequate shelter for camp. His uncle had insisted he not take unnecessary risks. Rescuing his father was all well and good, but the man had been trapped for decades, and he could wait a little longer, if only to make sure his one begotten son would not die of sunstroke.

  But even in the cool shade of a slot canyon, the heat was miserable. It was a constant muddiness that clung to his skin and rubbed against his mind. It never ceased—only fell and rose in intensity, like waves in a tide. By the sixth day of travel, dried sweat had collected in every crack of his skin, and no amount of water ever seemed to slake him of thirst. Even the sandwyrms and their frightening speed hadn’t quite made him panic like the thought of being caught by the sun’s light without shelter.

  Right now, he judged the sun to be just past its apex. There was no shade or cover. Only sand. Endless sand. Gently flowing in dunes as far as he could see. Specks of it flew with the hot wind, catching in his eyes. Each step of his boots felt akin to stuffing his foot in a blacksmith’s forge. Before long, his shins were covered in burns from his feet constantly sinking through the mire. The fact that his wrists were bound in front of him was also not improving his balance.

  Sweat poured from his face. His eyes ached from the light. The heat seemed like a physical weight smothering his body, sapping his energy.

  “We should have stayed with the ship,” Isaac said.

  Zaria was ahead of him, working her way up a dune. She had wrapped herself in some kind of shawl, the white fabric alternatively loose and form-fitting. The pads of her clawed feet seemed to barely break the sand.

  “Them buzzards would’ve given us away,” she replied. “Like a beacon for whatever nasty sort wants easy pickings. Best we get some distance from it.”

  Isaac scoffed, tugging on his restraints. “Don’t want to share the treasure with your cutthroat friends?”

  “Not my friends. Not yours, either. Some human mage like yourself, carrying more potions than sense—odds are they’d rob you on principle alone.” She glanced back at him. “You going to cover yourself?”

  He had to raise both hands to wipe sweat from his eye. “Why would I want more clothing?”

  “No one ever think to teach you basic survival? It’s insulation. Protection. Keeps you furless sort from sunburn, too.”

  Isaac had noticed the robes she had stuffed into his pack. He’d thought little of them, more concerned with how heavily laden it was with water and rations.

  He held up his tied hands to her. “Can’t exactly dress myself now, can I?”

  She stopped climbing the dune. “Suppose not.”

  She came down towards him. Standing next to her was still an intimidating experience. His head barely reached her shoulders, and she had a presence of muscle and speed that seemed to trigger something primitive in Isaac. His heart raced whenever she was near.

  “Raise your arms,” she said, reaching over his shoulder. “Far be it for a knight to let her squire go underdressed.”

  “I am not your squire.”

  She yanked the bundled robes from his pack and forced his arms over his head. He stood there, baking in the sun and no less embarrassed, letting the gnoll wrap the thick fabric around his body. With her standing so close, he caught another waft of her unwashed body. The smell was thick and strong. Isaac grimaced as she secured the makeshift shawl in place with several belts. He felt like a baby wrapped in blankets.

  Zaria stepped back, looking him and up down. “Quite a fearsome sight. Try not to strike terror in the meek and innocent.”

  A hot gust of wind blew at him, carrying more of her scent. Isaac coughed and moved around her, continuing up the dune.

  “Something wrong, squire?” Zaria asked, keeping pace with him.

  “You have quite an odor on you.”

  “Thanks, love. Made it myself.”

  “That’s the problem, actually.”

  She glanced down at him. “Whose problem, exactly?”

  “Anyone downwind.”

  She chuckled. “Spoken like someone who’s never lacked for soap and bathwater. You don’t smell like a wee cherub yourself.”

  He tried to climb the dune faster, his feet sinking into the loose sand. He had to admit—despite the thick layers, the shawl was insulating him from the heat rather well. “You know nothing of my upbringing. It wasn’t fancy tarts and trips to the local tourney.”

  “Oh, truly?” She caught up to him again. “All cloistered in your tower, with three hot meals, a fire in the hearth, and a bed of feathers to rest your head. Quite the image of suffering.”

  “How do you sleep, then? Warm and snug with all the gold and jewelry you rob from the innocent?”

  “I’m supposed to feel bad for pinching fancy baubles? What good does a silver necklace do anyone ‘cept look real pretty? Least I turn it into food and ale.”

  “You’re a pirate,” Isaac said. “I doubt you stop there. Can’t leave any witnesses behind.”

  “Just admit you know nothing of the world ‘cept from books, Isaac. Save us all the trouble.”

  He reached the top of the dune and turned to face her. “Do you even know how many travelers you’ve killed as a cutthroat? Did you stop counting over shame or lack of care?”

  She stopped just before him. With the slope of sand, she was at head height. “Neither. The answer is none. Never killed a soul that didn’t have it coming.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “‘Cause you don’t know better. Killing your mark’s the worst thing you can do.” She waved off to the horizon. “You rob a family in a carriage, and no one looks twice. Should’ve hired protection, they’ll be told. You slaughter that family down to the last, and you’ll have the entire town guard up your arse before you break camp. Don’t need to be morals involved. It’s just sensible craftsmanship.”

  Isaac shook his head, continuing on. “I still don’t believe you.”

  “Look, it’s all about fear, right? You brandish your steel, you bear your teeth, you get the lads all laughing mean like you’re excited to gut something for a change, and you’ll have the target pissing their britches, begging your mercy. Might just convince the young boy in the back not to try nothing ‘fore he makes a mistake. Little bit of coin’s not worth anyone’s life.”

  “Great,” Isaac said, walking ahead. “I’ve seen it all now. A philanthropist pirate, just trying to help the common folk while she robs them blind. Never hurt a flower in all her life.”

  Ahead, the dunes stretched off past the horizon, not a single color other than brown to focus the eye. The sun was shining so brightly that the sky seemed nearly white.

  “Never claimed my hands weren’t bloody,” Zaria said. “Killed a couple score, at least. Town guards, rival pirates, organized soldiers once or twice. Ain’t proud of it, but that’s life for you.”

  Isaac snorted. “Like you had no choice.”

  “Got a right to defend me and mine, don’t I?”

  “No one forced you to turn to piracy.” His ankles were hurting from twisting in the sand. “You chose that path of your own free will.”

  He heard something like a snarl behind him. He turned and saw her teeth emerge from underneath a curling lip. “I won’t be talked to like such from a pissant little human who’s lived naught but a bleeding life of luxury compared to mine.”

  His heart raced, but he held his ground. The heat swirled around his head. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “No.” She poked a claw in his chest. “You tell me, Isaac. You ever gone a day in your life without food in your belly? You ever wonder where you’re going to sleep at night ‘fore now?”

  Isaac stared back at her.

  Her claw pressed deeper. “You watch some fat pig nobleman saunter by with fresh bread in his hooves, all while the little pup next to you is crying from hunger, and you tell me you wouldn’t snatch that loaf without a second thought.”

  “Maybe. I wouldn’t pretend to be better than I am.”

  Her ears flattened. “How ‘bout you keep your focus on tombs and mages. Clearly, it’s all you intend on understanding.”

  She shouldered past him, knocking him to the side with a leather pauldron. After a moment, Isaac followed, keeping a distance.

  They continued on. There was no landmark amongst the sand to guide their path—only Isaac’s map and the general position of the sun for bearing. With the makeshift shawl, he felt some measure of relief from the heat, but their journey ahead was long, and the hottest part of the day still approached. His legs ached. Each step through the sand was more exhausting than the last. Retrieving a waterskin from his pack was difficult with his hands tied, and the water itself was invariably hot.

  Zaria’s tail shifted back and forth as she walked ahead of him. The wild mohawk of hair on her head and neck flowed down her upper back, brushing over the white fabric of her shawl. Below that, her leather cuirass was torn open in several places, and exposed portions of her spotted fur appeared near golden in the sun. Further down, at the base of her tail—

  Isaac blinked, looked away, tried to recall his map. Zaria was in possession of it now, but he knew the gravesite was fairly close. If they travelled the rest of the day, and made a short camp, they’d reach it before noon tomorrow.

  He almost couldn’t believe it. All his life, he’d imagined what the place would look like. He’d poured endlessly over encyclopedias describing its appearance. A tomb built around the colossal skeleton of some extinct giant, sinking deep into the earth, its corridors built under the arches of ribs and petrified muscle. How dusty would its halls be? What kind of engravings would line the burial chambers? Where would his father lie amongst all that ancient ruin?

  In a day, he would finally know. It almost didn’t seem real.

  He glanced at Zaria again. His entire life had led to this. He couldn’t fail now. Not when he was this close.

  “So,” Isaac called out, “what’d you do to anger your friends? Why did they imprison you?”

  Zaria’s tail immediately stiffened. “I’d cease my gab if I were you, Isaac.”

  “You were giving plenty of it before.”

  “At your expense. Not mine.”

  He quickened his pace, closing the gap between them. “Was it just between you and your shipmates, or was it something bigger?”

  She kept walking ahead of him.

  “Zaria. I need to know if other pirates are going to come after you.”

  She looked up at the sky. “Aye, they will. That’s why we need the distance. Hope the wind covers ours tracks.”

  “Terrific. Not only have you kidnapped me for coin, but you’ve also sicced a band of cutthroats after me. Anything else you care to hamper my mission with?”

  “Well,” she said, “if my squire continues to slow us down, I’ll be sure to tell them who blew up one of their prized magic ships.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Don’t you start thinking you’ll get off better than me.”

  “Hey,” Isaac said. “What did you do?”

  She shifted her white shawl, scratched her neck.

  “I’ve got a right to know at this point.”

  “Week or so back,” the hyena said, “we got a contract for moving cargo from Valrynn, some shipping company or other that wanted their goods delivered to an outpost deep in the shrubland. Forgot the name. Should’ve paid attention.”

  “A company hired pirates to move their supplies?”

  “Sure. Best insurance one can buy. Who’s going to steal from a pirate ship?”

  “The pirates themselves, probably.”

  She gave a small snort. “I believe them ledger keepers usually call it ‘loss reduction’. Skimming from the top is better than stealing wholesale.” She waved a hand. “Anyway, we get the merchandise, we set sail, everything’s cheery. We pass up on more than one caravan since the contractor made such a fuss about fast delivery.

  “Night three or four, I hear a cry from the cargo deck. Checked it out, as you do, but there’s no one below. Still hear the crying. Sounds real pitiful like. Finally tracked it down to one of the crates.” Her fist balled at her side. “Crack it open and there’s three tiger kittens staring back up at me. Starved and covered in their own filth. Next crate I check has two young horses, and one’s clearly been dead a while. Third has humans. Fourth was boars. You get the idea.”

  Isaac almost spoke but stopped himself.

  “By then, my shipmates had come down to investigate the ruckus. First one brave enough to approach asks what the hell I’m doing. I ask him if he knew we were transporting slaves. Children, at that. He tells me no, but why should he care? Job paid too well to ask questions. Hopefully they hire us again. Then he kicks the crate and screams at the kittens to stop crying so much.

  “Before I know it, I’ve split his head open. Next two shipmates liked me some so they try calming me. I tell them clear as I can that the next person who gets near these kids is dead. By then, more are coming down.” She gazed off towards the horizon. “I’m so beside myself with fury that I kill nine others before a different plan strikes me. Managed to barricade the stairs long enough to rig a small satchel of blackpowder next to the hull. Blew a hole in the ship, resealed the crates, and started dumping them out the side.”

  She shrugged. “We were close enough to a border town for the local garrison to hear the explosion. Course, I never saw if they mustered. Managed to dump maybe a third of the cargo before they broke through the barricade and pinned me down. Just had to hope those kids had more of a chance tumbling down into the sand than wherever they were headed. Ship broke hard off course to avoid pursuit, so I know they never retrieved what I tossed. That’s something.”

  She spent the next few moments walking in silence.

  “They tortured me for a couple days. Friends taking vengeance. Captain never let them do nothing permanent. People like me get reserved for special treatment—made a big show of, keep the others in line—so the captain tossed me off to the next ship heading back to base while she completed delivery and got her hull patched. Promised to have me begging for death. Then you came along, and now we’re here.”

  Isaac watched her for a moment. “There weren’t slaves on that ship, right? The one I found you on?”

  “No. I checked.” She glanced back at him. “Is my squire suggesting he would have stopped his holy mission to rescue a couple kids?”

  “Yes! Of course I would! Just. . . .” His voice trailed off, carried by the quiet wind.

  “Just worried you might’ve burned a couple kids to cinders without realizing?”

  “Not just that. How many other ships are loaded with slaves? Who’s paying for all this?”

  “You know,” she said, “I’m wondering that, myself.”

  “Do you . . . know where those ones are? Where they might’ve been taken?”

  She shook her head. “Like to think I know for some. Safe and sound, or near as you get in an orphanage. The rest? No idea.”

  Isaac didn’t respond. He gazed off into the distance, looking for smoke or signs of ships. He saw nothing. Just sand and sky.

  “That satisfy your curiosity, Isaac?”

  “I don’t think satisfy is the right word.”

  “Aye, probably not.”

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  They travelled for a few hours more, Isaac’s mind growing numb with heat and exhaustion, before Zaria suggested they take cover in the growing shade of a dune.

  He slid down the sand as carefully as he could, managing to get only a modest amount stuck in his boots. His makeshift shawl was soaking with sweat and heavier than a rug. Underneath his tattered clothes, all the exposed skin had burned a bright red, like stripes on a zebra. Most of the sunburn was concentrated on his neck and face, where the bruised nose Zaria had given him continued to painfully throb. His general condition could be described as some combination of swollen, tender and already peeling.

  But, he had to admit, the shade was a relief. It was only marginally cooler, considering it was just the recently formed shadow of a dune as the sun continued to burn its way west, but any amount of coolness was more than welcome.

  Once he’d slid to the bottom without adding to his injuries, Isaac ripped off his pack as fast as his tied hands could manage. Tossed out everything in the way while digging towards the bottom. His rations. Pirate grub. The same sort of salt meat and hardtack that had been packed for him initially, but in much higher quantities. He ripped into the meat— it was pork, probably, but he was too hungry to care. Despite it being tougher to chew than his boots, he gnashed at it eagerly until it was soggy and torn enough to swallow.

  “My word,” Zaria said, sliding down next to him. “Never thought I’d beat a mage for table manners.”

  “Hungry,” Isaac managed to say.

  “I gathered that, love.”

  Isaac licked his lips, tasting the salt, and began to smash off pieces of hardtack. “Energy. Magic requires energy. Get it from calories.”

  “What’s a calorie?”

  Isaac raised his hardtack in demonstration before chomping on it. The texture was similar to clods of dirt, and about as easy to swallow.

  Zaria unsheathed her poleaxe, shoving the spear tip deep into the slope of sand. When it was firmly buried, she leaned back against the haft and wiped her mohawk away from her eyes. “Suppose wrecking a pirate ship would work up one’s appetite. No word on dignity, of course.”

  Isaac focused on chewing another strip of salt meat, washing it down with hot water.

  He could feel the hyena watch him for a few moments longer, but he was much too ravenous to bother with etiquette. His body was desperate for nourishment, almost to the point of not caring about the taste of his rations. Almost. Since he’d left, more than anything, Isaac had spent his time thinking about food. Camping in the shadow of a gulch, he’d remembered meals taken in the library. Warm bread, hearty stews, chicken and fish, garlic and cloves and butter. Sometimes, but not very often, his uncle would join him in breaking his fast, and he would bring fresh eggs with milk. One of the only times Isaac ever felt like a nephew rather than a disciple.

  He stopped his chewing when he noticed movement.

  Zaria was unwrapping her shawl, pulling it over her head. For a moment, her face was obscured, and he could see her chest. Her leather cuirass was now more ribbon than armor. Her spotted fur poked out between the cuts and slashes, and underneath that fur were numerous scars. Some were fresh, still healing—others were not. Some seemed to bend with the flex of her muscles. One, in particular, ran down past her sternum, travelling towards a breast—

  “Does my squire wish something of his knight?”

  Isaac jerked his head away like he was dodging a cane.

  Zaria slowly adjusted the piece of torn cloth acting as her brassiere, her eyes never leaving him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your ganders.”

  “Just . . . curious about your scars.”

  “Are you? Truly?”

  “I don’t mean to pry.”

  She leaned back against her poleaxe, rolling her shoulders. “I’m an open book, Isaac, and I know you can read.”

  He planted his gaze on a small cloud in the distance. “How long should we rest?”

  There was a pause behind him. He wasn’t entirely sure how much of the heat on his face was blush or sunburn.

  “Actually,” she said, “I think we should make camp. It’s fairly sheltered.” The area around them was an almost square courtyard of rolling dunes, like a natural caldera of sand. “Fairly hidden, more like. Close enough to the tomb to scare any but the bravest sort from pursuit. If they find our tracks at all.” There was another pause, as if the idea was gaining traction. “It’s like to be twilight soon. What do you say we slumber now, awake before dawn, and march to danger and fortune by moonlight?”

  Isaac made himself look back at her. “Are you actually asking my opinion?”

  “If it agrees with mine, sure.”

  “Well, it does. But I’ll try not to do it again.”

  Isaac reached into his pack and pulled out a few phylacteries, along with a mortar and pestle. Various herbs and extracts—chamomile, mostly. He mixed the ingredients together and grinded them until the poultice was a pale, even yellow. After adding a tiny amount of water, he began to rub the solution onto his burns and scrapes. It both stung and cooled his skin.

  He could feel Zaria watching him. She had started on her own rations and was loudly ripping into a hunk of salt meat. Facts from his encyclopedias rose unbidden into his mind. Hyenas had one of the strongest bites of all mammals—they could easily shatter bone with their teeth. The large carnassials at the back of their jaw provided leverage, while the front canines both gored and crushed. Most of all, he could remember the killing power he had felt as they clamped around his throat—

  “Squire,” Zaria said.

  Isaac nearly dropped his mortar.

  “Entertain your knight. She grows weary from travel.”

  Isaac continued to rub his burns, focusing on his swollen nose. “Maybe she should change her direction? Perhaps, away from the tomb full of death and defilement? Towards a warm bed and cold ale?”

  She continued to chew her meat. “Is that cowardice I’m hearing?”

  “Oh, merely concern. Wouldn’t want a righteous warrior such as herself to . . . overestimate her abilities.”

  “Well, you fret naught about that. She’s won more battles than a dwarf climbing stairs. She’ll keep her squire safe.”

  “Of course,” Isaac said. “Surely that’s the way it’ll work.”

  He sealed the remains of his poultice in an empty vial and stuffed it in his pack. He doubted that he could assemble his tent on the loose sand, so he leaned back into the slope of the dune, sinking in just enough to be comfortable, and closed his eyes. For a moment, all he heard was a gentle desert breeze. His aching muscles began to rest.

  “Squire.”

  His eyes shot open. “I am not your squire!”

  She grinned around a pull of her waterskin. “You going to list your titles again? Best fire-blowin’ wizard this side of the continent?”

  “Untie me, and I’ll give you a demonstration.”

  “Oh, I bet you would.” She tossed the empty skin over her shoulder. “Tell me about yourself, Isaac. Consider me curious.”

  He wished greatly for sleep. “Why?”

  “Well, maybe I consider fireballs flying from your hand to be an interesting topic of discussion.” He heard the folding of her leather armor, as if she was shifting position. “And you like to bluster much, even when tied and helpless, but I know there’s a certain—what’s the word—timidness about you that belies a lack of experience. Like you’ve been shut up in a mage tower all your life, mistaking book-learning for true knowledge.”

  Isaac stared up at the sky, watching the sunlight slowly turn red.

  “You certainly peek at me like a shopboy who’s still afraid of lasses.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I suppose you won’t let me sleep if I remain quiet.”

  “Quite right.” She shifted again. Definitely closer. “So, if you please, enlighten me as to how baby Isaac became a man.”

  “I was raised by my uncle, lived in the tower granted to him by the local college of elements. Educated in elemental casting and necrotic counteraction. This is the first time I’ve ever travelled away.”

  He listened to the whisper of the wind, remembering how it sounded through his high bedroom window.

  Zaria snorted. “You’re not gonna make me prompt every sentence, are you? Give me the full portrait.”

  “My day always started at dawn,” Isaac said. “If I was not awake, bathed, and dressed before then, I was caned. Mornings were dedicated to mnemonics practice—three hours, at least, and frequently longer. If I forgot a motion in all the complicated sequences, I was caned. If repeatedly casting the spells left me too weak to stand, I was caned. In the afternoon, I studied by candlelight in the cellar of the tower, reading endless biographies of centuries old sorcerers and their contribution to magical knowledge. If I could not name one of these sorcerers and their treatises upon demand, I was caned. Evenings were spent doing chores—copying manuscripts, preparing lab equipment. I rarely spent any nights not nursing both welts and fatigue.

  “The only people I ever talked to beside my uncle were experts he would bring to expand my curriculum. Without fail, they would mention my father. They would say they’re sorry. He was a good man, and it’s a shame what happened, and what a proper boy I was growing to be. They’d tell me stories of the man he was. All the favors he’d done them. Again, without fail, they’d tell me how much I resembled him. The spitting image, they’d say.” Isaac paused. “One time, I told my hex instructor that, if he was so dismayed about my father’s capture, he should aid in his rescue. The second he left, my uncle caned me until I was bedridden.”

  “Where was your mother in all this?” Zaria asked.

  “She died giving birth to me.”

  The wind gently sprayed sand across his boots.

  “Anyway,” Isaac said, “you were right. I never lacked for hot meals. We had a servant who’d cook our food and wash our clothes and tidy our rooms. I was never hungry. I was always warm. I always had a bed. That’s more than many.”

  “Is that . . . normal? All the caning and discipline?”

  “It’s not abnormal. Magic is complex and difficult to learn. It requires strict discipline and years of practice. I am considered fairly . . . prodigious for my age.”

  His head sank deeper into the slope of sand. Even in the shade, he was still miserably hot.

  “I know the difference between tough love and mean spirit,” Zaria said. “Your uncle sounds like the latter.”

  “He resented being my caretaker. He’d often tell me so. Whenever the cane flew, he’d say I was ungrateful for all the sacrifices he made for me. All the work he put into my lessons, the cost of feeding and sheltering me. He’d tell me the only reason my insolence hadn’t gotten me kicked to the gutter was because of his debt to my father. Not to mention all the scorn he would receive from our neighbors and the Diet if they knew he’d abandoned me.” Isaac sighed. “He wasn’t evil. Sometimes, he’d dine with me, and I’d see a different side of him. He’d joke and share bits of court politics. He’d bring adventure novels for me to read. When I earned my journeyman title, I remember looking into the crowd and seeing him smile.”

  For a moment, Isaac was lost in memory.

  “You know that letter I have? The one with the seal? It was written by him. Mostly, it’s just a reminder of my mission, a means of granting safe passage. But there’s this—” Isaac couldn’t get the words out. “He wrote a line, towards the end. ‘Your father will be proud of you.’”

  He had read that line many, many times.

  “Isaac,” Zaria said, “I don’t mean this ungently, but I’ve seen this tale before. Pirates, mercenaries, soldiers—any band of rough men that brings along kids. It’s abuse, and it’s real measured like. You smack the lad frequently, insult every effort he makes, but throw in a reward every now and then, and he’ll love you. He’ll try desperately to win your approval. He’ll think all the horror you put him through is for a purpose rather than plain meanness.”

  “I don’t care for your opinion on my family,” Isaac said. “You asked, and I answered. That’s all.”

  “So be it. Your business, in the end.” He heard her start to chew on more meat. “If we’re changing the subject, then I feel obligated to inquire something.”

  “Yes?”

  “You ever laid with a woman before?”

  Isaac turned onto his side, facing away. “I’m going to sleep now.”

  “Hold a moment. Don’t think I’ve heard the full truth.”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “No. I think someone’s lyin’ to you.”

  He rolled back over. “How do you mean?”

  She unfolded his map from a pocket and shifted over until she was sitting next to him. She held the map out, and Isaac noted, disdainfully, that it had acquired her musk. “You came up from the south, correct? This way here?”

  He studied the map. “More or less.”

  “You say that like it doesn’t mean nothing.”

  “Should it?”

  She snorted in disbelief. “Where do you hail from, Isaac? Be specific.”

  He looked up at her. The scar across her eye was the same dull pink as the sunset above.

  “Do you really think it hurts to tell at this point?”

  Isaac rolled his eyes. “The outskirts of Khador, close to this river here.” He pointed it out.

  “That’s to the east. Quite far, in fact.”

  “I hope you’re getting to a point, somewhere.”

  “Isaac, why were you coming up from the south if your home lies to the east?”

  “My uncle told me to venture around the eastern portion of the desert. He said there were vicious pirates around those parts. Clearly, he was right.”

  “You have no idea what lies to the south, do you?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  She jabbed a claw into the map. “These are spawning grounds for the sandwyrms. Largest nursery for the beasts this side of the continent. And now you’re telling me you strolled right through their love nests because you thought it was the safest bloody option.”

  He blinked, reexamined his path from home to present. “That can’t be right—”

  “Isaac, I don’t think you fully grasp the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. You are the first person who has ever entered those dunes and not come out the other side half-digested, and you did so on foot, no less. If word of this feat ever hits the masses, your name will be remembered for centuries. I mean, they’ll write songs about you.” She cleared her throat and began to sing in a flat pitch. “‘O brave Isaac, small and frail but strong in mind, marched through the sand and burned their hides.’”

  “I can imagine it without your aid, thanks.”

  “Did you not suspect nothing? Did you not consider that maybe encountering a horde of limbless dragons was not a normal travel experience?”

  “I—” He looked at his map markers again, as if seeing them for the first time. “I was prepared for adversity. The sorceress in the tomb could’ve been controlling the beasts. I wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t sending them after me.” He let his head fall back into the sand. “It wasn’t heroic. I was terrified. Almost swallowed whole a dozen times over. It seemed every step brought rings of teeth erupting from the sand. I had to use most of my scrolls just to keep them at bay.”

  Zaria hummed. “Probably explains why you were so eager to blow your load at a perfectly fine sandship.”

  “Which I’m sure you’re very grateful for.”

  “Oh, dearly indebted, love. But here’s the rub—your uncle told you to walk through that nest, didn’t he? Showed you exactly where to go?”

  “I mean . . . yes, but—”

  “He also the one that packed your bag?”

  Isaac almost reached for his pack instinctively. “Yes, he was.”

  “So he’s the reason you were wondering around the desert with far too little water, then? Told you to depend on an oasis that had dried up years prior, didn’t he?”

  Isaac gazed up at the reddening sky, mind racing.

  “Here’s the thing, love,” Zaria said. “This may come as a shock, but many pirates are freeloaders. Idle sinners.”

  “Don’t break my heart like that.”

  “Oh, yes—with great pain, I speak true. You got your lads whose only interest in life is their next drink, their next fight, and their next fuck, and usually in that order. Their patrols are sloppy, they’ll break the face of the first bloke that looks at them funny, and they’re even more like to kill innocent folk that don’t need killing. Dangerous to be around, as I’m sure you’d agree, but code of conduct prevents a simple throat-slitting from solving the dilemma. You know what the solution is?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “You send them off on an errand you don’t expect them to come back from. A scouting mission when the town guard’s all riled, or a rearguard action they got no hope of blocking. Something deniable if you ever get questioned by their mates. Makes it look tragic rather than calculated.”

  A tense feeling crept into his chest.

  “I’m thinking your uncle did that to you. Problem is, you managed to survive it.”

  “No,” Isaac said.

  “Surely, a man such as him would know better, if your mission was so important. And yet—”

  “No,” Isaac said, more firmly. “My uncle did no such thing.”

  “I understand them accusations might—”

  “You understand nothing!” Isaac shot back up to sitting, dragging a cloud of sand. “My uncle is a high ranking member of the Diet and a tenured instructor at the college of Khador. He is petitioning for entrance into the Council of Heavens and well expected to receive it. He is not some—some—some cutthroat stabbing a lazy thug in the back! I am his kin!”

  Zaria’s ears flicked back and forth. “It’s like you said. He never wanted you, resented the time and coin you stole, and his only obligation to your livelihood was the disapproval of his neighbors. Either he tried to kill you, or he’s stupid. Take your pick.”

  “He raised me! Took me off my mother’s corpse! The trials and lessons he put me through were for a purpose! He has trained me my entire life to rescue my father—his brother! Why would he spend decades raising me as a sorcerer if he just wanted to kill me without question?”

  “How do you explain the wyrms and the water, then? Incompetence?”

  With his hands tied, he clenched one fist inside the other. “I don’t rightly know. But it’s not your place to wonder.”

  She held out a palm. “Easy, Isaac. I may not know your business, but I know mine, and I know a setup when I see one. It looks wrong, is all. Might be you’d consider that if you weren’t so desperate for his approval.”

  He noted the poleaxe at her back and the dagger at her hip. Some reason returned to him, and he sat back. “Of course you’d think that way. Some common pirate like you would assume the worst of everyone. We’re all just trying to take advantage of each other, aren’t we?”

  “Suppose you aim to prove me wrong.”

  “No. Why should I? It’s exactly what you did. You dug through my belongings and saw my map, thought you’d have a chance to get filthy rich, and threatened to leave me for dead if I didn’t lead you down to buried treasure. You’re threatening my life’s mission just to line your own pockets. I’d say you’re a perfect example of cutthroats the world over.”

  Her ears flattened against her skull. “I don’t have a choice. Some of us don’t got the luxury for morals.”

  “You could walk away with your life at any time. You are choosing to do this.”

  “I betrayed my crew! Do you know what pirates do to traitors? Torture. Public torture. My captain’ll flay my skin, and spill my guts, and tell all the onlookers exactly what happens to them that kill their mates! Right now, half the gods-damned ships in the region are combing the desert for yours truly, and if they find me, they’ll end up throwing what’s left to the dogs!”

  “Hide in a town, then. Try an honest profession.”

  “You mean the towns that all got wanted posters with my furry visage lining the taverns? All that waits for me in civilized society is a cot and piss bucket in a dungeon. That’s what being an outlaw means, in case you weren’t aware. It means that if I got an army of thugs wants to kill me, then I have no recourse but death. On their side or mine.”

  Isaac shook his head. “None of that requires you to pillage a tomb full of necromancy. You have no idea of the dangers that lurk in those halls. It’s a fool’s errand, and you’re a fool for dreaming of it.”

  “That make you a fool, too?”

  “The difference is that I was trained for it. You were not.”

  She breathed out slowly through her teeth. “That gold ain’t just a wild dream of mine. That gold is power. It’s peace of mind. It’s the only bloody chance I got left to buy some measure of safety. It’s bribing a magistrate for asylum, paying a smuggler to ship me off to sea, or just plain hiring enough protection that I don’t got to look over my shoulder the rest of my life. If I don’t find that treasure—if you don’t help me get it—then I’m dead. No question, no chance.”

  Isaac stared back at her, meeting a gaze that was lined with teeth, scars and fury.

  “Now you listen to me, Isaac, and you listen well. I’m sorry for doing this to you. Truly. If I weren’t so desperate, then I’d have sent you on your way with no harm or malice. I think highly of your mission, and, despite your best efforts, I’m beginning to think highly of you, too. And if my word means anything at all, then I promise to honor our deal. I help you rescue your father, we split the treasure, and say goodbye. I got no intentions, otherwise.”

  She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Here’s how this will play out. Your hands will remain bound until I can trust that you won’t blow me to cinders while my back is turned. If a situation arises where your hands need to be unbound, then they will be so with a dagger at your back, lest you try something stupid. I will be watching sharp for any indication of treachery. And if I find any inclination of such—”

  Before he could blink, she drew her dagger and pressed it to his throat.

  “Then I will not hesitate to end your life.”

  Above, the sky had turned the color of blood.

  “Do we understand each other?”

  Isaac felt the edge of the blade as he swallowed. “I suppose so.”

  “Good.” Without taking her dagger or her eyes away from him, she reached into her pack and pulled out a wheel of rope, tossing it into his lap. “Tie your ankles to your wrists.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can’t slit my throat while I slumber, that’s why.”

  Isaac glanced down at the rope, rubbing it through his fingers. “I, uh. . . .”

  “What is it?”

  “I . . . don’t know how to tie a knot.”

  For a moment, there was no movement. Not from him, her, or the dagger.

  Then she burst into laughter, letting her arm drop to the sand. She tried to say something, holding up a finger, then laughter overcame her again. It echoed out across the dunes, almost a howl.

  “Of course you don’t,” she said, still snickering. Her canines pressed against her snout in a toothy grin. “Why should you ever need to learn something so basic? Probably wipe your arse with magic instead of paper.”

  Isaac couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or relieved.

  “Scoot your legs out. I’ll do it.”

  She returned the dagger to her hip and begun to tie several knots into the rope, fast as a sailor. She formed two loops, fastening them around his ankles. By the end, his legs were as bound as his arms, and both were connected together by a single line of rope that ran along his torso. It wasn’t tight enough to force him to bend, but he would certainly have trouble doing anything other than flopping on his belly.

  Zaria returned to her position on the slope. “Why do you have to make me say things like that, Isaac? I was enjoying our conversation.”

  He tested the new range of his limbs. It wasn’t far. “All that was my fault, huh?”

  “Obviously. Just to be clear—if I weren’t growing so fond of you, you’d be hogtied.”

  “Ah,” Isaac said, calm as he could. “Well. I’ll certainly . . . continue my charm. As you like.”

  She gave him a smile that wasn’t entirely sarcastic. “I hope so.” She nestled herself into the sand, folding her arms and closing her eyes. “Well, night night. Don’t let the sandwyrms bite.”

  Isaac watched her for several moments. “Is . . . that it?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, not opening her eyes.

  “You just threatened me with a knife and now you’re going to sleep?”

  “Sure.”

  “. . . really?”

  “Isaac,” she said. “For you, that was the first time someone’s threatened your life. For me, that was a business greeting.”

  He blinked a few times, watching her chest slowly rise and fall.

  “Stop staring at my tits, by the way.”

  He quickly laid down in the sand, trying to pull his sweat soaked shawl into a blanket. “Right, uh . . . goodnight?”

  “Sweet dreams,” she replied.

  Isaac felt his body sink into a snug depression, soft sand spilling over his shoulders. He was warm, and the poultice had soothed his burns. For the first time in nearly a week, he had slaked his thirst and calmed his hunger. Around him, the dying light crawled its way up the dunes in rich shades of pink and orange.

  He watched the sky until the stars appeared. After a while, Zaria began to snore. A little longer after that, he fell into a dreamless sleep, more out of exhaustion than anything.