Evrin stepped out onto his private balcony and sighed. Had he done the right thing in telling Ella about Carla? Was it better she didn’t know?
He looked out at the Great Court and wondered if he was even needed.
Evrin was depressed.
Without his powers, what could he do against Sentar? He’d brought this horror on the world by keeping the people ignorant of the truth. He should have known the relic would never stay hidden; the Sentinel was too great a mystery.
The relic was impervious to harm, as was the statue itself, although somehow the essence in the pool had melted the surrounding wall like butter. The Sentinel was now walled up, but it was only a bare measure of protection from cannon, orbs, and Sentar’s own power.
And what did it matter if the portal stayed closed, if Sentar conquered the Empire on his own?
Once Sentar had the world under his boot heel, he could take his time about opening up the portal. Only Killian could challenge Sentar.
What use was an old man?
12
The burning sun shone fierce rays on the yellow expanse of the Hazara Desert. A growing wind blew sand off the rolling dunes, sending it flying through the air. The sand caught in hair and clothing; it entered noses and mouths, ears and throats. Jehral pulled his headscarf up to cover his nose and mouth, leaving his eyes exposed to the coarse grains.
He’d taken to leading some of the regular patrols personally, and without being asked, he concentrated on the rugged coast. Day after day he led his men along the cliffs and coves, camping under the stars at night, watering horses at scarce oases. His men were tough shalaran, unmarried warriors. They made no complaint, though some spoiled for a fight and questioned his persistence to his face.
A rider made his way up the column, overtaking the men behind Jehral to draw up alongside his leader.
“Salut, Jehral,” Rashine said.
More big than tall, Rashine rode his horse like an old man on a donkey, legs flapping to the sides. He made a formidable warrior, but his thoughts were slow. He tugged on his earring as he spoke, holding the reins with his other hand.
“Rashine,” Jehral said. “What is it?”
“How long must we continue following this coast? There is nothing here.”
Jehral looked to the left, scanning the deep blue ocean even as he replied. They were following a long escarpment, with the breakers below the cliffs barely audible.
“Until I say otherwise, Rashine. That is how long.”
“The men grow impatient.”
“And I grow impatient with the men. We are not rabble. We are Hazarans in the service of our kalif. I do not lead by consent. I lead because I have the trust of the kalif.”
“There is nothing here. The land is empty. Nothing but sand and rock. Little water. No enemies.”
“Enough, Rashine,” Jehral growled. “If you prefer, we can settle the question of leadership the old way.” Jehral rested his hand on the hilt of the sword at his side.
“No, Jehral.” Rashine blanched. “I bow to your wisdom.”
Rashine dropped back and Jehral sighed. He couldn’t keep them much longer on this endless patrol, but the sea frightened him. Jehral once more swept his gaze across the whitecaps scattered throughout the once endless Great Western Ocean. It was as barren as the desert. More so.
Perhaps it was time to go home. Jehral’s wife would have a bath waiting when he returned. Ah, but then he would have to listen to her nagging about how long he’d been away. The longer he patrolled, the worse she would get, but while he was here, he could delay the inevitable just a little bit longer.
One more day, Jehral decided. Lord of Fire, all right—perhaps two.
“There is something below the cliff ahead,” the scout reported. He coughed as he wiped sand from his lips and shrugged. “It is probably nothing.”
“Show me,” Jehral said.
He kicked his horse into a canter, lunging up a dune and feeling the soft sand give way beneath his gelding’s hooves. Cresting the ridge, he shielded his eyes against the glare as he descended the other side.
The cliffs were jagged and broken, and Jehral could make out a thin strip of sand following the coast. He saw nothing.
“Where?” he called out to the scout.
“Up ahead. I was close to the escarpment or I would not have seen it.”
As their path took Jehral and the scout closer to the cliffs, the sound of the horses took on a satisfying rumble as the ground became more solid. Behind them the column made faster headway, catching up as the scout reined in only twenty paces from the sheer cliff edge.
“Look.” The scout pointed. “There, at the base of the cliff. It isn’t a rock.”
Jehral squinted against the sun.
Rashine pulled up beside him. “It is nothing,” he said.
Jehral’s sharp eyes saw a crumbling ruin of some sort, brown in color and half-in, half-out of the breakers washing over it with each surge of the tide.
“We will investigate,” Jehral said.
“How do you plan to get down the cliffs?” Rashine said.