Innikar grunted assent. The trio fell silent, squinting into the gritty, biting wind blowing at them from the north. In the distance, the last of the cloth-wrapped black creatures were disappearing into that swirling haze of sand.
Innikar cleared his throat with an oblique glance toward Amric. “The old man was awake throughout the night,” he said.
“I know,” Amric responded.
“He said that he requires no sleep. Is he truly a…?”
“Yes. Is or was, and not even he knows which anymore.”
Innikar rested his chin on his fist and pondered that for a moment.
“Then,” put in Sariel, “he is likely telling the truth about the rest, about what he saw last night.”
“Yes, I believe him on that count as well.”
“I can think of only one destination to the north for them to march against in force,” Innikar said after a moment.
Amric met the Sil’ath warrior’s eyes with a grim nod: Keldrin’s Landing. A veritable army of the creatures had swept over the wasteland in the hours since dawn’s first light, issuing forth from the hive in determined batches ranging in size from a handful to as many as twenty. The sun hung directly overhead now, struggling to pierce the tempestuous haze, and he estimated that more than three hundred of the strange creatures had passed within sight of their perch over the course of the morning. Even more troubling was Bellimar’s report after a long night’s vigil that the exodus had been going for many hours before daybreak, such that they had seen only the trailing portion of it, and the lesser portion at that. The creatures all seemed to be headed due north, and there was not much in that direction to offer as a target save the city itself. If indeed their path went so far, then Keldrin’s Landing was likely in for a concerted attack, and that assault could come as early as nightfall.
“We cannot know the minds of such alien creatures,” Amric said. “They might be abandoning one nest to create another elsewhere. We should not draw conclusions until we see inside this hive for ourselves.”
Sariel nodded, her expression tight. Amric placed a hand on her arm and smiled gently.
“You are right to think the city is in jeopardy,” he said. “It is still the most likely explanation. But there is little we can do from here. We cannot get ahead of that ragged army of fiends in time to warn the city’s people. There are now far too many foes between here and there, and even though a good horse can outrun those things for a time, they never seem to tire.” It was true; they had seen it before, and every group that had burst forth from the hive that morning had traveled at a dead run, soundless and unflagging, until disappearing over the horizon.
“You misunderstand,” she said. “I am indeed concerned for Keldrin’s Landing and its people, but I am troubled by something else as well. The creatures bore no captives in their departure.”
“Yes, I noted that as well.”
Sariel turned a stony gaze upon him. “This implies that sufficient forces remain behind to restrain the captives,” she said. “Or that the captives no longer require restraining.”
Amric’s jaw clenched. “We shall know which is the case soon enough.”
He narrowed his gaze against the stinging wind. The black creatures were lost to view, leaving the rippling dunes as unblemished as a vast, crumpled sheet of canvas. He lowered his head and slithered down and backward until he was safely out of sight from below, then sprang to his feet and padded to the other side of the grassy bowl, skirting the pool as he went. He slid into place beside Valkarr and looked down upon the wasteland from the southwestern edge of the tall crag’s crown of rock.
The hive was quiet, with nothing more than a black, yawning hole atop a massive dome of sand to reveal its presence. At first glance the structure could almost blend with the more natural landscape surrounding it, but its height and the odd uniformity of its conical shape soon exposed its subterfuge. Upon further observation, it became evident that this eerie monarch of the dunes was the only one among its brethren seemingly immune to the capricious, clawing wind that frayed the mounds around it. Here the wasteland shifted and remade itself continuously; only the hive remained unchanged.
Amric watched the hive for long, crawling minutes, and then made his decision. He sprang to his feet and strode for the horses, tethered and hooded against the blowing sand.
“Mount up, everyone,” he said.
Gone was his waking plan to send the stealthiest among them on foot to the entrance of the hive in order to get an undetected glimpse inside. That plan had never satisfied him, but it was the best the situation had offered. The Sil’ath were renowned for their ability to fade like ghosts past enemy fortifications, and he and his warriors were some of the best among a race who excelled at such things, but the terrain offered precious little cover and he doubted even their odds of getting close enough against the swarm of activity around the hive. The circumstances had changed, however, and trap or not, coincidental timing or not, he would have that closer look at their enemy now.
The riders left the crag and picked their way down the treacherous trail. They rode instead of leading the horses, as the prospect of being thrown by a stumbling horse seemed preferable to being beneath one, tugging at its reins. Sariel rode with Amric on his bay gelding, and Innikar sat behind Valkarr on his blue dun. If they were forced to outrun an ambush, the horses would still offer far more speed over a short distance than being on foot, even with the extra weight. Amric’s mount lost its footing and began to slide, dropping its haunches and bracing all four hooves on the rocky path. The warrior’s stomach took a sickening plunge, but he kept a steady hand on the reins and the beast recovered.
When they reached the sands below, he exhaled slowly and wheeled about to await the others. He patted the bay’s shuddering neck and murmured into its flicking ear. He realized with a mild start that the horse had no name; he had not asked after any existing name when he bought it, and he had never given it one. He had not expected to spend so much time on horseback. The animal had a courageous heart, and he decided it deserved a good name as soon as one came to him.
It took the better part of an hour to reach the base of the hive. Looking up its sloping height, Amric was struck by the sheer size of the structure. He had known it was huge in comparison to the more ordinary mounds around it, but here, at its foot, it seemed to stab at the very sky. The surface was hard and unnaturally smooth. It was not the slickness of water-worn stone, or the polish of a cut gemstone, but rather an unbroken, unblemished expanse of sand somehow welded together into a curved surface as hard as granite. There was an abrasive tooth to it, such that even the iron-shod hooves of the horses were able to find purchase on its steep slope.
Amric scanned the rolling hills again, finding them still devoid of life. He motioned for the others to spread out, and then he took the lead up the slope. The incline proved too steep for the horses to make a direct ascent, but he was able to guide his bay gelding in a more gradual circuit of the thing, making a slow spiral to its peak. From its towering height, he was afforded a panoramic view of the surrounding desert, and he stopped more than once to survey the land. The swirling winds still limited sight distance, but nothing stirred in any direction aside from the shambling dunes themselves.
They reached the peak and found that the outer lip marked the outline of a broad crater with a gaping hole at its center. Descending from the edges of the maw were numerous crude stairways which appeared to be carved from the interior wall of the structure. They twisted away into the darkness far below. The entire thing was hollow, Amric realized; given its mammoth size, there was no telling how many more of the creatures might still be contained below.
Amric slid from his horse, and Valkarr did the same. They left the reins with the others and crept forward to the edge of the opening, crawling in silence for the last dozen paces. They peered over the rim, tilting their heads at an angle such that only the barest sliver of silhouette would show to any observers below.