Leesil found the edge of the thick, leather plate and flipped it quietly off to stare down into a black hole in the packed earth. There was no rope, bucket, or urn to lower. That would’ve made it easier for thieves. Or at least any who found this place and were unprepared.
Leesil softly clicked his tongue three times. The domin rose from hiding beyond the crest and hurried toward him. Leesil began unwrapping the leather-braid rope from around his waist.
Before he’d even finished, Ghassan bound the rope’s loose end to one waterskin’s loop handles. He then dropped a stone into the skin’s wide mouth to help it sink. Once Leesil finished unwrapping the rope’s other end, Ghassan dropped the skin into the hole.
Leesil lowered the rope until its tension slackened for an instant and then let it sink.
“Keep watch,” he whispered.
He was well armed, and Ghassan had his own methods of defense. Between the two of them, they could probably handle six or seven men. The danger was in being caught by a larger number. And out here, any group they’d spotted had been larger than that. They’d hidden from all of them.
In the desert, there were no stragglers or twos and threes. Larger numbers were the only way to survive.
The skin quickly grew heavy and was hard to draw up. Ghassan assisted him, and once the first skin was out of the hole, he tied it shut below the handles with a leather thong. And the next—and the next—skin was lowered.
Ghassan rose slightly and watched all around as each skin was dropped in. They both wore light, loose clothing, including dusky muslin over-robes and similar cloths bound around their heads to drape down their backs. This helped them blend into the landscape unless they moved suddenly.
Leesil’s mind flowed backward as he felt the last skin reach the waterline.
This journey already felt too long. They’d been delayed in the imperial city while Ghassan fussed over choices of supplies and necessities, particularly food that would last in the heat.
They’d also purchased tents, blankets, lanterns, and oil, even though most of them carried a cold-lamp crystal. On the day of their departure, Ghassan had told them to meet him outside the city, and then he’d vanished. Upon arriving at the agreed meeting place, Leesil, Wynn, Magiere, and Brot’an ended up waiting longer than Leesil liked.
When the ex-domin finally arrived, he was leading two camels. In a rush, they’d strapped the orb chests and supplies on the beasts and set off immediately after dark.
Leesil had always wondered exactly how Ghassan procured those expensive pack animals, but he never asked. At least they hadn’t had to carry the chests and supplies themselves.
The days that followed became monotonous amid the constant tension of trying to track something—without really knowing what—while not being seen or tracked themselves. And even when they’d gotten across the blistering sands and reached the foothills of the Sky-Cutter Range, there wasn’t much relief to be had.
The heat, even after dusk in the shadow of the peaks, kept increasing the farther east they went. They slept at midday, avoiding exertion, and then again at midnight. This kept on until Leesil lost count of the days and nights. And even so, by Ghassan’s reckoning of the new emperor’s reports, they hadn’t gone far enough east to scout for anything.
Along the seemingly endless slog, Leesil often wondered about Chap, his oldest friend, as well as Wayfarer and Osha among the elves. It still seemed madness that they’d split everyone up this way.
Leesil hauled up the last filled waterskin. While he rewrapped the braided rope around his waist, Ghassan tied shut the last skin and checked the others. There was nothing left to do but take up two each and sneak away for the long trek back to camp.
Leesil peered all around in the night. It appeared no one had seen or heard them ... again.
Ghassan started off, taking a few steps and looking back, but Leesil lingered looking—and listening—all ways in the dark.
“Well?”
The domin’s sharp whisper shook him into action, and he stepped off under the straining weight of two full waterskins. This was the ninth well they’d raided without being spotted or caught, and yet they weren’t even as far east as they needed to be.
Leesil began wondering how long this much luck would last.
Chane jogged beside the rushing sled with Chap out ahead and Igaluk running behind with the dog team’s reins. In this way, the only weight the dogs pulled was that of the supplies, equipment, and empty chests loaded on the sled.
The ground was frozen hard with enough crust and snow in most places for the sled. Winter up here came early, and the air was frigid.
Chane wore multiple layers beneath his cloak and hood along with gloves and a heavy, furred coat. Though he did not feel the cold, he was still susceptible to it. Without a beating heart, there was a greater risk of freezing than for a living man. Once, on a journey into the eastern continent’s Pock Peaks, he had been careless.
One of his hands had begun to freeze solid.
He never forgot that night and remained vigilant. Four nights had passed, and halfway into the fifth, each night seemed colder than the last.
A few times, Chap had changed course out ahead and altered their path. Each time, Chane instructed Igaluk to follow. If this seemed bizarre to the guide, he said nothing and had so far lived up to his bargain without unnecessary questions. But the days held even greater concerns for Chane.
He ordered Igaluk not to enter his tent, citing a need for privacy. Chap had always been on watch just inside the tent’s entrance, but this gave Chane no ease—quite the opposite.
Shade filled his thoughts in the moments before he could hold off dormancy no longer. The two of them had become trusted allies, even when separated from Wynn. And now, instead of her, he had an enemy who had hunted him more than once, lying within his tent and watching over him as he fell dormant and helpless each day.
When Chane rose again, the nights were always the same.
Chap was still watching, as if never having gone to sleep, and Chane’s thoughts turned to Wynn. He imagined her in the desert with the others—with Magiere—hunting for unknown undead. He shared that fear with no one here, and something more now plagued him in this fifth night.
He was hungry ... again.
Chane had promised Wynn that, so long as he wished to remain in her company, he would never again feed on humans. Since then, he had fed on only animals, usually livestock. Then another change came, but he had not told her of this one.
In their search for the orb of Spirit, they had traveled to the keep of an isolated duchy without knowing what they would find. In a single night, they learned of an orb hidden in the keep’s lower levels; the orb was being guarded and used by a wraith who was an old threat to Wynn.
The wraith, called Sau’ilahk, used that orb to transmogrify a young duke’s body.
After a thousand years as an undead spirit like no other, Sau’ilahk regained flesh.
But only for one night.
Chane’s only companion in the final hunt had been Shade. When they caught Sau’ilahk in the guise of the duke’s flesh, the wraith struck down Shade, and Chane thought her dead. He lost control, pinned the man, bit through his neck, and bled him to death. He fed from a body possessed by a thousand-year-old spirit who had served the Ancient Enemy.
Since that night, he had felt only a twinge of hunger a few times.
Those quickly passed, and he had feared and then hoped this change might last. While on the sea voyage north, he had felt that twinge twice again. Perhaps it had lasted a little longer than before, but now ...
It would not stop, and it was more than a twinge.