Fires Upon the Sand

Another deep breath.

My fingers relaxed, unleashing the arrow.

The mysterious woman at my side let out a whoop of glee as the missile punched into the back of the necromancer's neck. As she slumped to her knees, the mage grasped her pyramidal runestone. The blue runes shifted to black.

"Fuck," hissed the woman at my side.

Black tendrils erupted from the runestone, flowing into the wound delivered by my arrow. The mage screamed as the dark energy tore through her body, her eyes and wounds pulsing with unholy energy. Bones crunched as she flailed about, claws bursting from beneath her fingernails. An eerie scream echoed over the desert as the necromancer turned into a new undead monstrosity.

With her last breath, my target had granted herself the horrific curse of undeath.

Awestruck and terrified, I could only watch as the undead mage rose to her feet. Eyes wide with hunger and hate, she lurched towards Tavertan and the other dawn-elves.

Cursing, I reached for another arrow as the swordswoman leapt off the edge of the rock, landing with a deft roll upon the sand. I loosed arrow after arrow against the undead mage. The handful that actually hit did nothing to slow her down.

Leaping high into the air, she landed in the midst of my comrades, her claws slashing and tearing. Blood sprayed upon the crimson sand. Spears snapped. Daggers found her freshly-dead flesh, drawing lines of black blood. Not even a spear-thrust to her chest stopped the rampage.

The blue-eyed woman leapt into the fray, darting in at Tavertan's side. Her blade hacked into the mage's leg, sending her stumbling backwards, and allowing Tavertan to pin her other leg with his spear. Shrieking, the undead creature lashed out against the spear, reducing it to splinters with a few savage blows.

By the time the dead mage had freed herself, the swordswoman had managed to hack off the foul orc's left arm. Growling, Tavertan plunged his knife into the creature's neck. A brutal slash of the woman's curved blade split open the back of the mage's skull.

The creature finally fell still.

The remaining undead orcs fought on for a few moments longer, before falling quickly to Tavertan's wrath or the skill of that mysterious woman's blade.

Grunting with pain, I scrambled back down the shattered rock. Nearly half of my comrades were dead. Almost all of the others bore wounds of varying severity. Most would live, provided they could be granted the grace of a Sun-Speaker's holy magic in time. Blood stained the sacred sands as warriors fumbled with potions and herbal bandages. A few knelt beside the fallen dawn-elves, drawing sacred runes in the sand to consecrate the souls of the dead.

Though grief and dread still gripped my limbs, I stormed up to the blue-eyed woman.

"Who in the name of the Dead Sun are you?" I snarled.

"Someone who should probably improve her handwriting," she grumbled, pointing to the symbols carved into the rock. "Did you not understand the messages we left?"

"We did," Tavertan hissed. "But these are our lands. You do not have the right to tell us where to go."

"Did I have the right to step in and save you?" she countered.

Sword in hand, she backed away, keeping us at a safe distance.

"You spoke of another," I said, gesturing to the plume of smoke on the horizon. "Someone called 'Xelari.'"

"Aye," the woman said, stepping into the shade and removing her veil. Doing so revealed a face that was laughably pale compared to my own tanned skin, and short red curls that dangled just past her ears. "They had a camp just over that ridge. When we spotted these undead coming your way, she stayed behind to unleash hellfire within their camp while I headed down here to help you."

She gave a little bow of her head.

"I am Esharyn, by the way."

"Kiraska of the Ninth Clan of the Tasrayth," I said, earning glares from Tavertan and the others.

"Names have power," Tavertan growled, speaking in the rapid, lilting dawn-elf language. "Do not grant yours to this outlander."

"I know enough of the language of the dusk-elves to parse a bit of your tongue as well," Esharyn said with a crooked grin at Tavertan. "I take it you're cross with me?"

With a chuckle, she reached into her pack and withdrew a white stone covered with blue runes. Spears and daggers rippled as the other warriors noticed the runestone. Eyes wide, I took a step back.

"Only a Sun-Speaker may use magic," Arandith hissed, a hand tensing around his dagger-hilt.

"Then half of these wounded are going to die within the hour," Esharyn said, glowering. She then nodded at my broken fingers. "And you're going to have a devil of a time fighting the next pack of undead."

Tavertan wrinkled his nose and looked over the rows of wounded.

"To accept healing from an outlander is a grave sin. But a sin can be atoned for. I shall leave it to each wounded warrior to decide for themselves."

A stab of pain in my broken hand made the decision for me. How could I defend my wounded comrades if I could barely hold a bow? Wincing, I extended my hand towards Esharyn, who lifted the runestone. Gleaming blue tendrils of magic danced from the stone, sending pulses of soothing cold energy into my hand. Sharp stabs of pain flared within me as the bones reset themselves.

Not a single other dawn-elf took the offered healing.

Fools. They would rather succumb to their wounds than suffer the ire of our Sun-Speakers.

Arandith gave a shout and turned, his spear raised. My freshly-healed hand drew my dagger and I settled into a defensive stance. Those still able to stand turned as well, weapons at the ready.

A single figure crested a dune to the north. My eyes widened at the sight of her beauty and the fact that she seemed utterly unbothered by the sun. While Esharyn was lithe and lean, this woman was short and curvaceous, with a body that clearly had not suffered the hardships of the desert for long. Rather than wear armor or robes, she instead wore a dark red silken dress that clung to her curves and blended in with the sand. The dress had a low neckline that exposed the generous swell of her breasts. Shimmering silver curls stretched past her shoulders. Not a single drop of sweat ran along her violet-tinged, grayish skin. Bright green eyes swept over the battlefield as she approached.

Curses rose from the other dawn-elves.

A dusk-elf walked upon our sacred sands. Our long-lost kin, who had been scattered across groves far to the north, who worshiped the moons rather than the sacred Dead Sun. The legends said that they were cruel and secretive masters of magic, lurking in shadows and hiding from the world.

So what was one doing here?

Despite our shock, we kept our weapons at the ready as the dusk-elf closed in. She barely paid us any mind, and instead moved to Esharyn, giving the lithe woman a soft kiss on the cheek.

I swallowed, wondering how soft such lips would have felt upon my own sweaty skin. The dusk-elf's cold green gaze finally swept over the rest of us, before settling upon the wounded.

"Esharyn, darling," she said in a low, husky voice. "Why have you not tended to their wounds?"

"All but one refused. They said that only a Sun-Speaker could use magic upon them."

Xelari's green eyes moved to regard my freshly-healed hand.

"A single one with wisdom, then," she said, a soft smile upon her plump lips.

When the dusk-elf next spoke, she used the dawn-elf language, speaking without trace of an accent. It was as if she had been born speaking the language, each soft word flowing into the next.

"I am a Moondancer of Qal-Hashaa. Such a title is the closest thing to a Sun-Speaker that my people have. Thus it should be safe for you to accept my aid, if not Esharyn's."

None accepted the offer, though one wounded man let out a wet, bloody cough.

"You are no Sun-Speaker," Arandith growled, not giving her the honor of replying in the dawn-elf language, instead insisting upon the trade tongue of the Commonwealth. "And you profane our language with your moon-worshiping lips."

"Oh, there are many things I would 'profane' with these lips," Xelari said, a hand on her hip as she switched back to the trade-tongue as well.

Arandith snarled and took a step closer, spear at the ready.

"Why are you here?" Tavertan asked, stepping forward and placing a hand upon the scarred elf's weapon.

"Our business is our own," Xelari replied. "But we mean you no harm. We can tend to the wounds of those who wish to accept our help, then we will be on our way."

"This is our sacred desert. Every step an outlander takes here is our business," said Tavertan.

Esharyn sighed.

"If we dance around the truth too much, Xel, we could end up stumbling over our own feet. Might as well just tell them. Quicker and easier that way."

The dusk-elf's cold eyes flickered over the rows of wounded, no doubt assessing whether or not she'd be able to finish the rest of us off. Given the size of that magical explosion she'd unleashed to the north, I wasn't too confident of our chances.

My hand tightened around my dagger nonetheless; I took a slow, careful step to my left, the better to assail Xelari's flank if things went wrong. Esharyn's blue eyes caught my movement. While she didn't move, she did give me a little smirk as she tapped on the hilt of her sword.

"We seek a divine relic," said Xelari. "An artifact stolen from the dusk-elf enclave of Qal-Uskala, several centuries ago. We believe it ended up in the hands of a Commonwealth legionary commander, who took part in the last invasion of your sacred desert. So we do not seek to steal, to pillage, or to conquer. Only to recover what was taken from Qal-Uskala."

"These bastards seek it as well," Esharyn said, gesturing to the bodies of the undead. "So if we find it, these undead will not trespass on your lands any further."

My curiosity did not diminish my wariness; a sweaty hand remained upon my dagger-hilt.

"A relic," I murmured. "What kind?"

"A trumpet, sacred to the hunting-god Jakarius."

Murmurs rippled among the dawn-elves. Jakarius was among the many elven gods at the center of our legends, whose arrows and spears had helped kill the sun, casting its power down to the mortal world. He was, in equal measure, a hero and a villain. His treachery was something to loathe, but his actions had empowered our people and created the sacred desert that we called our home.

"Have you an inkling of where it is?"

"Somewhere on the northeastern edge of the desert, where the Seventh Legion of the Commonwealth was destroyed by your people."

Tavertan and several others glanced towards me. My father and brothers had taken part in that raid, earning much glory and praise for the invaders they'd slaughtered. The family cavern back at the village was adorned with the loot they'd claimed from that grisly battlefield, and my kin still bore scars inflicted by the invaders' blades.

After a moment of staring at Xelari, Tavertan pointed to Arandith and me, then guided us away from the others. The older elf wrapped his arms around our shoulders, pulling us in close.

"You two will go with them," Tavertan murmured. "Guide them to the battlefield. Help them find what they seek."

"Are you mad?" Arandith hissed. "You would have us aid outlanders?"

"I would have you help us be rid of a relic that will draw the attention of necromancers," Tavertan growled. "And an item sacred to a sun-killing god is tantamount to a curse upon us. Better to be rid of it."

I glanced over my shoulder; Xelari and Esharyn were helping one of the wounded elves with his bandages. Though none of my comrades had accepted the offer of magical healing, our laws did not forbid them from accepting mundane aid.

"But be prepared for treachery," Tavertan continued. "If they seek anything other than that relic, if they stray into the other sacred places, or delve for deeper secrets...find your moment and give their souls to the sun."

Arandith wrinkled his nose.

"Better to give their souls to the sun right now and find the relic on our own."

"Were our patrol not so badly bloodied, I might agree," Taventar said. "But better to use them to help find and remove that relic. I will go with the other wounded back to the village for healing and to convene with the Sun-Speakers. And I will find you if our elders demand other action."

The older elf grasped the backs of our necks and smiled.

"Now go. May the Dead Sun gleam upon your spears and souls."

Tavertan then picked up a spear that had belonged to a fallen elf and pressed it into my hands. Clenching the blood-spattered weapon, I frowned and walked back over to the outlanders. Arandith stalked at my side, scowling.

"Arandith and I are to help you," I said with a nod. "We will lead you to the battlefield, to shorten your time here. The sooner you and that relic are gone from our desert, the sooner the undead scourge will leave us be."

"Wondrous," Xelari said with a smile. Her eyes trailed up and down over my robe-covered form. I almost shivered, somehow feeling that she was able to see right through the crimson fabric. "And is there a name I can put to that pretty face?"

Arandith huffed under his breath while Esharyn rolled her eyes. The question and the hunger in those eyes stole the words from my throat.

"Her name is Kiraska," Arandith said with a snort. "One of our younger warriors. I daresay the only reason she is being sent along with me is because most of the others are too wounded to come."

"And too mired in their beliefs to accept our aid," Xelari said, raising an eyebrow at the other wounded. "But so be it. They have their path, and we have ours. Come along now."

The dusk-elf turned and marched to the north, her hips swaying as she ascended the dune. Esharyn walked at her side, a hand upon her sheathed sword. After one last look back at Tavertan and the wounded elves, I trotted to catch up. By the time I made it to their side, I'd managed to get over the shock from the dusk-elf's compliment.

"So why was that necromancer after the relic?" I asked.

"There arenecromancers after it. More than one," said Esharyn, before glancing at Xelari. "Unless you somehow managed to kill all of the others back at their camp?"

"No, none were present. I only managed to destroy their undead sentries and most of their supplies. The other mages were no doubt off scouting elsewhere." She glanced back at me. "As for why they seek the relic...they merely wish to prevent it from falling into our hands."

Arandith's scowl deepened alongside mine, for that answer only inspired more questions.

As we walked, Xelari removed another runestone from her pack and tapped it against Esharyn's cheek. A mist of silvery energy wafted from the stone. The burst of light wiped away Esharyn's sweat and the pale woman once again removed her veil, basking in the harsh glow of the sun as if it were nothing.

"Using magic to shield you from the sun's wrath?" Arandith grunted. "Weakness."

"And yet you two use robes to shield yourselves," Esharyn said, grinning. "If you are so against using such means for protection, why not cast aside those clothes and trek across the desert in the nude?"

Xelari let out a low laugh, the sound a lover might have made in bed. Those hungry green eyes returned to mine.

"That would be quite the sight."

I met her admiring gaze with a fierce scowl, refusing to rise to those teasing taunts. It seemed the legends of the lustful ways of the dusk-elves were quite true. Xelari clearly had some sort of relationship with Esharyn, and yet that did not deter Xelari's attempts at flirtation.

Arandith and I kept silent, allowing our glares to do the talking for us. And yet as we marched alongside the pair, my eyes kept drifting to Xelari's swaying hips. That red silk did absolutely nothing to hide her soft curves, and when the sunlight gleamed against the fabric, I could almost see through it. I ground my teeth, fighting against a storm of wicked thoughts.

The dusk-elf's appearance and the thrill of survival had awoken desires that I'd not felt in some time. Judging by the occasional flicker of heat in Arandith's gaze, he suffered a similar plight.

We led the way across the desert, stopping after an hour in the shade of another rock formation. Once there, Arandith kept watch while I laid out a few bundles of bread, fruit, and dried meat. With a sigh, Xelari sat down upon a boulder and kicked off her boots, setting her feet in Esharyn's lap.

"Sandstorm on the horizon," Arandith called. "Better if we just hunker down here and let it pass."

"Thank the gods," Esharyn grumbled. "Could use the rest. Been on our feet all damned day: marching, hunting, fighting." She sighed and glanced to the south. "And I'm sorry, Kiraska, that I couldn't get there faster to help you. Might have saved a few more lives had I been a bit faster on my feet."

"The losses were our doing," I said, scowling at the horizon as the wind kicked up sand. "We should have been more wary after seeing your warnings and we failed to post scouts on the high ground."

I pulled my tent from my pack and hastily set it up, hooking it against the rocks to keep it secure against the incoming sandstorm. Once Esharyn set up her own tent, I let out a derisive laugh at how flimsy it was.

"That will not stand against that storm," I said with a shake of my head.

"It's weathered other storms during our time here," Esharyn said, frowning.

"We call that one a 'demon-drinker,'" I said, pointing to the roiling, churning wall of crimson. "For they are fierce enough to strip the flesh from even a demon. If you have endured storms during your time here, they were not as forceful as the one that now comes for us."

Ignoring the chatter, Arandith scampered down the rocks and set up his tent.

"You two can take mine, then," I said. "Arandith and I will share."

"By the Dead Sun, no we won't," he said with a harsh laugh. "You snore too loudly and I need my rest."

"Esharyn snores as well," Xelari said with a sly glance at her lover. "So I am used to it. We can all share yours, Kiraska, if you will have us."

It would be a bit cramped, but that was preferable to losing those two outlanders to a fierce sandstorm. Scowling, I placed the last hook and bound a few more ropes to the sturdy tent, then slipped inside.

The two lovers followed and I sealed the flap behind us. Out of habit, I tore off the first few buckles and ties of my robe. Before I could slip it past my shoulders, I hesitated, cognizant of the presence of the outlanders.

"Something wrong?" Esharyn asked.

I swallowed, my fingers hovering over the next buckle.

"The robes are for traveling and fighting. Not sleeping."

Outside, the wind roared. The sturdy fabric of the tent rustled.

"I am a dusk-elf, Kiraska," Xelari said with a soft laugh. "Silly notions of modesty mean little to me. You will cause no offense if you strip down."

"I don't think she's worried about causing offense," Esharyn said dryly. "I think she's worried because you were making eyes at her earlier."

I had faced down rival warriors, fierce beasts, and undead monsters...and yet I blushed like a silly little girl at those words. Thankfully, my skin was too blessed by the sun for them to have noticed.

"Why wouldn't I make eyes at her?" Xelari said, tossing her silvery curls over her shoulder. "She's pretty and strong and those red eyes are like two little blazing suns. Beautiful."

My blush deepened and my hands fell away from the buckle. After a moment, I gritted my teeth once more. No. I would not be cowed into modesty by the straying gaze of a mischievous outlander. Out of spite and a desire for comfort, I tore off the remaining buckles, stripping down to the simple cloth wrappings that covered my pert breasts and slender hips.