Ricko Daggerheart's Arc

Chapter 6 of 18

The dunes stretched dark under a rising moon. Ricko's lizard carried them both, slow now, its flanks slick with sweat. T'Zaro slumped against his back, one paw still clamped to his ribs. Behind them, the yellow wall shrank. But Ricko knew what they left there. Huskar's body lay cooling in the sand near the city, and a dead tracker meant a search. The sultan's guards would sweep the dunes by dawn. Their camp waited ahead, a thin ring of tents in the open. Torin was there with the spare mounts. It was too exposed to survive a patrol. "We can't go back to camp," Ricko said. "They'll find Huskar. They'll comb every hollow between here and the wall." T'Zaro coughed. "Then we don't stop at camp. We break it and run." They reached the tents near midnight. Torin met them at the edge, a lantern in his trunk, its light swinging. The spice trader's ears went flat when he saw the blood on T'Zaro's vest. He had pulled Ricko off the sand in a watchtower once, asked no questions, and hidden him ever since. He asked none now. "Bad?" was all he said. "Bad enough," Ricko said. "A tracker's dead by the wall. Guards will come. We move tonight." Torin set down the lantern and worked fast. He struck the tents, loaded the spare lizards, and buried the fire pit under sand. Ricko helped T'Zaro into a saddle and lashed him upright with a strap. His own arm burned where Huskar's blade had cut it. They rode out as the moon climbed. Ricko looked back once. Their camp was gone, only flat sand and hoof scars left behind. The wind would take those by morning. Half a mile on, lights bloomed near the wall. Torches. Many of them, spreading into the dunes in a line. The search had started early. "Down," T'Zaro rasped. Ricko slid them into a low wash between two ridges. They walked the lizards slow, hooves quiet in soft sand. The torches passed along the ridge above. Ricko held his breath and gripped the reins. A guard called out, close. Another answered, farther off. The line moved on toward the empty ground where the camp had stood. They found nothing. The torches drifted east and thinned and finally winked out one by one. Ricko let his breath go. By dawn they crossed into broken country, ravines and rock where no mounted patrol would ride fast. Torin found a slot of shade beneath an overhang. They stopped there. T'Zaro's breathing had steadied. He would heal. "We lost them," Torin said. "For now," Ricko said. He watched the sun climb over the dunes they had crossed. The camp was gone, the patrol slipped. But the sultan knew a survivor lived and had killers with him. The hunt would only grow harder. A whole season stretched ahead before the wall could be tried again. This time they would not be waiting in the open.