The Heart of the Sands, Book 3 of The Gods Within Read online

  The Heart of the Sands

  Book 3 of The Gods Within

  Only when the steel no longer rules can the shadows within be mastered.

  by

  J. L. Doty

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Heart of the Sands, Book 3 of The Gods Within

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Copyright © 2013 J. L. Doty. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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  Published by Telemachus Press, LLC

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  http://www.jldoty.com

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  [email protected]

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  http://www.twitter.com/@JL_Doty

  ISBN: 978-1-939927-51-4 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-1-939927-90-3 (paperback)

  Version 2013.10.19

  Contents

  Prologue: To Know the Steel

  Chapter 1: An Oven of Sand

  Chapter 2: The Spirit of the Sands

  Chapter 3: Rescue

  Chapter 4: The Jest of a Name

  Chapter 5: Brothers of the Sands

  Chapter 6: Close to the Steel

  Chapter 7: Without a True Name

  Chapter 8: The March

  Chapter 9: A Feast for Flies

  Chapter 10: Ancient Lessons Remembered

  Chapter 11: Fire From the Blood of Our Kin

  Chapter 12: The Freedom to Die

  Chapter 13: SteelMaster

  Chapter 14: The Obsidian Blade

  Chapter 15: A Journey Remembered

  Chapter 16: The Curse of the Benesh’ere

  Chapter 17: The Blade is Near

  Chapter 18: A Deadly Diversion

  Chapter 19: Spinning, Spinning, Spinning

  Chapter 20: Attunhigh

  Chapter 21: The Crypt of the Sunset King

  Acknowledgements

  Some Notes About Steel

  Other Books Available by J. L. Doty

  About the Author

  The Heart of the Sands

  Book 3 of The Gods Within

  Only when the steel no longer rules can the shadows within be mastered.

  Prologue: To Know the Steel

  Command not the steel, for the steel always commands. Listen well, for only then can the Master know the steel.

  The Master must know the heart of the steel, the soul of the steel, and the child of the steel. For should his knowledge falter, the steel will rule his heart, and he will know only the pain of the steel.

  Chapter 1: An Oven of Sand

  Morgin forced himself to walk, to drag one foot forward through the sand and put it in front of the other, to shift his weight onto it and then repeat the process just one more time. Each step required an effort of will, for he sank to his ankles in the sand, and it sucked at his boots as if reluctant to release its hold. The heat was unbearable, and sand had worked its way into every fold of his clothing. It stuck to his sweat-soaked skin, and abraded the most sensitive parts of his body. His lips had swollen and cracked, his eyes encrusted with dried tears and sand, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. But he also knew that all he had to do was keep heading northwest and he’d eventually run into the Ulbb, so he kept the afternoon sun in front of him and to his left. He’d walked out this far to escape the jaws of the skree; he could walk back.

  Then it struck him and he stopped dead in his tracks. He thought for a moment, and he couldn’t be certain if he walked beneath the morning sun rising toward noon, or the afternoon sun falling toward dusk. If the latter, then his path led him northwest toward water. If the former, then his path carried him deeper into the Munjarro: more sand, more sun, more heat.

  The heat was so intense merely breathing proved difficult, and his tongue had begun to swell and block his throat. He had no choice but to stagger on, and so he walked, and tried not to think of anything but the next step . . . and the next . . . and the next . . . and the next . . .

  ~~~

  Valso’s Kullish guards opened the door to his private sitting room and admitted the pretty, young Vodah girl. She crossed the room hurriedly and dropped into a curtsey, lowering her eyes appropriately, exposing her cleavage and allowing him a good look at it.

  “You summoned me, Your Majesty,” she said breathlessly.

  Chrisainne et Vodah, now esk et Penda; he’d searched carefully to find someone who fit his requirements perfectly. She was tall, lithe, beautiful, traits easily found. But in addition to her physical charms, she was ambitious, though her father had managed the family’s finances rather poorly and could provide her with only a meager dowry at best. Had Valso not intervened, she would have had little chance of marrying anyone better than some backwoods nobleman.

  “Rise,” he said.

  She rose slowly, keeping her eyes downcast and making sure he had plenty of time to examine the rather generous swell of her breasts so carefully exposed by the dress. Good! She’d dressed with an eye toward impressing her king, perhaps even seducing him. That was the other trait he needed in her: ruthlessness.

  He said, “Raise your eyes, child. Let me look at you.”

  She did so. He ignored the shamelessly blatant look of invitation she gave him and said, “You are newlywed, just last month, eh?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Not only had Valso enriched her dowry enough so she could marry reasonably well, but he’d pointed her father at just the right Penda nobleman, and made sure the wedding vows were taken here in Durin.

  “And you leave on the morrow for your husband’s estates in Penda?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Valso frowned. “Is that all you can say, just ‘Yes, Your Majesty’?”

  She blushed, which made her even more a
ttractive. “I would add that I am most grateful to Your Majesty for improving my station so I could marry well.”

  Valso turned away from her and dismissed her comment with a casual wave of his hand. “Yes. Your father has expressed his gratitude repeatedly, though I’m not sure how much his gratitude is worth.”

  “But I meant that I am personally most grateful to you, Your Majesty.”

  And she was smart. Good! He turned back to her. “Personally?”

  She blushed again, and he began to think she might actually control that. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, sensually. “I would do anything to make it up to you.”

  She thought she’d make it up to him by bedding him. He just needed to broaden her horizons a bit, show her how she could advance much farther by bedding someone else. He retrieved a very special coin from his desk. “I have need of a set of eyes and ears in Penda court. Can you be discreet?”

  He could see in her eyes the way she quickly shifted her thinking, catching the meaning of his words without missing a heartbeat. “Yes, my king, I can.”

  “I need someone close to BlakeDown himself. Very close.”

  He saw her finish the transformation in her thinking, saw her make the leap in that instant. She said, “My husband occasionally attends BlakeDown’s court. And I think I could ensure that BlakeDown desires our presence much more frequently.”

  He extended his hand and held the coin out to her. “Then do so,” he said as she took it, a questioning look in her eyes. “Kiss that coin when you want to speak to me, and I’ll know, and I’ll come into your thoughts when I am available.”

  He waved a hand impatiently and said, “Now leave me. I have other business awaiting my attention.”

  She curtsied quickly and hurried toward the door, but he stopped her by calling out, “Lady Chrisainne.”

  She halted and spun to face him. “If you get close enough to BlakeDown, and you serve me well, your rewards will be far more than some paltry dowry.”

  She smiled, and he was happy to see the avarice in the look she gave him. Then she bobbed a quick courtesy and left.

  ~~~

  He must be dreaming, for he rested comfortably on a blanket on the sand. The heat had dwindled to something bearable, and when he opened his eyes he lay in a cool and comfortable shadow cast by the folds of a small cloth lean-to. Almost within arm’s reach the shadow ended in a thin, sharp line, and beyond that the oven of yellow sand extended forever. Out there nothing moved but transparent waves of heat that danced about slowly on a still, windless calm.

  A man sat just within the edge of the shadow with his legs crossed, his back to the sand and the heat. Behind him the sun beat down with such blinding intensity his features were lost in the blackness of a dark silhouette. He leaned forward slowly, held something out toward Morgin’s face, and a trickle of water passed between his lips to wet his tongue. Morgin swallowed and gulped at it greedily, and as the water washed down his throat the man sat back, rested his hands on his knees and returned to his still, silent vigil. But in the distance behind him Morgin’s eye caught a flicker of movement out on the sands.

  Something out there approached the lean-to, and it flowed with the grace and fluidity of a shadow. But it was yellow like the sands, not black and dark, and when it remained still it blended into the glare of the Waste so completely it might as well have been invisible. It moved like a predatory animal stalking prey, holding as still as the heat for a few heartbeats and blending into the ripples on the edge of a dune. Then it would cautiously move forward, cross to another dune and stop, blending once again into the stillness of the heat.

  Whatever it might be, Morgin realized it stalked him and the man in the small lean-to, something big and sleek. Its muscles rippled like the heat waves that danced across the dunes, and he was too weak to move, too weak to speak, too weak to give warning of any kind. The man sat with his back to the sands waiting for something, and as the monster behind him approached, Morgin struggled to cry out, but a nameless weight upon his soul paralyzed him. So he lay there watching the beast approach, and as it came closer he saw that it was a giant cat with sand-yellow fur and blood-red eyes. Two giant, saber-like teeth protruded from its upper jaw, it ran on large paws that kept it from sinking into the sand, and in it Morgin sensed a deadly malice toward all things mortal. But when it reached the lean-to, instead of pouncing upon them as Morgin expected, it settled down on its haunches just beyond the edge of the shadow, as if it preferred the hellish fire of the sand rather than the cool shade of their shelter. It just sat there, watching him with those blood-red eyes, until finally it lifted one forepaw, and with the faintest flick of its wrist, it extended its claws, five of which were razor sharp and the length of a man’s fingers. But the sixth claw was tiny, no more than the size of a small thorn, and as Morgin looked at it a minute drop of venom dripped from its tip, and he understood that the smallest claw was the most deadly of all.

  The beast smiled at him, and he knew her name to be Shebasha. He knew it was all just a dream, or a hallucination, and that in reality he was probably lying face down in the sand somewhere with the sun baking his brains.

  ~~~

  Valso, standing before a large hearth and warming his hands, fully expected to hear the door behind him slam loudly, fully expected to hear DaNoel demand, “He is dead, is he not?”

  He turned to face the young Elhiyne lord who stood just within the threshold of his suites. Clearly, he’d begun to have doubts about betraying the whoreson, as well as doubts about conspiring with a Decouix. Valso said, “If not now, then soon.”

  “What do you mean by that? What about those little dogs of yours, the skree?”

  The fire warmed Valso’s backside, and he thought that, when he ruled all seven tribes, he might spend winters in Elhiyne. Here in Durin, in the far north, the chill of winter often lingered even into late spring. By now those Elhiynes were probably enjoying warm spring days, and Valso envied them that.

  Valso gave DaNoel an indifferent shrug. “The scree devoured something. We found a large, bloody smear in a field on your brother’s trail—”

  “He’s not my brother.”

  Valso ignored the interruption. “But it wasn’t him. I would know that.”

  DaNoel crossed the room angrily. “Then who, what?”

  Valso smiled merely to irritate DaNoel further. “Upon returning to Durin, I learned his wife took a horse from the stables while we were organizing the skree. Apparently, she rode out after her husband with some foolishly romantic idea of aiding him. A horse is fast until it tires, but the skree are relentless. It’s likely the skree devoured his wife and her horse in that field.”

  DaNoel had grown so agitated that as he spoke, little drops of spittle flicked out between his lips. “I care nothing for Rhianne one way or the other. It’s the whoreson I want to know about.”

  Valso feigned indifference. “We chased him out onto the sands of the Munjarro.”

  “Then he’s still alive?”

  “I doubt it. With no supplies, he won’t last two days in that oven of sand. He’s probably already chased a mirage or two, and by now the Waste has consumed him.”

  DaNoel’s eyes grew dark, fearful and haunted. Valso suspected DaNoel’s fear stemmed from the fact he now understood he’d ensnared himself in a trap of his own devising. They both knew he’d have to continue to cooperate with Valso, or Valso would expose him to his family, and that old witch Olivia would eat the fool alive.

  “That’s not good enough,” DaNoel said. He spun on his heels and marched across the room, pulled the door open, but hesitated before leaving. He turned back to Valso. “You promised.”

  Valso turned his back on DaNoel, and rubbed his hands together in front of the warm fire. “I will ensure that he does not return from the dead, and in the meantime I don’t want rumors of his possible survival floating about. Remember this, Elhiyne: as far as everyone else is concerned, your brother and his wife both died in the jaws of the
skree.”

  “You fear him, don’t you?”

  Valso laughed. “No, it’s you who fear him.”

  DaNoel hesitated for a moment, and then he stepped through the door and slammed it angrily.

  When he was gone, Valso glanced to one side at a set of drapes that hid a balcony. He said, “You heard, Lord Carsaris?”

  One of Valso’s most powerful sorcerers stepped out from behind the drapes. Carsaris stood taller than most on a skeletal frame of long limbs. His thin nose and sunken cheeks only added to his spectral appearance. “We’ll have to watch him closely, Your Majesty. He clearly regrets having cooperated with you.”

  “Yes,” Valso said. “But his hatred of his brother blinds him to how truly, deeply he is ensnared.”

  “Then, Your Majesty, it might be wise to enlighten him. If he knows he cannot go back, he will be less likely to betray us.”

  “As always, Lord Carsaris, your counsel is invaluable.”

  Valso stepped away from the fire to face Carsaris squarely. “How goes our little project?”

  “Progress is slow, Your Majesty. The swordsman, he is stronger than anticipated, though that isn’t a bad thing. The stronger the swordsman proves to be now, the stronger Salula will prove to be later.”

  ~~~

  Morgin drifted in and out of his dreams of Shebasha for some unknown time. Sometimes she sat just outside the shade of the lean-to, and sometimes not. The man remained unchanged; always sitting just within the shadow, though Morgin wondered if he truly was a man, for a dark silhouette always hid his features. He also dreamt of the skeleton king sitting upon his throne in the tomb in Attunhigh: vivid images that seemed very real, as if the sands wanted him to remember the crypt with clarity far greater than that of a dream. He had seen the skeleton king’s crypt for the first time when he lay dying in the enchanted alcove in Castle Elhiyne. But now something in the image had changed. He couldn’t say what, and that bothered him.

  Then the sense of a dream ended and he came fully awake. The large cat was nowhere to be seen and he realized she was just a figment of his delirium. The small lean-to was real, though the shade it cast was far from cool, but certainly far cooler than the oven out on the open sands. The man no longer sat in the shade with Morgin, but Morgin spotted him out on the sands in the distance.