We Hunt the Flame (Sands of Arawiya #1)(44)
Had the Demenhune Hunter already boarded a ship in his caliphate? Had Haytham led his caliph to the Arz, where Ghameq’s stolen Sarasin forces would murder everyone in proximity of the western villages?
Children, elderly, innocents. There was no end to death.
Nasir set his jaw. “We need to get moving. The ship isn’t going to sail itself.”
“Don’t tell me you can sail a ship, princeling,” Altair said.
Nasir bristled at the name the Silver Witch had used. “I didn’t—”
“Ah, you won’t have to do a thing. Look! Men to do your bidding.”
The sea breeze tousled Nasir’s hair. There were men on board, but something about them gave him pause as he boarded the ship.
“These aren’t men.” He crossed the deck to where a figure stood at the helm. “They cast no shadows.”
“Akhh, I feel safer now, knowing we’ll be on a ship full of phantoms,” Altair said with an exaggerated smile. He walked up to one of the men and shoved his hand through him, grasping at air. “I can even wring his neck and he wouldn’t feel a thing … Neither would I, for that matter.”
Nasir sighed. The phantom men soundlessly removed the plank and released the moorings. The longer he watched them move about in perfect synchrony, without a gesture or sound of communication, the more it unnerved him.
He looked away. “Stay alert, will you.”
For if the Arz was a taste of dark magic and Sharr was evil incarnate, the sea between them would be just as nefarious. He grabbed his bow, but his eyebrows fell when he looked to Altair. “You brought a bow … without arrows.”
Altair cocked a grin, something calculating in his gaze. “You’ve got plenty to spare, haven’t you?”
Nasir inhaled through his nose, and handed Altair five black-and-silver arrows, indicating how long he expected Altair to last.
He met Nasir’s gaze with a startlingly genuine one as he nocked an arrow. “Alert I will be, Sultani.”
Ruler and subject once more. He had a feeling Altair knew of Nasir’s orders to kill him. Altair clearly knew more than that, judging by the fear on his face that night at the Daama Faris. Why come along if he knew of his impending doom?
But to question was to display weakness, and Nasir was no weakling, no matter how great his curiosity.
“Off we go, children,” Altair called, and the ship lurched forward with Nasir’s stomach.
* * *
Sharr was nowhere to be seen. They had a long journey ahead, but Nasir didn’t think it would take as long as when on a normal ship. No, this journey would follow the time of the Silver Witch and the abominable power she held.
It was as if she wanted Nasir to find the Hunter. To follow him. To kill him.
The shores of Sultan’s Keep became smaller and smaller.
“What have we to fear on this journey, Sultani?” Altair asked.
Nasir had the feeling the general was mocking him, for Altair should know more than he did about the lay of the land—and sea. But as the ship’s men continued without so much as a flicker of emotion in their dull eyes, Nasir found himself opening his stupid mouth, recounting names from long-buried tales he should not have unearthed. “There are tales of the bahamut and dandan.”
Altair’s forehead creased. His head dipped toward his chest and his shoulders pitched forward, shaking. Seasick. And so soon after setting sail, the weak bastard. Nasir didn’t bother moving from the railing. Heartbeats later, Altair straightened, his face red from exertion.
He wasn’t sick. He was laughing uncontrollably.
Nasir scowled.
“Beware, the mighty dandan!” Altair shouted. “I imagine the creature hides in shame because of its own name.” He broke off in laughter again. “Dandan? Dandan!”
In answer, the ship jounced. Nasir gripped the railing.
Altair snorted. “Oh, you’ll be safe from our dreaded dandan so close to the shore. Sultan’s teeth, look at that.”
At the shores of Sultan’s Keep, a violent crackling filled the air. The Arz was coming back. Trees erupted out of the ground, tossing black pebbles everywhere. The very air began to darken. Trunks rose high, limbs entwining, twisting, spearing. Leaves dripped from branches like dew.
In mere breaths, the Arz had returned, looking as if it had never left.
If the Silver Witch could tame the Arz—rimaal, make it disappear—Nasir couldn’t begin to imagine the extent of her powers. But it was Sharr that not even she could subdue. It was on Sharr that he could finally meet his demise. After years of expecting death at the hands of his father, he could die on an island, and no one would even know. Not that anyone was left to care.
“You shouldn’t have said that about her to the witch.” Altair broke through his thoughts, an edge to his voice.
Nasir lifted an eyebrow and propped his onyx-hilted jambiya against the rail to polish. “What?”
“Kulsum.”
He paused. “All I said was that she is of no concern to me.”
“You use people and discard them. No one is of any concern to you, Nasir,” Altair said coolly.
As if he knew. As if he daama knew what Nasir had been through.
Altair and his mouth.
One moment, Nasir was trying to force air through his teeth, the next, he shoved the bigger man against the rail, blade at the smooth column of his throat.