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Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1)
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ADVENT OF RUIN
by Allene R. Lowrey
ADVENT OF RUIN
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Allene Lowrey
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
Cover art and map by Allene Lowrey
ISBN 13: 978-1544196572
www.tangledthreadspublishing.com
For John
the greatest constant in my sea of chaos
the greatest encouragement a wife could ask for
and for Mom,
who introduced me to fantasy in the first place
and encourages my writing at every step
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Glossary
MAP
CHAPTER ONE
Tiny shavings accumulated on the table under Shahin’s arms as he drew the blade of a knife along the delicate line of the camel’s neck. His nephews’ faces circled the image of the completed toy; those faces would disappear as the camel decided who it wanted. A knock on the doorframe disturbed his concentration but not his hand: one of Prince Rashne’s men was pushing aside the curtain as though it were a beggar in his path. Shahin smiled around clenched teeth. The camel he rested on the table.
“Your manners are improving, Sanjay. You knocked this time. What can I do for daji this afternoon?” Scorn laced his voice, but the pudgy Administrator of the Courier Service wouldn’t be needled so quickly.
“Job for you. You’re to leave for Q’uungerab on your fastest camel first thing.” A fat leather pouch appeared from within Sanjay’s ministerial robes. He threw it at the table, where it landed near the center with a heavy clink and sent a puff of wood shavings flying. “That includes the usual premium for short notice. If you return within the month we’re prepared to offer a bonus.”
“Within a month? The Prince is cutting it a bit close this time, isn’t he? Even if I leave tonight, the Qaehl will need to be feeling real friendly.” If everything went right he’d still have to push hard through the desert to make that.
Sanjay raised a curled eyebrow. “Are you saying you can’t do it?”
“No.” Shahin hefted the pouch, testing its weight. “I’m saying that had better be a hefty bonus.”
“Cocky as ever.” Sanjay snorted. “One of these days the prince will have you eating sand.”
“The day I can’t out-pace the dunes is the day they swallow me. Tell me, Sanjay, is your desk a pleasant replacement for racing through the desert, or are you jealous?” Shahin smirked as Sanjay’s softened face began to purple. “Were you going to give me the message or not?”
“Here.” Sanjay bit the word, but a small metal tube stoppered with wax joined the pouch on the table. The wax was stamped with the roaring lion of the Sassana family. “Sealed by Sender, so you know what that means.”
“Sealed by Sender and urgent? What’d they have to pay for that?” Shahin’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. The Sassana Cartel’s powerful enough to have its own couriers. Why’s it going through the Administration?
Sanjay glared with pursed lips.
“Fine. Who’s it going to, then?”
“Prince Cashtes.” Sanjay turned and stepped toward the door.
Well. That explains the government channel. “He’ll have it, and I’ll be back for that bonus.”
“I’m sure you will.” The curtain flapped closed behind Sanjay.
Shahin sighed. Baiting him like that’s going to come back and bite me one of these days. He grabbed the money pouch as he stood and tied it to the belt of his trousers. Shading his eyes, he stepped outside.
The street was a shadeless canyon at this time of day. The sandstone walls on either side met the unpaved street below with only a crease to show the change where walls jutted up to a colorless sky. Deep shadows or fluttering curtains marked entrances to the canyon’s caves.
The city was slowly reawakening as the heat of the day relented by degrees; the shops would be open again by the time he reached the market. A lady’s open carriage passed on the other side of the road, pulled by a sound-looking mule. The driver spoke and laughed with the woman inside – family, then. Shahin turned and walked down the street away from them.
A pair of men emerged from the shadow of a doorway, each carrying a large crate. Their billowy trousers were gathered into a cuff at the ankle with vests in place of jackets over sleeveless tunics. Coming down the road toward him, a pair of young women walked alone, wearing headscarves and sharing the shade of a chaataa between them. Where are their men? Shahin made a disgusted sound and kept walking, averting his eyes. They had to know the risk, and he didn’t have time to play escort to strangers.
He passed Jehaara’s Feed. Not open yet, but that was easiest as a last stop anyway. Three stops further down he bought lamp oil, rations – including a jar of sweet oranges – and three days’ water. The water and feed Shahin arranged to have delivered to his address, grumbling as ever about the rush cost; the food and oil he carried back himself.
The walk back was hampered by the late afternoon crowd and his awkward bundles. He paused near the edge of the merchant district for naalye – a hot dinner while he still could – and spent another few coins to send a ragged-looking boy with a message to his sister’s family. If they could spare one of their boys, he needed a stable boy for a few weeks. The urchin goggled at the copper bits before running off.
Shahin ducked through the curtain into his rooms without consciously recognizing them, preoccupied by his pre-run checklist. He set the packages on his table and popped the last bite of naalye into his mouth.
He wouldn’t actually take his fastest camel. That was Kriila. She was fast and smart, but too flighty and didn’t have the stamina. Teqrab was both steadier and hardier, as was his brother Govad, and he could press harder with both of them than with a single mount. Shahin went out back to the courtyard he rented for a stable, leaving the curtain open so he could listen for the deliveries. On the table, the half-finished camel would have to wait.
* * *
The light was shading from ruddy sunset into purple twilight by the time Shahin’s nephew arrived.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry. Mama almost didn’t let me come out alone.”
“Uh-huh. Safe journey, Uncle!”
Shahin waved over his shoulder as he spurred Teqrab into a pace and promptly had to rein back. Govad tugged at the line linking the two camels. The boys are restless, apparently. Now he just had to make it out before they closed the gates for the night.
* * *
One night past the third oasis, about a week and a half out of Udhampna, Shahin was beginning to think he might just make it, although he was lucky to have avoided bandits so long. Not far off the side of the road he spotted a place to camp; a hollow that should be shaded from wind and sun alike through the worst of the day’s heat. Govad danced a bit and balked as Shahin guided them toward the hollow. Teqrab, following now and carrying most of Shahin’s gear, whistled and planted his feet at the base of a dune.
“Is there something there, then?” All he saw was sand. “All right. The next one.” Gray dawn was breaking, but he hadn’t lasted this long without learning to pay attention when his camels acted out.
A swishing sound came from the dune peak, the sound sand makes when it slides over itself. Govad bellowed as both camels broke into a gallop – away from the road. Shahin had to grab the pommel of his saddle to keep from falling off.
Something heavy thudded into the sand, and Shahin felt as much as heard the lead line snap. Teqrab bellowed. He spun around and grabbed at the end even as Govad sped up. The camel had his head, and Shahin almost lost his grip on the reins when he caught a glimpse of what was behind him.
What in the name of all the absent gods are those?
Three long, black shapes easily the size of the camel, with curving tails and stingers that made pikes look like twigs, fought amongst themselves over Teqrab’s still-struggling body. One of them abandoned the fight, skittering across the sand after the prey that still ran. Now came dry-mouthed, sweaty terror, and he urged Govad still faster.
The creature was faster than Govad. Shahin wished, momentarily, that he had Kriila instead – but this was not the time for regrets. He looked forward again, urging yet more speed out of his beleaguered mount, scanning the sand ahead for anything resembling salvation.
The thing screamed, sending a fresh pulse of fear radiating out from Shahin’s chest.
A black scar marred the ground ahead. Better than nothing. He yanked on the reins, harder than he liked to, to remind Govad who was in control here. The camel obeyed, turning to the north and the uncertain safety of a hole in the ground.
Whumph. The thing tried to strike at them as they turned, and it was thanks to the turn that it missed. This was already faster than Govad had run before, but Shahin still asked for more. The camel’s flanks were damp with exertion. Just a little farther…
Thump-bump, thump-bump – the hollow sound of a thin crust over a pocket – and then Govad leapt out over a chasm, striving for the other side. We’re not going to make it.
Govad bellowed, as did Shahin. The saddle fell from beneath him and he instinctively let go of the reins as they plunged into darkness.
* * *
The first sensation Shahin was aware of was pain. His head felt full of grit and ached, but something else was in agony. He curled and flexed his arms and legs: that wasn’t it. Then he tried to roll over, and pain shot out in all directions from his side. That’s what it is, then. Breathing. Each rise and fall of his chest was a fresh dagger in his lungs. He forced himself to sit up.
Sunlight filtered down through chasm above. The little water and oil he had remaining mixed together in an iridescent puddle, wetting part of the pile of sand that he had landed on. He probed gently at his side with fingers that were somehow intact even as he tried to estimate the height of the ceiling. Thirty feet, maybe? There was no telling for sure without a reference point, and the light did not reach the walls of the cavern. A low groaning sound drew his attention.
Govad.
Shahin eased himself onto his knees and dragged them across the stone floor over to his mount. Govad was alive, but only just. His neck twisted unnaturally. There were probably more breaks, as well, but that one was more than enough. He moved over to the camel’s head, still on his knees, to stroke Govad’s muzzle. The animal stared back up at him with a glazed eye as Shahin drew the knife from its sheath on the back of his belt. Govad wasn’t the first camel Shahin had to put down, and he probably wouldn’t be the last, but every time it felt like cutting off his own arm.
“It’s been a good run, boy. You’ve done all right. Take it easy now.” His throat was tight, but he kept his voice calm and even. With his palm still on Govad’s head, Shahin made one swift cut and slit the animal’s throat. Govad didn’t jerk or bellow; he had already seen death and accepted it.
After a moment, still talking quietly to the camel as it bled out, he took his empty water skins and began filling them with blood. As terrible as it was to drink, there was no telling when he would next find water. The knees of his trousers grew sodden faster than he thought possible, and it seemed like ages before Govad stopped breathing. Shahin spotted his last two sweet oranges a little way off on the ground. Good. He chopped them in half and squeezed as much of the juice as he could into the blood-filled skins to keep them liquid. The pulpy rinds he set aside to eat once the gory task ahead was done.
He had to skin the carcass. He attempted to draw his knife down the neck, through Govad’s hide, and agony flared through his side. At least one broken rib, maybe more. Maybe I should bind this first.
Shahin removed his leather jacket one arm at a time, gasping when he had to twist to pull off the sleeve. He had to bite his tongue so hard it bled to keep from passing out as he tied the coat around his chest.
It took Shahin a few minutes to stop gasping after he secured the makeshift wrap, but finally he was able to take a deep nasal breath and gather himself. Now that he could move without feeling like needle torture was being performed on his chest, he returned to butchering his dead mount. He used some hair for tinder, and a little fat from the hump as fuel, to cook as much of the meat as he could carry over a fire struck by flint on his knife. Govad’s ribs made an adequate cooking rack once he stripped the meat from them.
* * *
Shahin’s arms were bloody up to the elbows, and the smell of offal turned his stomach. It would take some time before the meat would be dry enough to be portable; it was time to have a better look around. The light pressed against the darkness beyond, concealing anything in the cavern that might help him.
I need a torch. He looked at Govad’s carcass and sighed. Sorry, boy. Looks like I have to cut you up even more. If he was going any distance he’d want at least two; Govad’s legs looked reasonably intact. He eased himself down into a crouch, careful to keep his posture straight against the pain in his side, and set to work separating bones at the joints. One of the slender shin bones had been broken, but he thought he could use all four of them anyway. He placed over the fire to begin drying. While the meat and the bones roasted, he cut more strips than he thought he could possibly need of the hide. Most of the flesh he scraped off, and then smeared the hair side with more fat from the hump. Once, he paused to rest. He panted against the pain in his chest, always expecting it to fade just a little, never finding that moment of relief.
It was still daylight slanting down from above. So long as there was light he had to keep moving. He grabbed one of his drying torches and wrapped a strip of hide around the end. He thrust the torch underneath the ribs of the grill and lit it. The smell of burning hair assaulted his nose.
Shahin chose a direction at random and walked. It was more than five hundred paces before he came to a wall of rough stone. The cookfire was still visible behind him. Rather than walk along the wall until he found an exit, he returned to the fire to tend it and check the meat. Then he tried again, going in the opposite direction. H
is lungs were on fire before he returned. He cut another strip of hide to replace the one he had used and put the bone back on the rack. Sweat slicked his forehead, and his arms and chest under his tunic, although it was cooler down here than on the sand. He allowed himself to sit and rest. The light was fading, he realized as he glanced up at the crack. It seemed to sway gently, left and right, like a palm in the wind.
Waves of nausea flopped into his stomach as he stared at the rocking line. No, that was him swaying, not the room. How long have I been working? It can’t be more than a day… He spread his bedroll near the embers of the fire and used the tent fabric as a blanket against the night’s chill. Rest first. I’ll explore in the morning.
* * *
His sleep that night was haunted by the strange shapes that had risen out of the sand. Chasing him. Losing no ground despite stopping to devour his camels one by one, and yet never gaining ground either. He awoke drenched in a cold sweat and feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. Daylight was once again visible through the crack in the ceiling: it was time to go.
He tied his three spare torches to his belt, wrapped end down and bound with sinew. The third he lit before stepping off into the darkness, in the direction Govad’s head had been pointing when they landed.
Shahin walked away from the shaft of light until it was only a dot behind him. His puddle of flickering torchlight could not reach the walls. He lost count of his paces around a thousand. Eventually the light touched something colorless, some time after he began to believe he was marching into oblivion. The thing resolved into a face with bulbous eyes and distended cheeks and wicked teeth.
Shahin yelped, startled by the face, and took a step back before he realized it was still as stone. He took a few cautious steps toward the apparition. The light revealed another bulbous shape below the face – a belly – then the rest of the body, all frozen forever as it had been carved from the rock. The surface was polished smooth enough to shine in the flickering torchlight. Shahin breathed a sigh of relief. Just a statue. This trip really has me on edge. But… what’s it doing down here?
Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1)