Page 32 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“Just getting my bearings.”
He grunted.
Walking side by side, they crossed two more dunes. Halfway down the third one, Shyla grabbed Rendor’s arm, halting him.
“What is it?” His hand grasped the hilt of his sword.
She pointed at the spot right in front of him. “Cap sand.”
Rendor stepped back. Peering down, he asked, “How can you tell?”
“It’s lighter in color.”
“All I see is red sand and pink sky.”
Shyla grabbed a fistful of sand and tossed it at the center of the meter-wide deposit of cap sand. A whoosh blew sand into the air, exposing a hole in the dune underneath. It spiked down into darkness. Depending on the size of the hole, an unwary traveler might twist an ankle or break a leg by stepping on cap sand—so called because it mounded over and hid the danger. Bigger holes would swallow a person completely, trapping them. If the victim was alone or if it was too deep for a rescue, it wouldn’t take long for the sand demons—the second creature able to survive the killing sun—to arrive for an easy meal.
“I thought you’ve been in the desert before?” Shyla asked.
“On the pathways.”
Now it was her turn to grunt. “Stay close, then.”
They clambered over two more dunes before she spotted the monastery. Unlike the city’s entrance, its surface building matched the desert’s color. No tiles decorated its exterior. Plain and practical—the monks’ two favorite words.
Before they descended, Rendor leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I count five…monks. They’re wearing red clothing that blends in with the sand. Are they armed?”
“Not armed with weapons, but I doubt you could draw your sword fast enough to do anything useful with it.”
“I’m the prince’s captain because I’m the best,” he snapped.
“I’m sure you are.” She placated, which just increased his annoyance. “And, by the way, there are twelve monks hiding in the sands. Eight between us and the monastery and four others who have been following us for the last kilometer.”
Rendor stared at her.
“You wanted to come along,” she said. “Don’t get mad at me because you’re out of your element.”
“You could have told me about them.” He sounded like a sullen child.
Shyla suppressed a grin. “We’re in no danger. Well, as long as you don’t draw your sword, they have no reason to attack us. Come on.”
No one approached them as they finished their journey. All asylum seekers could find safety inside a monastery and the monks rescued a handful of lost travelers every circuit. They might act cold and distant to outsiders, but they’d never refuse aid.
They entered the single surface building. It had rectangular openings that allowed the air inside. Velbloud-hair fabric hung in front of them, blocking most of the sand. During sandstorms, the monks covered them with stone shutters. Inside was one large room and one monk sitting cross-legged on a marble bench—the only piece of furniture. His hands rested on his knees and he wore a red robe with the hood pulled down low enough to keep his face in shadow. Behind him was the stairway down to the monastery.
“Can I help you?” he asked without moving a muscle.
She recognized Karlin’s voice and wondered what he’d done to be assigned as the greeter—the most boring job of all. But she was no longer allowed to ask him or joke with him about it. Instead, she said, “I require access to the First Room of Knowledge.”
“You have permission, but yourcompaniondoes not,” Karlin said.
Companion? Interesting choice of words. “He understands and is willing to wait for me in the receiving room.”
“Very well, you may enter.”
Memories threatened to overwhelm her as Shyla descended the familiar wide stairway down two levels, where it ended in a circular room with two tunnels branching off. There was no need for druk lanterns at this time of the sun jump. Mirror pipes poked through the ceiling and speared the floor, allowing sunlight to fill the space.
“No wonder you like living so high,” Rendor said. He pointed to the pipes. “How deep do they go?”
