Chapter twenty-nine

The Effaron Desert

 

Fred had fashioned a makeshift hat out of an old water skin and now he shifted it on his head as they struggled on through the heat. Around them the vegetation had dwindled to a few patches of yellowing grass and flat stone-like plants, some of which, on closer inspection, turned out to be stones. Potentilla still forged ahead, but her singing was a lot less irritating as it had slowly evolved into a low meandering hum, which could be avoided by hanging back a little. Fred stopped for a minute, and mopped his brow with a grubby cloth.

‘I’d like to see a real desert, if this isn’t one…’ he muttered

‘What?’ asked Potentilla, who spent her entire time scanning the horizon.  She scarcely paused on her long walk.

‘Nothing’ said Fred, despondently.

They had walked closer and closer to the wall as the days had passed, partly to make sure that they didn’t get lost, but, also, more importantly, so they could walk in the shade for at least part of the day. Both of them wished, however, they could move away from it, as its endless single dimension was really starting to get them down. However, the alternative was a vista with no dimensions – just sand all the way to the horizon and beyond.

They had been travelling for three days now and at every second they expected to find the end of the wall, or some indication, however vague, that the wall would eventually peter out. Each moment seemed to get more blisteringly hot and dry.

They staggered on until about midday, the time when they usually sheltered for a few hours to try to avoid the worst effects of the sun. Both of them sat completely still in full sunshine waiting for the wall to cast a shadow again. After about twenty minutes of this, the wind began to rise, and to whisk the sand up into little corkscrews of movement. Potentilla studied them eagerly.

‘I think there’s going to be a sandstorm’ she said, apparently unconcerned.

Fred paused and stared at her as hard as he could. This was yet another thing that she hadn’t warned him about.  A flock of scathing phrases rose up in his mind.

‘Bloody genius’ was all that he actually said.

They waited nervously, hoping that the wind would die down. But it didn’t and the noise that it made in the still air changed slowly but surely – first a rustle, then a hiss and finally a full blown roar.

Potentilla reached inside her backpack and pulled out some bits of cloth. She took two and wrapped them round Fred’s eyes and mouth, and then she did the same for herself. Fred pulled the upper cloth a little way down so that he could peek over the top of it. Sand was beginning to fly through the air, cutting everything in its path. They clung together keeping low on the ground, with their belongings held closely against them. The wind turned into an almost unbearable roar and the sand raged over them and completely covered them.

***

Much later, once the wind was finally lessening Fred dared to look out over his blindfold. He could see Potentilla standing above him, brushing off sand as if she’d just come home from a little sunbathing on the beach. Fred struggled a little and blew away some sand from his lips – he was lying at a slight angle and he was buried up to his neck in the sand.

‘How did you do that?’ asked Fred, peering at Potentilla.

‘Basic training, desert regions’ replied Potentilla.

Fred was about to respond to this, when he saw Potentilla stiffen and crouch low. She was looking out over the horizon.

‘Someone’s coming’ she whispered, unnecessarily, given the loudness of the wind.

‘What?’

‘On a camel – there’s someone coming towards us on a camel’

Potentilla reached for her bow and her quiver. She stood quietly as the camel approach. Fred could see nothing and constantly badgered her with questions. Eventually, Potentilla shushed him patiently. The intruder was very close. Potentilla could see now that it was a tall man, dressed in cream desert clothes, riding his greyish camel. She reached reflexively inside her quiver for an arrow.

The camel slowed and then stopped a few yards in front of them. The man removed the cloth that had protected his face from the sand, revealing a ridiculously rugged chiselled face. He was as dark as mahogany but his eyes were deep hazel – his countenance was grim, however, as he inspected the travellers. He had a scimitar attached at his waist and his fingers seemed worryingly twitchy. Potentilla watchfully notched an arrow in her bow.

The man stood stock still and scanned the scene very slowly and carefully. But then his gaze fell on Potentilla, standing with her bow raised. Instantly a huge smile conquered his face. Potentilla could also have sworn that there was also a hint of additional colour in his cheeks.

‘An elf, and, oh, such a comely one at that!’ he said, speaking half to Potentilla and half to himself.

He brought his camel beside her to address her directly.

‘I am unparalleled in my fortune this day! Greetings, Imperial warrior-maid!’

His Visneorian was perfect but he had a strong desert accent. Potentilla really didn’t mind.

He jumped down from the camel and bowed deeply and elegantly.  Potentilla, already having dropped her bow, grinned back at him and waved.

‘Who are you?’ she asked eagerly.

‘I am Al-ham, of the house of Emar’ he said, ‘I am at your service, my lady’ 

‘Really?’ said Potentilla, grinning hugely, ‘that sounds fantastic!’

‘Where are you travelling?’ asked Al-ham, ‘do you need assistance on the road?’

Potentilla nodded.

‘We are on an Imperial expedition to Melloreis, in Eastern Visneoria. There have been one or two problems and we find ourselves needing to find a southern route. Can you help us?’

Al-ham laughed loudly.

‘I meant what I said, my lady. The House of Emar are Imperial vassals – we have been servants of the Emperors for two thousand years. And the chance to serve such a high elf-woman as you is not to be eschewed. You are my liege lady!’ 

While they spoke Fred continued to struggle in the background, puffs of sand spurting up from where he lay, his head just peeking out from his sand cocoon.

‘My camels are at your disposal, my guards and my victuals ’ the newcomer said.  He paused, looked deep into her eyes, and then continued, hoarsely, in a stage whisper ‘and my tent, if my lady ever deems me worthy’

Potentilla opened her mouth to reply.     

‘By the bloody gods’ shouted Fred, very loudly, both encumbered and intensely embarrassed, ‘shut yourselves up and get me out of this hole!’

Potentilla, rather reluctantly, remembered Fred.

‘Oh – Fred,’ she said, dropping back vertically into reality, ‘I’m so sorry. How long have you been stuck down there?’

‘Too long’

Al-ham strode towards Fred’s sand-enclosed body. He had big strides.

‘What has happened to your servant?’ he asked Potentilla.

‘That’s Fred’ she giggled, ‘he’d make a really rubbish servant!’

 Al-ham considered this carefully.

‘Then why do you continue to employ him in your service?’ he asked gravely.

‘No’ she laughed, ‘this is Fred – he’s the expedition leader’

Al-ham wrinkled his aquiline nose and considered this carefully again.

‘Really? That is extraordinary. If he leads, why is he recumbent and so utterly vulnerable?’

‘He’s from Eth’ she said

Al-Ham laughed heartily - a deep booming laugh.

‘Of course!’ he said, finally satisfied with her replies.

‘Can you help him get out?’ asked Potentilla.

‘In the timing of a heartbeat, my lady’

Al-Ham bent over the writhing mass of sandy Fred and used his large hands to alternately dig and pull. Eventually he had cleared enough sand to hold him by the arms. He tugged mightily and Fred came out, like a cork emerging from a particularly disappointing bottle of bubbly.  

Fred mumbled a grudging ‘thanks’ and lay panting. Al-ham turned from Fred and moved towards his camel. At no point did the Algharian speak to Fred directly.

‘He is well, and unbroken’ he said, ‘I hope that was satisfactory, my Lady’

‘Completely’ said Potentilla, ‘well done, you!’

Al-Ham smiled, clearly grateful for the praise. 

‘I will locate my men and then we will find a place to camp’

Al-Ham pulled himself back up on to his camel in one smooth motion and rode off. Potentilla watched him shrink to a dot and then watched the resulting empty space for quite a while after that.

Meanwhile, Fred brushed himself down despondently. He sat and waited. 

 

About ten minutes later Al-Ham reappeared, with around twenty men, each mounted on a sleek, if unfriendly looking, camel. The men were all cast in the same mould as Al-Ham, but none of them were quite as tall or quite as striking. 

‘Can you ride, my Lady?’ he asked deferentially.

‘Yes…’ Potentilla stopped herself, ‘but only horses, of course’ she said, lying.

Al-Ham grinned.

‘Then you will have to travel with me. If that is acceptable to you…’

Potentilla jumped expertly up on to the seat behind him and slid her hands round his waist.

‘My Lady, I am afraid to tell that you will have to hold on quite tightly’ he said, ‘the way is rough and the wind is fierce.’

Potentilla seemed momentarily to be distracted by something, but after a short pause she refocused and asked ‘What about Fred?’ remembering him again.

‘Can he ride?’ Al-Ham asked.

Fred replied for her, ‘of course I can’t ride a bloody camel’

‘Then he can travel with the train’

Behind Al-Ham, a fairly long way off, were a group of slightly worn out men and women struggling with packs, hand carts and a small emaciated donkey. ‘Typical’ thought Fred. He didn’t complain though – he really didn’t want to try riding a camel.

Al-Ham turned to his men with a flourish.

‘We will go and make camp and then we shall feast. And after that – we will dance for our liege lady’ he proclaimed. Potentilla nodded eagerly and clapped her hands.

Fred wished that someone would come and bury him up to his neck in sand again.