The Ivory Road: A Walk in the Sand Page 4

  Things had to get back to normal soon, or she’d lose her mind.

  Chapter Four: “The greatest role an actor has to play is herself…”

  “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this…”

  Iliana, bent over on Aristotle’s neck, tried to take comfort in the constant motion and the scent of the horse. After they’d escaped by the skin of their teeth, the reality of her predicament hit home and panic set in. She’d nearly lost her life to some maniac who wanted to spill her blood on the sands. And you know there’ll be more of them. How could she live in this world? Brandon’s right. She epitomized the weak and cowardly actress who had no hope to survive in his world.

  She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember to breathe. But the sounds of men dying and the sight of the crossbow bolt sticking out of her opponent’s chest wouldn’t leave her alone. Dear God, he just stopped and died. This is a nightmare. She wanted to be somewhere safe to take stock of her current life.

  “You can do this, Iliana.” Aristotle sounded exasperated and she opened her eyes to look at his ears.

  “How do you figure, Aristotle? I nearly got myself killed.” She whispered low enough the others wouldn’t hear her. The last thing I need is for them to think I’m crazier. “I’m not a swordswoman. I don't have the skills or the confidence to do it for real. Killing someone is serious. No one yells “cut” and everyone gets up. Who am I to decide that the other person's life is meant to end?”

  “Let me tell you something of this world. Pay attention because I’m only going to say this once.” The horse snorted and shook his head. “It’s not an easy world to live in and there are many out there who don’t have your compunction about killing. They’ll kill you if you have what they want. Right now, this world is focused on killing or being killed, and you have to discover your place in relationship to that. It doesn't mean you have to kill, but it does mean you have to defend yourself, and curling into the fetal position isn’t going to work.”

  “I’m not in the fetal position.” She pushed herself up to validate her statement, refusing to admit he’d been right.

  Aristotle snorted again. “If you have doubts about your abilities, get someone to teach you to improve. But don't wallow in fear and give up. That’s pathetic.”

  Nothing like having a horse lay it all out.

  “It’s obvious you’re inexperienced in this sort of life, but you can remedy that by asking someone more knowledgeable to teach you.”

  Iliana swallowed hard. “But I don't want to kill anyone. And I definitely don't want to get killed.”

  “So learn how to incapacitate without killing.”

  “How?”

  “Throwing knives? Using your sword as a baseball bat rather than a blade, martial arts?”

  “Are you well, Iliana?” Brandon’s voice interrupted their discussion.

  She met his gaze and read uncertainty and concern in his face. Yeah, he’s ready to send out for the guys in white coats. “Yeah. Good. Better now.”

  Her short, staccato answers seemed to convince him she didn’t want to talk and they settled into an uneasy silence as the sun rose over them. Long black shadows shortened as they kept riding west, and she kept her mind on the problem of living in this world.

  Not living, surviving.

  In light of her last adventure, she’d come here rather ill-equipped.

  So what can I do? She ran through the things she’d learned over her decade of acting and some of them had possibilities. She’d taken some martial arts to focus, mostly Tai Chi, but it would be too slow for survival. She’d also thrown knives for a fantasy movie where she’d been an assassin hired to kill her love interest.

  Maybe that would work. I just have to get some knives. She’d let the skills lapse, but she hoped it would be like riding a bike. A little practice and she’d be good enough. Same with the sword fighting. Though she’d barely learned enough to look good on screen. She’d been damn lucky Ahmad had arrived when he did.

  Iliana shot a quick look at her companions. Ahmad looked cold and serious, but Brandon wore a look of concern. Or pity. They’re not exactly friends with whom to explore new places. But until she found a way back to her home—if I find a way back—she’d have to make the best of it here. And I’m gonna survive, dammit.

  She sighed and scrubbed her hands over her face. Her right arm shrieked a warning and pain pushed its way into her awareness. She groaned and twisted to inspect her arm. Blood stained her sleeve below her bicep, filling the air with a sharp tang. What the—

  She hissed as little as she peeled back the cloth from around her arm, exposing the wound. Pain flashed like a blinking neon sign in the back of her head. Even the wind against the open cut hurt. Somehow she’d managed not to notice when the swordsman got a stroke in. Gotta love adrenaline. She sure as hell noticed now.

  “Damn.” How would she clean this? She’d seen some supplies in Kyram’s saddle bags, but until now she hadn’t paid very close attention. The wound didn’t appear to be deep, but it could become deadly if infection set in.

  Iliana dug through the saddlebags, searching for a clean cloth and the make-shift first aid kit. She found a rag and wet it down with some of her precious water. God, this is gonna hurt. She took a deep breath before carefully wiping it across the wound. With the barest pressure, her arm sent shock waves of pain through her body. She gritted her teeth and tried not to groan as tears sprang to her eyes. She rubbed her face against her shoulder to clear her vision, trying to ignore the gamey scents of dirt and sweat in the cloth.

  It took her several tries to clean the wound and pain sat on her shoulder like a little demon, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Neither of her companions said anything or made overtures to help, though she could feel Brandon’s gaze on her. But they had to keep moving and any help would require stopping the horses. Plus I’m not sure I want either of them touching me.

  Taking a deep breath, she let the last of the tears slide down her cheeks and dug out the first aid kit. Kyram had collected various bottles of liquids and powders. She left the powders alone, but carefully uncorked the little glazed ceramic bottles. One smelled like frankincense, another like lavender, and a third like whiskey. She snorted at the last. Only a guy would keep whiskey in a first aid kit.

  She opened the bottle of frankincense and dabbed a drop onto her tongue, a grimace twisting her lips. It tasted awful, but the naturopath she’d been seeing in L.A. said frankincense oil acted as a natural antibiotic against infection. She exchanged it for the bottle of lavender and took another calming breath. What’s a little pain now to survive a lifetime? Good words, but still hard to put into practice.

  Iliana patted lavender oil onto her open wound and bit her lips to keep from whimpering. Dear God, it burns. More tears leaked out of her eyes, but she’d given up trying to stop them. It hurt and she didn’t care who noticed. It took several moments and three more deep breaths for the pain to settle into a throbbing ache. She wrapped up the first aid kit and stored it in her saddle bags. Let’s hope that helps.

  Her blood had stained the bandana-like rag, but she wet it down once more to squeeze as much blood out of it as she could. She wished she had another dry one, but this appeared to be the only cloth she could reach. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tie the bandana one-handed. Bite your pride in the ass and ask for help, Ivory.

  She gritted her teeth. “Brandon, can I have your assistance for a moment?”

  He shot her a surprised glance. “What can I do for you? You looked like you had everything well in hand.”

  “Hand, singular. This requires two.”

  He snorted with a half smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d let anyone touch you after last night.”

  “As long as you’re not trying to kill me, I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Not anymore.” He grinned at her snort.

  They drew the horses to a stop and he scooted his bay up beside Aristotle. He tied the end
s of the bandana in a square knot around her arm and he met her eyes for a moment, his gaze warmer than she remembered. She bore the scrutiny steadily, unwilling to look away.

  “Where did you learn to fight, Iliana?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but caught sight of Ahmad listening in behind Brandon. Something about the guy gave her the creeps. She didn’t want him to know too much about her so she shrugged a little and urged Aristotle back into motion.

  “A few years ago I was put into a position where I needed to defend myself.” Happens when you’re an assassin in a fantasy movie. “I had a sword instructor for a time, but only learned enough to survive until my colleagues nullified the threat.” She’d died at the end of the film. “Since then I haven’t had much need for those skills. I think I might need a bit more training to survive here.”

  That was an understatement. If I don’t improve, I’m gonna be a blood stain on the sand. But she was an actress. She’d play the part of a capable warrior and adventurer. She ignored the voice in her head laughing hysterically.

  “You didn’t do too badly. You lived through it.” Brandon gave her a cheeky smile.

  She shook her head. “I lived because Ahmad showed up.” She nodded to the other man and he nodded back. “I would’ve been vulture-feed if he hadn’t been there.”

  Brandon said nothing and they rode in silence until the sun hit its zenith. Sweat from the heat poured down Iliana’s back and seeped into her eyes. She dragged her arm across her face and wished she had a fan. Or a glass of iced tea. Hell, simple shade would be nice. Her arm throbbed and exhaustion threatened to drag her awareness under.

  “Aristotle, how far is the next stopping point, do you think?” she whispered, fighting to keep her eyes open.

  “A few more hours ahead to give us enough of a lead on the army.” The horse swung his head to look at her from the corner of one eye. “Why?”

  “Because I’m exhausted and need to rest.” She nodded in time to his footsteps. “I haven’t tied myself to the saddle this time. Do you think I could just lean over your neck and sleep a little while you keep walking without falling off?”

  “I won’t let you fall, Iliana.” Aristotle sounded so confident, she smothered a smile.

  “Thanks.” She patted his shoulder as she leaned over.

  “Iliana, are you all right?” Brandon’s voice intruded over the creaking tack.

  She opened her eyes and turned her head. Brandon rode close to her, his expression filled with the same concern she’d seen earlier. Surprise bloomed. Why did he care what happened to her, except for her knowledge on the way across the desert? He could let her fall, take the horse, and he’d be fine. Let’s not tell him about that.

  “I’m fine, Brandon.” She didn’t bother to sit up. “I’m just very, very tired and want to sleep. Aristotle knows where to go and won’t let me fall. He’s a good horse. He’s made this ride far more times than I have. Trust him.” She closed her eyes. “Wake me in a few hours.”

  She laid her head against the silky neck of the dappled Arabian, the scent of horse filling her nose. Her exhaustion gave a shout of triumph and claimed her body within moments, her worries and decisions swallowed by sleep like a ship in the fog.

  Aristotle stumbled and brought her awake a few hours later. Iliana sat up and tried to get her bearings. The sun sat close to the western horizon, bathing the sand in an amber glow. Some of her aches and pain had retreated, but her arm throbbed and her back complained over the position she’d kept.

  Ahmad rode a little behind, dozing in the saddle, but Brandon met her eyes and nodded with a half smile. She returned the salute and stretched as they stepped into the long shadow of a great spire of rock.

  “Whoa. What’s that?”

  “That’s where we’re going.” Aristotle spoke up just ahead of Brandon.

  “They call that the Sand Lion’s Fang.” Brandon shaded his gaze as he looked west. “I didn’t know we were so close. I’ve heard it marks the compass point straight to Sandur. I’ve never seen it, though.”

  “It’s a helluva spire, that’s for sure.” Iliana rubbed her nose and whispered, “How far do you think we are from it, Aristotle?”

  “No more than an hour away. It should be safe to rest for a couple hours there before moving on.” The horse sounded as tired as she felt.

  “We’ll rest there for a bit before we head on the Sandur.” She stretched carefully to keep from pulling on her arm. “God knows we could all use a little time out of the saddle.”

  “How far is Sandur from the Fang?” Brandon rolled his head on his shoulders to loosen his joints.

  “Only half a day’s ride west of it.” Aristotle answered without her prompting.

  “Half day’s ride. We should get there around dawn even if we sleep for a bit at the Fang.”

  Brandon nodded. “Good.”

  “How long would be wise to stay in Sandur knowing the army’s after you?”

  “Not more than a day or so. Sandur is still in Knalish lands, but the border between Knalland and Torhaine is only about a day’s ride outside of the city, I think.” Brandon shrugged at her look of surprise. “I’ve come to Sandur from the other side. Torhaine is far friendlier.”

  She huffed a laugh. “That’s encouraging. I like friendlier.” She stretched her back. “And a few days out of the saddle. My kingdom for a bath and a bed.”

  Brandon shot her a surprised look. “Have you a kingdom, Iliana?”

  “Not yet, but give me time, and I’ll come up with something.”

  He chuckled as she drank from one her water bags. It sagged damn near empty, but she hoped to find more water when they closed in on the Sand Lion’s Fang. They followed the shadow, grateful for the respite from the heat of the sun, and soon shuffled nearly to the base of the spire. A few palms grew around the monolith and water stains marked the lower reaches of the rock like tears. Iliana nearly cheered, but she held her peace as they rode to the western side where a waterfall fed a shallow pool.

  Iliana slowly swung her leg over Aristotle’s back and dropped to the ground with her hand on her saddle. Her legs didn’t quite fold up under her, but she thanked her lucky stars she had a good grip. The fresh scents of water and vegetation hit her nose as she looked around. She listened hard, but only the wind through the fronds hit her ears.

  “I think we’re alone. Fill your water bags and get some sleep. We’re only staying here a couple of hours before pushing on to Sandur.” Damn, I really sound like I know what I’m doing.

  Brandon dismounted with a groan and trudged to the pool with his water bags. Ahmad did the same as she loosened Aristotle’s girth and shot looks back east. The fang stood in her line of sight, but she hoped she’d glimpse evidence of the army if it still pursued them.

  “Think we’re far enough ahead, Aristotle?”

  “We have enough of a lead to rest a while.”

  “How are you sure?”

  “Call it a hunch.” The horse gave a great sigh as he shuffled to the pool and drank. Iliana unhooked her water bags and filled them beside him.

  When finished, they settled in the sand beneath the trees beside the others. The men had already sacked out and their snores made an interesting counterpoint to the wind soughing through the fronds. She snorted and shook her head. Sexy.

  Aristotle settled into the sand with a grunt, his legs folded up under him. His eyes drifted closed and she didn’t blame him. Her own body complained of the constant motion, but he’d done most of the work. She remained on her feet and looked west into the dusk. The stars sparkled in the indigo sky and she let the quiet of the desert seep into her for a few moments.

  This would be such a cool adventure if someone wasn’t out to kill us. Actually, it was a pretty damn cool adventure anyway, but she would’ve preferred to do it at her own pace. Despite the hard riding, she wasn’t tired enough to sleep quite yet. She settled into the sand beside Aristotle and dug into saddlebags for food and the first aid k
it. With water so close she thought to make sure her wound stayed clean.

  As she shifted the items in the bags, something heavy dropped into the sand. She frowned and retrieved the object, running her fingers over the surface. A lumpy bundle of something hard wrapped in supple leather rested against her lap. Curious, she opened the leather.

  A set of throwing knives lined up in regimental rows, each with its point dug deep into a leather sheath sewn into a buckled belt. She paused and looked toward her companions, but the men snored on, oblivious. She pulled one of the knives loose and weighed it. It fit perfectly in her palm, well-balanced between blade and hilt.

  Whoa. Where did these come from? She hadn’t noticed them in the bags when looking for food before. She must’ve missed them and they got shifted around to the top. They must’ve been Kyram's. Or something he’d planned to sell to someone. She tried to see if anything marked the blade, but the starlight wasn’t enough.

  “Hey, Aristotle, do you recognize these knives?”

  The horse turned his head and opened sleepy eyes. “No. Kyram must have put them in there for some reason of his own. I’ve never seen them before.”

  “Huh. They’re nice.” She tossed one into the air, catching it by the hilt. “I can’t believe I remember how to use them.” She replaced the blade in its sheath and stuffed the belt back in the saddlebag.

  “Do you think I’ll ever get back to my home world?” She set the bags aside and drew her knees up to her chest.

  “There is always a chance you will again be at a nexus point between the dimensions when they shift and you’ll return to where you came from.” The horse snorted softly.

  “Yes, but will I go back to my world, or one of the others?”

  “I dunno...” Aristotle’s muzzle dropped into the sand and his eyes closed.

  “Sleep. I'll keep watch for once.”