Beyond the Edge of Dawn by Christian Warren Freed Read Free Book Online Page B

thoughts got the better of him. Bradgen. Adonmeia’s right hand and enforcer. Any move would have been filtered through Bradgen. Suddenly nothing made sense. A Gaimosian in name and deed, Pirneon had always held to a strict code of honor. He didn’t kill for sport or pleasure and viewed this act of kidnapping for the purpose of cold-blooded murder beneath him. For Adonmeia to have fooled him so completely left him knotted with grave doubts.
    The Satrap nodded. “At last you begin to understand. But it is too late.”
    A handful of soldiers burst into the tent. All were covered with blood and belonged to the Satrap. Pirneon knew he’d never be able to fight his way clear. Even so, he drew his sword and prepared. Glory would come.
    The Satrap held a staying hand. “My soldiers have not come to kill you.”
    “Might as well. I don’t see any alternative. There’s only one way this can end. If what you say is true, my life holds little value,” Pirneon snapped.
    “Enough have died already. There is another way. What remains of your assault force is fleeing back into the dunes, but it is not enough. If my people are to live, I must surrender.”
    A collective gasp escaped the soldiers. Even Pirneon was at a loss. He slowly lowered his sword. There was no real threat here. The Satrap issued orders in his native tongue. Several soldiers left to relay them throughout the camp. What little remained intact was about to be broken down for movement. Camp was being struck.
    “Take me back to Adonmeia. I will not let my people be slaughtered out of false pride. Others have fought, and all have died. Whole tribes no longer exist. That shall not be our fate.”
    He removed his turban and walked close enough to Pirneon to lay a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “This is the way of the desert. A hard life, to be sure.”
    Pirneon remained in shock and awe of the man before him. If other leaders held the same quality of character as the Satrap, the world might have been a better place.

SEVEN
    Prisoner
    It took them more than an hour to reach the pre-designated rendezvous position. The night had grown cold, but they were still covered in sweat. Pirneon was feeling the weight of his advanced age, though not from the battle. The Satrap, Habrim, walked at ease, as if freed from any tension. His words weighed heavily on Pirneon’s conscience. The entire operation had gone sour the moment he’d entered the Satrap’s tent. More than ever, he was thinking his decision to come into the desert was a mistake. He’d taken the job after a period of restlessness resulting from unemployment. Life was hard enough without being paid. When the Caliph’s agents entered his chambers he virtually leapt at the opportunity, though he had little opinion about the desert.
    Neither man spoke as they trekked across the dunes. Sand got everywhere, practically coating them, much to Pirneon’s dislike. Just another reason to never return. Whoever created sand sure didn’t like people . Pirneon let his guard down for the first time since entering the desert. Habrim’s men posed no threat as far as he could tell. Adonmeia’s men more than likely thought him killed. It was a recurring theme he’d gotten used over the years since he’d fled Gaimos. Not that he minded. Being thought dead was useful. Infinite possibilities opened up when the enemy figured you for dead.
    He didn’t bother binding Habrim. That would only slow them down, and the Satrap seemed almost as eager as Pirneon to see this affair through. A dread sense of foreboding pained him. Habrim knew that every delay was potentially fatal to his cause, a fact he went to length to impart to Pirneon as they set out. Visions of massacred bodies now tormented the Gaimosian as he walked. They stopped only long enough to relive themselves and take a bit of water. Even at night, the desert was a formidable opponent. Dehydration was a constant threat.
    Pirneon uncharacteristically halted Habrim. Pulling