D & D - Red Sands by Paul B. Thompson, Tonya R. Carter Read Free Book Online Page A

the hood and sawed at the headband with a wicked-looking dagger. He re-knotted the band and tried the arrangement again. This time only his eyes were lost.
    Jadira scrambled up the embankment and saw Marix a few paces away, standing guard. With helmet, shield, and spear, the nobleman looked quite martial in the bright light of noon. She admired the straightness of his shoulders and the lift of his chin.
    Marix spoiled the effect by turning toward her. The heavy helmet was far too big for him. It squashed his ears outward in very comical fashion. She could not restrain a laugh.
    "What's so amusing?" asked Marix. The spear slipped from his hand. Marix bent to get it, and the conical iron pot fell off his head. Jadira clapped a hand to her mouth to smother her laughter.
    Marix replaced the helmet and came to her. "Am I such a buffoon?" he demanded.
    "No worse than I would be in your country," Jadira replied generously, stifling more laughter.
    Marix, disarmed by her response, looked quickly up the road. "No sign of pursuit. Indeed, no sign of anything."
    "I don't like it," she said. "It would be better for us if the road were crowded. A fine, big caravan would mask us well from the Invincibles."
    "What happened to Uramettu?" asked Marix. "Each time we stop she disappears."
    "Perhaps she is foraging—"Jadira began. The drumming of hooves cut her off.
    "Get out of sight," Marix said, pushing her to the bank beside the road. "Hurry!"
    She skidded in the loose sand to the base of the slope. Nabul popped out from a desiccated maqeet bush. To his quizzical expression Jadira simply replied, "Hide!" She ran farther and grabbed the somnolent Tamakh by the shoulders. "Wake up, Holy One! The Invincibles are after us!"
    '"Vincibles?" mumbled the priest. His eyes grew wide. "Agma preserve us!"
    Marix threw himself down by Jadira and Tamakh. The rider was in sight now, a lone figure galloping hard from the direction of Omerabad. White plumes bobbed from
    the peak of his helmet. An aroused serpent was graven on his blackened breastplate.
    "The Cobra Regiment!" hissed Nabul. "Nangoli swordsmen in the sultan's pay!"
    "What shall we do?" asked Marix.
    "Lie low and let him pass," said Tamakh.
    "No. We must take him," said Jadira.
    "But why?" the priest asked. "He does not threaten us. He doesn't even know we're here."
    "We need a horse. And he'll have food and water."
    "Right!" said Marix. Before anyone could argue further, the third son of Count Fernald stood and waved to the oncoming horseman. In cloak and helmet, Marix looked like a Faziri himself.
    "He's coming. Are you ready?" Marix muttered from the corner of his mouth.
    "Now you ask," said Jadira. Tamakh invoked his patron deity again.
    The mercenary came on at a trot. Marix gripped the spear tightly, turning the hardwood shaft in his sweaty palms.
    The horseman drew up short. He put up a hand and called, "Kasah al'am!" Was it a greeting or a challenge? The rider pushed back his brimmed helmet and repeated his hail.
    "Oh, filth," muttered Marix. Then he shouted "Yahh!" and charged. The helmet fell from his head and his blond hair shone in the sunlight.
    The Nangoli snatched his scimitar and spurred his mount forward. He caught the point of Marix's spear on his shield. It skidded off, and the young man crashed into the steed. Marix spun and fell just as the scimitar's tip swished by his ear.
    Jadira uttered a Sudiin war cry and sprang to attack.
    Nabul leaped to his feet and circled behind the mounted man.
    The mercenary cut at Jadira, who had only Nungwun's cudgel to ward off the blade. Marix got up, all a-tangle in cloak and spearshaft, just in time to receive a blow on the head from the horseman's brazen shield. Down he went again.
    The horse pranced as the fugitives surrounded the lone rider. Nabul had his dagger drawn, but he shrank back each time the mercenary rotated to face him. Jadira landed a good clout on the enemy's leg. He struck back with his sword, the flat of his blade