THE DEAD MAN’S name was Gaelish and he had been one of General Seth Rellick’s best scouts. Seth had been waiting for the return of the four scouts he’d sent into the Gorund Desert for hours, and none but Gaelish had returned.

And that one was dead on his feet when he staggered into camp.

His armor was gone and his skin was the bright red of new flame, burned raw by the scorching power of the desert sun. He was blind and yet somehow had found his way back into camp, and even to his own tent, where he’d scared his wife into hysterics before dropping to his knees, babbling and incoherent. One of the healers was treating her nearby, but Seth could still hear her sobs.

Seth had seen men break in war, but this was something much more disturbing. The strange marks on the scout’s skin—raised patches with a white circle in the center—reminded him of bee stings, except that these small marks each wept a thin rivulet of blood. A quick question to his squad leader revealed that Gaelish was not allergic to anything, including bee stings.

Seth watched as one of the healers, an old man named Ikalban, examined Gaelish’s still form. There had been little to be done, and none of Ikalban’s ministrations had any apparent effect. Carefully closing the eyelids and muttering a prayer, Ikaban slowly rose to his feet, wincing in pain as his knees protested being on the ground for so long.

He approached Seth with the unsteady gait of the very old and very tired. “My lord,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Were you able to get anything out of him before he died?” Seth asked.

The old healer shook his head. “Gibberish, mostly. Something about teeth in the sand. He was raving, my lord.”

“Then what have you learned?” Seth asked.

“That this is no ordinary death, my lord,” Ikalban said. “Not ordinary at all.”

“Then what is it?” Seth asked.

“This.” Ikalban extended his hand and opened his fist, revealing a tiny object that gleamed golden in the firelight. With the exception of its golden color, the object appeared to be a somewhat larger than average fly.

“Are you trying to say that you think this . . . fly did this to him?” Seth asked.

“No, my lord,” Ikalban answered. “Based on the number of stings, I’d say that several hundred or more of these flies did this to him. Except . . .” The old man’s voice trailed off into silence.

“Except?” Seth prodded.

“These are not ordinary flies, my lord. They are animagic.”

Nearby, one of Seth’s personal guard, a knight named Marikus, snorted in disgust. “Bah!” he said. “There is no such thing as animagic, probably never was. Children’s stories, used to scare the younglings.”

“Animagic . . .” Seth said. “I have heard the stories, of course. Sorcerers from long ago used magic to enhance or change animals and insects, giving them strange abilities, sometimes even combining two different kinds of creatures to create a new, more deadly one.”

Ikalban nodded. “Yes, my lord. See here?” He pointed one gnarled finger to the place where the fly’s lacy wings ended. “This looks more like a bee stinger. I’ll need a closer look to be sure, but I suspect that these are not just flies, but some strange hybrid of a bee and a fly, with a venomous sting.”

“But could one fly be that deadly?” Seth asked.

“Not one,” Ikalban said. “But hundreds of them together would be deadly.”

“My lord?” Marikus interrupted. “You’re not going to simply take him at his word, are you? If such creatures were made so long ago, how is that they still exist? Flies aren’t known for their extended life spans.”

Seth looked questioningly at Ikalban, and the old man nodded. “He makes a valid point, my lord, but there is so little we know about the magics of that time. What we do know, however, is that the stories of animagic are not told as ‘tales to scare children,’ but as histories. We also know that the Gorund Desert, and the Lake of Fire at its center, were both created by the same sorcerers who are credited with the creation of animagic. Perhaps these flies are all that is left of them, perhaps not. But the flies are real, my lord, and if you intend on leading us into the desert, as the prophecy says you must, then we must find a way to contend with them.”

“We don’t even know that there’s any of these things out there!” Marikus interrupted. “You’re making an assumption.”

Ikalban turned to face Marikus, his eyes sharp and his tone cold when he spoke. “Young man, I’ve been serving Seth Rellick for too many years not to give him my best advice. I’m not always right, don’t even pretend to be, but we are not of this desert. The Kham-Ridhe are a people without a home, where the desert itself will fight us. If we are to survive, then we must learn to adapt to our new environment.”

Seth liked Marikus, but he could be impulsive and easily dismissed things he couldn’t see, touch or fight. Ikalban was right. They couldn’t afford mistakes at this point. The survival of the Kham-Ridhe depended on being able to somehow forge a home in the desert.

He held up a restraining hand. “Enough,” he said. “Ikalban, take the fly with you and study it. I’ll want a report at first light.”

The old man nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Marikus, I’ll want you and my other four guards assembled at my tent by the same time.”

“My lord?” Marikus said, accepting the order, while asking a question.

“Four of our best scouts died out there, Marikus,” Seth said. “Tomorrow, we will go and find out why.”

“Yes, my lord,” Marikus replied, anticipation lighting his features.

Seth smiled grimly. The exuberance of the young, he thought as he turned and made his way back to his own tent where his wife, Lianre, and their three-month-old son, Drados, were waiting for him.

Stopping just outside the circle of light, Seth watched as Lianre, with her dark hair and eyes shining in the firelight, seated herself in a camp chair near and fed their son. In the three months since he’d been born, Drados had consumed almost all of her attention and time. Just as Seth’s had been consumed by the long journey here.

Three short months ago, the Kham-Ridhe were executing the final moves in a war that had swept the western half of the Astran continent. Out of the deepest reaches of the Tulron Mountains, Seth had forged an army of vast size and unstoppable might. The other kingdoms had fallen before them, one by one, until all that was left was the kingdom of the elves. Slowly, one after another, the battles were fought and the elves died. Two cities had been left—Parthanor and the capital of Kathas—and the entire western half of Astra would belong to the Kham-Ridhe.

As the battle for Parthanor raged over two days, Lianre had given birth to his son Drados, and on the night he should have been celebrating his victory, she presented him to his father. The first thing Seth had seen was the twin moons birthmark on Drados’ cheek. The second two visions—one, which showed the Kham-Ridhe defeating the last remnants of the elves at Kathas and then falling into despair and eventual death when some future enemy swept out of the bowels of the earth itself to take over; the other, the Kham-Ridhe riding into the desert and taking up the banner of peace until that same future enemy was a cause for them to come forth and defend all the lands.

His people called it The Prophecy of the Sands, but to Seth Rellick, it was the beginning of a long nightmare. The prophecy was hundreds of years old, and to not honor it was unthinkable. At the same time, the Kham-Ridhe were a people of war, and stopping short of victory left a bitter taste of ash in his mouth. Still, there had been little choice.

Seth had led the Kham-Ridhe east, pulling his troops back with him while being hounded at every turn by guerilla fighters who came out at night and slashed his supply lines and people to ribbons. His knights had been ordered, sometimes repeatedly, to defend themselves, but not to give chase. Escape to the desert was their only option if the cause of the prophecy and peace were to be served.

Now, the Tulrons were behind them and Seth knew they could shelter here, fend off the attacks and start life anew. But the prophecy said that the Kham-Ridhe were to make their home in the desert, and Seth meant to honor that prophecy, though to his warrior’s mind, it seemed a fool’s errand.

Many of his knights agreed, but they were as constrained by tradition and honor as he was. Too many of the prophecies of his ancestors had proven true to deny, and so they had come to the desert and tomorrow he would personally face the first test it had offered them.

He cleared his throat as he stepped into the light.

“Lianre,” he said. “How fares our son?”

“Well, my husband,” she said, smiling gently at the suckling infant. “He eats like a horse. What was all the noise? I heard a woman screaming.”

“One of the scouts returned,” Seth said shortly. He unbelted his sword and removed his breastplate before pulling up a camp chair for himself.

“One?” she asked.

Seth nodded. “And he was dead before I could even question him.”

“What happened?” she asked.

Lianre was Seth’s third wife, and had been a royal-born Skindancer before they’d married. She was the only one of his wives to give him a child and her insight had proven valuable on more than one occasion. Still, the telling of the flies seemed too horrible to contemplate. Trying to keep it short, he said, “Some sort of insect poisoned him.”

“In the desert?” she asked.

“Yes,” Seth said. “Tomorrow, I will go and investigate.”

“You, my lord?” she asked. “Surely Marikus or someone else can do this.”

“No, Lianre,” Seth said. “They can’t. If we’re to make our home here, I must find a way for our people to live in this environment. We must adapt.”

She nodded, keeping her silence for a long moment, then said, “You are not telling me something.”

Seth smiled. She knew him well. “I am worried,” he admitted.

“About?”

“Water,” Seth said. “We’re fine here, but once we’re into the desert itself, water will be the most precious of treasures. We must have enough water for ourselves and the horses—without it, all of us will perish.”

“Do your counselors have any wisdom from the prophecy on this?” she asked.

“No, Lianre, and that, too, worries me. They speak when it suits them or when they are sure, but their answers are all the same. Riddles and word play.”

“What do they say?” she pressed.

“Ikalban says that there is magic in the desert from long ago, animagic he calls it. The counselors say it is by magic we will have the water to survive in a landscape where nothing else lives.” He snorted in disgust. “I am a knight, a warrior, not a sorcerer. How can I trust to magic?”

Lianre held up Drados in her arms and he stared sleepily at his father. “For his sake, how can you not?” she asked, then rose and kissed him on the cheek before slipping into their tent for sleep.

Staring into the fire, Seth wondered what goddess had gifted women with the ability to speak one sentence and create so much guilt and need. For his son’s sake, he would have to trust in magic.

For his own, he would bring his sword. Although what use it would be against a swarm of flies, he had no idea.

Before the sun rose, Seth was awake and dressed and seated before his fire. He had slept fitfully, haunted by strange images of the desert. Finally, he’d given up on the idea of rest and gotten out of his blankets to brew kalyi, the dark, heavy drink that he’d discovered in the elven lands and now started every morning with. It had a rich scent and a slightly bitter flavor that he enjoyed.

He held a warm cup in his hands and waited patiently for the sun to come up and Ikalban and the others to arrive. The old healer came first, walking gingerly in the dim light of the early morning.

“My lord,” he said, offering a small half-bow from the waist.

Seth looked around. “The others aren’t here as of yet, Ikalban, so we can dispense with the formalities.” He stood and brought a camp chair over near his. “Please sit down, my old friend, and tell me what you have learned.”

“Thank you, Seth,” Ikalban said, easing himself into the chair. “I haven’t learned much, at least much of value, that I didn’t tell you last night. Still, there are some things I think you should know.”

“At this point, any information we can get would be helpful,” Seth said. “We don’t know enough about this place.”

“No, we don’t,” Ikalban said. “That’s why I spent most of the night with the other counselors, pouring over the Prophecy of the Sands and seeing if we could come up with anything of value.”

“And?” Seth asked.

“We have, reluctantly, concluded that much of the magic from the ancient sorcerers who fought the Mage Wars must still be here, preserved in the sands of the Gorund. After all, they created this desert and the Lake of Fire. There are so few records of that time, Seth, and what we do know is frightening. The ancients had powers that we can hardly imagine.”

“So these flies could be a minor magic,” Seth reasoned, “with much worse things still out there.”

Ikalban nodded his agreement. “But we won’t know for certain, of course, until you send more scouts to explore the area.”

“No more scouts,” Marikus said, hearing the last comment as he approached.

Resuming his more formal approach, Ikalban looked at Seth. “My lord?”

“Marikus is correct,” Seth said. “Today, he and I will go and see what we can find out.”

“That does not . . . are you certain that’s wise, my lord?” Ikalban asked.

“I will not ask the men to go where I would not,” Seth answered. “Four have already died, Ikalban. In this, I must lead.”

“Then wait at least a day or two!” Ikalban said. “There is so much to the prophecy and so many other records we can pursue. Give us the opportunity to arm you, at least, with knowledge before you go.”

“Bah!” Marikus said. “We can’t sit around here and wait for the counselors to decide to tell us something that has meaning in this world.”

Seth stood up, and patted the young knight on the shoulder. “Respectfully, Marikus, please. Ikalban has been my trusted adviser for many years, as have the other counselors. Even if we can’t make heads or tails of everything they tell us, their wisdom has guided the Kham-Ridhe through many trials.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Marikus said, climbing onto his horse. He turned and gave a stiff, half-bow to Ikalban. “My apologies.”

Ikalban smiled and said, “You’re young yet. In time, you’ll learn that not every battle can be won with a sword and shield.”

Marikus laughed. “Maybe, but I haven’t fought one like that yet!”

Seth climbed onto his own mount as he offered his thanks to Ikalban. “Tell the counselors to continue looking. If we find nothing today, we’ll return before nightfall and you can advise me of your findings at that time.”

“As you command, my lord,” Ikalban said. He looked at Seth directly and added, “Be safe and wary in the desert, Seth. It is a place that has not surrendered to the boot of man.”

“I will,” he said, putting his heels to his horse. “Marikus, let’s ride.”

The younger knight followed suit and together they rode out of the camp and into the rapidly growing heat of the day.

Behind them, Ikalban watched and shook his head. “Some knowledge is best gained firsthand,” he muttered, then headed back to the counselors’ tent to tell them what had happened.

Overnight, the shifting sands had erased whatever tracks the scouts had left on the dunes. There was no way to know for certain where they’d run into trouble, but all the scouts of the Kham-Ridhe followed particular patterns when doing reconnaissance work in an unfamiliar land. Knowing this, Seth used the same patterns, working in slowly expanding arcs.

The desert heat was like standing inside a forge, and both men had removed their armor early in the day. They spoke rarely, keeping their eyes moving over the empty landscape in the hope of finding some sign of the scouts or, more likely, an enemy.

But what truly interested Seth was water. If they could locate a large enough oasis, he could relocate the Kham-Ridhe there and establish a base camp while the rest of the Gorund was explored. Even a few miles into the desert would provide them a clear zone of safety from their enemies and give his people a much-needed rest.

Strangely, when they first spotted the oasis, Seth wondered if it wasn’t a mirage. Waves of heat rose from the dunes, making the large palm trees shimmer in the air. Given how their horses were laboring, however, he was glad to realize that it wasn’t an illusion. Still, it would be far better to approach with caution, and he said so to Marikus.

The younger knight nodded in agreement. “Let’s ride a little closer, then leave the horses and approach on foot,” he suggested. “If there are more of those flies, they could send the horses into a panic.”

For a moment, Seth stared at his companion, wondering where this sudden burst of forethought had come from, then he smiled and said, “A sound plan. I’ll take the lead.”

Marikus shook his head. “I may not address you in the familiar as Ikalban does, my lord, but I’m still required to be your bodyguard. I’ll go first.” He moved to a position in front of Seth and urged his horse in the direction of the oasis.

“Well, Ikalban has earned that right,” Seth said. “He was my first tutor as a boy.”

Without looking around, Marikus said, “So that makes him, what? About two hundred or so?”

“Very funny, Marikus,” Seth retorted. “I’m not that old! Trust me, one day you’ll be ‘old’ yourself.”

“Never, my lord,” the knight replied, laughing.

They rode on in silence, and when they had closed to a quarter mile, they brought their horses to a halt and climbed down. On the sand itself, the heat was searing, and Seth could feel it through the hard soles of his boots. “Just ground rein them,” he said. “In case we have to leave in a hurry.”

They both dropped their reins on the ground, knowing that the horses were trained to stay in place. Marikus began walking in the direction of the oasis, and had crossed over several smaller dunes, when he came to a sudden stop. Seth heard his sharp intake of breath and he hurried his last few steps to see what had caused his reaction.

Half-buried in sand, the upper body of one of the other scouts was visible. It, too, was covered in marks from the flies, and burned a bright red from the sun. “Why do you suppose they took their armor and their shirts off?” Marikus asked. “They know better than that.”

Seth nodded. “They should’ve, yes. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Let’s get closer,” Marikus said, his alert eyes scanning the area around the oasis.

They moved in, and found the bodies of the other two remaining scouts as well—both in the same condition. “I can’t fathom it,” Marikus muttered. “What could have possessed them? Where are their horses?” He snorted. “I hate it when I don’t understand things.”

“Me, too,” Seth said. “But the only way to understand is to search for answers. We’ll find ours, I think, within the shelter of the oasis.”

“Agreed,” the knight said, and they both moved forward once more.

There was no sign of the golden flies as the approached the oasis, and stepping into the thin shade of the palms, both men breathed a sigh of relief. While the air was still warm, it was much more bearable here. The sound of fresh water was audible nearby, and they both continued moving in that direction.

When the palms gave way, Seth felt his breath catch in his throat. The center of the oasis was not just a spring, but a crystal clear pool that was an almost perfect rectangle, and large enough to provide water to many dozens of people. At each end, a black stone obelisk jutted from beneath the surface with ancient runes inscribed in white on all sides.

“What do you make of those?” Marikus asked, pointing.

“I don’t know,” Seth said. “Let’s take a closer look.”

As they neared the pool, Marikus knelt at its edge and sniffed the water. “It smells clean,” he said. “Fresh from an underground spring, I bet.” Dipping a hand in before Seth could stop him, he added, “And cold, too!”

“Don’t touch anything!” Seth said. “Not until we know more about this place.”

Marikus looked around and shrugged. “As you wish, my lord, though I don’t sense any threat here. Those obelisks are obviously old—probably built by those mad mages that Ikalban keeps rambling about. There’s shade and an abundance of water. It’s just about perfect for our needs.”

“Let’s not lose sight of the fact that those flies, wherever they came from, killed four of our best scouts,” Seth reminded him. “We need to be sure this area is safe.”

He moved farther along the length of the pool, trying to make sense of the markings on the obelisks, but they were so close together that it wasn’t until he was closer that some of them came clear. While Seth didn’t make any pretense of being a scholar, some of the images were as clear as words: three wavy lines stacked one atop the other must mean water . . . a simple drawing of a human carrying a bucket . . . and then he saw the images of the flies. Several rows of them, each looking as real as the one Ikalban had found in Gaelish’s closed fist, surrounded by symbols that looked like the stars and a moon.

Below that, the image of the man now surrounded by hundreds of tiny dots. The flies?

Were the obelisks a warning of some type? Seth wondered.

Then, farther down, another image: the man carrying the bucket with the symbol of the Spire, the sun, overhead, and beneath that, an inverted v-shaped symbol that Seth couldn’t figure out at all. The only thing different about it was that this symbol was carved in a deep, dark red.

Did all this mean that it was possible to remove water from the pool during the day, but not at night? During a full moon, which it was, did the flies defend the pool for some unknown reason? What was this place?

A hundred more questions ran through his mind, but Seth was warrior enough to know that this was a place of magic, and that the ancient mages had left some kind of animagic defenses here to protect their water from invaders, possibly tied to the obelisks themselves.

“Marikus,” he called. “Come over here and take a look at this.” Maybe the young knight would have a different insight into the runes on the obelisks.

Kneeling near the edge of the pool, Marikus said, “One moment, my lord. I just want to refill my waterskin.”

“Marikus, no!” Seth said, but the knight had already dipped the skin into the pool.

Instinct told him to run for it, but Seth sensed that the damage had been done. He turned to stare at the obelisk, where the inverted v-shape was now glowing. Above it, the rows of images that depicted the flies had changed from white to golden, and a faint buzzing sound could be heard.

“Damn it, Marikus,” he said, backing away from the stone. “I told you not to touch anything!”

Rising to his feet, Marikus started to draw his sword, then let it fall back into the scabbard as he realized it would be useless against the flies.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry, my lord,” he said. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Seth said, watching as the first ranks of flies began to emerge from the obelisk and buzz in rapid circles around it.

Marikus stepped between Seth and the circling flies. “Run, my lord,” he said. “If you can get to a horse, you might be able to outdistance them.”

“Are you a fool, man?” Seth asked, grabbing Marikus by the shoulder and pulling him backward. “There’s no way I can outrun them if our scouts didn’t.”

“Maybe they didn’t see them coming!” Marikus argued. “You have to try, sir. I’ll . . . try to hold them as long as I can.”

A quick visual estimate told Seth that there were nearly a hundred flies circling the obelisk, with more emerging with each passing minute. From their stingers, tiny drops of greenish ichor were visible—the poison Ikalban had suspected. He had to make a decision and fast. They would attack any second.

“I’ve got an idea, Marikus,” he said.

“My lord?”

“When they come for us, we’re going to dive into the pool,” Seth said. “We may be safe underwater.”

“Sir? How long do you expect us to hold our breath?”

“As long as it takes,” Seth said. “Here they come!”

And then he shoved Marikus into the pool, following right behind him as the flies buzzed an angry path directly over his head.

They plunged into the clear, icy water, and Seth immediately knew that if this was going to work, he’d have to figure out something else. He grabbed Marikus by the wrist and gestured up, and both of them kicked for the surface. As soon as their faces were exposed, they took a deep breath and saw that the flies were circling above the water . . . waiting for them.

One landed just above Seth’s eyebrow and stung him immediately. An intense, burning seared his skin and he felt it grow hot even as he pulled Marikus back beneath the water. He suddenly realized that the scouts had their shirts off because they’d been filled with flies, and the redness of their skin wasn’t from the sun, but from the burning caused by the stings.

They had to go up for another breath, and Seth tried to come up in a different place than before. This time it was Marikus who received a sting, and he cried out in pain as they submerged themselves in the water once more.

We’re running out of time, Seth thought. Sooner or later, we’ll have to get out of the water. Opening his eyes, he found that he could see readily enough, though the shadows in the water made his vision waver. He peered in the direction of the obelisk and thought he saw a glimmer. Frightened, he wondered for a moment if perhaps the mages had made some sort of water-going version of their fly-bee hybrid, but then he realized that what he’d seen was silver in color, not golden.

Once more, Marikus grabbed his arm and they surfaced, both of them receiving several stings for their trouble. If it weren’t for the cold water, Seth knew it would feel like his face was on fire. As soon as he submerged again, he motioned for Marikus to follow him and kicked for the end of the pool where he’d seen the silver flickers of light.

Both men held their breath as long as possible, needing only to surface twice more to reach that end of the pool. Moving gave them some space, and neither man was stung again, though Seth could feel the skin of his face stretching as it swelled in reaction to the poison. Taking one huge breath, he dove down to examine the silver runes etched on the obelisk’s base.

Like those above, some symbols made sense, and others didn’t. The water symbol was there, as was the man with the bucket . . . but there were no flies. Instead, there were runes that looked a great deal like frogs.

It was ridiculous, but Seth assumed that if the mages made animagic flies, they’d be just as willing to make frogs. The only question was if the frogs were still alive, somehow, and how to get them out of the pillar.

He searched frantically for an answer, when Marikus dove past him, several golden flies clinging to his shirt. The young knight grabbed one off his sleeve and slammed it into the frog design.

Seth waited, his ability to hold his breath much longer rapidly diminishing, then he saw it. The v-shape at the very bottom of the obelisk which was not inverted, began to glow.

Sound carries in water, and it took only a few moments for the deep, thurr-up sound of frogs to reach his ears.

Beneath the water, he and Marikus grinned at each other and surfaced once more. The frogs were coming to life and after that long in hibernation, they were bound to be hungry.

Seth felt certain, in fact, that they’d be looking for lunch.

Even creatures of animagic, it seemed, were subject to some of the laws of nature—and that included the one about frogs eating flies with ease. Seth and Marikus stayed in the water long enough for the frogs to do most of their work and explore the confines of the pool.

In the exact center, at the deepest part of the pool, a stone sarcophagus rested beneath the water. Marked with the same runes as the obelisks, Seth felt certain that this was the final resting place of the sorcerer who’d created this oasis and its animagic defenses.

When they’d climbed out of the water and dried off, Marikus gave voice to something Seth had been thinking. “You know, my lord, that this place is nothing like our home. We will have to become a completely new people. Do you think the Kham-Ridhe are ready for ancient magics and living in the desert?”

Seth smiled. “No, Marikus, I don’t. But, in time, the memory of our homeland will become a story, a legend passed down to our children. By the time Drados leads, the Gorund will feel like home because he will not remember, nor ever have known, anything else.”

Scoffing, Marikus said, “We are the Kham-Ridhe, the Knights of Shadow and Light. We won’t stay here forever.”

“Not forever, Marikus,” Seth replied, “but long enough that men like you and I will be long since dust, and the magic of this place—and all its secrets—will belong to our children’s children.”

“Do you think there’s more places like this one?” Marikus asked. “More creatures of animagic?”

“I think it likely,” Seth said. “In fact, I hope to find them.”

“What on earth for?” Marikus asked. “This wasn’t a close enough brush with such magic for you?”

Seth smiled, thinking of his son and what he would inherit: a kingdom of sand and a prophecy born of it.

He clapped Marikus on the shoulder and they started back for their mounts. There was much to do in the coming days if he was going to create a home here for his people. “I’m beginning to think that we can make a home here, my friend.”

“How’s that?” the young knight asked, brushing grains of sand off his shirt in irritation.

“I think we’ll start by learning the lost magics of this place, and then we’ll create something that hasn’t existed for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years.”

“Oh?”

Seth looked at Marikus seriously for a moment, then pointed to where their horses lay on the sand, dead from the vicious flies.

“We’re going to need better horses,” he said. “Horses of sand and magic.”

For a moment, the young knight could only stare at him in shock, then he shook his head. “As you command, my lord,” he said. “As you command.”

Together, they started the long walk back to their people, and the beginning of their next journey.