THREE

Killian pulled the reluctant sandback down the far side of the hill. "Alright, Ynant, I'll try it. I think we can make it. At least it's better than slinking back to camp with the sandback in tow."


Ynant huffed and puffed under her increased load. Food enough for three people, for two days' march, weighed more than she believed possible. "Hey, wait for me!" she called, almost slipping on the loose rock. The dust flew up in her face and choked her.


By the time they got to the top of the next low ridge they were both sweating, and the sandback lay down as if it had decided to make camp right there.


In the pit of Killian's stomach, anxiety wound its way ever tighter, pushing against an excitement that he'd rarely felt. Here was his own menvring, an adventure for him and his sister. And it was all up to the two of them to pull it off. Pulling on a water skin to slake his growing thirst, he gazed across the landscape left and right.


The desert wasn't obvious to the north, but he knew it was there, not far over the hills. Downslope spread out the farmlands, mostly straight lines - hedges, field edges - and blobs of buildings. Ahead the ridgetops receded into the distance, under the sun's constant rays. The dust here in the gelt land had a special, sharp, burned-out smell. He liked it.


They were going to make it. Gulzing was right. It wasn't really so far.


Ynant spoke up. "What's that shape, all those shapes, up there on the hills? People?"


Killian shielded his eyes against the sun's glare. "Mmm... no. Probably piles of rocks. Too far to tell." They went on, with many a glance up at the dots and bumps that shimmered in the heat haze.




Killian grinned to himself. "Did you hear the story about the outlaws?" Ynant gave him a doubtful glance but said nothing. He went on, scuffing his toes in the dust as he walked: "There are these outlaw nomads from the warrior tribes in the desert. Very dangerous people. Best not to meet them."


Ynant tossed her head. She was familiar with the boy's sense of humour. "Have you ever really met one? Or even seen one?"


"No," replied Killian, defiantly, "but it's true. They roast their victims' toes in the fire every night and-"


"You're making it up!" she cried, and lengthened her stride a little, as much as her burden would allow.


Up ridges, down slopes strewn with gravel and pumice; across boulder fields; on they went, hot, dusty, and now nervous. Killian caught himself staring up the hills, half-believing his own tales.


At the first sign of evening they made camp on a patch of flatter ground on a low ridge. Below, across the farmlands, the evening light cast lingering shadows miles long. The land was soft, restful, free from the sun's fierce attention.


Killian hobbled the sandback, ensuring that its two front hooves were firmly tied. He measured out its feed, and all three of them were soon busy eating. Afterwards Killian and Ynant watched the stars. They began talking about Valin, about the ruined city and the stories of ghosts wandering around its lonely streets. Ynant grew uneasy and changed the subject, wondering what folks were doing back at camp. Then they lay down and tried to sleep.


Once or twice they heard a faint scratching, rustling sound close at hand.


"What's that?" came Ynant's fierce whisper.


"Just the sandback shifting around in the dark," replied Killian. "Go to sleep!"




Faintly, like the tide on the shore, light crept under Killian's eyelids and he woke with a sore back. Groaning, he sat up and looked around.


The sandback was gone!


He jumped up and shook Ynant. "It's gone! The sandback!" he cried.


They ran to the top of the nearest rises and scanned the land. Nothing!


Killian felt desperate. A thought struck him. "Ynant! You didn't tie her up last night!"


She glared at him. "Fine, and neither did you!" It was true. The sandback had been hobbled well enough, but not secured to a boulder as it should have been.


They spent half an hour running in circles, looking for tracks.


Ynant found some first. "Look! Fresh prints leading north!"


Her brother had been scanning a patch of sandy ground. "More here, too! Going south! Sandback, I think!"


Then they made for their bedrolls to begin the chase and found another set of tracks

crossing the first, but leading east.


They nodded at each other. "Let's look hard at each set," said Killian. "Got to find out which ones are sandback tracks. Don't want to end up following eripta or eswark!" So they examined all three different tracks.


Click on the link you think are sandback tracks. Choose carefully!

TRACKS LEADING SOUTH: Three toe marks, each quite wide, and sometimes a mark at the back.

TRACKS LEADING EAST: Large tracks, fairly far apart, narrow, with claw marks.

TRACKS LEADING NORTH: Each track is small and has three narrow marks like leaves branching off a stem.