The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 20: Sandstorms

The benches weren't as comfortable as the ones in the carriage that Arran's djinn had built for them, but they would do. As soon as they were both seated, the door clicked shut and the carriage started rolling through the courtyard, heading for the palace gates. Not long after they had passed through them, the driver tapped his fingers against the small window that separated him from the passengers. Arran twisted his upper body to open it.

"I'm afraid we'll have to take a detour via the northern city gates, Your Majesties," the driver said, pointing at the thunderclouds in the distance. "It's too dangerous to venture into the storm."

"Of course," Inna answered. "We were already counting on that."

The man nodded, a genial smile on his lips. "By the way, I'm Chirtan, in case you need me."

His knuckles drummed on the window frame before he turned around, and Arran shut the window again. When he turned back around, concern etched deep lines on his features. "So, how long are we supposed to keep up this charade?"

"At least until we're well out of sight of the guards stationed at the city gates." She bit her lip. "It's foolish to hope they won't find us before that."

"Your optimism is reassuring as always, Serafina."

She glared, but her mind was too preoccupied with worrying over the next few hours to retort. The carriage circled the oasis at a snail's pace, hindered by citizens enjoying the last few minutes of hallup before resuming their work. A lonely falcon skimmed the lake's surface for its next meal. Its cry of victory when it caught a fat, wriggling fish sounded hollow in Inna's ears, an omen of bad luck in its similarity to her own situation. She shuddered and averted her gaze to retreat deep, deep into her magic reserves until her blood sang with energy.

Several carriages had already lined up in front of the northern city gates, most of them transporting trade goods, but the guards waved them over as soon as they spotted the Chirtan's uniform and the royal emblem embroidered on its top piece. They passed through the gates without having to register first, or even stop for the guards to check who was traveling.

From the moment the wheels hobbled across the first grains of desert sand, the air crackled with latent electricity and a howling wind shook the carriage's cabin. The camel out front snorted once, yet continued its way, unbothered by the elements. Chirtan pulled his hood over his head to shield his eyes. The magical wards surrounding Rasir's oasis had kept the storm largely at bay, but now they were fully exposed to its violence, growing in strength by the minute.

Still, they rode on for half an hour longer. A barrier of swirling sand had swallowed them whole and hid them from the attentive eyes of the guards patrolling the walls. Inna had no idea how Chirtan still knew where he was going. Not that it mattered.

She nodded at Arran. "It's time." Without waiting for a response, she closed her eyes and concentrated.

Barely a second later, the carriage jerked sideways as one wheel cracked and gave. Zazi woke from her nap and hissed. Inna soothed her with long, steady strokes on her scaled head. Chirtan swore, loud enough for Inna and Arran to hear him inside the cabin. He pulled the reins and hopped off the driver's seat to check the damage.

Arran opened the door to step outside, but was almost blown back inside by the wind. He coughed as a wave of sand hit him in the face. Covering her mouth and nose with her shawl, Inna ushered him out of the carriage and followed.

Arran's face had turned red with the effort to hold back another coughing fit. "What's going on?" he croaked.

Chirtan crouched in front of the broken wheel, his shoulders slumped. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesties. It seems like we won't be going anywhere for a while. I do not know what caused it, or I would have—"