Chapter 45 – The Fire in the Sand
Night in the dunes was never silent.
The sand whispered. The wind scraped against the rocks. Every few breaths, something unseen chirred or slithered, then fell quiet again.
A small campfire cracked at the center of a ring of stones. Eight figures sat around it—The Pride.
Rendal, their leader, sat sharpening his sword in steady, slow motions. Sparks flashed briefly in the glow.
Mara leaned against her shield, chewing on dried meat. Kael picked at the strings of his bow.
Lysa hummed softly under her breath while heating a kettle with faint pink light.
Voss, the silent shadow-walker, cleaned his daggers. Sera, the healer, checked salves and bandages beside her.
And then there were Tamara and Blake.
Blake sat nearest the fire, turning a knife in his hands, the flames painting the edge orange. His hair was a mess, his grin lazy. "I'm just saying, she attacked me first."
Mara barked a laugh. "Oh, right. The scorpion woman lunged at you because she couldn't resist your charm."
Kael smirked. "Maybe we should've left her alive for you. You two seemed close."
"Very funny." Blake tossed a pebble into the fire. It hissed. "You people have a weird sense of humor."
Tamara's lips twitched—half amusement, half disbelief. "You were the one who said, 'She's not that bad once you get past the stinger.'"
"I was concussed," Blake said defensively.
Lysa snorted into her cup. "Sure you were."
Rendal's voice cut through their laughter—calm, grounding. "Enough. We need focus."
The group quieted. The crackle of the fire filled the silence.
Tamara glanced out into the dark dunes. Her breath misted faintly, a shimmer of frost gathering around her. "We still haven't found the caravan," she said softly. "Two days, and not even a single wagon."
Rendal nodded. "Tracks lead west for a time, then vanish. Whatever hit them was organized."
Kael added, "I found torn canvas half-buried in the dunes this morning. Fresh. Maybe a day old."
"So they were taken," Tamara said.
"Looks that way." Rendal's eyes flicked toward the south, where the dunes rose like frozen waves under the stars. "We follow the trail three miles south tomorrow. That's where the sand starts to thin and the rock returns. If the pirates are hiding anywhere, it'll be there."
Blake leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. "Three miles of walking in heat like this. Great."
"You can always stay here," Mara offered sweetly. "We'll let you know if we find any more scorpion women."
The camp broke into laughter again. Even Tamara smiled faintly, shaking her head.
But when the laughter died, the silence that followed carried weight. The desert stretched endless and empty around them, the firelight only reaching so far.
Tamara looked into the flames, lost in thought. John would've said something about preparation. About not rushing blind.
The thought lingered, quiet but steady, before she pushed it aside.
The Next Morning
The sun rose brutal and bright, burning away the night's chill. The group moved across the dunes in a long, silent line—Rendal at the front, Kael scouting ahead, Voss vanishing in and out of shadow along the flanks.
Tamara's boots crunched over hardened sand. Each step was careful. The air shimmered with heat.
By midday, Kael lifted a hand. "Tracks!" he called, crouching low.
They gathered around him. A pattern of deep prints trailed across the sand—too organized for beasts, too many for a small group.
"Caravan wheels," he said. "But something's wrong. See this?" He pointed to a line of scorched earth beside the tracks. "Burn marks. Whatever hit them wasn't human."
Rendal frowned. "Be ready. We're not alone."
The wind shifted, carrying with it a sound like a growl—low, throaty, and close.
Mara turned, shield rising. "Company."
Shapes moved along the ridgeline—five, six, seven of them. The light shimmered, and the air rippled around their bodies.
Hyenas. But wrong.
Their fur blazed with embers, tongues of fire curling off their backs. Eyes burned orange. The air around them warped with heat.
"Fire hyenas," Kael hissed. "E-Rank, Step Three on average."
"Average," Rendal repeated. "Which means one of them isn't."
The largest of the pack stepped forward, shoulders massive, mane of flame rippling in the wind. Its aura rolled through the air like a furnace—Step Five, at least.
"Form up!" Rendal barked.
The Pride moved instantly.
Mara's shield hit the sand with a dull thud, glowing faint gold. Kael's bow thrummed; the first arrow left the string and burst midair, scattering sparks. Lysa's hands blazed with light essence, her voice calm and clear. "Buffing lines! Keep your hearts steady!"
The hyenas charged, sand exploding beneath their claws.
Rendal met the first head-on, sword igniting with light. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground.
Tamara swept her arms outward—frost surged from her palms, spreading across the sand in a glittering arc. The front line of hyenas hit the ice and slipped, their bodies hissing as steam erupted where frost met flame.
"Now!" she shouted.
Blake blurred forward. His daggers struck like lightning, flashing between ribs and throats. The air reeked of scorched blood.
Kael's arrows whistled, pinning two beasts midleap. Mara's shield crashed into a third, sending it tumbling.
The leader roared, jaws parting wide enough to swallow a man whole. Fire erupted in a cone of white heat.
Tamara raised her hands—an ice wall snapped into existence, the flame smashing against it in a storm of steam. The force drove her back two steps, boots carving furrows in the sand.
"Rendal!" she called.
He was already moving. His sword flared gold, slicing clean through the beast's throat. The hyena's body hit the ground, still burning.
The rest faltered. In seconds, the Pride finished them—clean, efficient, practiced.
When it ended, the sand was blackened, the air thick with smoke and the iron tang of blood.
Lysa exhaled, wiping her brow. "That was a Step Five, all right.
He turned south. "We rest for an hour, then move."
The Dunes South
By dusk, they reached the stretch Kael had marked. The dunes gave way to harder sand and scattered rock. Wind howled across low stone ridges, carrying the smell of rust and something faintly sour.
"Tracks end here," Kael said quietly. "But look."
He pointed ahead. Half-buried in the sand were pieces of splintered wood—wagon planks, cracked wheels, torn banners.
Tamara knelt, brushing dust off a scrap of fabric. The symbol on it was half burned away, but the Merchant Association's crest was still visible.
"The caravan," she said.
"Or what's left of it," Blake muttered.
Movement flickered near a sandstone pillar fifty paces ahead.
"Pirates," Rendal whispered.
Four men, wrapped in loose desert garb, rifles slung across their backs. They lounged around a firepit, laughing low.
"Step Fours," Kael murmured after a moment's focus. "And at least 1 step 5."
Mara grinned, adjusting her shield. "Finally, something simple."
Rendal raised a hand. "Quiet approach. We end this fast."
The Pride fanned out.
Voss vanished first, sliding into shadow. Kael moved to high ground. Tamara and Blake crept forward with Rendal. The sand muffled every sound.
Then, like clockwork, the strike began.
Kael's first arrow hit the biggest pirate in the throat, cutting off his laugh. Before the others could react, Tamara's frost spread across the camp, freezing sand and boots alike.
Rendal hit the nearest one in a single swing. Mara's shield slammed another into the ground.
Blake weaved between them, blades glinting in the dim light. Every move was fast, precise—one motion, one kill.
It was over in less than a minute.
Only one pirate still breathed, pinned under Voss's dagger. The man's eyes were wide with terror, veins pulsing faint black under his skin.
Rendal crouched beside him. "Where's the caravan?"
The pirate spat, then winced as Voss twisted the blade. "South," he croaked. "Old aqueduct… beneath the dunes. Two stone towers—can't miss them."
Rendal's voice was calm. "How many of you?"
"Too many," the man whispered.
Tamara and Blake exchanged a look.
Rendal stood. "End it."
Voss obeyed. The man didn't make another sound.
The desert was silent again, save for the wind.
Kael retrieved his arrows. "Old aqueduct," he said. "That's three, maybe four miles farther."
Rendal nodded. "We move at first light."
Tamara looked south, where the sand rose into dark waves against the night sky. Somewhere out there, something waited.
Blake came up beside her, wiping blood from his daggers. "You feel it too?"
"Yeah," she murmured. "The air's heavier here. Wrong."
He gave a crooked smile. "Great. That means we're close."
She didn't smile back.
The fire from the dead pirates' camp flickered, throwing long shadows across the dunes.
Tomorrow, they would follow those shadows into the heart of the desert.