By Mark Anthony
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Extra info for Last Rune 06 First Stone
The horizon wavered before Sareth. Shapes materialized amid the shimmering air. He fancied he could almost see the high towers of the first great cities of ancient Amún: Usyr, Scirath, and the onyx spires of Morindu the Dark. . Sareth jolted from his waking dream. He lay sprawled on the sand as his camel plodded away from him. Fahir slumped over the neck of his own camel as the beast followed its partner toward a cluster of square shapes. That was no mirage; it was a village. Sareth tried to call out, but his throat was too dry.
The dervish laughed, and the queer sound of it made the others take a step back. “You are wrong. ” From the folds of his serafi, he drew out a curved knife. It flashed in the sun. ” the blind woman shrieked. The young men started forward, but the mud sucked at their sandals, slowing them. The dervish held out his left arm. The knife flicked, quick as a serpent. Red blood welled from a gash just above his wrist. “Drink,” he whispered, shutting his eyes, sending out the call. ” He felt them come a moment later; distance meant nothing to them.
He could take five hundred men and twenty Embarran engineers with him. In a year, the castle would be in good working order. His men could bring their families from the south; they could hunt the forests and clear land for farming, and Travis could be their lord. “I’ll need smart and trustworthy barons if I’m going to have a chance of making this kingdom work again,” Grace had said with such characteristic matter-of-factness it made him laugh. However, to be a baron—to have a great hall and vassal lords and servants—was the last thing Travis wanted.