A Rose in the Desert

By Louis Piechota

Prince Ethyrin is fourteen years old, and he is the last true heir to his kingdom’s throne. He is noble and brave, but naïve. When he is forced to flee from his uncle, the evil usurper King Artan, he thinks only that a grand adventure is opening up before him. But when he must leave his best friend behind, he begins to realize what exile might really mean.

Guided by a prophetic dream Ethyrin journeys across land and sea to Calimshaan, the fabled “City of Delights” in the vast deserts of the south. There he meets Nuara, a young woman who was kidnapped as a child and is now a slave in the house of one of Calimshaan’s merchant-lords. Proud and strong, but withering in her captivity, Nuara has only one dream left: to go home or to die trying.

Awestruck by her courage, and still on the run himself, Ethyrin resolves to help Nuara escape. Together they set off on a long and desperate journey. For Nuara’s homeland lies halfway across the world. To reach it they must face slave-trackers sent in pursuit, fierce nomads who wander the desert sands, and other perils even more deadly. They must also learn to learn to trust, and to love, one another. Alone they are doomed to fail. Only together can they find freedom and a new home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Louis Piechota
• Release date: May 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310816901

Louis Piechota

Louis Piechota grew up in Colorado but now lives in upstate New York. Currently he pays the bills as a mechanical engineer, but his dream has always been to become a full-time author and storyteller. When he is not writing he's usually either reading, cooking something, or hiking in the Adirondacks. Some of his favorite authors are J.R.R Tolkien, Brandon Sanderson, Ursula K. Le Guin, and Neil Gaiman.He published his first novel, “A Rose in the Desert", in 2014. His latest novel is "Waymaker". A sequel to Waymaker is in the works, along with an unrelated trilogy tentatively entitled "The Father of the Night".

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A Rose in the Desert

A Rose in the Desert

Copyright 2014 by Louis Piechota

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved to the author. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Suzanne Restle

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

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For my mom and dad.

Table of Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter I

The Last Prince

Ethyrin felt like he’d been running for hours, down street after endless, sandy street. His vision was blurred, and his skinny, fourteen-year-old legs wobbled with every step. He gasped for breath. Every inhalation scoured his parched throat. He knew he could not go much further, but the monsters were still behind him.

They were always right behind him. No matter how hard he ran or which way he turned they were always there, cackling in the shadows that rushed up after him like the waters of a flood. They looked like shadows themselves: long, leaping shadows of men cast by a low, red sun. Only there were no men, just shadows that groped for him with eager arms. They laughed as they came on and they never got tired.

In despair, Ethyrin turned and leapt down one of the side streets that branched off in both directions. It looked just the same as the wider one he’d left behind. All the streets looked the same. Unchanging walls of yellow sandstone pressed in on either side, but stretched on as far as he could see. Rough sand was strewn everywhere on the ground. Here and there scalding breezes sent it spinning up in dust devils.

As he ran he heard the voice again. It was a woman's voice, or a girl's, but so whispery he could barely make it out over the wind.

"Look for the rose of the desert…"

I can't find it! he wailed. I can’t… I… I…

Suddenly his ravaged voice broke into coughs. The coughs shook his whole body and burned in his raw lungs. He clutched his chest, then missed a step and stumbled. His momentum was so great that he flew headlong into the ground. He landed hard, rolled over once, and came to a stop sprawled face down on the hot sand.

Terrified, he tried desperately to get to his feet. But the monsters were already upon him. He felt their vaporous hands coil around him like tendrils of ice. The sudden of cold amidst the burning, red heat of the desert drove the air from his lungs. He tried to cry out, but no sound would come. He tried to stand up, but the monsters tightened their grip. They had no substance that he could see, nothing that he could touch with his flailing legs, yet they held him as surely as an iron vice.

Ethyrin watched as the monsters loomed over him. Some grinned wolfishly while others cackled with delight. Darkness billowed around them like the smoke from burning garbage. The red-bronze sunlight grew suddenly dim and cold. The walls of the street faded into a swirling black fog. Soon even the monsters themselves could not be seen. Only their eyes remained, burning like red coals in the pitch darkness.

Only then, knowing he was lost, could he finally scream.

No! No! No!

He screamed and screamed. He couldn’t see anything, but in the darkness he felt something holding him down. The frozen wisps of shadow had gone, but something warm and solid had taken their place. He could not move.

Wake up! cried a new, high voice. Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!

No! he yelled again, louder. He groped feverishly at his shoulders. His hands found two slim wrists there and he seized them. With all his strength he pushed up and away. Dimly he heard a high shriek and felt a weight roll off his chest. He leapt to his feet. His hands flew to his eyes to claw the awful, blinding shadows away.

But there were no shadows. His eyes were squeezed shut. At the first brush of his fingertips they flew open reflexively. He stood blinking and wide awake.

The darkness remained, but it was a cool clear darkness very different from the suffocating blackness of his dream. A cold wind buffeted his face and rustled the leaves of an old oak tree behind him. Hundreds of stars shone above him in a vast sweep of sky. After the shadows of his dream they looked dazzlingly bright.

At his feet the starlight fell upon smooth paving stones three feet across. Sprawling upon them, not two paces away, was a girl. She was propped up on her hands, glaring at him.

Aila? he asked, wondering.

"Hi."

Are you okay?

Fine, she said. Never better. You?

I… he felt himself blushing. I was having a nightmare.

Really? I couldn’t tell.

Aila climbed slowly to her feet and brushed herself off. She was a hair taller than he was, and maybe two years older. She wore the white robe of a novice priestess, or Maiden of the Light, girdled with a belt of silver. Her long blonde hair hung down her back in shimmering wavelets. Her eyes were blue and keen, but set in a moon-shaped face with soft features.

"You were having the same nightmare, she accused. The same one you’ve been having."

I was not, he said, looking away.

Don’t lie, you’re horrible at it. Your cousins can lie, but not you. You never could. You were having that dream. But what are you doing sleeping at all? Out in the cold like this? What are you doing up here?

Ethyrin looked around. He stood upon a windy terrace high among the walls and towers of the Citadel of Arandinar. The terrace was narrow and dark, little more than a platform for five mighty oaks planted in memory of the war against the Drûn almost five hundred years before. No lights shown upon it but the moon and stars above.

On his left the highest walls and towers of the citadel rose another hundred feet or so, their white stones gleaming in the moonlight. Above them the dark slopes of Mount Corune rose even further, like jagged shards torn from the night sky. On his right was a low wall capped with battlements. Beyond it the fortress fell away, down to other walls and terraces and finally down to the city of Arandinar itself. The city spread out like a tapestry of gray and gold glimmering under the stars. Beyond the city lay an indistinct swath of countryside, dotted here and there by pinpricks of firelight to mark lonely farmsteads. Much further still he could see, or at least imagine, the faint silver glow of the moon upon the sea.

I like it up here, he murmured. You can see the ocean.

"Oh, you can not, said Aila, exasperated. It’s more than a hundred miles away."

It’s all downhill from here.

And it’s night. And don’t change the subject. What are you doing up here? It’s almost midnight.

"Well, I fell asleep, obviously, he said. And in the first place I came up here to be alone. It was working till now. What are you doing up here? What do you want Aila?"

To find you, obviously. It’s not like I’d just be passing by. It’s freezing.

Her breath puffed silver in the air as she spoke. She shivered, then reached for a soft, dark cloak which she’d flung back over her shoulders. She hugged it around herself tightly, so that her shining white robe was hidden. Watching her made Ethyrin realize how cold he was himself. Suddenly he felt a bone-deep chill and began to shiver violently.

Well, you found me, he snapped. "And it is freezing. So let’s go in."

Without waiting for her to reply he wiped the sleep from his eyes and started for the far end of the terrace, where a curving flight of steps would bring him down into the warm, lighted corridors of the citadel. But Aila reached out and caught his arm.

No, wait, she said. Suddenly she looked and sounded afraid.

What? Why? It’s cold… he trailed off. He could not recall ever seeing Aila afraid. Maybe nervous, but never actually frightened. Now her bright blue eyes were like saucers. As soon as he looked into them she looked down at the ground. That alarmed him even more.

What is it Aila? he asked, softly. Why have you come to find me in the middle of the night?

Lady Sedura needs to see you, she said quietly, not looking up.

Oh… He felt relieved but confused. But… Is that all?

She threw up her hands. Yeah, that’s all. A full priestess of Illana, councilor of the High King himself, has summoned you to come to her, at once and in secret, in the middle of the night. Yeah that’s all. She planted her fists on her hips and scowled at him.

He laughed despite his nervousness. "Come on, Aila. She’s been summoning me to her since I was four years old. And I’m a nephew of the High King himself and he doesn’t impress me very much. For that matter where does Sedura get off summoning me anywhere? I should be summoning her."

Oh just try it, she said, laughing scornfully. "I’d love that. Summon her, Your Majesty. Just let me watch."

Ethyrin flushed. Oh shut up. What does she want, then?

I… don’t know, she said, abruptly serious again. "She woke me up. She told me that you were lost somewhere up here on the walls and that I had to go and find you, and that I must not let myself be seen by anyone. Or let anyone see you once I’d found you. And she… She was scared, Ethyrin. I never thought I'd see her scared."

Ethyrin swallowed hard. Well, we’d better go then, hadn’t we?

Yeah. But wait a moment. Close your eyes.

He felt irritated, but he did as she asked. She took his hand. A moment later he half felt, half imagined a faint tingle running through his body as she began to murmur softly in the old, Ereduic language, and he knew she was putting some spell of concealment upon them both. When he opened his eyes she was grinning.

There, she said. Now we won’t be seen so easily. But do stay quiet. You’re not invisible. The spell won’t work if you go and call attention to yourself.

Without letting go of his hand she began to lead him from the terrace. He followed her obediently, too alarmed and confused to do anything else. Yet just as they reached the broad, curving flight of stairs which would have led them down into the citadel, she stopped short. She stood looking down the stairwell, poised on the balls of her feet like a deer ready to flee.

What is it?

Shhh!

What…

Somebody’s coming. Quick, over here!

Without warning she lunged for the nearest of the great oak trees, hauling him after her by the hand. She ran around the massive tree and pressed herself into a hollow space on the far side of the trunk from the stairwell. Ethyrin huddled down beside her, bewildered and alarmed. He could not stop himself from peering back around the trunk, wondering what had frightened her.

A few steps down from the terrace a pair of torches flickered on the walls of the stairwell. From where he crouched Ethyrin could not see the flames, but he could see their light playing upon the stone wall. As he watched, the shadows of two men arose, step by step, blotting out the light. Then all at once they burst into view, and Ethyrin gasped with fear.

The men did not run, but moved with a frightening, deliberate haste that evoked soldiers in battle. Dark, hooded cloaks hid everything but their gloved hands. Their faces were hidden by the shadows of their hoods. Each bore a long, thin dagger wrought of soot-darkened steel. With silent gestures to each other they spread out onto the terrace, as if to search it.

Ethyrin felt a hand grab his shirt and pull him back behind the tree.

Stay down, Aila hissed.

But they’ll find us! Ethyrin whispered, frantic. He knew assassins when he saw them. It took all his willpower not to shout for help. He knew he’d be dead before any could come.

No they won’t! Aila tightened her grip to hold him down. Just be still. Trust me!

Ethyrin pressed himself down beside her, but no matter how they shrank against the trunk they were still exposed. Nobody who came around their side of the tree could fail to see them. A sick dread twisted up his stomach until he could hardly breathe.

The two men spread out across the terrace. One came almost straight toward them. He came closer and closer, until Ethyrin could see a bit of gruff, unshaven face beneath the cowl of his hood. For a second the man stared straight at them. His dagger glinted where a little of the soot had rubbed off. Ethyrin squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

But the man did not see them. He swept his eyes over them, back and forth, then turned around and jogged back to his comrade. Both men threw back their hoods angrily.

He’s not here, growled the one who'd come close to Ethyrin and Aila.

He must be. They said he was up here napping not fifteen minutes ago! Nobody saw him come down.

Well, he’s not. And I'm not staying, either. The guards’ll be coming back any minute and I don’t plan to wait around for them.

What do you plan to tell the king?

I don’t plan to tell him anything, said the first man. I plan to be miles away before dawn and so should you. You don’t get second chances to kill a prince. I'm taking my gold and running and I suggest you do the same.

Without waiting for a response the man pulled his hood back over his head and hastened back down the steps from which he’d come. His comrade hesitated a second, then cursed under his breath and followed. In another moment the terrace was quiet again, but for the moaning of the wind among Arandinar’s towers.

A few minutes later Ethyrin and Aila finally climbed to their feet. Ethyrin could feel himself shaking, and when he spoke his voice trembled.

They were coming to kill me, he said. "My uncle sent them to kill me. And he paid the guards off or something so they’d succeed."

Yeah, murmured Aila, not meeting his eyes.

People said he would, one day. Lady Sedura said it. I… I never wanted to believe it.

"Well I don't believe it! said Aila, so vehemently that Ethyrin looked at her in alarm. She’d gone so pale with fright that now her anger burned rosily on her cheeks. Who does he think he is, trying to kill you? How dare he! I… I hate him. He’s destroying everything. Him and all his followers!"

I know, said Ethyrin. I hate him too.

"And why attack you? she cried, unheeding. All you do is daydream and play!"

He flushed. That’s not all I do!

"Well it’s not all you do. But, I mean, it’s not like your scheming for the throne or anything. You’ve told everyone who’ll listen you don’t ever want to be the High King. And you never get involved in politics, not that I’ve ever seen. And now… She shook her head. I just… I hate him."

Somehow her distress made Ethyrin feel less scared and helpless. He stood up straighter. He fought down his panic until the urge to vomit went away, then reached out and took her hand.

Come on, he said. It'll be okay. You were taking me to Lady Sedura. She must have known this was going to happen. She’ll know what to do. Or she’ll have some idea, anyway.

Aila nodded. She took a deep breath.

Yeah. Okay. Follow me.

Together they hastened from the terrace. The stairs emptied onto a landing before a high, stone wall. A set of double doors opened out of the wall, framed by a mighty stone archway. The doors were wrought of solid iron so they could be held fast against invaders, but at that moment they were flung open. Two torches set in wrought-iron holders burned brightly on either side of the opening. Two royal guards in blue and gold should have stood there was well, but they were nowhere to be seen.

For a moment they paused before the doors. After the bright moonlight on the terrace the opening looked dark and forbidding.

Follow me closely, said Aila. Stay quiet and don’t run or jump out of the way if we do run into anybody. Just go on. Don't look at them or say anything and they should miss us just like those two did.

Without another word she leapt forward into the dim hallway. Ethyrin ran after her, wishing he could go as quietly as she did. Like all the priestesses, Aila seemed to glide along even at a run, with no more noise than a whisper of fabric. It was as if her feet did not really touch the floor. His own footsteps echoed heavily off the bare stones around him. By ancient tradition, the vast citadel was austerely decorated. One quarter of the world’s wealth might lie hoarded in the royal treasuries far below, but nothing adorned the high corridors save here and there a little wrought ironwork, or a tall marble statue. There was little to soak up sound.

Yet minute after minute passed and they met no guards. At first Ethyrin was grateful, but soon he began to wish he would see them. He’d spent his whole life in the presence of the royal guards of Arandinar, elite soldiers hand-picked by the High Kings as their personal retainers and bodyguards. Now finding them so conspicuously absent was almost as unnerving as the assassins themselves had been.

Nobody could have bought them all off, he thought fearfully. Artan ordered them all away so he could be sure his assassins got through. And so what if they failed? If the guards are this loyal to him, personally, he can have me killed whenever he wants!

The thought twisted his innards again and made him miss a step. He stumbled and might have fallen had not Aila thrown out her arm to catch him.

Are you okay? she whispered.

Yeah, he said quickly, forcing the thought away. Just keep going.

She led him onward, down and down, first through the wide upper halls of the fortress and then through much narrower and more secluded passageways. They never saw any guards, only a few sleepy servants who walked right past them without a blink, let alone a bow or a Your Majesty for Ethyrin. Soon they were descending into the innumerable cellars below the fortress, which had been carved out of the living rock of the mountainside. Eventually Ethyrin grew confused, for nobody dwelt among the lowest cellars and nobody went there often.

I thought you said we were going to see Lady Sedura?

We are, Aila whispered. She’s not in her chambers. She told me to take you down here to a certain place. I didn't understand why, but now I do. Just trust me.

I do, he said. Go on.

At last they scrambled down a final flight of stairs and emerged into a low, rough passageway buried deep within the mountainside. A handful of smoky lamps set much too far apart gave the only light. Ethyrin could reach up and touch the crudely hewn stones above him without standing on his toes. The passageway seemed go on forever, curving and descending slowly toward some even deeper place. Stout oak doors opened on either side of the passageway every few yards. Most were shut, and the few that were open revealed only big, unlit chambers or even smaller passageways lost in shadow.

Each moment Aila seemed to grow more and more uncertain. She peered into each room that she passed on her left, but obviously did not find what she was looking for. All the chambers looked the same to Ethyrin: low stone vaults filled with crates, barrels, and casks of all shapes and sizes. Some of the chambers smelled of wine, or of apples or soap, but nobody waited within any of them.

Oh, cried Aila at last, scared and frustrated. She said to come here. Right here. I know she did. But there’s nobody…

Suddenly a door flung open on the right-hand side of the passageway. A massive shape loomed out of the darkness behind it.

Ethyrin recoiled in terror. Aila shrieked and leapt back against him. Before either of them could do anything more, a torch flared to life. It’s light revealed a big man, hooded and cloaked. With one hand he thrust the torch upwards. In the other he held a long, naked sword.

For a split second Ethyrin thought he was going to die. He thrust himself in front of Aila, but he had no weapon to fight with, and the man was easily twice his size. Then through the shadows and his terror he realized he knew the man. His name was Bedarn, and he was Lady Sedura’s own druid guardian, though he now stood hooded and cloaked like a fugitive.

Be silent, Bedarn hissed, gazing at them sternly. He looked like the old warrior that he was: as lean and hard as a veteran of many campaigns. Gray streaked his hair and scars crisscrossed his face, but he stood tall and strong. A mailshirt glinted beneath his cloak.

We… We were, stammered Aila, shaking. We were till you jumped out at us, anyway!

What’s going on? Ethyrin demanded, angry now that his terror began to recede. What are you doing down here?

Protecting my lady, said Bedarn. She will tell you more. Come on. We can only hope you weren’t followed.

"We weren’t followed, said Aila indignantly. We were almost killed. But we weren’t followed. I would know."

Bedarn didn’t answer. In silence he hastened down the long corridor, thrusting his torch into each opening he passed so as to illuminate it. He sheathed his sword, but his hand never left the weapon’s hilt. Finally, after a hundred yards or so, he stopped beside one doorway that was shut fast. He took a ring of iron keys from his belt and thrust one into the door’s lock. With a sharp click the lock opened. The door swung back to reveal a dimly lit chamber.

Sedura is inside, said Bedarn, standing aside so they could enter. When they did not move at once he scowled at them. You must hurry. There isn’t much time.

Swallowing hard, Ethyrin strode through the doorway. Aila hastened after him. Bedarn swung the door closed so soon and forcefully after she passed inside that she jumped, and her cloak almost got caught. They heard a loud click as they were locked inside.

Ethyrin peered around the room. The chamber was much larger than most of the others had been. Its vaulted ceiling was lost in shadows and cobwebs overhead. It was empty save for a dozen dusty wine casks stacked against one wall. Lady Sedura stood in the center of the room, revealed by the light of a single guttering candle on the floor beside her. She looked tall and stern, like a queen, though she wore only the plain gray robe of a priestess of Illana. Her dark hair was bound with a simple leather thong, and a silver ring on one finger was her only ornament. On the floor beside her were three strange objects: a wide, shallow bowl of glimmering silver, an earthenware jug, and what looked like a heap of ragged cloth.

We’re here, said Aila, curtsying slightly.

Ethyrin bowed with more deference. Milady Sedura.

Her dark eyes flickered over them sharply. Worry had already creased her face, but as she looked at them she grew pale.

What has happened? she asked. Why are you both so afraid?

There were assassins, said Aila. They came for him just after I did, on the terrace where he was sleeping. They didn't see us but we saw them and we heard them talking. Artan sent them.

And all the guards are gone, added Ethyrin, softly.

Sedura cursed under her breath. Then she hastened forward and swept them both into a tight embrace.

Oh I’m sorry, she whispered. I'm so sorry. If I had known he would strike tonight I would have acted long before this. And I would not have sent you alone, Aila while Bedarn and I waited down here, safe and useless. I am sorry.

Why? Why is this happening? Ethyrin asked. Suddenly he had to fight to keep tears out of his voice. I mean, I knew Artan might want to… to kill me. But why now? What did I do?

Sedura sighed, and smoothed out her robes for a moment while she regained her composure. At last she spoke in a grave, careful voice.

You did nothing, Ethyrin, other than live. You are the heir to the throne of Arandia. Artan knows this, and he hates it.

Ethyrin shook his head, confused. No… What do you mean? I’m not heir to anything. Prince Archandir is, or Prince Irudan if he dies or something. If King Artan dies the throne will pass to his sons, not his nephew."

No it won’t. For Artan himself is not the rightful king.

He…what? That is a dangerous thing to say, Milady.

But it is true, nonetheless. she said. "Artan never swore the King’s Oath. For seventeen hundred years, since the founding of our realm, every high king has sworn that oath. It is a covenant before Illana Herself, to serve the people of this realm and defend them from the forces of evil and injustice. The right to become king may pass from father to son, but by our oldest laws no one is king who has not pledged his life to this realm and its people."

"These last few kings, that people in secret and in fear call the Tyrant Kings, have chafed at the Oath. But Artan in his pride would not swear at all, insisting that the throne was his by birthright alone. So his claim to the kingship is forfeit, as are the claims of his sons. You, Ethyrin, son of Elidan, son of Artanimir the last true King;