Desert Songs

By Helen E Davis

A desert of sand, of water, of grass. Three men: Kavyn, his future lost among deadly dunes; Silver, banished from his people for his crime, and Dynis, determined to forge Swordsons to replace the Swordbrothers lost to battlefields. Before any of them can find the way home, they each must face pirates, demons, and the secrets hidden in their hearts.

Six stories of danger, beauty, and human soul.

Adult themes and situations.

Dead Fish Books is an open, affirming press, home to stories and authors of all genders and identities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dead Fish Books
• Release date: Aug 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215404447

Helen E Davis

Helen E Davis lives in Ohio with her husband, twin daughters, and two cats. She has been writing Science Fiction and Fantasy as long as she remembers, and her fiction has appeared in Adventures in Sword and Sorcery and Sword and Sorceress. She enjoys knitting and theological discussions. For more information, go to www.sff.net/people/dragonwriter.

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DESERT SONGS

By Helen E Davis

Dead Fish Books

Smashwords Edition

Desert Songs

Copyright © 2013 by Helen E. Davis

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any informational storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The following is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Photo and cover by Helen E Davis.

Second edition

www.deadfishbooks.com

Contents

Trigger Warnings

Wizard-Cursed Gold

Gold-Dust

Silver

Midwinter Coins

Eyes of a God

Bloodright

The Third Desert

About the Author

Trigger Warnings

Sex, violence, drug use, sexual situations with danger, slavery, thievery, and murder. Bartiese is a dangerous city, one where anything—and anyone—can be bought and sold. Gods and demons walk the street; wizards battle openly with no regard for the lives around them. Magical power is claimed by wizards through sex or domination. Yet, for all the dangers, Bartiese is a city of a thousand wonders and a thousand unclaimed beauties.

On the other hand, if you’re looking for erotica, you won’t find much here. Just adventure and danger.

Still interested? Show your ID at the door and come on in.

Wizard-Cursed Gold

Bartiese: the city of a thousand shattered dreams.

Dynis strode through the crowd without watching where his boots landed—the trash could get out of his way. He was a Swordsman of the Plains, and even the beggars and thieves of this god-infested place, where men wore sandals and gowns like pampered concubines, knew when to move.

When light fingers touched his belt, Dynis reached out without looking and grabbed a fistful of dirty rags. With his other hand he pressed a knife to the thief’s brown throat.

I meant no harm. The small man’s eyes, large and white, seemed to show fear. A practiced look. I stumbled in the street, no more than that. But if I have offended you...

You stumbled at my purse. Dynis raised the man up until his bare feet swung free. If I weren’t charitable, I’d let you have it, wizard-cursed gold and all.

The man’s pupils shrank in fear, real fear.

Dynis dropped the thief and wiped his hand clean on his trousers.

See that this is all spent by sundown, the twisted man had said after losing on a fair gamble, or shadow demons will feast on your bones. And the gold must be spent in fair trade, not stolen or given in charity.

A stranger dripping gold like water would be just as dead as a man facing shadow demons.

No, no! Son of a scorpion and an asp, stop!

Glass shattered beneath Dynis’s boots; a flood of perfume billowed up. Some fool had set his fine wares out on a blanket in the street, and now they were red, blue, and green splinters. Dynis scowled at the man who beat the cloth with his bare fists. You eater of refuse, you drinker of piss! May your sons whore your sisters, may they give themselves to wizards! May they cut off your balls and feed them to the fish, and may the fish spit them out! May...

Dynis threw down a handful of coins. Here. Payment.

The man’s eyes widened as he gathered up the gold. Most blessed of all men, may the gods smile upon you and surround you with sons. May the gods cover you with wealth and guard all your children, so that your sons will live long and your daughters will never be slaves.

Dynis needed no more wealth from the gods, not if it was cursed. Scowling, he turned away, but suddenly looked back. Slaves?

Please! The man quickly bowed. I did not mean to offend. I meant only to thank you for the gold.

Fair payment, Dynis grunted. You mentioned slaves. Do you sell them here?

The man’s demeanor changed again. Our slave markets are known the world over. Everything is for sale in Bartiese.

Everything?

Go to the Fountain of Flowers, if you doubt me.

Is that the slave market?

The vendor smiled. The slave market is to the south, just before the river gives itself to the sea. But at the Fountain of Flowers, you will find all the blossoms of the city. All for sale. The most beautiful men in the world.

The Fountain of Flowers, surrounded by the alleys of disgust. Dynis shuddered.

Greasy smoke from branding fires struggled and lost against the stench of festering latrines. Men reeking of fear were crammed into pens, and among the sour scent of illness was the sweet taste of death. Dynis tried not to breathe as he walked past. He tried not to look at the naked bodies, the human eyes. How could he buy another man? What choice did he have? He needed knifemen, and he needed to spend gold. He could set the slaves free in the morning.

A quick stroll around the grounds discouraged him. The common slaves were little more than animals, defiant beasts waiting to be whipped into servitude by their new masters. They were thieves, murderers, and gutter rats, and there wasn’t one that Dynis would trust behind him. Besides, they were all too cheap. But the slaves on the auction block were no better suited for his purpose. Dressed in silk and bound by cloth instead of chains, these men and women were too gentle, too refined to be good knifemen. Growling, Dynis slumped back against a brick wall.

The next offering brought him back to his feet. This man was small, less than five feet tall, with pale skin and silver-white hair. His features were as delicate as a child’s, his chin sharply pointed. A Spiderblood. He could be worth the money. Though small, Spiderbloods were strong, and any that ventured this far from his home would surely know his way around the hilt of a knife.

Besides, most people thought twice about striking a Spiderblood and invoking his racial curse.

The bidding started at one hundred gold coins, higher than the final price of any previous slave. A man at the front immediately offered one and five, and another responded with one and ten. A third hurried in with one and fifteen. The three battled together as the price rose to two hundred; then a fourth man joined. Dynis waited quietly, letting the price go as high as it would—the last thing he wanted was a bargain.

You’re interested? spoke a quiet voice in his ear.

I plan to buy him. When the others have settled on the price.

You’re a fool. If you take him, you’ll lose your manhood. The speaker was high-pitched, his words slurred. His hand brushed Dynis’s bare arm. You should take me, instead.

With one motion, Dynis turned and slammed the speaker against the wall, then looked at him. He was a young man with wilted flowers braided into his dirty red hair. Although taller than Dynis, he was thin, almost a wraith. His blue silk robe was faded and stained with gods knew what, and his sandals were woven from dried grass. He also wore, despite the heat of the city, a long wool cloak, and he carried a leather traveling bag. When his eyes—wide pupils ringed by a narrow band of bright blue—met Dynis’s, he laughed shrilly. Just another whore filled with golden Dreamdust. Dynis spat at the man’s feet and turned back to the auction.

At three and twenty the bidding was between two men, but one looked as if he were about to give up. The other, a man with a round, red face, like a roasted onion, raised his bid to three and fifty.

Three and fifty once, twice, the auctioneer called.

Dynis’s cue. I double it!

The crowd turned to look at the new bidder, and Dynis knew that he had offered far too much. Even the auctioneer peered at him. That’s seven hundred gold coins. Do you have it?

Eager, hungry faces stared at him. If Dynis said yes, he would not walk as far as the stand. Yet this opportunity to rid himself of over half his winnings was too good to leave behind. He licked his lips slowly, and then untied his purse. I have three hundred here, and will bring the rest within three hours.

I have four hundred now! cried the bulb-faced man.

Just three hours, Dynis called out. Perhaps less!

The auctioneer glanced back and forth, balancing greed against a guaranteed sale. But then he realized he could get the best either way. Sold, for seven hundred gold, three hundred to be given now, and four hundred in three hours’ time. If the Outlander doesn’t return within that time, Petrois, I will take the balance from you.

Dynis would certainly be back before that. The sun was already more than halfway down the sky to sunset.

Two hours later, when Dynis had spent or promised away the rest of the money, he counted four hundred gold coins into the slave trader’s hand. Up close, Dynis could see that the Spiderblood was not as young as he had seemed. Fine wrinkles clustered around his silver-grey eyes, and there were white strands in his hair. Not a young man, but not much older than Dynis.

What’s your name? Dynis asked.

The Spiderblood muttered something unintelligible as he stared at the ground.

That’s your name?

The man nodded.

I can’t pronounce that. What if I call you Silver?

Call him anything you like! The red-haired Flower was still slumped against the wall. The idiot must have spent all afternoon laughing to himself. You own him. Where will you take him? I know some good places, cool places, quiet places...

Dynis grabbed the Flower by his robe and slammed him hard against the bricks. I should kill you for that.

Whatever will please you. The Flower raised his hand to show a broad, ugly scar across the back. The edges of a tattoo showed beneath the scar, a crude harp. The mark of a Northlands Cravaar. What had this wretch done to have that honor taken from him?

Now the Flower looked straight into Dynis’s eyes, and in the bright blue almost crushed by darkness, there was immense power, a void without bottom. God-touched eyes. Few people could look into god-touched eyes and forget them

Dynis dropped the Flower and didn’t look back.

What had three hundred coins bought in a city where everything was a bargain, and a man who paid full price was suspect? New clothes, new boots. Food for a month of traveling, and fresh water skins. Medicines for wounds and