Lynn Abbey - Dark Sun - Chronicles of Athas 02 -The Darkness Before the Dawn

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The Darkness Before the Dawn

RYAN HUGHES

Dark Sun, Chronicles Of Athas, Book Two

Scanned, formatted and proofed by Dreamcity

Ebook version 1.0

Release Date: March, 22, 2004

First Printing: February 1995

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 94-60838

ISBN: 0-7869-0104-7

For the Thursday night brainstorming gang with special thanks to Steve and Chris York for the piles of

bones.

About the Author

Ryan Hughes is the pen name for Jerry Oltion, a science-fiction writer whose short stories appear

regularly in Analog, the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and various anthologies. His novels

include Frame of Reference and two books in Isaac Asimov's Robot City series, Alliance and Humanity.

His short-story collection, Love Songs of a Mad Scientist, was recently published by Hypatia Press.

Jerry lives in Oregon with his wife, Kathy, and the obligatory writer's cat, Ginger.

Chapter One

The air was thick with the smell of burning caravan. The enormous house-sized wagon had met its end

in the deep desert, and wood, leather, dead bodies, and anything else not valuable enough to carry away

now joined together in a crackling bonfire. Athas's coppery sun, slipping behind the western horizon, tinted

the roiling column of smoke bloody red, sending a signal across dozens of miles of desert: Here there be

death.

The fifty or so Jura-Dai elves who cavorted before the flaming wreckage of the enormous wooden

merchant wagon didn't seem to care. Their brightly colored cloaks and shirts and loose, blousy pants

flapped gaily as they spun and danced in the flickering light, and their voices rose in laughter and song. Of

course, they were the victors. The losers-slave runners who had made the mistake of taking one of the tribe

captive-were inside the caravan, the smoke of their flesh and bones adding to the wagon's in a single

enormous funeral pyre. The few who hadn't died in battle had been driven along with the slaves the elves

had freed out into the desert to fend for themselves.

Jedra, a half-elf who had been imprisoned along with the Jura-Dai tribesman, watched the party from

partway up the flank of a nearby dune. He could feel the heat of the flames on his face even there, but he

was out of the elves' way. That seemed safest, even though he and the human woman, Kayan, had been

invited to travel through the desert with the tribe in repayment for their help in psionically guiding the

rescue.

Kayan sat beside him on the dune, her elbows on her knees and her rounded chin resting in her hands.

The ends of her brown hair shifted in the breeze, but after eight days in the hold of the slave wagon the

shoulder-length strands were too sweaty and greasy to be lifted much by a mere air current. Her skin was

smudged with dirt and soot as well, but Jedra didn't care. They shared a bond much deeper than the mere

physical; he had only to close his eyes to see how beautiful she was.

"The elves certainly seem uninhibited," she said.

Below, some of the elven warriors stood only a few feet from the flames, their backs to the watchers

on the dune, but from their stance it was obvious that they were urinating on the fire. Or trying to. The rest

of the tribe- women and children as well-were cheering and heckling as first one man, then another, leaped

back from the intense heat before he could accomplish the job. A few of the more inebriated managed

weak trickles before they, too, were forced back, finally leaving a single warrior standing before the burning

wagon. He was tall, and burly for an elf. His only clothing was a pair of bright red pants, and his glistening

back rippled with muscle as he calmly went about his business, then buttoned his pants and turned around to

receive riotous applause. Jedra noticed with chagrin that the elf had more hair on his chest than he himself

did. Half-human ancestry evidently didn't give him the advantage even there.

"He's one of the ones who freed us," Jedra said. "He fought all the way through the caravan to the

slave hold. I guess he's entitled to cut loose a little."

"Mmm-hmm."

The elves had appropriated a haunch of meat from the wagon before torching it. It looked like either a

leg of mekillot or maybe a whole ink; whichever it was, they had tied it on a spit and were slowly roasting it

beside the fire.

The champion elf was impatient, though. He swaggered over to the meat and carved off a fist-sized

hunk of it with his sword, then skewered the flesh on the end of the blade and held it closer to the flame.

Jedra winced. He could almost feel the heat curling the hair on the elf's arm.

Almost? Suddenly he realized that he was feeling it. His wild psionic talent had linked him empathically

with the elf, and Jedra was feeling the other man's pain. He hastily broke contact. The elf suddenly jerked

his hand back as his own mind bore the entire sensation again, and the other elves laughed. Fortunately

nobody-not even the warrior-suspected Jedra's role in his embarrassment. Jedra vowed to keep a tighter

rein on his talent, though. He had known for only a few days that he had any psionic ability at all, and he

was still learning how to use it. He could get himself into trouble very easily if he wasn't careful.

The breeze shifted, and the aroma of cooking meat drifted across the dune. Kayan's stomach rumbled.

She smiled and patted herself on the bare skin between her halter top and breechcloth. "I could certainly

use a few bites of that," she said.

Jedra nodded. "Me, too. That slop they served us in the wagon was even less than I used to get on the

streets in Urik."

"It was far less than what a templar's assistant eats," Kayan said, a note of sadness in her voice. Her

former life had gone up in flames as surely as the caravan before her. Born into a noble's household, she

had become a psionic healer for the templars, a position she'd held until she crossed someone in power.

Overnight she'd found herself in the hold of a slave wagon bound for Tyr. The elves had rescued her from

that fate, but even so she would no longer eat good meals every day, nor live in a spacious apartment near

the sorcerer-king's palace, nor help control the resources of an entire city.

Jedra's life had changed also, but not to the same extent. He had been one of link's myriad street

people before he had been enslaved; he had always foraged for his meals and shelter. Here in the desert

both were more scarce, but even that would not be true tonight.

Standing, he said, "I think we should take the elves up on their offer before they decide to withdraw it."

Kayan held out a hand for him to help her to her feet. "Yes," she said, brushing the sand off her

breechcloth, "I suppose even associating with boisterous elves is better than starving to death."

They descended the sandy slope hand-in-hand, using one another for support, obviously not

accustomed to desert travel. The loose sand rubbed uncomfortably between their sandal straps and their

feet, and Kayan kept stopping to shake it out. It wasn't so bad when they reached level ground.

They approached the party with caution. They had watched the elves chase away other survivors

from the caravan when they drew too close. Even with their invitation, they weren't sure how they would

be received. They were right to be cautious; the elves looked at them suspiciously and whispered among

themselves in their own language, and three warriors-one with a sword and two with longbows held

ready-moved to intercept them. Before the warriors reached them, however, Galar, the elf who had been

enslaved with them, spotted them and held out his arms, saying in the common tongue, "Aha, my friends,

you have decided to join our celebration!"

"We don't want to intrude," Jedra said diplomatically, "but the smell of food has overcome us."

"Intrude! Impossible!" Galar spoke loudly for all to hear. Shaking his head until his reddish-blond hair

fell into his eyes and had to be shaken out again, he said, "It was you who led the tribe to us, and who

fought the slave master with your minds. Without your psionic talent I would still be in the slave hold,

another day closer to Tyr, and the Jura-Dai would still thirst for their revenge. You cannot intrude upon a

celebration held in your honor." He reached down for Kayan's arm and led her into the midst of the elves,

calling out, "Let's show our friends the hospitality of the Jura-Dai. A pint of mead for each of them, and the

best cut from the roast. And if we don't hear a song about their exploits by the end of the feast, I'll have the

bard's head on a pike!"

Galar's enthusiasm amused the other elves-save for the bard, whose eyes bulged as he realized he

now had to come up with an amusing ditty or face the taunts of his drunken tribe. Jedra caught his eye and

shrugged in silent apology for his inconvenience, but the bard didn't look mollified.

Jedra didn't have time to worry; within seconds a smiling elf maiden shoved a mug of mead into his

hands, slopping a fourth of it over his forearm in the process, and Galar led him on toward the crowd

gathered near the cooking spit. Jedra's mouth watered at the wonderful aroma that wafted from the

dripping carcass. Inix, it looked like from his closer vantage.

The warrior who had been roasting his own meat had taken refuge behind a shield and edged up close

to the burning wagon. The gobbet of steak impaled on his sword hissed and sputtered in the flame, and the

warrior would occasionally pull it back to take a bite from it before thrusting it out into the fire again. He

scowled when he noticed Jedra watching him, until Jedra raised his mug in toast to his benefactor. Then the

elf nodded curtly and turned back to his show of bravado.

"That's Sahalik," Galar said softly as he led them onward. "He's our best warrior, and next in line to be

chief."

Jedra glanced over at the current chief, a battle-scarred elf a foot shorter than Sahalik and thirty

pounds lighter. He walked with a limp and his face bore a haunted look, as if he knew his time was almost

up. "Ah," Jedra said, unwilling to gamble on a more informative reply.

What's Sahalik's problem? Kayan mindsent to Jedra.

Elves don't like half-elves, he sent back, trying not to speak aloud at the same time. He was still

unused to their mental rapport. They think we're impure.

Oh, great, Kayan sent. Then she shrugged. Well, at least I don't have to worry about the men

here, then.

Jedra laughed. Where do you think half-elves come from? Elves don't mind associating with

human women, so long as the humans don't expect their children to be accepted by the tribe.

Oh.

"What do you find funny?" Galar asked, and Jedra realized he had laughed aloud.

Thinking fast, he said, "Oh, just the sudden reversal of fortune. A week ago I would never have

guessed I'd be dining with elves by the wreckage of the slave caravan that was taking me to Tyr."

A murmur of laughter spread among everyone within earshot, and Galar explained. "You city dwellers

expect too much certainty in your lives. We nomads of the desert know that life is harsh and unpredictable.

We have learned to deal with each day as it comes to us. We have a saying: 'Hope for the best, but expect

the worst; that way all your surprises will be pleasant.' "

An elf maiden wrapped in a bright blue cloak added, "We also say, 'Live for today-tomorrow will be

trouble enough when it arrives.' "

"Wise counsel," Jedra said. "I'll try to remember it while I travel the desert."

"Oh, that's nothing. I could teach you all sorts of things," she said, batting her eyelashes and thrusting

her hips to the side. "I like 'em young and naive."

Jedra blushed while the elves laughed, and the woman said, "Come on, honey, let's get you and your

friend here some food before you faint on us. There's plenty of night left for education."

I bet there is, Kayan sent sarcastically. If you touch her, I'll-

Don't worry, Jedra told her. She's just playing with me. I'll get away before anything comes of it.

You'd better, Kayan warned.

Jedra felt a mixture of alarm and security at Kayan's obvious jealousy. They had known each other for

only a week, and though they'd become close friends while chained side-by-side in the slave hold, even their

mental communion couldn't guarantee commitment now that they were free.

Gratefully, Jedra let the elf woman carve a slice of roast for him from the spitted inix. Food would still

many tongues, at least for a while. And the woman was right, there was plenty of night left. Anything could

happen to distract her.

He watched her prepare the food for him. She laid the slice of meat on a slab of unleavened bread and

smothered it in some kind of shredded, pickled vegetable, then folded the whole works over and handed it to

him, both ends dripping fat and pickle juice. Jedra looked at it dubiously, but when he bit into it he nearly

melted.

Wow! he sent to Kayan, then when he'd chewed and swallowed he echoed the sentiment aloud. "This

is wonderful!"

"It should be," the elf woman said. "It was all headed for Kalak's table before we appropriated it from

the wagon."

Jedra shuddered to think that he was robbing Tyr's powerful sorcerer-king of his dinner, but then the

elven part of him evidently accepted the advice he'd been given and he closed his eyes and savored the

moment. Yes, he enjoyed dining from a king's larder. With a beautiful ex-templar woman by his side, at

that. Things didn't get much better than this.

He was wrong. True to his word, after the meal Jedra circulated among the elves, removing himself

and Kayan from the woman who had propositioned him, and presently they heard another source of

laughter and good spirits among the tents the elves had pitched a hundred feet or so from the burning

caravan. When they went to investigate they found an incredible sight: the elves were taking baths. The

caravan had reached an outpost only a day before it was attacked, so its storage tanks had been full, and

since there was more water than the elves could carry with them they were using two barrels of it for the

greatest of luxuries.

This group had a bit more modesty than the warriors. They had set the water barrels inside two tents,

one for men and one for women. Jedra and Kay an braved the elves' good-natured jibes and joined the

lines, and when their turns came they were each given a full minute to climb into their barrels and soak off

the grime of captivity.

A water vendor had once let Jedra reach an arm all the way to the bottom of a full cask to retrieve a

ceramic coin; until now that had been his only experience with immersion. When he untied his breechcloth

and climbed into the barrel, the sensation of cool wetness sliding up his legs and chest was at once the most

alarming and most sensuous thing he had ever felt. He took a few seconds to savor the experience, then

quickly scrubbed himself with one of the cloths draped over the barrel's side, ducked his head under and

swished his hair around, and climbed back out again.

He dripped dry while the next person bathed, all the while marveling at how strange and wonderful his

life had become.

*****

Kayan smelled of flower blossoms. The women had added perfume to their bathwater, and now every

time Jedra drew close to her he noticed it. He worked up his courage and took her hand while they

explored the rest of the elf camp.

Beyond the tents they found post-and-rope pens holding fifteen or twenty kanks, the long, beetlelike

creatures the elves used for pack animals. Kanks also produced honey in melon-sized globules on their

abdomens; when one of them brushed by the edge of the pen Jedra reached out and grabbed a small nectar

sack."Here, try some," he said, squeezing some of the sticky green honey out onto Kayan's palm. She

looked at it dubiously, but when Jedra began licking the sweet fluid from his own fingers and saying

"Mmm," in obvious ecstasy, she gave it a cautious lick.

"Oh!" she said in surprise. "This is good."

"Of course it is," Jedra said. "I wouldn't give you anything that wasn't."

"Of course not." She smiled and took his hand again, and they walked slowly back into camp, eagerly

finishing off the rest of the honey like a couple of children.

As darkness fell and the flames died down the air began to grow colder. The elves all wore brightly

colored cloaks that they wrapped around themselves when they began to feel the chill, but Jedra had only

his slave-issue breechcloth and Kayan her breechcloth and halter so they found themselves drifting back

closer to the fire as the night wore on.

That turned out to be a bad idea. Under the flickering firelight, Kayan's freshly cleaned and untanned

temple-dweller's skin shone like a white beacon, and as the only uncovered woman there, her ample bosom

drew every male's attention. Jedra put his arm around her for warmth, but also to let everyone know they

were a couple. Even so, it seemed as if every pair of eyes were focused on them.

I think maybe we should try to find a place to settle down for the night, Jedra mindsent to her.

Someplace warm, Kayan sent back. She shivered within the circle of his arm.

I'll ask Galar where we can sleep. Jedra scanned the semicircle of faces for their friend, but he was

nowhere to be seen. He cast his consciousness outward psionically, and eventually found the elf off in the

direction of the tents set up near the slip face of a dune a few dozen paces from the caravan. He couldn't

sense which tent the elf was in or what he was doing, but that didn't matter. Galar? he sent. Sorry to

trouble you, but Kayan and I are cold and tired. Is there somewhere we can sleep?

He didn't expect a reply; his sending talent didn't include mind reading as well. He knew Galar had

heard him, though, so he settled in to wait.

But the burly elf warrior, Sahalik, found them first. Jedra heard footsteps behind them, then a deep,

hearty voice said, "Huddling close to the fire won't keep you warm for long. Fires burn out-even one as big

as this."

Jedra turned to see Sahalik standing with his hands on his hips. He, too, had draped a cloak over his

shoulders, but he wore it pulled back to expose his hairy chest. The hilt of his sword stood forward at an

angle that insured instant readiness, and the pommel glittered in the firelight.

"We're discovering that," Jedra said. "We've asked Galar for a place to-"

"Galar! Hah, you won't see him for the rest of the night. He's got some catching up to do, if you follow

my meaning."

"Oh," Jedra said, suddenly embarrassed. Of course Galar had better things to do than look after Jedra

and Kayan. He was a full member of the tribe; he probably had a lover or even a wife here, maybe even a

whole family. He had been away longer than just the few days in the slave caravan, too; during their long

hours of captivity he had described how he'd been forced into the gladiator games in Urik for at least a

month, fighting for his life against wild animals and other gladiators, some willing, some not. If Jedra were in

Galar's place, he probably wouldn't surface again for days.

"Well, then," Jedra said, "maybe we can ask the same thing of you that we asked of Galar."

Sahalik laughed. "Seems to me you turned down the best offer in the camp earlier tonight. You

should've thought of that before it got cold; Rayna's already found another." He shifted his eyes to Kayan

and grinned widely. Two of his teeth were missing, one upper and one lower on the right side. "As for you,

pretty one, I might be able to find a warm spot for you tonight."

"I imagine you could," Kayan said sarcastically, "but I prefer to stay with Jedra."

The elf frowned. "Don't be so hasty. I've got a fine tent all to my own, and a soft-"

"I said no." Kayan's voice cut through the night like a thunderclap. All conversation stopped. In the

sudden silence, a burning timber popped, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

Sahalik stood like a statue, completely taken aback. Evidently no one had ever refused him before, at

least so publicly. He opened his mouth to speak, but could find no words to say.

Galar saved them all from further embarrassment. He skidded into the circle of firelight, his clothes in

disarray and his hair sticking out in all directions, and took in the scene in a glance. Then he whirled around

and shouted into the darkness, "Where's that lazy bard? The night's nearly gone. We'll hear your song now,

bard!"

The rest of the tribe picked up his cue. They cheered and stamped their feet, shouting, "Song! Song!"

and eventually the bard stepped into the firelight. He carried a harp under his right arm, and a sheaf of

parchment in his left hand. He looked less worried than when Jedra had first seen him; in fact, now that he

was the center of attention he walked with a cocky spring to his step and when he spoke his voice was full

of mischief.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, waving the parchment. "I'm up to seventy-three verses now and

still have more tale to tell."

The elves groaned, and someone yelled, "Save it for the trail tomorrow. Give us the short version."

The bard shook his head. "Nay, nay, that would slight our guests, and our illustrious Galar whose

misadventures in Urik brought us to this glorious feast. I shall give you the long version, and make up more

as I go along."

There was quite a bit of good-natured groaning, and someone whispered loudly, "Be ready with the

rotten fruit."

The bard pointed at a water cask that someone was using for a stool and said, "I appropriate your seat

for the cause." When the elf had vacated it, he set his right foot firmly on the cask, placed his harp on his

thigh, and gave the strings a strum. The air filled with resonant sound, and the babble of voices hushed. The

bard picked out the beginnings of a tune, then when he had built it into a recognizable melody, he began to

sing in a rich, carrying voice:

Oh, the Jura-Dai tribe is a wandering one

And our exploits are marry and true,

But the exploit I sing of tonight is so dumb

'Tis a deed only Galar would do.

The elves burst into laughter, and Galar took a deep bow. All through the exchange Jedra had been

painfully aware of Sahalik's rigid presence at his back, but now he felt motion behind him. He couldn't hear

footsteps in the din, but his psionic sense told him the elf warrior was leaving. Jedra let out a deep breath he

hadn't even been aware he was holding.

The bard waited for the laughter to die down, then sang:

The big city drew him with promise of fame

And of fortune beyond an elf's dreams,

So he set out with high hopes and soon enough came To the city of Urik, it seems.

But what he found there wasn't quite what he'd planned

When he left all the comforts of home.

No, instead of the riches he'd heard he would find,

He wound up on the streets, all alone.

Now that in itself wouldn't be such a fright

For an elf as resourceful as him,

Save for one crucial error he made that first night,

When he misplaced his brain at an inn.

The bard had to wait nearly a minute for the laughter to die down before he could continue, but each

verse drew more merriment as he detailed Galar's descent- through swindles and gambling losses-from

cocky freeman to a lone elfin heavy debt, fighting as a gladiator for money. At last, hounded by creditors

and fearing for his life, Galar had used the last of his money in a desperate scheme to sneak out of the city

undetected: he had bought his way onto a slave caravan leaving for Tyr. No one would think to look for him

in the slave hold, and once they were free of the city, the wagon master would release him.

Of course the wagon master had taken his money and left him in the slave hold, where he met Kayan,

who had been taken there when a powerful lover had become jealous of her attention to Urik's king

Hamanu.

That's not true! Kayan mindsent to Jedra. I was enslaved because I refused to use my psionic

healing power to kill a man.

I know that, Jedra replied, but the bard doesn't so he had to make something up. This makes a

better tale anyway.

So you say, Kayan sent. She scowled as the song continued to portray her as a reckless wanton who

had slept her way to the bottom of society.

A few stanzas later Jedra found himself agreeing with Kayan when the bard began detailing how he

wound up enslaved. The bard portrayed him as a thief and a brawler who had finally met his match, rather

than as a curious young man who had accidently stumbled upon a magical talisman that a real mage had

sold him into slavery to obtain. Jedra wasn't sure he wanted the truth to be known, but he didn't want

everyone to think he was a thief, either.

All the same, he smiled bravely through the verses about him, wanting least of all to offend his hosts.

He tried to listen psionically to find what the elves really thought of him, but he just didn't have that

power. He could send, but not eavesdrop. He could sense when someone was watching him, though, and

although everyone was doing so now, he detected one source of interest much stronger than the rest. He

looked across the fire toward the source of the sensation, expecting to see Rayna, the woman who had

propositioned him earlier, but instead he found Sahalik staring back at him, his face as cold as the night.

Oh, wonderful. Of all the people to be on the bad side of, Sahalik was the absolute worst. Jedra looked

away, careful not to make eye contact again throughout the rest of the song.

Fortunately, the bard had exaggerated the number of stanzas as well. He was only up to forty or so

when he finished with a rousing description of Galar's rescue and the heroics of the Jura-Dai warriors.

Sahalik figured prominently in the end of the tale, and Jedra was relieved to see a crowd of well-wishers

gather around him afterward.

Galar took Jedra and Kayan aside after the song and led them toward the tents. "My apologies for not

thinking of it earlier," he said, "but now I will find you some spare clothing and a place to sleep."

"Thank you," Kayan said, her words nearly lost in a wide yawn.

Jedra was afraid that he and Kayan would be imposing on Galar all night, but the elf led them to an

enormous tent wherein dozens of elves had already rolled out sleeping mats and were snoring softly.

Candles glowed in protected alcoves at either end of the tent, providing just enough light to see by but not

enough to keep anyone awake. In their soft light, Jedra could see that the tents, unlike the clothing the elves

wore, were grayish tan, the color of sand, so they would blend in with the desert.

More sleeping mats waited in a pile near the doorway, each tucked into a knapsack with a name or a

design woven into the closing flap at the top. Galar searched though the stack, pulling two knapsacks from it

and handing them to his friends. They were made of heavy, durable cloth, and the mats rolled up inside

them were even thicker. Both showed signs of wear along the exposed edges.

"Won't their owners miss them?" Jedra asked as Galar sorted through a basket of clothing beside the

pile of bedrolls.

"Not any longer," Galar said. "These belonged to people killed in the battle. They are the property of

the entire tribe now."

"Oh." Jedra looked at his knapsack again. He couldn't read the elven script, but it wouldn't have

mattered if he could. He didn't know any of the people who had died today. So why did he suddenly feel

reluctant to sleep on this mat?

Galar noticed his concern and said, "Do not trouble yourself. Everything has its cost, and the Jura-Dai

knew that before they attacked the caravan. We all live and die for the good of the tribe; without raids such

as these we would soon starve to death in the desert." He pulled a long yellow robe out of the basket and

held it up to Kayan. Made for an elf, it was about three feet too long for her. "You will have to tuck a fold

under the belt to avoid tripping," Galar said, "but there is plenty of cloth here to keep you warm at night, and

the light color and the looseness of it will help keep you cool by day."

"That will be nice." Kayan took it from him and draped it over her shoulders. Galar pulled a light blue

robe from the basket for Jedra, then waved an arm toward an unoccupied stretch of floor near one wall of

the tent. "Sleep well," he said, "but not too well. We break camp at dawn." With that, he turned and left

them to their rest.

They stepped gingerly over sleeping elves to the bare spot and unrolled their mats. Jedra lay back on

his with an audible creaking of joints. Ok, this feels good, he mind-sent to Kayan.

She had turned her back to him and was fussing with something under her robe. A sudden warmth

spread over Jedra when he realized she was removing her halter and breechcloth.

And she knew just what he was thinking. Don't you go getting ideas, she sent to him. This cursed

leather itches, that's all. I'll sleep better without it.

Of course, Jedra sent. He refrained from adding, Never mind that I'll not sleep at all now....

Fatigue soon proved him wrong. He closed his eyes to give her more privacy, and when he opened

them again the tent wall beside him was aglow with the first light of day.

*****

The elves broke camp within minutes of rising. Nobody stopped for breakfast; they just rolled up their

mats, collected their other personal belongings and stuffed them into their knapsacks, then packed up the

tents and other equipment, tied it all onto the kanks, and set off into the desert at a brisk walking pace. They

didn't follow the road, but headed straight over the dunes to the west. They spread out in a long string, the

scouts and faster walkers in the lead, and the rest trailing back for nearly a quarter mile. Warriors armed

with swords and longbows scattered themselves along the line to provide protection for everyone in case of

an attack. Nobody rode the kanks-elves considered that dishonorable-but after the first few miles the adults

began to trade off in carrying the younger children. Even so, Jedra found himself pushing to keep up, and

Kayan with her shorter legs was sweating and straining even harder than he was.

Neither of them complained. Traveling with the elves, even at their breakneck pace, was infinitely

preferable to fending for themselves in the desert. They had already encountered the remains of two of the

caravan's drivers who had set off along this same route last night; their skeletons rested halfway up the

face of a dune less than a mile from the road, their bones already picked clean and cracking in the dry heat

of the sun.

Jedra tucked his thumbs under his knapsack's shoulder straps to help support the weight. There wasn't

much in it: just his sleeping mat and what few personal belongings he had taken from Dornal, the mage who

had sold him into slavery. He and Kayan had killed Dornal in the psionic battle that had erupted when the

elves attacked the caravan. Jedra also carried the magical talisman that had gotten him into trouble in the

first place: a piece of glass that had been created when a templar's magical lightning bolt struck the sand.

The glass magnified things. Images, the heat of the sun, possibly even psionic power. As Jedra trudged

along with it in his pack, he began to wonder if it was somehow magnifying its own weight as well.

He tried to ignore his discomfort by remembering the sensation of power he had felt when he and

Kayan linked minds. She had taught him how to do it when she realized he needed her experience to control

his wild talent, but neither of them had expected the incredible enhancement that came with their

communion. Alone, he could send mental messages and sense when he was being watched and even push

things around with his mind when he was sufficiently motivated, and she could heal wounds and cure illness,

but together they commanded psionic power beyond the scope of most masters. They had used it to search

far across the desert for the Jura-Dai even though their bodies were trapped in the slave caravan in the

midst of a sandstorm, and they had used it again to help win the battle when the elves had finally arrived to

free their tribesman.

That had been at once the most wonderful and the most horrible moment of Jedra's life. Battling on a

psychic plane, where mental images were more important than reality, Jedra and Kayan had envisioned

themselves as a swift, sleek-winged hawk flying and swooping among the nearly insubstantial shadows of

the elves and slavers fighting below. They weren't alone in the vision, however. The slave master's psionic

manifestation had been a great whirlwind that sucked up everything in its path, and the elves' psionicist had

been an eagle with sharp, ripping talons and beak. The mage, Dornal, had been there as well, a dark,

constantly evolving bat that spit lightning bolts ahead of it as it swept through the vision. The bat had killed

the eagle and dissipated the whirlwind almost without effort, but Jedra and Kayan had flown above it and

used their combined power to trap the bat beneath a sheet of glass. Then, almost as an afterthought, they

had bent the barrier into the same shape as Jedra's lightning glass, and the bat had burst into flame.

The thrill of that victory was like nothing either of them had experienced before. They felt smarter and

more powerful than anything else in the world. They broke their contact reluctantly, and then only because

they knew from previous experience that they were using up their bodies' strength at a phenomenal rate.

Coming back to the normal plane of existence had felt like losing half their intelligence, but that had not

been the worst shock. When they had gathered enough strength to visit the mage's quarters they had seen

the real-world effect of their psionic battle: The elves' psionicist was dead, and Dornal had been burned

beyond recognition, his body little more than a greasy skeleton on the deck. The wooden floorboards had

barely been scorched, but later they had found three more people burned to death in the cabin below. They

might well have been slavers, or they might have been innocent passengers-there was no way to tell. In

either case, it was obvious that Jedra and Kayan had killed them, and that the power they had thought under

control was in fact wild and dangerous.

They had vowed then to find a true psionics master, one who had studied the mental arts for years and

who could teach them how to control their rogue talent. They had also vowed not to use it again until they

knew what they were doing, but Jedra's mind burned with the desire to link with Kayan's again. Not the

simple contact that allowed them to communicate, but the complete, mind-expanding intermingling of

thoughts and abilities that would allow them to become one single being again, enormously powerful,

enormously intelligent....

Enormously dangerous.

He wrenched himself away from that line of thought. An obsession of such intensity was in itself

fraught with risk. He could easily come to depend on their mental convergence, becoming like the dream

addicts in the city's warrens who used magical spells or the essences of various plants to keep their minds

on an alternate plane while their bodies slowly wasted away.

Jedra brought his thoughts back to the present. There was plenty to occupy his mind here: the sights

and sounds and smells of the desert were rich and varied. He had always envisioned the desert as an

endless stretch of sand and nothing else-and near the road where generations of travelers had eaten or

burned whatever had once lived, it was-but out in the deep wilderness there was a surprising amount of

vegetation. To be sure, all of it was armored better than most gladiators against the harsh climate and the

myriad hungry animals who would eat anything that couldn't defend itself, but there was a weird beauty to

the spikes and darts and scales that adorned the plants. Some of them were taller than even the elves, with

multiple arms reaching out for dozens of feet around them. Jedra noticed that the elves never walked under

one of those, and he realized why when he saw one of the arms swish downward toward a kank that had

drifted too close. The arm thudded into the kank's pack and stuck there, the pack impaled on the arm's

many spines, and it only released its grip when the kank leaped away and its weight threatened to rip the

arm from the tree.

Everything is dangerous out here, Kayan mindsent, even though she and Jedra were walking

side-by-side. Psionic speech was easier than talking with a dry mouth.

Things are dangerous everywhere, Jedra answered. Remember what it was like in Urik, with

people ready to rob you the first time you lowered your guard? We just need to learn a new set of

rules here, that's all.

I suppose so. I just feel so vulnerable out here. So exposed.

Jedra chuckled. Kayan was all but indistinguishable, draped from head to foot in the billowy yellow

robe that Galar had given her. The elves had warned her not to expose so much as the tip of her nose to the

sun, for with her fair skin it would blister and peel within hours. Jedra risked no more than she did, for he'd

been a city dweller, too, and he knew that even his elven ancestry wouldn't protect him until he'd built up

some resistance to the fierce and unforgiving sun.

You think it's funny? she asked.

A little, Jedra admitted. Not just our clothing, either. Here we are, the dread psionic warriors

who took on a caravan master and a mage all by ourselves, two untamed talents whose biggest

problem is that when we join our minds together we're too powerful to control, and yet we're nearly

helpless in the desert.

That's not funny, that's pathetic, Kayan said. She trudged along dispiritedly for a few minutes, then

added, All right, I can see the irony in it, but I still don't like feeling ignorant.

At times like this, Jedra was glad for the mindlink. He'd never had any kind of formal education; words

like "pathetic" and "irony" would have gone right over his head in a regular conversation, but under the

mindlink he received the meaning of the words as well as the words themselves. He took a minute to think

about the new concepts and fix them in his mind.

Up ahead, a young elf boy was proudly playing with a wooden sword his father had given him. Jedra

watched him approach a short, wide-trunked cactus and slice off its thorns with a series of smooth strokes

along the surface, then stab the cactus near the top and run once around it to cut the cap free. Then the boy

reached inside and drew out a handful of white pulp. He held it overhead in his fist with his thumb pointing

downward, and when he squeezed, a stream of water ran down the thumb into his mouth.

There, Jedra said. You see? Yes, everything here is dangerous, but everything is-he used another

word he'd learned from Kayan-everything is vulnerable, too. We just have to learn how to take

advantage of the desert's weaknesses.

Before it takes advantage of ours, Kayan said dubiously.

The boy ran happily onward to catch up with his father. Evidently the remains of the cactus were open

to anyone; one of the women in front of Jedra stopped beside it and reached in for her own handful of

watery pulp, then walked on, sucking at it as she went. Jedra was thirsty, too; he followed her lead and

reached into the cavity in the center of the cactus, scooped out a handful of the cool white, fibery pulp, and

handed it to Kayan, then dug out another for himself. It smelled fresh and faintly spicy, and when he held it

overhead and squeezed it a stream of sweet nectar ran down his thumb onto his tongue. It tasted

wonderful: a sugary wetness that refreshed him instantly and seemed to pour energy into every muscle in

his body.

We'll learn, Jedra sent. The elves will teach us how to survive in the desert, and then we can

begin our search for a psionics master to teach us how to control our wild talent.

"Mmm," Kayan said, but she said it aloud so Jedra had no idea how she meant it.

*****

The elves traveled steadily through the morning hours, but when the sun drew high overhead and the

heat began to grow oppressive, they stopped, repitched their tents, and ate another meal before sleeping

through the hottest part of the day. Jedra was grateful for the rest; his legs were aching already from the

strain of walking so many miles in loose sand, and before they stopped he had been feeling faint from lack

of food.

"Hah, today you've had it easy," Galar told him as they sat on the sand under a canopy and devoured

leftover inix and some kind of crumbly brown honeycake full of nuts and dried fruit. "Normally we begin

before dawn, but we got a late start this morning because of die festivities last night."

Kayan washed down a mouthful of cake with a generous swig of water, then said, "Well, I'm glad we

got a gradual introduction to things. I think this is about as far as I could go today."

Galar grinned. "I hope you don't mean that. We will move out again at dusk for another few hours of

travel."

She had been about to take another bite of inix; she stopped with the meat halfway to her mouth and

said, "You're kidding. What's the rush?"

"There is no rush," Galar said. "That is just the way elves travel. Two short marches during the most

pleasant parts of the day. Be glad we aren't in a hurry, or we would move at a run, sometimes all through

the night."

Jedra had a thought. "What about the chief?" he asked. "He's got a limp. He can't run, can he?"

Galar lost a little of his smile. "He can and must if he wishes to remain chief. We have no room in the

tribe for people who can't keep up, no matter who they are."

"Wonderful," Kayan said. She finished the rest of her meal in silence and disappeared immediately into

the community tent, evidently determined to get as much rest as possible before the tribe moved out again.

Jedra followed her a few minutes later, the meal after such heavy exertion making him drowsy, but as

he stepped into the relative darkness of the huge tent he was momentarily blind, and he crashed right into

someone coming out.

"Oh, sorry," he said, backing up and blinking to see who he'd collided with. To his horror, he saw

Sahalik standing there, frowning down at him as if Jedra were something smelly and unpleasant he'd just

stepped in.

"Sorry," Jedra said again. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

Sahalik didn't say a word. He just stepped out of the tent, brushing Jedra aside effortlessly and

continuing on his way. The hair on the back of Jedra's neck tingled as he watched the elf walk away, his

head held high.

When Sahalik had disappeared around the flank of the next tent, Jedra turned back inside, found his

bedroll in the now-small pile, and stepped across the sleepers to spread it out beside Kayan.

Did he give you a hard time again? he sent, but her only answer was a soft snore.

*****

The evening march was excruciating. Muscles overtaxed in the morning walk had had just enough

time to stiffen up before being called upon to perform once again, and the meal they had eaten hardly

seemed to sustain Jedra or Kayan for more than the first couple of miles. Their sandals weren't made for

long hikes, either; the straps dug into their feet and the sand wore the skin raw.

Wincing with every step, they slowly drifted back toward the end of the line of elves, finally settling in

with the half-dozen elderly women who walked with silent determination through the cooling sand. Jedra

didn't know for sure, but he suspected if any of them faltered, they would simply be left behind. That would

explain their perseverance.

There were no elderly men. The tribe's chief was the oldest male Jedra had seen, and he was barely

half the age of some of the women. He was still in excellent shape, too; even with his limp, it was he who

set this breakneck pace. Jedra supposed most elven men died in battle or in hunting accidents long before

they reached old age. Not an encouraging thought.

But then he wouldn't be traveling with the Jura-Dai for long. As soon as they reached a city where he

and Kayan could arrange for more conventional transportation they could continue their search for a

psionics master in relative safety and comfort. Jedra had the money he'd taken from Dornal, the dead

mage. There was enough silver and gold in the leather pouch to provide for two travelers for at least a year

if they were frugal, and Jedra was an expert at that. He also had the mage's charm bag full of spellcasting

amulets and fetishes, which was of no use to a psionicist but might be worth quite a bit to another sorcerer.

Yes, Jedra thought, if he and Kayan survived the next few days they should be all right.

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TheDarknessBeforetheDawnRYANHUGHESDarkSun,ChroniclesOfAthas,BookTwoScanned,formattedandproofedbyDreamcityEbookversion1.0ReleaseDate:March,22,2004FirstPrinting:February1995LibraryofCongressCatalogCardNumber94-60838ISBN:0-7869-0104-7FortheThursdaynightbrainstorminggangwithspecialthankstoSteveandChrisY...

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Lynn Abbey - Dark Sun - Chronicles of Athas 02 -The Darkness Before the Dawn

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