the sorcerer—the greater threat—was lying in wait. She glanced over her shoulder, estimating the distance to the Temple. The ground was flat, but the path to safety was long. It would be a hard run in the debilitating desert heat.
Morran grabbed water canteens from the dead fae while she tried to drag her spear free from the Shade’s body. It was buried too deep. After a brief struggle, she gave up and took a long knife from the dead fae’s belt, silently thanking him for the loan. It would serve her far better than her short blade. Barely pausing to secure the weapon, she fell into step beside Morran. As if reading one another’s thoughts, they both broke into a long, loping run.
The sun was brutally hot, dragging like a physical weight on her limbs. Though she managed to keep pace with Morran, he ran with a steady, pounding gait, sweat slicking his muscled form. It was clear he meant to gain ground while he could.
But as they ran, dunes began to magically form on either side of their route toward the Great Temple. The sand seemed to boil from the earth, shrouding the flat ground of the battlefield. Running grew harder as thick tentacles of sand spilled across their path, making Leena’s feet slip and slide. Before long, the muscles of her calves burned with effort.
The Shade sorcerer was playing with them, letting them struggle for the sake of amusement. Leena slipped, falling to one knee. Hot, dry air burned her nose and throat. The world narrowed to a tunnel of blinding heat and treacherous ground. Morran helped her up, and they were off again before the bite of the sand had left her palms. Everything faded but the animal need to flee and the promise of safety ahead. They kept going, barely stopping to take a drink from their borrowed canteens.
Without warning, Morran flung out an arm, nearly slamming her to the ground. Leena skidded, all but losing her balance.
“What the—” she cried, but her words ended there.
Invisible fire licked across their path, turning the sand into pools of molten glass. The moment she’d lost focus, the sorcerer had struck. Morran grabbed her hand, pulling her off the path and up the crest of a dune. Another bolt of power ignited the sand, the wave of heat like a blow against Leena’s back. Morran folded her in his arms and dove, sliding on his back down the slope at breakneck speed. Behind them, Claw Hands let out a scream of frustration.
They ran as soon as their feet touched solid ground. An ominous shudder sounded behind them. Leena looked back to see a trickle of sand, then three, join and swell into a rushing river.
“Run!”
Morran’s shout was almost lost beneath the growing rumble of the avalanche. Leena’s legs were like water after climbing over the shifting dune, but panic granted her renewed strength. She pelted forward, stumbling as the ground rippled beneath her feet. Morran grabbed her, shielding her with his body as the wave swept them forward. At some point, they fell, rolling and sliding until they finally hit solid ground again.
Leena scrambled to her feet, bruised and scraped but otherwise unhurt thanks to Morran’s embrace. The feel of his body wrapped around hers clung for a moment, both enticing and unwelcome. She shouldn’t want it—he wasn’t hers to keep—yet its loss left her bereft. The only saving grace was that there was no time to dwell on it.
Morran had lost his sword in the fall, and he cried out in relief when he found it half-buried a few yards away. He drew it out, a new look of defiance on his face. “Come on. We’re nearly there.”
He was right. The sand had carried them almost to the foot of the closest pyramid, as if the desert itself were gathering them close. The smooth stone edifice blotted out the low sun, leaving them in blessedly cooler shadows. They began to run again, closing the final distance—to what, Leena wasn’t sure. There was no door that she could see.
In a flash of green fire, Claw Hands was there. He swung his sorcerer’s crook sideways, blocking their path. Magic struck Leena in an invisible wall, the blow hard enough that she bit her tongue.
The Shade had finally caught them.
19
Morran raised his blade, but he couldn’t strike.
“I must congratulate you, Prince of Tymeera,” Claw Hands began. “I wondered at the value Juradoc placed on you, but now I see the attraction.