“Stay light on your talons,” Briola advised his partner. The Raider leader staggered a bit due to a hangover. Plecot was unaccustomed to physical exertion, but greedy enthusiasm and homesickness were all that was needed to turn this stay-at-home ruler into a rugged cross-land sprinter. The trip was several hundred falos long. Both rulers were silently wondering how long Plecot could keep it up when half their escort suddenly halted before them. “What is it,” Briola asked calmly. He knew his own kind would never stop without a good reason.

“Horns. I hear horns blasting,” one Raider replied.

All twelve travelers stood absolutely still in order to listen to whatever noise was carried upon the shrill wind, above and behind the constant whooshing of gritty sand. Sure enough, faint but unquestionable long bursts from horns were there in the distance ahead of them.

“Rensk is under attack,” Plecot shouted. Covera be damned. Panic-struck, he flew past the Raiders and into the sandy mist. “Jillani, my treasure—”

“Wait. Get back here, you old fool,” Briola bellowed. There was no reply. He and his Raiders had no choice but to run after him. To get lost out in the open of Northern Theor meant certain death. Running, he felt, was the wrong way to respond to an alarm signal anyway, for by the time they reached the gathering they would be too exhausted to deal with any emergency. Briola knew that his pampered partner had no survival skills, or any real sense of how unforgiving this vast desert was. He and his Raiders were quite at home with it, thrived upon it in fact, and used the wind and sand to their own advantage. Always. “Call to him,” he instructed his subordinates. “Plecot…..wait…..come back—”

Plecot chose to run toward the sound of his fortress’ horns, and to ignore the urgings of his travel companions.

With the protective barricade of the ruins far behind them, the rebel army forged on to Rensk. The largest assembly of refugees ever seen before was on the last leg of their historic journey to what would become a new existence for them. Eventually, one that would be free from Raiders and the threat they posed to their daily lives. Each flank within the assembly scanned the landscape for signs of Raiders, or small gatherings. Their combined hesitance and eagerness blended into a pungent body odor, collar feathers deepened in color and talons clicked nervously.

“Look there,” someone cried out.

"Where?"

“Up,” came the reply. Visibility was too poor to tell where anyone was pointing.

The rebel army stopped as one knitted body and looked up. The enormous Flyers from Rensk had returned, only they were more numerous and aggressive than before. The trainers easily spotted the cluster of dark travel cloaks. They tried to discourage the invasion force’s advancement by swooping low in front of them and along their flanks. Ray planted a firm talon on Weann’s shoulder and forced her down to her knees and under his cloak. Two Flyers swiftly managed to divide and drive off the rear portion of the flock from the main body.

“Hold your ground,” Ray ordered. The rebels nearest to him obeyed, but intermittent sand waves took turns exposing and suffocating them. Self-defense prompted the rebels to employ their poisoned-barb spears against the guardians of Rensk -- not something Ray had planned for them to be used as. Luckily the spears managed to miss their elusive targets, though it was a gallant effort. Some of the female rebels began screaming. Mutual fear produced a new aroma throughout the assembly. Ray felt compelled to order a retreat. “Get up,” he told Weann. “Retreat everyone,” he shouted in hopes that a reversal of direction would help the severed flock to regroup, as well as get the Flyers to ease off on their attack. "I need to somehow communicate to them that we're not their enemies," he said.

"That seems unlikely without them actually landing," Weann replied.

Three of the rebels struck a Flyer with barbs just then. Soon after the drugged beast careened into a dune while attempting to head home. Ray could only imagine that the trainer aloft was killed in the crash. This encounter was getting seriously out of hand.

He realized only then that he and Weann got separated during the retreat. He could barely hear her muffled advice through the chaos. Of course, the noise from all the commotion could be used for his foremost objective if he could just get everyone to stop shouting. When the main body rejoined their rear flank there was a sense of relief. He ordered them all to stop running and to be silent. “Put down your weapons and listen to me,” he shouted. “They are only defending their home from an invasion. Do you hear those horns blasting? The alarm signal has been sounded at Rensk. Now I want you all to yell the name Plecot as loud as you can on my count of three. Ready? One, two, three, Plecot." They obeyed. "Good. Again—one, two, three, Plecot. Again—”

The rebels shouted, “Plecot,” over and over in unison and at even intervals in between the horns.

As Weann and Ray expected, the trainers who could hear them broke off their attack at the sound of their leader’s name being cried out from a band of strangers.

The Flyers circled above. Only one moved in for a closer look. It was Bok, the head guard. He peered down at the flock with heated curiosity. He flew low enough for any one of the rebels to get off a clean shot at his Flyer’s underbelly, but he was braver than most, and no one appeared to raise their weapon to him.

Ray could see his face clearly when there were no sand waves passing by. “Stop shouting now,” he ordered to his army.

The rebels fell suddenly silent and waited to see what would happen next.

“Come down here,” Ray hollered to Bok in an agitated voice.

“Why should I, dirt clansman?” Bok replied.

“We need to talk,” Ray stated with less venom. “Could you please come down?”

“First, tell me who you are,” Bok asked while circling just above the heads of what he observed to be a large cluster of mixed species, an unheard of assortment.

“I am Ray, son of Plecot…and leader of the Refugee Force of Gulldune. Now please land your Flyer so we can talk.”

Bok nearly fell out of his saddle at the notion that Plecot’s son was still alive, not dead as Briola had reported. He also found it hard to fathom that mere dirt clan refuse from Gulldune could have actually made a journey south without Raider intervention. “You’re lying,” he decided.

Ray expected as much. “No, it’s true. I really am Ray, brother to Frimmy, Ert, and Umber…and Jillani too.” He nearly forgot to mention his baby sister. “I don’t know if my father sired any more offspring after Briola took me away.” This he added to help fill in any more holes in his statement. His neck was getting sore from craning and turning around in order to follow Bok’s flight pattern.

“Jillani? She remains as Plecot’s sole living nobling,” Bok stated as a matter of public knowledge.

Ray was pleased to hear that his sister was well, but he had more urgent concerns to address. The sand waves were choking and his followers were weary. “Could you please allow them to camp on the south wall of Rensk while we discuss this further?” he pleaded.

The reply was long in coming. Three wide loops later Bok shouted, “I am Bok, head guard of Rensk. It is my duty to protect Plecot’s clan alone. Why should I offer yours shelter?”

Ray was quick to say, “But I am part of Plecot’s clan. Surely his own son should be given shelter. My followers should be treated the same.”

Bok flew alongside each of the other Flyers and ordered them to barricade the south gate of Rensk and to have other guards join them outside the wall. Then he swooped back down to where Ray was and gave his tentative consent for the refugees to wait out Ray’s interrogation freed from the sand waves. Ray alone was to meet him at the west gate.

Ray agreed to Bok’s terms and left Weann in charge of the army. “If they make trouble for you, get one of the males to deal with them. Don’t let them know that you’re in command. In fact, keep completely covered so they can’t even see you—”

“I love you too,” Weann stated. “We’ll try not to camp too close to the wall, but we need to get out of this awful wind and to take water—”

“No, don’t make camp yet. Erect perimeter wind shields only. Pass out water and whatever food is left. Keep them calm. I love you,” he said before instructing the army to move out.

Jillani made several more attempts to contact her brother and by the sixth try she succeeded. This time she did not have nearly as far to dream fly before reaching the migrating flock she had previously found behind some old ruins. Ray was beside the beautiful female again. They were speaking as they walked then they kissed each other goodbye. The female moved off with the flock while Ray went on alone.

Alone!

Jillani must have lurched within her bath just then, because she felt the cold hard sides of the tub against her skin, even though her mind was in the desert. She had to concentrate harder to stay in the scene as an invisible presence. The rodent she disguised herself as earlier had interjected its own instinctive fears and desires into her mind -- that form was too unstable. She wanted Ray to stop, or turn around. Traveling alone was dangerous. She wished she could appear as herself before him the way she had with Gad, the shepherd boy of Covera, then she could speak directly to him. But her dream travel skills were still too new for her to manipulate so readily. She decided to follow him as a shadow would. He could not have been far from Rensk anyway.

The alarm had been sounded on the rooftop of Rensk. Jillani could hear the horns echo through the corridors and filter down through the cracks in the walls. She knew that several guards were posted outside her locked chamber door. Two or three would be with Huldergas on the leisure deck. Huldergas, the bastard. Her bath water smelt of blood thanks to him. She did not dare look down at it for fear of losing her dream. Instead, she slowly reached one talon over the side of the tub, eyes shut, and grabbed for her jug of potion. One gulp sent her soaring above the horns and foul odor.

She drifted amid sand waves for what seemed like a long time. Nothing was out there, so she flew in a different direction. A single figure soon appeared through the haze. Ray was already at the west gate. And that was not all. Bok was there with him, his Flyer staked down to a ring anchored in one of the foundation blocks. The two males spoke, but Jillani could not hear what was being said. She made a quick mental note: learn how to read lips. The males circled each other cautiously during their dialogue. Both possessed weapons, but Bok was larger than Ray.

Jillani lingered above the ground near the gate, wondering if she should do something, wondering if she could do something even if she wanted to. She felt the wind fan out her headdress. Just then the surface behind her fell away. She urged her dream self to turn. She spun around to witness the tall gate opening all by itself. It was not supposed to do that. Each city gate required at least four males to swing them open. She peered into the dimly lit entrance. She looked hard, but there were no guards on duty at the west gate. She wondered why there were no guards posted and how the gate opened. The only explanation was that her mind opened the gate. She longed to see her brother, and Bok was preventing her from doing that. The gate needed to open. A warm feeling of power washed over her body. Control worked best whenever she focused her thoughts on each task. Advanced skills were not so difficult after all. It was both a thrilling and concerning revelation.

Of course, Ray and Bok also noticed the mysterious opening of the gate. Bok called out to his guards, but no one answered him. "Who is there?" he demanded again.

Only the disembodied voice of Jillani was there whispering her brother's name.

Both males backed out of the entranceway. Instinctively, their neck feathers turned bright red. They saw no one in the west corridor. Ray bristled with the cold and damp feeling that accompanied impending doom. He called to his sister.

"Come inside the gate," she said from nowhere and yet everywhere. "Huldergas awaits your blade on father's deck. I want you to kill him."

"What trickery is this?"

"I can't see her. And who is Huldergas?" Ray searched the area.

When Bok attempted to follow him, he was stopped by an invisible force. "Huldergas? He is ruler of Covera, the son of Teshny . . . grandson of Zari--"

"Covera? Why should my sister want their ruler dead?"

"I honestly don't know, son of Plecot," Bok replied.

"So I have passed your interrogation. Good. Are you coming with me, or not? I must find Jillani. She is in trouble."

"No, I can't go with you. I am unable to move," Bok admitted, disliking his sudden vulnerability against the younger male. Then he watched in awe as the enormous gate slammed shut in his face, even though no guards were present to push it. Freed from whatever force held onto him, Bok quickly mounted his Flyer and flew to the south gate, convinced that the long absent Ray had brought a magician home with him.

Plecot followed the steady blast of horns through the haze. As long as they grew loader he was confident to head in the right direction. Briola and his men were not long on is heals. Rensk's southern wall was not far before him. The sand waves were higher at his sides than they were straight ahead. The fortress wall was high enough and wide enough to shield the southern passage.

As the waves diminished it became apparent why the alarm was sounded. Several hundred dirt clansmen had assembled outside the gate. Flyers were landed, tethered to rings. The royal guard formed a tight line of defense along the wall. Plecot stopped running. He had never seen so many filthy beggars on his doorstep all at once.

Briola and his Raiders caught up with Plecot. "Why aren't they attacking?"

"I think they're refugees," Plecot replied.

"Nonsense, there are no gatherings anywhere with that many low life dirt eaters."

Just then a Flyer appeared from around the west wall. It was Bok. He circled over Ray's followers several times before noticing the figures off to the south. Nothing of importance was going on in the camp, so he flew toward the new arrivals. Plecot waved for his head guard to land. Bok was pleased to see that his leader had return safely. He set his beast down and secured its blindfold before dismounting, since there was no place to tie it down.

"Give me your report," Plecot said.

Bok bowed low in greeting to Plecot. "This clan of mixed mystriants was spotted traveling from the east. We flew out to meet them. One of my trainers was killed--"

"Those animals are armed with weapons?" Briola barked.

"Yes, but they're not skilled warriors. They are refugees from Gulldune. And they brought females with them. I have allowed them to make camp outside the gate--"

"Gulldune? But why have you given them shelter?" Plecot asked.

"Because their leader requested I do so while he and I discussed their purpose for coming."

"Who is this leader of dirt eaters and where is he now?" Briola snarled.

"He is Ray, son of Plecot," Bok replied. "The one you claimed died in a fire during a raid at Fleet's gathering."

"What?" Plecot lost all feeling in his talons just then. "Ray . . . is alive?" He turned to Briola. "Can this be true?"

"Of course not," Briola assured the older male. "I saw a fiery dwelling collapse right on top of him."

Plecot shook his thinning headdress plumage with a fury. Talons clicking, he began to walk away from his business partner. He headed straight for the south gate undeterred by the visitors. "Explain yourself," he demanded over one shoulder.

Bok went to his leader's side then and whispered something urgent in his ear.

"Wait," Briola pleaded. "I can't go up there. My Raiders are too few to protect me from attack. Can't we discuss this here and now? Come back!"

Plecot smelt Briola's fear for the first time. He was near enough to Rensk for his guards to spot him. He made several wide gestures with his upper limbs that urged four trainers to fly out to greet him. They landed only briefly to receive their orders. As Plecot continued walking toward the gate, his mounted guards made their beasts run straight at the Raiders.

Meanwhile, Bok had mounted his own Flyer and brought it up behind Briola.

The Raiders hissed at the oncoming stampede of wings and claws.

Briola turned to Bok. "Wait--"

"You murdering bastard. You killed Plecot's three oldest sons? You enslaved his youngest son. And you've dared to suggest a marriage with Jillani? Prepare to be buried in the desert you love so well."

Briola managed to dodge the first strike made on him by Bok. He secreted enough omel to send the 'Raider in distress' call on the south bound wind toward the division at the caves. All those stationed there would smell the familiar message over the cloud of burning jupe and come to his aid. "It was all Plecot's idea," he insisted. "His sons opposed a treaty between our two clans. Your kind never stood a chance of surviving without a partnership. Only my Raiders can catch wild flyers. You know that. Plecot wanted his noblings out of the way, all save Jillani."

"You lie," Bok decided. He took another pass at the fat Raider leader.

"Wait. What will you do for new Flyers once I'm dead and our clans are at war once again? Flyers won't breed in captivity--"

Bok made a third pass at Briola that knocked him to the ground.

Briola sat up. His head was bleeding. The gash was made worse by the course sand. He saw that his Raiders were all killed. A cloud of feathers and sand settled over their torn bodies. He awaited death in silence.

Ray was unsure whether to head for the leisure deck, Jillani's chambers, or to go to the south gate without an escort.

Jillani managed to slip past the guards at her door. She came running up to him just then. "Ray, you're back. I never truly believed you were dead." She held out her tiny limbs expecting an embrace.

Instead, Ray hissed at the bewitched nobling and stamped his talons in dismay. "What have you been up to, sister? Who has taught you how to be in more than one place at one time?"

She replied proudly, "I taught myself, brother. The dymes are the key--"

"Don't you realize Bok may order his guards to harm my followers and the one who would be my mate?."

Jillani had forgotten all about the flock Ray traveled with. "Do forgive me, Ray. I only wanted you safely inside the gathering. We should go to the south gate at once, of course. Your mate is quite beautiful."

Ray followed his sister through the corridors. "But you haven't met Weann yet," He stated.

"Her name is Weann? How pretty. I saw your rafts floating down the coast in a dream. Later I saw the ruins you camped behind. I saw you and Weann," Jillani bragged. "When I found you with Bok I was afraid he would send you away, so my mind opened the gate."

Ray studied Jillani's youthful exterior. She was little more than a hatchling when he last saw her. Never had he heard of such abilities. The potentials were staggering. "Who else knows about you?"

"No one else knows . . . well, now Bok knows. Did you see his face? He was amazed."

Ray stopped Jillani long enough for a brotherly hug. She smiled up at him. He thought her face had matured greatly in only eight seasons. "First, you achieve flight for a flightless species. Then you find a way to move objects, very large objects. We need to talk. By the way, why did you ask me to kill Huldergas? It seems to me that if you really wanted someone dead you could do it yourself."

Jillani had to consider her future prospects. Covera was a rich land. She would make Huldergas honor his proposal, or kill the arrogant brute from beneath the coverlet of her cage like the clever fidgero. "That was wrong of me. He mentioned something earlier that upset me. He spoke of marriage. I did not know what to say what with father being away--"

"Surely he knows you're too young to mate."

"Too young. I told him as much." Jillani quickly buried her thoughts about the rape.

"Plecot isn't here? Where else could he possibly be? At the mines?"

"Oh, father and Briola had business elsewhere--"

"Briola! You're joking. Raiders have always been our enemies."

"Not since father and Briola formed the treaty."

Ray felt cold. "When was that?"

Jillani had to think. She could barely recall the days when her clan feared Raiders. "Shortly after the time you left home to stay with Briola. He had just saved you from the dirt clansmen who killed Ert, Umber and Frimmy. The Raiders offered us protection and to catch wild flyers--"

"Protection? It was Raiders who killed our brothers, not clansmen," Ray stated bluntly. "I remember it well. They wore disguises so the guards inside Rensk would accuse the clansmen wrongfully. I was knocked unconscious and handed over to Briola, who first made me his slave and then a Raider, or so he thought. I escaped his clutches, formed an army in Gulldune, and plan on hunting down every last Raider there is. We'll not rest until they're wiped out."

Jillani stopped just short of the south gate. "What you say cannot be true."

"Oh but it is true, and when I get my hands on Briola again it'll be to clamp shackles to his ankles. The attack was staged. Briola wanted Plecot's heirs out of the way and to appear as the hero. What does he get out of all this?"

Jillani felt sick inside. "Raiders are only interested in acquiring omel."

"Oh, I see." Ray knew what omel was used for. But he never realized where the root came from, or what price it came at until just then.

Six guards stood inside the closed gate at the south entrance. Others lingered in the corridor awaiting orders from Bok.

Jillani composed herself and asked if she could leave the gathering with her brother.

Her request took all the males by surprise. Weapons were drawn at the sight of a stranger inside the fortress and with Plecot's nobling.

"Hold," Jillani ordered them. "You will open he gate for us now. We must see what is happening in the camp."

One of the older guards recognized Ray. "So, you're the one who's stirred up all this commotion. Once an imp, now a full grown trouble maker. It is good to see you again, Ray, although I don't know how it's possible. We were told you died."

"Tumee, my old shadow. You look well," Ray said. "I realize this is awkward, but is there any chance of me rejoining my followers? Bok and I were . . . separated at the west gate. It's hard to explain--"

"You can come through the security tunnel with me, but Jillani must remain here." Tumee was once a personal guard to Ray and his three brothers. He felt partly responsible for their deaths, although the youths frequently slipped out of the fortress against their father's orders.

Ray asked his high-spirited sister to be patient. She could watch things through one of the upper landing windows. "I will be right back."

Jillani frowned. "You said that to me eight years ago and at this same gate." She had missed him. Now she needed a big brother more than ever.

Ray hugged her warmly before going with Tumee. He cautioned her to keep what was said between them to herself.

The guards moved aside for the old one and the stranger.

"This is Ray, son of Plecot. Bow to him," Tumee commanded.

"That isn't really necessary," Ray muttered.

The guards bowed low to their clan leader's offspring. A stone in the floor was unlocked and lifted to reveal a darkened staircase. The two males descended the steps after their torch bearer and detachment of guards. The lower passageway led to a revolving block in the outer wall.

Once outside there were three columns of guards posted along the foundation stones. Tumee ordered a break in the line. His subordinates obeyed and parted just wide enough to allow this new detachment to pass through single file. Ray saw Flyers beside and above the rebel camp, but did not see Bok, or his beast.

Weann was distributing water when she was told of Ray's arrival. She saw him standing with an older male near the gate, whom she assumed was Plecot. Ray had told her not to let the guards see her, so she continued with her task, watching from a distance. The army had settled quietly behind the wall. Their camp formed a circle with females kept in the center. Weann alone stood among them in order to pour liquid from a skin. She covered her head and body with her travel cloak.

Jillani climbed to the upper landing where spectators were not allowed, since the south passage was barricaded at the far end. Outside were hundreds of refugees, squatting and squawking. Jillani wanted to see what was happening. She removed a small flask of potion from a pouch, drank it all in one long gulp and waited.

Its affects were felt almost immediately. The window she stood by had a narrow ledge under it. She imagined herself standing on it for only a moment before soaring out over the dusty crowd. Something came at her swiftly from the right. It was Bok on his Flyer. They did not see her. Bok circled the assembly then flew off. Jillani followed. She saw a dozen figures running toward Rensk. Her father was in the lead with Briola close behind. When Bok landed his beast, Jillani hovered close enough to smell his sweat. That was the first time she recalled sensing an odor while in a dream flight. The stench of burning jupe was with her body back on the landing.

Plecot, Briola and Bok all spoke. Jillani tried to listen, but could not hear a word; not until Bok whispered in his leader's ear. "Your son is back. Ray is back. He claims to have been an abused slave of Briola all these years. And there is more--"

"That is more than enough for me. Kill them," Plecot commanded.

Jillani strained to remain in the scene. Her excitement at being able to smell and now to hear had to be muffled, or she would lose control. Plecot walked away from the Raiders and headed for home. He stood tall and unafraid of the flock gathered before him. Jillani was stunned by his order to Bok and by his unusually courage. Her emotions took her away from the moment. Raider musk filled the air. She was pulled back to the landing just as Briola was heard pleading for his life. He mentioned the murder of her brothers. He swore it was her father's idea.

"No!" Jillani screamed. "I cannot believe that. I won't believe it." The walls and stairs spun all around her as she struggled within the dream. She wanted to know everything that was said, to fly back to the males, or to Ray. The five storms she had predicted were colliding. Confusion and anger clipped her narcotic wings. She collapsed onto the floor.

Huldergas felt he had waited long enough for Bok to return to the leisure deck. He toyed with the idea of flying home without having seen Plecot until the alarm was sounded. A young servant had provided him with refreshments and stimulating conversation. She combed his brightly colored feathers and sprinkled dyme dust along their shafts. He thought her looks were fair on their own, but dull as dirt by comparison to Plecot's nobling.

Jillani was going to become his beauty just as soon as he could offer her father greater riches than what he was already receiving from Covera. Since no inhabitant of Rensk, or of all Northern Theor for that matter, had ever traveled for any distance into his territory, it was easy to lie about what he had there. The Flyers were made to land at an outpost near the base of the mountain, far from his fortress and true wealth. Plecot was satisfied with a few crops that his clan could not grow and with fabric they could not weave. And Raiders just wanted huge quantities of omel, a foul tasting tuber. The best things were still unseen.

Huldergas had hoped that a large gemstone would be found in the mines. Sacks of dyme dust could be easily flown to him, but anything too heavy for Flyers to carry would have to be hauled overland, over the Kumil mountain range. He would need to offer something special in exchange for such a treasure and for the inconvenience of its delivery. Dymes were the one thing the pretty prince could not find back home. Their luster made them of great value to a species that prided itself on beauty. An exceptionally large dyme would be considered priceless.

His daydream was interrupted by a soft groan at his feet. The servant was on her back, hips slowly swaying. Huldergas smiled down at the shameless whore, striving so hard to please him. He finished off his glass of ale, loosened his regal garments for a second time and mounted her.

Fidgeros sang to the rhythm of sex and the steady blast of horns.

. . . to be continued . . .