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AT LAST, a cool breeze flicked at Thami’s hair. The merciless afternoon sun was finally giving way to cooler evening shadows. Despite the blisters on his feet and the sand plastered to his cheeks, it was time to start walking again. With a reluctant groan, Thami pushed himself into a seated position. He shook his head and wiped his mouth. He hadn’t slept well, but he had slept more than he had in the four previous days combined. Sheer exhaustion had finally won the battle with his nerves.

Thami peeked through the gap in the rock formation he’d wormed his way into as the sun had risen earlier that day. He’d taken Commander Zahir’s advice and had only traveled at night, trying to escape the Ta’Gengan’s oppressive heat. The strategy had helped some. But he’d also rationed his food and water, and the combination of little food and lots of sweat had probably withered away ten pounds of his flesh. Thami swallowed, trying to clear his parched throat, but with little success. So, he pulled out his second canteen of water and took a sip.

The second canteen was also his last canteen. If he didn’t find anything tonight, he’d have to turn back and hopefully reach camp before the rest of his supplies ran out. But there was no guarantee he’d be able to do that. He had tried to orient himself to the rising and setting sun every morning and evening. At night, he had tried to keep the Traveller’s Star to his left. But thick black clouds had frequently covered the skies, obscuring his vision of the sun and stars. The towering clouds were clearly ladened with water, but the rain never came, and Thami doubted it ever would. And, on those rare occasions that the sky was clear, the winds would pick up and drive blinding dust storms across the packed, cracked earth.

Such conditions had often proved disorienting, and more than once since he’d left camp, Thami had found himself turned around, heading west or south or north instead of east. By now, he should have been near the opposite side of the Ta’Gengan’s hundred-mile width, but he wondered if he had even made it halfway across.

While troublesome, the clouds and dust were far from the only disturbing facets of the Ta’Gengan Wastes. Thami had never experienced such a dismal sense of emptiness. Even after his mother had died. Even after he had learned his father would never return home again. Here in the Ta’Gengan, nothing stirred but the shifting sands. There was absolutely no sign of life. No animals. No insects. No trees. Not even a blade of scrub grass grew here. Only three things made sound here: the whistle of the never-ending wind, the hiss of sand scraping over sand, and the swish of Thami’s movements.

The entire region also had an ominous odor to it. A metallic, coppery scent reminiscent of blood. Thami wasn’t sure which was worse—what wasn’t here or what was. But if he wanted to get out of this horrific place, as well as the mess he’d made of his life, he needed to press on.

Press on, he said to himself, hopping to his feet and squeezing through the small gap between the boulders of his makeshift shelter. Once free of the cramped space, he reached his hands overhead, trying to stretch the kinked muscles in his back. Four days of fitful sleep on rocky beds undoubtedly added to the toll on his body.

Thami rolled his head from side to side, located the setting sun, and turned to face the opposite direction. Due East, Zahir had said. All reports say the enemy is due east. Keep heading that way, and you’ll find them eventually. 

How long is eventually? Thami wondered, kicking at a pebble. 

Too long. 

His stomach growled its agreement, so Thami dug through his pack and broke off a small crust of stale bread. He took a second small sip of water and stared at his canteen.

I tried, Father, Thami thought. I tried to make you proud. But it looks like I’ve failed you yet again. One more night, and I’m done. But I’m not returning a failure. I’m heading north. Hopefully, I’ll find a Numerian outpost. I’ll tell them what I know of Tafilat’s army. Embellish it a little with a story or two in exchange for a fresh start. A new life. Maybe I’ll be a traitor, but better a free traitor than a loyal soldier rotting in prison.

His plan decided, Thami put his head down and started walking away from the sun and chasing his shadow. He picked his way across the rough terrain, constantly fighting the urge to turn north. One more night, he repeated to himself. One more night.

Hours later, after the sun had long set and the Ta’Gengan had become blindingly black, he felt the land beneath him slant upward. He strained to focus—stretching his eyes wide open then squeezing them into slits—trying to discern what awaited him in the distance. But the darkness remained impenetrable, forcing him to carefully pick his path more by feel than sight. He groped through scree and over boulders until there was no denying that he was working his way up a significant rock structure. What had likely been a mountaintop in the days of the old gods.

With each step, the slope beneath him angled steeper, and Thami soon found himself climbing instead of walking. And when he lost his grip on a handhold, a surge of panic shook him. He only slid a few feet, but that was enough to make him stop, wedge himself between two boulders, and let his racing heart slow down.

Thami sighed, wishing for the thousandth time he could see better. Had he already climbed so high that his fall would be deadly? The morbid thought made him reconsider his options. Maybe he should give up now instead of tomorrow. He couldn’t tell how much further he had left to climb, and each upward movement surely made his predicament more dire. But to head back down was probably just as dangerous. To retreat was also to admit failure. From there, there was only one option left—to take the traitor’s route and travel north.

Not yet, Thami thought. But if this leads nowhere, I’ll rest for a bit at the summit. During twilight, I’ll climb down and head to Numeria.

Jaws clenched, Thami continued up the cliffside. Minutes later…or maybe hours…he finally reached level ground. Exhausted, he lay on his back and stared into the pitch-black sky while he rubbed at his knotted muscles. He closed his eyes and wondered at the stupidity of his climb. He’d risked his life, and for what? What had he accomplished? Nothing. All he could do now was close his eyes and sleep. He’d descend the outcropping in the predawn light and quit this lunacy.

Thami sucked in a deep breath, resigned to his fate. But as he tried to get comfortable on his rocky bed, he caught a faint, unexpected sound beneath the shuffling of his clothes and his labored breathing.

Voices. Human voices behind him.

A shiver slid down Thami’s neck. How long had it been since he had heard anything other than the whistling wind? Maybe he was imagining the sounds. He rolled to his stomach, held every muscle still, and even stopped breathing. To his disappointment, absolute silence greeted him.

His disappointment surprised him. Did he actually want to find the enemy? What sort of foolishness was that? 

Annoyed with himself, he started to roll onto his back, only to freeze when he heard a chorus of laughter. Distant but unmistakable. He dropped back to his stomach and slowly pulled himself toward the sound. As he shimmied along the ground, a glowing horizontal line flickered in the distance. The voices grew louder, and the glow intensified the further he moved until, at last, he crested the rounded clifftop, exposing a valley on the other side.

Thami blinked then stared wide-eyed, astounded by what he saw. Tent after tent glowed beneath him. Blazing campfires dotted the landscape, and many were surrounded by soldiers. His astonishment, though, quickly shifted to trepidation. He’d never seen so many enemy soldiers, and each of them would likely kill him before bothering to ask questions. Already low to the ground, Thami tried to sink deeper, but the rock was unyielding. So, before he knew it, his tremulous body had slid backward the length of a coffin.

Stop it, he thought. Quit being a coward and do what you came here to do.

Chest tight, Thami inched forward again, determined to learn what he could. From there, he could devise a plan. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he assessed his location. The valley seemed to be surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped outcropping, and he lay on top of the northwestern ridge. On the far side of the camp, an enormous domed structure poked out of the sands and shimmered with the light of the soldiers’ camp. But what voices he heard remained incomprehensible.

If he wanted to complete his mission, he’d have to get closer. Try to eavesdrop on enemy conversations tonight and gather what information he could. Then find a place to hide that let him spy on the Tutrumese during the day to learn whatever he could. And while he watched, he would devise a strategy for tomorrow night when he could steal the proof Commander Zahir needed.

Plan set, Thami scanned the valley directly below him and found the closest campfire. If he could pick his way down the cliff and hide in the shadows, maybe he could learn something from the enemy soldiers gathered there.

Nodding, Thami crept forward, moving with the stealth of a serpent stalking its prey. He focused on the campfire for any sign that the enemy had sensed his presence. But the group gathered around the fire remained engaged in loud but still unintelligible conversation. He had to get even closer. Frustrated, he reached out, looking to pull himself along the coarse clifftop. But, to his horror, his left hand only found air. His left shoulder dropped into a void. His left knee scraped across the gravel beneath him while his right hand flailed about, looking for an edge or protrusion, something to stop his descent.

But he found nothing.

Cold dread punched him in the stomach as gravity grabbed his shoulders and pulled him downward.

Thami tumbled head over heels down the cliff. Sometimes, he was completely airborne. Other times, he bounced from boulder to boulder with bruising thumps. Fortunately, the journey was brief, and he soon came to a sliding stop in a wash of gravel.

I’m still alive, he thought, trying to calm his hammering heart. Somehow, I am still alive.

Dazed and nauseated, he pushed himself to his knees. Despite the sharp pains that coursed through his battered body, he smiled. So far, so good. He ached, his scrapes stung, but nothing seemed broken.

Thami shook his head, amazed at his good fortune. He didn’t deserve it, but he’d take it. Relieved, he stood and dusted off his clothes.

“Move again,” a voice hissed behind him. “And you will be done moving forever.”