THE HINDRANESE WERE A NOMADIC PEOPLE. The vast expanse of shifting sands moved across the land like the waves of an incredibly slow-moving lake. The dunes swelled, crested, collapsed, and were swallowed by the plateau over weeks and even months. It was possible to get lost in the ever-changing landscape and even die.
The Hindranese studied the stars and the movements of the brightest ones across the heavens, creating crude hand-held sextants to plot the location and thus conquered the harsh land, taming it.
But to outsiders, the blistering landscape was a death trap. More than one invading army had been swallowed by the fierce sandstorms that came out of nowhere. They simply vanished without a trace. Decades later, one of the ancient battlefields or the remains of an army would suddenly surface, as the dunes moved once again, exposing the dried and shrunken corpses or the hollowed-out armour where scavengers had picked the bones clean.
Seraphina dug around the shining metal, scooping away the sand with a shovel. The fine grains slid back into the metal cavity as quickly as she could scoop it out, drawing a muttered curse from her lips. She shifted position and knelt over the object, using her legs to hold back the sand while she dug. With a grunt, she flung the shovel aside, grabbed it with both hands and pulled. Reluctantly, the desert gave up its prize. With a shout of glee, she pulled the helmet from its sandy grave. Perfectly preserved, it gleamed with hammered images of horses and chariots and drivers wearing chest plates and helmets just like this one. She turned it over in her hands, shaking the last bit of sand out of it and then slid it onto her head. It fit perfectly over her headdress and was surprisingly cool as it shaded her eyes.
She pushed herself to her feet and turned in a slow circle, looking for any other telltale signs of buried treasure. A dune away, her brother’s fat bottom could be seen sticking up in the air as he dug deep into the ground, looking like one of the pack dogs that shadowed their camp hunting for scraps or bones tossed aside by the caravan. Sand flew in all directions. With a cry, he pulled out a long object from the pit.
Dusting herself off, Seraphina grabbed up her pile of loot and headed over to his side, her baggy off-white breeches billowing in a sudden gust of hot wind. The sides were open, allowing heat to escape and any errant breeze to wick away sweat.
“What is that?” she said as she reached his side.
Sargon worked his way out of the hole, which was a trick seeing as he was headfirst deep into it. He wriggled across the sand pulling the object of his excitement with him as he backed away on his belly. For all that he was well padded, he moved surprisingly fast, especially when excited. With a last tug, he pulled the object free from the hole, and he sat back. A long pole of bronze rose from the pit about six feet in length, and on its crown was a standard. It was the standard of the Mithrates, the army whose corpses were responsible for the treasure trove uncovered by the shifting sands.
Seraphina gasped and touched the bronzed surface, brushing off the last of the embedded sand. About two feet across, the standard was carved in relief with figures similar to what was on her helmet, but below bronze loops dangled where she knew the pennants of the houses who had sworn troops to the campaign would have hung. The fabric was long gone, and she sighed wistfully. It would have been awesome to find something like that.
“That is amazing,” she said.
“This is the best! Wait till I show Father,” he crowed. As he went to stand, a crystal necklace swung out from under his robes then disappeared back into the folds. Regaining his feet, he stood up straight, holding the standard beside him. “How do I look?” He puffed out his chest, which did little to change his appearance. “Maybe with this, Father will let me go to battle next time.”
“I doubt it,” Seraphina grinned, imagining her ten-year-old brother on the back of one of the war camels. He didn’t have to worry about falling out of the saddle; his girth would surely wedge him between the dual humps.
“Well, I am going to go show him anyways.” His eyes shone with excitement, and he scooped up the rest of his prizes, stuffing them into a sack. “Are you coming back now? It must be noon, and I’m hungry.” His stomach growled audibly.
“I will be along shortly. I saw one more mound I want to check out. I will be right behind you.”
“Okay.” Sargon hauled the heavy sack onto his shoulder. Using his prized standard as a walking stick, he staggered off in the direction of lunch.
Seraphina headed toward a mound of sand through which an outcropping of rock could be seen. It glinted in the sun and the unusual sparkle was what drew her eye. Curiosity pulled her toward the spot that was set apart from the others. As she approached the rock, the sun shifted behind a cloud and the sparkle drained away dulling the rock.
Wait, there are no clouds in Hindra. She looked up to see what the possible cause of the shadow could be and cried out as a wild spotted camel came between her and the sun. The massive beasts were ten feet tall, and razor-sharp fangs curled past fleshy lips. They fluttered as a low rumble issued from camel’s throat, its lips curled back in a snarl and poison dripping from the fangs. It bellowed, and Seraphina flung herself over the rock, rolling down a steep embankment on the other side. The unexpected sand cliff dropped twenty feet of near vertical descent, and she tumbled head over heels down the stiffened sand, sliding to a halt against a second outcropping of rock.
The camel bellowed again from the ridge then snorted and trotted off, its mission accomplished.
Seraphina winced and rolled onto her back then tried to push herself up with her hands, but one wrist dangled uselessly from the end of her arm. Her lucky charm, the necklace she had worn around her neck since she was a baby, was hanging over one ear. A crystal heart dangled from a bale on the thick silver chain. The shock of the moment suspended, the pain flooded in with a roar that made her head spin.
“Ahh!” she cried, cradling her broken wrist in the crook of her arm, rocking with pain, shaking the necklace off her ear as she rocked.
Tears sprung in her eyes and dripped, tracking through dust-covered cheeks. She moaned aloud.
The sky darkened once more. Alarmed, she looked up, expecting a return of the enraged camel, but instead a creature dropped from the sky, broad wings flapping to slow its descent. Purple scales flashed in the sun, and Seraphina’s eyes widened with awe, the pain momentarily forgotten. The crooning dragon walked over to her, smoke puffing from its nostrils, but its eyes were kind and gentle. It lowered its head to Seraphina’s broken hand and breathed onto the limb. It tingled in her lap and warmed as though it rested in the spring sun and then the warmth faded. Amazed, Seraphina lifted her hand and moved it around. The dragon had healed the break.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and the dragon chuckled in the midst of its song of peace.
“You’re welcome,” said a voice from the back of the dragon. A figure leaned around the side of the dragon, grinning at her. “Come, it is time.” He reached out his hand in invitation.
Seraphina stood up then wandered over to the side of the dragon, her helmet clutched in her right hand and running her left hand across the soft scales. “Who are you?”
“Your destiny. Your future. You.”
Seraphina nodded and donned her helmet, then placed her left hand in his. He pulled her up behind him on the back of the dragon, and they launched skyward, swinging out over the sea.