The Heart of Palms was an enchanted place, Heimar thought. The way the sunlight filtered through the high fronds, the wind sweeping down from the canopy of the thicker palms around it. "A place of powerful energy," Sir Kilhorn had called it. Their guide had brought them here the first time, now Sir Kilhorn led the way.
The rest of the men had envied those few who made the first trip. Heimar had been Sir Kilhorn's first choice, to his surprise. He expected to be left in command of the Ravens as they made the long grip to Giask via Irvington.
Instead he had saddled up alongside Sir Kilhorn, Rather and Tusk and Mama, who rode with another horse tied behind. The rest of the men were under command of Malkin, Heimar's second, who was given the captain's uniform and insignia to wear in his stead. The less questions, the better.
As the rest of the Ravens marched southeast to Nuas, Sir Kilhorn led them north through the trees of Kamade. Their sure-footed horses tread silently across the thick carpet of fallen leaves, their riders mindful of every muffled sound through the thick forest.
Half a day's ride brought them to the Dead Forest, the southern edge of the Palm Sea. Here the desert sands had invaded the forest, choking out the life therein. Broken and dessicated trunks stood like stakes pounded into the earth, their sharpened edges guarding the army of green behind.
And yet within sight was the beginning of a forest of another kind, a sea of green waves glimmering with the reflection of the sun. Sir Kilhorn circled his horse at a canter until a great column of dusty sand flew up. And soon another cloud of dust was seen, the slow-growing worm of a caravan making its way across the sands, leaving the cover of the palms.
The arrangement had already been made by the Udorian merchant-lord Fabri, and few words were needed for the transaction. The native merchant was given five horses in exchange for four camels. The camels were to be re-exchanged with his cousin in Vaal, who would provide them with four hardy riding horses to take them north.
The merchant also provided a young guide, himself mounted on a camel worthy of the best of the caravan guard. Silent, he led them under the edge of the Sea, motioning for them to cover their faces. Glances were exchanged, but Sir Kilhorn drew his scarf tight around his nose and mouth, and drew his hood down over his eyes without a word.
Heimar and Rather and Tusk followed his lead, and they would soon be glad they did. As they made their way into the sun-blotting shade of the Sea they heard it, a hollow roaring, growing before them. The wind plucked at their garments as the camels protested quietly beneath them.
The boy guide chattered at them in his language as they moved closer and closer to the roaring. Soon a hiss was heard all around them and beneath them. In the dim green-tinged light, Heimar could see just enough to know that the sand was shifting around the plodding feet of his camel. He fought against the surge of terror growing in his chest.
The boy's chatter turned to singing as the dark grew darker and the sand grew higher. Soon it was whipping about his ankles, and the roaring was all around. The camels grunted and groaned with fear, the boy's voice and its bright melody maddening in the terror surrounding them.
And just as it was at its worst, and the whipping sands reached his waist, hissing the promise of drowning on dust, the camels suddenly fell into file. And soon they were breaking through, and in the blinding glare of the sun Heimar could see that they were in a new place entirely.
