We stood atop the peak of the nearest dune in the late morning sun. I scanned the horizon for raiders. Aside from the wind, all was silent. No sign of them. Raiders were, in fact, rare. Life in the Red Sand Sea was too difficult for all but the most desperate. The size of the Sea, and the need to stick to our mountains for water pushed them close to us in Heliqar, where my father, King Nadim, was diligent about finding them and giving them employment they could be proud of, even if it was just in the prison yard for the most incorrigible.
The closer we got to the wagon, the more my shoulders sagged. Rust colored blood stained the ornate Qulomban paint. Whoever had decorated the wagon had been an artist, but the trip had been long and the wear showed. Two of the wooden wheels were broken. Others were mismatched. Two were narrow, unsuitable for the Red Sand Sea. It hadn't been an easy trip.
Bastien's jaw tensed, but he gave the truncated, reluctant nod of a man following a flawed order. "My prince, I fear we wasted our time," Bastien warned, his eyes scanning the ridgelines for threats that had to be long gone.
Of course I ignored his warning. As my parents taught me, visitors to Heliqar were its lifeblood. They were precious, not just because they brought revenue and talent to Heliqar, but because they were people.
With my hand on the hilt of my sword I pulled back the sheet of canvas covering the back of the wagon. The air reeked of iron-oxide and ammonia, signatures of blood and feces. They had not had time to dry entirely and be blown away by the wind.
Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw her. She was propped up against a crate. Her eyes closed, but her abdomen rose and fell gently, moving the blossom of partially dried red on her blouse.
"Bastien," I called, "Bring the medical kit. Quick."
I sheathed my sword and clambered into the wagon where the woman was. Elderly, female, abdominal perforation, high-volume fluid loss. She would be dangerously dehydrated. I pressed my canteen to her lips and her eyes opened.
"It's okay," I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. "We can get you out of here. Somewhere safe. Hang on."
"Too late for that," she rasped. She coughed, and a fresh bloom of red appeared at the corner of her mouth. Internal bleeding. Neither my Uncle Ishra who was a top notch physician, nor even Elias himself would be able to save her from this.
"No. Listen." Her skeletal hand grabbed mine, with the all the strength that those near death are said to muster. "I tried to get them to Nadim. To a just ruler who would make use of them. But he changed his mind. We were betrayed."
"What? Who? Who did this?" Me and my useless questions. What did it matter now what her story was?
She stared into my eyes with the intensity of the wind carving the stone. "You will have do," she whispered. "What is your name?"
"Elyan. I am son of King Nadim and Queen Aliya."
Her breaths became shallower and faster. She reached into a pocket in her skirt and pulled out two objects. I knew geology well. I would be able to identify any gem or mineral, any stone or rock. I didn't recognize these. They were unremarkable, aside from two aspects: The first was their shapes, like perfectly cut jewels. The second aspect was their substance, almost translucent, but not quite. The material was strange, unnatural. The twelve-sided dodecahedron was white. The thirteen-sided tridecahedron was black.
She pressed them, hard, into my hands. She closed my fingers over them with her own.
"Aiy hehr-biy bii-qwee zees stawnz tooo zee Elyan, son of Nadim, Prince of Heliq..."
I didn't understand the words, but I memorized the sounds. They were spoken in an ancient, guttural tongue I did not recognize, though my name and my father's name were clear. Once Heliqar was half spoken, her breath failed, her body trembled and she went limp.
In turn, my heart dropped and my knees buckled like a tent whose cords had been cut.
"My prince?" Bastien's voice came from outside. "Are you ok, my prince?"
I came out trembling. "She didn't make it, Bastien."
"Elyan." He grabbed my shoulder. "What happened?"
How could I explain? I shoved the stones into the pockets of my robes. "I don't know, Bastien. It's very strange."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. I'm fine. Just a little shaken."
"Look!" Bastien said, pointing at the horizon.
I looked. What had been a little thumbnail of a cloud was now a broad reddish-brown paint stroke.
"You're right, Bastien. We have to hurry. It's coming fast. And its going to be bad."