Whirling figures moved into camp in groups of two and three. They had covered their faces with long red scarves. As he watched, they cut the harnesses off the sand caterpillars, and called to them in a language he did not recognize.

More shots. The figure nearest him collapsed onto the sand, clutching at his chest. Blood welled. The attacker wadded up the length of his turban—Rhys realized the scarves were simply the longer ends of their turbans, pulled over their faces—and tried to quell the blood.

With the face revealed, Rhys realized the attacker was a woman. Or perhaps a very young boy. Tall, dark haired, with reddish skin and broad features, she did not look Khairian at all.

“Rhys!” he looked up. Abhinava shot the struggling woman in the sand, this time in the head. She went still.

“Come!” Abhinava said, and held out his arm. “We need your pistols.”

Rhys ran after him.

More figures poured in from the desert. He had assumed the dozen were all they had, but a dozen more appeared every time their comrades were felled. Rhys took cover behind a cart with Abhinava and several other men. They had rounded up the others into just two carts.

“This is where we stand,” Abhinava said, as another wave came in from the desert.

Rhys aimed to incapacitate the women, taking them each in the legs, with a preference for the knee, when he could manage it. He had not killed a man in a long time, and he preferred to keep it that way.

“What are they coming for?” Rhys asked. He saw more sand caterpillars reticulating out across the desert.

“They want the goods,” Abhinava said, “and the caterpillars.”

“Let them have them!”

“Are you mad?”

Rhys wondered why these people objected to the caravans so strongly. Wouldn’t they appreciate trade and commerce in this blasted wasteland?

The smell of smoke pulled his attention from the raiders. He looked back and saw that the nearest cart was on fire.

Rhys broke away from the others, running across the sand. He saw more carts on fire, spewing smoke into the cool night air. He coughed and choked as he rolled down to the other side of camp. When he looked up, one of the desert women stood over him, serrated blade raised.

He fired.

She dropped.

Rhys scrambled to his feet. He saw a single sand caterpillar squirming at the edge of camp, its tawny, nearly hairless skin blending easily into sand. It was hitched to a small chariot used by the caravan leader.