Hearing it aloud finally forced a crack in Raza’s imperiousness. A pained expression crossed Giza’s face as he listened to his king’s voice become thick with emotion.

“Patra, do not suppose that my heart is not broken as well. I loved Everson as much as you,” he admonished her. “But I will not be alone in this responsibility. You agreed that the boy needed the discipline of the military.”

“I never agreed!” Patra screamed. “I simply stayed silent. And that is my shame.”

There it was, simply put. The shame. Commander Giza understood Queen Patra all too well. A knife turned in his heart as he was reminded again of his own complicity in this disastrous decision. He watched, helpless, as Patra hurried from the council chamber. Giza knew her as a queen, but now he saw her as a mother, perhaps for the first time, and, as such, he knew that she could never forgive him.

Giza looked at his oldest friend, King Raza, left alone in the spacious chamber. Stillness now reigned except for the shimmering shards of rainbow light that gently floated in the air as if set adrift by the stormy exit of the queen. After a moment, King Raza’s shoulders slumped forward, the life seeming to drain from him. A moment more and he began to shake as rasping sobs consumed him.

Finally, Giza turned away, disgusted with himself for trespassing on another man’s private pain. It was a hard truth to accept but, as Commander Giza walked away, his own eyes beginning to burn, he realized that there was nothing he could ever do to make this right.

* * *

Prince Everson dropped to the ground like a dead man, almost burying his chin in the soft sand of the rise that now concealed him. He had long ago lost track of time, and the blazing suns had nearly incinerated all his hope, but he still had enough sense not to run, arms waving, toward the first sign of salvation he encountered. The conflict between Indira and Mano was not renowned for taking prisoners.

With apprehension, he eyed the caravan of what seemed to be massive construction vehicles in the near distance as they rumbled across the desolate desert terrain. Whatever they were doing, wherever they were going, there was more than likely going to be food at their destination. His hydreeds provided relief from his thirst, but the fibrous meat was less than filling, and the effects passed quickly. If he waited much longer, the caravan would be gone, leaving nothing behind but tracks and one famished Indiran prince.

Moments later, Everson was sprinting for all he was worth, closing on the last vehicle in line. The gargantuan tires of the truck kicked up a wall of sand and rock into which Everson ran headlong. He threw up his arms to block the punishing, pelting spray, but they offered little protection. Sand seeped into his mouth despite his gritted teeth. He pumped his legs with determination, groping blindly before him until his hand finally fell on rough metal. With a mighty lunge, Everson pulled himself aboard the bed of the moving truck.