CHAPTER 390: 390: THE SAND THAT HEARD A CRY PART FOUR

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"You go," the second hissed back. "Do not put your hand on me again."

"I cannot feel my feet," said a third. "I do not think I have legs."

"You do not need legs to scream," said the first, and almost laughed because he did not know what else to do.

"Shut up," the fourth said. "Shut up shut up..." and then bit his tongue to stop the words.

Kai did not answer any of this. He walked on. He put his boot in a bowl by mistake. It broke under his heel with a dry crack. He did not look down.

He stepped into a small open square between four tents. The elite line rounded both corners at once and closed. It was like a door swinging into place.

Azhara crested a low dune with the armless captain at the end of a short leash made from her bowstring. The string cut into his neck. She did not ease it. He stumbled. Blood still wept from the cut. He made small noises in his throat. She ignored them. Her eyes were on the camp yard where the elite line was forming.

"He is a storm," she said to the night. "And I am his knife." She tugged. "Walk," she told the captain. He walked.

High above, Alka held her wings flat and let the air slide under them. She counted by habit. Rows. Shields. Helm marks. Cart paths. She did not speak down. The wind would break her voice into dust before it reached the ground.

In the shade of a cart, Silvershadow moved his palm the width of one finger and no more. He saw Mardek’s head turn east. He saw the dagger shine. He saw the cage door hang open. He saw a small, blood-smeared face slump and breathe. He placed each piece in his mind like a game he meant to win by one clean move. He did not speak to her out loud. He let the quiet stay quiet.

Kai reached the first tent in the square. It smelled like old cloth and boiled grain and leather oil. A man inside made a sound like a bird when a stone hit the bush it hid in. Kai did not check the flap. He went past.

"Stop him," someone whispered. No one did.

He stepped into the center of the square. The pits under his feet were like coins pressed into clay.

The elite line swung shut.

"Hold," said their captain. He wanted his voice to sound like a rock. It sounded like a plank. He forced more air. "Hold. On my word."

The front rank set shields. The second rank planted spear butts. The line shook once and found itself. These were not the men who peed. These were the ones other men wanted to be in front of when there was a picture to draw after.

Kai looked at them all and at none in particular. He did not move his lips. He did not set his feet wide. He let the spear sit in his hands as if it had always been there. The black crown turned once.

In the center, Mardek watched from beyond the tent line. He rolled his shoulders and then stopped because it made the cut on his wrist itch. "Do not die," he said to the air and Kai. "Do not die. Come to me on your knees."

Kai was not listening to Mardek. His was replying to the last thing Miryam had said. It lived under his ribs like coal. The thinking part of his brain was gone... it only had rage now.

Papa, kill them. They are bad ants. I do not like them.

He walked forward to meet the hundred.

The chosen unit advanced in two long rows. The moon slid free of a thin cloud and laid light over their plates. The resin polish on the shields caught it and threw pale bars back on the sand. The footsteps made a low thudding rhythm, steady and clean. Sand whispered around boots.

"Forward," the captain said. "First rank — knees. Second — over."

The front line bent and set shields like a wall. The second line leveled spears over the top, tips steady, ready to dip.

Kai kept walking. He did not angle to the side to look for a thin place. He went straight. Each step cut a small bowl into the sand and blew dust out. The mist off his shoulders moved like breath in cold. It trailed behind him and curled along the ground.

A man in the second rank swallowed and felt his throat stick. He thought about his mother’s garden. He thought about the smell of stew with mint. He thought about the way his child’s hair felt after a bath. Then he thought about how his captain would look at him if he dropped his spear. He kept it up.

Another soldier whispered to the shield in front of him, "I do not want to be the one to touch that crown. That guy felt like royalty."

"What crown," the shield man whispered back. "I do not see anything." He saw it. He wished he did not.

"Now," the captain said. "Short steps. Keep the line."

They came on like a slow, heavy wave.

Kai stopped for one breath. He set the spear in both hands, right hand low, left hand near the balance point. He rolled his wrist once. The moonlight ran along the iron head and came back red from Mars-light at the horizon. He lowered the point a handspan. He did not crouch. He stood straight.

He took one more step.

The first shield hit him.

It was like a door slamming into a post. The shield - man had weight and brothers behind him. Kai gave an inch so he would not give more. The iron head dipped, rose, and punched into the shield face. The wood split with a bang. The man behind it cried out and fell back into the knees of the second rank. The line rippled.