Prophets Sword / Season 1, Episode 6
Sands of Betrayal
Amara’s fingers clawed into the coarse sand, the grains biting her skin as she hauled herself over the dune’s crest. Her breath rasped in her throat, dry as the wind that whipped her indigo veil against her face. Below, the caravan snaked through the valley of sand, a dark ribbon of men and camels against the endless gold. She squinted, her eyes burning from the glare, counting the shapes. Moussa’s soldiers—six of them now, after the last man succumbed to the fever two nights ago—marched with their spears glinting like fangs. Kwame slouched near the rear, the stolen manuscript’s leather tube slung across his back as if it were no heavier than a water skin. Ibn Fadl led the line, his turban a white flag against the horizon, his steps slow but certain, tracing a path only he could see. “Move, scholar,” Moussa barked from behind her, his voice rough as the gravel underfoot. His shadow loomed, the butt of his spear tapping the sand like a heartbeat. “You stare too long. The sun won’t wait.” Amara pushed to her feet, brushing sand from her palms. It clung to her skin, gritty and warm, a second layer she couldn’t shed. “I’m counting our losses, Captain. You should too. Another day without water, and your men won’t carry spears—they’ll be carried.”...