Who
do we have available for an investigation?" Sternigan asks looking up from the book.
"Davis and Markief are close to the Mediterranean," Furloft answers getting up from his chair, already knowing where the question was going.
"Good. I want them and their team to search the area."
"But we don't have coordinates, only a general location. Besides in this day in age, someone should have stumbled onto the island by now," Furloft protests.
"Yes that's true Malcolm,
but
that doesn't mean anything. Like all things in this world, they change. I'm not expecting to find anything above the water..."
"But what's below it," Furloft finishes.
"Exactly," Sternigan says with some excitement. He stands and walks away from the table to the wall of books.
"What do you hope to find? You read how Alexandros described it. It was plain and other than stone, water has surely destroyed it by now."
"I'm hoping to find anything. Look what you found," he says holding his hand openly to the book.
"I wasn't looking for it though."
"You of all people should know when looking for something, you tend to find opposite of it."
"You know, you should have been a history teacher or historian or something."
"I thought about it, the teaching part. Of course I found my calling here instead."
"Fate has a strange way of intervening in human lives," Furloft remarks.
"Fate is no more than a highly orchestrated plan weaved by higher power."
"Call it what you will, but things happen for a reason."
"As we shall see."
——
After
searching the wreckage and carnage of the temporary camp, Khaldun found and secured a horse. The chariot the horse was attached to is what had hindered it from running off into the desert. He rode the day and through the night, only stopping long enough to allow the horse to drink when they found water. He didn't see any signs of an army passing through the region but that didn't mean one didn't come through.
The desert was an unforgiving place and one of the hardest terrains in the world to track people in. Winds constantly swept through destroying footprints. Windstorms were an expectation. There wasn't even the option of
knowing
the desert like you could a forest or other land form. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing, except sand. If not for his navigational knowledge, Khaldun would wonder the desert until his death. He reached Memphis in the twilight hours the following day where he was greeted by the city's guards.
"General Khaldun! We received news of a battle. Where are the rest of your troops?"
"Slaughtered," he said with a resigned tone. "I must see Pharaoh immediately."
"Right away General!" the soldier turned to his cohort. "Get the path to the palace cleared!"
The man ran ahead and began to yell to clear the walkway. Khaldun was tired and wanted nothing more at the moment but to lie down and sleep. As much as he wanted to he couldn't. He had a duty still. He was relieved though to see that the city still stood, which meant Rashida was still safe and alive.
As he passed the people of the city many bowed in respect to the commander of the army and many still looked in awe that here he was alive. Rumor spread through the city like a fire that Khaldun and his army was swallowed by the desert.
The rumor began like any other rumor. News filtered in from passing travelers then into the city where the news was spread further by mouth. Eventually the facts were changed; things were added and taken away leaving no two people with the same story.
Khaldun kept his posture up as best as he could. He preferred to not allow the people to see just how tired and beaten he was. The last image the people needed of the commander of the army was a weakened and broken general.
Once he was inside the inner palace gates and the doors closed he slumped in the saddle. He moved his hand over where his wound lay. It throbbed slightly from the ride, but other than that it felt better than it should have. He still didn't have an answer as to why he didn't die from the fatal wound and as long as he was alive he truly didn't care.
