Crystal Doors #3: Sky Realm (No. 3) by Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta Page B

closed his eyes for a moment in thought. “I have been cursing my misfortune at having to watch my father die, but perhaps in this I am more fortunate than you.” He opened his eyes. “You are right. My father is still alive. I know of something that may lift his spirits — a confection of honey and crushed sesame seeds that he and Hashim loved, and they always agreed that only one merchant made it properly.” He stood, pulling her up with him.
    Gwen gave him a nod of encouragement. “Then that’s where we’ll go. Let’s bring the others.”
    THE BAZAARS, OR SOUKS, of Irrakesh were noisy and crowded, the small streets winding and confusing, full of merchants hawking their wares. The air was heavy with the tantalizing aromas of baked goods and roasting meats. No matter which direction Vic looked, there was something interesting to see: a snake charmer making a glistening silver serpent sway to his haunting tune, a troupe of acrobats performing amazing feats for anyone who would stop to watch, a painter whose canvas was the skin of any man or woman who wished to be adorned — kind of like a tattoo artist, Vic supposed — a pair of jugglers passing ripe fruit back and forth between them, a band of minstrels playing drums and stringed instruments while a young woman clad in pantaloons and scarves danced and clinked tiny finger cymbals together.
    Holding Gwen’s hand, Sharif led the way through the cramped cobblestone streets, intent on his mission to buy a gift for his father. But that didn’t mean Vic couldn’t enjoy himself while they were out. “Now this is my kind of place.” Beside him, however, Lyssandra looked troubled. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t like the music?”
    “Viccus, I . . . I saw this place. I dreamt it,” she said.
    Tiaret looked down at her petite friend and gave her quarterstaff a tap on the cobblestones. “The meaning in your dreams is not always plain, but it is often unpleasant. Perhaps we should all remain close together. There may be danger.”
    The three of them hurried to catch up with Sharif and Gwen, who were now stopped at a booth with a blue-and-yellow striped awning. The woman at the booth was wrapping up a parcel and handing it to Sharif. “Made fresh by my husband just this morning. The best in all of Irrakesh.”
    Handing her a coin, Sharif thanked her and took the package. “We have one more visit to make,” he said, leading them through a narrow alley and up another cobblestone street to a wine merchant’s shop. Beside it, several shirtless men were hard at work constructing what looked to Vic like one of the nicest booths he had seen in all of the souks.
    “Prince Ali,” the wine merchant gasped. “You do my humble shop great honor.”
    “What can I offer you?” another man said, appearing beside the wine merchant. “Olives? Dates?”
    With excitement, he handed out samples to each of the apprentices. They enjoyed these offerings, which Sharif generously paid for. The merchant had just poured them each a cup of cool frothy ale when a loud shriek overhead made Vic drop his on the cobblestones. The friends looked up to see a horde of leathery winged creatures gathering over the city.
    “Uh-oh,” Vic said. “Looks like some refugees from Jurassic Park just arrived, and they don’t look friendly.”
    The terodax plunged toward the crowded streets.

14
     
    AS THE MONSTROUS TERODAX began their attack on Irrakesh, Tiaret thought they were the most hideous creatures she had ever seen. She had battled the bristling and foul-smelling corpse-hyenas that the sand warriors rode during the Grassland Wars. She had personally slain a swollen vampire snake in the stony foothills beneath the cloud forests. More recently she had fought the merlons and their fierce captive creatures.
    These terodax, though, were different. Like demons, they had long, leathery wings with jagged edges and sharp horns on the points. Their heads, elongated in order to accommodate all