The Wanderer's Mark: Book Three of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 3) Read Online Free

asked the question.
    “Because,” Basaal said as he turned to look at him. “Its existence is unknown to any but me, and it would be impossible to scale the wall by oneself, let alone be successful escaping on the other side. Ideally, one would use it during a rainstorm.”
    “A rainstorm?” the assassin inquired. This was the first time in his life that Basaal had ever heard a Vestan ask a question in sincerity rather than for intimidation.
    “There is a small opening thirty feet down that leads into the aqueducts,” Basaal replied. “You could make the jump if there was enough water to catch you. Without the rain,” he added, “you would need to have a very long rope and no one at your back.” He eyed the Vestan before continuing. “Since I’ve not discussed the existence of this with anybody, especially not with Eleanor, your time would be better spent searching the other gardens,” he suggested. “For you know better than anybody the endless secrets of Zarbadast.”
    With that, he turned away, leaving the Vestan and Ammar to stare up at the high wall.
    ***
    “Thank you,” Dantib said as he smiled at their benefactor before easing his stiff body down onto the road. Eleanor followed suit and came around to take his arm. It was dusk, and they were now far from the city. It lay in the distance, spread out across the waves of sand.
    “We are grateful for these hours of rest,” Dantib told the woman.
    “May you follow your stars,” the woman said, and she smiled, trying to catch a view of Eleanor’s face, seeming curious about the mute girl who had kept to herself all day. Then, with a sharp two-note whistle, she set the donkey in motion and continued down the nearly abandoned road.
    Dantib did not hurry off the road, rather he scanned the sandy layers of the horizon as he slung off his water-filled pouch, and then they each took a drink. The wind had picked up, and, despite her headscarf, Eleanor could still feel it whip and whistle around her ears. Dantib fished a few pieces of dried fruit from his heavy satchel, and Eleanor accepted one gratefully, turning back towards the distant city, watching as the lights began to appear in the haze of the desert evening.
    “She is a beautiful city,” Dantib said as Zarbadast began to illuminate herself.
    “Yes,” Eleanor acknowledged. “Do you think he will be alright?”
    Dantib frowned and waited a long moment before answering. “I have asked myself that question many times.” He shifted his packs, and Eleanor checked to see if her own bag was secure. Dantib turned and waved a gnarled hand across the graying landscape. “Now we are on the edge of the eastern rocklands. It is a forgotten terrain, full of cracks and crooks left behind by the ancient rivers long dried up.”
    And as Dantib spoke, Eleanor thought how he too was made up of ancient things, all cracks and crooks and wisdom. She could see why Basaal had been drawn to him.
    “And we will travel through the night?” she asked, tired, but ready to walk.
    “Yes,” Dantib nodded. “We will not stop these four days yet if we have any hope of disappearing into the east.”
    Nodding, Eleanor followed Dantib into the serpentine ravine.
     
    ***
    The Vestan were none too gentle as they threw Basaal on the ground before Shaamil’s throne. Basaal’s arm, still tender from the challenge weeks before, rattled with pain. He breathed in fast, sounding like a scared snake, his face hovering inches above the floor. A bead of sweat dropped from his face, and Basaal thought it strange, for he felt as cold as the rivers of Aemogen.
    It had been twelve hours since Eleanor’s escape, and Basaal had been confined to his palace, unable to move from his private apartments, watched constantly by the Vestan. His father had not called for him and had not wished to see him—until now.
    The emperor soon ordered the Vestan to get out. Even when they were left alone, Basaal did not move to look at his father. He breathed