Lion's Bride
Chapter One
APRIL 21, 1189
SYRIAN DESERT
THE MOONLIT SILVER SANDS shimmered hazily before her eyes.
The mountains on the horizon seemed an eternity away.
Thea staggered, fell to her knees, then struggled again to her feet.
She must keep going. . . .
She must not waste the night. The darkness was less cruel than the burning light of day. Barely.
She tried to swallow.
Panic seared through her. Dear God, her throat was too dry; she would strangle.
She drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. Fear was as much her enemy as this burning desert. She would not be frightened into taking the last few swallows from her water bag.
Tomorrow she might reach an oasis.
Or even Damascus.
She had been traveling so long, surely Damascus was a possibility.
She would not give up. She had not escaped those savages just to succumb to the desert.
She stopped and concentrated. See, she could still swallow. She had not reached the point of total desperation. She started jerkily forward again.
Think of coolness, smoothness, glowing threads of gold on fine broc ...
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