Chapter 268. Ayla

Chapter 268. Ayla
Rhobart took the cup from Ayla, set it beside the bronze kettle, and pulled her onto his lap. He brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face before pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
“You did what you had to do to protect this world from whatever your mother was planning—to let gods we know nothing about step into it. As for your sister, she might still be alive. She could be one of the women back at the village.”
Hope stirred in Ayla’s chest. “You really think so?”
He nodded, but it wasn’t his words that made her release the guilt—it was the unwavering conviction in his gaze. She would be so lost without him.
“When the war is over, we’ll look for her,” he promised.
Ayla rested her head on Rhobart’s shoulder. The hardest part of their journey still lay ahead, and she was already exhausted—exhausted from the constant travel, exhausted from fighting to stay alive when the enemy seemed hellbent on her destruction.
The only place she could forget everything was in Rhobart’s arms, where the world finally fell quiet. He was the only one who made her feel truly safe.
They stood beneath the dark sky, watching the stars and speaking in hushed tones, as if they were the only souls in the world and the night itself was listening.
Hours later, they slipped into the tent. Rhobart lay on his back, Ayla curled on top of him. His fingertips traced slow patterns along her bare arm. The past few weeks had been calm, almost as if danger had forgotten them. But Ayla knew better. Galian would never stop hunting her. He hated her and more than anything, he loved hurting her.
But lying there, sprawled over Rhobart’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, Ayla knew one thing for certain: Galian would never hurt her again.
Traveling through the hot desert left Ayla so exhausted, she fell asleep within seconds.
Hours later, the sound of a horn jolted Ayla and Rhobart awake. Kerra, who was sleeping close by, let out a hiss of annoyance. 
“What in Beliar’s name is going on?” Rhobart muttered as Ayla got up. She pushed the flap aside and peeked outside the tent.
Several men carrying torches were running through the camp, shouting and trying to wake everyone. One of them stopped in front of her.
“We need to leave now!” he said, urgency clear in his voice.
“What’s going on?” Ayla asked, but the man had already moved on to the next tent.
Rhobart got to his feet. “We’d better start packing.”
Ten minutes later, the caravan was marching swiftly through the desert. At the front, Varan and his thaldrake urged everyone to move faster.
Ayla not only saw how tense everyone was, but she could also feel their fear. No one spoke unless necessary. Even the thaldrakes moved with uneasy urgency.
As the hours passed, darkness slowly gave way to dawn, then to the harsh glare of midday. The sun climbed high, scorching the sand and beating down on their backs. At last, when the sun was nearly overhead, Varan raised his right arm and the caravan slowed to a halt. A ripple of relief passed through the group, though no one truly relaxed. 
They stopped in the shadow of a mountain, where the heat was a little more bearable.
The women quickly set to work preparing food, while the men began erecting tents.
Ayla and Rhobart were having lunch—dried meat, cheese, bread, nuts, and tea—under Kerra’s watchful gaze when the twins and Marianna approached them. 
Eude sat beside Rhobart and picked up a piece of cheese from the tray set in the middle of the hides. “Hudde and I found out what happened last night.”
Eude ate the cheese in silence, while Hudde and Marianna said nothing, forcing Rhobart to ask through gritted teeth, “Well? What happened last night?”
“We were chased by a pack of drakes,” Hudde replied.
Drakes were one of the most feared predators of the deserts.  They were stronger, faster, and far more aggressive than fire lizards, who roamed the entire continent except Normard. They moved like wolves but burned like embers, all muscle, heat, and fury. Their scales shimmered with the colors of sun-scorched stone, and their eyes glowed with a feral intelligence. They rarely hunted alone, and once they caught a scent, they didn’t stop until they brought down their prey.
Rhobars furrowed his brow. “Drakes? Are you sure?” 
Eude popped a nut in his mouth. “Marianna and I heard a conversation minutes ago, and we came right here to tell you.” 
Marianna spoke next. “One of the caravan guards said he saw glowing eyes in the distance. The thaldrakes started getting nervous, so he sounded the horn to let everyone know that we were in danger.” 
Hudde added, “Varan didn’t want to take chances. He gave the order to move as soon as he heard growls in the night.” 
Rhobart’s expression darkened. “Smart.” He stroked his beard. “If drakes are tracking us, we need to be very careful. They don’t come near caravans unless they’re starving—or something’s driving them.”
Ayla’s stomach tightened. “Do you think Galian might be behind it?”
“Could be,” Rhobart muttered. “His or the Dark Master.” 
Eude stopped chewing. “Do you think he’s alive?” 
Rhobart looked in the distance. “What I think is that it will take a lot more than a collapsed tower to kill the Dark Master and that we will face him again soon enough.” 
A sharp whistle cut through the heat-hazed air.
Everyone turned as a scout sprinted down the slope toward the camp, panting and wide-eyed.
“There’s something on the mountain,” he called out. “North slope—near the ridge!”
Varan appeared from one of the tents, Hewe close behind him. “What did you see?”
The scout skidded to a halt, his chest heaving. “A fire golem. At least ten feet tall. It’s just standing there—watching.”
Rhobart got to his feet. “Watching what?” 
The scout looked at Rhobart. “Us.”

Sorry for the delay but for a while I've been stuck with how to move forward but I have it figured it out now :) I will update again in 2-3 days.