"We need to move," Amal whispered, taking his hand off of her mouth once he knew she wouldn't make a sound. The woman got to her feet, and even at the insistence of Amal, the carpet stayed coiled and barely moving. The rogue sighed. "Magic...how I am so getting tired of it!" and lifted the carpet up to plot along his shoulder. At once they fled down further into the wadi, and as Emmaline glanced back she would see the same skeletal riders from her dreams, to her horror. 

At the lead was a great being, mummified and made of skin like dried leather, with a headdress that looked very much like the overseer they had escaped from the night before, only made of bronze and ivory. Inside his pupils, pale light shined. It only made his visage, with his perpetually gaping maw more terrifying. He rode not a horse, but drove a chariot of what looked to be gilded iron. Amal saw them as well and hoped beyond hope they had not yet been spotted. 

Fleeing across the grass, Amal found three ways they could go. Forward out of the oasis, two the left into a dyke, or into the right archway of a ruin. He halted, and after turning left he suddenly decided right, yanking Emmaline toward the archway. Unfortunately, their hands slipped, slick with nervous sweat and the woman stumbled onto the grass. Amal turned to try and help her, but the Skeletal riders had made it into the wadi, and Emmaline quickly rolled down into the dyke. Amal quietly slipped into the archway as the hoof beats grew audible. 

[i]Damn[/i], he thought as he sunk into the gloom of the arches shadows, watching the figures from without halting at the behest of their great leader. The horses, thin patches of skin hanging off their thick bones, stamped like live ones, though they made no noise and didn't even look at the water as if to drink. The riders seemed slightly animated as well, staying still as if they were bid to rather than being lifeless and completely without sentience. 

The only one that truly moved was the leader, who let go of the reins of his horse and gazed to and fro, the brightness of his eyes growing exponentially as he searched for something Amal could not know. He passed by Amal's hiding space, and turned toward the dyke. A raspy hissing breath escaped what was once lips, and Amal's eyes widened when he knew the thing sensed Emmaline in some form or fashion. 

In all of his long years as a thief, he had risked his life often. But risking certain death? He had never been one to lay his life on the line, and by Allah he did not know why his muscles were suddenly in motion. He pinched himself, and even the carpet on his shoulder perked up as if it sensed something palpable occurring. It was just when the leading aberration was about to step off his chariot and look into the dyke did the daring thief step out of the shadows. 

"Hello my friends." 

The entire contingent of Skeletons turned to look at him, including the great figure. Even though their expressions didn't change, he could almost fancy they were taken aback by such an entrance. Amal casually leaning beside the wall, arms crossed and a glint in his eye. "So...I took a wrong turn at Martek. Do any of you know how I may make it back home?" 

"Izsh ranak mahak nul," a voice whispered from the leader's open mouth, and his eyes flared brilliantly. Somehow, Amal knew something had nearly happened, but his ring blazed instead. Not one to pass up being insufferable, Amal shrugged. "I get that a lot." 

"'Ant last eurusi. 'Ayn althaeban!" he croaked, and that took the bluster out of Amal. Even Emmaline understood it. It translated into "You are not my bride. Where is the serpent?" Almost before the thief could register the significance of the statement, the skeletons on the horses threw spears and loosed arrows. It was just as much luck as instinct when Amal leaped to the side, a spear striking the ground just at his feet as the arrows bounced off the stones. 

Amal tore the spear out of the ground, feeling its gnarled wood, still surprisingly strong. "'Iinah abn awaa, walays althueban aldhy yjb 'an tahtama bih!" the cutthroat said. "[i]It is the Jackal, not the serpent you must concern yourself with![/i]" He finished the sentence by savagely throwing the spear at the leader, hoping to end this here and now. His aim was true and the bronze head flew straight at his chest. However, Amal felt very foolish when the mummy grabbed the shaft out of the air before it struck, as if he had merely tossed it to him. 

Amal chose this moment to flee further into the Wadi. 
[@Penny]