It took more of their supply than the herdsman cared to think about, but halfway into the castle they finally caught a glimpse of Simna ibn Sind’s backpack. Still riding high on the swordsman’s shoulders, it gleamed dully in the moonlight. The surrounding, enclosing salt imparted a sickly blue cast to the exposed portions of his skin.
Moving closer and wielding the shrinking water bags like firearms, Ehomba and Hunkapa Aub dissolved the salt from around their friend’s encrusted body. He had been completely entombed. Salt plugged his ears and formed a crust over his eyes. But his nostrils were still unblocked, though barely, the advancing salt having been held back by the moisture breathed out by his lungs.
Stiff and unbending, his body was dragged out into the open air and laid gently across Ahlitah’s back. Lying him down on the ground was not contemplated, as it would just be returning him to the grip of the relentless, inimical salts. Water from still another bag was poured over him, drenching his body and clothing, soaking his face. When he finally revived, the herdsman did so sputtering violently and shaking his head.
Sitting up, he wiped animatedly at his face and took a long, deep breath. “What happened? I feel as if I’ve come back from the land of the dead.” Rising to his feet, he suddenly pointed and yelled, “That cursed castle tried to kill me! It grabbed me and tried to suffocate me!”
“Salt you down is more like it.” Careful to keep moving his feet and arms, Ehomba proceeded to explain. “I think that if we had been five minutes longer in melting you out, the salt would have filled your nose and stopped your breathing. And your heart.”