Storms: Sharani Series
Author: Kevin L. Nielsen Narrated Bytanya Eby
Date: 2022-10-05 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Sequel to the #1 bestselling epic fantasy Sands. 2016 Utah Book Award Finalist Storms rage across the Sharani Desert. Change is in the wind. Lhaurel has saved the Rahuli, but now she is trapped in a restless slumber, haunted by nightmares from the battle in the Oasis. The madman who tried to destroy the clans is safely locked away in the Roterralar Warren but continues to warn them of a looming threat from outside the Forbiddance-a threat far worse than the genesauri. The Orinai are coming. Oblivious to these dire warnings, the Rahuli struggle to piece together their crippled society. Whether
Publisher: Vibrance Press

STORMS

Future House Publishing

Text © 2015 Kevin L. Nielsen

Cover illustration © 2015 Future House Publishing

Cover illustration by Garrett Hamon

Developmental editing by Mandi Diaz

Substantive editing by Emma Hoggan

Copy editing by Holly Astle

Interior design by Emma Hoggan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 10: 0-9966193-4-8 (paperbound

ISBN 13: 978-0-9966193-4-9 (paperbound)

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Part 1 - Failure

Chapter 1 - Voices in the Dark

Chapter 2 - Broken Ties

Chapter 3 - Squaring to the Stone

Part 2 - Conqueror

Chapter 4 - Outcast

Chapter 5 - Monster

Chapter 6 - Chance

Chapter 7 - Lost

Chapter 8 - Reconciliation

Chapter 9 - Samsin’s Folly

Chapter 10 - Hints of Discovery

Chapter 11 - Blasphemy

Part 3 - Mystic

Chapter 12 - Stories on the Sand

Chapter 13 - Love’s Cost

Chapter 14 - Feelings

Chapter 15 - Brisson

Chapter 16 - Broken Powers

Chapter 17 - Prisoner

Chapter 18 - Confrontation

Chapter 19 - Guilt and Justice

Chapter 20 - Fresh Sweat

Part 4 - Leader

Chapter 21 - Stains

Chapter 22 - Hidden Sister

Chapter 23 - Fear

Chapter 24 - Honor

Part 5 - Survivor

Chapter 25 - Orinai

Chapter 26 - Desperation

Chapter 27 - Power

Chapter 28 - Mountain Snow

Epilogue

About the Author

Before You Go

Discover More Remarkable Books from Future House Publishing

This book is primarily Liliane's. She is her father's little princess. And this book is also for Kaitlynn, who upholds the flame.

Part 1

Failure

Chapter 1

Voices in the Dark

“On the nature of the powers of those called “mystics” by the Rahuli people: The magic, if it can be called such, is an extension of abilities already granted to men by whomever or whatever created them. Though they may appear as a manipulation of the elements in a fantastic, unexplainable manner, this is merely the outward appearance. These abilities are easily quantified and categorized.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Beryl fought down the voices clamoring within his mind. What Lhaurel had done, what she had become, Beryl hadn’t thought possible. Not this time. Not again. His memories from that time in his past were scattered, partitioned away in the far corners of his mind where he kept the voices. And that sword the outcast boy had with him . . .

Beryl growled to himself and limped through the narrow halls of the Roterralar Warren, pushing back the voices and the memories. He strode through the less-used passages, grateful that he hadn’t encountered anyone up to that point. He so rarely left the comfort of his smithy and he was more than a little surly at having to leave it now. But Khari had summoned him, and, despite the majority of the voices in his mind protesting the fact, she was now the leader of the Roterralar.

Khari waited for him further down the passage, one foot tapping impatiently against the sand-strewn floor. A crack in the ceiling allowed a narrow beam of light to filter down over the woman’s face, lightening the cloudy expression which darkened her features. Her once-black hair shone with grey. Beryl remembered when she’d first come to the Roterralar, so many years ago. He’d been old even then. Khari, however, had aged far more gracefully.

“What was so sands-cursed important that it couldn’t be discussed in my forge?” Beryl asked without preamble.

Khari scowled, but gestured for Beryl to follow her.

Beryl didn’t move. “What do you need?” Beryl repeated, an edge of gruffness creeping into his voice.

“What’s put you in such a foul mood, Beryl?”

The voices shouted a half-dozen different responses, none of which would have earned him the woman’s praise. Instead, Beryl simply grunted.

“You’ve been like this ever since we got back from—” Khari hesitated. “From the Oasis.”

“Is there a point to all this?”

Khari’s lips hardened into a thin line and the set of her jaw firmed. Beryl noted the shift in emotion but didn’t care.

“You know something about what happened, don’t you? Lhaurel—she’s still out, even now, a whole fortnight later. She mutters strange things in her sleep, things about blood and death.”

The voices rose to shouts within his mind.

“Old things are awakening,” Beryl said, echoing one of the voices. “With the genesauri gone, I fear things have been set in motion that should have remained still.”

“Are they truly gone, Beryl? How do you know?”

Beryl didn’t answer at first, listening to one of the voices. People often thought him slow of thought—those that didn’t know him at least. Most times, however, the delay came not from a lack of thought, but from trying to decide which of the voices to allow precedence. Usually, he simply ignored them all, but every now and then one of the voices was able to come up with a modicum of sense.

“They’re gone,” he said.

The strongest voice, Beryl’s most recent and final Iteration, reached down through the sands, through the thick pool of metal beneath the sand, and then onward and outward, expanding down to the pool of heat, fire, and molten earth that rested beneath the Sharani Desert. It tugged at the heat, channeling it upward toward the metal barrier which kept it contained.

With a growl, Beryl wrestled back control. He almost shuddered as memory welled up within him at the contact with his past self.

Khari regarded him with pursed lips, brow furrowed.

“You didn’t bring me here to talk about Lhaurel,” Beryl growled.

“No,” Khari said at length. “No, I didn’t. I brought you here because Farah needs help with the task I’ve given her.”

Beryl grunted. Farah was one of the relampagos—a young one, if he recalled correctly.

“What task is that?”

“To make weapons that can’t be manipulated by mystics.”

Beryl blinked and narrowed his eyes against the pain of memory and shouting voices. Images of greatswords impervious to magneteloriums and the cries of the dying and the damned made a discordant symphony within the halls of his memory. It was starting. Before the Orinai had even responded to his message, the Rahuli were returning to their roots.

“Glass?” Beryl asked, voice subdued. That had to be what they were using. The other weapons, the other forms, those were things only he knew.

“She can’t get the balance right. It’s hard enough directing the flow of energy through the sand, but even grinding the result down afterward is yielding poor results.” There was an edge to Khari’s voice, a hardening of steel. She had handled Makin Qays’s death well, at least on the surface. But Beryl recognized the barely concealed anger hidden beneath the exterior mask.

“I will help,” he said, sealing his fate.

“Good,” Khari said. “She’s in the lower hall next to the healing room.”

Beryl grunted and turned to walk away. Khari didn’t follow. “You’re not coming?”

Khari shook her head and, if anything, her expression grew even more grim. “No,” she said. “I need to speak with a man who would be king.”

Beryl took the red-glass knife, inspecting the wide body and wicked hook. The weapon looked like an elongated meat cleaver with an axe spike affixed near the end. He grunted in approval.

Farah smiled and brushed aside her long, blonde hair. “Sorry to have troubled you. The idea simply came to me after the first few failed attempts. This is thick enough to take a hit or two, but still extremely light, and razor sharp.”

Beryl grunted again. Yes, it looked unconventional, but it was a perfect replica of the weapons one of the voices in his head remembered so well. One of his own designs actually. Well, he couldn’t take the credit himself. The way the magic worked, the way the energy crackled and snapped down through the sand and melted it to glass, it was really the only way to make them.

“Make more,” Beryl found himself saying.

Farah gave him a puzzled look. “How many more?”

“As many as you can,” Beryl said, turning to leave. Memories swirled in his mind to the accompaniment of arguing voices.

Farah said something that Beryl didn’t quite hear as he left, absently scratching at the metal flakes embedded in his flesh. It was happening too quickly. History was repeating itself.

He needed to remember.

His left hand squeezed convulsively on his right forearm, hard enough that Beryl was sure it would leave a bruise. Memories were dangerous things. Memories gave power to the voices, to the past versions of himself that he’d spent centuries repressing. He couldn’t let the voices back in control, couldn’t let them take over again. The last time that had happened, the last time he’d lost control—well, that time had been the beginning of the end for everything and everyone he’d ever loved.

He growled in frustration at himself, then a thought came to him.

The grottoes.

The Rahuli and the others had left a history of the people, a record of both the Orinai and the Rahuli slaves. Beryl didn’t need to consult the voices. He could simply read the words himself.

One of the voices groaned in disappointment. Beryl ignored it and turned down an unlit path. Though he hadn’t been down to the grottoes since before the desert sands had been stained red, he knew the way down to his own damnation.

Beryl stopped before the entrance to the grotto. As old memories came flooding back, the voices swelled within his mind and threatened to overcome him. It was a constant battle, a never-ending war between Beryl and the voices. One of the voices rose to the forefront, piercing the strata of the soil, probing down through the metal shelf, and reaching into the sweltering, roiling heat of the volcano’s heart beneath. The ground trembled slightly beneath his feet, a testament to the power that voice contained and which Beryl constantly suppressed.

“No!” The sound echoed through the cavern and bounced off the water, giving the returning sound an ethereal quality.

“No,” he whispered.

He couldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let them win.

Beryl wrestled back control, suppressing the voices by reaching out to the metal in the walls. He pulled on it and tore out a massive chunk of ore, rock still clinging to the metal hunk. He worked it, the mental concentration forcing back the voices until only Beryl remained, alone in his own mind. The ground stilled.

He let the lump of contorted metal fall onto the sand. It struck the ground with a muted thump. It was a twisted, misshapen mass, pulled and pushed in a dozen different directions. Ignoring it, Beryl grabbed an unlit torch from a bracket on the wall and lit it with his striker. It flared to life, the flames licking at the oiled rope. It reminded Beryl of the flames in his forge, which were dormant now that he was so distant from them.

Pushing that thought aside, Beryl strode into grotto, allowing his eyes and mind to follow the hundreds of light patterns cast on the ceiling and walls by the reflective nature of the water. The soft sound of cascading water and dripping rocks created a soothing, calming atmosphere. Elyana had loved this grotto, loved the water pulled from deep within the earth and collected during storms. She’d helped create it back before the genesauri, before the rest of the Orinai had turned against them.

None of the voices rose up at those memories. They were Beryl’s own. There was one thing alone upon which all the voices agreed. Elyana. Memories of her were able to be shared and dwelt upon without any of the voices trying to take control. It was Beryl himself that refused to think about them often. They were simply too painful.

Beryl limped forward with confidence. He knew the path to the hidden archives. The Rahuli had lost the original language of their people hundreds of years ago, so the scrolls hidden here were meaningless to them. There were a few scrolls in the Rahuli tongue, true, but Beryl imagined those were now missing, if his suspicions about Kaiden were true. But Beryl—he knew the language well. He could study them without awakening the voices who knew the knowledge Beryl sought. Or at least, that’s what he hoped.

The pathway down the center of the lake opened up into the island. Beryl limped out toward the left-hand side. He knew how the scrolls had been organized—Elyana had rarely stopped talking about it, even after they’d already completed the other two grottoes. Anything about the mystics, about magic itself, was on the left.

Beryl placed the torch in a bracket on the wall and reached into the first cubby, feeling for the glass tube. His fingers closed over the thin cylinder and he pulled it free, brushing away the dust with his other hand. The scroll inside was still intact, preserved by the wax seal around the stopper, which kept the container air tight.

Beryl removed the stopper with a powerful twist of his wrist. He tossed the stopper aside and carefully tipped the scroll into his hand. His hands were steady and sure on the brittle paper. A diagram unfolded before him, a square inscribed with nine smaller squares.

One of the voices immediately recognized it. The Schema—the chart of the three magics and their degrees of power. The voice remembered long arguments with Elyana about the divergent tiers of power. She thought each hierarchy of magic was simply different manifestations of the same power. The voice, Beryl’s old voice, had thought them individual powers with some overlap. However, Beryl himself was living proof that that thought process had been wrong.

He rolled the scroll back up, placed it in the tube, and set it aside. The voice faded with it, though it had never really been trying to take over. It had merely shared a fond memory with Beryl, one it had kept hidden from him for centuries.

Beryl reached into another cubby, startling a sand spider the size of his hand. The creature scuttled over Beryl’s hand and up the wall, vanishing into the gloom. One of the voices, an ancient one from before even Elyana—from back when Beryl had lived far from here, beyond the Forbiddence—shuddered. Beryl ignored it. His current Iteration had no fear of spiders. The scroll in this cubby hadn’t fared as well as the first. The wax seal had been broken some time ago and the scroll within it was now little more than a loose pile of dust. That was one of the reasons they’d duplicated their work in two other such hidden shelters. Beryl knew one of the three had been destroyed over the years but, hopefully, the missing scrolls were still intact in the other one.

And so it went for hours upon hours. Thirty of the forty-five scrolls remained whole. He didn’t move on to the bureaucratic or historic sections of the grotto; there was really no need. Beryl himself already knew those answers.

Thirty scrolls. Still, fifteen broken scrolls was a severe loss. One of the voices inside Beryl’s mind wept unabashedly. The history of the magic which ruled both the Orinai and the Rahuli slave people—how much of it was lost in those fifteen piles of dust? How much of it would be important to the Rahuli in their upcoming fight?

“Why are you helping them?”

Beryl started until he realized the voice was his own. Well, partially his own. One of the voices in his mind seized momentary control and spoke aloud using Beryl’s own voice.

Beryl let his hands curl into fists. He hadn’t realized he was helping them. Hadn’t he just betrayed them by sending the message to the Orinai? No, that had been one of the voices—the vulcanist. That wasn’t Beryl, not really. Beryl himself had already decided to help the Rahuli prepare for the coming war. He’d done it before. Both he and Elyana had done it before, back when Elyana’s obsession with protecting the people had led to the creation of the genesauri. There had been others, of course, but they hadn’t been as strong, hadn’t been as worthy of the fight as he and Elyana.

“Why help them?” Beryl mused. “Because they deserve it.”

Several of the voices in his mind laughed.

Beryl’s fists tightened until the knuckles cracked. “Because Elyana would have wanted it.”

The voices stilled. Beryl took the silence as agreement.

He looked down at the scrolls arranged neatly in little rows within their glass cylinders. He would need to translate them. The Rahuli would not be able to read them otherwise.

“And you’ll need to let them make the discovery for themselves,” one of the voices said. It was the angry one, the one which pulled at the fire beneath the earth. “They will not believe it if they don’t discover it themselves.”

Beryl nodded, though surprise slowed the motion. That voice was the most vehement in its argument for the destruction of the Rahuli. Beryl had fought against that voice for centuries. Why change now?

The voice spoke. “For Elyana.”

Beryl grunted and turned to leave. He had work to do.

Chapter 2

Broken Ties

“As with all things feared by men, that which can be quantified can be understood for what it truly is, rather than the superstitious musings of those who are easily impressed.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Gavin strode through the red sandstone passageways of the Roterralar Warren, trying to ignore the self-conscious itch between his shoulders. As always, the effort was a futile one. A woman appeared in the hall ahead of him and, noticing him, stopped and gave a small bow. Gavin sighed internally, but inclined his head and smiled back at her. She wasn’t wearing a shufari, though Gavin didn’t recognize her as one of the Roterralar. He was glad at least some of the clans were interested in the Roterralar ways. The woman scurried away.

His grandmother would have been upset with him for not asking the woman’s name. If she’d been here. She’d died well before the life-altering events of the broken Oasis. Before the death and destruction.

He paused for a moment, fingering a spot on his stomach beneath his robes. The woman Lhaurel had healed him, but he swore he still felt the hot pain of the dagger digging into his gut. He could feel Taren’s fetid breath on his face.

Gavin shuddered and shook himself, glancing around to make sure he was alone. He couldn’t afford to appear weak, not with how the clans were already bickering and returning to old ways and alliances. No one trusted the clans that had followed Kaiden and turned on their brethren. The only thing that kept all the clans working together after that betrayal was an even greater dislike of the Roterralar. That and the fact that there were so very few of them left. Shared pain was a great unifier of peoples.

He shook his head and kept walking. He caught a glimpse of Khari walking in the passageway ahead of him. Khari, Matron of the Roterralar, walked with the grace of a warrior and the air of one born to lead. As Gavin had come to realize, Khari was as equal to the task of leadership as her husband had reputedly been. Some of the Rahuli disapproved of the woman’s position of rule, though others welcomed the change.

“What are you about today, Matron?” he asked, steeling himself for a long, complicated conversation.

“We are running short of food again,” she said. “There are simply too many of us in one place. This warren was never meant to house the entire populace of the Sharani Desert.”

“I think it may have been, once. It would explain the vast number of individual rooms in the main cavern, not to mention the entire network of tunnels and storage rooms beneath us that haven’t even been explored yet.”

Khari glowered at him. The look was so reminiscent of ones given him by his grandmother that Gavin almost smiled. Almost. Khari’s expression held little love in it.

Gavin felt a deep-seated need to unify the clans, to defend and protect the outcasts and, to a lesser extent, the Rahuli people as a whole. The greatsword—the short, curved blade he’d pulled from the skeletal remains atop the Oasis walls—was the first step in that, but it was merely the first of many steps he needed to take to secure their safety. Unfortunately, Khari had become a major obstacle to the rest of them.

“You know what I mean. We don’t have the resources. The grain fields we have are fallow during this time of year and our stores were meant to sustain the Roterralar only. We’ve several hundred mouths to feed now. The clans respect you. You need to convince them to leave.”

“All the clans, or just those who followed Kaiden?” Gavin asked.

Khari didn’t respond, though her expression answered the question.

Gavin sighed, out loud this time. It had only been a few weeks since Kaiden had tried to destroy them all. But not a single day had passed yet that Khari hadn’t tried to get the clans to leave and go back to the way things were, or hadn’t protested his continued insistence that the Heltorin and Londik be allowed voice in their meetings. At least, that’s how Gavin took her complaints.

She didn’t understand. No one did. Gavin wasn’t sure he himself even understood completely. But he did know one thing, at least: they couldn’t simply go back to the way things had been. That life was over. They had to change. He often asked himself why she’d volunteered the Roterralar Warren in the first place if she hated having it full.

“There are a few patrols out already,” he said, ignoring her request. “Several have been directed to gather what they can from the old warrens. They’ll bring back more grain and whatever else they can find there. Others are searching for the herds scattered by the Oasis rains.”

“So the storms haven’t stopped, then?”

Gavin shook his head.

The rains were customary for the Oasis during the Dormancy. Nine months of near constant rainfall, centralized over that one location. Gavin had always found that singularity of rain odd, but now the rains were spreading out over the entire desert, spreading water to sand so devoid of moisture it had become a desiccated hell. It was changing. Returning to life.

Khari sniffed and brushed her short, greying hair back. The wounds on her hand and face were almost healed, only faint lines of darkness nearly hidden in the wrinkles of her flesh.

“We’ll hope they come back with something, then,” she said. “Still, I do not think it will be enough.”

When Gavin didn’t respond, Khari inclined her head slightly and turned back the way she had come, vanishing around a corner within a few moments.

Gavin shook his head and resumed his walk. The woman chafed under the current situation. The Roterralar had existed as a hidden entity for far too long. They were used to their autonomy and independence. That had to change. Everything had to change.

Running a hand through his hair, Gavin resumed his course, heading deep into the bowels of the Roterralar Warren. Actually, it was more than that, now. It was the warren for the entire Rahuli people. It really was large enough to hold the entire populace of the desert, but—Gavin hated admitting it, even to himself—it most likely wouldn’t support them all.

Tensions were already high between the clans. They’d gathered into three effective groups (since no clan was large enough on its own anymore to pose any sort of organized threat), with Gavin, the remaining half-dozen outcasts, and the surviving Roterralar outside them all. The only thing that kept them together at this point was Gavin himself, and that was a tenuous hold at best. They honored him for freeing them from Taren’s oppression and so gave heed to his words. Some of the time, at least. They didn’t understand that Taren himself was only a puppet, a little man pulled along by Kaiden’s strings.

Gavin rounded a corner and entered a passage that ended in a thick wooden door. Two guards, both members of the Roterralar clan, stood in front of the door. They both held axes in hand, though not conventional ones. These had blades of black stone. Though Kaiden hadn’t shown any signs of trying to escape, they couldn’t take any chances. No one was allowed to bring metal around the man. Gavin knew it was a gesture in futility—there was metal in the very sandstone walls themselves—but they had to do something, didn’t they?

The guards nodded toward him as he neared. Gavin entered the lightless room, holding aloft an oil lantern fashioned completely of glass provided by one of the guards to chase away some of the darkness. The door creaked softly on its modified hinges as it shut behind him, the guard outside locking him in as he’d been instructed. Light from the lantern glinted off metal in the walls and illuminated the thick leather bonds holding a disheveled man. Kaiden didn’t look up when Gavin entered.

Gavin hung the glass lantern on a wooden hook near the door and picked up the chair resting beneath it. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, urine, and refuse, which only grew stronger the closer he got to the prisoner. Gavin was no stranger to the stench of human misery, but he stopped short a few feet away from the man, placed the chair in the loose sand, and took a seat. His nose wouldn’t let him get any closer.

“Good morning, Kaiden,” Gavin whispered.

The man didn’t stir. He was imprisoned here on Gavin’s orders, though there were many within the warren who wanted the man’s death, Khari being chief among them. He’d been able to persuade most of them that the man was more valuable to them alive. After Kaiden had tried to kill them all by drawing the genesauri monsters to the Oasis itself, it had become clear that the man hadn’t really wanted them all dead. He’d wanted to lead them. By destroying the Roterralar and crushing the resistance within the Rahuli people themselves, he would set himself up to be their united leader. The survivors needed to know why.

“Not very talkative today?” Gavin asked, keeping his voice light and conversational. “That’s alright. I’ll do the talking then.” Gavin smiled and then scratched at his chin, as if lost in thought. “Why would someone kill their own brethren? I guess there could be lots of reasons. I once knew two brothers who both loved the same woman. The older brother wasn’t very attractive and the woman fancied the younger one. So the older brother killed him. Seems logical if you look at it from the older brother’s perspective. Not right, but logical.”

Kaiden didn’t stir. His matted grey hair hung over his face like a curtain, hiding his prematurely aged features. He’d recovered much faster than Lhaurel, who was still unconscious, but Kaiden’s mind appeared to be just as broken. “But it wasn’t over a woman. Hmm—neither you nor Sarial seem like the type to act out in a rage. Must have been something else then.”

In truth, Gavin was appalled at the very thought of siblings killing one another. He’d grown up with only his family to protect and support him. Family was life, protection, and happiness. A man without a family was a man broken. A man alone.

“Did Tieran attack you, and you were only defending yourself by calling the karundin to eat him? A joke gone wrong? I hear Tieran was one to make light of serious things.”

No one knew if the story Kaiden had told the Roterralar—that the karundin had killed the rest of his party, of which Tieran’s twin Sarial had been a part—was actually true or if Kaiden had done the deed himself.

“What were you and Sarial up to, Kaiden?” Gavin asked.

Gavin let the words hang in the air, fading like the light in a dying man’s eyes. Khari and the majority of the Roterralar believed the only motivation behind Kaiden’s actions had been revenge and a selfish desire to save only those he cared about, his own clan and their ally. While that was a powerful motivator, there was more to it. The intricate alliances with Taren and the plots to unite the clans under a single ruler spoke of something far larger at hand.

His grandmother had taught Gavin to question, to attempt to understand, because knowledge and understanding were the key to power. He hadn’t always been the best student of her teachings, but those had stuck with him and were heightened by his natural curiosity. What Kaiden did left too many unanswered questions.

Kaiden shifted, drawing Gavin’s full attention in an instant. The man didn’t look up but he spoke for the first time that Gavin could remember. The man’s voice was raspy and thin, barely more than a whisper, but there was a steel to it that rocked Gavin to the core.

“A father stands before the mouth of a small cave, family huddled behind him as the genesauri come. In his hands he holds a sword, his last defense against that which shall destroy them. The genesauri charge, a pack of sailfins intent on killing them all. Death comes for them. Pain beyond reckoning will descend upon the family of this man.”

Kaiden paused for a moment, rocking back and forth in a small circular motion.

“A father stands before the mouth of a small cave, family dead behind him, slain by his blade. Death and pain come for him then. But the pain is sweet.”

Gavin stood up, knocking the chair to the sand in his haste. He stepped forward in one long stride, knelt, and grabbed Kaiden’s shoulders, trying to force the man to look up. Kaiden’s eyes were closed.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Kaiden didn’t respond, no matter how many times Gavin repeated the question. After a time, Gavin let go of the man’s shoulders and retrieved the fallen chair. Shaking his head, Gavin returned the chair to its spot, picked up the lantern, and knocked on the door to signal the guard to let him out. Kaiden’s last words rang in his mind. But the pain is sweet.

Cobb was waiting for Gavin when he awoke the next morning, the older man leaning against his ubiquitous cane. Cobb’s expression was unreadable, but the man’s free hand held Gavin’s greatsword.

“Sir,” Cobb said, proffering the sword. Gavin took it with a nod, sitting up and starting to get dressed, his thoughts returning briefly to Kaiden’s words from the previous day.

Gavin hadn’t been appointed to any real position of leadership, exactly, though most of the clans themselves treated him with respect, even if their current leaders didn’t. Without much encouragement—or any at all, for that matter—Cobb had appointed himself some sort of combination of servant and guard to Gavin, advising him on military matters and adding an overall sense of decorum to Gavin’s life.

He’d also added a certain level of solemnity to the situation as well. The clans had just been through an epoch where a tyrant had attempted to have them all killed, saving only his chosen few. Gavin knew part of the reason Cobb stayed so close to him was to ensure that another tyrant didn’t do the same thing. The clans respected Cobb and so did Gavin. Trust, however, was a level of surety that only came over time.

“What news, Cobb?” Gavin asked, belting on the greatsword. Aside from acting as steward and guard, the man was amazingly bureaucratic and efficient when it came to the little day-to-day tasks. Gavin hadn’t realized just how important the man would become when he’d saved him and Lhaurel from Taren in the tunnels hidden within the Oasis walls.

“Genlin’s patrol returned with some grain and part of the flock from the Frierd Warren,” the man said in his rough growl. “That will give us a few more weeks.” He gestured with his cane toward the door.

Gavin followed the man out and started down the hall, walking slightly slower than he normally would to accommodate Cobb’s slight limp. He focused on the man, turning his thoughts away from Kaiden’s graphic metaphor from the day before.

“The clans are growing restless, sir,” Cobb said as they walked. “Old alliances and past slights aren’t easily forgotten now the genesauri are gone.”

Gavin nodded. Though Khari had been less direct with her arguments the day before, she’d meant the same thing. The clans had centuries of divisive bitterness to fall back on. A few weeks weren’t going to overcome that. Gavin honestly wasn’t sure it could be overcome. Especially not where Evrouin and his new clan were concerned. They had formed up from the remnants of those who had followed Kaiden and turned on their own. No one trusted them and no one had forgiven them—not even Gavin, but he’d managed to convince the other clans to give them a second chance. They couldn’t afford continued in-fighting. Not anymore.

“Have you given much thought to my request, sir?” Cobb’s cane thumped away in the sand as they turned down a passage that would lead them back into the heart of the warren.

“Yes, Cobb. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

“And?”

“And I need to give it some more.”

Cobb grumbled something under his breath. Gavin almost smiled.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, sir. Nothing. The clan leaders have requested your presence for the morning assembly. They want to leave and you’re the most outspoken against it. Should I tell them you’ll be there?”

Gavin sighed, but nodded. Gavin thought he’d hated the life of an outcast, always being shunned from anything permanent or habitable. Now that he had a home there was something he discovered he hated even more: politics.

A few hours later, Gavin sat with his back straight, expression calm and confident, though his stomach threatened to empty itself. The various representatives of the seven clans, plus Khari representing both the Roterralar and the mystics, filed into the room, taking seats around the massive wooden table.

Cobb cleared his throat and suggested he take his seat. Gavin reluctantly complied, taking a seat at the head of the table opposite the door.

As always, Gavin took time to study the massive wooden table for a moment. That much wood hadn’t been seen in one place in living memory. The Oasis had trees and wood, but the table did not have the same color or grain as the Oasis trees. The table was a dark, deep brown that shone as if with oil or polish, though Cobb had assured him that it hadn’t seen cloth or oil in years. It was a natural luster. Cobb cleared his throat again and Gavin looked up, pushing aside his contemplations of the table. He doubted anyone would have noticed his momentary distraction. Years performing as a storyteller had schooled his expressions for the most part, and given him an ability to feign one emotion, or interest, while actually feeling or thinking something else entirely. At least, that’s what the training had been meant to do. Gavin didn’t always succeed at it.

“So,” Evrouin said, “what pointless debate are we going to have today?”

Gavin frowned at the man.

Evrouin was the Warlord of the Heltorin clan, one of the two that had fully supported Kaiden in his attempted coup, even going so far as to feign their own demise. Gavin had convinced the other clan leaders to pardon both the Heltorin and their allies the Londik but sometimes, like each time Evrouin countered his every suggestion, he questioned that decision.

“We have several items to discuss, Evrouin,” Gavin replied. “Please refrain from commentary until we’ve discussed the agenda or it is your turn to speak. The other leaders agreed to have you here despite your history. Don’t make them regret that decision.”

Evrouin snorted, but retained his silence. Gavin nodded for Cobb to start the meeting.

“There has been a lot of talk about allowing the clans to return home,” Cobb said. “Gavin would like to address his response to all of you at once, so there are no more questions when this is through.” Cobb glanced sharply toward Evrouin.

“Really?” Alia said from Gavin’s right. Gavin still found it odd that the Sidena, of all the clans, would be the ones to embrace the changes the most readily. A female clan leader? Then again, they’d been hit the hardest by what had happened.

Alia continued, “Why would anyone want to leave? We’ve got enough water and food for all of us and the accommodations are more than adequate.”

Ejjoran was the first to reply. “Of course you’d like the way things are. You Sidena have always liked living off what others have gathered for you. How about you go back with the other women and tend the children?”

“You’re one to talk,” Alia said with a snort.

The following responses were drowned out in a chorus of shouts and arguments, springing up like a sailfin pack through the sand.

“Enough!” Gavin said, using his stage voice to cut through the din. “Until we know for certain the genesauri are truly gone, we can’t risk sending any of the clans back to their warrens. Since the Oasis is lost to us now, this is the only place we can assure some measure of safety.”

The various clan leaders glowered at one another, barely hearing Gavin’s response. Across from him, Khari met his eye. She’d assured him the genesauri were gone. Though he had no way of knowing whether or not she spoke the truth, he believed her. But that wouldn’t stop him from using it as a reason to keep the clans together. It was only in unity they would survive. Kaiden’s words echoed in his mind.

“What about food?” Khari said into the silence that followed. “There’s not enough for all of us. The Roterralar don’t have enough stores to support the entire Rahuli people for an extended period of time.”

Of course you’d be the one to bring that up again. Several of the other leaders shot her half-concealed glares. The look Evrouin shot her shone with the same disdain he’d leveled at Alia only moments before when insulting her.

“We have sufficient for our needs,” Gavin replied with a level voice. “The patrols bring in more and more each day.”

Khari raised an eyebrow, but gave no response.

“We can increase patrols now,” Cobb said. “The strange weather patterns and winds are causing some minor issues, but the Roterralar seem to be adjusting to it.”

Gavin nodded his thanks.

“More excuses from the mighty Roterralar,” Evrouin said in a whisper that nonetheless carried. “I fail to see what that old man is doing here anyway. But at least he’s upfront about his involvement. The rest of you are acting like women and hiding behind the actions of other men, and women too, for that matter. Maybe you should all put on shufari. Or give over leadership of your clan to someone who’ll lead it the right way.”

“What was that?” Khari demanded, half rising. Gavin raised a hand to try and placate her, but before he could answer other voices spoke up.

“How many are dead because you hid here?” Asselin asked with a sneer. He represented the Londik, though he had showed up to fewer and fewer of the meetings of late. Evrouin was slowly taking leadership of several of the clans, the Londik among them. “It was one of yours behind all this.” Asselin gestured vaguely at the walls, though everyone understood his meaning. “You’re no ally of mine, nor any of us.”

Gavin stood up before anyone else could respond, though Khari looked murderous.

“Fighting between us leads nowhere,” he said. “We’re not getting anything accomplished today, it seems. Each time we leave these meetings without anything getting resolved is just another day of chaos, bitterness, and anger we can’t afford. We need unity, not in-fighting. We will meet again in two days at the noon hour if no one objects.”

No one argued. Gavin ground his teeth together, though he was careful not to allow the set of his jaw to show his irritation. These meetings always degenerated into arguments and posturing. Maybe Cobb was right.

The various clan leaders exited the room, only a few pausing to nod toward Gavin. Gavin tried not to get irritated at the slight.

Alia and Khari chatted softly as they left. Gavin had noticed the two of them spending more and more time together recently. The Roterralar ways were definitely having an effect on some, at least.

“Maybe you’re right, Cobb,” Gavin said with a sigh, dropping back into his seat. “They’re not ready to be united. Not yet. They can’t seem to leave the past where it belongs.”

Cobb grunted. “That much is obvious. And why should they? Evrouin and his lot betrayed them, boy. Why should we trust them now?”

“We can’t just let them leave. We don’t even have the remotest understanding of what’s going on now. The Oasis is gone. This land is changing.”

Cobb grunted again and took a seat near Gavin, carefully bending his bad leg under the table and dropping his cane onto the table.

“Life is change, boy,” Cobb said. “And what these people need is change. They can’t live together until they learn to respect one another, or at least have a mutual respect for the same thing. Some of the clans are starting to follow a different way, women are starting to lead, and they’re all still in shock from what happened. They need time apart to think and nurse their wounds. They need to find themselves again.”

Gavin massaged his temples. Meetings of clan leaders always left him with a bit of a headache. There was a reason his grandmother always handled the negotiations between the outcasts and clan leaders. She was much better at this than he. At least, she had been. Gavin hoped he wasn’t disappointing her too badly, wherever she was now. He hoped, also, that she’d made it into the highest level of hell along with all the other good and honorable people.

He motioned for Cobb to continue.

“As long as you have the same end in sight, you can work with people who get to that end differently.” Cobb reached down and kneaded the muscle in his thigh, wincing slightly at the pain.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“You can’t do it with all of them all at once.” Cobb said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice. “I’ve told you that already. The longer you keep them all here, the greater the risk they’ll be at each other’s throats. There’s already fighting and injuries, mostly against the old Roterralar, but some of the clans who’ve been blood enemies for ages are fighting like two children over a crust of bread. How long before there’s a killing?”

The headache swelled.

“I’ll think about it some more,” Gavin said, getting to his feet. “But we can’t have the Roterralar bullied any more than we can let the clans separate and go their own ways right now. Go to the dissenters, you know who they are, remind them that the Roterralar are also the mystics. It is never wise to anger those more powerful that you are. I—I need to think.”

Cobb nodded, but didn’t rise. “Think quickly, sir. These here are like an old waterskin. Being here has swelled them all to the point where they simply don’t have the strength to resist the mounting pressure.”

Gavin nodded and exited, once again massaging his aching temples.

Chapter 3

Squaring to the Stone

“This text will not stray into the religious beliefs of those calling themselves the Orinai, nor argue the theological ideologies and logical fallacies discussed by the hypocritical race, but it shall suffice to say that the Progression paths used in the Orinai religious circles . . . are contingent upon the nine Iterations outlined on the Schema.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Samsin, thirteenth incarnation of Samsinorna, reveled in the storm raging around him. He stood atop a stone platform near the edge of the Northern Dominion, calling down the rains to water the smokeweed fields of Nikanor’s plantation.

One of the slaves clambered up behind him, slipping on the platform’s slick rock.

“Great One,” the slave shouted, “this is destroying the fields. You must stop.”

Without even looking, Samsin backhanded the slave across the face. At well over seven feet tall and nearly twice as broad as the much smaller slave, Samsin struck with enough force to twist and break the slave’s neck and send the broken body sailing out over the edge of the platform. Samsin heard the faint sound of the body hitting the ground as if from a far greater distance.

Lightning struck the ground around him, charging the air. Samsin drew in the charge, using it to fuel both himself and the storm. While it took great strength of will and energy to start up a storm of this magnitude, once started, the storm itself both replenished and augmented the creator’s internal power. It was the beauty of being an Orinai of that strength and power, not that it did him much good in avoiding this current torture.

“You know you’ll have to pay for all this.” The voice was a deep rumble, almost the sound of thunder.

Samsin turned his head, the wind tossing his long, white-blond hair in front of his eyes. Almost as tall as Samsin was himself, but much more solid, Nikanor stood in almost the exact same spot the slave had, though Nikanor’s bare feet were a matter of choice, rather than station. His black hair lay plastered to his square-jawed face, tinges of grey visible through the rain.

“I can replace a few slaves as easily as the wind tosses leaves across the sky,” Samsin said. He turned back to the storm, raising his arms into the air.

“I was not discussing their price in gold.”

Samsin snorted. Typical response from Nikanor. Earth Wards all tended to be pacifists, and believers in the Progression of Honor to get to a higher Iteration. It was ironic, considering the Earth Ward’s next Iteration, the Vulcanist, was the most erratic of all magic users. And the most decidedly vicious. No wonder the Seven Sisters so frequently had to put them down.

“Spare me your preaching.” Samsin grudgingly admired the Earth Ward’s dogged determination though. Even after everything Samsin had done, Nikanor still tried.

Nikanor strode up to him with deliberate steps. He took a position next to Samsin, feet placed wide and arms clasped behind his back. Squaring off with the earth, they called it. Samsin almost snorted again.

“Still, the crops themselves are much harder to replace than the slaves who work them,” Nikanor said in his low rumble. “When the Sisters’ taskmasters come for their quota, they will not be pleased.”

That gave Samsin pause. Thunder erupted overhead and rain pelted his face.

“Fine,” he finally snapped.

Reaching outward, Samsin pulled in the threads of energy still crackling in the air. Energy streamed into him. The storm streamed into him. His blood raced with it, his skin tingled, his hair stood almost erect. With a roar, Samsin reached out with his power, gripped the storm, and dispersed it into a fine mist which exploded outward, covering the plantation, the slave huts clustered at their edge and over fifty square miles in a thick fog. Samsin let his arms drop, unable to keep them up any longer.

“Was that necessary?” Nikanor asked. The man’s voice was even and held no overt judgment in it, but Samsin knew there was condemnation behind it. It was Nikanor’s way.

“Yes.”

“The Sisters’ Council denied your request to return to the Southern Dominion.” It was not a question.

“What of it?” Samsin strode over the wet rock and slid down the ladder to the ground below. Nikanor followed, but took each rung on his way down. Samsin didn’t look at the mangled body on the ground near them.

Muted sounds drifted through the fog. The sound of mourning slaves. The sound of Samsin’s continued hell. How much longer did he have to suffer here?

“The more petulant you act, the longer you will stay here,” Nikanor said as if reading Samsin’s thoughts.

Nikanor strode purposefully through the fog. Samsin followed slightly behind him, his pace much slower and more careful. The Earth Ward didn’t need his eyes to see. His bare feet could sense the vibrations in the earth and he used that as often as his eyes to traverse distances. Samsin, on the other hand, didn’t have that ability.

“I will not lie in my missives to the Sisters.”

Samsin ground his teeth together to keep himself from responding. The man was so storms-cursed honorable. It bothered Samsin that the Ward pairs so often ended up with such dissimilar Progressions. He and Nikanor were of equal rank, despite the decade Nikanor had in age over him, so there was nothing Samsin could do to get him to change his ways, either with political or religious maneuverings. Yet stubborn tenacity was something their Progressions shared. More than once Samsin had considered killing the man—distasteful as that was—but killing Nikanor wouldn’t end him; he’d simply be reincarnated as a babe of equal status somewhere within the Dominions. And the act would definitely give Samsin another incarnation as a Storm Ward. Why did he have to end up here anyway? Storms take this place. Storms take the light-blinded Progressions.

It took Samsin a moment to realize Nikanor was no longer walking. He almost bumped into the man. Nikanor had resumed the squared earth posture. Samsin unclenched his teeth, a barbed comment forming on his lips, when he stopped and swallowed the words. Was that an actual expression on Nikanor’s face?

“What?” Samsin asked.

Nikanor’s face drained of color.

“The Rahuli live,” Nikanor whispered. “They’re still alive.”

Samsin blinked. It took him a long moment to recognize the words Nikanor had spoken. “Children’s stories. We left the Arena behind almost a thousand years ago. As a child, I almost believed in slaves that could create monsters and kill one of the Sisters. Whatever really happened, the Rahuli cannot be alive a thousand years later.”

Nikanor spun on him and the earth rumbled slightly under Samsin’s feet. “They live. We’ve been summoned. I felt it in the earth.”

Felt the message? Stone Talking wasn’t uncommon, most Earth Wards could do it, but if Nikanor really had felt the message that meant . . .

“Was the message meant for someone?” Samsin asked, licking his lips. Though he already knew the answer, he still winced when Nikanor said it aloud.

“It was sent to the Seven Sisters.”

The bath water was still just a touch short of the perfect temperature. Samsin gestured for one of the slaves to bring in more water. He needed the heat. He needed the steam. Baths helped him think and he severely needed some serious contemplation.

The slaves left, giving him a small bow before closing the wooden door behind them. Samsin pursed his lips and tapped a finger to his chin.

Samsin sighed and slipped lower in the titled basin. When he’d first arrived at the plantation nearly a year ago, there hadn’t been more than a few ramshackle rooms loosely tied together by some halls. The slaves had hardly given a Great One of his stature the respect he’d deserved. And, worst of all, there hadn’t even been a bath. That was fine for a back-country Earth Ward like Nikanor. Samsin required a higher standard of living. He’d been quick to rectify all three situations.

The manorhouse in which they now lived was, by the standards of the slave people in the Northern Dominion and the majority of the Ward Partners who tended them here, opulent beyond reasoning. To Samsin it was barely adequate. Samsin added some scented perfumes to the bath water.

Still, the bath chamber is rather pleasant.

Ceramic tiles covered the walls in colorful patterns, matching the latest fashions in the Southern Dominion. Reliefs covered the ceiling, depicting the sea and the magnificent storms which graced it. And the bath itself, a massive construction deep enough to cover Samsin up to the neck if he stood upright in the deep end, was more than a little lavish. A walkway surrounded it on every edge so the slaves or bathers could walk around to every side.

The door to the bathing chamber opened and then closed again. Through the steam, Samsin couldn’t make out who it was, but assumed it was the slaves returning with his heated water.

“That was fast,” he said, sighing and closing his eyes. “I will see you get rewarded for your efforts.”

There was no response. Slaves rarely spoke, which was fine with Samsin, but they were required to respond when spoken to. Samsin opened his eyes, temper flaring.

Nikanor stood at the edge of the pool, arms folded across his massive chest. “This is your third bath in as many days,” he said.

“It amazes me that you can say that with the tone you do. Storm’s breath, how can you sit in that filth for weeks at a time?” Samsin closed his eyes again and leaned back against the edge of the pool.

“It takes the slaves hours to fill the bath, and then another few to heat it. They have better things to be about.”

“Better than serving their master? I think not. You should really consider changing the color of the house slaves’ robes. That same drab brown for both them and the plantation slaves. It makes me feel like I’m always dirty, even when I’m not.”

“And what will a color change?”

“The perception of cleanliness is almost as good as the reality.”

Samsin breathed in the sweet, perfumed air. The steam in the air warmed him as much as the water did. Though his particular powers were not directly related to the water, they were connected, and—well, why shouldn’t he like baths?

“The slaves are still trying to recover from the destruction of your storm. You know, you were only supposed to water the fields, not attempt to destroy them.”

Samsin heard Nikanor take a few steps closer to him. The door opened and the temperature in the bath rose as slaves poured large cauldrons of boiling water into the far end of the bath. Samsin sighed in contentment. The door closed.

“I gave you more than enough coin to cover the cost,” Samsin said.

“Coin has nothing to do with it.”

“Coin is everything,” Samsin said. “Coin can replace anything you’ve lost. It is the power to build, to conquer, and to claim victory in the great game of life. Everything comes from coin.”

Nikanor was silent for long enough that Samsin opened his eyes and lifted his head.

“Can coin buy you a new life?” Nikanor asked, his deep rumble of a voice slow and methodical. “Can it help you reach the next Iteration?”

Samsin narrowed his eyes. “Don’t preach to me, Nikanor. You should know better by now. I do not believe in your ways.”

Nikanor gave a slight nod. “They’re just questions.”

Samsin snorted, settling back into the bath. “Why are you here, Nikanor? You didn’t come this close to a bath just to lecture me about the virtues of your Progression.”

“It’s been almost a week since we received the message from the Sharani Desert,” Nikanor began.

Samsin sat back up in his bath, a chill not from the water making him shiver. He felt a dull ache blossom at the base of his neck and down his shoulders.

“Are you sure it was from them?” Samsin asked.

“Another man would take insult at the number of times you’ve asked that. Yes, I am absolutely sure.”

“Then why haven’t you contacted the relays before now? Why haven’t you sent a message to the Sisters? I know you’ve sent a missive within the last week. You didn’t mention it, did you?”

Nikanor’s silence was all the answer Samsin needed. He sighed and decided the bath was over.

“I know you’ve been thinking about this, Nikanor. Tell me what you’re planning.” Samsin walked up the steps and grabbed a robe, not bothering to towel off.

Nikanor stared off into the distance, unmoving.

“What?” Samsin demanded.

Nikanor turned to him. “I’m not going to tell the Sisters.”

Of all the answers Nikanor could have given, that was the one Samsin had least expected.

“Not yet,” Nikanor said. “I’m sure of what the message said, but—well—it could be some sort of trick. We need to be absolutely sure before we involve the Sisters.”

“We?”

Nikanor ignored that. “I want to go there.”

Samsin nearly choked. “You want to do what?”

“I want to go there. We need to see if the Sharani penal colony does still exist.”

“You do understand you’re totally mad, right?” Samsin asked.

Nikanor gave him a flat look. From the solid man, it was almost a glare.

“Do you want to be the one who makes the Sisters go up into those mountains without absolute proof there is something there to be found?”

That stopped Samsin cold. No, he didn’t. The wrath of the Sisters was what kept the Dominions in line.

“You still can’t seriously want to go all the way up there,” Samsin protested. “I mean, it’s just so far. You know how many slave mines have been lost up there? There’s a reason it’s an unclaimed portion of the continental territory. Why they ever decided to build the Arena there I’ll never know.”

“So the slaves wouldn’t escape,” Nikanor said. “Or so the stories say. And yes, I really intend to go there. I hoped you would come with me.”

For perhaps only the second time in Samsin’s life, he was at a complete loss for words. Nikanor thought he’d want to go on some foolish quest to chase down a quasi-legendary Arena built so that the Orinai could watch the slave people kill each other? What in the seven hells had Samsin ever done to warrant that conclusion?

“You must be mad,” Samsin said. “You can’t really be serious, can you?”

Nikanor remained silent. He was serious, as serious as Samsin had ever seen him. It wasn’t like Nikanor to do anything rash or foolhardy. What could possibly motivate him to attempt something which so contradicted his very nature?

“Can you give me some time to think about it?” Samsin asked. He knew no other answer would dissuade Nikanor from his course. The man was typically slow to come to any conclusion, but once he did, it was almost impossible to sway him. Almost.

“Of course,” Nikanor said, turning from him and opening the door. “We will discuss this again later.”

Samsin massaged the back of his neck as the door swung shut. He knew he’d only bought himself time. Nikanor was not easily moved, but it was possible to change his mind, if Samsin could present a solid, logical argument. Nikanor was a decent enough fellow, for an Earth Ward. He ran a prosperous plantation, despite the enormous number of slaves he used. He’d come around. Eventually. He had to.

Samsin sat alone in his bedroom, perched on the end of his plush canopy bed. The purple silk sheets lay in a crumpled mess at the foot of the bed, the curtains tossed back on one side. A single oil lantern cast a pale orange glow around the room. A large window set into the main part of one wall showed black, reflecting the night.

Samsin reached out a long-fingered hand and gently brushed it over the mural painted on the wall near the foot of his bed. It was a crude depiction of the sea, a blue-green splash of color highlighted by a distant red sun and brown splotches of ships.

The Sisters had sent him here as part of the regular rotation of Storm Wards. If one was lucky, an entire incarnation, and entire life at the same Iteration, may pass without having to serve in one of the frontier plantations. Unfortunately, Samsin had not been one oft favored by luck. At least his tenure here would be a decade at most—not that much time in the grand spectrum of his lives as an Orinai. He longed to return to the sea, where life was simple and storms came naturally. The sea was a fickle mistress, full of rage, and emotions, and power—the perfect lover for a Storm Ward. The sea made decisions simple. Chance her waves and you would either live or die. She mastered you, or you mastered her.

But this . . .

Two days had passed since Nikanor had confronted him in the bathing chambers. The Earth Ward hadn’t brought up the subject again, not once, but he had gone about making preparations for a journey. The solid man had set aside rations, gathered supplies for a long journey, even sent out to the next plantation over for some woolen cloth for protection against the cold. No, Nikanor hadn’t approached Samsin since, but his intent was still clear.

The man was a fool. Nikanor had even appointed a steward among the slaves. A steward. What good was that going to do? Samsin would watch over the plantation. To appoint a steward to tend to the affairs of the plantation was an insult to Samsin’s honor, a jab at Samsin’s power. True, Nikanor owned the plantation and the slaves. He was their true master. Still, the slight stung. Samsin wasn’t going with him.

Then why can’t you sleep? a small voice asked in the back of Samsin’s mind.

Samsin stood up. He ignored the questioning voice, though he couldn’t really deny it, and strode into his sitting room. He poured himself a glass of wine from a bottle and slouched into cushioned purple chair. The chair groaned under his weight. Samsin sniffed. The chair was shoddy work, put together by plantation slaves. Unlike the slaves in the Southern or Central Dominions, these slaves knew nothing of how to reinforce furniture to account for his greater height and girth. Nikanor preferred stone to wooden furniture, so his slaves knew little at all of carpentry.

Samsin sighed and took a sip of the wine. Flavor exploded across his tongue, a mixture of fruits and berries common to the lush orchards of Samsin’s native town. Usually, the fragrant wine made his stay here bearable and was worth the exorbitant cost of shipping. This time, it did little to lighten his dour mood.

Why?

That was the real question. Why did it matter if the Sharani Arena had remnants of the slaves and prisoners still there? Why would the Sisters even care, and why would Nikanor care that they cared? It didn’t matter.

Samsin downed the rest of his wine and walked over to his writing desk.

Of all the furniture in the sitting room, it was probably the least used. It has several drawers for parchment and ink, some others for sealing wax and various other sundry and generally useless items. Instead of a chair, a tall stool sat behind the desk. It was heavy, clunky, and not at all comfortable. This, more than any other thing, kept Samsin from using the desk much at all. But the storm was on the horizon.

He took a seat at the table and lit the candle with a striker sitting next to it. He fished out a sheet of heavy parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink and set them on the desk. Then he began to write. The Sisters had to know. He couldn’t let Nikanor run off on this foolish quest. Samsin’s family had enough influence that even if the information proved fruitless, Samsin would only get an extension on his tenure here. Nikanor, on the other hand, might end up dead or worse. He had no family to speak of and no other influence outside the success of his plantation, which was not inconsiderable.

The missive finished, Samsin set the page aside and wrote out two more copies in his thick, blocky scrawl. He then rolled the parchments up and took out the sealing wax—purple, to match the importance of the information. He set it in the flame and pulled out one of his family’s signets. They were gaudy things, even for Samsin, but it was one of the most recognizable seals within the Orinai. It was a pity his family was divided in their Progression beliefs or else they could have been the most powerful of all the families. The wax ready, Samsin pressed it to the parchment, sealing it closed with a quick press of the signet on each of the scrolls.

Nikanor would be furious with him, but that wouldn’t be much different than now. The man was like the rock, changing slowly.

A knock sounded on the door. Now, who would be up at this time of night? Nikanor perhaps? No, Nikanor slept in his stark stonework room detached from the manor itself. Samsin got to his feet and walked toward the door. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss this with Nikanor tonight. Samsin had made his decision. He opened the door just a crack, letting in the light of a lantern. A slave, Nikanor’s steward, stood in the doorway.

Samsin squinted against the glare to get a good look at him. “How dare you disturb—” Samsin began, flushing with irritation, but the slave cut him off. A dangerous move.

“Great One,” he said. “Master Nikanor has gone. He bade me tell you.”

“Gone?” Samsin asked, forgetting his temper in a moment of confusion. “What do you mean gone?”

The slave went to respond at the same time that cold realization drowned Samsin in ice.

“He went to—” the slave began.

“How long has he been gone?” Samsin said over the top of the slave, swinging the door wide.

The slave took a step back. Samsin realized he must look a fright, clad only in breeches and towering a good two feet above the slave, but he didn’t care. Samsin moved forward to match the slave’s step.

“He left when the sun went down,” the slave stammered. “I was to tell you when you awoke, but I thought . . .” The slave trailed off.

“What did you think?”

The slave swallowed. “I thought maybe you could save him, Great One. From himself, I mean. He’s—he’s not acting like himself.”

Samsin raised his hand, which was clenched into a fist, to strike the slave for such blatant disrespect, but then hesitated, his hand upraised. The slave faced him, not moving, back straight, jaw firmed into a hard line. Where had the fear gone?

Samsin found himself lowering his fist. “Fetch me the pack Nikanor had made up for me,” he said. “Bring it here and be silent about it.”

The slave gave a small nod—another disrespectful familiarity—and hurried away down the hall.

Samsin turned back into his room and shut the door behind him. What was he doing? Let Nikanor run off into the mountains on his own. Samsin couldn’t decide if he was angrier with himself for caring that Nikanor was being a fool, or with the fool himself.

Samsin pushed those thoughts aside. He had to stop Nikanor, go after him, and bring him back if he could. The idiot would get himself killed in the high mountains without a Storm Ward to warn him of coming gales.

Idiot!

Samsin grabbed some clothes from his armoire and shoved them into a satchel, before donning traveling clothes and a thick, dark green cloak. Next, he strode into an adjoining room and grabbed the spear he kept there. The weapon was almost as tall as he was, haft made of a light metal unable to be manipulated by any of the lesser magic users. The blade, as wide as his palm and as long as his forearm, was of reinforced, sea-green glass. He’d rarely had cause to use it out here, though it had seen great use aboard the ships of the Southern Dominion in his younger years. Taking it, Samsin returned to the room just as another knock came at the door.

“Enter,” Samsin barked, slinging the satchel over his shoulder.

The slave steward entered, struggling with the weight of the pack that was obviously too large for him. Samsin strode over and took it from him with one hand, then set the spear against the wall and shouldered the pack. The slave stepped back, looking anxious. Samsin turned back to his writing desk and snatched the three missives he’d written earlier from the desktop. He turned back to the slave and pushed the large scrolls into the man’s hands.

“If we’re not back in three days, send these along to the next relay point. They will know what to do with them.”

The slave nodded, but Samsin held his gaze.

“If you don’t do this, or if the missives don’t get to where they’re going,” Samsin said, “it will be your life.”

“Yes, Great One.”

Samsin nodded and, with a heavy sigh, strode out of his rooms after Nikanor.

Part 2

Conqueror

Chapter 4

Outcast

“Quantification begins with the Schema, which is the simplest representation of the three elements upon which the mystic abilities are based . . . In simple terms, each element has three levels of power, an Iteration of the first, second, or third tier moving up from the least power to the greatest.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Khari entered the healing chambers, taking comfort in the sound of the small gurgling spring in the corner of the room. The political machinations of the clans, and Gavin’s farce of leadership, grated on her like the sounds of metal against rock. The tension eased as she turned to check on Lhaurel’s sleeping form.

Despite eating regular meals of softened foods—which Lhaurel accomplished surprisingly well without rising—Lhaurel had lost weight. Her pale skin pulled tight against her skull, making it appear as if there were no skin at all, just bone. Her hair and nails were just as unnaturally red as they’d been before.

Where Kaiden had started to recover, Lhaurel hadn’t. Khari had no idea why. Nothing she tried helped.

A soft knock sounded at the door and Farah entered. The girl nodded respectfully toward the Matron and glanced at Lhaurel, then her gaze flitted away just as quickly.

“Yes, Farah?”

“I finished the weapons,” Farah said, pulling a pair of red-glass knives from behind her back. “I was just on my way to the eyrie when I noticed you in here.”

Khari took one of the knives, intrigued. She’d seen what Kaiden had done to Makin, how easily the mystic had killed the greatest warrior Khari had ever known. Having a weapon that couldn’t be manipulated by any of the mystic powers was imperative. The knife was blocky and looked cumbersome, but the balance was perfect and the edge—

“Ouch!” Khari grunted, pulling her finger away.

A small rivulet of blood welled from the tip of her forefinger, dripping down into the knuckle creases of her hand. Lhaurel stirred in the cot near them.

“It’s sharper than any steel blade we have,” Farah explained.

“Good.” Khari tried to ignore the throbbing wound, but failed. Blood started pooling in her palm. Khari handed Farah back the knife. “Make more. At least a score.”

“That’s what Beryl said as well.” Farah nodded while trying to hide a small grin.

Khari made a small dismissive gesture and the girl left.

Khari walked up to the cot and fished under the frame for the box of bandages underneath it. As she bent over, she noticed Lhaurel had stopped thrashing. Khari sat up and studied the girl, who lay still and calm as a pool of water. Some small amount of color had returned to Lhaurel’s face. Khari’s brows came together over her nose.

Pursing her lips, Khari absently pulled a bandage from the box in her hand. She’d need to wrap the finger before it got irritated. She turned back to tending her hand, and then froze.

The blood was gone.

There’d been a pool of blood in her palm only moments before. The cut on her finger looked as if it had already had several days to heal. Khari stood up straight, mind racing. Wetta healing didn’t work on the wetta themselves. And Khari hadn’t felt anything at all, hadn’t even accessed her powers.

Lhaurel stirred, drawing Khari’s gaze. She looked so much better. She—

Khari looked from her hand and then back to Lhaurel. Could she have . . .

Khari pulled a dagger from her belt and pricked one of her other fingers enough to draw blood. It pooled on her finger and then began to run down toward her palm. Lhaurel stirred.

The blood turned to mist, then vanished, the cut healing partially before her eyes. Immediately Khari looked to Lhaurel. Even more color had returned to Lhaurel’s cheeks and she’d entered into a deeper slumber, a true sleep, not the tempestuous unconsciousness she’d been in before.

It was the blood.

Khari looked down at Lhaurel, hand still held in the air before her. What was she?

Gavin entered the eyrie with a hesitant step and stopped only a few feet into the room. He’d seen the aevians flying in the great battle of the Oasis—the storyteller within him wanted to give it a grand name, but hadn’t come up with anything yet—but this was the first time he’d actually set foot within the eyrie itself.

This was majesty.

“Here now. You can’t be here without the Matron’s permission.”

Gavin turned to regard the speaker, expecting to see an older woman glaring down at him in that imperious, grandmotherly way. Instead, a willowy young woman, perhaps only seventeen or eighteen years old, stood a dozen or so feet away, hands on hips. With startling blond hair and deep blue eyes regarding him from the middle of a stern expression, she was as far from old and grandmotherly as a woman could get. A simple earring adorned one of her ears high up on the lobe.

“My name is Gavin.” It was a stupid thing to say, but it was already out of his mouth.

“That’s nice. Does Khari know you’re here?”

Gavin cocked his head to the side. Did she not know who he was? “Not exactly, no. I mean, she told me I should familiarize myself with the eyrie so I’d know more about the subject when it comes up in gatherings, but that was a couple days ago. She hasn’t said anything specific recently . . .”

Gavin trailed off, noticing the edges of the woman’s mouth twitching. Was she making sport of him?

“And you are?” he asked.

“I’m Farah,” she said, mouth moving into a soft smile. “The Matron told me you might be stopping by, but I expected you to be older.”

“Why’d you go through all that if you already knew who I was?”

Farah shrugged and smiled, one corner of her mouth twisting upward into a half smirk. “Honestly, it was kinda fun to see you squirm.”

Gavin had to consciously keep himself from rolling his eyes. At least she was nice to look at.

“Do you normally stop everyone at the door?” he asked.

“Khari fears some of the Rahuli may try and steal aevians. I told her we should let them try, especially the Heltorin or Londik, but she didn’t want to have to explain the thieves’ deaths to their families this soon after—well, after the Oasis.”

Gavin looked over at the closest aevian. It was small, at least in comparison with its larger companions, though it still stood well over six feet tall. One look at the foot-long talons and the wickedly hooked yellow beak was enough for Gavin to understand Khari’s fear.

“Well, can I look around? Is it safe?” he asked.

Farah shrugged, though her smile didn’t slip. “Just don’t make any sudden moves when you’re close to a group.”

“I won’t,” Gavin promised.

He walked toward the middle of the eyrie floor, though he shot a few sidelong glances back at Farah as he walked. She watched him, but went back to her work, which had apparently been dressing goat carcasses.

Gavin studied the aevians, watching the playfulness of the smaller ones and the regal nobility of the massive, white-plumed specimens which nested high up on the side of the eyrie wall. He was surprised and a little taken aback at the intelligence he saw in them and the fierce social hierarchy. Studying them, watching them interact with one another, Gavin was almost able to push aside the sense of gloom that had been troubling him. With all the problems going on with the Rahuli right now, the logistics issues, the rivalry and resentment between the clans, and the ominous message from Kaiden, Gavin’s life had become steeped in omnipresent stress.

Gavin strode over to a massive, oddly-shaped opening in the side of the eyrie. The opening was high up the side of the plateau that contained the warren. A sheer drop down onto the sands, yet it afforded a nearly perfect view of the entire Sharani Desert.

He could see the distant smudge that was the Forbiddence, which ringed the desert sands. He’d never seen it up close, but there wasn’t a place in the Sharani Desert you could go without seeing it. And there, to the southeast, lay the broken remnants of the Oasis. Clouds blackened the sky above it, and—though Gavin couldn’t see it from here—he knew rain fell with abandon. And, for the first time in living memory, those storms were drifting outside the Oasis. The deep red sands were getting stained maroon by the pooling water, plants were starting to grow where they hadn’t been before, and—even more than that—no sign of the genesauri had been found.

“They tell me you’re a relampago,” Farah said.

Gavin hadn’t heard her approach. He turned, finding the young woman only a few feet away regarding him with deep, blue eyes.

“A what?”

“A relampago,” she repeated more slowly. “You can manipulate energy.”

She held up a hand. Gavin felt something drawn toward the woman, like thousands of ants rushing across the sand, and white sparks suddenly crackled along Farah’s upraised hand.

Gavin swallowed, remembering the battle with Taren. He had manipulated energy then, though he hadn’t had the time nor any real desire to delve into it. There was so much else going on, so many other things to keep track of, for him to worry about something that, frankly, scared him just a little.

“I guess.”

Farah snorted and the white sparks disappeared. Gavin felt them returning to the sands like water spilled on the ground.

“You either are, or you aren’t, outcast. There is no guessing.”

Gavin didn’t respond, watching a massive white aevian crouched on a crag. The aevian looked down over the eyrie with an imperious gaze. It rebuffed any of its fellows who approached, chasing them off with a few muted shrieks and ruffled feathers.

“What’s with that one?” Gavin said, gesturing with his chin toward the aevian. “Is he sick or something?”

Farah looked where Gavin had gestured and then sighed.

“That’s the prior Warlord’s aevian. It’s rare for an aevian to outlive its rider, but it does happen from time to time.” Farah’s voice held great pity in it. “I wish that one hadn’t.”

Gavin frowned, turning to look at her directly. Farah made a sour face. “He is understandably moody, but he’s also the master of the eyrie. The aevians are leery of him and unsure what to do. It doesn’t help that they’re going through some tough rationing right now with food.”

Gavin hadn’t thought about the aevians facing the same shortages in food the Rahuli were. “The Roterralar didn’t have nearly the size goat herd it would need to support this many aevians when I got here,” Gavin said.

“They ate the genesauri before,” Farah said it as if the answer should have been obvious.

Gavin shook his head. One more problem to add to the growing pile.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you changed the topic. You’re a relampago. Since I’m the only other one now, I think I’ll end up being the one to train you.”

Gavin arched an eyebrow at her.

She grinned. Gavin found the look ominous.

“There are more important things to worry about for now,” Gavin said, looking away. “Thank you for letting me take a look around. I’ll probably be back a few more times.”

Farah shrugged. “That’s fine. Don’t wait too long though.”

Gavin frowned.

“On the training,” Farah clarified. “Once used for the first time, your powers will get harder and harder to control the longer you wait to begin training.”

“Just give me some time to get my feet under me.”

Farah shrugged and walked back to the carcasses near the door. As he left, Gavin found himself looking back over his shoulder at her. He certainly would be back soon.

Gavin only made it down the first side passage when shouts echoed down from the hallway above. Gavin’s pulse quickened and he broke into a run. Echoes made the direction of the shouts hard to discern, but the sounds grew louder the further down the passage Gavin got. The voices were angry, shouting curses like arrows.

Gavin rounded a corner and the scene resolved before him. Two groups of men formed two halves of a ring around an additional pair in the center of the group. The center pair circled one another on light feet, swords out. One of the men—Gavin thought he was one of the Heltorin by the distinct tattoo on the man’s cheek—had a long cut on one arm, which dripped blood onto the sandy floor. His opponent, a short man with both a sword and a dagger, Gavin did not recognize.

“What’s going on?” Gavin demanded, shouting to be heard over the jibes and jeers lobbied by both sides.

One of the onlookers glanced at Gavin and then snorted. “This isn’t any of your business, outcast. Keep on walking.”

The Heltorin man parried a blow from the dagger-wielder, then stepped away, taking up a defensive posture. Dagger-wielder grinned and followed the man.

Gavin pushed forward, intending to step between the two men, but two of the watchers grabbed him by the arms before he could get by them. Gavin struggled, but their grips were firm. If there’d only been one of them, Gavin could have—but there were two and he didn’t want to start a second fight while trying to stop a first.

Dagger-wielder batted aside a parry with his sword and struck the Heltorin man a glancing block across the chest with a quick follow-through strike with the dagger. The Heltorin man growled and continued to back up, but was stopped by the ring of men.

Dagger-wielder grinned wickedly. “You’re not nearly so tough when you’re not hiding away while the rest of us die, are you, Heltorin?”

The Heltorin spat at his feet.

Dagger-wielder’s face scrunched together in a mask of fury. This was going to turn into a bloodbath and quickly. The Heltorin man was clearly outmatched and none of his companions were going to step in to defend him. They wouldn’t impugn his honor. They would avenge him if—no, when he fell—but they wouldn’t step in before.

This wasn’t the first conflict between the Heltorin and Londik and the other clans, but this was the first that had escalated to this level. Normally Gavin’s reputation from the Oasis was enough to calm a situation, but not anymore. He didn’t have time to consider the implications of that.

Gavin had to do something. Acting on instinct, Gavin reach out into the walls and sandy floor and pulled. He felt the energy gathering, like thousands of ants. The two holding his arms yelped as white energy crackled up Gavin’s arms. They released him and jumped away and Gavin rushed forward, grabbing Dagger-wielder by the back of his shirt and hauling him backward before he could land a blow on the Heltorin. Caught unaware, Dagger-wielder stumbled and Gavin was able to step in front of him, between the two men.

The energy faded.

For a moment, everything was still. Dagger-wielder stared up at him in confusion and anger, the onlookers equally as stunned, some even with looks of fear at the overt display of magic. Then, Gavin felt a sword-tip placed against the side of his neck.

Gavin turned slowly until he faced the Heltorin man, who held his sword to Gavin’s neck. Gavin almost smiled at the irony of having saved this man’s life only to have him threaten Gavin’s own, but smiling would only make him even angrier.

“Wrong move, friend,” the man said, his voice as cold as the blade at Gavin’s neck.

“There’s no need for this,” Gavin said, carefully. “If the two of you need to fight it out, you can just as easily use fists as blades. You’ll still both know who’s the stronger.”

The man sneered and, behind Gavin, Dagger-wielder snorted.

“You’re an outcast. You know nothing of honor,” the Heltorin man said. “The only way you beat Taren at all in the end was because of trickery. You’re in league with the Roterralar devils. You’re one of their mystic pets.”

Gavin swallowed, forming his words carefully. The ring of men closed in around him, united suddenly in their dislike of him. Gavin licked his lips, wondering how he’d managed to get in this situation.

“Enough of us died in the Oasis. Can we really afford any more deaths?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Gavin saw it in the set of the man’s jaw, the sudden change of posture. Gavin reached out to the walls around him, consciously attempting to replicate his act of only a few moments before. Nothing happened. In that moment, Gavin felt his mouth dry with fear. He tried again as the pressure increased on his neck, the blade cutting into flesh. Again, nothing happened. The energy remained elusive.

“I really wouldn’t kill him,” a passionless voice said.

Gavin turned his head to look toward the speaker. His face was lined and his hair was greying, though his frame held the muscles and power of a much younger man. His arms were bigger around than most men’s legs, his chest a barrel of corded muscle straining against a thick, leather vest. He held a number of scrolls under one arm. And there was something about his skin. Was it covered with metal flecks?

“None of you know how to mind your own business, do you?” one of the onlookers said.

The man grunted and made an odd gesture with one hand. The sword at Gavin’s neck lifted and flew out of its owner’s hand. The Heltorin man yelped softly as the weapon flew away from him and came to rest in the air in front of the well-muscled stranger.

The man reached up and wrapped a hand around the sword’s hilt. “As I said, I really wouldn’t kill him.” He put the sword’s point against the ground and leaned on it like a cane. “Don’t try it.”

The last was directed at Dagger-wielder, who had shifted as if he were going to try something. His weapons flew free of his grip as well and came to rest at the older man’s feet. All was quiet for a few moments, even more silent than when Gavin had interrupted earlier. Then the onlookers and two combatants turned to leave.

“Some day you won’t have another of your devil friends to protect you,” the Heltorin man hissed at Gavin, then he followed his companions down the hall and out of sight.

Gavin clenched and unclenched his hands as moisture returned to his mouth. He suppressed the soft tremble which threatened to make his legs lose stability and turned to look at the mysterious man.

“Thanks for that.”

The man grunted. “Try not to die.” He started walking, dropping the sword he’d been holding onto the floor with the others. Gavin noticed the limp with interest.

“Wait,” Gavin said, holding out a hand. “Who are you?”

“Beryl.” He kept on walking.

“Wait. Thank you. I’m Gavin.” Gavin hurried after the man.

“I know,” Beryl said. “Learn to fight. Now leave me alone.”

Gavin stopped in his tracks. What had he done to deserve that?

Beryl continued walking, limping down the hall until he was lost from sight. Gavin pursed his lips and absently ran a hand over the spot on his neck where the sword had rested.

Farah was right. He needed to learn more about his powers.

Almost an hour later, Gavin strode into the greatroom of the Roterralar Warren and—not for the first time—felt a slight sense of awe at the grandeur and sheer size of the place. Khari constantly complained that the warren couldn’t house the entire population of the Rahuli people. Gavin disagreed. Even with the remaining clans each claiming their own tier of rooms, there was plenty of evidence to show that this place was built for far more people than it currently housed. The issues, as Khari always pointed out, were feeding, clothing, and maintaining a civil relationship between the five hundred current inhabitants. Even housing segregation wasn’t proving an effective measure to maintaining that civility.

He drew a few stares as he entered, but Gavin ignored them for the most part. Several of the clans looked at him with awe after his defeat of Taren at the Oasis. Gavin was slightly uncomfortable under the weight of that understanding, but he knew he needed the notoriety if he was to lead this people.

He turned to the right and climbed the steep, winding switchbacks up the side of the massive room. The outcasts, all six of them that had survived, kept to themselves at the very top tier of rooms. As much as Gavin idealistically wanted the clans to unify as one Rahuli people, it was simply wasn’t happening, as he had witnessed firsthand earlier that day. He put a hand to his neck absently, rubbing it along one side.

As Gavin walked, the families stuck out to him, as always. He tried to not notice how many families were devoid of one parent or another. The battle at the Oasis had been costly. They’d paid a terrible price, but—hopefully—the genesauri were gone. It had been worth it. The children running around or getting scolded would have the chance to grow up in a world free from the yearly terror of a Migration. There was that glittering hope shining at the end of the long tunnel of despair.

Gavin made it up the last few steps on the highest switchback, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun gleaming down through the massive opening in the cavern’s mouth. He’d only taken a few steps onto the landing when one of the thick wooden doors opened and Shallee poked her head out the door.

“Gavin.” She stepped out onto the landing with one hand on her swollen belly. “What brings you here?”

Gavin smiled. Despite having her husband killed before her eyes, despite the turmoil and stress and destruction of the last battle of the Oasis, Shallee had survived. And even in the face of all that, she still managed to smile.

“I just wanted to check in on you and the baby.”

Shallee gave him a flat look, though it was softened by her small smile. Perhaps a decade Gavin’s senior, Shallee was a short, squat woman with a mane of deep brown hair and discerning brown eyes. His grandmother had always spoken highly of her, and Gavin, in the weeks that had followed the fall of the Oasis, had come to rely on her insight and opinion.

“What do you really need, Gavin?” she asked.

Gavin scratched at his chin and didn’t meet her gaze.

“Everything feels like it’s slipping away,” Gavin said. “I know we’re all safe and we assume, from what Khari has told us, that the genesauri are gone. We should be happy, we should be rejoicing in our survival, but . . .” He let the sentence fade and hang there between them.

“But we don’t seem happy,” Shallee said, leaning back against the stone wall. Her gaze turned toward the greatroom floor, where women worked and children played, though each in their own little groups. Only the children intermingled and even they didn’t get away without a good scolding for doing so.

Gavin nodded.

“We are, though,” Shallee said. “Each in our own way. I’m eternally grateful that I am safe and my baby will be able to face life without the genesauri. We outcasts, we have shelter and food.”

“They still hate us, though.”

Shallee shrugged. “They don’t know us, yet. Look at you. Half the clans look at you like some sort of a savior.”

“And the other half like some sort of demon,” Gavin said with a rueful smile.

“Only because you defend those they disagree with. There is always hope, Gavin. Always. Elvira gathered us together as a people based upon only that, a simple hope. Don’t ever doubt the strength of a solitary flame.”

Gavin smiled. For some reason, despite the stress and the problems of the day, he felt better.

He turned to go. “I’ll bring you and the others some food later,” he said, speaking over one shoulder. “May death’s shadow tread lightly by you.”

“Always,” Shallee said.

Chapter 5

Monster

“These three first tier Iterations are the honors of the Rahuli people, the smaller of the two races of men that populate this world.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel existed in memory, experiencing once more the deaths of the genesauri, the poor men and women who had fueled her helpless release of power, and the terrible fear and sense of ecstasy that had coursed through her at the time. It had seized her, pushed onward indiscriminately. Makin Qays died a thousand times in Lhaurel’s dreams. The old woman had her last moments of breath stolen a thousand times again. It was a black, soulless place—a hell greater than any of the seven levels. And she knew she deserved it. She was a monster.

Lhaurel came awake with a scream tearing from her lips like the sound of a sailfin’s keening. She sat upright, immediately feeling the terrible disorientation of the blood rushing from her head and the pain of sore, tight, and damaged muscles. She sensed the water gurgling in the spring near her, though it was a peripheral thing now, no longer the powerful weight to which she had grown accustomed. Instead, the sense of another’s sentient presence overwhelmed her.

Lhaurel spun toward the other person in the room, reaching out to her powers by instinct, to the reservoirs of blood within her own veins to fuel her magic. A chill ran through her, freezing the blood in her veins.

Khari stood near the doorway, hand on her sword hilt. The woman’s stern face was a careful mask, face expressionless, though rigid and hard.

Lhaurel let go of the magic with an effort, feeling somehow soiled for the use of it. Khari’s presence faded, though it did not vanish completely. Lhaurel could still sense her, but more like an incessant gnat at her ear than the roar of a sandtiger it had been.

“Khari,” Lhaurel croaked. She held a hand to her head, massaging her throbbing temples. A headache swelled behind her eyes and threatened to dwarf the pain of her aching muscles.

Khari edged forward.

Lhaurel knew something was off about the woman’s behavior, but she couldn’t place it. The headache swelled.

“How are you feeling?” Khari asked.

Lhaurel didn’t know what to say. Instead she simply shook her head.

“Do you . . .” Khari hesitated, which cut through part of the confusion caused by Lhaurel’s headache.

Khari cleared her throat and continued in a much firmer voice. “Do you remember what happened in the Oasis?”

Death. Death born from blood stolen by a murderer. Lhaurel had killed them. She’d called Kaiden a monster then, but she’d been wrong. She was the real monster. Lhaurel squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and pain. No, she wasn’t a monster, was she?

Khari must have noticed Lhaurel’s reaction because Lhaurel heard her step forward and place a hand on Lhaurel’s back. The touch was soft.

“Did you do it, Lhaurel? Did you destroy the genesauri?”

Within her pain, within her misery, Lhaurel heard the question and nodded. Of that, at least, she was sure. The genesauri were dead. Lhaurel tried to reach out, as she had in the Oasis, tried to feel the sands of the Sharani Desert and comb them for life, but the pain only intensified and she cried out softly. It was a weak sound, the sound of a newborn lamb seeking suck from its mother.

“So much blood,” Lhaurel whispered. “Blood and pain and death. Genesauri dead—all dead. People too. I felt them, felt them all.”

Tears ran down Lhaurel’s cheeks and she found Khari’s arms around her in that moment. For all the hesitation, for all the trepidation Khari had exhibited earlier, Lhaurel basked in the comfort of those arms.

“Lhaurel,” Khari said gently. “You saved us, saved us all. I don’t know how, but you did. But Lhaurel . . .”

Lhaurel tried to look up, but she simply couldn’t muster the strength. When had she gotten so weak? Her thoughts were growing more and more clouded by the moment, her headache more and more intense.

“Saralhn?” Lhaurel asked, blinking away her fatigue and focusing on Khari’s drawn, lined face. “What about Saralhn? Is she here?”

Khari’s licked her lips and Lhaurel knew the answer even before the woman spoke. “She wasn’t among the survivors. I asked about her. She died well, a true warrior. You would have been proud of her.”

Lhaurel barely felt the pain beneath the fatigue. She’d thought Saralhn dead once before. This time though, she didn’t doubt Khari’s word.

“I thought you could burn a shufari for her, when you’re up to it.” Khari’s voice sounded hesitant, as if she were worried she’d say the wrong thing. “We didn’t have a chance to mourn everyone individually, not with so many dead. But I know how important she was to you . . .” Khari trailed off.

Lhaurel nodded numbly, licking her lips. She blinked away the blurriness in her eyes. Khari cleared her throat a few times and Lhaurel focused on her, though it was growing hard to focus on anything.

“You’re not a wetta at all, are you?”

Khari’s question seemed to come from a long ways off, like the echo of someone shouting from the other side of a hallway. But despite the softness of the sound, it was piercing.

Lhaurel struggled to form an answer. “No,” she said, words slurring together slightly. “I consume blood.”

Khari began a response, but Lhaurel slid back into darkness, wrapped in the comfort of Khari’s arms.

Khari placed Lhaurel back onto the cot with gentle arms, though her mind was deeply troubled. Since her discovery with the blood a few days before, Khari had kept a silent vigil over Lhaurel, trying to figure out what to do when—no if—Lhaurel awoke, to the neglect of all her other duties.

The girl was far more powerful than anyone Khari had experienced, except for maybe Beryl, but the strange smith was nowhere to be found. Khari had sent everyone available to find the man, but to no avail. For only the second time in Khari’s life, she was at a complete loss at what to do, and that thought made her extremely uncomfortable.

Lhaurel stirred in her sleep, mumbling something under her breath. Khari leaned in close, trying to hear, but the words were unintelligible. Still, Khari found she was glad Lhaurel had finally come around.

Khari and Makin had never been blessed with children, though they had tried for years. One of Khari’s biggest regrets in life, now that Makin was gone, was that his legacy would not live on in their children. Yes, Khari had seen all of the Roterralar she’d trained as surrogate children and the aevians over which she held herself responsible were an extension of that surrogacy, but they hadn’t ever really been hers.

But Lhaurel was different. Lhaurel hadn’t just been one of the Roterralar she’d trained with the sword. Lhaurel was the first and only mystic Khari had ever trained. In the few short months the girl had been a part of the Roterralar, Khari had developed a bond with her that went beyond simple teacher and student. In a way, Khari had started to look at Lhaurel as the daughter she’d never had. And that was dangerous.

How was Khari to make the decisions that were best for the Roterralar when she put the needs of a single individual over the needs of the clan? Lhaurel was clearly dangerous. She was an unknown, with impossible powers. But with Makin gone, Khari couldn’t just let Lhaurel go as well. Not if she could help it.

With a resolved expression, Khari pulled a dagger from her belt and carefully cut into one of her fingers. Most of them had small wounds from where she’d already done this a half dozen times before. A small trickle of blood ran from the wound and, within moments, Lhaurel had consumed it. Khari was careful to squeeze out a little more from her finger, to be consumed as well, but left it at that. Lhaurel’s tossing and turning subsided and she fell into a deep sleep.

With a sigh, Khari got to her feet and checked the sword at her belt. She’d taken to carrying it around with her inside the warren ever since news of Gavin’s encounter with the Heltorin man had reached her. She at least, would not be taken so unawares.

With one last look at Lhaurel, Khari headed for the door. She was a wetta after all, and that came with certain abilities. She would find Beryl herself. She had questions that needed answers.

She reached out, using the spring in the room behind her to fuel her search. Her range was normally limited by the water she had within herself, but with an ample source so close, she could draw upon it to increase her range. It was nothing like what Lhaurel said she could do, sensing everyone, but she could sense the other mystics around her, each type with a different feel.

Lhaurel, in the room behind her, felt different now, a darker, more shadowy feeling than the simple elusive vastness that had marked her before.

Khari continued to push outward, straining against the confines of her normal range. She had only attempted something like this once before, a long time ago when she had first been broken and was newly experiencing her powers.

She felt a half dozen others throughout the passages, but none of them felt like Beryl. Khari had been surprised at how many potential mystics had come with survivors. Most of them showed the initial signs of a breaking—how could they not after the ordeal of the Oasis—but Khari had not had the time to meet with them all or even to discuss their abilities with any of the other surviving mystics.

She knew she should have, but other priorities kept arising and there was enough tension going around concerning the ordinary Roterralar that adding to it wasn’t necessarily a good idea right now. Besides, that wasn’t Khari’s responsibility—that was the job of the head of the mystics and Khari hadn’t appointed one yet.

Well, she had let Farah know that Gavin was a relampago. As the only other surviving member of that order, Farah was the only one with the capacity to train him, and he, with the way he was acting and the drive he was showing to unite the clans, he had to learn. It wasn’t something she could let slide.

There.

Khari sensed Beryl then, deep within the bowels of the warren, in the ancient abandoned passageways beneath the main part of the warren.

What was he doing there?

Khari felt a small flash of annoyance. No wonder none of the people she’d sent had been able to find him.

Khari ran a hand through her short hair. It was unlike Beryl to leave his forge at all, but it had been dormant for days. Now he was down in the bowels of the warren itself, most likely alone. If she hadn’t already been looking for him, that fact alone would have made her try and find him. He was up to something.

Lhaurel dreamed.

She was aware of the fact that she was dreaming, unlike the fitful nightmares she’d been trapped in before, but she saw it through the eyes of someone else. She was an observer in the dream only, unable to speak or act, but could only watch through eyes of another phantom woman.

In the dream, she strode through a long corridor lined with torches. The corridor sloped upward to a large set of steps which lead up to a massive stone door. She strode up, noticing then the second set of echoing footsteps along with her own.

The doorway swung open of its own accord, letting in a blazing burst of sunlight.

“Thank you, Beryl.” The voice came as if from Lhaurel’s mouth, though Lhaurel herself did not think or say the words. She felt the surprise though, which was noteworthy in itself. Though she couldn’t control what was happening, she was still herself, could still feel and think autonomously.

“I asked you not to call me that.” Lhaurel recognized the voice, though much of the gruff burr she was used to was absent. Why was she dreaming about Beryl?

“Why?” The woman’s voice asked. “It is your name, after all.” There was a note of something else in the words, more than just the statement itself. Playfulness? Humor, maybe?

Beryl snorted, though he was still not visible. They climbed up the last few stairs, stepping out onto a wide flat area covered in a cushy green something.

A shorter, thicker version of the grasses in the Oasis?

“It was the name of a nobody, a warrior slave, used for the amusement of your Sisters.”

The woman laughed softly. “Ah yes, but it was also the name of a hero among the slaves. And it’s the name of the man with whom I fell in love.”

If Lhaurel had control of her body, she would have started in surprise. Love? Was Beryl married? Lhaurel didn’t recall anyone ever mentioning Beryl’s wife, or even a lover. This was a strange dream. Yet something within her, a small voice of reason, whispered that this was not a dream at all.

“You are far above me, Elyana,” Beryl’s voice said as they strode across the green, squishy surface. “It is not meet that you should say such things about your Bondsman.”

“Your protests are hollow, Beryl,” the woman said, the fondness in her voice apparent now. “Or you wouldn’t call one of the Sisters by name. Come along then, my Bondsman. Let us go see what sport we have today.”

The woman turned her head and Lhaurel could finally see where they were headed. A group of people congregated near the edge of a sudden drop, the dull hum of conversation reaching Lhaurel’s ring of perception. Beryl and Elyana, the woman through which Lhaurel was experiencing this dream, walked toward the group, though the participants were like no one Lhaurel had ever seen. All men, they stood well over seven feet tall, sculpted muscles bulging beneath tight clothing. Half had blond, wispy hair, while the other half looked far more solid, as if they were rooted to the earth itself. But there was something slightly off about them too. Eyes slightly too large, bodies too well formed, features too similar one with another. Not that they all looked alike, but the tone of their skin, the chiseled perfection, even the color of their hair was identical.

The conversation died as Beryl and Elyana neared, the men all turning to regard them, each inclining their heads and clamping their right palm flat against their chests.

Who were these people?

“What is the status of events today?” Elyana asked. Her tone was more formal now, less playful.

One of the blond-haired men replied. “The Rhiofriar are ahead. It may be that one of them may prove themselves today and progress to the next Iteration.”

Several of the others, mostly those with darker hair, chuckled.

“And which family would claim him, when reborn?”

Reborn?

“The Avrefran.”

“They’ve been receiving a lot of new blood.” Elyana’s voice was contemplative, musing, but the assembled men reacted as if she had threatened them.

“The Sisters have smiled upon them,” one of the men said. Several others nodded and another one chimed in as well. “They must have followed their Progressions most notably, Honored Sister.”

Sisters?

Lhaurel was confused. This was the strangest dream she’d ever experienced. She willed herself to wake up, but nothing happened. She thought about pinching herself, but realized she couldn’t almost as soon as she’d considered it.

What was going on?

“What are the odds?” Beryl asked. He was still standing behind Elyana, so Lhaurel couldn’t see him.

This got the men talking again, gently ribbing one another or else shooting each other knowing looks. “Not as good as when you were one of them, Beryl.”

One of them?

Elyana raised one hand sharply, pointing a pale, white finger at the man who had spoken. The laughter died in his throat and the man swallowed and then licked his lips before Elyana spoke.

“You will show more respect to the Bondsman of one of the Sisters,” she said in a voice of steel. Just because I have dwelt with you for a time does not give you such familiarity. Do not forget yourself unless you wish to join those below.”

The man hastened to stammer an apology.

Lhaurel studied the finger raised in front of her gaze. Pale white skin—not a pale brown, but white, like hers after the Oasis. And the nails, they were as red as the blood within her veins.

“Too late,” Elyana hissed. Red mist—blood itself—formed in the air around the man and shimmered toward Elyana. The men around him scattered back. Blood surged toward Elyana, crackling with a strange white energy and coalescing into a ball within her outstretched hand. Then she thrust it outward.

As it flew, the red ball seemed as flame, but when it struck the man, it struck with solidity. Blood and energy splashed across his chest, throwing him over the edge of the cliff with enough force to send him several dozen spans out from the edge and into the unknown abyss beneath.

Lhaurel woke up.

Khari strode along in the darkened passages of the warren, more than a little irritated at the distance she’d had to walk already.

What was Beryl up to down here?

She sensed the lake before she saw it. She’d always known it was down here though she’d never had any desire to actually see it. The spring in the healing rooms was plenty for any clan’s needs. Yet when she rounded the corner of the passage and saw the light of distant lanterns reflecting off such a vast, indescribable pool of water, her heart skipped a beat. It was pure beauty.

Khari reached out to it with her powers, feeling the depth of it with perceptions better than sight. Here was a source of fuel for her magic beyond anything she’d ever encountered. Why hadn’t she ever made the time to come down and see this place? It was pure, unadulterated majesty.

Movement from the other side of the lake drew Khari’s attention away from the lake itself. Someone moved about and a low grumble of sound carried out over the water, like the distant hum of bees.

Khari strode out onto the narrow path through the center of the lake, marveling at the majesty of the room. It was clearly not a natural phenomenon and the grandeur of it left her somewhat breathless.

Khari’s sense of awe was replaced by confusion about halfway across the narrow walkway. She could see Beryl, busy working at a small metal table, scratching away on a scroll. Was he writing? Dozens of other scrolls lay scattered across the stone floor, bathed in the light of a half dozen lanterns which rested in a couple of the hundreds of cubby holes cut into the stone wall.

What were those?

“Beryl?” Khari called. The sound echoed wetly through the cavern.

Beryl jumped and Khari felt the ground shake beneath her feet. The metal lanterns shook and then flew into the air. Khari stumbled back, nearly falling into the lake. She reached out to the waters, feeling the flush of extra balance, strength, and poise that always came with her powers.

She steadied herself as the ground calmed. Beryl stood inches from her, eyes seeming to literally blaze with a strange orange light. How had he gotten there so fast?

“Leave,” Beryl growled. It was a deep, guttural sound unlike anything Khari had ever heard before. She took a step backward from that voice.

“What are you doing down here, Beryl?” Khari asked. She planted her feet. Whatever was going on, she needed answers.

Behind Beryl, the lanterns bobbed in the air, supported by nothing. Beryl took a step forward, limp hardly noticeable.

“It’s not ready, yet,” Beryl growled, though more softly this time. The strange glow was fading slowly from his eyes.

“What’s not ready?” Khari pressed.

“The records,” Beryl whispered. The lanterns dropped back to their places on the floor.

“Records?” What was Beryl talking about?

“I—” Beryl began, but then cut off sharply. For a moment, Khari thought he may be in pain, but then recognized the expression on Beryl’s face as one of concentration.

“What?”

Beryl held up a hand and cocked his head to one side. The orange glow faded from his eyes entirely. Khari heard it. A brazen blast in the distance. The warning horn.

“A sandstorm?”

Beryl shook his head. “No, that’s the signal for an escape.”

Color drained from Khari’s face. She turned and ran back the way she had come.

Khari pushed through the throng clustered in the hallway, pushing toward where they’d kept Kaiden contained. They gave way before her grudgingly, and more than one angry, scornful voice grumbled at having to move. Still, the intense expression on her face gave her some measure of leverage against them.

She broke through the crowd, nearly stumbling over a body laying sprawled in the sands. Meseck, one of the guards who had been watching Kaiden this shift. Blood stained the stone beneath him a deeper red.

No, not again.

She’d used her powers to try and locate Kaiden as she ran, but she hadn’t found him. Still, she hadn’t truly believed it until she saw it for herself.

A few steps down, the door to Kaiden’s cell stood ajar, knocked off one leather hinge. The other guard, Orna, holding a cloth to a wound on his head, slumped there with Gavin.

“What happened?” Khari demanded, carefully stepping around Meseck. There would be time for grief later. They would burn a shufari for him this evening. They’d burned so many of those in recent times.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “It was the Heltorin and Londik. They did this.”

There were murmurs of agreement. “We never should have let them come back with us.”

“Traitors.”

“Murderers.”

“Enough!” Gavin shouted, rounding on them all. “None of this is helping anyone. If you want to do something useful you can start organizing search parties. Otherwise don’t you all have jobs to do?”

The onlookers muttered to themselves, several shooting Gavin dark looks, but dispersed. Khari nodded approvingly. Gavin ignored her and turned back to Orna.

“Tell us what happened, please,” Gavin said.

Orna adjusted the cloth on his forehead so he could look up at the two of them. Blood plastered his dirty-brown hair to his head.

“Me and Meseck were standing here chatting about nothing in particular when we heard a noise down the hall here.” Orna turned his head and glanced at Meseck’s body. Orna’s mouth twisted upward into a grimace.

“Master Gavin here had just left, like he does every day.” Khari cleared her throat and Orna blinked a couple times and grimaced again. “Right. Two guys showed up in the corridor. One of them threw a knife and took Meseck in the neck. He fell, and the other bloke hit me over the head with a cudgel. When I woke up, Master Gavin was here and Kaiden was, well, you can see that for yourself.”

Gavin sighed, a deep, hissing sound that contained an entire wagon-load of frustration behind it. Khari couldn’t blame him, though she wasn’t about to show such emotions in a situation like this. A leader had to be a solid base for the people in a crisis.

“What can you tell us about the attackers?” Gavin asked. “Were they tall, short, thin? Hair color? Anything that stood out about them?”

She was impressed that Gavin had thought to ask specific questions. Maybe there was some hope for him after all. She remembered when Makin had struggled to gain the respect of those he led. True, he hadn’t been trying to unite the clans, but then again, they both had to start somewhere.

“They both wore thick robes with the hoods pulled up.” Orna grimaced again and Khari bent down and put a hand on the cloth. She pulled it away to get a look at the gash on his forehead. It wasn’t deep, but head wounds bled a lot and it was already swelling up like an egg. Gathering her powers, using the water within her own body as fuel, Khari put a light hand on the wound and pushed at the skin, forcing it back together.

The flesh knit beneath her fingers and the swelling subsided. Khari felt herself growing lightheaded and released the magic, grateful that she was already kneeling. She’d need water soon.

Orna put a hand to his head and blinked in surprised. “Thank you,” he said.

Khari grunted. She was too tired to say anything else.

“Are you sure you can’t remember anything else at all?” Gavin pressed, as if nothing had happened.

The kid didn’t miss much. Maybe he did have potential, if he was guided correctly. He reminded her of Makin, when he was younger. She had had to help mold him along then as well. She almost smiled as she remembered her initial reluctance to do that, as well. But she’d recognized his potential back then, however reluctantly.

“Well,” Orna said, his voice stronger now, “the one that clubbed me, he got close enough for me to see his face.” He closed his eyes as if concentrating. “He had a topknot.”

“Londik?” Khari asked. Even to herself, her voice sounded sticky and slurred, as if she’d drunk a glass of goat milk.

Orna shrugged. “That’s what it looked like. Or Mornal, maybe.”

“Stay here, please,” Gavin said. Then he turned to Khari, extending a hand to help her to her feet. Khari accepted it, surprised at the strength and callouses in that grip. She looked at him questioningly.

“I thought we could take a look in his cell. There may be something worth seeing.”

Khari nodded. Yes, that was right. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Right, she’d just healed Orna. Khari hated how she felt after using her powers. She was so weak, so fragile.

Gavin held a waterskin out to her. Khari accepted it gratefully. How had he known?

Gavin stepped forward, not waiting for Khari, and pushed the broken door to one side with care. Khari took a deep draught from the leathery-tasting water, feeling strength surge through her almost immediately. It was an odd feeling, like the one time she’d had a bucket of cold spring water poured over her head. Still, as the initial shock wore off, she felt an immediate return of all her faculties.

After stoppering the waterskin, Khari followed Gavin into the cell.

“There’s not much here,” Gavin said.

Khari nodded, taking in the room. The leather bonds had been cut. They lay in the sand where Kaiden had rested. Nothing else had been disturbed. Even the lantern still hung on its peg on the wall.

“So it was the Londik, then?” Gavin said.

Khari frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. There’s nowhere for them to go. They must know I can find them anywhere within the warren here.”

“Have you . . .” Gavin started, but Khari was already nodding.

“Yes, yes, I reached out to see if I could sense Kaiden, but he’s beyond my senses. Granted, I was limited, but I would guess he’s no longer in the warren. But the questions remain.”

“Who did it and why?”

“And where are they now,” Khari added. “I’m sure we’ve traitors among us within Evrouin’s people. I don’t trust them. No one trusts them.”

“So what do we do?”

Khari looked over at him. “What do you think we should do?”

“We’re already stretched thin just trying to bring in supplies to feed this group. We don’t have the resources to send out more search parties to try and find Kaiden. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

Khari nodded, waiting for Gavin to continue.

“We also can’t just leave him. He was the cause of so much death, so much destruction. But if we accuse the Frierd as a clan of aiding him, or any of the clans for that matter, it will just cause even more tension between them. They’re already at each other’s throats. We can’t get any of them to agree on anything.”

“So what do we do?” Khari asked again.

“I think we need to discuss it at the Gathering tonight. Spread the word please, Khari. I would like everyone there. We’ll burn a shufari for our fallen brother. But I’ll need your help.”

Khari frowned as she listened to Gavin’s plan. It was bold, but it just might work. If, that is, Gavin could pull it off. Looking into his eyes then, watching how he worked, Khari was surprised to discover she thought he just might.

Chapter 6

Chance

“The first Iteration on the Schema is that which begins with the first and simplest evolution of metal. Colloquially, the Rahuli call this Iteration the ‘magnetelorium,’ though this scholar has always expressed a particular dislike for the names given to the first tier Iterations.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Cobb leaned back against the wall of the greatroom, cursing the twinge in his bad leg. The idiot boy, Gavin, stood in the center of the room in front of a massive bonfire in which they had burned a shufari for Meseck. The entirety of the Rahuli people were either spread out on the sands in front of him or else seated on the various levels along the walkways up the walls. The boy had gotten himself into trouble twice recently without having Cobb there to help him. Now he’d gone and called this Gathering without telling him anything about it.

Fool.

“People of the Sharani Desert,” Gavin said, raising his hands to still the soft hum of conversation. The crowd quieted.

Cobb grunted. The boy had an interesting place with the people. Many of them lauded him a savior because he rallied them against Taren and those that had followed him. Others still only saw the outcast. Yet Gavin acted as if he led them even when he didn’t. At least this time the boy was wearing his greatsword.

“Who leads you?”

The question caught the crowd off guard. The silence, if anything, deepened.

“Your Warlords are dead, many of your people fallen in the Oasis. Who leads you now?”

No one answered. Cobb grunted again. He was sure someone was going to claim leadership of at least one of the clans. None did, not even that Khari woman from the Roterralar.

“Someone has entered our home and let loose the man who was the cause of so much death in the Oasis. What shall we do to respond?”

This brought a small murmur from the clans and Evrouin pushed forward to stand at the head of his group of followers.

“What are you getting at, outcast?” he said.

This caused a stir. None of Evrouin’s followers, which were composed of the remnants of the Heltorin, Londik, and Frierd clans, could see anything in Gavin outside of his status as an outcast. The others though, those who had stood with Gavin in the Oasis, they thought differently. What was the boy doing? He’d argued so passionately about easing the divide between the groups, but this was driving a wedge even deeper.

“Do you lead these people?” Gavin asked, gesturing to the group behind Evrouin.

Evrouin nodded. “I do.”

“And do you agree?” Gavin said. His question took in the people standing around Evrouin. No one objected.

Gavin turned to the others. “And the rest of you? Who leads you?”

The crowd murmured while Evrouin scoffed. After a moment, Maugier and Alia moved forward. It wasn’t really surprising. These were the same three with whom Gavin met when they all needed to discuss things in council, but it was the first time they had stood in front of the Gathering, the first time anyone had acknowledged them as their leaders. Cobb scratched at his chin. He couldn’t see where this was going at all.

“Are these your leaders?” Gavin asked the crowd. Again, no one objected.

“Well then, I declare your leaders usurpers.”

This caused an uproar. Evrouin was the most vehement in his denunciations and even Maugier and Alia looked deeply affronted.

Gavin waited until the noise had died down again. “Taren was your leader,” Gavin said, voice still calm and clear. “Whether by your choice or not, he united you under a single leader. There were no more clans.”

“He’s dead,” Evrouin said.

“He was never our leader,” Alia shouted over the noise of protesting voices. “What are you getting at, man? This is hardly the time for accusations and insults.”

Gavin frowned. “Who have I insulted? I’m merely stating facts. By the laws of the desert, by tradition, whoever defeats the old Warlord becomes the new, isn’t that right? Cobb, hasn’t this always been the case?”

Cobb froze at hearing his name. How dare the boy—

Everyone turned to look at him. Cobb was the oldest surviving Rahuli, respected and known by all here.

“Yes,” Cobb found himself saying. “That is tradition.”

“So Taren, by killing off the old Warlords, was technically the Warlord of everyone, yes? At least, according to tradition.”

“Well, yes, if you want to call it that.” Cobb shot Gavin a flat look. Why was the boy putting him in this position?

“Then, since I defeated Taren, I am the leader of this people.”

The crowd was still. The silence was such that Cobb could have cut it with a knife. Cobb himself was stunned into silence. Yes, everyone had given Gavin respect, but was the boy really claiming Taren’s title? Did he want to look like a tyrant?

“That’s ridiculous,” Evrouin said into the silence. “You’re an outcast. You don’t have the right to lead any of us. You’re one of those mystics. I’ve seen your powers myself.” Evrouin spat at the sand at Gavin’s feet.

“I still claim my right.”

“Why would we follow you?” Alia said. Instead of angry, she seemed thoughtful.

Gavin turned to her. “Because I know what it’s like to survive against the odds. I know how to live when all else dies. Have I led anyone astray in this last fortnight?”

“Enough of this,” Evrouin said, stepping up a few more steps and getting within a few inches of Gavin’s face. Cobb saw what was going to happen a moment before it happened and, in his mind, found a new respect for Gavin’s ability to manipulate a crowd. He saw the seeds of the plan he’d given Gavin, but this . . .

“If you claim leadership, so be it. I can too. I claim my right of challenge.”

Gavin inclined his head. “I accept.”

“You’re playing with fire, boy,” Cobb said an hour or so later. “I can’t tell if you’re daft or crazy.”

“Probably a little of both,” Gavin said. He shifted from foot to foot nervously. He was tired of waiting.

Neither Alia nor Maugier had spoken up, but the implication was clear. Lack of a response validated Gavin’s claim. This was the most dangerous part of Gavin’s plan. He wondered himself if he’d done the right thing. Khari had agreed to his plan, but it had been brash. Yes, he’d been given a position of respect, but it was an impotent power.

“This was your idea, after all,” Gavin reminded Cobb.

Cobb grunted and shot him a flat look. “My idea was for you to challenge them. Not this farce of claiming Taren’s title.”

Gavin stopped dancing back and forth and turned to Cobb. “Do you really think they would have accepted my challenge if I hadn’t? Even among the clans normally, a right of challenge could only be issued by a senior warrior.”

Cobb grunted. “What’s to say they’ll respect the outcome?”

“I don’t know if they will, but it’s worth a try. I can’t keep trying to figure out how to hold them all together and find Kaiden.”

“You could have just let them all leave.”

“I intend to,” Gavin said. “You’re right, they’re not meant to live together in one place, but I’ll have their oaths before they go.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Cobb asked. The old man pointed a gnarled finger at Gavin and his brows came together over his nose. “You’re not power hungry, boy. I can see that. What game are you playing?”

“We’re all one people, Cobb,” Gavin said, shifting his weight once again. “We’re the Rahuli. Whatever Kaiden and Taren were doing, it hasn’t stopped. I can feel it. When whatever it is that is coming actually gets here, we need to stand together. They can’t do that without a leader.”

“We don’t even know what Kaiden was doing,” Cobb scoffed. “You’re basing this off the words of a madman.”

Gavin didn’t answer. He knew they had to stand united, but the biggest obstacle to it was a lack of trust between the clans. In truth, there were only three now, each united by their own leader, but they still would not work together as a whole. In the end, Gavin had relied on how his grandmother had united the outcasts, broken and divided as they’d been. She hadn’t simply forced them all together. No, she’d united them into groups first and then gave them a common cause, a common goal. In the case of the outcasts, that goal had been survival, which had unified them into almost a clan of their own.

Gavin intended to do the same here, except to divide them into their real groups he first had to lead them all. He then intended to let them govern themselves until the crisis that was coming united them. He was sure it was coming. He could feel it in every fiber of his being. They needed common threads and Gavin intended to be that thread.

“You have no means of knowing they’ll honor anything they swear to you once they leave here,” Cobb said.

Gavin nodded. “I know, but I have a plan for that too.”

Cobb shook his head, then sighed. “Your greatsword is short and wide,” he said, “he’ll use a broadsword, so you need to get inside his reach. Don’t let him get a good swing in, either. The longer reach will give him greater leverage.”

“I’ll be fine,” Gavin said, smiling slightly at the older man’s rambling advice.

Cobb opened his mouth to protest, but just then the door opened and someone Gavin didn’t recognize poked his head into the room.

“They’re ready for you.”

Gavin nodded, smiled at Cobb, and stepped back out into the greatroom.

Someone had cleared a space to one side of the room and drawn a large circle in the sands. Evrouin waited on one side of the circle, a broadsword in hand. The rest of the Rahuli people had arranged themselves to watch the match, most having shifted up to the walkways on the higher tiers. They sat there now, legs hanging over the lip, as Gavin strode to the edge of the circle and drew his greatsword. Everything was riding on this. Everything.

Alia had been chosen to officiate the match. She was a formality only. The rules of engagement in a challenge were understood. You fought until your opponent could no longer fight.

“Are you ready?” Alia asked, looking at Gavin.

Gavin nodded.

“Are you?” Alia asked Evrouin. He nodded too, swinging his sword experimentally.

Alia raised one hand and then dropped it.

Gavin and Evrouin stepped into the ring at the same time. Simultaneously, the whole room began to shake.

Deep within the belly of the Roterralar Warren, Beryl struggled against the voice of the vulcanist. The voice reached out hungrily, pulling at the power, at the heat and strength beneath the Sharani Desert. The earth trembled as a pocket of the heat pushed upward against the metal plate which had held it back for centuries.

“No!” Beryl shouted, clasping hands to the side of his head.

He’d let too much of the voice gain purchase, he’d unleashed too much translating the scrolls. The one on which he worked now—the one detailing the traditions and magic of the Orinai, of the vulcanist and the soul stealer—had triggered the voice. It fought on now, struggling with a strength it had not displayed in over a hundred years.

“Not now,” Beryl gasped. “Not until I’m done. Think of Elyana.”

Pieces of rock broke loose from the ceiling and toppled down in to the lake with a cascade of water and sludge. The rocks croaked and groaned under the pressure pushing upward from beneath. The lake sloshed against the confining shore.

“Elyana,” Beryl breathed.

Slowly, the voice released control, allowing the heat to seep back down to its reservoir beneath the desert. The trembling slowed, then stopped altogether. Beryl, panting, picked up the table and the scrolls, reaching out with his other powers to right the lanterns. He had to finish this soon.

Gavin stumbled and nearly fell as the ground lurched, knocking him around. Screams cut through the air above the rumble of rock. On the other side of the circle, Evrouin was knocked to the ground. Gavin staggered forward, using his sword to keep his feet. He grabbed Evrouin by the forearm and hauled him to his feet.

“Go!” Gavin shouted. “See to your people. Get them out of here.”

Evrouin gave him a searching look, as if he couldn’t believe Gavin was helping him.

“Go!” Gavin shouted. His teeth clamped down on his tongue as the earth jostled and bounced him. He tasted blood.

Evrouin stumbled away into the dust. A rumble sounded from above and part of a lower tier broke free and crashed down onto the tier below, breaking it free as well. People screamed and tried to run, though they were knocked from their feet as often as not. A rock crashed to the ground near Gavin, spraying him with bits of rock and sand.

Gavin cursed and jumped backward against the wall.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the shaking stopped. Gavin stood without moving for a long moment, coughing against the cloud of dust which blanketed the air. Then the screams and whimpers of pain hit him like the initial wave of a sandstorm.

Gavin pushed through the dust, suppressing coughs at every turn. He couldn’t see, the dust was too thick, but he pushed through it by sound. His greatsword lay forgotten behind him. Gavin reached someone in the gloom, a shadowy figure in the darkness. The shadow figure clutched at his hand and held it with an iron grip. Gavin heaved and pulled them to their feet. Even only a few inches from the shadow figure, Gavin couldn’t see who it was. They stumbled off and vanished into the gloom.

A voice rang out over the cries and moans.

“Someone help me! There’s people trapped behind these rocks!” Evrouin’s voice.

Without hesitation, Gavin pushed through the dust toward that voice. A massive jumble of rocks lay where a section of the tiered walkway had fallen down. Another shadow figure loomed out of the gloom, but this time Gavin knew it was Evrouin from the voice.

“What do you need?” Gavin called.

“Get some men. We need to shift this rock out of the way.” Evrouin grabbed a chunk of stone and tossed it aside. The dust was clearing enough that the man was almost visible.

Gavin didn’t have to go far to find people. Many were already on their way, following the sound of Evrouin’s voice. Even amidst the chaos, amidst the tragedy and disaster, Gavin marveled at the sudden change. People who were enemies, ready to kill one another only moments before, were now rallied to assist others. There was common ground between them. Gavin just had to figure out how to use it. But that would wait for another time.

Between them, Gavin and Evrouin formed the helpers into a line and began pulling stones out of the way. The rocks had buried the lower room, which was hidden beneath an overhang created by the walkway surrounding the next level up. The assembled clansmen pulled away the stones one at a time, sometimes using chisels or hammers retrieved by others to break away larger chunks for well over an hour.

In the background, Gavin vaguely noticed Khari assisting the wounded. The woman, along with Farah, moved those unable to help out of the greatroom. For a moment, they were all one united people, the Rahuli, working together for a single cause.

“I think there’s someone here,” Evrouin said suddenly. The man had taken up the point position, moving almost every stone by himself, including those which had to be broken apart. Gavin, who worked alongside him, had found himself developing a grudging respect for the man.

The dust was mostly gone now, only a single large stone blocking the way to the people trapped behind. Stepping close, only inches from Evrouin, Gavin finally heard the soft cries. Evrouin grabbed one side of the stone and heaved. It didn’t budge. Gavin reached out and grabbed the other side. Evrouin nodded and they both heaved together.

The rock toppled back. Gavin just had time to step back out of the way, pulling Evrouin along with him. The rock hit the sands with a crash. As the dust cleared, Evrouin nodded at Gavin and the two moved forward as one toward the cavern-like room which had been created by the falling rock. Someone coughed within.

A small child was closest to the opening, dust coating her hair and skin and making her look middle-aged. A small cut on her head bled down through the dust. She blinked against the light. Evrouin reached out, picked up the child, and pulled her free. She struggled for a moment, twisting to look back into the cave.

“Woman’s in there,” the child cried, coughing between each word. “Pregnant woman.”

Gavin felt a cold dread clutch at his heart and move up his throat. He ducked down and looked into the shallow cavern. A woman lay there pressed up against the wall, arms clutched protectively over her swollen belly. She was unconscious. It was Shallee.

Lhaurel sensed the group approaching before she even came fully awake. The door to the healing chambers swung open as Lhaurel’s eyes did as well. Two men carried a woman between them. Their steps were short and shallow, moving as if she were a great weight. They placed her on a bed near Lhaurel’s. Khari hurried in after them, expression grim.

“Out of the way,” Khari snapped, making shooing gestures.

The two men backed away, though both stayed close. Lhaurel vaguely recognized one of them, though it took her longer than it should have to find his name. Gavin, the outcast.

Khari knelt alongside the woman, checking her pulse. Lhaurel knew it was weak. She could feel it coursing through her veins and escaping through several small cuts along her body. What was more, she could feel the child within the woman. Its own heart beat like the flurry of an insect’s wings. Was it supposed to do that?

“Gavin,” Khari said, looking up. “Run and get me some clean cloths and this woman’s husband.”

“She hasn’t any.” Gavin said, but hurried out the door.

“Evrouin,” Khari said, turning to the other man. “Do you have any children?”

The man nodded. His expression was thoughtful, yet with a sorrowful cast to the set of his mouth. He glanced at the door through which Gavin had exited.

Lhaurel, unnoticed to the side, struggled to rise. Didn’t they feel that something was wrong? Couldn’t they sense the faint heartbeat of the child within the woman? No, of course they couldn’t.

“Yes,” the man said. “I have three daughters. This woman, she isn’t going to make it, is she?”

Khari looked up at him sharply, expression harsh. “Don’t give up on her so easily. She survived the Oasis, she can survive this too.”

“And the baby?”

Khari looked away and shook her head.

Lhaurel felt the build of power within Khari before she noticed the mist forming around the woman. It was a mostly bluish, with only a faint hint of red, which Lhaurel found odd for some reason. Khari seemed to glow with a strange penumbra. Lhaurel felt the woman’s heartbeat strengthen, felt it quicken and surge. But the baby—

“The baby,” Lhaurel croaked, making Evrouin jump. “Its heart just stopped beating.”

Evrouin whirled to face her as Khari opened her eyes to regard her, profound sadness in them.

“And the woman?” Khari asked.

Lhaurel wasn’t listening. She forced herself to sit up and staggered over to the spring that gurgled in the corner of the room. Crawled was more like it. Stumbling was much too dignified a word to describe what she did. Ignoring the questions, the words, the other people, Lhaurel put her face in the water and drank deeply, following her instincts. She felt a surge of strength, albeit slight, as she swallowed the cool, slightly-salty water.

Then Lhaurel reached within herself and drew on her powers. It came easily now that she knew what it was she was doing as far as drawing on her powers was concerned. It was not simply the petal on the surface of the water that Khari had described. No, it was a forceful shifting of her very blood, an outward expulsion followed by an inward return. She gathered her power, vision slightly clouded by the red mist which formed around her.

Blood. Without it the body died. But with it—

Lhaurel stumbled over to where the woman lay on the cot, chest rising and falling with the barest of movements. Evrouin protested, but Khari held him back, though she herself looked more than a little concerned. Lhaurel placed a hand on the woman’s swollen belly.

Lhaurel reached out to the infant with her power, pushing blood through its veins. She willed the blood to pump faster, pushed at the unborn child’s heart, matching it to her own beating pulse. There was damage there, inside the child. Lhaurel could feel it within her. She pushed more blood through the veins.

Beat. The heart pulsed once on its own. Lhaurel forced her powers into the damage, pulled half-formed veins and lungs to grow faster. Beat. The heart pulsed on its own. Lhaurel withdrew her power, feeling so weak she slid backward onto the sands. Sounds returned.

“Evrouin, quick, grab her hand.” For a moment Lhaurel thought Khari was talking about her. “She’s going into labor. Lhaurel, the baby?”

“It’s safe. Beating. Healed.” Lhaurel couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

Lhaurel couldn’t tell if Khari understood or not, but Lhaurel wasn’t sure it really mattered. The baby was safe. She had done something good. Maybe she wasn’t only a monster.

Gavin sat with his back up against the wall, knees bent up under his chin. Shallee was going to be alright, the baby as well. A boy. He smiled and massaged his temples with shaking fingers.

He heard a door open and then close. Evrouin appeared before him.

“She’ll be fine,” Evrouin said.

Gavin nodded.

“Thank you, Evrouin,” Gavin said in a weary voice. “For your help saving them.”

“No one deserves that kind of death. Not even an outcast woman.” Evrouin took a seat on the ground next to Gavin and smiled softly, undercutting the barb.

Gavin chuckled and shook his head. “No wonder everyone hates you.”

“That’s the price of making hard choices. You have to live with the consequences, boy.”

Gavin nodded and grinned ruefully. His grandmother had said something similar on more than one occasion.

“You and I were in the middle of something when this all started, I believe,” Evrouin said.

Yes, that was right. They’d been about to complete a right of challenge. Gavin blinked and tried to get his mind back on the matters at hand. Did Evrouin want to complete the duel now?

“I may have misjudged you.” Evrouin said. “Don’t misunderstand, you still don’t have any claim as leader of the clans, but you’re an honorable man and an earnest one. Your problem is that you’re naïve.”

Gavin grunted. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“You don’t act like a leader, not normally. People look to their leaders for strength and hope. That’s why the clans that followed Kaiden did what we did. He snuck us into the Oasis caves from the outside. He gave us hope. The others, they look to you with some measure of respect because of your fight against Taren, but you threw it away when you claimed dominion over them.”

Evrouin’s expression was focused. Despite the mildly insulting tone, it was the first time Evrouin had met and held Gavin’s gaze. There was sincerity there.

“They need to be led,” Gavin said. “All this squabbling between clans, this in-fighting, it’s not doing any of us any good. There’s change on the wind. You sensed it yourself or you never would have backed Kaiden’s plan.”

Evrouin nodded and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the red sandstone wall.

“In that we can agree. What you did now, after the quake, it brought back some measure of the respect you’d earned before, but you lost something more important. Trust. And you have to earn that back. You have to show them, show us, that you can and will earn it back. I don’t know if you can do it, but I’m willing to give you a chance.”

Gavin wanted to protest, but Evrouin was right. It stunned Gavin to hear such calm rationality from the man he had come to see as rash and full of temper, but it made sense, in a way. He didn’t trust the man—one moment of sentimentality was not enough to earn that—but Gavin had already started forming the same conclusions himself.

“Do you have a plan on how to do that?” Gavin asked.

Evrouin grinned. Gavin found the expression slightly ominous on the stern man’s face. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Chapter 7

Lost

“The second Iteration on the Schema is that dealing with the evolution of water. Those possessed of this ability are called ‘wettas.’”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Evrouin sat on a stone bench with Alia, Maugier, and Khari in one of the smaller rooms in the hall near the healing rooms. They sat in two small groups separated by gender, with Gavin off to one side.

Alia tapped her fingers against her knee impatiently. “Why aren’t we out there looking for Kaiden?” Alia demanded. “If it wasn’t him behind the quake, who was it?”

Maugier nodded his agreement. Only just into his middle thirties, Maugier was a bit more rotund than the average Rahuli, though Gavin had never seen him slowed by the added girth.

“While I hate to agree with a woman,” he said, “but why aren’t the Roterralar already sending out patrols? If they’d just grant more of us access to those marvelous birds of theirs, we’d have found him already.”

Khari shot the man a glare, but it was Evrouin who replied.

“Why aren’t we out trying to find Kaiden?” Evrouin repeated. “Because we’re in here fighting ourselves. I think it is time to call this sandstorm for what it is. Deadly.”

Alia frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this travesty of living together needs to end. It is our biggest obstacle to getting anything done. We all get into each other’s way. No one trusts me or my people—there’s soon to be overt bloodshed over it—and the Roterralar are corrupting our women and giving them the illusion that they can lead. His gaze lingered on Alia and Khari, both of whom glared back at him in blatant defiance.

“Well, if you’d just let us . . .” Maugier began, but Evrouin cut him off.

“It is simply a way of life. We will be better apart, acting independently of one another.”

“I agree,” Alia said, “though I’m not as concerned about your people, Evrouin, as I am my own. Your people can rot for all I care.” She tossed her black locks out of her eyes with a shake of her head as Evrouin’s expression hardened and Maugier chuckled softly. “Who gets to keep this place then?”

“We do,” Khari said. The others turned to her. “This is our home. You are all here as invited guests. Whoever wants to stay can, but by doing so, they will become Roterralar.”

A strange glint came into Maugier’s eye. “Why should we leave this place to you, woman? Hiding here, playing at protection. What happened to us was your fault.”

“Do you really want to try and evict the mystics?” Gavin said, speaking for the first time.

That silenced Maugier. Evrouin glanced at Gavin quickly and gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

“I’m not leaving them here to hide from us all again,” Alia said. “If they give us some aevians I may consider it, but—”

“That isn’t going to happen.” Khari said, voice growing hard. “Not while I still draw breath.”

Gavin sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. This was getting nowhere. Alia turned to Khari, mouth open to argue, but Gavin interrupted before she could start.

“Of course you’re not going to just leave them here. You know where they are,” Gavin said, a trace of his frustration creeping into his voice. “You’ve seen them. You can’t really think things can just go back to the way they were? There are only three real clans now, outside the Roterralar, for sand’s sake.”

Alia recoiled and Maugier looked affronted, but Gavin continued. “Instead of worrying about what they’ll do, maybe you should be asking what the two of you can do for each other. Perhaps the Roterralar could act as messengers between the clans. Maybe they could actually do the job they say they can and spend their time figuring out what happened to Kaiden, or what was going on to make him decide to kill us all. The genesauri are gone, but we’ve turned into our own enemies once more.” The words tumbled out in a rush, but Gavin wasn’t about to stop them once they’d started.

“How dare you speak to us like that!” Maugier said, his words short and intense. “First you embarrass us in front of our clans and claim dominion over us. Then you go and insult us! I won’t stand for it.”

“Calm yourself,” Evrouin said, putting a hand on the large man’s arm. “Whatever you think, he speaks sense. As much as I hated them at first, the Roterralar can redeem themselves in the eyes of the people by truly serving us. Their mystics can help us find new places to live, new water sources where we can feed our herds and flocks and plant grains. They can protect us against Kaiden.”

Alia snorted at this, but Evrouin continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.

“Gavin is right. Things cannot be how they were before. We know them and they know us.”

Maugier grunted, but his expression remained sour. Alia started drumming her fingers on her knee once more.

“I think we’re all forgetting something,” she said, “the genesauri. The Roterralar claim they are gone for good, that they have all been destroyed. But what if they’re wrong?”

Silence enveloped the room as the weight of that statement sunk in. It was Khari who finally broke the silence.

“They are gone, of that I am sure. But if it will help the cause, the Roterralar will accompany each of the clans while they are on the sands to protect you. We will leave messenger birds with each of you, for you to send to us if ever there is a need.”

Gavin looked over at her. It was a generous offer, especially coming from Khari. The Matron of the Roterralar was a hard woman, one who reminded him of the strength and steel of his grandmother, who had been the one to rally the outcasts into a semblance of a clan. Mercy, servitude, and humility were not emotions Gavin expected out of her. Nor, it seemed, did the clan leaders.

“It is a plan worth considering, I think,” Evrouin said. “I propose we call another Gathering. The people are scared and they need our strength. We will talk to them about this. Enough of them are already wanting to leave, more so now after the quake.”

Both Alia and Maugier snorted.

“You think the people should decide?” Alia asked. “Evrouin, you’ve been the most vehement against letting anyone but us leaders have a decision in anything.”

Just a few short weeks ago, Evrouin would have been well within his rights to kill the woman right then and there for talking to a man with such scorn. It was a testament to the true changes that were taking place that Evrouin’s face only reddened slightly. That and everyone knew Khari’s ability with the sword. If Evrouin raised a hand against Alia, Khari would probably kill him.

“Yes, Alia, I think the people should have a say in the matter. No, I don’t think they should decide, sometimes they don’t know what’s good for themselves, but they should at least know the choices we’re contemplating. And, to be clear, I never thought you should be included in the decisions, woman, any more than you thought I should be. Just for different reasons.”

Gavin frowned at Evrouin’s words, but he didn’t want to undermine the man’s main point, which was that the people should be informed and given hope.

“Very well,” Maugier said. “Let us gather the clans together again. Let’s discuss our grand exodus.”

They stood to leave, Gavin rising with them. He was unsure of what part he was to play in all this, but they had allowed him to participate in this meeting, which was a good sign. It wasn’t what he had wanted. It wasn’t full leadership of the clans, but it was something. His plan had failed miserably, but his grandmother, Elvira, had taught him that failures were not truly defeats, they were lessons taught before a victory.

“Wait here a moment, Gavin,” Khari said.

Gavin had just reached the door, but turned back into the room. Khari gestured for him to shut the door. He looked questioningly toward Khari. Up until now, their relationship could best be described as “rocky,” so Gavin wasn’t sure what to expect.

The short woman frowned at him and pursed her lips. It was the look a butcher gave a goat prior to slaughter.

“I hate to say I told you so, but what you did earlier was brash,” Khari said. “It wouldn’t have really worked, you know, not in the way you wanted it to. The people are too leery of tyranny, still far too broken to be of much use.” Gavin waited, unsure of how to respond. This was the leader of the mystics and the Roterralar after all, and she was lecturing him about being brash.

“But you are trying,” Khari continued. “You sense the changes on the wind. You can feel what’s going on. You’re doing your best and that is all anyone can ask.”

Gavin pursed his lips. “Is there something you’re getting at?”

Khari eyed him again, that same appraising look. “Yes. I mean to make you the leader of the mystics.”

Gavin could feel the tension in the room even before the Gathering started. He sat within the crowd this time, no longer in front. Evrouin, Maugier, and Alia stood at the front of the crowd with Khari off to one side. Still, those around Gavin shot him curious or hostile looks. He breathed an inward sigh and decided he simply didn’t care at this point. Khari was giving him a chance to prove himself as a leader, and he would accept that chance. The only downside to it was he really would have to learn about the mysterious relampago powers he possessed. In truth, they were more than a little intimidating to think about. Well, Gavin thought as an image of Farah popped into his mind, that wouldn’t be all bad.

As if those thoughts had drawn her, Farah herself shoved through the crowd and stepped up alongside him.

“Hello,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you?”

“Me?” Gavin asked.

“Claiming rule of the clans like that,” she said. Then she smiled. “It was pretty amazing, I must say.”

Gavin returned the smile.

At the other end of the room, Evrouin got to his feet and signaled for silence. The man stood atop some of the rubble that had been moved away from the rooms in the greatroom. Repairs and cleaning were still underway throughout the warren, but the work had halted once again for another Gathering. Evrouin had been right. Everyone was on edge, everyone was scared. More than once Gavin had heard Kaiden’s name mentioned.

“People of the Sharani Desert,” Evrouin said in a booming voice which carried all the way to the back of the room. “The time has come for us to leave this place. It can no longer be our home.”

Murmurs ran through the assembled crowd like the sand of a storm. They’d known it was coming. Most of them were nodding and whispering among themselves. A few, though, shook their heads.

Farah brought a hand to her mouth. “No,” she whispered.

Gavin turned to look at Farah as the small sound escaped her lips.

“What?” He whispered.

“Did you know about this?” she whispered back. Her blue eyes shone with wetness and her fingers rested on her ruby lips. Gavin was more than a little surprised at the level of shock the woman was displaying.

“Yes.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“And do you agree?” Farah pressed. Around them, more whispers and murmurs rose between the crowd.

“Well—” Gavin hesitated. What they’d discussed as leaders was in confidence. He shouldn’t be telling her anything about it. But then again—“No, we need to stay together, but I don’t see how we can do so. I think this is best thing we can do for now, at least until we can figure out what’s going on with Kaiden and that quake. And . . .” He trailed off and shrugged.

“Yes,” Farah said. “And.”

Gavin nodded. She could sense it too. There was something going on. The problem was, figuring out what it was.

“We, your leaders, have come to an agreement with the Roterralar,” Maugier shouted. “They will see us safely into new warrens. What say you?”

There was a moment of silence, then a sound washed out over the crowd. A shout of assent. Khari moved forward then.

“Hear this. Those of you who wish to stay here among the Roterralar are welcome. You will become a part of the clan, with all the privileges that come with it.” She said, looking out over the assembled crowd. “You can become one of us, to help protect and defend all the others.”

More murmurs, though this time they were less positive. Gavin heard someone near him whisper about demons.

“What about the quake?” someone shouted.

“We believe Kaiden may have created it to cover his escape.” Evrouin said. “Part of what we will do when out on the sands once more is to assist in looking for him. We can only do so much, but the Roterralar will help us.”

“Do you trust them?” someone else from the crowd asked.

It was Alia who answered. “We don’t need to trust them. If they attempt to go back to the way things were, we know where they live. We can come back here and enact justice.”

“Do you think anyone will choose to stay?” Farah asked, turning to Gavin.

Behind them, the clan leaders began issuing orders and making the preparations to leave.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Lhaurel sat back in her bed, knees pulled up against her arms. Near her, the infant cried softly until his mother, the outcast woman, hooked the child to her breast. Lhaurel smiled softly at the noises of the baby eating hungrily in great gulps. The woman glanced over at her and smiled.

“So you’re awake,” she said.

Lhaurel didn’t say anything. She didn’t feel like talking right now.

“They call me Shallee,” the woman said with a small smile. “They tell me you saved my child.”

Again, Lhaurel remained silent. It was better not to say anything, not to draw attention to herself.

“Thank you.” Shallee said. “In fact, I think I owe you even more thanks. Gavin speaks most highly of you. He says you saved his life once already too.”

If she spoke, the woman was sure to think of her as a monster, see her how Lhaurel saw herself. Instead, Lhaurel nodded. There was a cheeriness to the woman’s voice that Lhaurel simply found herself unable to resist. Lhaurel shifted to get a better look at her. The movement brought her hands into view and Lhaurel noticed the red stain of her fingernails. She closed her hands into fists. A part of her recalled the memories of people dying, of the genesauri exploding into pools of red around her, part of her remembered the insane, wonderful ecstasy of that much power channeling through her. Part of her longed to hold all that power again, no matter the cost. That part of her was the monster.

“Khari says you should be feeling better soon. She left you a cane if you want to try using it.” Shallee nodded toward the door. A metal cane rested there, more of a walking stick than a cane, almost as tall as Lhaurel was herself. Lhaurel contemplated going over and picking it up, but she lacked the strength to stand.

“Did you feel the quake earlier?” Shallee asked after a long moment of silence. Lhaurel figured she was one of those people who simply like to fill all the empty space she could with sound. That was one way of living, at least.

Lhaurel nodded.

“They say it was Kaiden.”

Kaiden. The name rocked Lhaurel to the core. Kaiden. He was the cause of all this—it was his fault she’d become a monster. Lhaurel sucked in a deep breath, feeling a strange surge of energy. Red mist formed around her. Where had that come from? Lhaurel gasped as awareness sprang through her. Her senses swelled outward and she felt not only the woman and child near her, but the whole warren came alive. She felt everyone in the greatroom above, from the smallest child to the oldest adult. She felt the goat herds, the sheep, and the few remaining cattle in the narrow grain fields up above. She felt them all. Part of her hungered to take them all, to pull at their blood as she had the genesauri and revel in the power they would provide.

Lhaurel gasped and pushed the power away. No! She wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t.

“Lhaurel?” Shallee asked. The baby was crying softly again.

“Kaiden.” Lhaurel repeated. It wasn’t a question as much as a plea.

“I overheard them talking. Kaiden escaped his cell here—one of the guards was killed. They think he did something to cause that quake and cover his escape.”

Kaiden. Lhaurel struggled to her feet. The effort was enormous, but the residual effects from using her powers gave her just enough energy and capacity to make it standing, one hand against the wall to give her support.

“What are you doing?” Shallee asked.

Lhaurel ignored her. Kaiden was loose. The man who had been responsible for so much death and destruction, the man she had once thought she may grow to love. He was loose. She supported herself along the wall until she got to the cane. Grabbing it, she used it to help her to the door.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Lhaurel flung open the door and limped into the hall. In the back of her mind, she knew what she was doing was foolish, but she didn’t stop herself. She kept right on walking. She had to stop after only a few steps and take a brief rest, but she kept at it. If Kaiden was loose, she couldn’t do anything else except what she had already done before. She would find him and stop him. And this time, she would make sure he was dead before moving on.

The clans were in the middle of preparations to leave, gathering the supplies they claimed were theirs and working—reluctantly in many cases—together to make the logistical plans to expedite their departure. Gavin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was a testament to the failure of his plan that he was left out of any other decisions, relegated to the sidelines. How had he gone wrong?

Instead of one unified people, they were four divided clans. Well, really three clans and a fourth messenger corps, if the three clan leaders had anything to say about it. Three clans. That was all that was left of the seven clans of the Sharani Desert. Three from seven.

At least there were that many. At least he still had some influence with the clans, portions of them at least. And Khari was giving him a chance to—as she put it—learn true leadership as the head of the mystic order. He was certainly leery about that. He knew next to nothing of his power, even less about the other two . . . and then there was Lhaurel. She wasn’t any of the three known types.

When the woman had shown up in the greatroom, hobbling on that cane, Khari had taken into her with such harsh words that Gavin himself had cringed. They were off somewhere now, discussing things. Gavin had little desire to know what about.

“Well, get up then, Gavin.” Gavin turned to regard Farah, who leaned against the wall next to the door.

“How’d you find me?” He asked, turning back to face the wall.

“I followed your trail of broken dreams and shattered hopes. It led me right here.”

Gavin shook his head and breathed out a heavy sigh. “Very funny, Farah.”

“No, what’s funny is that you’re in here moping instead of working to gain back the trust and respect you lost with your stunt earlier. You don’t give up just because a sandstorm blows. You fight it, with everything you have. Get up and act like a leader.”

The words hit him and echoed in his mind, merging with similar words his grandmother had instilled within him. The true test of leadership, the true test of a man, she’d say, was not how he acted during victory but how he came back from defeat.

Gavin pushed the melancholy back and got to his feet.

“Alright. I guess you’d better show me how to start using these powers, then,” he said.

Farah smiled, which banished a portion of the shadows within Gavin’s mind. “That I can do.”

She gestured for him to follow and pushed off from the doorway. Gavin followed, grabbing his greatsword before leaving his rooms. He had a habit of leaving it behind. Actually, Gavin mused as he followed Farah down a side passage, it was more of a lack of habit than a particular proclivity for leaving it behind. He’d never owned a sword before, though his grandmother had taught him the forms with sticks and the odd sword which could be found among the outcasts.

Farah led him down the hall and down another passage, dodging around various Rahuli in the middle of preparing to leave. Gavin had already memorized the well-used passages within the warren and knew where they were headed and so he was not surprised when Farah reached one of the doors to the eyrie and stepped inside. Gavin followed behind.

As always, the sheer size and majesty of the room seeped into Gavin like the icy drizzle of an Oasis rain. Aevians flitted from crag to crag along the walls. The creatures chirped and cried to one another and the wind whistled through the cavernous opening opposite them.

There was an odd smell in the air, more than the pungency that came from the birds themselves. This was a deeper scent, something familiar . . .

“Can you smell that?” Farah asked with a sniff. “What is it?”

Gavin took a deep breath. He knew that smell if only—

“It’s the smell of wet,” Gavin said. He fell into a jog and passed the confused Farah. He reached the eyrie opening on the side of the plateau and looked out over the sands. Clouds blackened the sky to the east. Rain pelted the sands and killed dunes, melting them into crimson pools.

Farah walked up beside him.

“It’s a nice smell, don’t you think?”

“Sands!” she swore. “Have you ever seen—?” She didn’t finish the thought.

Lightning flashed so close Gavin could feel it sizzling through the air. The hair on his arms stood on end. Thunder crashed overhead almost instantly. The floor rumbled and the aevians fell silent. Only the sound of the rain remained.

Something scraped against rock and sand. Gavin turned his head to look behind them and his eyes widened. The solitary aevian he’d seen earlier stood less than a handsbreadth behind them, close enough that his hooked beak hovered only about a foot above Gavin’s head.

“Don’t spook him,” Farah whispered. There was a note of surprise in her voice, though it was somewhat dampened by the whisper.

Gavin swallowed and carefully turned back around to look out at the rains. The aevian shuffled to the side a few spans and hopped up onto the lip of the opening, talons digging into the soft sandstone.

“What’s he doing?” Gavin whispered, trying hard to keep his attention on the storm.

“Watching the storm,” Farah said. “He’s probably just as curious as we are.”

More lightning flashed. Gavin felt it and sucked in a sharp breath. The storms were raging across the sands. Things were changing. Ever since the battle of the Oasis, the weather itself had changed. Gavin sometimes wondered if the death of the genesauri had caused it, but he couldn’t see what they had to do with it. There was no logical connection.

“Well, let’s get started then, Farah.” Gavin said, turning away from the storm. “This storm isn’t going anywhere soon.”

Farah didn’t follow him at first. She lingered near the opening, looking out across the sands. Her blonde hair streamed out around her, tossed on the wind. After a few moments, she finally threw up her hands, sighed, and turned away from the storm.

“Maybe this will keep the clans here longer.” She said, striding toward Gavin.

“They’re too resilient, too set on leaving for a little water to stop them now.”

“Two days ago you were vehemently opposed to anyone leaving the warren. Now you’re all for it. What changed?”

“I’m not all for it.” Gavin said. “I claimed leadership of them all, but I knew it wasn’t going to work with everyone all together here, especially not the Heltorin and Londik.”

“For good reason, I expect.” Farah said. “They’re traitors to their own people.”

“They did what they thought was best. They only wanted to survive. Kaiden offered them something they didn’t have. Safety and hope.”

“So you’re saying we should just forgive them, then? We should just forget that they fought against us and probably killed our friends and family?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” Gavin began, but Farah cut him off.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying they did what they had to do to survive. In the end, they’re still Rahuli. They’re just like us. Maybe they deserve another chance.”

“‘Just like us?’ So you’d turn against the other outcasts if it was needed for you to survive? You’d run and hide while others died? If that’s what you’re saying, then I don’t know why I’m wasting my time trying to train you.”

Gavin opened and closed his mouth half a dozen times, unsure how he was supposed to respond. Was this one of those “women’s moments” he’d heard the other outcast men joke about with each other?

“That’s clearly not what I’m saying. What’s put you into such a bad mood?”

Farah stared daggers at him. “You have, obviously.”

With that, Farah turned on her heel and strode off across the eyrie floor. Gavin was so confused he didn’t even think to stop her until she was already gone, vanished through the doorway. He simply stood there, unmoving, looking at the slightly swinging door. He tried to figure out what he’d said that set her off so badly, but couldn’t think of anything.

A small noise to the side made Gavin jump. The massive white aevian, Makin Qays’s aevian, stood regarding him from a few spans away, beak clicking as the creature opened and closed it while making a soft chirping noise. If Gavin didn’t know any better, he would have thought the creature was laughing at him.

“Gavin!”

Gavin almost winced at the sounds of Khari’s voice behind him. He turned to see the short woman stalking toward him across the sandy floor. Even as small as she was, Gavin still found her mildly intimidating, especially with the grey streaks highlighting her brown hair. She reminded him strongly of his grandmother.

“What did you say to Farah?” she demanded. “I just passed her in the hall and she looked a mess.”

Gavin held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything. We were talking about how she thought the storm might delay the clans leaving and I disagreed.”

Khari gave him a penetrating look. “What else?”

“We talked about the Heltorin and how they were only doing what they thought they had to do to survive. They’re Rahuli, just like us. Then it got strange. She started accusing me of abandoning people to save my own skin. I don’t know what I said.”

Khari sighed and shook her head. ”You shouldn’t assume that just because you’ve decided to put what happened in the Oasis behind you, that everyone else has, or ever will, for that matter.”

Gavin frowned.

“Farah’s family was killed in the battle of the Oasis, her mother and two of her brothers. She did the best she could to protect them, but some of the Heltorin and Londik with Kaiden cornered them against the Oasis walls. A group of sailfins tore them all apart before Farah could get to them.”

Gavin licked his lips then swallowed. Some measure of understanding flitted through his mind.

“What does that have to do with wanting the clans to stay here?” he asked.

“An enemy is easier to watch when you have them within your own walls,” Khari said, “and for her, having the clans united gives meaning to her family’s death. If they leave, not only will she no longer be able to watch over those she considers traitors, but it also means her family died for nothing. Everything will go back to the way things were.”

“How is that?” Gavin asked. “Nothing will go back to the way things were. Everything has changed.”

The emotions, the anger and resentment, he understood. But this?

“I didn’t say it was rational,” Khari said. “Emotions rarely are in the moment. Do you think what you did in the Oasis by rallying the clans was rational? That was pure emotion then too.”

Gavin blew out his breath in one long sigh. “I don’t understand any of this. I mean, I’m right. Everything is changing. They are Rahuli too.”

Khari considered him for a moment, then smirked. “You haven’t spent much time around women your own age, have you?”

Gavin snorted. “I had loads of time to learn about those while wandering the desert, didn’t I? There were so many young, unmarried outcast women available to talk to.”

Khari rolled her eyes. “I’ve had about enough of that sarcasm. Go find her. Fix it.”

“Fix it? How am I supposed to fix it?”

Khari’s smirk widened into a grin. “You of all people should understand her, Gavin. She’s lost everyone she ever cared about. She’s lonely and afraid to let anyone else in. I think you have some experience with those emotions, as an outcast.”

Gavin ran a hand through his hair and nodded. He did understand those emotions. He remembered how he felt after his grandmother died and, even more than that when his parents had died. Those were deep, powerful memories. How was he supposed to help Farah overcome something like that? He didn’t even know where to start, though he found himself sincerely wanting to try. That shared experience was somewhere to start, at least.

“Was there something else you needed?” Gavin asked. “Or did you only come here because of Farah?”

“I was looking for Beryl,” Khari said. “The clan leaders are asking for access to the armory, but the door to Beryl’s smithy is locked. I can’t seem to find him anywhere.”

“The last I saw of him was the other day when he broke up that fight between the Heltorin. In fact, that’s the only time I’ve seen him.”

Khari shrugged. “No matter. I’ll find him eventually. That storm will delay the departure a little, so we’ve got time. Now go on, find Farah. She’s the only one left to teach you about your powers. I can’t afford for you to build rifts already.”

Gavin sighed, but did as he was told. Behind him, the aevian clicked its beak and laughed at him.

Chapter 8

Reconciliation

“The next Iteration is that involving the element of energy. Those possessed of this power are called ‘relampago,’ which is a fine and altogether adequate description of their abilities.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

It took well over an hour for Gavin to find where Farah had gone. He’d had to ask several people to get a general direction at first, but he’d eventually found her in one of the wide canyon-like caverns in which the Roterralar grew their grains. She looked up at him when he entered.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her eyes were red, her face puffy. Gavin felt a fool, but he also had a new understanding of her situation. Khari was right, he needed to make this right.

“I came to apologize,” he said.

She sniffed. “How’d you find me?”

Gavin grinned. “I followed your trail of broken dreams and shattered hopes.”

Farah chuckled softly. She wiped a hand under her eyes and shook her head.

“I didn’t know about your family.” Gavin began, but Farah held up a hand.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “I’m just a little emotional today, especially when it comes to the clans leaving. It was wrong of me to take it out on you.”

Gavin shrugged. “I apologize either way.”

Farah rolled her eyes and held out a hand for Gavin to help her to her feet. “Sometimes you can be an idiot, Gavin, but at least you’re an earnest one.”

“Idiot?” He pulled her to her feet. She was surprisingly light, even for her slight frame.

“Yep,” she said. “Dumb as a post, but we’ll fix that. Come on, I think I owe you a lesson or two about those powers of yours.”

Gavin wasn’t sure how he felt about being called an idiot, but Farah seemed in better spirits now, so that was something. Even with tear stains down her cheeks, she was still quite pretty. It seemed she changed moods quickly though and Gavin wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that.

Farah stepped away from him a few paces and then turned around to face him. Her face pulled together in concentration and Gavin felt something building around him. It was that same feeling he’d felt before, like ants crawling across his skin. Crackling white energy burst from both Farah’s hands, which sprayed the surrounding area in amorphous white light.

She raised one of her hands. “This is what we manipulate. Energy. A common misconception is that we create it, but that is a lie. We simply gather it from around us and then redirect it where we want it to go.”

“We gather it from around us then.” Gavin said. “That’s what I’m feeling just before you use the power?”

Farah nodded. “There is a lot of extra energy in the sands. The energy we use is the energy of movement, of resistance. The more something moves against something else, the more energy it builds up. What we do is harness that energy through our bodies, draw it in, and then direct it out.”

As she finished speaking, she gestured with one hand and a faint crackling bolt lanced from her fingers.

Gavin jumped back, even though the energy was not directed at him and it vanished only a handspan from her fingers. He felt it dissipating, but it was a distant echo beneath the thunder of his beating heart. He immediately corrected his expression, falling back on his acting training to allow him to mask his emotions. Farah grinned at him anyway.

“So how do you gather it in?” Gavin asked, ignoring the look of humor on Farah’s face.

“You reach out and will it to come into you.”

Gavin raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s probably the most descriptive thing I’ve ever heard.”

Farah shrugged. “That’s all I can say. It takes practice, long repeated hours of constant practice. It took me a year before I could summon the energy at will every time. You just have to practice.”

Gavin nodded and then raised his hands out from the side of his body. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, willing the energy to coalesce and come to him.

Nothing happened.

“Direct your thoughts downward, into the sandstone and walls,” Farah said. “You have to gather the energy, so focus on the areas where it would collect.”

Gavin adjusted his focus, pushing his thoughts toward the sand and rock beneath his feet. Again, nothing happened. He strained, pulling hard and forcing his will outward. For half a second he thought he felt something, a brief moment of sudden tingling, but then it was gone.

He sighed and opened his eyes. “Practice,” he said. “Lots of practice.”

Farah smiled. “That’s right. Lots and lots of practice.”

Gavin scratched at his forehead. “What can you tell me about the other magic users?”

Farah shrugged. “Not much. There are two others, the wetta and the magnetelorium. Wettas can manipulate and find water. Magneteloriums manipulate metal.”

“That just confirms what I already know. Are there more of one than the other? How many mystics are there, altogether?”

“Counting you and Beryl there are five of us now. Why do you ask?”

“Only five?” For some reason Gavin had thought there were more of them. Why did five people need their own leader?

“There used to be more. Four relampago fell in the battle for the Oasis. Kaiden is a mystic, but he’s not one of us. Sarial, well, she’s gone now too, for all we know. You left her in the cell inside the Oasis walls. I bet she’s dead by now.” There was no pity in the woman’s voice.

“And do new mystics surface often?”

“Why all the questions?” Farah asked. “Is there something you’re getting at?”

Gavin shook his head. “Just curious is all. Do we get new mystics often?”

Farah half shrugged and shook her head. “Not that often. I was born here and I can only remember Kaiden and Lhaurel besides me.”

“Then how do you sustain yourselves? I mean, I thought . . .” Gavin trailed off.

“You thought all the Roterralar were mystics?” Farah supplied with a smile. “Not even close. Some of us are born mystics and some of us aren’t. I know Khari mentioned she’d felt some unbroken potentials among the clans. Hopefully she’ll convince some of them to stay.”

“Unbroken potentials?” He was coming to the conclusion that there was a lot about this he didn’t know. How did Khari expect him to lead a group of people he knew nothing about? Part of him whispered that he’d just attempted to rule all the clans and he knew nothing about them, but he ignored that voice.

Farah nodded and took a seat. “I guess I should start at the beginning. You’re already broken so I didn’t talk about any of that. I’m new at this, so bear with me.”

Gavin nodded and sat down with her on the sands. He was genuinely curious about the people he was supposed to be leading and also hoped that focusing on something other than Farah’s loss would be good for her.

“What we do, using magic, isn’t something our minds or bodies do naturally. From what was explained to me, our minds and bodies put up barriers to that power. It is only by breaking through those barriers that the power itself can escape through the cracks and be used.”

Gavin frowned in concentration. “So how does one break those barriers?”

“Usually, trauma of some kind, though it differs from person to person.”

“Why would our bodies put up barriers like that?”

Farah shrugged. “No one really knows. My theory is that the body knows when it is doing something it was not originally intended to do, or at least, when it is going to do something that will change it. It’s a means of self-preservation, I think.”

“Change it?”

“Nothing comes without a cost of some kind. Using magic changes the body. I was born with brown hair, but the more I use my powers, the lighter it becomes.” Farah said, running a hand through her blonde locks. “You can see even clearer examples with Lhaurel and Beryl. Both of them have had drastic changes come over them from using their powers.”

Gavin leaned back against the wall, troubled. He’d thought that his powers could be some sort of amazing weapon, but it seemed the weapon was two edged. Any strike against the enemy also cut him too. It made sense, though, that there was a cost. Every choice had consequences, every action had a reaction.

“Khari wants you to take Sarial’s place, doesn’t she?” Farah asked quietly.

Gavin turned to look at her, expression carefully neutral. Farah wasn’t looking at him. Instead she looked down at the ground and stirred the sand with one finger.

“It makes sense. You’re a leader. The clans respect you, even after your idiot stunt.”

Wait, was Farah jealous? Gavin struggled to keep his confusion and annoyance from marring his neutral mask. Did this woman’s emotions ever make sense? He looked over at her. She glanced up at him and then nodded slightly before returning to her sketches in the sand. No, not jealous, not entirely at least. Part of it was laced with understanding and respect.

“I’m here to learn, Farah.” Gavin said. “Not take over anything. You’re right. I need to know about my powers and I need to understand this people better than I currently do. Help me?”

Farah was silent for a long while and Gavin wondered what he’d done wrong this time. Then Farah flicked the sand away with a swipe of her hand and got to her feet.

“Of course I’ll help you. What else are friends for?”

“We’re friends now?” Gavin asked. “Not that I’m objecting, but usually the pretty girls run away from the outcast boys. They don’t become friends with them.”

“Of course we’re friends.” She said with a small smile, extending a hand to help him to his feet. She was surprisingly strong and her hand warm. Gavin was mildly surprised at how glad he was that she’d agreed. “But if I’m to help you, those aren’t the only things you’ll need help with. Come with me.”

A few minutes later they were back in the eyrie once more, Farah leading the way. Gavin looked around, half hoping to find Khari so he could ask her something that had been bothering him since Farah’s explanation, but she wasn’t there. He filed the question away for later.

“What are we doing here?” Gavin asked.

Farah smiled. Gavin was coming to realize that the smile wasn’t always a good thing. Sometimes that beautiful smile was the mask for something devious.

“Well, if you’re going to be one of the Roterralar, you’ll need to be able to ride one of these.” She whistled sharply.

One of the smaller aevians leapt from a nearby outcropping of rock and flew over to her, the motion creating a small cloud of dust that made Gavin cough. The aevian gave a small chirp and ruffled its feathers as it bent low to let Farah scratch it beneath the beak.

Gavin swallowed, unsure of what to do. Even his training as a storyteller failed him. The aevians were amazing, majestic creatures which Gavin found more than a little intimidating, but also completely fascinating. They were more than mere beasts, he could tell that. The aevians allowed the Roterralar to ride them more as an agreement between equals than any specific training on the part of the Roterralar.

“You can touch him,” Farah said. “He’ll let you.”

Gavin walked forward with small, careful steps. The aevian turned his head and regarded him with ebony eyes rimmed with gold.

“What’s his name?” Gavin asked, softly.

“We don’t tell others the names of our aevians. It’s sacred.”

Gavin nodded, accepting that response until he noticed Farah was laughing softly. Maybe being friends with her wasn’t such a good idea.

He rolled his eyes and stretched out his hand to stroke the brown and gold feathers of the creature before him. It was surprisingly warm to the touch.

“His name is Talyshan,” she said, stifling a smile. “He’s a kistriel, smallest of the four aevian species.”

Gavin nodded, though there was so much new information bouncing around in his mind he wasn’t sure he would remember the name. But he would never forget how he felt in that moment.

“So what do I do?” Gavin asked. He felt Talyshan’s strength beneath his fingers, felt the power of muscles and recognized the fierce warrior spirit contained within him.

“Well, normally we’d have you feed them for a couple months and see you develop any sort of special bond with one of them,” Farah said. “But that won’t really do for you. For now, I think I’ll just show you how to care for them and teach you some things about the different species.”

“Which is the strongest, little lady?” a gruff voice asked.

Gavin and Farah both turned in the direction from which the voice had originated. A group of a half dozen men stood in front of one of the doors that lead into and out of the eyrie itself. None of them appeared much older than Gavin, though they all bore the lean toughness of those who had seen their fair share of fighting. All wore swords belted at waists of slung across their backs.

“Who in the sands are you?” Farah demanded. “You know you’re not allowed in here.”

One of the men, the same one who spoke before, grinned widely. There was a large gap between his two front teeth.

“Well, little lady, me and the boys here, we was thinking that these here birds would help us out quite a bit once we was back out on the sands again, didn’t we boys?” There were murmurs of assent from the other men. Gap-tooth continued, “So we decided we should take a couple with us.”

Behind Gavin, Talyshan made a strange hissing noise, the sound of water hitting flame and turning instantly to steam. Farah set her feet and threw back her head, chin raised. Gavin dropped a hand onto the hilt of his greatsword.

Farah hissed in an exact imitation of the sound Talyshan had made. “I’d like to see you try it.”

The group of men chuckled and Gap-tooth swaggered forward a few steps. He dropped a hand onto the hilt of his sword.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you going to do?” he said, eyes flicking over to Gavin for a moment before sliding back over Farah’s curvaceous form. “You don’t even have a sword. All you’ve got to help you is this cretin.” He looked her up and down pointedly and his gap-toothed grin widened.

Gavin drew his greatsword in one fluid motion. The hiss of metal against leather almost seemed to echo in the deafening silence that followed.

Gap-tooth turned a lazy gaze toward him. “Put that away, boy,” he said. “Afore you get hurt.”

Gavin raised the tip of his greatsword, holding it steady at chest height. The tip did not waver. He took two steps to the side, which placed him directly in front of Farah and Talyshan. The aevian hissed as the group of men with Gap-tooth chuckled and one of them—a short, wiry fellow—nudged Gap-tooth with his elbow. Gap-tooth shook his head and slowly turned to face Gavin directly. He raised one hand toward his shoulder and drew the long, double-edged sword slung across it.

“Well now, boy. We was thinking this would be something simple, come to the eyrie with just the girl here, take some of these here giant birds, and fly away afore anyone could think twice. Simple and easy it was. But this.” He grinned at Gavin, the expression highlighting the man’s youth. “This will be much more fun.”

“I’d like to have seen that,” Farah said with a laugh from behind Gavin. “If you think stealing aevians was going to be simple.”

Gap-tooth glanced in her direction, but returned his attention to Gavin almost immediately. Gavin, for his part, never removed his gaze from Gap-tooth’s face. Somewhere in the back of his mind he acknowledged the minute tendrils of fear working up his spine, but he suppressed them. He was more irritated than anything. He set his feet and felt his muscles relax, though only to the point of readiness, not laxness. It was the same steely determination which had allowed him to climb the Oasis walls when others had failed.

Gap-tooth frowned at him. “Not all of us was happy how you tried to take control of us earlier, boy.” He took a step to the left and allowed his companions—none of which had yet drawn their weapons—to fan out behind him. “You insulted us, tried to take our honor from us. Now we’ll see who’s really the best.”

Gavin said nothing. His grandmother had taught him sword forms, had shown him how to defend himself. Through conversations with Khari and some of the others, he’d come to suspect that what his grandmother had taught him were not the same techniques the Rahuli generally learned, but they were familiar to him and so he dropped into a ready stance, feet planted shoulder-width apart, right foot pivoted slightly to give him stability and the sword held up by his head, blade extended outward and tip toward his opponent. He felt a rush of anticipation wash through him as he waited.

“Stop this,” Farah said. “One word and I’ll have every aevian in this place down on all of you in moments. Try fighting off hundreds of talons the size of swords and see who wins.”

Gap-tooth’s companions glanced around, but didn’t move. Gap-tooth himself didn’t even move his gaze from Gavin. Gavin didn’t know if Farah was bluffing or not, but he wasn’t about to let her get into the middle of all this. He stepped forward, blade spinning back and down before spinning back up in a dizzying blur.

Gap-tooth reacted sluggishly, just barely getting his blade up in time to knock Gavin’s strike aside. Gavin allowed his blade to follow the momentum of the parry, then pivoted on one foot and swung back in with wide, sweeping motions. His blade was shorter, but far wider than Gap-tooth’s, so he stepped in closer with each swing, negating the advantage. The man, for his part, was able to parry the majority of Gavin’s blows, only allowing Gavin through his defenses once, during which Gavin scored a small hit on the man’s leg.

Talyshan hissed and made a soft screeching noise as the fight backed in his direction.

“It’s a pity you’ll have to die,” Gap-tooth said grudgingly, “but I’ll take great pleasure in taking that blade from your dead grip, boy.”

Gavin sucked in a breath and batted aside Gap-tooth’s blade, his earlier irritation bleeding into outrage. There wasn’t enough time for a follow-through stroke, so he was forced to take a step backward. His foot slipped on a patch of loose sand and Gavin found himself suddenly off balance. His foot slid backward, forcing him to swing his arms—and consequently his sword—awkwardly to keep his footing.

Gap-tooth cried something inarticulate and darted forward, sword held high as if to swing down at Gavin in a mighty overhead chop. Gavin scrambled to bring his sword back around to parry the blow, but even as he did so he knew he wouldn’t get it raised in time.

Gap-tooth’s eyes narrowed in triumph as he swung down with his blade, then his eyes went wide with fear as a massive, white something obscured Gavin’s view of the other man.

Gavin scrambled backward, the hand holding his blade hitting the ground and bruising his fingers as they were pressed against the rock. He hit the ground and crawled backward. The huge white aevian Gavin had studied earlier, the one that had been the old Warlord’s mount, flapped massive wings, scattering sand and dust into the air. Talons flashed in the sunlight and someone screamed, a deep, piercing sound of pure pain laced with terror. Gavin’s eyes darted back and forth in search of Farah, finally finding her standing off to one side, a pair of reddish-colored knives in her hands, though none of the assailants were near her.

Gavin leapt to his feet and dashed forward, ignoring the pain of his bruised fingers and the throbbing muscles in his right leg. He scrambled around the aevian, which had settled somewhat, though its figure was still obscured by the dust in the air. Gap-tooth lay on the ground. Blood dripped from a pair of long, deep cuts across the man’s chest. Gap-tooth’s sword lay in the sand near his limp fingers. The aevian made a hard, chirping noise and ruffled his feathers as Gavin rushed toward Gap-tooth’s prone form—the man’s companions were nowhere to be seen—but the creature did not stop Gavin from kneeling by the fallen man’s side and checking his wounds. Gap-tooth’s eyes were open, but they were staring up into the sky, seeing nothing more than the eternal fog of death. Blood dripped down the man’s side and into the sand. A slow drip, each drop taking longer to fall than the last.

Gavin used his free hand to push himself from his knees and back onto his feet. He felt numb inside, though he had encountered death before. He had courted, more than once, his own death as he would a lover, but this was different. This was a death that was completely and totally unnecessary, a pointless death. Why had the man threatened them? Why couldn’t he have simply gone along with the rest of his clan and left peacefully to make a new start out in the desert? This was what his earlier stunt had been trying to avoid—there was so much death, so much fighting already in the history of the Rahuli people, their recent history most notably. If he’d been able to unite them, if he’d been able to become their ruler, perhaps he could have prevented this.

Gavin pushed those thoughts aside. It was done. There was nothing to be done about it now. The water was spilt, the sands drinking it up before any of it could be saved. There was nothing left to do except attempt to locate more water.

He glanced up and into the eyes of the giant aevian. Black orbs, each the size of Gavin’s balled fist, regarded him without blinking. The creature’s wickedly hooked beak seemed to glisten with a deep red luster, though there was no wet blood on it. That lay drying on the aevian’s foot-long talons. Gavin stood there, gaze locked with that of the aevian, for what seemed like an eternity. Then, with a sudden shriek, the creature spread its wings and launched into the air.

Gavin ducked, but was still struck by one of the wings as the aevian flew into the air. The force of the blow nearly stunned him, but he kept his feet and watched the enormous creature speed through the air and alight high along the wall in its usual spot above the other aevians.

“I did warn them it wouldn’t be as simple as they thought,” Farah said, walking up beside him.

Gavin turned to regard her. The young woman looked down at Gap-tooth’s body, expression unreadable. But there was more to reading a person’s emotions than simply an expression. Her shoulders were set, arms rigid, posture erect.

“You think he got was he deserved,” Gavin said, finally breaking the silence and sheathing his greatsword.

Farah shrugged. “Whether I do or not makes no difference, really. He’s dead now.”

Gavin disagreed. How one reacted to situations one could not change were often the defining moments of character, at least according to his grandmother, but he didn’t press the issue.

Part of him agreed with her, honestly. The man had been warned. And Gavin wasn’t about to argue with one of the few people who showed him any sort of friendship. Not when so many others were against him.

“Do you know who he is?” Gavin asked, finally pulling his gaze away from the aevian and turning back to look down at Gap-tooth’s still form.

Farah shook her head. “No, but I think it’s safe to assume he was either a Londik or a Heltorin.”

“Assuming is never safe,” Gavin said, feeling an odd weight settle onto his shoulders. “I have a feeling his death is simply going to make our lives even more difficult.”

Farah didn’t disagree.

“Thank you, by the way,” Gavin said.

Farah looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. “For?”

“For helping.”

Farah grinned.

Chapter 9

Samsin’s Folly

“Though this scholar mentioned earlier that he would not venture into religious speculation when none is warranted, he would also be unduly lax in his dissertation on this subject were he not to include the fact that these two races are, by their very nature, linked by the Progressions and each successive Iteration upon that path.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Nikanor was a storms-cursed, light-blinded idiot, Samsin decided, despite running a good plantation. After his third time tripping over a bunch of loose rocks that morning, Samsin had just about decided to turn around and head back for the manor. Leave that idiot to freeze to death in the mountains. He’d deserve it after everything he’d put Samsin through.

Though the sun hadn’t even risen past the horizon when Samsin had left the manor that morning, Nikanor’s path had been simple enough to follow. As an Earth Ward, Nikanor kept to the areas with the most stone, and so Samsin had followed the paved roadway. By the time the sun had risen, Samsin had found the signs of Nikanor’s path and he now followed those as well as the road—if one could call it that. After centuries of infrequent use, the cobblestones had broken up or come loose, as Samsin’s throbbing ankle could testify.

Samsin scowled and stopped for a brief rest, leaning against his spear. Sweat ran down his face and his hair lay plastered against his cheek. Samsin fished out a handkerchief and mopped away the sweat. On the deck of a ship after a fight with another crew over shipping territories, when the heat of battle forced the moisture out to mingle with the salty spray—that was a deserving sweat. But this was just the opposite. Samsin sniffed and tossed the soaked cloth aside. Fool Nikanor.

Samsin groaned and pushed himself back upright. The sun was already almost at its zenith and he was no closer to catching Nikanor. He fished some stale food out of his pack and ate while he walked. How low had he come, to actually want to eat and move at the same time? How barbaric. He shuddered to think what his fellow Storm Wards would say if they saw him eating tasteless dried meat and bread while walking through a deserted, godless place such as this. Samsin ground his teeth together against the indignity, but kept on walking.

Around noon, Samsin saw signs that Nikanor had stopped for at least an hour. The remnants of a fire rested in a shallow depression near the side of the trail, hollowed out in the stone by Nikanor’s powers. It only took Samsin a few moments to realize that Nikanor had left the remains out on purpose for Samsin to find. The Earth Ward could just have easily pulled the earth and stone back into the pit in order to cover the evidence of the fire, but he hadn’t. That meant two things. First, that Nikanor knew he was being followed. Second, that he wanted to be.

Samsin almost turned around right then. But then if he’d wanted to turn back, he never should have left in the first place. As much as Nikanor irritated him, as much as the Earth Ward represented everything which Samsin didn’t, Samsin had grown to like the man, even if he did want to strangle him sometimes.

He growled, pushing the emotionally charged thoughts aside. He was going to bring Nikanor back, that was it, nothing more. It was the right thing to do. It was the pragmatic thing to do.

That was all.

Night began to fall with terrifying swiftness. Samsin felt the heat sapped from the air along with the light. He felt a brief moment of panic before pride shoved it down and strangled it into submission. He’d fully expected to have found Nikanor by now and be halfway back to the plantation, but the man had remained elusive.

Samsin groaned and stepped to the side of the path into a thick stand of trees, their waxy, broad leaves forming some measure of protection against the elements. There was a storm coming, only a few hours away. Samsin had contemplated simply dismissing the storm, but decided against it. The weather systems were interconnected, each storm in this part of the world having an effect on every other part as well. That was why he’d taken several weeks to coax together the storm he’d called down to water the plantation earlier.

He sighed and unshouldered his pack, grateful to have the weight off his shoulders, not that it was especially heavy. It was the indignity of the thing. Slaves wore packs and bore burdens, slaves and other beast of burden. Samsin was a Storm Ward, for wind’s sake, an Orinai.

He sniffed and fished in his pack for a striker. Indignities piled on top of indignities.

“Usually,” said a voice from the darkness, “one gathers wood before trying to start a fire.”

Samsin reached for his spear before his mind caught up with his actions and he realized who was speaking. Nikanor stepped out of the shadows between the trees. Samsin scowled, but Nikanor had the indecency to look pleased with himself. Pleased.

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” Samsin hissed.

Nikanor removed his pack—it was even larger than Samsin’s—and took a seat in the dirt. “Sitting.” he said.

“You storms-cursed son of a—” Samsin began, but the curse degenerated into simple splutters and inarticulate sounds.

Nikanor chuckled softly. “I’ll go get some firewood.”

“You’ll stay right there!” Samsin thundered. “I’ve spent an entire day chasing you down, you idiot! I walked all the way here. I’ve got blisters on my feet and I’m wearing ripped clothing. I carried my own pack, for storm’s sake!”

Nikanor’s expression didn’t change, which infuriated Samsin even more.

“What are you trying to prove, Nikanor? Why didn’t you just send the message?”

Samsin seethed, feeling a storm raging within himself. The wind picked up around him, tossing leaves and debris into the air.

Nikanor raised an eyebrow, which only served to irritate Samsin even further.

“Don’t sit there with your judgmental looks saying nothing, Nikanor. Speak!”

“Peace, Samsin,” Nikanor said. “All will be explained in due time.”

“No, not in due time. Now.” Samsin wrapped his will around the storm within, containing it to manageable levels, which stilled the external winds.

Nikanor didn’t answer immediately. Darkness fell over them like a thick blanket, bringing with it a symphony of sound. Night insects buzzed, clicked and chirped. Night birds hooted or screamed their victory to the air as they captured prey or made some other conquest. Samsin shivered as a chill settled over him.

Finally, Nikanor spoke. “I will answer your questions, Samsin. It is far too dark now to do any traveling. Let me gather some wood and start a fire, then we will talk.”

Samsin grunted, his frustration and anger spent. If he had to wait a little bit for answers, at least he’d be warm when they came.

Nikanor got to his feet while Samsin dug in his pack for the thick cloak he knew would be in there. He found it and donned the heavy garment as Nikanor vanished into the darkness. The cloth itched, but it immediately warmed him.

Nikanor returned a few minutes later with an armload of branches. Within a few minutes he had a fire going, using his power to create a shallow depression in the earth for the flames. Samsin held out his hands to the fire, more grateful than he’d care to admit.

“Alright then, Nikanor,” Samsin said. “Speak.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Nikanor shrugged. “I have to know.”

“Come on, Nikanor. There’s more to it than that. I’ve seen you take a month to decide where to plant vegetables. You decided to do this in less than a day. You’ve only been waiting on the preparations to be done.”

Nikanor shrugged. “I have to know. You know the stories of the Sharani Arena, Samsin. We all heard them as children. We see remnants of the society from that time in all the big cities, the monoliths to the Orinai magic users and the murals of the great wars. Slaves drove out the greatest warriors of an age, Samsin. Slaves. Slaves and prisoners, the dregs of the Orinai society, drove out the best of us. You can’t tell me you don’t want to know if those stories are true.”

Samsin snorted. “They’re just stories, Nikanor. You’d have me believe one of the Seven Sisters turned on the other six? You’d have me believe that two of the greatest magic users ever decided to kill one of the remaining Sisters in support of the slaves and outcasts?”

Nikanor shrugged.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Storms above, the stories say they created monsters out of their own children to drive us out. My mother used to threaten to turn me into a monster when I refused to go to bed at night. They’re just stories.”

“Are they?” Nikanor asked.

Samsin opened his mouth and then closed it again. Two little words, completely insignificant on their own, but they created doubt. No, they augmented the doubt Samsin was surprised to recognize was already there.

“By the seven hells,” Samsin swore. “Curse you and your fool ideas. I’m not one of you. Even if the stories are true, what will it prove? As soon as the Sisters find out that they’re still alive up here, they’ll send the entire army to destroy them. Storms above, man, they’ll probably come up here themselves and obliterate the entire place. You realize Sellia was supposedly there when it happened.”

Nikanor blinked, obviously startled. “You use the Sister’s name and you warn me about idiocy?”

Samsin shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t answer Nikanor’s implied question. Samsin’s family worked directly with the Seven Sisters in some areas of political overlap. He had grown used to referring to many of them by their names rather than their title. For someone on the fringes of the political spectrum, that familiarity was borderline treasonous. For Samsin, it was a testament to political clout, even if it only worked some of the time.

“Have you ever seen them, Nikanor? The Sisters, I mean?” Samsin asked.

Nikanor shook his head.

Samsin shuddered. “They call it a second tier Iteration, but it is so much more than that. When they consume the blood of another magic user they gain their powers for a time, they gain life and strength, and power. All the powers are interconnected within their own element, but the blood mages have access to all three. You should thank the storms there’s only seven of them.”

“I know,” Nikanor said softly. “But I’m going anyway. I have to know for myself, Samsin. I—” He trailed off.

Samsin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The fire crackled and popped, dying down as it consumed its fuel.

“I want no part of this insanity, Nikanor,” Samsin finally hissed. “You don’t even know where it is. The location has been lost to time. All we know is that it was beyond the Hemlin pass up in the mountains.”

Nikanor shrugged. “I’m still going anyway. I’ll find it.”

Samsin frowned at the tone. “You know where it is, don’t you?”

Nikanor looked away. “And if I do?”

“Where?”

Nikanor shook his head. “If you want to know, you’ll have to accompany me. You wouldn’t want your missives to the Sisters to leave out that important detail, would you?”

For a moment, Samsin felt a spike of alarm. How did Nikanor know he’d written those letters to the Sisters? Then he got ahold of his emotions.

“So you do intend to tell them then?” Samsin asked.

“Of course. But only after I’ve seen it for myself. You may have the political clout to send them speculation as fact, but I do not. If I can go there and bring back proof, there will be no risk to me or mine. I—” Nikanor hesitated. “I know you don’t care about me or mine, but you’ve lived here among us for three years. This is my home—these lands, my lands. They’re a part of me, as the storms are a part of you. If I can protect my lands, my possessions, I will.”

The plantation Nikanor owned was pithy by Samsin’s standard, barely adequate to be called a hovel, even with the lovely bath he’d had built, but it was Nikanor’s home. It was all he had, passed down from generation to generation, Earth Ward to Earth Ward. Nikanor wasn’t being foolish—well, not entirely foolish—he was being protective.

If Samsin didn’t know better, he would have objected to the implication in Nikanor’s words, that if some contingent of the Sisters came to investigate and found nothing, they’d take their wrath out on the wrongful accuser, but that much was undeniable. The complex political game of the cities kept the elite safe from the Sisters’ machinations. Nikanor though, was nothing in the grand scheme of the game, easily replaced.

Samsin swore. “And you had to go and drag me into this. You realize that if they are really still there and the Sisters find out we didn’t tell them, we’re both just as dead, right?”

Nikanor actually smiled. “Well, then I’m glad you went behind my back and sent those missives anyway. My steward will send them when we’re not back in two days.” Samsin blinked. “You think I didn’t know? I told my steward to tell you I’d left even though I hadn’t. I wanted to see what you’d do.”

“You little sneak,” Samsin hissed. In truth, Samsin was mildly impressed. Such deception was a duplicity he expected from some of the Orinai in the city, not a country farmer, and especially not from an Earth Ward.

“He’ll send the missives. It will take them almost a month to get to the Sisters, which will give us plenty of time to get there and back.”

Samsin grunted. Nikanor really had thought this out. And played him like a harp. Perhaps Samsin had underestimated him.

Nikanor added more fuel to the fire, allowing the silence to stretch between them. The flames licked at the wood, consuming it with a hunger Samsin found reminiscent of a storm.

“Sleep on it, then,” Nikanor said, pulling a blanket from his pack and lying down next to the fire. “Let me know what you decide in the morning.”

Long after Nikanor had fallen asleep, Samsin sat up in the night, his thoughts wandering with the smoke from the dying fire. When he finally did lie down onto the ground, wrapped in a blanket near the red coals of the fire, he didn’t even feel the discomfort, nor dwell on the indignity of it. Instead, he slipped off to sleep and allowed his thoughts to become dreams, walking him along the paths of prior incarnations, seeking advice and answers.

Samsin came awake, cursing the ache in his shoulders—and Nikanor too, just for good measure—to the seven hells and back again. He sat up with a groan. Wind tousled his hair and wafted the deep, earthen, disgusting scents of the outdoors into his nose. The storm he’d sensed earlier was burgeoning on the horizon and he was tempted to send it away no matter the long-term effects it would have, but he eventually dismissed the idea. He was still far enough away from the Sharani Arena and the deep magics there, but he didn’t want to chance upsetting the delicate balance of the weather system here, not so soon after the last storm. Besides, Nikanor deserved to be wet and as miserable as he.

“Sleep well?” Nikanor asked.

The Earth Ward was already awake—of course he was—but the man stood a few paces away, eyes closed, bare feet planted shoulder width apart, arms clasped behind his back. And the storms-cursed idiot was smiling. Smiling.

“No, I did not sleep well, you light-blinded fool,” Samsin snapped, getting to his feet and brushing detritus from his clothes.

Nikanor chuckled, but didn’t open his eyes. The laugh was the sound of boulders rolling down a hill. Samsin picked a twig from his cloak and threw it the man. Nikanor had the indecency to chuckle some more.

“Shall we go then?”

The question cut through Samsin’s irritation, replacing it with annoyance. That was it? He was just going to cut through the preamble, ignore breakfast entirely, and ask the question itself? Samsin considered not answering just to spite the man.

Nikanor opened one eye and peered over at him. The effect was almost comical on the stocky, well-muscled man, but Samsin didn’t smile. If anything, the motion made Samsin even more annoyed.

“Can’t we at least have breakfast before discussing this?” Samsin asked.

Nikanor shrugged and opened his other eye. He reached down to the packs and fished around for a while before coming back up with a small pouch and a metal pot. Samsin sniffed and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. How did Nikanor manage not to freeze in just his loose pants and vest?

Nikanor started a flame using the embers of the prior night’s fire and Samsin rummaged through his pack, sorting through the contents and trying to make up his mind. Actually, if he was honest with himself, he was trying to dissuade himself from the course he’d already chosen. He didn’t know when he’d decided to go with Nikanor on his suicidal quest, or why he even cared, but he did care and he was going.

It was like the rudder of ship, so small in comparison to the rest of the craft, but its motion moved the entire vessel with ease. Somewhere along the way, Samsin’s rudder had been shifted and, despite the protests of both the smarter and wiser parts of him, the vessel would shift as well.

By the time the sun broached the horizon, Samsin sat on a stone near the fire, nursing a warmed cup of mulled wine and staring down into his empty bowl of gruel. The pot was empty too. It had been a tasteless mess, even with the soggy dried fruit Nikanor had slipped into it, but even with that, Samsin felt a little better now that he had a full stomach. Granted, he was dirty, smelly, tired, and in great need of an hour-long soak in the bath, but he felt better. The wine didn’t hurt anything either.

“Shall we go then?” Nikanor repeated, breaking the silence that had stretched between them during the entire meal.

“You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”

Nikanor simply looked at him. Samsin downed the remaining contents of his metal cup—about half the cup—in one gulp.

“Well, let’s go then.”

Nikanor’s face split into the widest grin Samsin had ever seen on the man. It was like looking at a boulder splitting. Samsin scowled at him and the grin vanished, but the damage was done. He’d said it and he kept his word when given, at least most of the time. Technically he’d only implied acquiescence through his statement, but that was overly pedantic. Samsin didn’t like taking victory through technicalities, even though it was something his chosen Progression found favorable.

Nikanor made quick work of dousing the fire, actually smothering it by shifting the earth over it and making it appear as if the stones had swallowed the flame entirely. The dirty dishes were washed—by Nikanor—and returned to their places in the packs, and then they shouldered their packs. Samsin almost groaned at the protest his shoulders and back gave him as he raised his pack. Almost. He wasn’t about to give Nikanor that satisfaction.

He grabbed his short spear and readied it to use as a walking staff. He glanced over at Nikanor and noticed that the man had pulled a massive war hammer from somewhere.

“Where’d you get that?” Samsin asked, studying the weapon.

It was made entirely of metal, including the haft, though it looked darker than the hammer’s head. Only as thick as two of Samsin’s fingers together, the haft looked far too thin to be able to support the massive, wide, block-like head at the hammer’s top, but Samsin had learned long ago that where Earth Wards were concerned, anything metal could be deceiving. There was intricate scrollwork or writing on the hammer’s head, etched into the surface, but he wasn’t close enough to make it out. He honestly couldn’t remember seeing it anywhere on the plantation.

“I fashioned it while you were sleeping last night,” Nikanor said. He glanced to the northwest, to the mountain peaks poking above the trees against the distant horizon. Samsin shivered, grateful it was still full summer and there was no white covering those peaks.

“Only you would spend the time you should have been sleeping doing actual work,” Samsin said.

Nikanor glanced at him and frowned slightly. Samsin narrowed his eyes, wondering what had sparked the response from the normally unshakeable man.

“One of us had to keep the watch,” Nikanor said, then picked up the hammer and placed it on his shoulder.

He started walking, not bothering to see if Samsin followed or not. Samsin did follow, once again questioning his decision to come along, though now for entirely different reasons. His grip on the spear was a white-knuckled one.

What followed was the most grueling, exhausting, all-consuming day of hellish torment Samsin had ever endured. Nikanor set a hard pace, and they did not stop for lunch or any other breaks outside of a few brief respites barely worthy of the name. The storm, actually more a mild spattering of rain, broke just after the sun reached its zenith in the sky, but Nikanor did not slow. Like an intractable boulder rolling down a hill, Nikanor ploughed on late into the evening, ignoring Samsin’s protests. When Samsin went to sleep that night—after taking a short stint at watch—sleep came to him quickly, like an eager lover, and he almost didn’t mind the discomfort of the rocks beneath him.

The next fortnight was worse.

At the base of the mountains, Samsin finally broke. He shrugged out of his pack and threw it to the ground and flapped down next to it. Nikanor, already far ahead of him, kept walking for a good distance, even to the point of clambering up a sizeable portion of the mountain slope, before he noticed Samsin wasn’t following anymore.

“You go on ahead,” Samsin shouted. “I’m not taking one more step toward that insufferable hell hole.”

Samsin didn’t wait to see how Nikanor replied. Instead he closed his eyes and leaned back against a rock, honestly not caring that it was hard, cold, and uncomfortable. Exhaustion, irritation, and resignation had killed many of his previous objections. He pulled the cowl of his cloak up over his face to block out the sun, ignoring the dank pungent smell of his own body sweat and the lingering wetness from the rain a few days before.

The sound of rocks and dirt being crunched underfoot reached Samsin’s ears, but he ignored it. Nikanor could go swallow the sea for all Samsin cared. He needed a few minutes rest at the very least.

A deep, putrid smell assaulted Samsin’s nose. Samsin’s eyes snapped open. “Nikanor, are you a child . . .?” The rest of his words died on his lips.

Glistening teeth reflected the light before him, sitting within the gaping maw of a massive, white-and-black-striped feline. Well over fifteen feet long and as big around as a mead barrel, its thick, furred length rippled with muscles. If Samsin had been standing, the creature’s head would have come up to his chest. Long front and hind legs clenched and unclenched as claws were extended and retracted. Purple eyes regarded Samsin beneath heavy, thickly muscled brows.

In that split second of realization, Samsin registered those details. In the next, halfway between one breath and the next, he reacted by instinct and rolled to the side, his spear clattering against the rocks that dug into his skin and pummeled his flesh. The massive cat roared, the sound thunderous so close to Samsin’s ears. The world was a twisting, spinning mess, but Samsin managed to right himself and leap to his feet. The only thought in his mind was to run, to get away from the monster at his back.

Something slammed into his back and he fell forward, arms outstretched. White hot pain lanced through his shoulders and he felt blood seep down his back a moment before he crashed to the ground. The weight of the creature—by now Samsin had realized it was the massive cat which had tackled him to the ground—blasted the air from his lungs and he thought he felt one of his ribs crack, though he couldn’t be sure. His vision swam and he instinctively threw his hands up over the back of his head. He reached out for his powers, to the magic within him, but there was little to grab on to. There was no latent energy built up in the ground, nor was there much in the air. Samsin strained to gather what he could from the air, but before he could do so, his concentration was shattered by the weight lifting off his back. The sudden release was like the afterimage of a lightning strike in a storm, the momentary pause before the thunder.

The thunder never came.

Samsin blinked rapidly and sucked in deep, cold lungfuls of air. He groaned and struggled to his hands and knees. Hearing returned to him and he heard someone shouting near him. Was that Nikanor?

“Get up, Samsin, stones break you!” Nikanor’s voice bellowed, though the sound seemed to echo in Samsin’s ears. “Get your fat, lazy butt off the ground.”

A defiant roar cut off anything else Nikanor said. Samsin took Nikanor’s shouted advice, however, and forced himself to his feet. He ran a few steps before chancing a look back over his shoulder. Nikanor stood between him and the massive cat, feet planted wide and arms outstretched. His hammer glinted in the sun a few feet away, though he didn’t glance toward it. Samsin stopped and turned around to witness the spectacle.

The feline roared and swatted one forepaw at Nikanor, though it was far short of the mark. Samsin noted with marked interest that the cat was favoring its back left paw, which looked like it had been crushed by a boulder . . . or a hammer.

Suddenly, the cat lunged forward. Nikanor, instead of dodging to one side or the other, stepped forward and embraced the beast. He disappeared beneath a mound of fur and flesh.

Something welled up within Samsin, a deep, powerful need to act, to move, to win. The pain vanished and he broke into a run. Long, powerful strides ate the ground, but he passed by the roiling mass of fur, teeth, and arms without giving it much of a glance. Instead, he slid to a stop a few spans beyond it, dirt, rocks, and gravel flying into the air. He stooped and scooped up his spear, pulling in the lingering energy it had built up when it had skidded across the ground. The energy gave him strength, gave him clarity of thought.

He shouted some inarticulate cry before he charged at the mound of black-and-white striped flesh, spear tip leading the way. An instant before his blade made contact, Samsin shifted the angle of the jab upward, careful to not let the two-foot long blade slide in the direction of Nikanor, who was still beneath the beast. The spear blade sunk into flesh, cutting through as easily as a fork through well-done fish.

The cat roared and arched its back. The spear bucked and twisted in Samsin’s grip as the cat flailed, paws scrabbling futilely against the ground. The cat pulled free of the spear and scrambled back a few paces.

Samsin glanced down at Nikanor once, a fleeting, split-second look which steeled Samsin’s resolve. Nikanor was one large, tattered mess of cut flesh and seeping blood. Samsin stepped over Nikanor and took a stance between the fallen man and the growling feline. He only half recognized the stance he had adopted, a solid, unmovable imitation of Nikanor’s squaring to the earth.

The cat growled and charged. Samsin held his spear steady. The cat slammed into the spear, blade burying itself into the creature’s chest. Samsin released the pent up energy he’d been holding, sending a crackling bolt along the spear itself and into the creature while he pushed back against the cat’s momentum. The cat convulsed as the bolt hit it, and Samsin heaved to one side, knocking the creature to the ground and releasing the spear. The cat did not rise, its dead, unseeing eyes only a few inches from Nikanor’s still form.

Samsin stood there, lungs heaving and breath coming in ragged gasps, feeling the glory of conquest thrum through him. This was true power. For a long moment he stood there, exultant, then the adrenaline started to fade, his pulse began to slow, and his ribs protested each breath by shooting him with pain. He took a step toward Nikanor and felt a rocking pain shoot up his leg. He could walk on it, but it was painful. He took another few steps and tested his ribs with one hand. He didn’t think anything was broken, thankfully.

He knelt next to Nikanor and did a quick check of the damage. The wounds were deep and crisscrossed Nikanor’s chest. His shirt hung in tatters, glued to his skin by the welling blood. Samsin knew little about healing, he was neither a wetta nor a blood mage, but he knew he needed to stop the bleeding first and foremost. He limped over to his pack—he had no idea where Nikanor’s had ended up—and pulled out a blanket, a small flask of wine, and one of his shirts. The shirt he tore into long trips and then he limped back over to Nikanor. He pulled the man’s shirt away, careful to not make any of the cuts worse than they already were. Nikanor’s chest rose and fell, a good sign, though his eyes remained firmly shut.

Grimacing through his own pain, Samsin unstopped the flask and poured most of the wine over the wounds. The amber wine mingled with the still-wet blood, darkening as it formed a new, unified liquid and dripped onto the rocks below. He knew he needed to clean them out and hoped the alcohol would work for that. When he’d been injured before, that’s what the slave healers had used, though it had been a much more caustic alcohol than wine.

Nikanor stirred, grunting and blinking rapidly. He sucked in a deep breath, face contorted and a grimace twisting his lips to the side. His eyes flickered open, though they remained unfocused and distant for a long moment.

“Nikanor?” Samsin asked.

Nikanor blinked a few times and then his eyes focused on Samsin’s face, a few feet above his own.

“That hurts,” he grunted.

Samsin couldn’t help himself. He laughed, a deep, rolling, absurd laugh which took a lot of his tension and worry with it. The pain and burgeoning exhaustion remained, but the world seemed a little brighter all of sudden.

“What did you have to go and save me for?” Samsin said, folding the blanket carefully and placing it over Nikanor’s chest.

Nikanor winced and grunted, but didn’t protest. “Why wouldn’t I?” he said, letting his breath out in a long hiss. “I couldn’t let a friend die when I could do something about it.”

Samsin didn’t answer for a long time. Instead he busied himself by tying the blanket down with the strips off his shirt. That done, he looked down at Nikanor with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t follow your Progression, Nikanor. I am not a man of honor, you know that. You had no reason to save me. I am not your friend.”

Nikanor grunted and shifted, but didn’t try to get up. “Every life is worth protecting. I see Honor in you, even if you don’t. No one is simply one thing. Power, Conquest, Honor, Strength—the Progressions overlap to some degree.”

“Bah!” Samsin snapped. “No preaching, Nikanor. This is all your fault. Yours and your precious honor’s.”

“Deny it if you will, but the cat did not die on its own. I am alive only because someone, in turn, saved me.”

Samsin didn’t have an answer for that. Nikanor considered him a friend? It didn’t make any sense. But then again, Samsin had saved Nikanor too. He was right, storms take it.

He shook his head and then took the rest of the wine and poured it over his bloody shoulders. Pain blossomed and flashed down his back and he almost screamed, but he held himself to a simple grunt. If Nikanor could keep it contained, so could he.

“What now, Nikanor?” Samsin asked, a trace of annoyance and cynicism creeping into his voice. “We’re a fortnight from the plantation and who knows how far from the end of your storming quest.”

“We go on,” Nikanor said, gritting his teeth and pushing himself up. Samsin would have protested, but Nikanor’s answer outweighed the admonition.

“Why in the seven hells should we?” Samsin said. “You can barely move. You need to rest and heal, not go gallivanting off through the mountains after children’s stories!”

“One might even think you care,” Nikanor said. His breath came in ragged gasps, but it steadied before he continued. “Use your head for a minute, Samsin. I know all about your scheming back in the Southern Dominion, about your family’s dealings, power, and position. You’ve got brains. Use them. I’m injured. Seriously. I’ll get gangrene or blood poisoning before we ever made it back to the plantation. You will too, I’d imagine. If we stay here, some animal will come along and kill us both. There are more rock tigers around here, I’m sure. They hunt in pairs or sets of pairs. Our only chance is to press forward and hope the Sharani Arena really is there and they have means to help us.”

“And why would they?” Samsin asked.

We’re doomed either way. Samsin licked his lips as the realization settled into him.

Nikanor shook his head. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure something out. Here, bring me your spear, I’ll use it as a crutch.”

Half an hour later, they were walking again, Samsin half supporting Nikanor as they limped along. Samsin carried Nikanor’s hammer, which was surprisingly light, and a small sack tied at his waist. Everything else was left behind.

Chapter 10

Hints of Discovery

“The two races are one and the same, just changed by the powers within them, though the Seven Sisters would not have their devotees recall such.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel leaned against her cane, supporting herself in the shadows of one of the less-used passages through the warren. She remembered a time when having to hide, having to remain in the shadows, was a question of survival, something which she’d had to do to protect herself from her clan’s rules and traditions. Lhaurel had proven her own strength, her own capacity to be more than what tradition dictated that she be. But now that same strength had made her a monster.

She gritted her teeth and started walking again, ignoring the dull ache. Lhaurel felt weak, and a constant headache throbbed behind her temples, but she wasn’t about to stay down there in that room any longer, not with Kaiden out on the sands again. Khari had been less than helpful when Lhaurel had confronted her earlier, telling her to go back to the healing chambers and rest. But Lhaurel found no more comfort there. She needed to be up and moving, doing something.

As she walked, her robes caught on a promontory of rock that stuck out from the wall. The small amount of resistance would not normally have slowed her in the slightest, but this time it nearly stopped her in her tracks. She sighed, stopped, and pulled it free with effort. Lhaurel sensed Khari approaching a moment before the sound of the woman’s steps announced her approach.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Khari demanded. Her voice was firm, which wasn’t unusual, but there was an edge to it now, something almost harsh.

“Walking.”

Khari folded her arms beneath her breasts. “You should be in bed, resting.”

“And you should be helping the clans get ready to leave,” Lhaurel retorted. “So how about we call it even?”

Khari’s frown deepened, but she didn’t dispute it.

“What are you up to, then?” Lhaurel asked. Even though she’d never admit it out loud, she was grateful for the extended rest. Even the few short steps she’d taken were enough to deplete what little energy she had left.

“I don’t see that it’s any of your concern.”

Lhaurel shrugged. “Well, you’re down this way for a reason. I’m the only one down here so unless you’re really here just to lecture me about rest, there’s something else you want.”

Khari unfolded her arms and let them drop to her sides. “You’ve gained a bit of acerbity to that tongue of yours since the Oasis.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Bitterness and bite,” Khari explained. “But no matter. You’re right. I need your help to find Beryl.”

Lhaurel frowned. “My help? He’s a mystic. Can’t you just find him yourself?” She didn’t mean for it to sound as bad as it did when it came out of her mouth, but it was too late to take it back.

“Usually yes, but I think he knows a way to block my search or he’s too far away for me to find him.” Khari hesitated. “I thought maybe you could locate him.”

Lhaurel swallowed and shifted her weight against her cane. She felt her pulse quicken and the headache swelled within her mind, building pressure like a water urn left out in the sun too long. She had kept a tight hold on that side of her powers since she’d healed Shallee and the baby. It was too tempting, too much of an alluring sense of omnipotence, for her to let it loose.

“What do you need him for?” Lhaurel asked to buy time.

“The clans need weapons, but Beryl has locked the door to the smithy and armory. There’s no keyhole to get in, so he must have sealed it with his magnetelorium powers. He’s the only one who can get in. I looked for him, but couldn’t sense him anywhere.”

Lhaurel didn’t speak for a long moment. In truth, she was glad the clans were leaving. She couldn’t bear their scrutiny, especially the remnants of the Sidena clan from which she had come. They’d thought her dead, they’d left her to die when the genesauri Migration had come earlier than expected. To find her not only alive but part of a hidden clan they had come to resent and possessing a power they considered to be from one of the seven hells, was more than sufficient fuel for the looks of hatred and fear she saw on their faces. Lhaurel longed for the anonymity she would be able to gain among just the Roterralar again.

“I don’t know how much I can do,” Lhaurel said. “I don’t seem to have as good a grasp on my abilities as I thought. And I’m . . . well, water doesn’t really work to help me as much as it does you.”

Lhaurel swallowed, unable to articulate the truth. She wasn’t a wetta. She was something far more sinister, far more powerful. Khari made as if to reach out a hand, then hesitated and let it drop.

“I know,” Khari said. “You’re a blood mystic.”

Lhaurel started. “How do you know?”

Khari held up her hand. Half a dozen small cuts stood out on her fingers, some half healed and others rather fresh. Lhaurel looked questioningly at Khari.

“The first time was an accident,” Khari whispered. “I cut myself while talking to Farah. Then the blood vanished and you started looking healthier. After that it was intentional, a little at a time to ease your body back to health.”

Lhaurel brought a hand to her mouth, the fingers trembling. The room started to blacken around the edges.

Khari was at her side in an instant, supporting her. “It was my choice, Lhaurel,” Khari said more firmly. “You’re safe, you’re healing on your own now.”

Lhaurel allowed herself to sink to the ground. The cane dropped with a faint metallic click. She dropped her head into her hands against the waves of emotion.

“I’m a monster,” Lhaurel whispered.

Khari’s arms formed a firm circle around Lhaurel’s shoulders. Even in the midst of her turmoil, Lhaurel was surprised by the show of intimacy from the woman, but at the same time, she needed the stability and comfort.

“You’re not,” Khari whispered. “You saved us all, didn’t you? You saved that baby. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.”

“I killed them, Khari.” The words ripped from Lhaurel’s lips as if of their own volition, though the admission came with a wave of relief at having exposed the burdens which had plagued her.

“The genesauri?”

“All of them, but not just them. I felt the people dying. I—I died with them. Some of them died earlier than they should have. I used them to fuel my power to kill the genesauri.” Lhaurel bit her lip so hard it almost bled, but it kept her silent.

Khari’s grip shifted around Lhaurel’s shoulders and, for a moment, Lhaurel thought Khari was about to pull away. She didn’t blame her. Lhaurel was a monster, a murderer, a demon. But Khari didn’t pull away. Instead she pulled Lhaurel even closer.

“What is the test of honor?” Khari whispered in her ear. “To uphold the flame or to snuff it out?”

Lhaurel waited, unsure how to respond.

Khari continued after a momentary pause. “Sometimes, to extinguish the flame is a greater show of honor.”

Lhaurel cried and found herself hugging Khari back. After a long moment, they broke apart. Another long moment of silence followed, each woman taking a moment to wipe away tears and get their emotions under control, or at least, Lhaurel hoped that was what Khari was doing.

“Can you—” Khari began, but Lhaurel was already nodding. Khari had sacrificed for her, had provided her with blood. Lhaurel knew how dangerous that was, knew it by the way her nails still showed with a dull red luster and her hair shone a bright, vibrant hue. Khari was lucky she hadn’t become like the genesauri, a broken, empty husk. Lhaurel owed her something at least.

“I will find him,” she said.

Lhaurel took a step back and reached within herself, drawing on her powers. A chill washed over her, though she recognized it for what it was now as red mist formed around her and she felt her consciousness expand outward. It was not dread so much as her body’s reaction to sending her blood out into the air to mingle with the elements around her.

She reached out with her mind and felt Khari’s presence blossom near her. She felt the tribes scurrying about the warren like ants in a hill. A woman in the greatroom cut herself on a rock. Lhaurel felt her pain, felt the blood. Part of her leapt at the fuel, pulling toward it, but Lhaurel screamed and ripped her mind away, her only thought to channel her mind elsewhere—anywhere but where the blood dripped into the sand.

Her mind sped downward through the rock. Her mind hit a vastness there. The lake. There within that great vastness of power, Lhaurel found something else, something equally as vast and powerful, something she had not felt before.

“Beryl,” she whispered, and released the magic. She opened her eyes and looked over at Khari, whose brow was crinkled in concern. “I’ve found him.”

By the time Lhaurel and Khari had reached the massive underground lake beneath the Roterralar Warren, Lhaurel had come to utterly despise both her cane and her weakened, useless body. Having to stop every hundred feet or so and rest, or else walk at a pace normally reserved for the aged or crippled, made Lhaurel feel like an invalid, especially since Khari waited with her instead of forging ahead.

More than once, Khari had insisted Lhaurel return to the healing chambers and rest, but Lhaurel had refused. She was done sitting on the sidelines. The longer she rested there, doing nothing, the more she dwelt on what she had done and what she was becoming. That, and she had to listen to Shallee prattle on about useless domestic things. Lhaurel liked the woman, but did she have to be so blatantly happy all the time?

Lhaurel and Khari stepped out onto the narrow walkway through the center of the lake. It was dimly lit, only a single lantern glowing like a miniature eye on the other side of the pathway.

“Beryl was down here before,” Khari whispered. “Working with some scrolls. But I sensed him then, while he was working down here. I couldn’t this time.”

Khari’s voice echoed through the chamber, the sound dampened and warped by its reverberation off the water’s surface. Lhaurel felt down into the depths, a hundred spans of clear water. There was a current to it, down in the depths, though it was slow and had centuries of mineral deposits within it making it mildly saline.

The light grew stronger, revealing Beryl seated in front of the massive cubby system cut into the far wall. A pile of scrolls rested near him, sealing in glass cylinders. He glanced around as they approached, his eyes seeming to flash with orange lantern light.

“You should have seen this place when it was made,” Beryl said, his voice soft. “There are three of them altogether. One here, one beneath the Oasis, and one that’s long since been lost to the sands unless the winds have uncovered it again. Elyana said the lakes were all connected, a part of one long water runoff. I never did understand her explanation on how that was possible.”

Lhaurel glanced over at Khari, seeing her own confusion mirrored in the woman’s expression. There was something familiar about that name though. Elyana, why was that name so familiar? She’d heard it somewhere before, recently even. Beryl started talking again before Lhaurel could figure it out.

“Now look at it. It’s been forgotten and abandoned, just like the knowledge it contains. Just like us. It is fitting, I imagine, that ignorance is banished at the same time as will be our abandonment.”

Khari approached Beryl, her step hesitant and one hand held out as if to touch him.

“Are you alright, Beryl?” she asked. “What are you doing down here?”

“What is the test of honor?” Beryl muttered as if to himself.

“Beryl?” Lhaurel asked, starting to worry. The words he was speaking, his tone, his voice, they reminded her of Kaiden, when he had stood atop the Oasis walls while the Rahuli died below him. She shuddered at the memory.

Beryl started and blinked rapidly, as if coming awake. He got to his feet, brushing aside Khari’s outstretched hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. The gruffness Lhaurel was accustomed to had returned to his voice.

Khari looked over at Lhaurel, brow even more furrowed than it had been before. Lhaurel silently agreed with the expression. Beryl was odd. He always had been. But this was the first time Lhaurel had ever really questioned his sanity.

“We came to find you, Beryl. The clans are leaving and they need access to the armory, but it’s sealed.”

“Leaving?”

“Yes.”

“They can’t leave,” Beryl said. “Not yet. When was this decided?”

“Days ago, Beryl. They would have been gone already if we’d known where to find you,” Khari said.

Beryl ignored the implied question. “Arms, yes, they’ll need to be armed.” Light glinted off the metal flecks embedded in his skin as he scratched at his chin. “Let’s go then.”

He started walking back the way they had entered, his limp more pronounced than it had ever been. He made it a few shuffle-steps forward, then stopped and turned around.

“Help me with these,” he said, grabbing an armload of the glass cylinders.

“What are they?” Khari asked. Despite the question, she moved forward and picked up a number of the cylinders. Lhaurel walked up and grabbed the remaining ones, thankfully able to carry them in one arm and still use her cane.

“They’re what drove Kaiden to do what he did,” Beryl said, striding away at a rapid pace. “He found the scrolls and learned their secrets. You should do the same.”

Lhaurel looked over at Khari, seeing the color drain from her face.

“He did spend a lot of time down here,” Lhaurel muttered. “He showed me the lake and the scrolls once. This is where he came after that time when we lost Tieran. But, I mean, Beryl’s got to be lying, doesn’t he?”

They both stared at each other for a long moment, then hurried after Beryl.

Lhaurel sat at the stone table, reading the scroll for perhaps the dozenth time. She massaged her temples, trying and failing to banish the headache, soreness, and confusion that threatened to consume her. Each scroll she read only added to her confusion. It didn’t help that she was a slow reader, having to study each word as she read it.

She sighed and leaned back, giving up trying to understand. Khari had left with Beryl to oversee the distribution of weaponry, though she had mentioned something about a disturbance in the eyrie as well. Beryl seemed impatient, adamant, and focused on arming the clans before they left. He worked with a powerful intensity, as he always had, but there was something else behind it, something she and Khari had noted and discussed in hushed whispers behind the man’s back. Fear.

But Lhaurel didn’t understand what Beryl’s fear had to do with these scrolls. And how could discussion of magic have motivated Kaiden to murder hundreds? Granted, what was discussed in these scrolls was revelatory, even life changing. There were nine types of magic, not just the three they’d thought before. At the heart of them all were a group called the Seven Sisters, who were, according to the scrolls, the only blood mages around. The ways magic itself could be used, the power in each successive Iteration—as the text called it—it was stunning, but it wasn’t a motivation any more than a candle was as bright as the sun. And who were the Orinai?

The writings referenced them as if they were their own people, not the Rahuli, but Lhaurel had never heard of them before, nor had Khari when Lhaurel had asked her about it. Beryl himself was close-lipped, instead focusing on the task of arming the clans. It was this hyper-focus which had finally driven Khari to go with him. Perhaps once that was completed he would be more forthcoming with information.

Lhaurel was so tired. She sighed and got to her feet with effort, reaching for her cane. Her hand shook and bumped the tray of roast lamb and cheese which lay half-finished on the table next to her. She cursed, and wrapped her hand around the cane, using it to steady herself. Her stomach rumbled.

“Fine then,” she said aloud, reaching for the food. She normally wasn’t very partial to lamb or cheese for that matter, preferring bread and the actual goat milk itself to the meat and cheese, but she ate anyway. She didn’t feel guilty doing so, despite the tight rations they were forced to endure. What remained was hers, left for her after Khari had finished.

The food settled Lhaurel’s stomach and stilled her shaking, but it did nothing to sate her weariness. She needed sleep for that. She left the tray on the table next to the scrolls, and left the room, locking the door behind her. Khari had the other key if she needed to get back in. Placing her key in a pocket, Lhaurel began the long, halting journey back to the healing chambers.

Chapter 11

Blasphemy

“The Schema is easily recognizable since it is a large square inscribed with nine smaller squares. Each column begins with the lowest specific power or Iteration and each row is an evolution in power from that.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

“I’ll have that bird’s head on the end of a spear before I leave,” Maugier growled between clenched teeth. “Or by the sands there will be Roterralar blood spilt this day!”

The other clan leaders—Evrouin, Alia, and Khari—gave a collective sigh and turned to Gavin, who sat next to Farah on a stone bench across from them. They’d already recounted the story of what had happened in the eyrie twice now, but Maugier insisted that they were telling lies. The dead clansman had been a relation of his.

“It was provoked,” Farah said heatedly. “They were there trying to steal an aevian.”

“Says you.”

Gavin ran a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. “This isn’t important,” he said, tone harsh. “We should be planning where the clans are going to go and how to split up the patrols in search of Kaiden and those who helped him escape. The man is dead. I’m sorry, but nothing we discuss here is going to change that.”

“Well said,” Evrouin added before Maugier could protest.

Noticing the opportunity, Khari spoke up as well. “They invaded space where they were not allowed. They’re thieves and they got what they deserved. If they weren’t leaving already, I’d hang them all myself.”

“Kaiden is the topic of discussion here, Maugier,” Evrouin said in an obvious attempt to move the conversation away from Khari’s blunt pronouncement. “The Roterralar will provide the communication we need to coordinate our efforts to find him.”

Maugier scowled. “Why should we trust you, Evrouin? Or her? You and your allies were the ones who fought against us in the Oasis. You sided with that creature to kill us all. How do we know you’re not part of the group hiding him or that you won’t shelter him as soon as you’re away from here?”

Though Alia didn’t say anything, Gavin could tell she was thinking the same thing. That right there was the main trouble with staying together. There was no trust. Not yet at least.

“Use your brain once in a while, will you?” Khari snapped. “If the Roterralar are constantly checking in, passing messages between the clans, there’s no way they could harbor Kaiden without us knowing.”

“And if you’re the ones helping him?” Alia asked.

Khari stood up, knocking her chair to the ground with a crash. “I give you my oath, by the blood within my veins, that neither I nor any of mine are in league with Kaiden. I swear to you, to protect and defend you and your families, openly and to the best of our abilities.” Khari brought her fist down on the stone table hard enough to make Gavin wince. “And I swear to you that we will help you find Kaiden and this time, when we do, we will kill him.”

The other clan leaders sat back, stunned into silence. Even Farah put a hand to her mouth.

Khari leaned forward, expression as intense as any Gavin had ever seen. “I will have your oaths on this. If the Roterralar are to defend you, if Beryl is to arm you, you will cooperate or try to survive on your own without us.”

No more protests came, only oaths. The plans were set, the clans set in motion to leave. Khari left with them, stating that she would assist them with getting arms from Beryl before they left. For some reason, Gavin felt deflated rather than pleased. As the clan leaders left the room, Gavin couldn’t help but feel that somehow he’d failed them.

The smithy was an eerie place when illuminated only by a single lantern. The forge lay dormant, completely cool. Beryl hadn’t rekindled that particular flame since he’d sent the message to the Orinai over a fortnight and a half ago. Yet light from his lantern glinted off the metal in the room, casting a myriad of shadows and lights dancing across the walls. The forge would remain dormant for now. The Rahuli had no need of new weapons, only those with which they could fight. Beryl already had plenty of those.

Beryl continued on through the smithy itself, passing the dormant forge and pressing on into the massive room beyond. Light glinted off metal weaponry, metal he had gathered from the sands, from the Forbiddence walls, from the Sharani Desert itself over the course of his life. Metal was a scarce resource in deserts, usually, but not here, not so far north into the mountains. For years, the crafting of these weapons had been his life. What would it be now?

One of the voices, the one who was always the most disparaging to his metalwork, laughed. Oh, how we have fallen, it whispered. Fallen from greatness. Why could you never let go of your past?

Beryl pushed back that voice and the memories, which seemed to well up more and more frequently now that the genesauri were gone. They didn’t understand. Elyana had never understood why he’d maintained his smith’s work either, though she had supported him in it. The feel of metal beneath a hammer, the resistance, the bending of a stubborn will by a mightier arm, those were things that had to be experienced, had to be known. There was no substitute for it. Without it, Beryl would have succumbed to the madness centuries ago.

Without really even thinking about it, Beryl reached within and lit the metals flowing within him. His power flared and he raised one hand toward the large cloth covering the opening on one side of the wall. He seized onto the thin metal wire along the edge and the spikes holding it in place and pulled. The canvas sprang away from the wall and crumpled to the ground to one side of the opening, iron spikes clanging on top of it. Light spilled into the room. Pure light. Blinding light. For a moment, Beryl forced his eyes to remain open and reveled in the pain. Then they adjusted and he blinked away the minute tears which had sprung into them.

“By the seven hells.” The sudden voice made Beryl twist about, pulling at his stiff leg.

Khari stood at the entrance to the armory, back nestled against the dormant furnace. Behind her and to one side, half a dozen others stood in open-mouthed wonder at the stunning array of weaponry. Beryl felt a momentary surge of pride at the expressions. They’d never come close to seeing a collection of weapons as grand as these—no one had outside the Roterralar. Even among the Orinai on the other side of the Forbiddence, such a display was something few ever saw, but for entirely different reasons. Weapons in the hands of another magic user, another magnetelorium, were often more deadly to their owners than to those they wished to fight.

“Take what you will,” Beryl growled, breaking the thick silence. “But no more than you need. Khari, where are those glass blades that girl was making?”

Before Khari could answer, the man who had sworn by the seven hells only moments earlier spoke up instead.

“Glass?” The mockery in his tone was as thick as rust on an ancient blade.

“Glass can’t be manipulated by magic, Evrouin,” Khari said, holding up a hand to forestall the torrent getting ready to leap from Beryl’s lips. “I’ll get you a half dozen of them before you leave.”

Evrouin grunted, then gestured for his companions to go around him and start gathering weaponry. “Get swords and axes. We don’t need any of those long spears, or those metal club-things.”

The men did as instructed, though Beryl eyed them with narrowed eyes as they rummaged through his treasures.

“Be careful with that, you son of a sailfin!” Beryl shouted at one of the men, a young fellow with a scar on one cheek, who knocked over several of the long lances the aevian riders had used against the genesauri. The boy at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

After the men finished fixing the lances and started walking back out of the armory, Beryl shook his head.

“I don’t know why I’m helping these. They’re just going to die anyway,” Beryl muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Evrouin asked. The edge had come back into his voice, as if he didn’t trust Beryl at all.

Beryl met the man’s gaze and returned the look with as much disinterest as he could muster. Trust was more precious than water here in the desert. So what if this insignificant man didn’t trust him, one of the voices whispered. Any one of the voices could crush him in an instant. Beryl growled and pushed the voices back once again.

“You don’t have enough,” Beryl said, more loudly.

Evrouin’s jawline hardened, a muscle standing out in his neck. “I think we’ve got sufficient to defend ourselves.”

This time even Beryl agreed to snort in contempt. “Well, when you run into Kaiden, don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.”

A vessel in Evrouin’s temple throbbed. “If we run into him,” Evrouin said vehemently, “he’ll die by my blade.”

Beryl grinned at him. “Well, may death’s shadow pass over you softly, then.”

Gavin entered the eyrie with determined steps. He wore his greatsword, the weapon swinging from his belt. He ignored the aevians for now, marching across the room directly to the cavernous opening on the other side of the massive chamber. Farah and Khari stood there at the edge, watching as the three groups trudged out across the sands, like water dripping down a mound after being poured from a pitcher. Aevians and their riders wheeled in the air above them, circling in patterns that followed the three divergent paths taken by the clans.

“How many decided to stay?” Gavin asked, taking up a lookout post next to Farah. She was beautiful, outlined by the sun.

Khari shook her head. “Not as many I would have hoped, but more than I expected.”

“Staying here is easier than trying to find a new home for those who have no one else left,” Farah said. She didn’t turn to look at Gavin, her gaze focused out across the sands as it had been during the rainstorm a few days before.

“How many?” Gavin asked her.

“A few score, including about a dozen that show some mystic ability. All of the outcasts stayed.”

Gavin wasn’t surprised. He’d known the outcasts wouldn’t leave. This was the best they’d ever had it in life, even with the political machinations and hatred which had been leveled against them. The number of mystics, however, was surprising.

“Will those be trained?” he asked.

Khari turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, will they? You’re the leader of the mystics, Gavin, not me.”

“I didn’t agree to that yet.”

“Consider yourself appointed to the position then.”

Gavin opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap. Khari had been in a combative mood for days now. There was no use continuing this argument.

“Fine then. Yes, they will be trained.”

“Good,” Farah said, finally turning away from the opening to face him. “I think it’s about time you learned to ride an aevian too.”

“Yes, it is about time.”

Farah whistled and Talyshan leapt from higher up the cliff face, alighting near them. There was already a harness attached to the aevian’s back, a saddle fixed into place. The creature gave a series of soft chirps and Farah smiled, walking over to him and scratching him under the chin, beak just within reach. Gavin looked a question at her.

“Talyshan is mine,” Farah said. “You’ve got to get your own if you want to come with me.” Talyshan bowed and Farah vaulted up into the saddle, pulling leads from beneath her robes and fixing them in place. Talyshan spread massive wings and leapt from the lip of the cavern’s opening. Farah whooped.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Gavin shouted after her.

Khari chuckled. Gavin had almost forgotten she was there. There was humor in her eyes, which was nice to see though Gavin wished it hadn’t come at his expense.

“Well, I’d trying calling one if I were you,” she said. “If you’re lucky, one will come.”

Gavin gave her a flat look. Life was rarely that simple. “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Whistle.”

“Whistle?”

Khari nodded. “We’ll see if one of them comes. Normally we’d keep you here, break you, let you help raise one and form a bond, but there are no clutches to be born right now.”

Gavin got the sense that there was something else going on here, some sort of test or joke at his expense. Putting on his best storyteller’s face, Gavin pursed his lips and let out a shrill whistle.

A few of the aevians stirred, turning to look at him, but none moved beyond that.

“Try again.”

Gavin whistled again. This time, something moved at the top of the eyrie wall, a massive white aevian leapt from high up the cliffs, a screech that echoed through the chamber accompanying the dive. The white aevian, the one who had killed Maugier’s man, alighted before them, wind from the creature’s beating wings tossing sands into the air and foot-long talons clicking against the rock.

“Hello there,” Gavin breathed, feeling awed and more than a little stunned.

Gavin stepped forward, reaching out a hand that he was surprised to see was trembling slightly. Since the battle of the Oasis, since he’d seen that first wave of aevians plunging from the sky, riders on their backs, he’d secretly longed to feel the joy of flight, to feel the freedom and liberation of that experience. It was a deep-seated desire in the human soul to fly, to find freedom, to soar.

Khari’s hand shot out and gripped Gavin around the wrist in a vice-like grip. “Don’t touch him.” she growled. “He is not yours.”

Gavin took a step back, trying to free his arm from her grip, but it was like stone about his wrist.

“Let go of me, Khari,” Gavin said, keeping his voice calm. “You told me to whistle, he came.”

Above them, the aevian hissed and clicked its talons against the rock. Khari looked over at the creature and Gavin was surprised to see tears in the woman’s eyes. Tears? Khari was typically a rock solid woman, the only emotions easily determined anger or irritation.

“He’s barely gone, Nabil,” Khari whispered. “Barely gone. You’d choose another already?”

Gavin realized what was happening in a sudden flash of understanding. Her husband had been the last one to ride the aevian, Nabil. Makin Qays had been slaughtered by Kaiden in the battle of the Oasis. He’d died with honor, though he’d never really stood much of a chance. Khari hadn’t ever shown the pain she was going through, though it was obvious now that she’d been simply masking it, allowing it to fester beneath the surface.

Her grip slackened on his wrist and Gavin pulled his arm free and stepped back, allowing Khari some space. She stepped up to the aevian, placing a hand on one of his wings and gently stroking the black-speckled feathers there.

“He was a man of honor,” Khari whispered. “A leader. You and he kept us safe for decades. You’re old, Nabil. You can rest now, you know. You don’t have to take a new rider.”

The aevian clicked his beak and make a soft series of clicks and chirps as if he was responding to Khari’s words, as if he understood. Looking up at the majestic creature, Gavin wasn’t entirely sure it couldn’t.

“Are you sure you want to do this? This boy, he is still young, still learning.”

Boy?

Nabil chirped, softly and lifted a wing, brushing Khari’s arm. The woman sniffed, nodded, and then rounded on Gavin.

“You treat him better than you would a lover, Gavin,” Khari said. “Or by the sands of the seven hells, I’ll make you regret it.”

Gavin swallowed and nodded. Khari seemed content with that answer for she gestured toward the aevian with one hand before turning on her heel and marching across the sands to one of the storage bins near the far wall. Gavin hesitated, unsure how to proceed from there.

The aevian, though, was far less indecisive. Nabil leaned down until they were standing with eyes level, the aevian’s beak only inches from Gavin’s nose. Gavin breathed in and out slowly, returning the scrutiny. Proud eyes met Gavin’s gaze, black orbs steeped in wisdom. Gavin swallowed again, feeling suddenly small and insignificant.

“Well, come on then,” Khari said gruffly, arriving with another saddle and destroying the moment Gavin was having with the aevian. “Pay attention while I put the saddle on here. I won’t show you how to do it again.”

Nabil blinked and shuffled back before hunkering down for Khari to place the saddle on him. Gavin paid careful attention, though he was finding it hard to focus. The saddle was worn in places and there was a bloodstain on the leather, but the straps fit Nabil without any adjustment, which lead Gavin to assume it had been the one Makin Qays had used.

Once the saddle was secured, Khari handed Gavin a harness with a few extra leads for him to put on. He did so and then turned to Khari expectantly. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

“What now?” Gavin asked.

“Now you fly. You’d better be quick about it too, or else Farah will leave you behind.”

“But you haven’t even shown me anything about flying at all!” Gavin protested. “How do I get up there? How do I stay on . . .” He trailed off as Nabil shifted and stuck out a wing.

If he used that to step up . . . he stopped thinking and simply did it, putting a foot against the wing joint and launching himself up into the saddle. From there it was obvious where each lead hooked in and he strapped himself down. He glanced down at Khari, who wore an odd expression on her face, half amusement, half sorrow.

“He’ll respond to your whistles,” Khari said softly. “Whistle once and he’ll come to you. Whistle twice and he’ll return to the eyrie. Farah will teach you the others later. Now fly.”

She made a gesture and whistled sharply. Nabil launched into the sky.

Gavin reacted by instinct. He latched onto the saddle’s handle and a scream of pure joy was wrenched from his throat. His stomach turned over as Nabil climbed upward a few feet and then folded his wings to his back and began turning downward.

His stomach flipped over itself a few feet from the ground. Nabil spread his wings and beat downward to pull himself out of the dive. Momentum carried Gavin forward and he thought he was going to smack face-first into Nabil’s broad back or the saddle itself, but the tethers attached to the back of his harness held him place and he only experienced a moment of fierce vertigo as Nabil climbed back in to the air.

Wind screamed in Gavin’s ears and he felt the power in each of Nabil’s wing strokes. If Gap-tooth had been able to experience this, had been able to feel the absolute strength in each stroke of Nabil’s wings, he never would have thought he could steal one of these amazing creatures.

Nabil climbed higher, rising far faster now than he had earlier. He turned in long, slow spirals as he flapped upward. Gavin felt the warmer currents of air pushing upward as well. He looked out toward the Forbiddence. He knew it ran in a giant, impenetrable circle around the whole of the Sharani Desert, but he’d never been in a position to actually see it like this, stretching in massive arcs in all directions. Below him, looking like insects, he saw the Rahuli clansmen marching across the desert in three distinct groups, aevians and their riders winging in the air above them, though beneath Gavin and Nabil.

Nabil let out a screech and Gavin found himself giving an answering shout, screaming against the wind. He let go of the saddle and threw his hands into the air, eyes wide, a smile creasing his face. This was what he was made for. This was pure, unadulterated freedom and majesty. It was nothing like he had expected it to be. It was a hundred times, a thousand times more liberating.

After the stress, fear, and emotion of the last few weeks, after struggling to figure out how to live up to the expectations thrust upon him by his grandmother, after fighting to gain control of a people who refused to be led, this was pure liberation. The stress washed out of him, left below on the sands. The fear, the latent burning self-doubt which had wormed its way into his decisions and actions, fell victim to the joy and relief that surged through him now.

A shadow passed by the sun and Gavin searched the sky to see what had created it. Talyshan and Farah surged upward through the air near them. Gavin whooped and waved and he saw Farah laugh in return though he couldn’t hear the sound. She looked wonderful there on Talyshan’s back, hair streaming out behind her and face backlit by the sun. She smiled over at him and made a gesture for him to follow her. Gavin had no idea how to direct Nabil, but the aevian must have understood, for he followed as Farah directed Talyshan around to the left.

Nabil surged forward through the air, wings flapping hard through the air until he came up alongside Talyshan, flying parallel to the smaller aevian. A dozen spans separated the two birds as they flew.

Gavin looked down at the sands, noting the plateaus sticking up out of the sands at regular intervals. If things had been normal, some of them would have housed the Rahuli clans. Gavin had visited them infrequently, typically only when his grandmother had contracted some sort of entertainment, but even then they didn’t stay within the warren itself. Usually they’d take shelter beneath one of the stoneways or else attempt to clandestinely live within the confines of the Oasis on little rafts. That had rarely worked long, though they’d attempted it a time or two. Living in a warren, with the Roterralar, was a new luxury for Gavin.

Farah shouted something indecipherable and pointed toward one of the plateaus. Gavin nodded and shifted his weight that direction, mirroring the movements he’d seen Farah perform to get Talyshan to go where she wanted. Nabil moved with him, mimicking his shifting weight.

Talyshan moved into a dive. Gavin leaned forward and Nabil folded his wings and dove toward the plateau. Gavin felt a rush as his pulse raced. The ground seemed to zoom upward toward them and the wind tore at Gavin’s eyes, making them water though he forced them to stay open. He sensed Nabil preparing to pull out of the dive a moment before it happen, which gave him the chance to prepare himself.

Nabil stretched out his wings, slowing in a rush and causing Gavin’s stomach to flop. The straps holding him to the saddle strained, but held and Nabil landed on the plateau with the click of talon against stone. Talyshan landed next to them and Gavin was able to hear Farah’s wonderful bell-like laugh floating over to him. He returned the laugh, feeling the wonderful, sweet sense of relief and joy.

Farah unclipped from the saddle and leapt the several feet to the ground. Gavin did the same and leapt, much less gracefully, down to the ground. He hit the rock hard—he’d fallen a greater distance—but kept his footing and then leapt up and raced around Nabil and grabbed Farah in an exuberant embrace. Her face showed her surprise, but she didn’t pull away. Gavin let go quickly, realizing that he’d let himself get caught up in the moment, but the feel of her lingered.

“What did you think?” she asked with a grin. “You’re a natural at it.”

“That,” Gavin said, “was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever done.” He wasn’t sure if he meant the flight or the embrace, but didn’t care.

Part 3

Mystic

Chapter 12

Stories on the Sand

“The second Iteration of metal is the Earth Ward. Possessing all the abilities of the earlier Iteration, the Earth Wards are the first of the Orinai Great Ones, as they call themselves. They are masters of the living earth itself.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Gavin looked out over the Sharani Desert a few hours later, feet hanging off the edge of the plateau, munching on a piece of flat bread and salted, dried meat. Farah sat near him, staring out over the red, shifting sands. A few storm clouds obscured a portion of the horizon, hiding a piece of the Forbiddence from view. Talyshan and Nabil rested behind them, though apart from one another. Talyshan gave the larger aevian a wide berth at all times, though it was not fear that drove him. At least Gavin didn’t think it was fear. It appeared to him that it was more deference and respect.

He’d spend a couple glorious hours adjusting to flying before Farah had signaled them to land.

“Khari wants us to complete a circuit of the Forbiddence and then swing back around to the Oasis as soon as you can handle Nabil,” Farah said. “Keep your eyes open for signs of Kaiden or those other fellows who helped him get loose.”

Gavin nodded and swallowed his food so he could speak. “Alright. How long should that take us?”

“Two or three days. You’re doing well enough now that we really should get going after them.”

Gavin froze with food halfway to his mouth. Two or three days? That meant they’d have to sleep out here, just the two of them, for at least two entire nights. As if hearing his thoughts, Farah turned to look at him.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, outcast,” she said with a grin. “You’ll sleep under your own blanket.”

“I—well—I—” Gavin stammered. “Well, of course I will.”

Farah let out a bell-like laugh and pulled her long, blonde hair back before tying it in place with a thin cord. “Well, come along then.”

They flew for a few hours, heading west. Gavin’s mouth went dry from the hot, parched air after the first hour. By the second, he was as thirsty as he had ever been in his life. Gavin studied the ground as he passed over it from above, marveling at the symmetry of it. He had never been in this part of the Sharani Desert, but it looked remarkably similar to sections through which he had traveled on foot with his grandmother and the other outcasts. The landscape below them was a mass of shifting sands, though the strange storms had left a trail, washing away the sand and leaving boulders exposed in an otherwise unbroken landscape of dunes. Where the storms had been recent, strange pathways were cut into the sand where water had run in little streams.

Farah signaled the descent and Gavin followed her down. It was a simpler process now, after having mastered the basics of directing Nabil’s flight. The large white aevian seemed to be enjoying himself and the flight. Gavin was as well. After weeks stuck inside the Roterralar Warren, making a fool of himself trying to be the leader his grandmother had wanted, it was wonderful to be out in open air again. Though dry and hot, at least it was fresh.

They landed next to a small outcropping of rocks on the sand and Gavin hopped from the saddle. He was rather ill-prepared for this trip, but Farah didn’t seem to have any more possessions with her than did he and, in all honesty, Gavin had lived with less before. Even having a complete set of clothes that all went together was a luxury he hadn’t experienced before.

“I don’t suppose you know where we could get a drink?” Gavin croaked.

Farah laughed and hopped from Talyshan’s back on to the sands below. How could she laugh so clearly with her throat so dry? It was all Gavin could do to speak. He undid the leads holding him to the saddle and slid down onto the ground. His landing was much less graceful, more of a clomp than a graceful pounce, but thankfully, Farah wasn’t looking. She was busy scampering up the rock outcropping. Gavin hesitated, then followed after her.

“Where are you going?” Gavin called.

“Come on up here and see,” she said.

Gavin sighed and climbed up. By the time he arrived, Farah was leaning over a wide hole in the stone. A large red rock sat to one side.

“Give me a hand with this, will you?” Farah said when he arrived.

Curious, Gavin walked over and leaned down, noticing a rope in Farah’s hand. The rope extended down into the darkness, but light glinted off of something down in the depths.

“A well?” Gavin asked, taking the rope from Farah and hauling on it. It was heavier than he’d expected.

“Why else do you think we’d be here?” Farah asked, laughing. She leaned down next to him, her blond hair brushing his face, and reached one arm down into the well. Gavin hesitated with his pulling and breathed in her sweet scent, glad she couldn’t see his blush, but she was quickly back up and holding a largish bundle wrapped in coated leathers.

“Keep pulling, water boy,” she said, stepping to the side.

Gavin couldn’t help himself. He chuckled. It took him nearly a minute of pulling before the rope started getting wet. His hands were just starting to ache, so he enjoyed the coolness on his aching palms. He could see the bag, only a few feet below, a contraption of leather and metal, though he was positive that both had been treated with some sort of wax or other material to make them at least semi water resistant. He reached down, seized the bag by the handle, and pulled it free.

“Here,” Farah said, tossing him a pair of waterskins. “Fill these.”

He did so, awkwardly holding the larger bag with one hand while holding the other steady with his right. Gavin noticed Farah watching him and saw the edges of her mouth tug up into a smile, but he persisted anyway, filling them both and managing only to get a little wet in the process. Thankfully, the sun dried the spilled water away almost instantly.

“You’re not like the other men I’ve known, Gavin,” Farah said. “There are moments when you seem like one of the most honorable and decent men I’ve ever known. Then in the next breath you’re as innocent and clumsy as a small child. It’s intriguing.”

Gavin wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It irritated him, just a little, but at the same time she was probably right. As an outcast, he hadn’t had any time to learn what to do in large groups. He was simply doing the best he could and struggling through learning new things as a child might.

Still, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, half a dozen different responses going through his head before he settled on one.

“Do Talyshan and Nabil need any?” Gavin asked, once he had managed to stopper the last of the two waterskins.

Farah shook her head, but didn’t look up from where she was busy sorting through the remainder of the package’s contents. “No. They get all the moisture they need from the food they eat. They ate just before we left.”

“So should I just . . . ?” Gavin made a vague gesture toward the well, then realized Farah wasn’t looking at him. “Should I put this back, then?”

“Yes. And make sure you put the stone back over the top.” She was sorting the contents of the package into two piles. Gavin took a brief moment to study it—mostly foodstuffs, some knives, and other odds and ends—before lowering the bag back into the well.

“How many of these do you have out here?” Gavin asked as the rope slipped between his fingers.

“About a score or so. We lose one or two to the sands each year, but Khari is pretty good at finding new ones or locating some of the ones we’ve lost. Part of the patrols’ job is to check on these and make sure they’re all still in working order. And it keeps us from having to take as many supplies with us when we start out.”

“These would have been nice to know about,” Gavin said. “I mean, before. Finding water was the hardest part about being an outcast.” He let his gaze drift off over the sands, seeing the heat mirages distort the sky and landscape behind them.

“How did you manage that?” Farah asked. She looked up from her work and turned to face him, expression sincerely curious. “I’ve always wondered.”

Gavin blinked his eyes back into focus and grinned at the memories her question brought.

“We’d barter for water sometimes. Since trust is more precious than water, the clans didn’t have to trust us in order to trade water with us. Most refused, but we sometimes got what we needed. The Mornal were actually pretty good about it.”

“There’s no way you were able to barter for the water you need. There were what, nearly a score of you altogether?”

Gavin shrugged. “Sometimes they were generous.”

“Come on, water boy. You can’t expect me to believe you survived on what you could get off the clans? They’d as soon kill you for drinking their spit as give you more than a drop of water.” She gave him a piercing flat look and Gavin shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“Well,” Gavin said, finally letting go of the rope as the bag reached the water far below, “sometimes we cheated.”

Farah raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think it really matters much anymore, but it was the biggest secret we outcasts shared.”

A look of comprehension dawned on Farah’s face. “You violated the blood oaths, didn’t you? You went into the Oasis during the Dormancy?” The look she gave him was halfway between stunned disbelief and approval.

Gavin shrugged. “Yes, sometimes we did. We were tossed out of clans or else were children and grandchildren of those who no longer had the protection of a warren’s walls. We didn’t take the oaths ourselves, so why should we bother honoring them?”

“But the oaths?” Farah stammered, then stopped. “You’re right. In retrospect, what are some oaths when compared to someone’s life? How’d you manage it with all the rains and flooding?” As she spoke, Farah turned back to the items she’d been arranging and began stuffing them into one of two small sacks that had also been in the package.

Gavin let out a small chuckle. “Well, that was complicated sometimes. Mostly we just collected enough water to get by and moved on. I remember once, when I was young, we tried to stay there for a few weeks.”

“Tried?”

Memories of the rains collapsing the roofs of the small huts they’d built and washing away the little rafts flitted through his mind. As a child, he’d thought it entertaining. Looking back, he realized just how desperate they’d been in order to try something like that in the first place.

“It didn’t work out so well.”

Farah shook her head, then laughed softly. “I knew there had to be something. And people called us the wayward ones.”

“We were far less memorable. I mean, how did you get away with not being spotted before? You’re riding great giant beasts through the sky, for sand’s sake.”

Farah licked her lips before answering, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We really didn’t send out aevian patrols much during the Dormancy. When we did, we flew high enough that most people wouldn’t have noticed us. Besides, if you hadn’t seen them yourself, would you have believed anyone telling you about people riding around on giant birds?”

“Good point.”

Farah shook her head and then handed Gavin one of the sacks. “Take this and one of the skins. It should last you until tomorrow. There’s a small cave in the Forbiddence wall we’ll try and get to tonight. It’s still a couple hours out.”

Gavin took the sack and tossed Farah one of the waterskins. He set the sack aside and pushed the large stone back over the well’s mouth, grunting at the weight. He felt a small smile growing on his own face too. It felt good to laugh and to talk about fun, interesting things instead of worrying about the politics and safety of an entire people. It was almost like being with his grandmother and the other outcasts again, but better because Farah was closer to his own age and he felt comfortable around her. She was hard to understand sometimes and more than a little confusing, but there was a brightness and spirit to her that reminded him of his grandmother. His smile grew and the stone slid into place with a soft grating sound.

“I guess you outcast types aren’t as strong and hardy as you look,” Farah said, standing up and starting back down the outcropping.

Gavin stared after her, a retort half formed on his lips, then dismissed it as the sound of her soft laugh drifted up to him. She had such a pretty laugh.

The sun was beginning to vanish behind the far Forbiddence wall by the time they reached the cave Farah had mentioned earlier. Talyshan and Nabil landed on a narrow ledge that jutted out in front of the cave like a small platform with irritated shrieks. Gavin craned his neck to look up toward the top of the wall, but couldn’t see where it ended.

He’d never been this close to the Forbiddence, few ever were, though it was always there, in the back of people’s minds. The Forbiddence itself was so different from the rest of the Sharani Desert. A darker, almost black rock that reached for the sky, the tip was lost from view, even from where they stood a hundred spans from the desert floor. It was thought to be a sheer, impassable expanse, though they’d also said that about the Oasis walls. Gavin had proven that particular belief false.

But this? Gavin shook his head as Farah dismounted and scurried into the cave. This wasn’t even in the same realm as the Oasis walls. These really were impassible.

Gavin unhooked and slid from the saddle, landing more gracefully this time. He stood upright and patted Nabil as he walked passed. Nabil shuffled away from his touch.

Though Gavin and Farah hadn’t spotted any signs of Kaiden or any other signs of life during their flight, Gavin felt like he’d accomplished a lot already. The stress and cares that had been piling on him were only a peripheral concern now. He’d come to terms with his own failure while on Nabil’s back and, though it had only been a few short hours since he’d first mounted the aevian, felt a deep, powerful connection with the animal.

Nabil and Talyshan hissed and shuffled awkwardly near him. Gavin stepped to one side, careful to avoid the pair.

“Is there something in there?” Gavin asked, glancing out over the sands just to make sure there wasn’t anything behind them. “The aevians are acting odd.”

“It’s the Forbiddence,” Farah said. “They don’t like it very much. It’s one of the reasons we’re here. Khari figured Kaiden would go to the one place the aevians don’t like going.”

Gavin frowned and looked up at the walls again. It was kind of . . . forbidding.

“You coming?” Farah called to him. Her voice echoed oddly as she entered the cave.

Gavin entered the cave and, for a moment, saw nothing. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and just then, Farah succeeded in lighting the lantern and the sudden light blinded him.

“A little warning next time,” Gavin said as his eyes watered.

Farah shook her head, light from the lantern glinting off the two small earrings on the upper part of her left ear.

“Sorry, water boy.” She placed the glass hood over the flame and the light increased noticeably.

The lantern light illuminated the area immediately around them, and what Gavin had originally taken to be a shallow cave resolved into a cavernous chamber large enough to house a score of people comfortably. The chamber was nearly thirty feet deep and just as tall, and there were a couple of alcoves cut into the rock in which blankets were resting, and several stone benches and ceramic containers resting throughout the room. It was clearly a place where the patrols frequently visited.

“This is what you call a small cave?” Gavin asked.

Farah smiled at him, then whistled a soft series of sharp notes. The aevians bustled into the room and headed to one side of the cavern, the awkward way they walked a stark contrast to the stunning grace with which they flew. Gavin walked deeper into the cave to let them pass. Farah set the lantern on one of the stone benches and walked over to take the saddle off Talyshan.

Gavin felt the fool for not thinking about it, but covered his embarrassment by hurrying over to Nabil to do the same. Thankfully, he remembered what straps came loose and which stayed where they were. He was a little surprised to realize how much he didn’t want to continue embarrassing himself in front of Farah. Once free, Gavin laid the saddle out on one of the benches, as he’d seen Farah do with Talyshan’s. He gave it one last pat to clear off some dust, then turned around.

Farah was in the process of stripping out of her clothes. Her robes and harness already lay in a neat pile next to the saddle on the stone bench. She stood, back to him, clad only in a thin, sleeveless undershirt and a pair of skin-tight leggings that cut off above the knee. There was a tattoo of some sort of flower on her right shoulder blade.

Gavin realized he was staring and quickly turned away. His grandmother had often slept in her underclothes on the hotter nights, like this one, but this was different. Farah must have noticed his awkward discomfort because she laughed softly.

“You’re a strange man, Gavin,” Farah said. “You can turn around now. I’m covered.”

Gavin turned back around, ready to close his eyes if necessary. Farah was already under the blanket in one of the alcoves, covered up to the neck despite the heat. Her waterskin rested under her head as an improvised pillow.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy what he’d seen, far from it, but he’d been raised to give women the respect they deserved. That flew in the face of what Gavin knew about how the Rahuli thought about women, but it was how Gavin himself had been raised. And, though Gavin could barely admit it, even to himself, he wanted Farah to respect him as much as he was starting to respect and care for her.

“You do realize that all the Roterralar women sleep in clothes like this, right?” Farah asked, grinning. “It’s not as if I’m getting ready to take a bath or anything. I’m getting ready to sleep.”

Bath? Gavin had never had an actual bath before, not intentionally at least. He felt his cheeks redden at the thought.

“Outcasts don’t have those luxuries,” Gavin said, glancing over at her.

She was watching him, an odd expression on her face. Gavin had to work hard not to fidget under the scrutiny.

“You’re so strange,” she said after a long, awkward silence. “There’s no need to set a watch. Get some sleep. We’ll head out at first light.” She turned over, leaving her back facing him.

Gavin ran a hand through his dusty hair and made himself ready for bed as well. He kept his robes on—he’d slept in worse—and used the blanket in an alcove a little ways away from Farah as a pillow. It was a long time before he drifted off to sleep.

He came awake some indeterminate time later. For a brief moment, he hovered in the momentary delirium of partial alertness, then his mind caught up with the rest of him and he tried to figure out what had caused him to wake up. The soft patter of rain sounded just outside the cave’s entrance, droplets hitting the stone with the crackling sound of cooking meat. There was no thunder, though, so the noise, though uncommon, wouldn’t normally have been enough to wake him.

A soft sound broke through the noise of rain. Gavin sat up slightly, listening. It came again, and this time Gavin was able to determine it was coming from inside the cave rather than out of it. For a moment, he thought it must be one of the aevians, then realized it was coming from the direction of Farah’s alcove.

“What in the sands?” Gavin whispered.

He walked over, stepping carefully in the darkness. The lamp had gone out earlier, so the only light was a faint glow from the moon and stars shining down through the rainclouds. It gave him just enough light to be jumpy about the darker, shifting shadows inside the nearly black omnipresence. As he got closer, he could pick out the shape of the sounds—words. Farah was muttering and crying out in her sleep.

“No,” she mumbled, clearly still within the grips of slumber. “No, don’t die. I’m here, I’m here, mother. You can’t die. No, not now.”

Gavin froze, hand half outstretched toward her. Mother? Khari had said that Farah’s family had died in the battle of the Oasis, killed by the genesauri while Farah was fighting. Was she reliving that experience again, only in nightmare? Gavin didn’t know which was worse, experiencing the pain as it happened, fresh and raw, or reliving it, the open wound festering.

He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder and shook gently.

“No!” Farah muttered more loudly. “No, I can’t leave her. No!”

Were those sobs?

“Farah,” Gavin said in an urgent whisper.

The woman jumped beneath his hand, startling awake. She scrambled back in the alcove, but hit the wall. There was the sound of metal against rock and suddenly Gavin felt a faint prick beneath his chin. He swallowed hard.

“Farah,” he whispered, careful not to move his lips too much and risk pushing the blade at his neck any deeper. “It’s me. You were crying in your sleep.”

The prick beneath his chin vanished, but the woman didn’t speak. A small sound escaped her instead. More sobs, more controlled this time, but still the echo of a broken soul.

Gavin stepped back and felt his way over to the lamp, removed the cover, and flicked the striker until one of the sparks caught and the lamp sputtered to life. He turned the knob and left the flame low, then replaced the hood and walked back over to Farah.

The young woman was huddled in the alcove, legs tucked up against her chin, blanket pulled up to her neck, forehead against her knees. Her body shook slightly as she cried. Gavin didn’t know what else to do, so he climbed into the alcove and awkwardly put his hand on her shoulder, head bent at an odd angle to fit within the alcove. She flinched at the touch, but did not pull away.

“I watched my parents fall from the Oasis walls when I was nine year old,” Gavin said softly. “The Sidena clan chief had goaded them into it, though it had long been their plan . . .”

The sobs slowed as Gavin told of his parent’s death, of how he had watched and then had to learn how to live with only his grandmother to guide him. He talked of his grandmother, Elvira, and told about how she’d rallied the outcasts into the group of performers they’d become. He spoke, not knowing what else to do and feeling that it was the right thing. He told her about Elvira’s death and the pain, despair, and overwhelming sense of being alone that had threatened to consume him. He told her about climbing the Oasis walls, about nearly dying there, and his eventual arrival at the top. The sobs slackened at some point while he spoke, but he talked on, arm fully around her shoulders now and her head resting against his. He spoke of finding the greatsword and the events leading up to the Oasis. He talked until he had nothing else to say, and only then did he notice that Farah had fallen back to sleep. He smiled a small, soft smile to himself and drifted back to sleep as well.

“It’s real,” Samsin breathed, supporting Nikanor as they looked down over the edge of the sheer cliff. Nikanor’s breathing was haggard, though Samsin was sure only part of it was from the pain of Nikanor’s wounds and their labored journey up the steep mountain slopes.

“I see that, Samsin.”

Samsin gazed down into the red sands below, eyes wide, filled with the wonder which rocked through his being.

“Can you see the remnants of the viewing bridges?” Samsin said, pointing. “They’re broken and some are covered in sand, but you can still see the pattern of how they connected the viewing platforms together. And there, can you see their Oasis?”

Nikanor let out a small, soft chuckle that died off wetly. “I didn’t think you believed.”

Samsin licked his lips as the wind grabbed at his blond hair and tossed it about his face. “I didn’t. I mean, I don’t. Well, we’ve all heard the stories.”

“Let’s just hope there are people there when we get to the bottom of this crater,” Nikanor said.

Samsin studied the area around him, looking around the edge of the massive crater’s lip. He couldn’t see any way down.

“And how are we supposed to get down there?” Samsin asked. “Learn to fly?”

He shivered against the bitter cold, though his thick cloak, which lay partly in tatters, did still afford some measure of warmth. There was snow on the air; Samsin could feel the dull hum of it within his veins. There was a magic here, a deep, powerful interplay of forces left by Storm Wards of old that governed this region. Samsin had felt it for days, but here, this close to the Sharani Arena, it felt like part of it was unraveling, like a single thread pulled free from an enormous tapestry.

Nikanor didn’t respond with words. Instead he pushed away from Samsin’s supporting grip and stepped free, right at the edge of the cliff. The solid, black-haired man fell into his squared earth posture and closed his eyes. Samsin saw him sway slightly as he stood, a testament to his wounds, which had started to fester earlier that day and stank whenever Samsin eased the bandages. Nikanor breathed in a deep lungful of air and then his eyes snapped open. Nikanor thrust his hands down in a forceful motion and Samsin felt a small rumble in the earth and then the grating sound of shifting rock.

He looked down. A set of steps had appeared in the rocks. They wound down the steep side of the wall in a disorganized array, switching back and forth. Samsin turned to Nikanor, a grin on his face, but the grin slipped when he noticed Nikanor falling. Samsin rushed over and caught the man before he toppled over the edge of the cliff. Samsin reached for his powers and felt the energy, the electricity in the air, flood into him. His eyes widened in surprise at the power raging through him. He lifted Nikanor with ease and looked down the steps. It was a long way, easily a half day’s worth of meandering back and forth.

“Storms take you, Nikanor,” Samsin hissed as he gritted his teeth and stepped down onto the first step of the stairs. “You’ve gone and turned me into a believer, haven’t you?”

Chapter 13

Love’s Cost

“Like everything in life, memory walks within us inside our dreams.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel walked through dark, narrow tunnels, once again cognizant of the fact that she was dreaming.

What this time?

Part of her panicked, grasping at reality and trying to clamber back awake. She felt she was going mad, reality slipping away, drowning inside her own mind.

“Beryl,” Elyana’s voice said. Once again, Lhaurel experienced the dream as if she were Elyana, though she had no control over what went on.

Beryl appeared in Lhaurel’s line of sight as if she had rounded a corner. The rest of the scene resolved around her, slowly coming into focus. The room they were in was massive and dark, except for a faint reddish glow illuminating Beryl. There was a forge hammer in his hand.

“Elyana,” Beryl said in his softer, gentler voice that grated against the image Lhaurel had of the man. “Did I disturb you?”

Elyana walked around him and inspected the low workspaces, the bins, and the massive furnace. With a start, Lhaurel realized they were standing inside Beryl’s forge. The same forge through which Lhaurel had walked so many times before.

“Elyana?” Beryl asked again, setting the hammer down on the anvil next to a glowing metal rod. By the shape, Lhaurel guessed it was the beginnings of a sword. “Did I disturb you with my work?”

Elyana chuckled and picked up a long, wide-bladed dagger. It rose to Lhaurel’s eyes and turned in Elyana’s hands. “Not at all. This place is massive and my rooms far from your forge. One does begin to wonder what you are up to this late at night, however? Some task that you won’t even tell me about?”

Beryl grunted, reminding Lhaurel of the taciturn old man she knew. Elyana turned back toward him and Lhaurel saw him pick the hammer back up and then take the glowing metal rod in a pair of tongs before resuming his pounding.

“You’re ignoring the question,” Elyana pressed. She had to raise her voice over the echoing clamor of ringing metal.

“There was no question.” Beryl paused for a moment, then thrust the metal rod back into the glowing coals.

“Beryl, you’re making me pout. One does not ignore a direct request from one of the Seven Sisters, even if it is only implied.”

“What do you want of me? I am your Bondsman, Elyana, but that does not make you my conscience, nor my moral compass. I’m allowed some measure of independence, even if it is within my own thoughts.”

“Are you unhappy with your lot?” There was a genuine note of interest in Elyana’s voice. It was only upon hearing it now that Lhaurel realized the absence of it in previous conversations.

“Unhappy?” Beryl moved over to the bellows and wrapped a thick hand over one long wooden handle and began pulling. “How could I be unhappy with my lot? I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of having. My lot is far better than it has been in times past.”

By the way Beryl’s voice dropped off toward the end of the conversation, Lhaurel assumed there was something more behind the words. She was not alone in her suspicions, it seemed.

“What are you saying, Beryl?” Elyana asked, voice a mixture of curiosity and contempt. “Do your thoughts dwell on the Rahuli slaves? They’re so far below you now they’re not worthy of your concern. The prisoners, the Orinai who’ve been sentenced to live down there with them, even less so. They’re criminals of the worst sort. Why do you let thoughts of them keep you up late at night?”

Beryl heaved on the bellows and a spray of ash, sparks, and coals exploded out into the room. He released the handle and threw his hands into the air.

“Why?” he asked, his voice a low, dark rumble. “Because what our dear religion seems to forget is that we were once them. All of us started at the lowest of Iterations, the lowest level of Progression. We torture and hurt them, we punish them for being what we once were. Where is the Honor in that? It simply cannot be the only way to push them along in their pursuit of Harmony. There must be another way.” He cut off jaggedly and his expression darkened. “My pardon, Honored Sister. Please forgive my blasphemy. I will take what penance I must to satisfy you for my sins.”

Elyana moved forward, cutting the distance between her and Beryl in a few quick steps. She reached out. Beryl almost flinched away, but Elyana caught his hand before he could get away.

“There is a reason I chose you as my Bondsman when Serrenial passed,” Elyana said. “There was something in your eyes when you realized your past Iteration was as one of the Rahuli slaves. You are wrong though, not all of us start out as one of them, though many do. Some of us begin as simple, ungifted Orinai. But this place, this Arena, it is not a place of Honor. It is a place of death and misery. I would help them if I could.”

Beryl’s eyes widened and he looked confused for a long moment before his expression shifted to one of disbelief. “This is some sort of a trick,” he said, though he did not let go of Elyana’s hand. “A test of some sort. I had thought the ministrations of your Sisters were the final torment through which I needed to pass, but then this?”

“It is not a test, Beryl. I know you provide them with weapons in the night when you think us all sleeping. I know you dwell on your time among them in the few hours you do sleep. Dreams have always been something we all dwell within, though I would not put much stock in them. The past is a place for learning, not action, and further dwelling in your past lives will only hamper the present Iteration.” She hesitated and then continued, “We will speak more of this later. For now, come with me.”

She tugged on his hand and Beryl followed.

Lhaurel woke up.

Lhaurel’s eyes snapped open and she sucked in a deep, powerful breath. The outcast woman, Shallee, stood over her, face twisted in concern.

“Are you alright?” Shallee asked. “You were thrashing and muttering in your sleep.”

Lhaurel shook her head numbly. How could she explain what she’d just dreamed? Was it just a dream? It felt like something more—something much more tangible. Something real. Her heart pounded against her chest and her lungs heaved as if she’d just run a great distance.

“We all have nightmares after the Oasis,” Shallee said, patting Lhaurel on the shoulder. “My little man’s father died there. I dream about him too. I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

Lhaurel nodded, though she had no intention of discussing her dreams with anyone, not yet anyway. Not until she was sure she wasn’t going mad. She didn’t think she was, but after the Oasis, after everything, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she would ever be sure.

“The clans all left while you were asleep,” Shallee said.

Her baby cried softly from the other bed and Shallee scurried over there to comfort him.

“Well, most of them did, at least,” she continued. “Some of us decided to stay. I don’t see why more didn’t; this is a great place to live, even with some of the rationing. I guess I did hear that was one of the reasons the clans all left, a lack of supplies . . .” Shallee continued talking, but Lhaurel stopped paying attention.

The clans had left, but some had stayed. Curiosity urged her to get up. Besides, having something to do would let her mind ignore the nagging whispers that lingered from the dream and the questions Beryl’s scrolls had giving her. Maybe she would try and find the man and figure out what he’d meant by his comment about Kaiden’s motivations.

Her knees threatened to buckle almost before she’d managed to straighten all the way. She growled, put one hand on the wall, and forced herself up.

“Why am I so weak?” she muttered aloud. There wasn’t much pain anymore, but a latent exhaustion consumed her.

“Well, dear,” Shallee said. “You did go through quite an ordeal in the Oasis. You can’t expect your body to be back to where it was in just a couple of weeks, now can you?”

Lhaurel ignored her and reached within herself, pulling on her own blood, the fuel for her magic, to have the strength to draw on the spring bubbling in the corner and the blood in the sands around her. The water did give her strength, but it was less effective, like a candle’s light was inferior to a lantern’s. Using her powers gave her an immediate surge of strength, but with it came an overwhelming awareness and pain.

Lhaurel gasped as her powers swelled within her. Such pain—it was intense, immediate, close. Lhaurel felt it, experienced it, but also realized it was not her own. She forced the magic away, pushing it out in a shower of red mist only she could see. It left her weaker than she’d begun. Her knees gave out and she slumped back onto the bed.

“How?” Lhaurel gasped. Her hands trembled and shook.

“How what, my dear?” Shallee asked. She had the baby in her arms now, rocking him back and forth as she hummed a soft little tune.

“The pain,” Lhaurel said. “How can you stand so much pain?”

Shallee looked at her with confusion plain on her features.

“I felt it, just now,” Lhaurel gasped. “I can feel the pain, feel what the baby did to your body when you gave birth. How can you stand the pain?”

Shallee frowned, but didn’t ask any questions, though Lhaurel knew she wanted to. Instead, Shallee looked down at the baby in her arms.

“He is worth it,” Shallee said simply. “He gives me the strength to keep going even with the pain. Love does that to you. It gives you the strength to do what you didn’t think you could.”

“But that pain,” Lhaurel said. “I felt the people die in the Oasis, I experienced their deaths with them. That pain, it is almost as intense as death.”

Shallee frowned again, but gave a soft little shrug. “That is what mothers endure for their children, Lhaurel. All of us do. The men think they’re tough, that they’re the strong ones. I’d like to see one of them bear a child as well as half the women I know.”

Lhaurel hugged her legs to her chest, remembering the thoughts she’d had at the day of her wedding, at the fear of becoming something less than the warrior she wanted to be. She’d been wrong. The women in her clan, she owed them all an apology, though she knew she would never be able to offer it. If they went through that pain with every child, they were as strong as the stones.

Lhaurel had never experienced that level of love, at least not that she could remember. Love that would allow someone to endure that kind of torture was a strength that could weather any storm and outlast the stones themselves.

Then again, maybe she had. Khari and Makin Qays had talked about how the Roterralar watched over the Rahuli people as parents would their children. Makin Qays and a large number of the Roterralar had died upholding that sense of duty. Maybe it had been more than just duty which had driven them. Perhaps it had been something deeper. Not the level of love Shallee was going through, but some form of it at least.

Lhaurel’s head hurt. She needed to get up, be moving, be doing something. She let her legs slide across the blanket and reached for her cane. Though she hated the thing, it was part of her now, as much as Cobb’s was to him. She’d seen the old man and his wife when she’d ventured out earlier, but had had no desire to stop and talk. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about that.

“Now where do you think you’re off to?” Shallee asked, glancing over at her.

“Out,” Lhaurel said simply. She hobbled over to the bubbling spring and took a drink using the ladle that hung next to it. The water helped a little, not as much as drawing on her powers would have, but she didn’t want to risk that. Not again.

Shallee continued to protest, but Lhaurel didn’t pay it any heed. Shallee had her baby to look after. Lhaurel needed to get out, clear her head, stop thinking so much, and get the images of her dream and the memories from her mind.

A normal person may have thought the passages within the Roterralar Warren were empty and silent now that the clans had left. For Lhaurel, they were back to normal and welcomed her as she limped through them. Her cane made a soft sound as it struck the ground with each step, a steady accompaniment to the muted thumps of her booted feet. She listened to those sounds, ignoring the exhaustion and latent pain running through her body. Focusing on the steps, on the sounds of metal and leather against rock, kept her mind from the dream and from the jumbled mix of emotions and thoughts bouncing around in the back of her mind.

Lhaurel didn’t really know where she was going. She had a vague idea about trying to find Khari, but she had no idea where the woman was nor where to start looking for her without using her powers. The rooms Khari had shared with Makin Qays were in the greatroom, though Shallee had mentioned that part of the greatroom had collapsed in the tremors which had lead to her having her baby early. Lhaurel had thought about returning to her own rooms there a few times, but then again, she’d never really used them much. She’d spent time above the plateau with Kaiden and . . . her thoughts trailed off, a mental block cutting off thoughts of Kaiden and those who had supported him.

No, she wasn’t going to the greatroom. Lhaurel looked up and glanced around, looking for something in the passage that was familiar enough to let her know where she was. Ah yes, there, the strange striations of rock were only found near the eyrie. She stopped and leaned against her cane. Did she really want to go there?

Fahkiri.

No, she didn’t want to face those memories either. Lhaurel turned, and almost bowled over someone she instantly recognized, someone who also used a cane.

“What are you doing here?” Lhaurel asked, taking a quick step back and almost—almost—reaching out for her powers.

Cobb regarded her from beneath his bushy eyebrows, face set into its customary scowl. “I live here now, girl, same as you.”

“Why didn’t you leave with the others?” She knew she was being a little rude, but she didn’t care. The man had saved her and Gavin, sure, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. He’d also done nothing when she’d taken up the sword to defend Saralhn, nothing to defend the woman and nothing to stop the clan from leaving Lhaurel chained to the rocks and left to be eaten by the genesauri.

“That’s my affair, mine and Maryn’s. Now, move over so I can get by.”

Lhaurel didn’t move. “Why are you going to the eyrie?” Emotions surged through her, anger the most predominant among them, though she suppressed them with effort. Old Cobb had saved her after all, eventually.

Cobb regarded her coolly, appearing not even the least bit perturbed by her attitude. He leaned against his cane with one hand and gestured vaguely with the other. “Again, what makes you think it’s any of your concern, girl?”

“Because I’m making it my concern. Sure, you’re not as bad as some who might have stayed, but you were well-liked and well-respected in the Sidena. You could have become Warlord. Why would you stay here?” The questions weren’t what she wanted to ask, but they were what she allowed herself to say.

Cobb narrowed his eyes. “There is no Sidena clan anymore, not really. There are only three clans, now. When there were so few of us left, the clans banded together with their allies. There’s no place for me there.”

“And what makes you think there’s a place for you here?” Lhaurel asked.

The fact that the clans had dissolved into only three groups was disturbing. She’d heard mention of it a time or two, but she hadn’t really understood the full implications, hadn’t processed the information in the face of everything else.

Cobb snorted and ran a hand over his balding pate. For a moment, Lhaurel noted a marked resemblance between the man and Beryl, then the moment faded.

“Why don’t you come along with me and see, girl,” he said.

Curious, Lhaurel followed him through the warren without any further words between them. Lhaurel recognized the route to the greatroom. The greatroom looked different than what Lhaurel remembered. It wasn’t just the fact that part of the landings that surrounded each tier of the greatroom had fallen in and been replaced by a simple system of rope bridges. No, it was more than that. Part of it was that the greatroom was filled. Men, women, and children scurried in and out of the room, dozens of them. The Roterralar had been a small, hidden clan when Lhaurel had become a part of it. Now it appeared that there were almost over a hundred of them living here.

“I thought you said the clans had left,” Lhaurel said.

“They did, but some of us decided to stay,” Cobb said. “Some of us on our own conscience, others were persuaded by that little demon of a woman, Khari.”

Lhaurel couldn’t help by smile slightly at the description. She’d once thought that about Khari as well.

“Any Sidena beside you?”

Cobb’s expression darkened and he muttered a soft curse. “Only a few. Even my wife, Maryn, went with them.”

“What?”

“It’s none of your business, really. I’m here, let’s leave it at that.” His tone made it clear he would not answer any more questions along that line of thought.

A small child who was walking by noticed them and stopped. The boy’s eyes darted to Lhaurel and then up to her hair. “What’s wrong with your hair?” he asked.

Lhaurel felt a flush of embarrassment and started stammering an answer, a flush blooming on her cheeks. The child’s mother, a rather portly woman who had a fresh scar on one cheek, rushed over to scold the boy.

“Hellion, you don’t ask questions like that.” She chided and then turned to Lhaurel and Cobb. “Please forgive the boy. He’s not got a grain of sense in that head of his, he don’t.”

Lhaurel turned away and Cobb muttered something placating to the woman. Lhaurel leaned against the wall, her grip on the cane tightening into a white-knuckled grip. She’d been afraid of this. She was a monster, they could see it in her, just as she could. The red hair and nails were her outward badge of shame. The words from Beryl’s scrolls wafted through her thoughts, words describing the horrible power she possessed.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned her head over her left shoulder to see who it was. Cobb stood there, a grim expression on his face. Actually, it may have just been his usual expression. Lhaurel couldn’t really remember a time when the man hadn’t looked grim.

“Come on, girl. Khari will want to see you.”

Chapter 14

Feelings

“The second Iteration of energy . . . is the Storm Ward, a tier higher than their lesser counterparts, the relampago. These Storm Wards are the power behind the Orinai Navy and the means whereby the plantations are able to provide the food necessary to supply such a vast geographic empire.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Gavin awoke with a stiff neck and aching muscles, though there was a lingering smile on his lips. He blinked a few times to clear away the last few vestiges of sleep and looked down toward Farah.

She wasn’t there.

For a moment, Gavin panicked, then an overwhelming sadness drifted over him like a storm burgeoning on the horizon. Had he somehow upset her? Women were as foreign to him as whatever lay beyond the Forbiddence. Maybe he should ask Shallee for advice when they got back to the Roterralar Warren.

“Are you ever going to get up so we can go?”

Gavin’s eyes darted to the other end of the small cave. Farah, fully clothed again, sat on a long stone bench there, a grin playing about the edges of her lips. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back into a tight braid, which she’d wrapped up and pinned back with several long pins, probably clay. The style highlighted the two earrings perched on her right ear.

With a slow shrug, Gavin hopped down, trying desperately to hide the small smile of relief which threatened to overcome his face. Farah smiled and tossed him a small sack in which he found some dried meat, a little cheese, and some bread. Thankfully, it was a mild cheese. Some of the stronger ones left his breath smelling like a goat for half a day afterward.

Farah must have already eaten, for she busied herself with saddling the two aevians which had moved toward the cave’s opening to bask in the sunlight. As she worked, she hummed softly to herself. Gavin recognized the tune and, when he’d finished his last bite, began humming a deep, low counter melody. He’d never had the best voice, but humming didn’t use much of that and the counter melody was a simple one. Farah glanced over at him once and smiled, before finishing up with the saddles.

“You ready then?” she asked when she was done.

Gavin nodded and stowed the now-empty sack in a pocket. He buckled his greatsword on his waist, then grabbed his harness and tried not to embarrass himself as he did up the straps and fastened buckles. His fingers slipped on the last one, but he corrected quickly. He looked up, hoping Farah hadn’t noticed, but found Farah only a foot or two away from him, her eyes locked on his. He was startled at how much taller she seemed that close, though she was still a hand shorter than he. Farah stepped forward until she was only a few inches away and reached out a long, slender hand to cup his chin and cheek.

“You don’t need to try and impress me,” she said, softly. Gavin felt her breath on his face. “You already did that in the Oasis and every day since.”

Gavin hesitated, unsure what to say. Farah’s expression fell slightly and she stepped back, hand falling to her side.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing one arm with the other. “That was improper of me, I think.”

On impulse, Gavin stepped forward and pulled her into an embrace. Before he could change his mind, he bent down and kissed her. It was a quick, unpracticed kiss and Gavin was sure he was doing something wrong, but Farah didn’t pull away. It was over too soon and some of the awkwardness returned, but the smile on Farah’s face seemed genuine and her eyes glistened.

“Your breath tastes like cheese,” Farah said.

Gavin laughed, and it felt good. “Well, let’s go then.”

Farah laughed and gestured for him to take the lead.

The sun rose over the Sharani Desert, warming the sands and adding strength to the upward thrusts of the aevians’ wings. The heated air rose in large columns, which allowed Nabil to slow the frequency of each stroke and soar along with the wind. Still, Gavin leaned forward to keep the massive, white aevian from getting too far above the sands for him to make out the minute details. Despite the fun, Gavin knew they were still on a mission. Kaiden was still out here among the sands. Somewhere.

They kept the Forbiddence always on their left side and followed its long graceful curve for several uneventful hours. Gavin watched small herds of goats, either wild or ones which had gotten loose when the Oasis had fallen, scamper along the rocks and hard, packed sands that lined the Forbiddence for several hundred spans, radiating outward from the dark, slick rock. The different parts of the Sharani Desert fascinated Gavin. From the rolling dunes around the Oasis, to the harder packed sands and desert plants out here, the Sharani desert was as different and varied as were the people that lived within it.

He couldn’t help but glance down at Farah as he thought this. The girl—no, the woman—was like no one Gavin had ever met. Granted, his experience with women involved either his grandmother, Shallee, or the women in the clans, none of which offered him much real insight, but Farah had such a vibrant nature to her. She seemed like an Oasis flower blooming in the middle of the sands, unique, free, and not caring what others perceived of her.

Nabil screeched, pulling Gavin from his thoughts. The aevian was generally silent in flight, so Gavin immediately looked around for something out of the ordinary. He found it after only a few moments and just as Farah whistled sharply to alert him of a similar discovery. There in the sands below them leading not to, but away from the Forbiddence, were a set of tracks. Gavin leaned forward and directed Nabil into a shallow dive. Talyshan was a smaller, brown shadow paralleling the motion to the left.

As they picked up speed, Gavin was forced to close his eyes against the stinging wind, but a moment later Nabil pulled out of the dive and landed gracefully in the sands. Almost by instinct, Gavin released the leads from his harness and slid off Nabil’s back, only opening his eyes when he was halfway down to the sands. Gavin’s booted feet crunched against the ground and he reached for his greatsword.

“Wait!” Farah’s voice was urgent and hard. Gavin froze and looked over his shoulder at her.

“Leave the sword,” she ordered. She was already deep in the process of removing her flight harness. “Take off anything made of metal. If it is Kaiden, we don’t want to give him any more weapons than he already has.”

Gavin nodded, grateful for Farah’s pragmatism. He removed his own harness, the greatsword, and his belt and hooked them onto Nabil’s saddle. Farah walked over to him and pulled a long, red knife from under her robes and proffered it to him. He took it, feeling the surprising balance to the cleaver-like blade.

“Glass?”

Farah nodded, pulling out a second one for herself.

“You’ve really thought this one through, then.” Gavin said, approvingly.

“Khari’s idea.” Farah said giving him a pointed look.

For a moment, Gavin wondered if he’d done something wrong, then realized that she was waiting for him to take the lead. He nodded and turned back to investigate the trail they’d seen from above. He was going to be the leader of the mystics, after all, if Khari got her way, which she most likely would. Behind him, Farah whistled a few quick notes and the two aevians launched into the air, taking the metal with them. From what Gavin had heard of the Oasis battle, it may not be enough, but then again, recountings of events had a tendency toward becoming stories, and stories drifted to legends when the experience was a horrifying one.

A few more steps brought them to the tracks they had seen from the air. Footprints marred the otherwise smooth desert surface, prints that were deep, wide, and long, far larger than any Gavin had ever known. Between the tracks, a long groove cut into the sand as well, almost like a tail. Gavin had seen similar markings when he’d stumbled across a sandtiger’s tracks. The groove there had been extremely shallow, and the tracks in two sets of pairs rather than a single one, but it was the only thing Gavin had ever seen remotely similar. He bent down to study them closer, looking questioningly up at Farah after a moment.

She shook her head. “We won’t know anything if we don’t follow them.” She glanced off in the direction the tracks were headed and Gavin followed her gaze. It looked like they were headed straight for an outcropping of rock in the distance. It was too small to be a warren, but it may have once been a piece of one of the stoneways.

“Come on then,” Gavin said, standing and turning to follow the tracks.

“On foot?”

Gavin nodded. “Yes, on foot. It will be harder for whatever it is to spot us on foot. Talyshan and Nabil will be close if we need them.”

“Alright,” Farah said with a shrug. Her expression had gone grim, but she gave him a forced half-smile when she noticed him looking.

He didn’t know what to say, so he started walking. Farah followed.

The outcropping slowly resolved into the broken pillar of an old stoneway. Gavin and Farah approached it cautiously, careful to watch all around them for an ambush. Farah jumped at the smallest sound, glass blade swinging up to the ready in seconds, but it was never anything. It took Gavin a while to realize that, after last night’s nightmares, after reliving the battle of the Oasis in her sleep, she half expected a genesauri to come rising up out of the sand.

At least, that’s what Gavin assumed. He didn’t have that same fear. As he walked across the sands he knew, without really understanding how, that the genesauri were well and truly gone. It was more of a gut instinct than true knowledge, but that was sometimes more sure a measure than was knowledge.

As they approached the broken pillar though, Gavin felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end and he even started jumping at the slightest sound. As a child, he’d wondered at the stoneways scattered throughout the Sharani desert. They were giant stone and metal roads suspended in the air on the backs of thick pillars. Everyone knew they were safe from the genesauri, though no one knew what they really were or how they had come to be in there. Gavin had asked his grandmother several times, but she only repeated what everyone else already knew. They were safety from the genesauri and a remnant of a different time. And really, in the face of the genesauri Migrations, what else really mattered?

“Gavin, look there,” Farah whispered.

Gavin’s eyes darted to Farah and then followed her pointing finger to the shadows behind the large pillar in the sand. He could make out a figure there, stooped over a second. For a moment, Gavin wondered if it was Kaiden, but then realized the sheer scale of what he was seeing. They were still at least a hundred spans from the pillar. In order for the standing figure to be as large as he appeared to be, he would have to be well over seven feet tall and twice as broad shouldered as Gavin was. No one was that big. No one . . .

“I’m going to circle around them and come at them from behind,” Gavin whispered. “You keep on, but give me a few minutes to get around them. Be ready to signal for the aevians.”

He moved to turn away, but she grabbed his arm with her free hand and stepped close. She stood up on the tip of her toes and kissed him on the cheek. She didn’t say anything else, but he nodded at her, unable to muster a smile, and then tugged his arm free and broke into a shallow, stooped run.

Gavin eased through the sand, careful to stay mostly obscured from view. When his line of sight to the mysterious figure was broken by the pillar, he broke into a run. The ground was covered in looser sand around the pillar where wind had blown it into massive drifts. Though it made running difficult, Gavin was also grateful, because it muffled the sound of his footfalls.

When he got close enough to be heard, even with the sand, he slowed to almost a crawl. He hoped Farah was ready, though he had no way of knowing. He crept along, red glass dagger held low, and then leapt around the side of the pillar.

The smell hit him first, even before the strange sight of the massively tall men. It was a putrid, rotting smell, like decomposing flesh.

One of the men lay on the ground, covered in bandages. The standing man looked up, slightly-too-large, blue-green eyes widening in surprise.

The man’s clothes were in tatters, though they had once been fine and unlike anything Gavin had ever seen before. He was dirty, and covered in blood, but there was a chiseled quality to his features, like a work of stone taken flesh. The man hesitated for a moment, then Gavin felt a massive rush of energy and the man’s hands exploded with crackling white energy. The wind picked up and blew sands into the air.

“How dare you lift a weapon against me, slave,” the man boomed in an accented voice that rolled like thunder. “Drop that thing and go fetch your healers, if you have any.”

Slave? Gavin didn’t drop his blade. He was outweighed by almost a hundred pounds, he guessed, and the man had at least a foot and half of reach on him, not to mention the crackling bolts of energy dancing up the giant’s arms. How was he doing that anyway?

“Did you hear me?” the giant shouted. He reached down for a massive war hammer that Gavin hadn’t noticed before.

Gavin didn’t back down. He took a step forward as the man raised the hammer, the crackling energy on his arms a brilliant white light that danced off the metal hammerhead and crackled intoxicatingly.

“I don’t know who you are,” Gavin said, keeping his voice calm and flat. “But I am not a slave. If you and your friend are sick, we have healers back at the Roterralar Warren.”

The giant didn’t release the magic or put down the hammer. “Go and fetch them from the place of the earthen home.”

Gavin’s brows came to together slightly before he corrected his expression. “The warren is several day’s walk from here. But we can take you there.”

“We?”

Gavin realized his mistake even as the words slipped from his lips. The giant man’s eyes searched the desert and he shifted slightly in his stance. No, he swayed. The giant blinked a few times and Gavin noticed the slight tremble of the hammer. He’d thought it was an effect of the crackling energy, but could it possibly be that he was injured too?

“Are you alright?” Gavin asked, stepping forward.

“Get back!”

The giant steadied himself and whipped his free hand in front of him. Energy sprayed out in a wide arc, crackling and zipping into the stoneway pillar, branching down into the ground, up into the air, toward Gavin, and some even back toward the giant. Gavin didn’t know what to do. He stood there, frozen, unable to move as time seemed to slow. Then Farah was suddenly there. The small woman snatched the energy out of the air and sent it downwards in a cascade of molten sand and shards of glass. Gavin was up beside her in an instant. He reached toward the energy as well and drew it in. Energy crackled in his own hands and he looked up at the blond-haired giant.

The man blinked at them a few times and swayed on his feet. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The energy running up and down his arms died a moment before the man’s knees gave out and he toppled forward toward the sand. Without pausing to think and acting purely on instinct, Gavin dismissed the energy he’d gathered and darted forward, catching the giant before he landed on top of his companion. He grunted with the massive effort, struggling with the man’s weight, and then Farah was there beside him to help ease the man to the ground.

Gavin turned to thank her, but instead of a smile on her face, he saw a thundercloud. Farah balled up a fist, her right one—the left held the red glass cleaver—and, before Gavin could react, punched him square on one shoulder. He grunted from the surprising force and odd little sting and backed up defensively, throwing up his hands.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

Farah scowled at him and placed her hands on her hips. For a moment, Gavin saw a striking resemblance to his grandmother in that pose, then the tirade began.

“What were you thinking, jumping in all alone like that! You were supposed to wait for me. You could have gotten yourself killed. And then what did you do? You go and have to be all noble and offer aid instead of just sticking them with a knife and being done with it. You sun-blinded, goat-brained idiot! You . . .”

Suddenly she darted forward and Gavin tried to dodge out of the way, but Farah caught him in a rough embrace and squeezed him tight, burying her face into his chest.

Gavin blinked in confusion for a moment, but then returned the hug. It felt good to have her in his arms, even if he didn’t really follow what had just happened. He was starting to think it may be a constant state of confusion for him where Farah was concerned. Part of him was mildly annoyed, but the larger part of him enjoyed feeling needed and wanted.

“You fool,” she whispered into his chest, voice catching. “You can’t do things like that and survive very long. Sands, how did you ever make it as an outcast?”

Gavin chuckled and kissed the top of her head, breathing in her sweet scent. “With a lot of help from a very patient, very opinionated grandmother.”

“You’re a blustering, naïve, sands-cursed idiot. You’re lucky I was there to save you.”

“I know.”

Farah released him and stepped back, scrubbing under her nose and eyes with the back of her hand. She sniffed and then turned to look at the two massive men sprawled on the ground.

“What do we do with them? Who are they?” Her tone held just a hint of awe in it, and fear.

Gavin didn’t answer at first, instead dropping to a knee next to the larger, stouter man who had been prone since they’d first seen him. He had a wan, sallow complexion to his otherwise pale-skinned face, but there was a solidness to it as well, like weather-worn rock. The man’s eyes were closed, but Gavin peeled one back to peer down into the eye itself. The dark parts in the middle were small and contracted and the eyes flitted back and forth without seeing. He moved from there to the crude bandage, wrinkling his nose against the smell. He lifted one corner of the blanket-bandage and was nearly overwhelmed by the stench. Farah made a small noise of disgust and stepped backward. Beneath the tattered shirt and gangrenous pus, the man’s chest was covered in long, deep gashes. The skin around them was wet with blood and fluid, but red and hot to the touch. He was boiling up with infection and fever. Gavin hurried over to the other man and more carefully checked the bandages he found on the man’s back and shoulders. The same long gashes, like the marks a sandtiger’s claws would make.

“Call the aevians,” Gavin ordered. “Bring me the waterskins and the food, then fly straight back to the eyrie. Find Khari or Lhaurel and bring them here.”

Farah opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. She looked at him, a question clear in her expression. He returned the gaze flatly, then nodded toward her and made an impatient gesture. She did as he asked. Gavin checked the wounds again, trying to decide how best to approach cleaning and dressing them. Nabil and Talyshan plunged from the sky a moment later, the larger aevian in the lead and giving out a fearsome shriek as he came to land near the stoneway pillar. Farah grabbed the supplies from both of them, though Nabil hissed at her and hopped closer to Gavin. He seemed unusually agitated, though Gavin was more concerned with washing the wounds of the taller man with some of the water Farah had passed to him.

“Fly fast. You’ll be back before anything can go wrong,” Gavin said.

“Why don’t you go? I can stay and watch these two. I’ve been a mystic far longer than you. If that one wakes up and tried to attack you again, how will you defend yourself?”

“Do you know anything about healing?”

“No.”

Gavin turned and looked Farah in the eye. “I do. I’ll see what I can do to keep them alive until you get back. Don’t worry about me. Now go on.”

Farah sniffed, opened her mouth again and then snapped it shut. She nodded and, without any further preamble, leapt up into Talyshan’s saddle and hooked the leads in their proper place. Gavin hadn’t noticed her putting the flight harness back on. She gave him another look, one that Gavin thought was either one of worry or anger, then whistled sharply and Talyshan launched into the air. Nabil shrieked after them as they climbed higher and higher into the air. Gavin watched them go until they disappeared from his sight, then he turned back to the two men.

Kaiden leaned against the stoneway pillar between them.

Chapter 15

Brisson

“The second Iteration of water is the blood mage, though they are never called such. Of these, there are only seven. The Seven Sisters, to be precise. They overlap in abilities with their prior Iteration, but also hold common portions of each of the other eight.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Brisson ignored the guilt of slipping down into the bath water. He was the master’s new steward now, after all, wasn’t he? It was cold but the lingering perfumes the petty Storm Ward poured into it like they weren’t more expensive than a dozen slaves wafted over him. The Great One had left it filled after speaking with the master, assuming the slaves would take care of it. Brisson had conveniently forgotten to mention it to the other slaves.

He sighed and tried to float. He’d seen some of the younger Orinai children doing it when he’d been a slave on another plantation further to the east, but couldn’t figure it out. Instead he bobbed up and down in the shallow end of the pool, years of grime, dirt, and sweat finally loosening their hold. Even his matted, brown hair loosened and flecks of dirt floated away, revealing a lighter colored brown to his hair and lighter olive skin tone than had previously been present. He could almost see why the Great One enjoyed baths so much.

Almost.

The amount of work it required of the house slaves, the amount of water dragged up from the well, the time required to get the temperature just right—that was just plain stupid. Why would anyone want to waste that much water? This though, this wasn’t waste. The water had already been used once, hadn’t it? This was an experiment. Yeah, that was it. This was an experiment to see if they’d been able to get the baths to the Great One’s liking.

Brisson grinned and scrubbed at his well-muscled arms to take away the dirt and grime. His fingers ran over the bumps and ridges of countless scars, though he paid them little heed. In the twenty-six years of his life, he’d lost count of the times he’d been beaten, whipped, or tossed about by one Orinai or another. They didn’t even have to be Great Ones. It was something in their blood. They were meant to be damned nuisances. It was simply what they were.

A door creaked, announcing someone entering the room. Brisson started guiltily and almost sucked in half the bath water. He spluttered and coughed, spraying water onto the tiled floor as Ellia walked into the room. Brisson was about to scold her for walking in on him like this—a fifteen-year old child walking in on a man in his nakedness, what was the world coming to—when he noticed the stumbling way she was walking, the paleness of her normally olive skin, and the sunken, hollowness around her eyes.

“Ellia!” Brisson cried, struggling through the water and up the steps. “What happened, girl?” He bounded up the steps and over to the young woman, any thoughts of propriety and modesty falling away. The girl staggered and stumbled into his arms. He was just quick enough to catch her before she fell.

“Ellia!” Brisson shook her roughly. She stared up at him, eyes unfocused. “Curse the Sisters, girl, what is it?”

Ellia reacted to the curse as if slapped, shuddering in his hands. “The Sisters,” she hissed. “The Sisters . . .”

“Dammit, girl.” Brisson held her up with one hand as she continued to mutter incoherently and used his other hand to feel for cuts or breaks on her body. He almost missed it. A large cut lay across one wrist, deep and deadly. But there was something wrong. Where was all the blood? A cut this deep should have . . .

His thoughts trailed off as his subconscious came to a horrid realization. Color drained from him and he found himself pulling Ellia into his arms, hugging her close. He wasn’t sure which one of them it was who was trembling. After a moment, he pulled away from the girl, tears in his eyes. She mumbled and muttered under her breath, but it was weak and completely incoherent. What strength she must have had, to move at all after being drained by one of the Sisters. There was nothing he could do for her now. She was as good as dead.

“They’re here, aren’t they?” he asked, though he knew she couldn’t answer. She blinked up at him, then went limp in his arms. Her chest continued to rise and fall for a few more moments, noises and commotion beginning to drift into the room from outside, then her chest fell for the last time and became still.

Brisson laid her gently on the floor. There was nothing else to be done. He hurried over to where he’d left his clothes and pulled them hurridly on as the noises swelled and the sounds of screams and pain rose in pointed accompaniment. He smelled smoke, like acrid fog, begin to seep into the room. Part of him wondered what the Sisters were doing here, what they wanted, but he’d learned long ago that the ways of the Sisters, the ways of the Orinai, didn’t make sense. The master had warned him this may happen, though Brisson hadn’t given the warning much heed.

To question, even to indulge in the simple things like taking a bath, was pointless when it could all be taken away from you on a whim. The Sisters were at the head of the Orinai’s religion, they were Gods as far as the slaves were concerned. Part of him wondered if the arrival of the Sisters was a punishment for his lack of propriety in taking a bath in the Great One’s bathing chamber.

He walked to the door and poked his head out into the night. Several of the outbuildings were ablaze, the orange light highlighting hundreds of silhouettes dashing across the fields. In the distance, torches and smaller lights gleamed, hundreds of them, thousands of them. An army.

Someone ran past and Brisson grabbed them, his arm nearly getting ripped from its socket in the process. The man, Brisson didn’t know his name, turned on him, fear coloring all his features.

“What’s going on?” Brisson demanded.

The man wrenched his arm free. “The Sisters are here. They got the message the master tried to hide.”

Brisson swallowed hard and let the man run away. The master, Nikanor, had been worried about the Sisters coming to the Plantation. The message Nikanor had received hadn’t stopped with the master, though he’d implied to the Great One called Samsin that it had. Brisson hoped Nikanor had at least gotten the time to warn them. The master had left instructions, in the event the Sisters came before he returned. Brisson struggled to remember them.

He grabbed the next person he saw, taking strength in having orders, having something to do. He was not a man of action, no slave was really, but he did follow orders well. It had been ingrained in him since birth, since his grandfather’s grandfather’s birth.

“Gather whoever you can,” Brisson ordered. “Make for the mountains north of the gap, the master’s orders.”

The man Brisson had grabbed hesitated for a moment, the fear slowing his reasoning and response to the words. Then the order registered and, like any good slave, he galvanized to action around the order.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and scurried away into the night.

Good. Brisson steeled himself for the next part of his orders. He hurried through the night, stopping those he came across and issuing the same orders. Soon there was a steady stream of figures vanishing into the night opposite the fires. Brisson hoped some of them would make it out. Odds were that a portion of the ten thousand slaves on this plantation would make it there. Maybe.

Brisson broke into a jog, hugging the shadows, though that grew difficult as he approached the bonfires which consumed several outbuildings. The torches resolved from small pinpricks of light into flaming brands. The amorphous shadows grew into the figures of men, both slave and Orinai, standing in long, neat rows. At their front, surrounded by a ring of guards in glittering armor and resting upon palanquins borne on the shoulders of a dozen slaves, three of the Sisters sat, regarding the chaos with imperious looks.

A score of archers with short, blood-red bows stood just in front of the three Sisters. One of the slaves ran through the light. Quick as lightning, one of the archers drew an arrow, knocked, drew, sighted and fired in one blurring motion. The arrow hissed through the air—Brisson could hear it even from where he hid over a hundred spans away—and caught the running slave squarely in one shoulder.

The slave screamed and seemed to convulse. For a moment Brisson thought that perhaps the arrow was poisoned, but then he realized it was something far more sinister and the slave flopped, lifeless, to the ground. The Sisters had drained him. Brisson shuddered and thought about turning back for perhaps the hundredth time. He even turned away this time, moving to vanish into the night, but his eyes fell on the field of smokeweed and he noticed the still mounds there for the first time, mounds with but a single arrow sticking from them. All the Sisters needed to kill you was for you to bleed. That stopped him and, despite the fear which froze his veins, turned him back to his goal. He crept forward through the shadows, careful to keep to the paths he knew so well.

Brisson dropped to his knees and crawled along behind a stand of bushes which grew at the edge of a small irrigation ditch. He slipped down into the thin film of muck and water, feeling the fetid liquid seep into his clothes. That didn’t bother him so much, despite the bath. If anything, he preferred the dirt. It was surprisingly comforting.

At the edge of the small copse of bushes, Brisson stopped and crept as close to the Sisters as he could. He was still fifty or so feet away, but from this distance, hidden in the shadows, he could make out their pale, stick-thin bodies, and the almost glowing red hair. He knew that in the confusion of the battle, with the dead and dying around him, the Sisters would miss sensing him hiding there. He cupped a hand behind one ear, hoping that someone would say something to give him an indication of why they had come. That was his mission, the one Nikanor had given him. He had to know the Sisters’ plans.

An hour passed without anyone saying a word. Small parties of soldiers broke off from the main group, rushing through the plantation and setting fire to each building through which they passed. By then, most of the other slaves had disappeared, though it was all Brisson could do to contain himself when the few who stumbled within the range of the archers were stuck with a single arrow and then drained of their life blood. Brisson had no idea what the Sisters needed it for—they didn’t appear to care at all. It was as if they had no real emotion about it, not fear, retribution, not even anger. They simply killed anyone who came within their range. Brisson managed to remain hidden through it all.

He was just about to give up hope when the center Sister raised a hand. It was the first motion any of them had made outside the rise and fall of their lungs.

“I tire of this,” she hissed, her voice the rasp of steel against leather. “They are not here. Take the troops north. Let us return, once again, to the land where my Sister was slain.”

Chapter 16

Broken Powers

“If not managed properly, the magic itself can be deadly to the user. For this reason, those born with the abilities have mental barriers created by their own minds in order to protect themselves. This internal wall must first be broken before their abilities can be manifested.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel stopped before the door to the eyrie and then scuttled back, her breathing rapid and pulse racing. Her hand shook on her cane and her knees threatened to collapse.

“What’s going on with you, girl?” Cobb asked over a shoulder.

Lhaurel shook her head, hand going to her mouth. She bit down hard on one finger. “I can’t. I can’t go in there. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Cobb turned around to face her. “What are you about, girl? Come on. Khari is waiting for you in there. You shouldn’t leave the Matron waiting.”

Lhaurel shook her head and took another step back.

Cobb’s face hardened. “Come on, now. No games. Quit acting like a child.”

Something twisted in Lhaurel’s gut. “You don’t know anything about this at all, old man.” She hissed. “None of you do. I saved you all from certain death. Not Gavin, not the Roterralar, me. I felt death, I felt loss and pain. There were only two things in this world I cared about, and both are lost to me now. Both died after I tried to save them. Don’t you dare try talking about something you don’t know anything about.”

Cobb’s face twisted into a scowl and his jawline hardened.

Lhaurel immediately felt like a fool for her words, though anger still radiated through her. It had come on suddenly, a white-hot suppressed rage like nothing she had felt before. It took her only a moment to realize that she’d drawn upon her powers. She was standing straighter, neck stiff, chin up, and she could feel everything around her. The aevians in the eyrie felt like a massive wave of life, though she could pick out the individual creatures and the half score of people within the room. They all felt different, like Khari or Beryl did when she could sense them at all. Mystics?

“You never did know anything about respect, girl,” Cobb growled. “But what can I expect after your time here with the Roterralar. That demon woman, Khari, acts like she’s the Warlord or something. I’ve lived through almost sixty Migrations, girl. Don’t you try and compare your pain with mine. Now are you coming or not?”

For one irrational moment, Lhaurel felt like lashing out with her powers and striking the man, then she pushed the drawn-in strength away. She shuddered as the strength she had gathered in vanished and the great awareness faded, but did not fully disappear. She slumped as a great sense of exhaustion overwhelmed her and a headache bloomed at her temples. Why had she gotten so angry? Where had that flare of sudden rage come from? She blinked a few times, trying to clear her head, but when it didn’t fade she simply grit her teeth and decided to press on. The look on Cobb’s face wouldn’t allow her to back down now.

“Are you going to open that door?” Lhaurel asked as she limped forward, using the cane far more than she had before. “Or do I have to?”

Cobb grunted, lips a hard line and jaw set, but reached out and yanked the door open perhaps a bit too forcefully. Lhaurel didn’t even glance his direction as she limped by. Memories of her first fortnight among the Roterralar flooded into her mind as she entered the massive cavern which made up the eyrie. She’d spent that entire time here among the aevians, butchering sailfin corpses and cleaning up after the regal creatures. She’d grown to love and care for them like she cared about so few other things. This was also the place where she’d bonded with Fahkiri.

She pushed that thought away. It was still too fresh, too painful, to dwell on.

The aevians were mostly inactive, roosting in their crags along the eyrie walls opposite from where she had entered. To her right the eyrie opened to the Sharani desert, allowing in light and clean air. Lhaurel was as grateful now as she was those first few days trapped in here for that renewal of air. With that many creatures living and defecating in one place, even with the fresh air the smell was pretty powerful.

Khari stood in front of an odd assortment of individuals before the cavernous mouth, her back to the sands. Most of them were Lhaurel’s age, a handful even younger, though there were a few older individuals scattered among them. They all looked different physically, but they all felt similar to Lhaurel’s heightened senses.

No, actually there were three distinctly different feelings emanating from the group. Lhaurel stopped in her tracks as that realization hit her. She closed her eyes, feeling at each of them. The wettas she recognized almost immediately. It was a familiar feeling, though slightly different from how she felt about her own powers. It was like the difference between sand and the soil found in the Oasis. With a start, Lhaurel realized she could sense which type of magic each mystic held.

She opened her eyes as Khari’s words registered in her ears.

“. . . you are those who have within you the abilities of a mystic. I warn you, the things you will be asked to do in order to unlock your abilities may seem extreme. They may seem strange. They will be cruel. But they are for your own good. We must begin by trying to get you to manifest your powers, find out what type of mystic you are, and that only happens when you have broken through the mental barriers holding back your abilities.”

Lhaurel chewed on her bottom lip. Find out what type of mystic they are? Lhaurel reached out with her extra awareness, eyes closed in concentration. She was close enough to them now that their abilities were easily discernible. Six magnetelorium, four wetta, and eight relampago.

“Girl!”

Cobb’s gruff voice snapped Lhaurel out of her probe of the others in the room. Her eyes fluttered open and she turned to look at him.

The old, grizzled man jutted his chin back toward Khari. “The Matron is talking to you, girl.”

Lhaurel turned back, her ears seeming to suddenly return to functioning in a rush of sound.

“Lhaurel,” Khari said, a trace of mild irritation in her voice. “These are the mystics who decided to stay here.”

Lhaurel turned to regard them, watching as some of them fidgeted under her gaze. Others shuffled from foot to foot or looked down at their feet. There was a distinct feeling of unease, and it took Lhaurel more than a few moments to realize that it wasn’t so much a reaction to her specifically, but to being here and discussing magic at all. Lhaurel remembered her own foreboding as if it were a distant memory, though it was only a few short months ago that she was in here too. She pushed those memories aside before they could get too painful.

“Hello,” Lhaurel said by way of introduction. Some of them looked up and gave her a half nod. “Khari is half right. You will be broken so your abilities can seep through the cracks, but you won’t have to do that to determine which abilities you have.”

Khari looked at her sharply.

“I can tell you.”

With quick efficiency, Lhaurel pointed out individuals and separated them into three respective groups. She was only half surprised to notice that all four of the wettas were women. She thought she recognized one or two of the faces—they may have once been Sidena—but she couldn’t recall their names. Though the clan itself had not been overly large, Lhaurel had been shuffled around from family to family so much she’d stopped bothering to learn their names outside of a select few. And now most of those were gone.

“Excuse us for a moment,” Khari said when Lhaurel had finished.

Khari grabbed Lhaurel by one arm, towing her away. Lhaurel limped after her, unable to use her cane because Khari had that arm in a firm grip.

“Are you saying you can sense their abilities?” Khari whispered, shooting a quick glance over one shoulder at the assembled groups, some of whom were now whispering among themselves.

“I would think that is obvious,” Lhaurel said, a flush of her earlier irritation returning. “Beryl’s scrolls hinted at it, but it wasn’t until just now that I realized I could tell the difference. I can’t always sense mystics, but that’s only when they’re actually using their powers. Then I can see them using it and don’t need to sense it.”

Khari stared at her, unblinking, lips pursed. “Alright then. I guess I’ll set them to work until Gavin and Farah get back.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you waiting for Gavin and Farah?” Lhaurel had no idea who Farah was, but Gavin she did know.

“Gavin is taking over for Sarial as leader of the mystics,” Khari said. “I assume he’d have Farah train the other relampagos and I’ll handle the wettas. Maybe Beryl can train the magnetelorium . . .” She trailed off, as if thoughtful, and tapped a finger to her pursed lips.

“What are you going to make them do?” Lhaurel asked. “There’s no genesauri for them to skin and no Kaiden here to torment them.” She said the last without letting much of the bitterness out, but it still tasted like an unripe sidium fruit to her lips.

Khari smiled and Lhaurel was struck by the mischievous gleam which shone through that look.

“Stick around and see,” Khari said.

Three men, all potential magneteloriums, struggled under the weight of the massive stone they were trying to move. Lhaurel stood to one side of the greatroom, leaning against her cane. Khari had brought them here to clean up from the earthquake. Other groups worked on other stones in the room, where Khari had transferred them, leaving Lhaurel to watch over these particular three men.

Khari and Cobb each watched over the other groups, though Lhaurel wasn’t sure what Cobb had to do with anything here. Nevertheless, he had been the most effective so far. With his acerbic tongue, gruff demeanor, and low rumbling voice, Cobb was a nightmare taken flesh. He yelled, cursed, and even threatened.

So far only one of his group hadn’t tried to spit at him or gotten into a shouting match. The rest of the greatroom had emptied except for the potential mystics, so the arguments were heard only by those who could benefit from it.

The one who hadn’t tried anything was actually the only one who had broken so far.

Lhaurel had watched it happen. The man’s group had been lifting a particularly large stone and were walking it over to the carts that would take it to eyrie to be dumped to the sands below, when he’d been pushed up against the wall by his overzealous companions. Instead of shouting with anger or pain, the man had simply grown red faced and ground his teeth together. Cobb, noticing this, began yelling, not at the man’s companions, but at the man himself.

It had been painful to watch and Lhaurel had been about to step in, when she’d seen the man’s muscles bulge along his jaw and noticed a cloud of red-grey mist form around him. A chunk of metal exploded from one wall and shot toward the back of Cobb’s head. Without even thinking, Lhaurel had reached out then and dismissed the man’s hold on his powers. The lump of metal continued forward for a few feet before dropping to the ground and rolling across the sand before stopping against Cobb’s feet. Khari had shown that man to another room shortly thereafter.

Lhaurel turned back to the three men she’d been supervising. One of them slipped and the stone came crashing back to the ground amid the accompanying curses of the other two men. They quickly got into a heated argument. Lhaurel hated having to put them through this, but at the same time, she half thought they got off easy. This was a simple, almost harmless endeavor compared to what she’d been forced to endure. Still . . .

“Enough of that,” she snapped, voice seeming to crack like a whip with the remaining vestiges of hoarseness from her encounter at the Oasis. “Pick up that stone and get it into the cart!” She tried to keep her voice firm, but this was new to her. She didn’t like the scrutiny and her attention constantly wandered, thoughts trickling back over her dream and what Beryl had made them read.

The man who had dropped the stone glowered at her. “Why don’t you come over here and try this?” he shot back.

Lhaurel chuckled. “How about you try what I had to do and then tell me how hard you have it.”

“Sands take you,” the man snapped. “I don’t have to take this from you, girl.”

Though the man was at least a decade Lhaurel’s senior, she resented being called ‘girl.’ Cobb was one thing, he’d called her ‘girl’ her whole life, but this man, this stranger? “You’re right, you don’t. You volunteered for this, if I understand correctly. If you don’t want to pay the price for the magic we don’t want you. But the next time you’re about to die, the next time you look death in the eye and realize you can’t escape its clutches, don’t expect anyone here to save you.”

By this time, everyone in the room was watching their exchange. All work had stopped and the silence became deafening. The man stared at Lhaurel, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. The two other men who had been working on the stone with him had stepped back, probably seizing the moment as an opportunity to rest.

“You’re right,” the man hissed. “I shouldn’t have stayed. You Roterralar women don’t know how to act properly. You’re not meant for leadership.”

Lhaurel noticed Khari move forward, her expression dark, but Lhaurel held up a hand to stop her. This was her fight. She felt sick prodding the man, but at the same time part of her thought he deserved it.

“And you think you are?” she said. “You can’t even lift a stone or channel your own rage to be of any use. You think that is strength? You don’t even understand the word. Try asking a woman who’s born a child what true pain is. That’s strength.”

The man spat at her.

Lhaurel lashed out at the man on instinct, not with her fist, as she half-expected herself to do, but with her powers. She reached out, using her own blood as fuel to reach out to the man. Acting purely on instinct, she felt through his blood and seized on that part of it which controlled his magnetelorium powers. The man gasped, in pain, in shock, in pure terror, eyes wide. Lhaurel yanked and suddenly the man was on his knees.

Lhaurel pushed her powers away, stunned at what she had just done. What had she just done? She honestly didn’t know.

The man got to his feet, cheeks wet from tears, whole body trembling. No one around them moved. The man stared at Lhaurel and there was confusion, pain, and fear there. He raised a hand and Lhaurel saw a nimbus of red-grey mist form around him. A little metal talisman suspended on a leather thong around the man’s neck lifted and seemed to float in the air before him. He stared down at it and his expression slid to include awe in the mix of emotions present there.

“What did you do?” Khari asked. Her voice was tinged with the same awe reflected on the man’s face.

Lhaurel turned to her, equally awed and feeling more than a little weak. She leaned heavily against her cane.

“I broke him,” she said.

“Can you do it again?” Khari whispered, looking around at the awed, startled, and shocked faces.

“I think so,” Lhaurel said. “But not all at once. That alone took more strength than I’d care to admit. I need to rest. I . . . Can you get someone to help me down to the room where we left Beryl’s scrolls?”

Khari nodded. “Yes. Rest for now, but hurry. See if you can’t find something in those scrolls that will help us with this lot. Or at least explain what in the seven hells you can do.”

Lhaurel wasn’t so tired that she didn’t hear the note of confusion and fear in Khari’s voice. The woman knew more about Lhaurel than anyone else alive, understood her abilities’ true source, but that didn’t mean she didn’t fear the unknown.

Lhaurel nodded. “I’ll see what I can find. This—” She glanced at the other people there, felt their eyes on her and saw them look away when she tried to meet them. “Well, I’ll see what I can do. I owe you, Khari, but I don’t understand this any better than you do.”

Khari sighed and gestured for one of the other women to assist Lhaurel. “I know, but figure it out soon, if you can. We need this to work out.”

Lhaurel leaned back against the wall, head once again throbbing as she dug through the scrolls scattered across the stone table in search of something she had read earlier. Her mind refused to cooperate with the work. She wasn’t sure if part of it was the consequence of what she’d done earlier or the fact that the reading itself was dull work, even if the content of the scrolls was vastly interesting.

The one thing she was sure about was her own disappointment in herself. Though she’d never consciously decided, she’d intended to never use her powers against another human being again. She would use it for them as much as she could, but not against them, not as a weapon.

Yet what had she just done? She’d instinctively lashed out at the belligerent man and changed him. What she’d done was an invasive, horrifying act.

She’d come to recognize something about her powers, something discussed in these scrolls. There was a deep, hidden need within her—a desire to use her magic, to reach out and control everything around her—that she didn’t know how to contain. She hadn’t recognized it until just now, though now that she thought about it, it had been there since the moment she’d realized her true potential.

She found the scroll she was looking for and tugged it closer to herself. She scanned through it until she found what she was looking for. Unlike the other scrolls, which seemed more instructional and informative, this one appeared as if it were once a self-recorded history. Something about it tugged at her memory, but it floated there just beyond her grasp. She found the passage she was looking for.

What is the nature of dreams? Are they real or purely illusory? If they are real, what is the nature of this realm of dreams? If illusory, why do they have such a powerful effect upon the dreamer?

Dreams. Lhaurel shook her head, feeling the headache swell. Had Kaiden been plagued by dreams that had driven him to madness? It was possible. Lhaurel half felt she might be headed that direction herself, though her most recent dream was far more pleasant than the nightmares that had plagued her before.

The door opened with a creak of rusty hinges. It was an old door, the wood poorly fashioned and starting to fall apart in places, so it groaned almost as much as the hinges did as Beryl pushed it open and limped into the room. The lamplight reflected off the metal embedded in his skin and cast strangle little motes of light across the room which danced like dust in the wind.

“Have you finished yet, Lhaurel?” Beryl asked. His voice was pitched low, but it carried an intensity that sent shivers down Lhaurel’s spine.

“How could anyone have read all this in just a day?” Lhaurel asked, gesturing vaguely over the scrolls scattered across the table.

Beryl grumbled something unintelligible as if to himself, then spoke up. “You must hurry.”

“Why?” Lhaurel asked, feeling her irritation and confusion grow. “Why should I hurry? What did you mean when you said this stuff was why Kaiden did what he did? I’m tired of all this confusion and mystery.”

Beryl scratched at the stubble on his chin and regarded her impassively for a long moment. Lhaurel was just about to say something else, this time even more pointed than the last, when Beryl shook his head.

“You must hurry because the Orinai are coming,” Beryl said, his voice hard and without its typical rasp. “I don’t know when, but they will come.”

“The who?”

“The Orinai,” Beryl said. “They built this place, this Arena. They were driven out centuries ago, but only because they thought the Rahuli doomed to death.”

What was he going on about? What Arena?

Lhaurel raised an eyebrow at him.

“They’re coming!” Beryl suddenly thundered, and the room seemed to shake with the volume of his shout. “They will come and destroy you all. You’re not prepared, you’re not ready. Kaiden knows this. Somehow he knows. He wished to burn away the dross in the crucible of battle, cut everyone away who could not stand against the coming storm. The Seven Sisters will destroy you and everything you’ve come to know.”

“What are you talking about?”

The look Beryl leveled at her burned away any doubt she had about his sincerity. Whatever it was he was saying, whether it was really true or not, Beryl sincerely believed it.

“You thought the genesauri were a nightmare,” Beryl whispered. “They were a light breeze to the coming sandstorm. I’ve seen what they can do. You won’t be ready.”

He didn’t wait for Lhaurel’s protests or questions. Beryl got up and limped out of the room, muttering to himself. Lhaurel felt her headache swell and massaged her temples. She needed to talk to Khari about all this.

Chapter 17

Prisoner

“Storm Wards are also, among other things, generally the most arrogant of the Great Ones and most likely to remain at their Iteration and return to it for multiple incarnations of their lives.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

“I told you they would come,” Kaiden said, not looking over at Gavin. “I told you the enemy would come.”

Gavin’s eyes darted to the red glass blade sitting in the sands a few feet away. If he made a dash for it . . .

Kaiden kept talking as Nabil hissed and puffed out his feathers in a threatening manner.

“I read the scrolls, I knew what was coming. Now we will all die.” There was a deep, tremulous quality to Kaiden’s voice, which matched his outward appearance but was dissonant to the true age shown in the man’s eyes.

Gavin took a careful step forward. Though Kaiden didn’t appear to have any weapons, he was wearing brown robes similar to the ones the mystics had worn before everyone knew who they really were. Anything could be hidden within those folds, not to mention Kaiden’s magnetelorium abilities. Kaiden’s face was a maze of craggy wrinkles, like canyons with a thousand spidery branches, and his grey-white hair clung to him despite the light breeze.

“What are you doing here, Kaiden?” Gavin asked, taking another careful step forward. He was directly in between the two prone giants and only a foot or two away from the glass knife. He could easily bend over and snatch it from the ground.

Kaiden glanced over at him and blinked owlishly. Gavin wasn’t sure if Kaiden was really seeing him or not, as his gaze seemed to wander and remain unfocused.

“Here? I’m here to protect you,” Kaiden said, his gaze seeming to fixate on some point over Gavin’s right shoulder.

“Protect me?” Gavin took another step forward and then bent down and scooped up the red glass knife. Kaiden didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Protect you all. The horrors I’ve read about, the terrible darkness, the Seven Sisters.” Kaiden shuddered and closed his eyes.

Gavin seized that moment to dart forward and tackle Kaiden to the ground. The man didn’t offer any resistance, and as a result they ended up slamming into the ground with twice as much force as Gavin had expected. The dagger flew out of Gavin’s hand and he felt a rush of panic before it registered that Kaiden wasn’t resisting at all.

Gavin scrambled to his feet and whistled for Nabil, who hopped over the prone figures to land next to Gavin. Kaiden turned his head to regard the aevian with one corner of his mouth twisted up into a half-smile. Gavin hastily pulled a length of cord from the satchel on Nabil’s back and used it to tie Kaiden’s arms behind his back.

“Nabil,” Kaiden said, speaking over Gavin’s shoulder to the aevian. “I haven’t seen Skree-lar in a long, long time. Do you know where he is?”

Nabil hissed and flexed long talons, which dug into the sand and scraped against rock hidden beneath. He clacked his beak and let out an ear-piercing screech that made Gavin wince and cover his ears.

“Hush, Nabil!” Gavin snapped.

Kaiden chuckled, though it was the sound of falling stone and grating earth.

“Enough games, Kaiden. What are you doing here and where are the others who helped you escape?”

“Didn’t you tell Farah that these would die if you didn’t administer to them?” Kaiden asked. It was the first time the man had looked directly at Gavin when he’d spoken, and his words dripped with menace.

“Don’t try and ignore the question,” Gavin said, retrieving the dagger and half-glancing at the two prone giants at his feet. “Why are you here and where are the people who helped you escape the Roterralar?”

“As I said, I am here to protect you. You haven’t the faintest idea what you’re doing or what you did when you pulled that sword from the dead Orinai atop the cliffs. The sandstorm is coming and I’m your only hope.”

Gavin almost rolled his eyes. Kaiden reminded him of the old Sidena Warlord, Jenthro. Full of talk and show, always trying to scare people into doing what he wanted. His grandmother had told him about these types. She’d said they were all secretly cowards. A confident man doesn’t need to act tough or be brutal to try and scare you. A confident man already knows his own strength. A coward though, they needed the constant reminder of their own stupidity.

“You’re doing a fine job protecting me all tied up like that,” Gavin said. “Nabil, kill him if he so much as moves in the wrong direction.”

Gavin wasn’t sure if the aevian understood, but Nabil chirped softly as if in acknowledgment and fixed beady eyes on Kaiden’s form. Kaiden had the nerve to look amused, which was an odd look on his prematurely aged face. Gavin ignored him, but was careful to keep his glass dagger close. So far Kaiden hadn’t shown any hint of his former powers, but Gavin wasn’t going to leave anything to chance by assuming they really were “former” powers.

He turned to the two prone giants and did another quick check of their wounds. He then pulled the waterskins from Nabil’s back and removed the makeshift bandage around the wider, shorter giant’s chest.

Kaiden made a small noise at the smell, but Gavin had grown a little more accustomed to it at this point. Blood, pus, and fluid dripped from the man’s wounds. Gavin used a miniscule amount of water and a piece of cloth torn from Kaiden’s robes to clean parts of it up. Gavin wished he had some alcohol or even some tigerroot, but he made do with what he had, as his grandmother had taught him.

He let the wounds air out for a bit after he washed them, taking that time to go over the cuts on the taller man’s shoulders and hands. The ones on his shoulders were similar to the long gashes across his shorter companion’s chest, but the wounds on the taller man’s hands and arms were puzzling. Long gashes, scrapes, and cuts covered him from fingertip to elbow almost as if he’d fallen half a hundred times against rock.

Kaiden noticed Gavin’s inspection of the wounds.

“It is a difficult journey, coming here,” Kaiden whispered, half to himself.

Gavin shot Kaiden a withering look, but the man’s statement bounced around in his thoughts as he worked on the wounded man’s shoulders. It was obvious that these men, whoever and whatever they were, were not some of Kaiden’s men. There were no Rahuli this large nor mystics as powerful, and none of the original seven clans had that accent.

They had to have come from . . .

No, Gavin shook his head, to think they’d actually come from beyond the Forbiddence was preposterous, wasn’t it? There wasn’t anything beyond the Forbiddence, was there?

The man stirred beneath Gavin’s gentle ministrations and pulled Gavin from his thoughts. He finished washing the wounds as quickly as he could and then looked around for something he could use for bandages. This had been one of the reasons he’d left the other man’s chest wounds open to the air. Gavin wasn’t sure what he could use as a bandage to replace the fetid mess which remained of the old bandage.

“You know,” Kaiden said, almost off-handedly, while Gavin rummaged through one of the small travel sacks, “I’m surprised you would ally yourself with the Roterralar. You do realize they could have saved you and the other outcasts at any time if they’d wanted to. No one would have missed the outcasts, you know.”

Gavin didn’t respond. He knew Kaiden was just trying to annoy him. He rummaged through the packs again, though there wasn’t anything large enough to serve as a bandage for one of the two men, let alone both.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you are, though. You’re a mystic and we’ll need you before it is done, I imagine.” Kaiden said this in a soft voice, almost as if to himself. Maybe the man really was still a little cracked.

Gavin turned and looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye. The breeze picked up and tugged at Kaiden’s robes. Gavin grinned.

Half an hour later, Gavin finished tying off the last of the bandages around the taller man’s arm. Kaiden grumbled under his breath from where he sat, almost naked in the sand, but that only made Gavin grin even more. Though he felt somewhat guilty about it, he felt some minor vindication for the deaths of his friends in the Oasis, most notably Shallee’s husband. And there was nothing else to use as bandages. At least that was his justification.

Gavin flopped down into the loose sand in the shadows cast by the stoneway pillar and cleaned off the blood and gunk with a handful of sand. Nabil hissed as Kaiden fidgeted—Gavin had shifted him out of the shadow and into the direct sunlight—and the man stilled, eyeing the aevian with a malevolent look. Gavin was pleased to see that Kaiden was at least cautious around Nabil.

“Who helped you escape?” Gavin asked.

Kaiden gave him a flat look. With the man’s now grey eyebrows and the wispy strands of grey hair tossed in front of his face by the breeze, the effect was somewhat lessened. It was hard to be intimidated by a man who looked as ancient as stone.

“So were you really insane earlier or was that all just an elaborate ruse?” Gavin continued, fishing out some dried meat and taking a bite.

“Is the man insane who does what he must in order to survive?” Kaiden asked. “What did you do as an outcast in order to survive? What laws did you break? What atrocities did you commit?”

“None that would give me any trouble sleeping at night.”

“I sleep soundly,” Kaiden said.

“I don’t doubt that,” Gavin said around another mouthful of dried meat. “Wrapped up tightly in the blanket of your own depraved mind.”

Kaiden gave him a grin. “Always.”

Gavin shook his head and gave up. There was no point talking to the man. Instead he set about poking through the things the two wounded men had with them. There was the hammer, a massive monstrosity covered in strange etchings that looked like words, and the taller man’s fancy clothes made from a material with which Gavin was not familiar. The clothes on both men were far more colorful than anything Gavin had ever seen, though the shorter man’s clothes were made of wool and were of a less ornate design.

A search of the shorter man’s pants revealed several pouches tucked inside the waistband and a few miscellaneous odds and ends in the pockets. One of the pouches gave an odd metallic clink as Gavin lifted it and set it aside. There was also a thick, folded piece of paper in one pocket. He set this with the pouches and then shifted over to the other man. He only had one thing on him, just a single, heavy pouch that also clinked. Gavin went back over to the larger pile.

He picked up one of the pouches and pulled at the drawstrings. He was glad to see the pouch made of a simple leather and the drawstrings thin leather thongs. Kaiden made a sharp noise that may have been a note of protest or warning, but Gavin didn’t pay him any attention. He’d already lost enough time today dealing with the man.

Gavin managed to get the drawstrings open and dropped the contents into his hand. A large, bluish stone rolled out into his hand. The stone wasn’t perfectly round—it was flattened in the middle, like a scroll, but with rounded ends. There were three long grooves cut at an angle through the middle. The center mark seemed to glow with a reddish light. Gavin’s pulse quickened and he felt an involuntary surge of fear creep up in this throat, but he tried not to let it show. Kaiden was studying his every move like a mother might watch a babe learning to walk for the first time. Gavin set the stone aside, careful to keep his expression hovering somewhere between curious and uncaring.

The next pouch was filled with a number of thin, metal disks. Though the sizes and the metal themselves were all different, they all bore the same engraving of an unknown female on one side and a series of dashes and lines on the other. What possible purpose could these have served? Gavin poured the assorted bits of metal back into the pouch and tied it closed.

The other pouches had a small assortment of thumbnail sized round stones, some string, a number of small foodstuffs, and an odd medallion on a chain. Setting all this aside, Gavin finally picked up the folded piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully, though the paper was thick and clearly not prone to ripping, having survived intact inside the man’s pocket. On the inside were words written not in the language the Rahuli generally spoke, but in the script his grandmother had taught him. The script in which the scrolls inside the Oasis walls had been written.

Sudden understanding hit him like the initial wave of a sandstorm. He looked from the two prone men, to Kaiden, and then back over his shoulder toward the Oasis.

“They’re the Orinai,” Gavin whispered, mind racing. “They’re the enemy the scrolls were talking about.”

Kaiden smiled. “Now you begin to understand.”

Gavin looked back over at him at the exact moment the pouch of metal disks shot up from the sand and struck him in the side of the head. Pain blossomed along one side of his head, his vision blurred, and the page slipped from his fingers as he found himself toppling toward one side. Nabil screeched distantly, like a far-off echo. Gavin blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head and regain some measure of control. He focused, trying to draw in his powers, but nothing came.

Kaiden walked toward him. Somehow the man had gotten himself free.

“You’re so naïve,” Kaiden hissed. “You should have killed me when you had the chance. Both times. You’re not ready for what’s coming.”

Something hard—probably the pouch of metal disks—slammed into his head again and he knew no more.

Gavin awoke with a throbbing headache pounding on the back of his eyelids like the beating of a drum. For a moment, before he came fully awake, he wondered why he had his eyes closed in the middle of one of his grandmother’s performances. Then he opened his eyes.

Darkness greeted him like an old friend. He groaned and sat up, feeling at the large lump on the side of his head. Thankfully, his fingers didn’t find any broken skin. His vision swam, noticeable as lighter patches through the darker shadows within his sight, but he didn’t lose consciousness. He cursed silently to himself. Once again he’d made a decision without thinking it all the way through. A small part of him knew there wasn’t anything he could do about Kaiden’s abilities, but he still cursed himself anyway. He couldn’t afford to keep making these mistakes. Kaiden was right. He wasn’t ready.

A small noise alerted him that he wasn’t the only one in the lightless room. He sighed, pushing aside the memories of the last time he’d found himself a prisoner like this. At least this time he didn’t have a dagger wound in his gut. Despite that, he growled as his head throbbed and he crawled along the ground toward the sound. His hands found the person making the sound and a quick check discovered the bandage on the man’s chest. A few more moments of careful crawling found the other man not that far away. Gavin sighed and leaned back against the wall between the two men.

“Send me to the seven hells,” Gavin muttered to himself.

How had he landed himself a prisoner again? Things had been looking up, despite the setbacks. He was finally starting to see himself as the man his grandmother had always said he was. Farah was a large part of that, but he was now a nobody again. No, he was learning again.

The longer he waited, the longer he lived, he was coming to understand the reality of life. Sometimes you could do all the right things and still not amount to anything in life. Sometimes becoming something more than ordinary required doing the wrong things in order to learn what not to do. Sometimes failure was more important than success because it gave you the chance to learn and grow. If you survived, that is.

It was a choice.

Gavin ground his teeth and tried to clear his mind. Thinking hurt, but he had to focus. Part of him vaguely wondered what had come of Nabil, though he also knew there was absolutely nothing he could do for the aevian in his current state. Maybe if he could access his powers . . .

He tried to clear his mind again and reached out to the energy in the sand and rocks around him. It was like trying to pull a large boulder up the side of a sand dune. He felt like the harder he pulled, the deeper he sank into futility. He sighed again, massaged one temple—the one opposite the lump on his head—and tried again.

This time it felt like he hit a barrier in his mind, a wall over which he had to climb. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the headache and the throbbing beat of his heart flitting at his temples, Gavin pushed his consciousness over the edge. Energy flooded into him.

Awareness and mental clarity struck him like slap. Pain fled like darkness before light. Gavin seized on that power, seized on the strength and used it to batter down the wall in his mind. Energy thundered through his body and Gavin swung to his feet. Crackling white energy erupted from his hands and ran up his arms in an almost perfect imitation of the large Orinai man. Light flooded into the room and Gavin recognized it almost immediately as the exact same room within which he’d been confined with Lhaurel nearly two fortnights ago.

The energy called on him to move, to act, to do. He took a step toward the door, a vague idea forming in his mind as he approached. Gavin only made it a single step before a hand closed around his leg.

Gavin reacted instinctively, twisting out of the grip and slashing out with one hand as he’d seen the Orinai do. Energy streamed from him in glittering arcs, though they fizzled out only a few inches from his hand.

“Where am I?” the Orinai man gasped. It took Gavin a long moment to puzzle out what the man had said, though the tone made it clear it was a question. The man spoke the language Gavin’s grandmother had taught him, but with enough of a difference that Gavin was only partly sure he understood.

Gavin let the energy crackling up his hands die. It was like releasing a storm. It left a surreal sense of calm behind.

“You’re in the Sharani Desert,” Gavin replied in the common tongue of the Rahuli. “Imprisoned within the walls of the Oasis.”

The Orinai man made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a squeak. Gavin heard him struggling to rise and felt the motion through the rocks. Part of Gavin urged him to press the man back toward the ground and tell him to take it easy, but Gavin was done being naïve. This was the man who had attacked him and Farah without provocation. This was an Orinai.

“Who would dare imprison me?” the man shouted, switching to a highly accented version of the common Rahuli tongue. “Do you know who I am? I am Samsin, thirteenth incarnation of Samsinorna, and a Storm Ward! My family has influence with all seventeen of the other major houses and can buy all the minor ones.”

Gavin listen to the man ramble for a long moment, not understanding half the things he said, then interrupted him. “Are you going to sit there and whine or are you going to help me figure out how to get out of here?”

The Orinai made a strangled noise, like a rashelta being trodden upon. Gavin smiled in the darkness.

“I am a Great One,” Samsin growled. “And I will not be spoken to this way by a slave.”

Gavin chuckled, the sound echoing faintly in the small room. “I don’t care if you’re the master to the gates of the seven hells. Right now all three of us are prisoners. None of us are slaves. Your friend here will die if we don’t figure out a way to get out of here and make it back to the healers.”

“Nikanor’s here?”

Gavin noticed a distinct change in the man’s voice. The pompous, haughty tone slipped and a note of something real came through.

“If you mean the man with the chest wounds, yes,” Gavin said. “I did what I could for him, but I’m not a healer. I sent the woman who was with me to fetch the wettas.”

Samsin groaned and Gavin felt him finally succeed in getting up. Gavin felt the man shuffle over to him, hands probing the ground, until they found the other man, Nikanor.

“My head is fuzzy. What happened after you arrived, sla—” Samsin bit off the last word, though his tone had regained some of the condescension it’d had earlier.

“Well, you tried to kill me and then I decided to help you and your friend—Nikanor is it? Then I was attacked by an old enemy I had thought contained. My mistake. I’ll never underestimate another mystic again.”

“Mystic?” Samsin pronounced the word as if he were speaking around a mouthful of food.

“Magic user. A magnetelorium to be precise.”

“Your words mean nothing.”

“He manipulated metal.”

Samsin made a deep, hissing noise. “A slave mage using powers without a master-at-arms? What devilry is this? Speak truly, did I see you use electricity powers before?”

Gavin frowned at the unfamiliar word. Electricity?

“I have some powers, yes,” Gavin said, haltingly, “but they are untested and new to me.”

Samsin grunted and Gavin wasn’t sure if it was a good sound or not.

“Will Nikanor live?” Samsin asked.

“Not if we don’t get out of here.” Gavin replied.

Samsin grunted again. “Well, you should get on with that then, sla—” Again he bit off the end of the word.

Gavin got to his feet, a sudden anger burning through the wave of dizziness and nausea that rose with him. “I am not a slave. I am not your servant. I am the man who saved your life. Now either help me find a way out of here or stay here and rot.”

Gavin didn’t wait for Samsin to respond, but instead turned his back on the man and strode through the darkness in the direction he knew the door was located. He didn’t, however, ignore the man completely. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. But he did give the majority of his attention over to the door. He didn’t remember much about the last time he’d been here. That time he’d been next to death’s door and was only saved by Lhaurel slamming it shut in its owner’s face. What Gavin did remember was the same thing he was beginning to understand now. While most of the doors in the Roterralar Warren where ill-fitted and warped wood, this one was as hard as stone and Gavin couldn’t feel any place where he could even find purchase to pry at it.

Gavin sensed Samsin approach before he heard him. He shifted to one side as Samsin thundered by and, to Gavin’s absolute and utter shock, began pounding on the door with a fist that sounded like iron against the stone.

“Release me at once!” Samsin bellowed. “I don’t know who you are or why you have me here, but by the Seven Sisters and the blood of the Bleeders, I’ll bring this place down around you if you don’t get me out of here now!”

Gavin stared in Samsin’s direction, though it was too dark to actually see the man. If it had been light in the room, Gavin was sure his expression would be a slackened one, wide with disbelief and incredulity.

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” Gavin asked when he finally found his voice.

Samsin ignored him. The Orinai pounded on the door again, each strike a double echo of the sound bouncing about within the room and in the corridor beyond.

Chapter 18

Confrontation

“The Sisters are the representations of the seven Progressions. They are the holy order which guides our beliefs.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel leaned back against the wall, massaging her temples against a headache. She was tempted to ask Khari to try and heal her, though Lhaurel wasn’t sure what was wrong with her or if it was even something Khari could heal. Besides, Khari already seemed to be approaching her breaking point.

Lhaurel sighed and tried to figure out how long the young boy she’d sent to find Khari had been gone. She’d made it partway through the warren before she’d been unable to take another step. Stubbornness and pride could only take her so far. Fighting against her weakness and the reality of the situation was as futile as trying to walk the sands during a Migration. Except she’d done that.

She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the ground. Her legs protested and she was sure the back of her robes were frayed from the rough surface of the wall, but she didn’t care. Setting aside her cane, Lhaurel crossed her arms over her knees and let her head fall down onto it. She allowed her eyes to close and breathed deeply. In moments, she was asleep.

Dreams greeted her in the darkness.

Elyana was walking in the dream, Lhaurel looking out through her eyes, as she always did. By now, she was more intrigued than panicked, having grown accustomed to the process. She didn’t know how much, if any, of the dreams may have once been real, but she walked through them now without any fear.

As with the last, Elyana was alone as she strode through the long stone corridors, though she held aloft a lamp which lit the way. The light bobbed and danced against the walls, swinging in accompaniment to Elyana’s quick pace.

Where was she going?

Ahead of her in the passage, more lights appeared. Elyana’s pace quickened. Sounds drifted down and Lhaurel was able to pick out angry voices, arguing back and forth. Elyana slowed suddenly, walking with a calm, demure step as the lights drew close and those carrying the lights came into focus.

A handful of large, muscular warriors surrounded another massive man in their center. A woman with blood-red hair and nails walked to one side, shorter than the men, but with far more presence. Elyana raised her lantern and the prisoner’s face came into view.

Beryl.

“What has transpired, Sister?” Elyana asked. Lhaurel marveled at the dead calm in her voice, though Lhaurel watched Elyana’s gaze flick to Beryl twice before she met the other woman’s eyes

The other woman raised a hand and the procession halted. Beryl raised his head, chains clinking, and looked Elyana in the eye for a brief moment, then returned his gaze to the floor.

“Your Bondsman has been aiding the slaves and spreading blasphemies against the Sisters,” the woman said. “I do not blame you for being blind to this, Sister. He is quite skilled at what he does, something he learned under your care, I imagine.”

“How has he been helping them?”

The procession started walking again and Elyana fell into place alongside the other woman.

“He had been providing them with weapons.”

“Isn’t that what we charged him to do?” This time the confusion in Elyana’s voice was plain.

“We charged him to arm them, yes,” the woman said, voice cold. “Not to provide them with greatswords or other weapons we cannot manipulate.”

“No, we did not charge him with that.” Elyana’s voice was pensive. Thoughtful. Elyana’s eyes roved to the side, though all Lhaurel saw was a stretch of wall.

“You will need a new Bondsman, I’m afraid,” the other woman said. “He will not be around to serve you much longer.”

Elyana nodded. “As it should be, Sister.”

How could Elyana be so heartless? Lhaurel had thought she loved Beryl—at least that’s what she’d gotten out of the dreams so far.

The rest of the procession passed in silence until they reached a long set of stairs leading upward. They stepped up them and one of the soldiers hurried forward to open the door, allowing sunlight to stream down into the tunnels with blinding brightness. They walked out onto the plateau above, the soldiers fanning out on either side of the Sisters and Beryl. Lhaurel recognized the tops of the Oasis walls and the lush greenery below, though the walls were far smoother than she remembered, like they’d been in the other dream.

Elyana’s gaze fell over one of the soldiers. Lhaurel noticed the greatsword at his waist and the bow slung over one shoulder. Elyana looked down to Beryl and then back to the soldiers.

Elyana’s companion stopped and moved to one side, allowing the soldiers to push Beryl forward to the edge of the plateau. Ropes and chains hung from his arms and neck.

“He is your Bondsman, Sister,” Elyana’s companion said. “His execution is your responsibility.”

One of the soldiers stepped forward and unshouldered his bow. He drew a stone-tipped arrow and drew it back, sighting at Beryl.

Elyana stepped up alongside the archer. Beryl raised his head and looked Elyana in the eyes. The archer released. The arrow hissed through the air and hit Beryl in the arm. He started to bleed.

“Take him, Sister,” Elyana’s companion hissed.

Elyana hesitated. Her eyes dropped toward the ground.

One moment Elyana was watching Beryl, the next, Beryl had freed himself from the ropes and there was a greatsword in his hands. One of the soldiers lay on the ground clutching a gaping wound. Two of the other soldiers battled the remaining three.

“What are you doing?” Elyana’s companion demanded as Beryl rounded on her. Before she could move, before Elyana reacted, Beryl ran the other Sister through the chest. She fell, eyes going wide, as Beryl slammed the blade down into the ground. Lhaurel heard the grating sound and the tip dug into the stone beneath the Sister’s body.

“What have you done?” Elyana gasped.

Beryl turned to look at her. “You know what your Sisters are and what they’ve done. It’s time you chose a side.”

For one brief moment Lhaurel existed in two places at once. Her real self, the one inside the Roterralar Warren, started and recoiled from the face which sat a few inches away from her own. Her other self, the one still lingering in dream, strode down a dark passage of dreams. Then the dream shattered, like a sheet of glass breaking on stone.

“Khari,” Lhaurel gasped, rocking sideways away from the woman. “I—um—well, I . . .” Lhaurel trailed off. How was she supposed to even begin to explain the dream? Lhaurel herself wasn’t sure what they were. If she spoke to Khari about them, Lhaurel knew the Matron would only think her daft or crazy. Or, perhaps even that it was a lingering effect from her ordeal in the Oasis. Lhaurel chewed on her bottom lip, not entirely sure herself that those assumptions wouldn’t be true.

“You shouldn’t be up and about like this, Lhaurel,” Khari scolded. “Not if you fall asleep simply leaning against a wall.”

“I’m fine, Khari,” Lhaurel lied. “Though something seems off with Beryl.” Lhaurel quickly recounted what had happened between her and Beryl earlier that day.

Khari’s expression darkened as Lhaurel finished, brows coming together over the bridge of her nose. Lhaurel breathed an internal sigh of relief that Khari did not press the sleep issue, now that she had been told about Beryl.

“He’s always been an odd one,” Khari admitted. “Even back when I first met him decades ago.”

“Well, he does seem a little odder lately, doesn’t he?”

Khari frowned, an expression which aged her already lined face. “He does at that. I’ll talk to him. First, though, tell me about the scrolls you’ve been reading.”

Lhaurel told what she knew about the Schema and the Seven Sisters, highlighting the few points she was sure of and then continuing into some of the more speculative information she actually had some confidence in. She knew she was completely unprepared and untested when it came to the mystic arts in general, especially since one of the scrolls she’d read had stated that she wasn’t a mystic at all, but something far greater than that, far greater than just about everyone else. Still, she recounted the facts as clearly as she could remember them, which, by most everyone’s standards, was as best as anyone could hope for.

“Maybe Beryl will know more,” Khari mused. “I will speak with him. I assume the old fool headed down to his forge?”

Lhaurel shrugged. Beryl hadn’t announced where he was going, so any speculation was altogether meaningless. Besides, Lhaurel had a feeling the man would be difficult to find.

“I’ll go speak with him,” Khari said, turning to leave.

“Wait. I’ll come with you.”

Khari shrugged, but didn’t argue. Lhaurel, honestly unsure why she wanted to go along, was glad Khari hadn’t pressed for more information.

Since the Oasis, everyone had been a little different. Some people had grown more subdued and introspective. Others had decided to take the opposite route and become much more outspoken, blunt, or belligerent. Khari, who Lhaurel had found to be as hard as steel, had softened. Some of the fire within the woman had gone out. Lhaurel wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, but at the moment, she was grateful for the change.

“About what you did earlier,” Khari said as they walked. “Do you think you could do it again?”

Lhaurel gnawed on her bottom lip. With everything else that had happened since then, Lhaurel had almost forgotten about how she’d managed to break the man without his even having to be a willing participant.

“I—I think so,” Lhaurel said. “But I don’t know if I really want to. How many more were you able to help break by themselves?”

“One.”

“So three total.”

Khari nodded. “There won’t be enough.”

“For what?” Lhaurel asked, though the nausea she felt in the pit of her stomach already told her the answer. She couldn’t put a name to it, couldn’t form it into a cogent thought, but she knew it was there. Change. Danger. A storm on the horizon.

“For anything,” Khari replied, kicking a loose stone across the passageway floor hard enough to send it bouncing off the wall and then skipping back across the ground. “For the scattered clans, for the rough time we’ll have ahead of us finding the supplies we need, for anything at all.”

Lhaurel recognized the hidden meaning behind the words, though the reasons she’d given were all good, solid ones. She too felt the helplessness and worry gnawing at the edge of her consciousness.

“I—” Lhaurel hesitated, remembering that fateful day at the end of the battle for the Oasis. “I’ll think about it, Khari. I do owe you something, but I’m not sure this will be it. Can we rest here a few moments, please?” Her legs, still not fully recovered yet, were threatening to give out on her.

Khari slowed and then stopped, allowing Lhaurel to lean against a wall for support. Lhaurel had left her cane behind, but was now regretting that action. For whatever reason, she wasn’t recovering nearly as well as she would have liked to, nor as well as Khari had hoped she would, but at least she did see some progress. She’d been able to make it this far without the cane. That was something to be proud of, at least.

“Are you doing alright, Khari?” Lhaurel asked, looking over at the woman. “After—after everything in the Oasis? I never asked.”

Khari’s entire posture stiffened for a moment and Lhaurel worried that she’d misjudged the level of friendship the two of them had started to develop, but then the tension eased from Khari’s body and she ran a hand over her face.

“I can’t even begin to describe the pain of losing my husband, Lhaurel,” she finally said. “Makin and I didn’t start out loving one another. Our marriage was partially arranged. True, mostly by us because we had similar goals, but it was still an arrangement. I guess, looking back on that now, that’s what love really is—a union of goals, understanding, and hopes. We were never given the gift of children, Makin and I, but we were able to see so many of the Roterralar grow from childhood into adulthood. The Roterralar became our family, in a very real sense.”

Lhaurel smiled to herself.

“These last few years were good to Makin and I,” Khari continued, staring off into the distance. “It wasn’t a child’s love, not the kind girls talk about with one another, but this was a true love of unified dreams for our children, the Roterralar, and—to a lesser extent—the Rahuli people as a whole. He and I, well, we made a good team, together. Without him, I feel incomplete, somehow. Maybe that’s why I feel so close to you now. Maybe I’m just trying to find someone to fill that void.”

Lhaurel felt an overwhelming wave of sympathy wash over her at Khari’s words. She pushed off the wall and walked over to the older woman and put her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Lhaurel held her there for the space of several long breaths, then Khari shrugged out of the hug and strode out into the hall.

“Are you rested enough?” Khari asked, voice returning to her normal emotionless snap.

Lhaurel shrugged and pushed herself forward.

The smithy lay in darkness except for the dull, reddish glow which permeated a small area around the forge itself. Beryl worked the bellows of the forge with a single-minded determination. It wasn’t the heat he needed, that was simple to get if he wanted to give the vulcanist a little more sway within the discordant battle of voices within his mind. No, he needed the work. It cleared his mind.

He used to work with wood as often as he worked with metal. Part of his abilities from a prior Iteration as an Earth Ward allowed him a certain capacity with wood. That capacity granted him the ability to revitalize and mold the wood, almost as he would stone or earth, but that no longer placated the voices.

The clamoring voices in his head started shouting as their argument escalated and Beryl had to heave so hard on the bellows to quiet them that the metal arm bent. Beryl growled and, almost without thinking, reached out to his powers and straightened it back out. It was still Lhaurel’s fault. As a blood mage, she would be one of the Seven Sisters.

Beryl froze and color drained from his face. The pale skin highlighted the dozens of flecks of metal embedded in his skin.

Where had that memory come from? He’d thought memories of the Sisters were buried deep, beneath the voices even. Even the most powerful of the voices, the part of Beryl’s past that was a vulcanist, feared the Sisters. That same fear trickled through the voices, silencing them all, and latched onto Lhaurel. She was one of them.

Beryl found himself suddenly sitting, his crippled leg twisted awkwardly to one side. He’d sent a message to the Orinai. He’d sent a message to the Seven Sisters, the Guardians of the gates to the Seven Hells and the Seven Progressions. He’d sent a message to the Seven Sisters.

“What have I done?” Beryl growled.

Images from all corners of the Dominions washed over him. Memories of family, friends, politics, and wars assaulted his mind and tore through him, as piercing as flaming arrows. He cried out and the earth shook in response to the powers, emotion, and pain that flowed through him. Only a small circle of earth around Beryl remained motionless.

More memories flooded through him. The Seven Sisters at the head of armies, destroying the slave rebellions with ruthless efficiency. He saw, as if reliving the experience over again, the rise and fall of political houses, the crushing of the extant neighboring kingdoms in the Southern and Eastern Dominions, the death of Elyana at her own hands.

The forge flared with a white-hot heat, ash and coal spewing out onto the sand. A few landed on wooden bins and supplies Beryl had scattered about and flames leapt up in a dozen different places.

Beryl remembered the creation of the Sharani Arena, back before it was a desert, remembered the volcano half a dozen vulcanists forced into existence, and the work of tens of thousands of slaves making the stoneways connecting the viewing platforms the Rahuli now used as warrens. He remembered a time when he’d worked alongside the slaves as one of them. And he remembered Elyana reminding him of his past when he’d been reborn.

The Rahuli. They would be scattered like grains of sand in the storm if the Seven Sisters came, and they surely would. And they’d bring armies with them, pitiless armies who would kill and destroy. If the Rahuli were here when the Seven Sisters arrived, they would not survive. The Seven Sisters would kill every single one of them, they’d take Lhaurel and torture her until she served them, and then they would begin using the Sharani Arena to punish those who deserved execution once more. At least, that is how it would start.

If the Rahuli were here . . .

The rumbling, jostling earth calmed around Beryl, though he only barely noticed.

If the Rahuli weren’t here when the Sister’s arrived, maybe they would stand a chance out on their own. Maybe . . . Beryl remembered a time when another people, the Amberdal, hid from the Sisters for centuries as they moved about in the area above the Northern Dominion. This area. Could Beryl get the Rahuli to leave?

The question bounced around inside his mind, which was surprisingly empty now with the quieted voices. Then one of the voices spoke, a quiet pragmatic one Beryl heard from infrequently at best.

Remember the look on Lhaurel’s face.

Beryl growled. The girl thought him crazy. They all did, at least a little. He would sooner be able to hold back a sandstorm with his bare hands as convince them they needed to leave their home.

“What would Elyana do?” he whispered, as if to himself.

The voices swelled with responses. Force them to understand. Make them listen. Push them out. FORCE THEM!

The last was almost a scream and Beryl winced at the sharp mental pain that accompanied it. The ground heaved beneath Beryl, tossing him about with more force than any of the previous earthquakes.

He couldn’t force them, could he?

If you don’t, they’ll die.

Beryl wrapped his arms around his head, trying to stop the pain, stop the voices. The Rahuli were like children to him, the only family he’d ever known. He and Elyana had done what had to be done in order to protect them. He’d thought his job was done, but then Lhaurel had appeared. The genesauri drove the Sisters out the first time, them and Elyana’s self-sacrifice, but now they were gone.

Beryl let his head slip out of his hands and hang. He had to force the Rahuli to leave. For their own good. Their own good.

Chapter 19

Guilt and Justice

“A thorough look into the subject of the Seven Sisters must include millennia of horrors, atrocities, and a religion bordering on tyranny. However, there is neither time nor space in this text to include the necessary information. Suffice it to say, they are the controlling force among the Orinai and without them, the Schema would not exist, nor would the Orinai Empire function as it does.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

“By all that is sacred and holy,” Samsin shouted, “open this door at once.”

He fell silent and the lingering echoes of his words died a moment later. In contrast to the almost deafening bellows, the silence was equally harsh.

After a long moment, the only sound their respective breathing, Gavin broke the silence.

“Are you happy now?” Gavin hissed. “I don’t know where you come from, or what you want here, but you’re not some high and mighty god. People won’t just bow to your whims just because you yell at them. Now get out of my way while I figure out how to get us out of here. Unless, that is, you can think of something actually useful to do.”

For a moment, the darkness was the only accompaniment to the silence which greeted Gavin’s barbed response. Then white light burst into the room as crackling energy appeared in Samsin’s hands, illuminating the Orinai’s face. Samsin’s face was tight with suppressed anger. The energy danced up Samsin’s arms, then seemed to pool in his hands.

“Do not ever speak to me that way again,” Samsin almost yelled, then slammed both fists against the door. The energy exploded outward and tore a hole right through the door. An acrid-smelling smoke filled the air, wafting up from the gently glowing wound left in the wall.

Gavin stepped back as the energy around Samsin’s hands died. The smoldering wood illuminated the immediate area with a faint reddish light, but Gavin didn’t move forward to open the door.

Samsin stuck one arm through the glowing hold and pulled open the door from the other side. “Get out there and see what’s waiting for us,” he ordered.

For half an instant Gavin almost cowed. Then his resolve firmed and he took a step forward.

“Together or not at all, Orinai,” Gavin said.

“I should kill you for your insolence.”

Gavin shrugged, though the effect was lost in the darkness. “Go ahead. Then you’ll really be left on your own without anyone knowing where you are or how to get your friend to the help he needs. At least come to the door with me.”

Gavin walked out into the unlit hall, not waiting for the protests he knew were coming on Samsin’s lips. His steps were a careful kiss against the sand, as he fully expected there to be guards waiting just around the bend. But would they really be watching in complete darkness? Samsin shuffled out behind him, his steps like the pounding of a drum.

“So where are these ‘others’ you claim captured us?” Samsin asked in a whisper that had no resemblance at all to the actual meaning of the word.

Gavin shushed him as best he could while trying to remain as quiet as possible, though the gesture was mostly futile now. If anyone hadn’t heard Samsin’s question it was either because they were stone deaf or dead. Maybe bringing him along wasn’t a good idea.

“Follow me,” Gavin whispered and tugged on the Orinai’s arm to indicate which direction he was headed. Samsin pulled his arm free almost immediately, but Gavin heard him shuffle along behind him as he walked. Gavin gritted his teeth, but did his best to ignore the man and his throbbing skull, instead focusing on trying to hear any indication of Kaiden and his captors. Since neither Sarial nor her body had been found in the cell, Gavin expected to find her somewhere in here as well.

The passage met a wall only a few steps further down. Alternate passages veered off to the right and to the left. A faint pinprick of orange light danced down the left passage. Gavin sifted through his memories, but couldn’t recall this area from either his wanderings before encountering Taren and the hidden clans or after escaping with Lhaurel. The distant light tugged at him, like an insect to flame.

Gavin stepped toward it. A massive hand clasped down hard on his shoulder, jerking him to a stop. Gavin reacted instinctively, reaching out and drawing in energy from the rocks and himself, amplifying it within himself and pushing it out into his hands. White sparks shot up and down his hands in a cascading shower and Gavin spun out of the grip, dropping into a defensive posture. The light from his hands illuminated Samsin’s surprised face.

“Sorry.” Gavin muttered, releasing his hold on the energy and allowing the sparks to vanish from his hands.

“Where are you going?” Samsin asked, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. “We can’t leave Nikanor alone back there. What if these others circle back while we’re gone?”

A good point.

Sands. So much for together or not at all.

“Fine, you go back and stay with him. I’m going to go see what’s down there.”

Samsin grunted. Gavin couldn’t tell if was in agreement or not, but took it as such.

“Be careful,” Samsin said grudgingly, then Gavin heard him shuffle away.

Gavin shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, though he immediately regretted that action as his fingers brushed the tender knob on his scalp. Samsin was a pompous, arrogant sailfin of a man, but at least he cared about what happened to his friend. Then again, one redeeming quality was not enough to counter every negative aspect. Kaiden, for example, was now far beyond redemption.

Gavin cast one last look back down the hall after Samsin, then moved down the left passageway. The light grew brighter as he approached, resolving into a small oil lamp hanging from a bracket in the wall. Gavin approached cautiously, though he couldn’t see anyone inside the small pool of light. He waited at the very edge of the lantern’s reach, on the very verge of light and shadow, for a long, long moment. Then he crept into the light.

No one jumped out at him and nothing bad happened. If anything, it appeared that no one had been through the area in ages, which defied logic. Obviously someone had been there to place the lamp and put them in the cell. With how large Samsin and Nikanor were, there were at least a half dozen strong men with Kaiden somewhere. The oil in the lamp was full. It had been recently placed.

Gavin stopped there, in the light, blinking until his eyes adjusted. He knew he should not let his eyes grow accustomed to the light—he’d be blind when he stepped back into the darkness—but he wasn’t sure if he was going to move or on turn around.

In the end, he took the lamp, doused the flame, and moved onward.

An hour later found Gavin crouched at the end of a passage, peering around the edge out over the massive lake he’d stumbled across when he’d first discovered this network of caves and passages through the Oasis walls. When they’d left the Oasis behind, Gavin had thought the passages destroyed by whatever it was that had caused the walls to crumble along one edge and let the genesauri in. That was one of the reasons they had returned to the Roterralar Warren to regroup and tend to the wounded and broken. But none of this looked like it had even been touched. Something wasn’t settling right. An itch crawled along the base of his skull.

Lights glowed brightly across the massive lake. Gavin tried to pierce both the distance and the light, but the lanterns were placed behind the people moving about on the other side of the cavern. The half dozen figures made dark silhouettes against the brilliant backdrop. Luckily, just as last time, the cavernous room was much better at carrying sound than it was in helping Gavin see the people at work on the other side.

“Why is all this important?” a man’s voice asked. Gavin didn’t recognize the voice, though he knew he would never forget it moving forward. There was an odd rasping sound to the voice, as if of rough fabric over flesh or stone.

“Just get it done, Daelyn,” a woman’s voice said. Her exasperation and impatience were plain. It was obvious that Gavin was overhearing just one small part of a long argument.

“But what do a bunch of scrolls give us? We’ve got what we need to get out of here. What’s wrong with just leaving now while we can?”

“You’re not a very bright one, are you?” This voice made Gavin’s hands clench into fists. Kaiden. “These scrolls are what warned us to prepare. How else do you think I figured out what I did?”

There was a long moment of silence. There could have been a low murmur of voices, or a muted whisper, but the sound didn’t carry over the lake to where Gavin was hiding. After a time, the silence was shattered by a horrible, grating noise Gavin hoped wasn’t laughter, for it bore no real humor in it.

“A prophet?” Kaiden’s voice wheezed, a bitter, angry edge cutting through the low wheeze and tremble Gavin had grown used to. “Your superstitious ways will be the end of you, one day. I claim no visions of the future, no great access to powers from the heavens above or the seven hells beneath. No, what I have you will always lack. Knowledge. Now get back to work and don’t you dare damage a single one of those scrolls.”

A soft, low sound wafted across the waters to Gavin’s listening point, but Gavin couldn’t make out what it was. Perhaps it was Daelyn muttering some reply, but in any case, the hum of voices faded and only the occasional faint click reverberated off the wall and reached Gavin’s ears.

Gavin pulled his head back around the cavern’s entrance and leaned back on his haunches, unsure of what to do. He could go back and grab the two Orinai and make a run for it. With Samsin’s help, Gavin was sure they could manage to carry Nikanor. But Kaiden and his lackeys would soon discover their escape and be down on them in only a matter of a few minutes. No, if Gavin was to get out of here alive, he really only had two options, either act the dutiful prisoner or make it so there was no one to follow them.

The question was how.

There were at least six of them, which was far too many for him to attempt to take on at once. But if he could get them separated . . .

A plan began to form.

The shadows hugged Gavin like a cloak, hiding him from prying eyes that passed near his hiding place. Gavin waited, careful not to move or make a sound. Kaiden passed by first, walking side-by-side with a blonde-haired woman Gavin thought he should recognize. They didn’t even glance to the side and Gavin gave an internal sigh of relief, though he remained motionless.

Three others came in a group after the couple. They were tall, muscular men Gavin didn’t recognize. They carried several large sacks and two of them carried lanterns.

Gavin fought against the instinct to draw back from the light. It was more often the motion that gave people away than actually being seen. More than a few times he’d had to hide in the desert sands while raiding parties from the clans passed or else from the wandering huntings of a starving sandtiger. Outcasts who didn’t learn to properly hide were not outcasts that lived very long.

The three men passed by without seeing him.

The last man came a few steps behind, barely at the edge of the light. He grumbled and muttered under his breath as he dragged an even larger sack behind him along the ground. Gavin studied him carefully from his hiding place, not believing his luck. The man was not tall, but he was well muscled and wore a stiff leather vest over a loose shirt and tight pants. His hair was shaved on the sides, leaving only a long tail which was tied back in a topknot, marking him as having once belonged to the Londik or Mornal clan, though both these clans now followed Evrouin. The thick black beard on his chin and cheeks hid the man’s youth, but his attitude and soft-looking hands spoke the truth. A sword hung from the belt at his waist.

The sack the man carried caught on a rock and ripped ever so slightly. The man swore and called ahead. “Wait a moment. This sands-cursed sack got caught on a rock.”

Further up the passage, Kaiden stopped and turned, the light making his prematurely aged face look momentarily younger again. “Don’t you dare damage those scrolls, Daelyn. Get the sack untangled and meet us above.”

“Selmack, get over here and help me with this,” Daelyn grumbled.

Gavin held his breath as one of the men in the middle group turned his head to glance back at Daelyn. A bead of sweat pooled on the end of Gavin’s nose and threatened to fall.

“Why should I help you? You’re the one who wanted to drag the sack instead of carrying it like the rest of us.”

Selmack turned back around to the accompaniment of his companions’ chuckles. Kaiden seemed to look directly at where Gavin was hiding, but then his eyes slid back over to Daelyn and his expression hardened at the man’s continued mutterings under his breath.

“Get it done. We won’t wait for you.” Kaiden turned back to the woman and strode off down the hall.

The other three men called a few japes back at Daelyn and moved to follow, though one of them did leave his lamp on the ground so Daelyn wouldn’t be left in complete darkness. The bead of sweat dripped off Gavin’s nose and another one formed. He’d hoped he could follow them and get one of them alone—in fact, this was the second time he’d managed to get to place of concealment ahead of them, but this was the best situation he’d encountered so far. It was now or never. Nikanor didn’t have time for him to wait around for another opportunity.

Gavin waited for the rest of the group to move on and then counted to ten slowly in his mind. Daelyn cursed and turned his back on Gavin’s hiding place, bending down to try and unsnag the sack. Taking a deep breath, Gavin stepped in to the light, hoping no one from the other group would turn and see him there. In one quick motion, Gavin stepped up behind the man, wrapped one arm around the man’s neck, grabbed his own wrist with his other hand, and pulled backward with all his strength.

Daelyn immediately reached for Gavin’s arm, scrabbling against his grip and trying to get to his feet. Gavin pulled back hard against his neck, which only served to help Daelyn to his feet. Thankfully, Gavin was taller than him and was able to keep pulling until the man’s feet lifted off the ground. He kicked and flailed, trying desperately to free himself or shout out some sort of warning, but Gavin kept his arms tightly locked. He ground his teeth together against the pain of Daelyn’s nails digging into the flesh of his forearms.

After a few brief moments of struggle that felt like an eternity, the man stilled. Gavin counted to three and then let go. The man’s limp form dropped to the ground with a soft, muted thump.

Gavin stepped backward until his back hit the wall. His hands trembled, but he took a deep breath and brushed the sweat out of his eyes. Daelyn was still alive, just unconscious. Gavin took several more deep breaths and then set about stealing Daelyn’s clothes, trying to ignore the fact that his hands still shook and he was constantly licking his dry lips with an even drier tongue.

Gavin pulled on Daelyn’s clothes as quickly as he could, then used his own clothes to tie up and gag the man. He left Daelyn where he was, unconscious on the ground. Once again he hoped no one from the other group would decide to look back and see what was taking Daelyn so long, though hopefully they’d see Gavin standing there and assume he was Daelyn.

He held up the man’s sword last of all, trying to decide if he was going to take it with him or not. The metal would give Kaiden something to use against him. But if Gavin didn’t bring it with him, it might trigger suspicions. Then again, he had no intention of getting close enough to anyone for them to find out who he really was, at least not before it was too late.

In the end, he belted it on. There were still four other people he had to get through before he got to Kaiden. There was ample time to work out that particular obstacle.

Gavin straightened, feeling odd in the unfamiliar clothes, though the sudden thrill of anticipation washed away a good measure of the discomfort. It was time for Gavin to truly begin his hunt.

He hurried down the passage after Kaiden and the others after picking up the lantern, which turned out to be a simple candle type, instead of the longer-lasting oil variety. Gavin wished he didn’t have to have it with him since the light would leave him blind when he looked out into the darkness, but he had to maintain some of the pretense at least. He left the bag of scrolls behind. While he was curious about their contents—especially considering how much emphasis Kaiden put on them—his current priorities lay elsewhere. He first had to eliminate the threat Kaiden and his followers posed, and then he had to figure out a way to get back to the stoneway pillar where Farah would be looking for him. If he was able to also figure out what happened to Nabil and rescue the creature along the way, all the better.

Before too long, Gavin saw light ahead in the passage. He breathed out a small sigh of relief. He’d half worried that the others would have turned down a side passage along the way and he would lose them. Thankfully, that was not the case.

Gavin slowed his pace slightly and sucked in a steadying breath. The next part of his plan would be tricky. He had to somehow get one or two of the men to break away from the others.

To that end, he stopped and set down the lantern. “Oi, Selmack,” Gavin called in his best imitation of Daelyn’s voice. “Come here and help me, will you?” Imitating voices had been something he’d learned while an outcast performer, though he’d never thought it would have any real use. The echoes would distort it enough that, hopefully, the others wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Ahead of him, Gavin saw the moving light stop and a faint voice called something back down the hall at him. Gavin couldn’t tell what said, but decided to yell back anyway.

“Come on, you stupid fool.”

With that, Gavin stepped back into the shadows and waited, looking away from the light so his eyes would adjust back to the darkness. Silently, he fished around for a stone, which he found with relative ease. He gripped it in his hand and waited. After only a few moments of waiting that seemed like an eternity, Gavin heard the sounds of booted feet headed toward him. Gavin glanced toward the light with a darting, fleeting motion of his eyes, careful not to let it linger too long. He hoped only one person would come but, if his plan worked, he could deal with two. He fingered the rock in one hand and checked the sword with his other.

Gavin waited.

For a moment, all he heard was the hard, grating noise of boots against sand and rock. Then two figures materialized out of the darkness. One was the tall, lanky figure of Selmack. The other was the blonde woman.

Gavin went to throw the rock, then hesitated and licked his lips. His plan required that these ones die. Gavin had been content to leave Daelyn unconscious behind him, one man wasn’t much of an issue when he had Daelyn’s intellect, but he couldn’t start leaving more people to follow him. It sickened him to think of himself as an assassin, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. Necessity drove him now.

Gavin threw the rock. It missed the lantern by almost a hand’s distance.

Gavin’s heart froze within his chest as the rock bounced against the back wall and Selmack and the woman immediately sought him out in the darkness. For an instant, really the space between two heartbeats, Gavin’s mind went completely blank. He’d never once thought he’d miss the lamp, so he hadn’t even bothered to find another stone.

Then his heart beat again and thought returned. One hand shot out into the darkness, scrabbling along the ground until it closed around stone. Selmack drew a long, curved sword and took a single step forward. The woman didn’t move, but instead scrunched up her face in apparent concentration. Gavin felt energy being drawn toward her as he carefully took aim and then threw a second time. This time, the rock flew true.

The lamp shattered and the candle within toppled, snuffing out the flame. The passage was immediately plunged into darkness and Gavin drew his sword, getting to his feet. The blade felt heavy in his hand, but his eyes were already mostly adjusted to the darkness, whereas Selmack’s and the woman’s were not. Selmack froze where he was and Gavin seized that moment. He rushed forward, blade extended in front of his in a straightforward thrust. Selmack must have heard him as he began to raise his sword in a generic defensive posture, but it was already too late. Gavin’s sword pierced his chest and Gavin pushed it up until it pierced something vital. Selmack slumped backward and Gavin pulled the sword free before it could get torn from his grip by the man’s falling body. Bile welled up in his throat.

A dim white light burst into existence in the hall as the woman’s hands erupted in crackling energy. Gavin turned to her, sword raised, though his posture betrayed his surprise. In the dim light, he recognized her now—Sarial, the woman he and Lhaurel had imprisoned in the cell where Samsin and Nikanor now waited.

Her face was a mask of surprise and rage. “The outcast, is it?” she asked, voice dripping with feigned fear. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have gotten free so quickly. Kaiden doesn’t give you enough credit, it seems. He says you’re rather pathetic, for a mystic.”

“I may surprise you,” Gavin said. He reached out to the sands around him. After the last time, after he’d broken down the barriers he finally realized were there, it came easily to him now, almost instinctively. He drew in the energy and in a moment, white sparks crackled up and down his own hands and, unlike Sarial, up and down his arms and along the length of his blade.

“Fine then,” Sarial spat, her face twisting into an expression of deepest loathing. “Mystic to mystic then, outcast.” Her hands dropped to her belt and drew a pair of long, thin daggers. The energy in her hands danced up and down them as she charged forward in an attack.

Gavin danced backward, bringing his sword up to knock the two daggers out of line with his body. Sarial spun back in a counterstrike faster than Gavin was expecting and scored a hit along Gavin’s cheek. The pain was hot and intense, but Gavin didn’t have time to dwell on it. He stepped back again and spun his blade around to fend off another flurry of blows from Sarial’s flashing knives.

A grin slowly spread across the woman’s face, which Gavin found unnerving at best.

“I expected better,” she said, making an obviously playful swipe at his arm that had little chance of actually connecting. “Even one as new as you. You don’t even know how to use the energy to fuel itself yet.” She snorted.

Gavin felt himself flushing, but forced himself not to get distracted. Sarial outmatched him at close quarters, it was obvious, and the cramped passage favored shorter weapons. The only light by which they could see was generated by the sparking energy on their hands and arms, which wasn’t much to begin with.

Gavin parried a blow from one of the daggers and then dropped to a knee and ducked under the other. At the low angle, he lashed out with the sword with his off hand and managed to score a minor hit to Sarial’s leg before she was able to pull it back.

Sarial cursed, the sound loud enough to cause an echo, though her hold on the energy didn’t waver. Gavin silently cursed along with her, but for a very different reason.

“Fool,” Sarial hissed. “After I’ve finished with you, Kaiden and I are leaving this place. We’ll take the faithful with us, those who gave heed to our warning, but you and the Roterralar? Well, you’re going to die.”

“I get really tired of hearing that,” Gavin said, feeling anger build, but holding it back. He parried a blow and then took another step back. “I’ve made it a habit of surviving when I shouldn’t. You’re nothing compared to the Oasis walls. You’re nothing compared to the life of an outcast.”

Sarial laughed. Gavin blocked another swipe of a dagger and then swung up and around. Sarial dodged out of the way. Gavin stepped forward and brought his sword around in another side-cut. The energy in his hands and up his arms grew and swelled, crackling along the blade. Sarial blocked the blow and countered with a quick thrust. Gavin batted it away. Sarial’s face took on a look of confused concentration as Gavin moved relentlessly forward. The growing energy building within him gave him strength, and he used it to increase the speed and strength of his attacks. For the first time, Sarial took a step back.

“What was that again, about being finished with me?” Gavin asked.

Within the passage, a soft breeze began to blow, caressing Gavin’s sweat soaked brow and then passing on.

Sarial growled something inarticulate and attacked Gavin with renewed vigor. Gavin exchanged blows with the woman for several long moments, each scoring a few minor hits on the other. In the middle of the battle and filled with the crackling energy, Gavin barely felt them, and his confidence grew as he continued to make headway. He didn’t step backward. He was done retreating.

Sarial swiped upward at an angle with her left dagger. Gavin, expecting the move, swung down hard with his sword. With the momentum and strength of the longer weapon behind it, the blow was hard enough to rip the dagger from Sarial’s hand and send it skidding across the sandy, rocky floor. Sarial stumbled forward at the sudden overextension and Gavin stepped forward.

He started the killing blow, but the sword flew out of his grip, disappearing into the darkness.

“Well,” a cool voice said in the darkness. “It appears I may have underestimated you yet again, outcast.”

Gavin looked up as the sword skittered across the ground behind him. A few sparks flew through the air further down the passage and then a lantern, this time an oil one, flared to life. The flame cast a yellow-orange glow over Kaiden’s aged, wrinkled face.

Chapter 20

Fresh Sweat

“The Sisters are the knife threatening at the neck of the entire nation, and the balm which calms the wound. Were this text placed before them, this scholar’s life would be forfeit without further question.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Gavin felt fresh sweat bead on his forehead.

So much for the plan.

“People do make a habit of underestimating me,” he said with more confidence than he actually felt.

The man who had lit the lamp set it on the ground and stepped into the light, which cast an illuminating glow over him. The other man moved up on Kaiden’s other side. Both drew swords. The man on his left held the greatsword Gavin had pulled from the top of the Oasis wall.

“You’re lucky you didn’t kill Sarial,” Kaiden said, eyes and expression as hard as stone. “Or you’d already be dead. As it is, your death now will be a slow one.”

Gavin suppressed a shiver, then noticed the way Kaiden was standing. The man’s knees were locked, but he swayed ever so slightly, as if he was having trouble keeping his balance. The jaw Gavin had originally assumed was clenched in anger took on a new light. Was Kaiden really just doing his best to stay on his feet?

“You’re pretty confident in your two friends here, then?” Gavin asked, stalling. It was three against one and even if Kaiden was barely managing to stay on his feet, the other two looked more than capable of cutting him to ribbons. Gavin didn’t recognize either of them, but he assumed they were members of Kaiden’s original clan. The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for the two of them to stand to either side of Kaiden. Even still, they had to turn slightly to give them all space.

“You’re pretty calm for someone who’s about to die,” one of the men said.

Gavin grinned and winked at the man, though he was busy scanning the area for a means of escape or, at the very least, a weapon of some sort with which he could defend himself. His eyes fell on a loose stone studded with bits of grey metal about the size of his fist. A vague fragment of a plan began to come together. The earlier diversion had worked well against Sarial. If he could make it work again he might stand a chance.

“I’ll make you guys a deal,” Gavin said. “Kaiden is clearly too weak to do much of anything other than make some empty threats. I’ll fight the both of you at once, if you like, but allow me a weapon at the very least.”

“Why would we do that?” the other man asked, the cruel humor in his voice sounding of metal over wet leather.

“Well,” Gavin said, bending down and retrieving the stone with one hand. “My weapon will be this rock. If the two of you can’t beat a guy with a rock when you have swords then I’d imagine you’re not at all worthy of Kaiden’s confidence.”

The two men laughed, though they didn’t move to attack him. Kaiden swayed a little more and the light from the lamp at his feet flickered across his face.

“Finish the fool,” Kaiden hissed.

Gavin drew in the energy in a rush and willed it into the rock. It came ablaze with crackling sparks and grew hot in Gavin’s hand with a rapidity that stunned him. Before the two men could move, Gavin brought his arm back and snapped it forward in a well-aimed throw. Confusion passed over the faces of Kaiden and his two companions briefly, since the rock was clearly not aimed at any of them, before the rock connected with the glass lantern. Both it and the rock exploded into glowing shards.

Bits of rock, glass, and lamp oil flew everywhere, crackling with white-hot energy and covering the sandy floor, part of the walls, and all three men that clustered around it. For one heartbeat Kaiden, his companions, and Gavin all looked on in shocked silence mixed with disbelief, then the oil ignited.

Flames leapt up all three of the men, though the majority of the oil landed on Kaiden. Kaiden’s two companions screamed and dropped their swords. Bits of glass and rock stuck up from their legs, their hands, and faces. Gavin stumbled back from the sudden flaring light. Kaiden stumbled forward, hands beating at the flames that raced up his loose clothes. His two companions turned and scrambled back the way they had come, their screams of pain echoing back down the passageway over the sound of crackling flames.

Gavin stumbled backward even further, coughing now against the smoke which billowed and filled the passageway with a thick black cloud. Normally, lamp oil wasn’t that flammable, but the rock and energy must have been hot enough to ignite it all at once. The smoke stung his eyes and Gavin snapped them shut. The smoke wouldn’t normally have been so bad, but in the cramped confines of the tunnel, his eyes watered as they struggled to expel the noxious gas. He coughed as the screams of Kaiden’s two companions faded away.

A hand closed around Gavin’s leg.

Despite the smoke and stinging pain, Gavin opened his eyes and looked down through the haze of smoke. Kaiden held Gavin’s leg in a powerful grip. Kaiden had managed to smother the flames, but not before they had eaten away most of his hair. His face shone red through the smoke. A few small bits of glass dotted his face.

“You fool,” Kaiden croaked, voice even more hoarse and gravelly than it had been before. “I am your only hope to escape this place before the rest of the Orinai come.”

Gavin tried to pull free of Kaiden’s grip, but the man’s hand was like an iron manacle on his leg. Kaiden crawled forward and then rose onto unsteady feet, using his grip on Gavin as leverage. Gavin kicked Kaiden in the chest, sending the man stumbling backward, but he didn’t fall.

“You’re the fool,” Gavin said. “All this talk about being our last chance, our only hope. Why don’t you just tell us what it is you’re afraid of? Why go through this elaborate game? Why kill off half the Rahuli?”

Kaiden stumbled forward again. One of Sarial’s daggers zipped through the air and up into Kaiden’s hand.

“There’s no room for chaff amongst the wheat beyond the walls of the Forbiddence,” Kaiden said, taking a determined step forward. “Your naïve hope of protecting them all, of leading a “united” Rahuli people, is an imbecile’s dream. You take those who will follow you and you kill off the ones who won’t.”

“There’s a fundamental flaw in that plan of yours,” Gavin said, taking a few more steps back and blinking away the tears that formed in his eyes from the smoke.

“Enlighten me,” Kaiden said with a cough. He continued to step forward, each step a determined, concerted effort.

“Sometimes those you try to kill fight back.”

Kaiden made a noise. It took Gavin a long moment to realize he was laughing. “You won’t survive against the Orinai,” he hissed.

Gavin sensed movement behind him at the same time that Kaiden charged forward with a roar. Gavin dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, trying not to get surrounded. A bolt of pure white energy screamed over him and hit Kaiden directly in the chest, burned through him, and continued on toward the roaring flames. It was gone in an instant.

Gavin blinked away the afterimage as Kaiden fell to his knees, dagger dropping from his limp red fingers to clatter against the rocky floor. Kaiden’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound escaped his lips.

Gavin glanced backward as he rolled to his feet. Samsin strode into the light, his face a mask of steely resolve and anger.

Gavin got to his feet and strode forward in a crouch beneath the pooling smoke. He reached Kaiden as the man toppled backward. Kaiden’s mouth worked and Gavin leaned in close.

“Don’t trust them,” Kaiden breathed. Gavin waited, but the only sound which broke the silence was the crackling of slowly dying flames.

“He’s dead,” Samsin said, walking up behind him.

Gavin sensed his approach even if he couldn’t see him. No, Gavin realized, he didn’t sense Samsin. Rather, he sensed the energy that was still radiating from Samsin’s hands in slow spirals up his arms.

“If I’d known you were going to attack them,” Samsin continued in the same arrogant tone, “I would have gone with you from the beginning. You’re lucky I got here when I did.”

“I managed well enough on my own,” Gavin said. He got to his feet and walked gingerly over to the last few lingering flames to retrieve his greatsword from where it had fallen. The flames had died down as the lamp oil was consumed, but the weapon was still warm to the touch.

“If you could call it that,” Samsin said. “Anyway, they’re dead now. Let’s get back to Nikanor and away from this cursed, slave-carved place.”

“Slave-carved?” Gavin asked, gaze lingering on Kaiden’s still form for a moment. He noticed Samsin leaving and hurried after him down a side passage, away from the smoke and turned down a side passage.

Samsin snorted. “Have you lost the knowledge of your own abilities? Barbarians. Look at the walls. Do you see the layer of glass there? Your sort made these halls.”

“My sort?”

“Lesser magic users. I think you call yourselves relampago, though that’s a barbaric term,” Samsin replied in his thick accent. “Ugh. Even speaking in your tongue is barbaric.”

Relampagos had created these tunnels? The glass made sense. Gavin had noticed that when he’d first fallen down into tunnels hidden within the Oasis walls, but hadn’t thought about it again until now. He’d seen Farah working with the reddish glass knives, so it was obviously an ability common to relampagos. But how did Samsin know about it? He obviously thought of himself as something more than a relampago.

“What is this place?” Gavin asked as they walked. Gavin had to take twice as many steps as Samsin in order to keep the pace, even though Samsin walked in a half crouch.

“Speak with Nikanor when your healers get done with him,” Samsin said. “He knows the legends of this place better than I. I didn’t even think this place was real.” He paused for a long moment, then made a grumbling noise. “I guess that’s moot now. You’re here and this place is real. Like a storm blossoming on a calm sea, belief becomes irrelevant when confronted by cold reality.”

Don’t trust them. Kaiden’s words resounded in Gavin’s mind. Samsin was clearly avoiding the question. The bolt of energy that had killed Kaiden could have just as easily killed Gavin. In fact, if Gavin hadn’t sensed the energy building behind him, he would have been killed, with a burning hole in his chest that mirrored Kaiden’s.

Gavin pushed those thoughts aside. At the moment, trust didn’t matter. They needed to find Nabil, if he still lived, and get out of here. He went back through his memory, trying to remember how he’d gotten out of here before.

“How are we going to get Nikanor out?” Gavin asked.

“I will carry him,” Samsin said.

Gavin’s eyebrows shot up. That didn’t seem at all like something the arrogant man would consider doing. Still, he wasn’t about to complain.

Gavin’s eyes had finally stopped watering by the time they made it back to the cell where Nikanor still lay in the soft sand. His lungs still burned and he felt like there was an itch deep within his chest that he was unable to scratch, but it was easing.

“Go get Nikanor,” Gavin said, once they reached the door. “I’ll keep watch out here.”

Samsin grumbled, but disappeared into the room. Gavin waited outside the door, trying to think where he should look for Nabil. He went to scratch the new growth on his chin and realized his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath as his whole body began to shake, the trembling shallow and light, like the shivers of an early morning chill.

He’d killed men before, but what he’d just done was something new. He’d killed using his powers. He hadn’t killed Sarial, but she was dead now as surely as the others. The smoke alone would have suffocated her if the flames hadn’t gotten her too.

It had been necessary, but his body and mind revolted against the thought. Anxiety, a racing pulse, and the rush of battle had kept the revolt at bay, but it had been there all the same just waiting for a calm moment to rear up. Gavin took a few deep, calming breaths and swallowed hard. He hoped it wouldn’t happen every time he was forced to defend himself and his people.

Noises sounded from the doorway announcing Samsin’s return. Gavin turned as Samsin sidestepped through the doorway carrying Nikanor in his arms like a mother would carry a small child. Gavin felt the small amount of energy Samsin had within him, but still, he marveled at Samsin’s strength.

“Let’s go, sl—um, what is your name?” Samsin’s hesitation was minimal, but it still grated and destroyed the momentary respect Gavin had started feeling toward him.

“It’s Gavin.”

Ignoring his irritation, Gavin took the lead, stopping only momentarily to grab a torch from a sconce on the wall and light it with a quick surge of energy from his hands. The power came easily now that he knew what he was doing. True, there was a little light to see by filtering down through cracks and holes in the ceiling, but he wanted more and Samsin certainly needed more to navigate the narrow tunnels.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Samsin asked before they’d even made it to the first turn.

Gavin ignored him.

They passed through several different side passages, making the same turns Gavin remembered from when Cobb had come to rescue him and Lhaurel only a few short weeks previously. It was a long journey, but Gavin assumed they were headed in the right direction mostly because he could tell they were traveling downward. He remembered coming out in the Oasis before, but he was hoping he’d be able to find the other entrances, the hidden ones Evrouin had mentioned Kaiden using to get the clans who supported him into the hidden passages and caves within these walls. Those opened up facing the rest of the Sharani Desert instead of inside the Oasis itself, which was flooded as of the last report Gavin had heard. Still, when Gavin got to the end of the hall he’d thought was the way out, a blank stone face greeted him instead.

“A dead end?” Samsin asked, annoyance in his voice. “Do you know how heavy Nikanor is? He’s a storms-cursed Earth Ward, for storm’s sake.”

Gavin ran a hand through his hair and turned about with a low sigh. He glanced back down the hall, then back at the stone wall facing them. There wasn’t any other way around it.

“I don’t understand,” Gavin said, blowing out an exasperated breath. “This is the way I went the last time I was here. I’m sure of it.”

“So you can walk through walls now? You Rahuli have sure come a long way in the last thousand years. I bet you’re so far removed from your original stock you can’t even breed with the regular slaves anymore, just like those cross-breeds in the menagerie fairs they have in the bigger cities back home.”

Gavin had no idea what Samsin meant by the last part of the statement, but the insult was plain. As if Gavin wasn’t frustrated enough with himself. After everything else, he had to go and get lost with Samsin there to watch.

Could this day get any better? And where was he going to find Nabil?

Samsin opened his mouth to start talking again.

“Just be quiet a minute and let me think, will you?” Gavin snapped.

Samsin closed his mouth with an audible snap, though his eyes smoldered.

Gavin did his best to ignore him. Placing a hand on his chin and rubbing at the stubble, Gavin went over all the turns again in his mind. He thought he’d followed the exact course he and Lhaurel had taken, except for the last turn. Evrouin had said the entrance to the hidden Oasis passages was exactly opposite the one which lead into the Oasis, but it was obvious that Evrouin had either lied or Gavin had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Assuming that Gavin hadn’t made any mistake—and Gavin was relatively sure he hadn’t—that meant the way out into the Oasis would be down the other end of the passage, perhaps a score of spans the other direction. But it was supposed to be flooded.

“We should be standing in water,” Gavin said, voicing his thoughts out loud.

“Water?” Samsin asked. “Did you inhale too much smoke? There’s no water here.”

Gavin walked around the taller man and down the passage, torch held high. No light glinted back up at him as if reflecting back up off water. He quickened his pace.

“Oi, slave boy. You. Gavin!” Samsin called, voice raising with each word until it echoed off the walls of the narrow passage. “Where are you going?”

Gavin broke into a jog. He neared the end of the passage and the light revealed another dead end, but a grin split Gavin’s face regardless. The tunnel exit was blocked by a pile of red sand. In moments Gavin had the torch leaned against the passage wall and had scrambled to the top of the sand drift. Ignoring Samsin’s continued shouting, Gavin began to dig, pulling massive handfuls of sand down into the tunnel. He thought about pulling his greatsword out and using it like a shovel, but discarded the idea. It was much too long to be effective. More sand sifted down into the area he cleared, but he persisted. He dug faster, cupping his hands together and scooping out as much sand as he could gather.

Light suddenly poured into the passage, making Gavin’s eyes sting from the brightness. He laughed and kept on digging, hollowing out a space between the sand drift and the passage’s ceiling until it was large enough for him to crawl through. With a grin, Gavin rolled onto his back and then pushed his upper half through the hole he’d just dug. Gripping the outside of the warm sandstone wall, Gavin pulled himself the rest of the way out, sand filling his clothes, and then got to his feet. He blinked away tears as his eyes fully adjusted to the blinding sunlight. He looked around.

Realization hit him with the force of a raging sandstorm. This wasn’t the Oasis.

Part 4

Leader

Chapter 21

Stains

“There are nine total Iterations and only seven Progressions, but there is overlap between the two areas of study in that evolutionary movement up each element’s Iteration hierarchy is accomplished by adherence to a particular Progression path and code of conduct.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Khari and Lhaurel stepped into the forge, blinking against the sudden, flaring heat that washed over them. The forge furnace blazed with such intensity that within only a few moments, sweat beaded on Lhaurel’s forehead and dampened her clothes, making them cling to her skin. The rows of harnesses that normally hung from the ceiling were missing, which left the entrance chamber seemingly twice as large as Lhaurel remembered. Oddly, Beryl wasn’t at the forge, despite the flaring furnace.

“Beryl,” Khari called.

Lhaurel moved around the shorter woman and further into the room. The heat from the furnace grew even more intense, more than Lhaurel had thought it would.

Khari followed her in, a look of confusion on her face. “Maybe he’s in the armory,” she said, scratching at her chin.

“What do you want?”

Lhaurel and Khari both spun toward the furnace. Beryl stood there, all but leaning against the furnace. The light from the furnace glinted off the bits of metal embedded in his skin.

How can he stand that heat?

“Lhaurel says you’re acting oddly, Beryl,” Khari said. “What’s going on? Who are the Orinai and what are those scrolls you’re having us read?”

Beryl laughed and the flames within the furnace flared. Despite the heat, Lhaurel had to suppress a shiver that crept up her neck.

“It’s too late for all that. Leave it behind and flee this place before the Seven Sisters and their armies get here. You should leave.”

“Not until we get some answers.”

Lhaurel glanced over at Khari. She was using her Matron’s voice, but it seemed somehow diminished when standing up against Beryl’s presence outlined by the furnace flames. Was the man even sweating?

“You don’t want answers,” Beryl said. “You want peace. You want to know that the life you so desperately cling to is worth protecting. You want to know that you’re worth something. The longer you live, the more you realize that life lives you, not you it.”

Khari opened her mouth, then closed it and shrugged.

“Beryl,” Lhaurel asked, taking a step closer to the man. “Why did you give us those scrolls. What are they?”

Beryl turned to look at her and, for a moment, his expression hardened before it relaxed again. “They are the record of the Schema and the three Iterations of magic. They are the best I can give you before the Orinai arrive.” His face clouded over again and he scowled, turning away.

“Did Elyana write them?” Lhaurel didn’t know where the question came from, but she was willing to give anything a try.

She got an immediate reaction. The furnace fire flared and Lhaurel stepped back from the heat. Beryl looked at her with narrowed eyes and a sudden tightening of his entire body posture.

“She did,” Beryl said. “She thought of you Rahuli as her greatest legacy, as her children. She would have done anything to protect you from her Sisters. She did do anything.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

Khari looked questioningly at Lhaurel, lips pressed into a frown, but Lhaurel kept her eyes locked on Beryl.

“I love her still,” Beryl replied. “She’s dead. It’s your fault, you know, though she was lost to me a thousand years ago.”

“A thousand years?” Khari asked, interrupting for the first time. “Come now. I know you’re old, but that’s ridiculous.”

Beryl pointedly ignored her.

“Why did she write them, Beryl?” Lhaurel pressed. “What was she afraid of? Who were her sisters?”

“There are no words to describe them. Elyana and I, we did what we had to do to make them leave. Me, I armed the Rahuli. I gave them weapons and taught them to fight. Elyana, well, she relied on her arts and passion to help drive her Sisters out. She even helped us kill one of them, atop the Oasis walls. You people, you call it the story of Eldriean and Serthim, but it wasn’t anything so great as that. It was a simple trick, and it worked for a time. But then they returned. Elyana was forced to delve into the heinous parts of her power. She did great evil in order to protect your people. The Sisters were driven out by the genesauri—Elyana’s children.”

Lhaurel had no idea what Beryl was talking about, but she felt dread spread through her like a bucket of sand dumped down her back.

“I don’t understand,” Lhaurel said.

“You can’t hope to.” Beryl laughed, a humorless expression. “You can only hope to flee. Run, while you still can. I won’t be able to protect you any longer. The Orinai are coming.”

“What are the Orinai?” Khari demanded. “Why should we fear them? How do you know they’re coming?”

“Because I told them to.”

“What?”

“They’re coming. For over a thousand years, they’ve assumed you dead, killed by the Orinai. This place, this Arena of theirs, it was the pride of the Orinai nation. The games here, the fights, they held together the broken pieces of the land like glue on shattered crockery. They’re coming.”

Beryl’s expression hardened again and the furnace flared even hotter. Lhaurel’s clothes clung to her from the sweat and the heat sapped all moisture from the air. Her lungs burned. Beryl seemed unaffected, but Lhaurel was at her limit of tolerance.

“I don’t understand,” Lhaurel said again.

“I’m sorry,” Beryl said, and the furnace flared even hotter.

Lhaurel was forced to look away. She felt a hand on her arm and then Khari was tugging her back toward the door. Lhaurel reluctantly followed her. Outside, Khari slammed the door shut and Lhaurel breathed in a lungful of cool air.

“He’s—he’s not well,” Khari said, though she sounded shaken. “How did you know what to say? Who’s Elyana? Do you know what he was talking about?”

Lhaurel shook her head, unable to speak for several minutes. Lhaurel struggled with it within her own mind. Beryl had known Elyana. Did that mean her dreams were real or was she just as mad as Beryl seemed? If she were sane, and the dreams were real, did they really have something to fear? The scrolls she’d read suddenly took on a new light. Instead of as instruction, had Beryl meant them as a warning? The Iterations, the pathways, the different levels of magic, were they really based upon a system which had been borrowed from another people beyond the Forbiddence?

What is happening?

“Lhaurel?”

“I don’t know if he’s sane or not, Khari. Maybe I’m crazy too.” Lhaurel chewed on her bottom lip and looked down at her blood-red fingernails. A lock of her matching red hair drifted in front of her face. The Seven Sisters. Blood mages. Was she one of them?

“But I think I believe him. There’s a world out there, beyond the Forbiddence. A whole world about which we know absolutely nothing. I think the Rahuli have spent so long here, fighting the yearly battle against each other and the genesauri, that we’ve forgotten where we came from.”

Khari shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this. What are you saying? There’s nothing beyond the Forbiddence.”

Lhaurel shrugged. “I think it’s time you actually read those scrolls.”

Khari opened her mouth, but at that exact moment, someone ran down the hall at a sprint, skidding to a halt in front of them. The young boy stopped and dropped his hands to his knees, panting hard.

“Matron,” the boy said between gasps. “Farah just came back. She says she and Gavin found two strange, tall men, both wounded, but at least one of them with mystic’s powers.”

“Tall men?” Lhaurel asked.

The messenger nodded. “Yes, tall and muscular, wearing strange clothes and with odd accents, according to Farah’s report.”

Lhaurel felt the color drain from her face and spun to look at Khari. Blotches of color stood out on the woman’s cheeks. It couldn’t be the Orinai, could it?

“To the eyrie, then,” Khari said. “I’ll hear this report from her myself.” She straightened and started to walk off in the direction of the eyrie.

The young boy held up a hand. “Wait,” he almost yelled. “There’s more. Farah was going to wait for you, but as soon as she’d delivered her report Nabil arrived, half dead with fatigue. Gavin wasn’t with him.” The boy stopped talking for a moment, but held up a hand to indicate that he still had more to say. He sucked down a few more deep breaths before he continued. “She left immediately to go after him.”

Khari sword. “Idiot girl. Did she say where she was going?”

The boy nodded. “The old stoneway pillar near the Forbiddence. The one just south of the salt sea where the old Aeril Warren was.”

Khari looked over at Lhaurel, who swallowed hard and then nodded, holding out a hand to Khari. The shorter woman took it and helped Lhaurel to her feet.

Lhaurel stood at the door to the eyrie once more half an hour later. Khari had gone ahead and gathered a half dozen warriors, including the few new mystics who had been broken earlier that day. Once again, Lhaurel found herself sweating and loathe to enter the room. Last time, she’d been able to focus on something other than the aevians. Last time, she hadn’t had to face the memories of Fahkiri. This time, she’d have to join the aevian cast if she was to go with them, and that meant riding an aevian that was not Fahkiri. For some reason, that felt like a betrayal.

But the Orinai had arrived if Farah’s report was to be believed. Lhaurel grit her teeth, steeled herself, and pushed into the room.

Aevians danced from wall to wall, alighting on crags and calling to one another in agitated hoots. Several aevians were being fitted with harnesses near the opening out onto the Sharani Desert. Khari stood there in a heated argument with—with Shallee. What was she doing here? She’d just had a baby a few days ago. Lhaurel hurried across the sand, using Shallee’s presence to focus her will.

“You just gave birth, for sand’s sake,” Khari said in an exasperated tone, her face betraying a small portion of the exhaustion, frustration, and worry that Lhaurel knew she felt. “You can’t come with us.”

Shallee leaned forward, eyes wide. “Gavin is the only family I have left. I’m not going to abandon him now.”

“And what of your baby? He needs you even more than Gavin does. Leave this to us.”

Shallee’s face scrunched up in bitter anger, but she didn’t argue. “You better bring him back, you hear?”

Lhaurel limped over to the woman.

“We’ll bring him back, Shallee,” Lhaurel said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Seeing Shallee, remembering her pain and realizing what it must have felt like to come here, Lhaurel felt suddenly better and smiled as she gave Shallee a brief hug. Shallee nodded, eyes brimming with tears, then hurried off.

Khari looked questioningly over at Lhaurel, lips drawn into a frown. Lhaurel shrugged and then let out a sharp whistle. It took her a moment to realize that she’d done it out of habit. For a moment, memory and despair threatened to break free, then one of the aevians up on a wall near her leapt free and fluttered to the ground near her.

Lhaurel blinked away the dust that flew up and into her eyes.

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Khari said.

Lhaurel wasn’t paying attention. She walked up to the aevian, hand raised before her as if to stroke the creature. The hand shook slightly. For just an instant, Lhaurel thought that Fahkiri had somehow survived and stood before her. Then what her eyes were actually seeing caught up with her mind.

This wasn’t Fahkiri, though they were similar in appearance. Fahkiri’s coloring over his back and down the bands on his wings had been a deep, dark black. This aevian, though similar in size, was a lighter color, more brown than black, and the black orbs of his eyes held a small speck of gold around the edges. Still, the resemblance was remarkable.

“This is one of Fahkiri’s half siblings,” Khari said, a trace of amusement in her voice. “Gwyanth is the mother, but there’s a different father.”

Lhaurel stepped forward and the aevian bent down and nuzzled her hand with its beak. This one was certainly friendlier than Fahkiri had been.

“What’s his name?”

“Her,” Khari corrected. “And she doesn’t have a name. She never bonded with any of the Roterralar until now. There’s a lot of that going around right now. I hate rushing bondings and the like, but there’s nothing to it. We lost a lot of aevians in the Oasis and others, well, others haven’t returned to the eyrie. Thankfully, there are a lot of aevians left who lost their riders in the Oasis.”

“Thankfully?” Lhaurel gave Khari an incredulous look.

Khari held up a hand. “Peace, Lhaurel. I meant they’re willing to carry other riders without bonding them.”

“Will you two quit nattering so we can get a move on?” Cobb’s gruff voice drew their attention. The older man sat astride a large, whitish aevian, looking comical in the harness. A pair of short swords were strapped to his back, though he looked uncomfortable astride the aevian.

“I would tell you to watch your tongue, Cobb,” Khari said, voice flat. “But I know you’d just ignore me. Remember though, I can still kick you out.”

Cobb didn’t reply, but his eyes seemed to challenge her. Lhaurel wondered what had made him so sands-blasted irritable lately. Regardless, Lhaurel needed to hurry. She hurried over to one of the many bins scattered around the room and pulled harness and saddle free. She saddled her aevian—only feeling a small twinge of guilt at thinking about the creature as her aevian—and then threw on the harness over her robes. Khari was off somewhere, checking saddles and harnesses, and giving instructions.

As Lhaurel was tightening the last strap on her harness, she realized she was unarmed. She hadn’t worn a sword since the Oasis. In all honesty, she hadn’t even wanted to consider using a sword again. She’d invested so much time into training with it that it had, in large part, defined her. In Lhaurel’s mind her current state had begun and ended with the sword she’d picked up in the Sidena Warren all those months ago. But if the Orinai had really come? The words of the scrolls she’d been reading returned to her mind, reminding her of the powers they possessed and the hints of their nature.

“Lhaurel!” Khari’s voice cut into Lhaurel’s reverie, snapping her from her thoughts. She blinked and looked over at Khari, who was holding a long, red-glass dagger out to her.

“What’s this?” Lhaurel asked, taking it.

“If you’d been paying attention you would have heard. Are you sure you’re fit enough to come on this trip?” Khari asked, hard words softened by the concerned expression on her face. “There’s been a lot going on. No one would blame you if you stayed behind to collect yourself and recover.”

Lhaurel snorted. She looked down at the dagger and grinned slightly as recognition hit her. A glass dagger couldn’t be manipulated by a magnetelorium or any of its later Iterations, at least according to the scrolls she’d read.

“It works,” Lhaurel said with a nod, sliding the weapon under a strap on her harness. “Are you all waiting on me, then?”

“Yes,” Cobb said. “So let’s go.”

Lhaurel nodded and climbed up onto her aevian’s back and clipped into the saddle. She felt a momentary wash of surreal memory, but that passed as Khari leapt up onto Gwyanth’s back.

“Let’s go,” Khari shouted. “For those of you riding aevians for the first time, hold the saddle tightly and prepare yourselves when we descend as it will be brutal. Normally we’d train you better, but we don’t have the time.”

With that she whistled sharply, and all eight aevians leapt into the air and climbed into the sky with the sound of beating wings and blowing sand. Unlike Fahkiri, his sister didn’t follow Khari and Gwyanth up high into the sky. Instead she hugged the ground, flying with quick, short bursts of rapid wingbeats curving back and forth instead of in a straight line. Lhaurel followed Khari’s path only several hundred feet below the aevian’s mother, using a small portion of her powers to lend her additional strength.

Lhaurel breathed in deeply, letting the sheer joy of flight fall over her and take with it most of her stress and worries. She’d half worried that flying would have lost its wonder and majesty for her, but she’d been pleasantly surprised. It was different, that was unavoidable, but the joy of it was still there. It was like the enjoyment of a small child with a new bauble. They didn’t enjoy playing with their older toys any less, they just enjoyed them differently.

When she'd first mounted the aevian, her weakened state had almost overwhelmed her. She’d been forced to draw upon her powers to give her strength. Still, she was grateful she was clipped in and, outside of landing or taking off, she could relax somewhat.

They flew northeast for several long hours, stopping once to rest at a hidden well that more than a few of their number grumbled at discovering. Khari lifted the lid, ignoring the grumbles for the most part. She doled out water to each of them and their aevians in turn before returning the bucket and then placing the lid back over the well and covering it with sand.

Cobb had refused his share without comment, though from the expression on his face and the pale tinge on his whiskered face, Lhaurel guessed that flight didn’t agree with him.

They were back in the air again within only a few short minutes of landing. Lhaurel was the first to spot Farah and her aevian. They sat in the lee of a large broken pillar that looked like it had once been part of a stoneway bridge. Another aevian was there as well. Lhaurel assumed it was Nabil. Lhaurel whistled sharply and leaned forward, signaling her aevian to descend and letting Khari know as well, provided she heard the whistle, that is.

Since they were already flying low, the dive was shallow and without the customary lurch of Lhaurel’s stomach that she’d been expecting. Still, in just a few seconds Lhaurel was unclipping from the saddle and hitting the ground. Her knees threatened to give out on her, but she reached out to her powers instinctively, using her own blood as fuel for a brief instant. It gave her the strength she needed to stay on her feet, but left her feeling tired when she released it. In that moment, however, Lhaurel had felt Farah’s deep exhaustion and the matching exhaustion from the two aevians. Nabil’s was laced with pain as well.

Farah looked over at her when Lhaurel landed on the ground.

“They’re gone,” Farah said, worry and anger making her voice quaver. “There’s blood on the ground over here.”

Lhaurel strode forward to look as Khari and the others landed a short distance away. There were more than a few screams that drifted over to them, but Lhaurel ignored them.

“Someone said the two strangers were wounded. Is it their blood?” Lhaurel asked as she approached the shallow depression in the sand.

Farah shook her head. Nabil hissed as more people approached, but hopped back out of the way. He seemed to be favoring one of his legs.

“The two Orinai were over here,” Farah said, gesturing down a little ways. “You can see where they bled there. This is different. It’s fresher. I think someone took Gavin.”

Nabil hissed again and let out a piercing screech. Khari came over and looked over the scene. Lhaurel moved to one side and glanced sidelong at Nabil, pointedly ignoring the bloodstains in the sand. Was that a chain manacle around Nabil’s leg?

Lhaurel approached the massive aevian slowly, hands raised. “Easy boy,” she said softly as a few of the others pushed forward. “Let me take a look at that leg.”

Nabil hissed, but it was a muted sound. Lhaurel ducked down and took a closer look at the manacle. It was fresh and new, though there didn’t appear to be any lock on it. How would someone have been able to get it to stay on Nabil’s taloned foot then, unless they’d somehow fused the metal . . .

“Kaiden,” Lhaurel hissed with a sudden vehemence.

Nabil hissed above her.

“It was Kaiden,” Lhaurel called over her shoulder. She made her way closer to Nabil’s knobby, scaled leg. She was careful to avoid the clicking talons. Khari moved up behind her as Lhaurel reached out to touch the manacle. It had dug into the skin and there was blood, both fresh and drying, in the metal and down Nabil’s leg. A bit of chain dangled from a metal loop attached to the manacle.

“Farah, take a third of the group and go southwest,” Khari ordered. “Cobb, take another group and go north until you hit the brine sea and then follow the beach. Stay alert. Kaiden is nearby somewhere.”

The others moved into action. Lhaurel put her hand on Nabil’s leg and whispered soothing words as she tested the manacle’s hold on Nabil’s leg. It was stuck fast and she was still weak, but if she were able to pull it with both hands it may break free. The issue was going to be working her fingers between the manacle and Nabil’s leg.

“Keep him still,” Lhaurel said to Khari, drawing once more on her powers and then setting to work.

A few minutes later, Nabil was manacle free, though both Lhaurel and Khari had been knocked to the ground more than once. Thankfully, neither had been speared by the large aevian’s massive talons. Lhaurel had bound a few strips of cloth torn from the bottom of her robes to the wound. She’d thought about healing him, but decided to wait. Kaiden was somewhere close. Healing drained her too much to be of much use to anyone afterward. She couldn’t take that risk.

“He’ll be fine now,” Khari said, getting to her feet. “I’m going to take the others and do a circular pass around here and see if we can spot anything.”

Lhaurel got to her feet.

Khari held up a hand. “Stay here.”

“Why should I?”

“I assume if Gavin manages to escape he’ll head here,” Khari said. “This is the last place Farah saw him and where he told her to come back to. I’d leave someone else, but you’re the only one who is powerful enough to face Kaiden alone.”

It made sense, but Lhaurel grimaced anyway and chewed on her bottom lip. She didn’t want to remain still, not with Kaiden around. He was evil. He’d killed so many already. He was like a buzzing insect she couldn’t see, always present but unable to be silenced.

“Fine,” Lhaurel said. “Just be careful, alright?”

Khari grinned. “I’m always careful. Maneuver before battle, Lhaurel. Strategy before tactics.”

The short woman leapt up onto Gwyanth’s back and signaled for the others to make ready. Most were already in the saddle, some having never gotten down. Lhaurel recognized the man she’d broken among them. He looked uncomfortable in the saddle, but every now and then he patted his aevian’s back in a reassuring fashion.

“Let’s go,” Khari shouted.

The small group of aevians lifted into the air in a cloud of dust.

Lhaurel watched them go, then turned back around toward the shade in the stoneway pillar’s shadow. Nabil and the aevian Lhaurel had ridden here hopped after her, taking refuge in the lee of the pillar as the wind tossed sand into the air.

The aevians appeared on the northern horizon as the sun was just beginning to touch the top of the Forbiddence to the west. She’d spent several hours waiting for them, jumping at every small sound.

Lhaurel rose to her feet and the two aevians with her rose as well, shaking their feathers and creating a little cloud of dust. Lhaurel had toyed with coming up with a name for Fahkiri’s half-sister, but none of the names seemed to fit. It wasn’t like Fahkiri. That name had simply come to her when she’d needed it.

Nabil shrieked and stretched out his wings, impatience evidence in his constant fidgeting.

“Easy boy,” Lhaurel said, reaching out and patting him on the side. “They’ll be here soon enough.” At least, she hoped they would be.

A few more anxious minutes passed before Lhaurel could make out that some of the aevians were doubled up. One of the riders had something slung behind them on the saddle, presumably tied in place.

“Please don’t let it be Gavin,” Lhaurel found herself saying. She chewed on her bottom lip, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. How had they gotten so far away in such a short time? The aevians had been gone for over an hour. That was half a day’s walk through the sands. It had been well over a day since Gavin and Farah had left, but surely it had only been earlier today that they’d found the Orinai and Farah had left to come get them. Unless, that is, Farah had flown through the night. Perhaps Gavin had been far from here when she’d lost him.

The aevians and their riders came closer, close enough that Lhaurel could make out the features of the individual riders and recognize some of the aevians. Khari’s group. So they hadn’t been that far away. Khari’s patrols had taken the area around the stoneway pillar. Near her, Nabil hissed and leapt into the air, nearly knocking Lhaurel to the ground in his haste to get into the sky. A few powerful beats of his wings took him into the sky and toward the group of aevians. One of the riders who was riding double waved and whooped and Nabil gave an answering cry.

Gavin.

Lhaurel breathed out a long sigh of relief. He was alright. But what about the Orinai? What about Kaiden?

Khari and the other aevians landed in the sand amid a flurry of dust. Khari leapt from the saddle, as did Gavin and a man so large he looked like he would break the aevian beneath him. Memories assaulted Lhaurel’s mind, passing in a flurry that faded before she could fully grasp onto any single image. He wasn’t a man at all. He was an Orinai. Lhaurel took a step toward him and the motion drew his attention. His eyes widened and then he suddenly bowed.

Chapter 22

Hidden Sister

“‘Magic’ is not a breaking of the laws of nature, rather it is the harnessing and manipulation of elements already extant in nature by connection of that matter to the human body. This is accomplished through varying means specific to each Iteration, but all include a consumption of a fuel by the human body and a mental manipulation of the occurring output. If any part of this experience could be thought of as “unnatural,” it would be this mental manipulation.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

“Get up,” Khari snapped. “What are you doing? You two, keep an eye on him.”

Two of the other aevian riders, including the man Lhaurel had broken, fell in on either side of the man. They looked minuscule next to the Orinai’s massive frame.

“His name is Samsin.” Gavin said with the tone of someone who had said the same thing several times before. “There’s no need for all that.”

The Orinai, Samsin, still hadn’t risen from the bow.

“I’ll decide that. Lhaurel, I need your help over here.” Khari snapped. She seemed even shorter tempered than usual.

As soon as Lhaurel moved, Samsin rose, though he kept his eyes downcast. “Your pardon, Revered Sister,” he said, still not meeting Lhaurel’s eye. “I had no idea you had already arrived. I beg your forgiveness for not informing you earlier. My family—”

Khari cut him off. “Shut up, you. Lhaurel, help me with this other one. He is badly wounded.”

Lhaurel kept her eyes on Samsin until she’d passed him, following Khari over to where the other aevian riders were busy untying the man who had been slung across the aevian’s back. It took all three of them to hold the other Orinai up while he was being untied and then Gavin had to come over to help them lower him to the ground. Even without reaching out for her powers, Lhaurel could tell he was in bad shape. Improvised bandages were tied around his chest, but they were stained with sweat, dirt, and blood. Gavin and the other men eased him onto his back. Unlike Samsin, this Orinai was broad of shoulder, thick chested, and his face was square-jawed. The sallowness to the skin and pale complexion Lhaurel was sure came from loss of blood rather than as a part of his regular appearance.

“Can you help him?” Gavin asked softly, looking down at the man.

“Should she?” Khari asked. “He’s an Orinai after all. We know nothing about them. For all we know, he could be here to kill us.”

“How do you know he’s an Orinai?” Gavin’s expression was an image of pinched confusion.

“How could she not?” Samsin asked from behind them. “You have one of the Seven Sisters standing with you, slave. Of course she knows her own people.”

Khari looked from Samsin to Lhaurel and back again. Lhaurel shrugged and then turned back to the wounded Orinai. Could she save him? Should she? Beryl spoke of the Orinai as a great scourge, like a sandstorm that would cleanse everything living from its path. These two were a part of that people.

“Can you help him?” Gavin asked again.

Lhaurel turned to Khari, who was regarding her with a frown. “Can you do anything?” Lhaurel asked.

Khari pursed her lips. “Nothing that would keep him from dying anyway. Anything I would do would simply postpone it a little. Why put him through the pain?”

Lhaurel felt her pulse quicken. She’d healed Shallee’s child and kept both her and the baby alive. But this was something different. There was skin missing, bones broken.

Lhaurel looked away from the wounded Orinai and out over the sand. Fahkiri’s half-sister danced back and forth on the sand a few feet away, darting back and forth with one of the other aevians. Lhaurel watched the creature and clenched her jaw.

“Remove the bandage,” Lhaurel said, turning back to Khari.

“Lhaurel, wait,” Khari protested, holding up a hand to stop Gavin from undoing the ties on the makeshift bandage across the Orinai’s chest. “Think. What if Beryl is right about them? We don’t even know where they came from or what they’re doing here. Maybe we should question that one,” she pointed her head toward Samsin, "first.”

“You’re the one who said Beryl was going mad, and this . . . Orinai . . . won’t last much longer. I won’t let another person die that I could have saved.”

Khari reached out and took one of Lhaurel’s hands, gripping it hard. “You don’t have to make up for what you did with the genesauri, Lhaurel. You did what you had to do then and you saved us all.”

“I didn’t save Makin Qays. I couldn’t save Saralhn. I can save him now. I have to save him now.”

The resolve in Lhaurel’s voice stilled the argument clearly waiting on Khari’s lips. Lhaurel met her gaze and held it until Khari looked away.

“Remove the bandages, Gavin,” Lhaurel said.

Gavin undid the ties, though he eyed Lhaurel and Khari more than once with open curiosity. Lhaurel let go of Khari’s hand and almost recoiled from the smell of rot and putrefaction that assaulted her nose.

“Someone get me a waterskin,” Lhaurel said, then looked over at Khari. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage this. Things haven’t been the same since the Oasis. I’m not sure if I’ll end up unconscious again, like last time, or what.”

“Revered Sister,” Samsin said, his voice catching slightly.

Lhaurel looked over Khari’s shoulder toward the massive Orinai. Samsin licked his lips, but kept his eyes downcast in deference. No, Lhaurel amended, in fear.

“What do you want?” It was Khari who answered, though Lhaurel knew Samsin had been addressing her and not the Roterralar Matron.

“Sister,” Samsin continued, ignoring Khari, “Nikanor is an Earth Ward, as you know. Surely one of these here could act as a vessel for your powers, should you deign to heal him. He would make an excellent Bondsman, if you do not already have one.”

“A vessel?” The question slipped from Lhaurel’s lips before Khari could ask.

Samsin flinched. “A bleeder then, if you prefer.”

Bleeder?

One of the men walked over with a waterskin and handed it to Lhaurel. It was the man she had broken. She took it with a slight nod of thanks which he didn’t return. With a small sigh, Lhaurel unstopped the skin and took a long drink, feeling her body respond to the additional fuel. Khari reached out and took the waterskin from her and also took a drink.

“I’ll help you, if I can,” Khari said softly. Lhaurel nodded her thanks and reached for her powers.

Gavin watched Lhaurel steel herself as she looked over Nikanor, studying the massive, infected wounds in his chest. He’d felt a brief moment of panic when Khari had argued against healing him, but that had passed when the Roterralar Matron had finally relented. Though the woman was, at times, harsh and devoid of anything that looked like mercy, she was an honorable woman at heart. All the Roterralar were, even if the average Rahuli refused to see it.

When Gavin had broken the surface of the sand earlier and realized they were not at the Oasis, it had taken him a few minutes of careful study to realize where they had ended up. Samsin had cursed him for making him wait down in the tunnel, but once Gavin had figured out that they were in one of the older plateaus the Aeril had once used as their warren, he’d bent back down and widened the opening in the sand for Samsin and Nikanor to get through. They’d pulled Nikanor through together. Gavin was surprised at how much the Orinai had weighed. There was something so vastly solid about the man.

Anyway, once Gavin had gotten his bearings and figured out which way they’d needed to travel they’d set off across the sands toward the stoneway pillar they’d left behind. Gavin had no way of really knowing how long they’d been in Kaiden’s grasp or if Farah had already come back to find them missing or not, but he figured that returning to the place he’d last seen her was the wisest thing to do. As they’d walked, Gavin had tried to puzzle out the mystery of the scrolls and similarities to the Aeril Warren and the Oasis caverns to the accompaniment of Samsin’s grumbling complaints.

Khari and the others had found them before Gavin had come to any sort of a conclusion. Now, watching as Lhaurel prepared to try and heal Nikanor, his only thoughts rested on Samsin’s strange reaction to Lhaurel and whether or not Lhaurel could actually heal the stout Orinai.

Some of the others who had come with Khari shifted uncomfortably as Lhaurel placed her hands on Nikanor’s chest and the red of her hair and nails seemed to darken. Gavin recognized some of them as members of the various clans. Why had Khari chosen to bring them along? Hadn’t she been the one most vehemently opposed to non-Roterralar riding her aevians?

Lhaurel suddenly gasped and her eyes went wide. Samsin took a step forward, head coming up slightly, then dropped back toward his toes again as the two men on either side of him grabbed his arms. Lhaurel’s head arched backward and the color drained from her face, leaving it pale and white. Gavin looked down at Nikanor’s chest. Skin crawled there and the blood seemed to be seeping out of the open wounds. No. It was seeping back into the wounds, taking with it the scabs, crusted, dried bits of blood, and torn flesh with it. New skin, pink and fresh, formed at the edges of each wound, growing toward the center.

Lhaurel shuddered. Khari hissed something that sounded like a curse, then put her hands on Lhaurel’s bare arm and closed her eyes in concentration. Lhaurel’s shudders stopped, but the paleness of her skin didn’t fade. Nikanor gasped and his eyes snapped open. Before he could move, Gavin was there, holding him down.

“You there,” Gavin ordered at the two nearest men. “Help me here. Keep him still.”

They hesitated for a moment, awe and confusion at what was happening rooting them in place, then they snapped into motion. They grabbed onto Nikanor and tried to hold him down as he struggled to rise.

“Get over here, Samsin!” Gavin growled as Nikanor continued to rise despite the four men trying to hold him down.

The massive Orinai didn’t hesitate, though he kept his eyes downcast as he sidestepped around Lhaurel and shoved one of the other men aside. He grabbed Nikanor by the shoulders and easily pushed him back down into the sand. Gavin felt the slight tug of energy Samsin drew upon for the added strength and did the same, feeling the odd tingling spread through his limbs.

Lhaurel gasped and moaned and then fell back, hands coming off Nikanor as she fell. Khari caught her before she hit the sand. Gavin looked down at Nikanor. The wounds were still there, but they were minor now, looking like little more than shallow scratches from rocks or thick thorns. Nikanor’s lungs heaved and the muscles across his chest worked up and down as he struggled to sit up again. This time Gavin and the others let him rise to a sitting position.

“Nikanor?” Samsin said, voice quiet. “Are you alright?”

Nikanor replied in the other language, though Gavin wasn’t listening close enough to translate it. He looked beyond them to Lhaurel and Khari.

One of the men rushed over as well. “Is she going to be alright?” the man asked before Gavin could ask the question himself.

“I’m fine,” Lhaurel replied thickly. Gavin hadn’t realized that she was still conscious. “I just need some rest. Can you fetch me the waterskin, please?” Her voice was weak, but her breathing seemed steady, if somewhat shallow.

Khari sat back as well, licking her lips as if they were dry.

Gavin stood up and retrieved the waterskin from where it had fallen in the sand. Part of the precious liquid had spilled into the sand, but no one had noticed in time. He walked over to Lhaurel and handed it to her. Her hands shook, but she was able to lift the skin to her lips and take a deep drink. Some color returned to her skin, though her hair and nails retained the deeper red shade. She took another drink before passing the skin over to Khari.

“Are you ok?” Gavin asked. Though he’d been the recipient of her healing once before, he still marveled at her power. According to what he knew of the mystic abilities, healing powers were typically limited. Khari herself had said that Nikanor’s wounds were beyond her abilities when she’d found them, but Lhaurel had healed him and had saved Shallee a few days earlier. Her powers were beyond what a normal wetta was supposed to be able to do. Sort of like how Samsin’s powers were similar to Gavin’s, but greater. Gavin blinked, coming to a sudden realization, and completely missed Samsin calling his name.

“What was that?” he asked, shaking his head and trying to focus as his mind raced with the implications of his sudden realization. Was Lhaurel one of the Orinai? She couldn’t be, could she?

“Nikanor would like to speak with the Sister,” Samsin said softly. “If that is permitted.”

Gavin looked over at him with a frown.

Khari interrupted before Gavin could reply. She’d drained the rest of the waterskin and had gotten to her feet, though Lhaurel remained seated in the sand.

“We will have plenty to talk about when we arrive back at the warren,” Khari said. “Gavin has some explaining to do as well, I think. Lysand, you stay here and gather the others, then return to the warren. I’ll send scouts out to let the other clans know what’s gone on once we have all the stories straightened out.”

The man who had rushed to Lhaurel’s side nodded, glanced down at Lhaurel as if to assure himself that she was ok, then headed for his aevian. Samsin started to protest, but Gavin walked over to him and laid a hand on his arm. The Orinai’s eyes were still downcast though, oddly, Nikanor was staring at Lhaurel with open-eyed wonder.

“Hold your questions for now,” Gavin said. “I’ll make sure you get your time to talk later.”

“Who is that woman?” Samsin asked, venom in his voice. “She acts as if she were the head of one of the High Families, yet even the Sister listens to her. You Rahuli really are barbarians.”

“Thanks,” Gavin said dryly, then turned to some of the other men. “Make sure they find rides back to the warren. They both have powers, so watch yourselves.”

The men nodded, but shot nervous looks at one another as Gavin pushed past them and made his way to Nabil. The aevian greeted him with a soft, dignified click of his beak.

“Come on then, Nabil,” Gavin said. “Let’s go home.”

“He’s dead,” Gavin repeated, leaning back against the back of the chair. He hadn’t realized how terribly exhausted he was until they’d made it to the Roterralar Warren and he’d had a chance to sit down. For a moment, he thought about drawing in some energy, but dismissed it. He’d spent almost his entire life without the ability. There was no point in becoming dependent on it now.

“Are you sure?” Khari pressed. She sat at the other end of the council table next to Lhaurel, who had recovered enough that she no longer looked like she was going to fall at any given moment.

The other aevian groups hadn’t returned yet, but Khari had wanted to hear Gavin’s story anyway. Samsin and Nikanor sat back against one of the walls, hands and feet bound by thick rope as a precaution. Samsin had protested the treatment, but had quieted when Lhaurel had addressed him. Nikanor bore it all without a word, expression a troubled mask.

“Not even Lhaurel could have saved him,” Gavin said. “Samsin killed him.”

Khari’s eyes flicked over to where the two Orinai sat, then back to Gavin. They were bound, but Khari still had a half dozen guards standing just outside the door.

“What was he after?” she asked. “You said he was in the Aeril Warren. What was he doing there, planning some sort of coup?”

Gavin shook his head. “He was after scrolls down in the underground lake. He seemed to think they were vital to the survival of the Rahuli people, though I don’t know why.” Gavin noticed Lhaurel shift and look at Khari with a concerned and confused expression, but they didn’t say anything, so Gavin continued. “There were similar scrolls hidden in an exact replica of that warren in the Oasis walls. I read some of those when I had a chance.”

“There’s another one here,” Khari said. “Lhaurel and I have been studying them.”

Gavin arched an eyebrow. “Why would there be scrolls hidden in three different places?”

Nikanor stirred in his seat, but didn’t say anything. Gavin looked over at him as Lhaurel and Khari both shrugged.

“The scrolls talk about the mystics and hint at a lot of things, but there are no clear answers,” Lhaurel said. “It’s a frustrating mess. Every time I think I know what’s going on, new questions crop up.”

Khari raised a hand and Lhaurel fell silent.

“They do mention the Orinai, though,” Khari said. “You two. Who are you and how did you get here? The Forbiddence is thought to be impassable.”

Samsin opened his mouth, but Nikanor laid a bound hand on his leg and Samsin snapped his mouth shut, turning to look at his companion. Nikanor didn’t look over at Samsin, instead looking to Lhaurel and Khari.

“I will explain, but you must promise me you will give heed to my words,” Nikanor said. His voice was far less accented than Samsin’s, though it carried a slow deliberateness to it which dripped of sincerity.

“Speak,” Khari said. It wasn’t an affirmation, but it seemed to suffice for Nikanor.

“You appear to have lost much of your heritage here.” Nikanor spoke as if he were choosing his words carefully, though his expression was earnest. “I will explain so that you may understand me later. If this is something you already know, I apologize, but knowledge is key to understanding, and I would have you understand me.

“The Orinai are a people who love their games and rules. They are a people steeped in symbolism, propriety, rules, and struggles for political and religious power. At the height of their power, they ruled from the great Steinacker Ocean in the south to the Felurian Sea to the north of here. Yet there were some who broke the rules, there were people that were conquered and enslaved, and a means of forcing evolution to higher Iterations was sought. To this end, the Seven Sisters, they who preside over the Orinai religion, commissioned an Arena be built high in the mountains to the north inside the crater formed by an ancient volcano.”

“What has this got to do with us?” Khari asked, interrupting him.

“Please have patience,” Nikanor replied, continuing in the same tone as before. “You will soon see. The Seven Sisters and the government of the time decided to send to the Arena those of the slave people they deemed dangerous and revolutionary, along with those of the Orinai who violated rules, traditions, and laws. Within the Arena, these people were pitted against one another and it became a great game, enjoyed by everyone within the Orinai Empire. It united the factions, gave the High Families something in common, and cemented the power of the Seven Sisters and their religion until intense violence between the prisoners in the Arena broke them and forced them through the initial Iterations.”

Gavin glanced around, seeing the same blank looks on his companion’s faces he knew showed in his own expression.

“I believe you would call them ‘mystics.’”

Gavin felt a growing nausea rise in his stomach. Hadn’t Samsin been calling him a slave since he’d first encountered the Orinai? Samsin’s expression was blank, but his posture was stiff, back rigid as Nikanor continued. Gavin saw some flicker of his own emotions reflected on his companion’s faces yet again.

“All was well in the Empire. But something changed within the Arena. The people there, even those who had been Orinai, began to form into alliances and groups over the years, developing into clans much like the High Families of the Orinai. A group of mystics formed who were possessed of the first Iteration in each element. They plotted and planned, trying to figure out how to escape their captors, though the Seven Sisters kept a careful watch over everything there. It wasn’t until one of the Sisters, a blood mage called Elyana, betrayed her Sisters, that the war began.”

Lhaurel gasped and held a hand to her mouth at this, color draining from her face faster than it had when she’d healed Nikanor. He looked at her then and his eyes narrowed, mouth twisting into a fleeting frown. Samsin made a noise, but Gavin was too preoccupied watching Lhaurel and Nikanor to look over at Samsin.

“The details are unimportant, but over several years the Orinai fought against the slaves, who had started to call themselves the Rahuli people. Elyana bolstered their strength, fought with them, and trained some of the mystics who would allow it. Her bondsman helped lead the people as well. He’d once been one of them, in a prior incarnation, and was accepted more readily than Elyana was.”

“Beryl,” Lhaurel said.

“That was one of his names, yes,” Nikanor said. “Though Eldriean was what the Rahuli called him, I believe.”

“You can’t be serious.” Khari interrupted. “Beryl? Beryl?”

“Let him continue,” Lhaurel said, and edge in her voice. No, it wasn’t an edge, it was fear. Terror. Horror.

The nausea in Gavin’s stomach grew. The Eldriean? No, it couldn’t be.

“Elyana created monsters to drive the Orinai armies out. She died in the process. Enraged by this, her bondsman lead the Rahuli people in a final battle and slew one of the Sisters atop the central viewing platform where our Storm Wards had created an oasis in which the Orinai observers, come to watch the fights in the Arena, could be comfortable. But by then the monsters had turned against their creators. The other Sisters retreated, taking comfort in the knowledge that the Rahuli, in fighting them, had destroyed themselves. Their own creations would be their undoing.”

Gavin remembered the skeleton there atop the Oasis walls, greatsword through its chest. It was easy to think that Nikanor was making this all up, but too much of it made sense, too much of it rang true. What strange nightmare was this? The Oasis, the genesauri, the strange legends the outcasts had told one another and passed down from generation to generation, even the language, it all began to make sense.

“Get to it then,” Khari snapped. “If we’re to believe this pile of goat leavings, why are you here now?”

This time, it was Samsin who answered.

“We’re here because someone sent a message to the Orinai telling them the threat was over and Nikanor had to see this for himself. Your story, that ‘pile of goat leavings’ Nikanor just told you, is a legend among the Orinai. It sparked several hundred years of civil war and unrest. The Seven Sisters finally regained control about a century ago. It’s been long enough now that very few believe this place even exists anymore.”

“What do you mean? Someone sent a message to the Orinai how?”

Samsin opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again as noise sounded from the hall outside the door. It sounded almost like someone was arguing with the guards outside the door.

Gavin turned to look at the door just as it banged open. Everyone jumped as Farah dashed into the room, flight harness still on. She crossed the room in a few quick bounds, ignoring the stunned onlookers and the bound Orinai, heading straight for Gavin. Seeing her expression, Gavin wondered what was wrong, but then she reached him and stopped a foot or so from him, hands shaking.

“Get up, you!” she snapped at Gavin, ignoring Khari’s upraised hand.

Gavin got to his feet. For a moment, he thought Farah was going to hit him, then her arms were around his waist and the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

“Don’t you dare do that to me again,” Farah said, her voice muffled because her face was buried in his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

Despite the situation, despite everything that had gone on that day, Gavin found himself grinning like a fool.

Chapter 23

Fear

“The final Iterations of all three elements still hold much mystery for even this noted scholar. The members of each are volatile and prone to self-destruction. So few ever achieve this level of mastery. When it does occur, the Seven Sisters are forced to take measures against them.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

“Are you two quite finished?” Khari snapped.

Farah released Gavin and stepped away from him. Gavin half-frowned guiltily, but Farah simply nodded at Khari and took a seat.

“Quite,” she said, not looking back at Gavin.

Gavin sat down next to her, brow slightly furrowed in confusion. Would Farah ever start making sense?

If she did though, she wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

Gavin looked over at Nikanor and Samsin and found the later giving him a small wink. Gavin frowned. Samsin’s brief levity faded into a scowl and he looked away.

“As I was saying,” Khari said. She glanced at Lhaurel who had not spoken since muttering Beryl’s name and who was looking particularly pale. “What do you mean, someone sent a message?”

Nikanor shifted in his seat and wouldn’t meet Khari’s eye, though his gaze did flicker over to Lhaurel more than once. Gavin brought his attention back to them as the solid, square-jawed Orinai began speaking again.

“Earth Wards have a means of communicating with one another through the stone. I am the steward of the northernmost plantation in the Orinai Empire. I received the message some time ago. An Earth Ward must have sent it.”

“Earth Ward?”

“They’re the second Iteration after a magnetelorium,” Lhaurel whispered. “More powerful than they and able to do things with the earth instead of just metal.”

“How do you know that?” Gavin asked.

A look of confusion tinged with horror slowly crept across Khari’s face.

“The scrolls,” Lhaurel said. “There are scrolls down beneath us as well. I’ve been reading them, studying about them because we thought maybe Kaiden had found something in there which motivated him to do what he did. At least, that’s what Beryl implied.”

“Beryl?” Nikanor asked, suddenly alert and his voice sharp. “Surely not the Beryl. They say he went mad, just before the end. Started hearing voices.”

“He’s just a blacksmith,” Farah said, joining the conversation for the first time. “What do you mean, the Beryl?”

“Quiet,” Khari ordered. “You Orinai still haven’t explained how you got through the Forbiddence or what you want with us.”

Samsin grunted. “Nikanor wanted to be sure this place was real before we informed the Seven Sisters. It appears our caution was unfounded, Sister.” He nodded slightly in Lhaurel’s direction.

“She is not one of the Seven Sisters,” Nikanor said softly, as if to Samsin or himself, Gavin couldn’t tell which.

“Hold your tongue, Nikanor.” Samsin hissed. “I beg your pardon for such blasphemous words, Honored Sister.”

“What are you talking about?” Lhaurel demanded. Gavin was pleased to notice some fire return to her voice.

“This complicates things greatly,” Nikanor said. “We’d thought that maybe one of the current Sisters was simply weaker than the others, but could she be an imposter altogether? There’s no way they’ll leave survivors.”

“What are you talking about?” Lhaurel demanded again, louder and this time with her words echoed by Khari.

“You must all leave this place,” Nikanor said sharply. “Flee into the mountains and hide to the east of here.”

Samsin stared at his companion as if he had suddenly burst into flame.

“Quickly before the Sisters arrive with their armies and kill you all. Having you here, blood mage, will make it worse for those here. They will kill everyone to hide their lies. You must leave. Now! Please listen to me.” Nikanor got to his feet.

Khari shouted for the guards. Lhaurel, Farah, and Gavin all leapt up as Samsin tried to pull Nikanor back down and the guards burst in through the door.

“Please! Speak to Beryl,” Nikanor said in a voice that rumbled like falling stone. “He must have sent the message. Go talk to him. Please listen to me!” He didn’t resist as the guards came in and pulled him and Samsin away. Samsin actually seemed to want to get away from Nikanor, resisting the guards just enough to create a small pocket of distance between him and Nikanor.

“Forgive him, Sister,” Samsin said with a half-bow toward Lhaurel as he was led away.

Gavin leaned back in his chair as silence consumed the room. Khari slumped back down into her chair and Lhaurel massaged her forehead with one hand, head down so that her blood-red hair cascaded down over her face and hid her expression. The only one in the room who didn’t seem perturbed was Farah.

“Well, is someone going to tell me what’s going on? Did someone die?” She somehow seemed oddly light-hearted, despite the insanity that had just occurred.

None of them answered.

“Well?”

Gavin pulled out of his stupor, shaking his head to clear it. His grandmother’s voice admonished him for brooding and not taking some sort of action. She’d always believed in thinking things through, though she had also cautioned against overthinking. Gavin leaned over and told Farah what had transpired, starting with what had happened to him after she’d left him next to the stoneway pillar and ending with what Nikanor had just told them. When he finished, Farah’s eyes twinkled and the edges of her lips tugged upward.

“Well, that’s a good laugh,” she said. “We’ll just go ask Beryl what he thinks of all this and it’ll be settled. We’ll just have to figure out how Kaiden got those two to lie for him and figure out what clan they belong to.”

Gavin opened his mouth and then closed it again. Had she not heard what he’d just told her?

“We already talked to Beryl,” Lhaurel said, not looking up. “He said the same thing.”

“What?” Gavin asked.

“He told us to leave here because the Orinai are coming.”

“Two men are hardly a reason to leave,” Farah interrupted. “No matter how skilled they are at the mystic arts.”

“They are Orinai. They’re not the Orinai,” Lhaurel said, finally looking up. She looked over at Gavin and Farah and her eyes were red from silent tears. “The Seven Sisters are coming. They’re blood mages, like me. I was able to destroy the genesauri, a threat which has plagued the Sharani Desert for generations. Can you imagine what seven of me could do?”

That silenced Farah.

Khari stirred a little, but her eyes were unfocused and distant. “I thought we were safe now,” Khari muttered as if to herself. “The genesauri were gone and we had a chance at real stability among the clans. Things were changing, but I had hoped they would be for the better.”

“You can’t seriously be considering this?” Farah asked. “Gavin, why are you so quiet over there? I know you have an opinion about all this.”

Gavin nodded, looking the woman in the eye. “I think we need to be prepared either way. Khari, shouldn’t we send out riders to the clans letting them know what’s going on? We can question Samsin and Nikanor again, see if we can’t get any more details out of them. Either way, we should prepare ourselves.”

Farah gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was making this into a far bigger deal than it was. Gavin sighed internally and looked to Khari, waiting for the woman to respond. She didn’t—just kept staring off into the distance. Lhaurel had returned to massaging her forehead.

Gavin got to his feet. “Farah, send out some riders to the clans. Let them know what’s been going on and let them know that they can come back here if they wish. If you see Cobb out there, send him to me, please.”

Farah gave him a flat look, her lips a thin line, then got to her feet as well. “Yes, sir,” she said stiffly and left.

Gavin ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring the filth that had accumulated in it. He figured he must look a sight, dusty and travel-worn, but that really didn’t matter right now.

“Lhaurel.” The woman didn’t look up. “Lhaurel,” Gavin said again.

She looked over at him.

“Show me the scrolls Beryl gave you.”

Lhaurel looked at him as if not seeing him for a few long moments, then nodded. “Alright.”

They left Khari where she was, staring off into the distance.

Gavin set down the scroll, careful not to disturb the lamp in the center of the low stone table. Cobb, who had entered the room a few minutes earlier, cleared his throat, but Gavin ignored him, turning to Lhaurel.

“This is an exact replica of one of the scrolls I read while in the Oasis.” Gavin said. “Except someone has translated them into the Rahuli script. The one I read was in the language of the Orinai, the language my grandmother told me was the tongue of our ancestors.”

“How did she know the language of the Orinai? How did she know?” Lhaurel asked.

“I don’t know if she did,” Gavin answered, rubbing his brow. “It was tradition for her, I think. She’d been one of the outcasts since she was a little girl and it was just something her parents had taught her.”

Cobb, for his part, remained silent. Farah must have told him something about what had transpired, but he kept his thoughts and opinions to himself.

“But what does it mean?” Lhaurel asked. She seemed on the verge of hysterics, hands shaking, face pinched and earnest.

“I don’t know,” Gavin said. “Maybe there’s some credence to it all.”

In truth, he had already formed his own opinion. Though he had no means of fully understanding what was coming, he was sure it was there. He’d always known there was a forgotten history to the Rahuli, a heritage that had been left behind in the face of the genesauri. Too many things added up for the Orinai not to be the Enemy the stories spoke of, though the Rahuli had always considered that enemy to be the genesauri. What he was going to do with that knowledge though, he still didn’t understand.

“Cobb,” Gavin said finally, turning to the man. “Can you please do an inventory of the weapons we have available to us. The forge and armory are sealed, if what Lhaurel tells us is true, but take an inventory of the rest of it.”

Cobb nodded and left, his limp more pronounced without his cane. Gavin found comfort in Cobb’s presence, needing the stability and strength the man radiated.

Gavin turned back to Lhaurel, who was still watching him. Gavin sighed and tried to shake off his growing exhaustion.

“Well Lhaurel,” he said. “I think we need to go chat with the Orinai again. I’ll need your help for that.”

Lhaurel bit her bottom lip, a habit of hers when she was agitated Gavin had discovered, but nodded.

Gavin entered the room where the guards had taken Samsin and Nikanor, the same room where Kaiden had been held prisoner not so very long before. Lhaurel stepped in after him, holding the lantern.

Both Samsin and Nikanor, still bound, got to their feet as they entered. Samsin immediately cast his eyes downward, but Nikanor met Gavin’s gaze with eyes as hard as stone.

Gavin stared back, unflinching. “Tell me everything I need to know about the Seven Sisters and their armies,” Gavin said. “What makes you think they’re coming? Why would they destroy us if what you said earlier is true and this was some grand arena before? How long do we have?”

“They have no mercy,” Nikanor said. “The armies and the Seven Sisters. They don’t often agree, but when they do—and they will about this—there is no power in the world that can stand against them for long. Their archers will come first. They have a habit of shooting but not killing the first wave sent against them. Those hits fuel the Sisters.”

Gavin felt bile rise up in the back of his throat as he thought of Lhaurel’s awesome power in the Oasis. If that were turned against the Rahuli as a whole . . .

“Why would they destroy us?” Gavin repeated.

Nikanor’s eyes slid away from Gavin to Lhaurel. “Because of her. There are only Seven Sisters, seven blood mages. Red hair and nails are their mark, though they can be easily imitated.” Nikanor nodded to Lhaurel, almost in respect, then looked back at Gavin. “I’ve experienced her power and know she’s really a blood mage. That means that one of the current Seven Sisters isn’t. The most powerful force in the Orinai Empire is lying to an entire empire.”

“I don’t understand,” Lhaurel said. “Why would they kill everyone because I’m a blood mage?”

It was Samsin who answered her. “Forgive Nikanor, Sister, but he is correct. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but even I cannot deny it in the face of what I’ve witnessed from you. They would kill everyone here to hide their lie. They’ll kill you too, I believe. Then they’d just have to wait for you to incarnate again where they could find and raise you as one of their own to replace the “fake” Sister.”

“I’m not one of them,” Lhaurel said, shuddering and making the light sway back and forth. “I’m not a monster.”

Gavin shook his head, perhaps even more confused now than he was before. “How long do we have?” he asked.

“There’s no way to know,” Samsin said. “It could be a day, it could be a month.”

“Only if they get told,” Nikanor added. “We still have to pass the message along to the next Earth Ward. When they don’t hear from us this month, they will send scouts, who will then meet with my steward at the plantation who will tell them where we went. It would take nearly a month for the Sisters to get from the Capital up to here. There’s still time for you to get away.”

Samsin shifted behind Nikanor, licking his lips and scratching at the ropes around his wrists.

Gavin narrowed his eyes. “What do you know, Samsin?”

Samsin fidgeted, then Lhaurel was there. Her eyes flashed with suppressed anger. Samsin flinched back from her, but she grabbed his arm.

“What do you know?” She hissed.

“I left scrolls with Nikanor’s steward,” Samsin said. “He was to send them if we hadn’t returned in three days. That was over ten days ago.”

”That’s right,” Nikanor said. “I’d forgotten. Those will take several weeks to reach the Sisters, though.”

Lhaurel released Samsin and stepped toward Gavin, hands shaking again. “We’ve got to go,” she said, voice trembling. “We’ve got to leave before they get here.”

“Let’s not rush into this, Lhaurel,” Gavin said. “We don’t even know how to get over the Forbiddence.”

Nikanor looked over at Samsin, who was leaning against a wall now, dejected. “Tell them, Samsin.”

Samsin sniffed. “There’s a jagged set of stairs north of where you found us.”

“Don’t you think we would have found them by now if there were?” Gavin snapped, the tension, confusion, and frustration building within him bursting out in his comment.

“Not if they weren’t there before,” Samsin said.

Gavin tried to picture Samsin carrying Nikanor down a set of steps covered in sand. Had Nikanor formed them? How had he managed that so wounded?

“There’s no way you could have carried him down that distance without falling.”

Samsin snorted and a trace of his former arrogance returned. “I’m a Storm Ward, you ignorant fool. I called the winds to clear the path for me and keep my step. It wasn’t any harder than pulling the winds down to fill the sails of a ship.”

Gavin had no idea what a ship was, but before he could ask Nikanor was talking again.

“You still have time. If you leave now, you can still make it to the Straights and then north from there—”

The ground suddenly heaved.

Beryl stood within the blazing heat of the forge, finally succumbing to the voice which had been his greatest foe for the last few centuries. The vulcanist reached through him to the reservoirs of heat beneath the warren, drawing on it and pulling it up through the cracks which formed in the metal and stone plug which had kept it contained since the Arena’s construction.

Beryl had used that heat for hundreds of years, slowly drawing it up into the forge, but each time it had cost him a bit more of his sanity. He lost the battle to the vulcanist for a brief moment at least once a year and made the ground shake, the earth tremble, but each time Beryl had been able to wrest back control.

This time, he didn’t even try.

“I understand now, Elyana,” Beryl said softly. “Why you did what you did. I’ve resented it for a thousand years. I’ve been angry with you for a thousand years”

The heat grew so intense behind him that the forge furnace grew red and Beryl’s clothes blackened, though his skin remained whole.

“I’ve lived in this waking dream, battling with the voices of my past and future lives, for what seems an eternity. You didn’t know that could happen, Elyana, did you? I discovered it on the day you died, when my mind and heart shattered and you became the karundin. All the incarnations and each of the Iterations, can exist within the same mind, did you know that?”

The voices within Beryl’s mind argued back and forth, debating whether or not insanity could be considered a true state of existence. They were a distant backdrop, however, to the thundering roars of exultation from the vulcanist, who gleefully pulled on his powers as if they were some sort of addictive drug, which, to the mystics of the third progression, they were.

“I’ve kept control all these years only through sheer force of will, Elyana,” Beryl continued, his voice lost in the roar of the flames. “That and memories of you. I’ve kept them safe, Elyana, the Rahuli people. They are our children, you said, our legacy and our honor, even though they hated and despised you for what you were. They abandoned you to exile and silent study while I led them in pointless battle.”

Memories Beryl had left hidden within partitioned sections of his mind poured through him, stilling all the voices except for his own and the vulcanist.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I fought physical battles. I gathered the clans. I battled Serthim and his Sister. I formed the Roterralar. I’ve tried to keep the Rahuli people safe.”

Tears formed in his eyes but were burned away by the heat before they could fall down his cheeks.

“You saved them once, at least part of them. Maybe I can save them too.”

Beryl smiled and, after a thousand years of struggle, gave up the fight and let the vulcanist consume the other voices and, finally, his own.

Chapter 24

Honor

“The Progressions dictate the actions of their followers. There is a Sister for each of them, guiding her specific faction in their quest for radiance and, ultimately, a place in the first hell, rather than the seventh.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Gavin fell to the ground, slamming into the bouncing earth and then getting jostled onto his back. Lhaurel’s scream from beside him announced her similar predicament, though Gavin couldn’t see her. The lamp shook loose and crashed to the ground, flames leaping up before a section of stone toppled from the ceiling and smothered them in a shower of dust and bits of rock.

Even in the middle of bouncing along the ground, Gavin turned to look at Samsin and Nikanor. Samsin was on the ground, like Gavin was, but Nikanor stood calmly on his feet as if the earth were his to command. A small section around him remained still and immobile. His broken bonds dangled from his wrists, and his eyes were half-shut in concentration.

“What in the sands,” Gavin shouted, trying hard not to bite his own tongue as he was jostled and bounced along the ground, “is going on?”

The shaking earth subsided and then passed. Gavin rose on unsteady feet. Though the quakes weren’t uncommon in general—Gavin remembered three or four others in his nearly twenty years—three so close together was something else entirely. Gavin felt worry worm its way into his stomach and beginning knowing at his insides.

“I can’t hold it back for long,” Nikanor said through clenched teeth.

Gavin looked over at the man while helping Lhaurel to her feet. The woman’s hand felt unusually thin and bony.

“What?”

“Beryl,” Nikanor said. “He’s now a vulcanist. He’s trying to force an eruption. I can hold the earth in place above it for a while, but—” He gasped suddenly and a small tremble hit the earth, then vanished. “He’s strong. Very strong. I didn’t know vulcanists had this sort of strength.” Sweat beaded on the man’s brow and dripped down his face.

Samsin got to his feet clumsily, hands still bound. “You can’t hold back a volcano, Nikanor. We’ve got to get out of here while we still can. Forget about these people. They’re dead anyway.”

Gavin turned a sharp look over to Samsin, who didn’t look the least bit embarrassed by what he had just said.

“Gavin,” Lhaurel said, “I can feel it too. This isn’t natural, this isn’t normal. Beryl feels different somehow. I—I can feel Nikanor and Beryl fighting one another. This is real. We need to leave. Now!”

Gavin was torn for a moment, then made a decision. He stepped over to Samsin and untied his hands. The man frowned down at Gavin, but Gavin ignored him. When he was done, Gavin turned to Nikanor.

“Can you walk and keep Beryl contained at the same time?”

Nikanor shook his head.

Gavin nodded, understanding the full implications and looking at the Orinai with grudging and surprised respect. “How much time can you give us?”

“I don’t know. Hurry.” The strain was plain in his voice.

Why would he do this? Did it really matter, though? It was what was needed for them to survive. Gavin nodded his respect to the man, hoping to convey some measure of the gratitude he felt.

Samsin moved up alongside Gavin, pushing him aside with one arm.

“What are you doing, Nikanor?” Samsin nearly shouted. “You came all the way here just to die saving these people? You betrayed the Seven Sisters already and then you dragged me into it. I thought we’d talked about this. I thought we were here to observe, not incite another civil war.”

Nikanor turned his head to look down at Gavin. “Go,” he said. “I’ll send Samsin along in a minute. He’s a good man, though he doesn’t know it yet. He’ll show you the way out.”

Gavin opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut and nodded. Lhaurel was already waiting for him at the door. She nodded at Nikanor over Gavin’s shoulder and then they rushed out into the passageway beyond.

“Go get Khari,” Gavin said. “Tell her to gather the aevians and send riders out to the other clans. Send them north toward the old Aeril Warren.”

Lhaurel nodded, fear evident in her expression, though it was mixed with the steely resolve Gavin had grown to expect from her. She took off down the hall, red hair bouncing on her shoulders and only a slight limp slowing her.

Gavin waited by the door for a long moment, waiting to see if Samsin would come, but then shrugged and raced off toward the greatroom.

Twenty minutes later the entire populace of the Roterralar clan waited in the eyrie, whatever supplies they could carry strapped either to themselves or to the backs of the aevians they could convince to bear burdens. The aevians themselves were agitated and ill-tempered, dozens simply taking flight of their own volition and flying off without any indication where they were going.

Khari was there, directing people to aevians and making sure they’d gathered what they needed from the eyrie itself. There was a hollow, haunted expression to her eyes, as if something inside her had broken, but Lhaurel remained near her side, careful to provide direction where needed.

Gavin stood calmly in the middle of the chaos, directing the flow of fearful bodies as they pushed and shoved through the throng. There were enough aevians equipped with saddles for nearly everyone, but a few would have to double up. Gavin had been mildly surprised at how easy it had been to convince everyone that they had to leave—the continued tremors had helped—but he wasn’t about to question good fortune when it fell in his lap. Cobb had also been helpful and had sent out additional riders to warn the clans. Gavin only hoped they were fast enough to save them. Depending on how far away from the Roterralar Warren they’d made it, it would take them the better part of a day to get to the section of Forbiddence Nikanor had mentioned, even if they ran the whole way.

“What are you waiting for, lad?” Cobb asked, walking over. Several others followed close behind him, including the man who’d shown deference to Lhaurel earlier and a few others Gavin knew he should probably recognize.

“I’m waiting for the Orinai,” Gavin said. “He knows where we’re going.”

As if speaking of him had drawn the man’s attention, Samsin burst through one of the entrances. The doors flung outward with tremendous force. The Orinai’s face looked thunderous, as if a storm cloud had somehow taken human form. The Roterralar scattered before him, shying away from the massive man. He strode through the crowd with long, powerful strides, making his way directly toward Gavin. Cobb and one of the other men, Lhaurel’s friend from earlier, stepped up beside Gavin.

“Why are you still here?” Samsin snapped, his voice a harsh growl. Gavin noticed the redness of man’s eyes.

“Well, you’re the one that knows the way, after all,” Gavin said. “Perhaps you’d care to show us.”

Samsin grumbled something under his breath. “Fine. But I’m not riding behind someone this time. I get my own bird.”

Cobb chuckled. “I don’t think that will be happening anytime soon.”

“That’s fine, Samsin,” Gavin said, holding up a hand to forestall Cobb’s continued objections. “Khari can help you find an aevian that will carry you. She’s the short one over there. Tell her I sent you.” Gavin pointed toward Khari and Samsin sniffed, before striding off in the indicated direction.

“You can’t be serious, Gavin,” Cobb objected as soon as Samsin had made it a reasonable distance from them. “You’re not going to simply let that—that—”

“Man?” Gavin supplied.

“That Orinai walk around free like he’s one of us, are you?”

Gavin shrugged. “Now is not the time to be fighting amongst ourselves. He knows how to get us where we need to go. I don’t have to trust him when helping us is the only way he’ll survive too. Pragmatism is sometimes far more powerful. Now let’s get this group on the move.”

Cobb started to protest again, face growing red and eyebrows coming together like bushy clouds above his nose, but the other man put a placating hand on Cobb’s shoulder and the old man subsided.

Gavin whistled sharply as he turned away and Nabil screeched and leapt from a crag on the wall to land near him. The large white aevian still favored his leg, but it hadn’t slowed his fierce pride any at all. Gavin reached up and scratched the aevian just beneath the eye, then vaulted up into the saddle and clipped himself in. The soft buzz of voices stilled as the assembled Roterralar noticed him up on Nabil’s back. Gavin felt a great weight settle on his shoulders as he regarded the faces of those looking up at him. It appeared Khari had found Samsin a riding harness and aevian. Lhaurel stood not far from her. Gavin found Shallee among the crowd as well, her newborn tied across her chest by several long strips of cloth.

Gavin took a deep breath through his nose and steeled his posture and expression.

“The time has come,” Gavin said in a voice that carried to the back of the eyrie. “Terror comes at us once again. I would say that this a new thing, a new threat, but it’s not, not really anyway. We’re Rahuli, the people of the Sharani Desert. We grew up knowing that the genesauri would come each year. We lived each day knowing that where we called home could and would change. This is not new to us. We’re moving again, though this time we won’t be coming back. I know you’re frightened. I know you’re all probably wondering what’s going on. I am too. But we’ve dealt with this before and come out stronger for it. We will do it again because we are Rahuli. Remember that.”

Gavin leaned to the side and Nabil turned in that direction so they were facing out toward the Sharani desert. Storm clouds dotted the horizon, flashing with the occasional burst of lightning. Behind him, Gavin heard several dozen metallic clicks as people snapped into their saddles.

“Samsin,” Gavin called over one shoulder. “Fly alongside me. I’ll get us to where I found you, but then you’ll need to show us the rest of the way.” Gavin leaned down slightly in the saddle and rested a hand on Nabil’s broad back. “Alright then, Nabil,” Gavin whispered. “Let’s go.”

Nabil launched into the sky.

They flew north in a great concourse of aevians, with Gavin, Samsin, and Khari at their head. The aevians had been instructed to follow Nabil and Gwyanth, but most of the new Roterralar had never ridden an aevian before so the process was a slow one. Still, the sands seemed to undulate beneath them, though it was due to the wind rather than shaking earth.

Gavin looked back over his shoulder at those following him frequently, making sure everyone was still safe. Small children rode with their parents or with older siblings. Cobb sat stiffly on the back of his aevian, but his wrinkled, stony face held a note of child-like wonder on it as well. Gavin marveled that the man, so taciturn, straight-forward, and blunt at times, could still marvel in the face of everything that was going on.

In the back of Gavin’s mind, fear was taking root and slowly spreading through him. It wasn’t the fear of the unknown though. As he’d said to the others, they’d dealt with the unknown their entire lives. He truly believed that. They were a strong people, able to adapt to whatever situations came. No, the fear that climbed through him like an insidious vine from the Oasis, was a fear that, once again, he wouldn’t be able to save the people.

His entire life, his grandmother had instilled in him a sense of duty, honor, and compassion. At first, Gavin had thought it only applied to the outcasts, but he’d begun to realize that it was something more. All the Rahuli deserved protection and some measure of unity, if they could manage it. He’d thought the Rahuli safe, despite the nagging doubts. True, Kaiden had still been there and the clans had struggled to work together, but Gavin had thought those things that would eventually work themselves out. But this? The Orinai? Beryl threatening their very existence? Gavin had no idea how long they had, but a small voice inside him knew it would not be enough.

He urged Nabil to fly faster.

As they flew, other riders appeared on the horizon and moved to join them, shouting that they’d reached the clans and were directing them toward the old Aeril Warren. All, that is, except the ones following Maugier. Those refused to come.

Gavin ground his teeth together. Of course Maugier wouldn’t come. Stubborn, idiot, sands-cursed man. Gavin was half-tempted to go after them in that very moment, but then thought better of it. If he got these ones to where they could start getting out, he could go back with the aevian riders and begin relaying as many as he could. That is, of course, if the aevians could take the abuse. Already, Gavin could sense the exhaustion in Nabil’s wingbeats.

The Forbiddence grew large on the horizon, the sun low over its lip to his left. They were only a few short minutes’ flight away, close to the stoneway pillar. Gavin had signaled for Samsin to show them the way and the massive blonde Orinai had managed to direct his aevian into the lead. Once again Gavin was struck by the sheer height of the monolithic black wall. Had Samsin and Nikanor really managed a way through it? Doubt crept through Gavin and intertwined with the fear already there.

If Gavin hadn’t been looking right at the Forbiddence, he would have missed it, but as it was, he watched in stunned disbelief as a massive section of the Forbiddence simply crumbled and fell inward, leaving a gaping hole. Dust flew into the air in a great, billowing cloud and, even as high in the sky as they were, Gavin felt the concussive impact of the stone and the echoing rumble of the earth far below. The aevians shrieked and cawed and Nabil twisted oddly in the air, making Gavin grab onto the pommel. Mingled exclamations of surprise and fear rose on the wind behind him, only to be stifled by the echoing retort of the cascading stone.

Gavin swore. Behind him, Khari—at least, Gavin assumed it was Khari—whistled sharply to signal a descent. Gavin nudged Nabil with his knees and urged him onward, then noticed Samsin just ahead and to the left of him. Color had drained from the Orinai’s face, though his gaze and expression were intent and focused on the billowing dust cloud as it slowly began settling. The aevian he was riding responded to Khari’s calls and began to descend along with the others. Gavin hesitated, then edged Nabil down as well.

Nabil alighted on the ground alongside Samsin, and Gavin unclipped from the saddle and leapt to the ground. The Orinai had hopped out of the saddle in an apparent daze, for he was still attached to his saddle by a taut leather lead. One of Samsin’s hands was absently working back up the lead toward the saddle, but it wasn’t really helping.

Gavin hopped over and pulled it free.

“What is it, Samsin?” Gavin asked. “The other Orinai?”

Samsin nodded. “They must have been right on our heels the entire time,” he whispered. “But how did they know?” His voice trailed off as, emerging from the billowing dust cloud like blood from a wound, a vast army of red-clad archers appeared within the gaping hole which had been blown in the Forbiddence wall.

Part 5

Survivor

Chapter 25

Orinai

“Those who attain any of the third and highest of the Iterations are granted solace within the first hell, according to our beliefs. Though this scholar promised not to delve into religion, it is the driving force of the movement along the Iterations and the means by which the reincarnations of our former lives can speak with us in dream.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel pushed through the throng of confused Roterralar, dread spreading through her like an icy torrent of water. Someone growled something at her, but Lhaurel ignored it and instinctively drew on her powers. She knew using her own blood would be counter-productive in the long run, leaving her weak after she released it, but she needed the extra strength and clarity now, in the face of what she saw unfolding before her.

Red-clad archers poured out of the gap in the Forbiddence like a bleeding wound. Here and there along the line Lhaurel could see larger men, ones with the same sense of solidity to their build and movements that Nikanor and Beryl shared. They fell into a posture that made them seem to merge with the stone of the Forbiddence itself upon which they trod. She recognized them, both from their similarity to Nikanor and her readings from the scrolls. Earth Wards. It must have been them who had brought down the Forbiddence. Lhaurel pushed passed the last stunned onlookers and broke into an open space for a few moments before coming up alongside Gavin, Samsin, and Khari. More archers poured down the gap. Now that she was clear of the press of aevians and people, Lhaurel realized that the gap was downward sloped, as if the army pouring into the Sharani Desert had to descend from a great height.

“Talk to me, Samsin,” Gavin demanded, his voice cracking like a whip with the urgency of his words. Lhaurel glanced sidelong at him, but her eyes immediately returned to the army. More warriors came down.

“Earth Wards,” Samsin said, voice soft. “Those there are Earth Wards. They’ll keep Beryl from blowing this place as long as the Sisters are here.” His voice caught at that, but Gavin made a pointed grunt and Samsin continued. “The archers are the Sisters’ Bleeders.”

“Bleeders?” Lhaurel asked. A small voice whispered in the back of her mind, telling her she already knew what he’d say. She had to hear it for herself though. Samsin turned to look down at her, his white-blonde hair whipping in the slight breeze and dancing across his regal face.

“They don’t aim to kill,” Samsin said. “They only want to wound. Anyone that gets hit by an arrow is drained instantly of blood by one of the Sisters. They call it justice and proof of their right to rule our religion and the Progressions.”

“What?” Gavin asked, though Lhaurel understood.

“They use the blood to fuel their power and then turn it against the brethren of the very men they killed. You get killed, literally, by your own blood.”

Lhaurel shuddered, remembering the Oasis, remembering the old man, moments from death, she’d been forced to use as a means to kill the genesauri. She remembered feeling Shallee’s pain, remembered the feeling of hundreds dying in the Oasis. How could those monsters feel all that and still act the way they did? Lhaurel felt sick and angry at the same time.

“What can we do?” Gavin asked, looking from Samsin, who had lost all the arrogance and condescension from his voice, to Khari. “What can we do, Samsin?”

Samsin shrugged. “There’s nothing you can do except sit here and wait for the Sisters’ judgment.” With that, Samsin turned and strode a short distance away, head bowed. He reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a small round medallion before dropping to his knees in the sand. Behind Lhaurel, someone started to cry, which sparked others to join.

Lhaurel, awash in her powers, felt the fear permeating through the Roterralar like sand after a sandstorm. Even without her powers, Lhaurel was sure she could have felt the fear; it was that palpable.

Gavin looked over at Samsin, his mouth working, then back to Khari, who still hadn’t said anything.

The woman finally blinked and seemed to come to her senses. “Gavin?” she asked.

Lhaurel felt her inner calm, brought on by the powers she was holding, tremble and threaten to give way at the absolute despair and hopelessness in Khari’s voice. The Matron of the Roterralar was the rock upon which Lhaurel had built most of her foundation. Especially now, after everything that had gone on, Khari was the one person Lhaurel could always turn to. She was immovable. She was solid.

She’d given up.

“Gather everyone, Khari,” Gavin said, recognizing the need to take charge. “And move back. They’re not attacking yet.”

“Lhaurel can save us, like she did with the genesauri, can’t she?” Khari asked, looking over at her.

Lhaurel felt a rush of panic and a great weight settling on her shoulder. Gavin looked over at her as well, hope in his eyes.

“I—I don’t know.” Lhaurel stammered, honestly unsure if she could duplicate what she’d done. She didn’t even really understand how she’d done it in the first place. What she’d read told her that what she’d done was impossible, even for one of the Seven Sisters. “It doesn’t work like that. I mean, I can’t get it to do what I want when I want it yet.”

Gavin swallowed hard and made a good show of not reacting, though Lhaurel could sense his disappointment.

He turned to Khari. “Get the woman and children who can’t fight to the back. Get Cobb and some of the others to help you.”

Khari nodded absently and walked off, not a trace of hurry in her step. Lhaurel scurried over to Gavin.

“What do we do?” Lhaurel whispered. “There are only a few dozen of us and only a handful of mystics that can fight.”

“Are you sure you can’t?” Gavin made a vague gesture and Lhaurel shook her head. Gavin nodded again and his jaw firmed. He rocked his head back a few times as if stretching his neck.

“What do we do, Gavin?” Lhaurel repeated. “If we get a good plan going, maybe we can figure this out.”

“We’ll do what we can,” a voice said. Lhaurel turned to see the man she’d broken walking up behind her. His face was wan and his eyes wider than they should have been, but he suppressed his fear well.

“Who are you?” Gavin asked.

“Darryn.”

“Ok, Darryn,” Gavin said, turning to the man. “You’re a mystic, right? Gather the other mystics and meet me back here. They aren’t attacking yet, but we need to have a plan when they do.”

Lhaurel noticed he didn’t say if. Silently, she agreed with him, realization gripping her with shadowed fingers. She let her powers fade, feeling the latent exhaustion pile in. The pain in her leg returned and a throbbing headache threatened at her temples. Why now? Still, a small voice in her head knew a battle was coming. There would be plenty of time then to draw on additional fuel for her powers. No! No. She would never do that. Not again. She was not a monster. She was a Rahuli and she would fight and die defending them.

“I need at least two of you watching that army at all times,” Gavin said. “Cobb, you’re in charge of making sure the women and children are kept calm and they stay behind anyone who can defend them. Khari will help you with that.” The old man nodded, expression neutral, but his white hair was plastered to his face by sweat. “The rest of you I need to fly as many trips as you can out to the clans and bring as many of them back with you as you can before we lose the light.”

“What about them?” one of the men asked, jutting his chin toward the vast sea of red. His question was echoed in the expressions of everyone else in the circle, even Lhaurel, who had found a sword somewhere and belted it on.

“They’re not going anywhere,” Gavin said, resting a hand on the pommel of his greatsword, which he’d retrieved from Nabil’s back. “It’s nearly dark. Unless they have the ability to see in the dark, they’ll be just as blind as us. I don’t think they’ll attack.”

Gavin held the man’s gaze for a long moment, trying to convey as much confidence as he could muster. It was difficult, but he knew that’s what they needed.

Eventually the man nodded, apparently satisfied. Farah flashed Gavin a brief smile when his eyes passed over her, which gave him a small boost of confidence.

“Alright then,” Gavin said. “Let’s go.”

The majority of the group moved to leave, but one woman lingered. “What about Maugier’s clan?” she asked.

Gavin looked over at her and tried to not breathe a sigh of frustration. Maugier’s clan. Gavin still hadn’t figured out what to do about them. If he sent another messenger, they would just get ignored. He really needed to either go himself or have Khari go, but they were both needed here. Gavin pursed his lips and ran a hand through his dusty, matted hair.

“I don’t know. I hope they’ll come, but right now we can’t spare the men or aevians to go warn them or convince them to come. Everyone in the Sharani Desert saw the section of the Forbiddence come down. If they’ve any sense, they’ll come now.”

“I can go,” the woman volunteered. Gavin regarded the woman, noticing her trembling hands and the stony set of her jaw. Some of the others who had turned to leave turned back to witness the exchange.

“We need to save as many as we can,” Gavin said. “I don’t know if we can spare you. What connection do you have to the Maugier’s clan? Family?”

The woman nodded. “My sister and mother are with them,” she said. “Please.”

Gavin scratched at his chin. “Go. If you can’t convince him tonight, you get back here by first light tomorrow. If we’re still alive then, we’ll need you.”

The woman nodded and, to Gavin’s surprise, snapped a fist to her breast in a salute. Gavin nodded to her and she spun on her heel in the sand and hurried to her aevian. They were in the air in moments.

“What are the rest of you waiting for?” Gavin asked, looking around at the others. They broke apart immediately, even Cobb, who snapped a salute at Gavin, then left, leaving Gavin alone. Gavin looked around and frowned. Where had Lhaurel gotten off to? He searched the group, but didn’t see her. Instead, his eyes fell on Samsin, who still knelt in the sand a half-dozen spans away, fiddling with the medallion in his hands.

Lhaurel made her way through the mothers and children, careful not to jostle anyone. Not that it was hard to get through them. They made way before her easily. Her scarlet hair and nails made her easily recognizable and, even among the Roterralar, she was considered something of an oddity.

Lhaurel ignored them all, instead focusing her attention on finding Khari. Gavin’s plan was fine. It was probably even the right one. But what Lhaurel needed right now was a little stability, and that meant snapping Khari out of whatever stupor she was in. Thankfully, in such a small group, the woman was not hard to find. Khari sat in the sand alongside Shallee, the small former outcast woman nursing her baby as she carried on a running stream of one-sided conversation with Khari.

“I’m sure I don’t know what all is going on here, but at least we’re safe for now then, aren’t we?” Shallee said, smiling over at Lhaurel as she took a seat in the sand next to Khari. “I mean, there’s no sense getting all worked up about something that hasn’t happened yet, is there?”

“That’s right,” Lhaurel said, though her words sounded hollow in her own mind. “Gavin’s worked up a plan. We should have the rest of the clans here by morning. We’ll have more people to help us in the fight.”

Near them, aevians called softly back and forth to one another where they nestled in the sand. Even the unbonded ones stayed close, though they were subdued.

“Really?” Shallee asked, moving her child over to the other side so he could continue to suckle. “That’s good. We’ll be safe until then.”

Khari frowned at this and turned her head over to look at the woman. “Safe? For over forty years I got used to dealing with the set pattern of the Dormancy and Migration. Nine months of life followed by three of terror. I devoted my life to the protection of the Rahuli people and to the Roterralar. Makin and I even gave up on having children of our own. As the years went by, the Roterralar warriors became our children, to an extent. What kind of a mother am I now?” Khari’s gaze shifted over to Lhaurel and her expression softened for a moment. Then it hardened again. “I thought we were safe when the genesauri were gone. I thought. I hoped . . . what can I do against this now?”

“Oh, it’s not so bleak as all that.” Shallee said, though Lhaurel was inclined to disagree. “Lhaurel destroyed the genesauri, right? She can protect us now, if we need it, can’t she?” The woman looked to Lhaurel expectantly.

“I—” Lhaurel began, but Khari cut her off.

“No,” Khari snapped, fire returning to her voice. “She can’t. Her mind has barely begun to heal from the effort last time. No. This battle we fight on our own. I must protect my children.” Khari straightened suddenly and her lips formed a hard line. She got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to Gavin about his plans.”

Lhaurel watched her go, grateful Khari had returned to normal, but also recognizing the woman’s lies for what they were. Though Khari’s confident, commanding posture and presence had returned, the woman’s eyes were dull, the fires of hope and resilience within them dim. Lhaurel rested hand on her sword, a deep desire to help Khari blossoming in her chest. Maybe she could save them in the heat of the battle, as she had last time.

No!

“What do they even want, anyway?” Shallee asked, most of the brightness gone from her voice now that Khari had gone.

“All that was a show then?” Lhaurel asked. “Just to get Khari back on her feet?”

Shallee shrugged, which upset the baby. “And what were you doing just now, may I ask?”

Lhaurel shot the woman a wan smile. Shallee returned it, then glanced back at the assembled army in what remained of the sunlight. The red-clothed archers were busy setting up tents in neat rows, working around the Earth Wards as if they were stone statues instead of men. “We all do what we can to help our parents, even if they’re only surrogate ones.”

Lhaurel nodded, looking back over at Khari’s retreating form. Khari had done so much for her, as had the Rahuli people. There had to be a way to protect them. Lhaurel glanced back down at Shallee and found the woman smiling down at her child, who gazed up at her with wide, wet, innocent eyes. Lhaurel remembered feeling Shallee’s pain that day that seemed so long ago now. The pain one goes through for their children. Khari’s pain came from there as well, though her children didn’t even know they were such.

“Lhaurel?”

Lhaurel looked over. “Hmm?”

“What do you suppose they want?”

Lhaurel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again as Nikanor’s words came back to her. “Me,” she whispered.

Nikanor had said they would kill her to hide their lies. But what if . . . a plan formed in Lhaurel’s mind, one that made her hands tremble and her entire body shake. Lhaurel took a few deep breaths, steadying herself, then slowly unclenched her fists. If it all worked out, she could save the Rahuli people. If it didn’t, well, what did she have to lose?

“Talk to me, Samsin.” Gavin said again, grabbing the man on the shoulder and trying to turn the massive man to face him. “I need some answers.”

Samsin pulled out of Gavin’s grip with surprising ease, seeming to shrug and turn away at the same time. “Leave me to my prayers, slave boy,” Samsin said softly. “If I am to start the incarnation process over again tomorrow, I want to rise to the next Iteration this time.”

Gavin ran his hand through his hair in frustration, and blew out a long breath. “If you just answer my questions, maybe we can figure out a way that doesn’t involve us dying either from this whole desert being obliterated or shot by arrows and drained of our blood.”

Samsin spun back to face Gavin, face contorted with emotion. Gavin was surprised to see tears in Samsin’s eyes. “Nikanor is giving himself up for you. He’s gone. Do you understand? Let me mourn our passing in peace.”

Gavin swallowed and then nodded.

Chapter 26

Desperation

“The Iterations, the Schema, they are not simply paths to a different power. They are more than that. They are the paths to the salvation of souls. They show all of us what we are striving for. The Seven Sisters show us how to attain them, or should, in a perfect world.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel walked through the sands on silent feet, her limp all but gone. The ease at which she’d been able to escape the makeshift Roterralar camp had surprised her, but then, they were busy helping the aevian riders unload passengers from the other clans so they could try and get back out there for more before the sun fully set.

Lhaurel shivered in the growing darkness, wrapping her arms around herself. Cold came quickly in the darkness, though it was probably only relative to how warm it was when the sun was out. She chewed on her bottom lip as she strode toward the army arrayed at the foot of the Forbiddence, careful to stick to the shadows so she wouldn’t be spotted for as long as possible. She didn’t want to get stuck by an arrow before she could speak to the Sisters.

The plan was reckless. It relied too much on information that could very well be false. But it was the only chance they had. They were relying on her to save them. Despite what Khari had said, despite everything Gavin claimed, she could see it in their eyes. They wanted her to save them. After what she’d done to the genesauri, how could they not look to her for salvation again? But Lhaurel wasn’t going to pay that price again. No, Nikanor had said they were here for her, or they would kill everyone once they found her to cover their charade. Lhaurel hoped to bargain for something better.

An arrow screamed through the sky, nearly hitting her. Lhaurel jumped and broke into a run, not away from the arrow, but toward it.

“How dare you fire upon one of the Seven Sisters!” Lhaurel shouted, hoping it would work long enough for her to get into their view. It was stupid, dangerous, and foolish, but no additional arrows came. There was still barely enough light to see she was alone, now that she was no longer hugging the sides of dunes and trying to hide from view.

A row of sentries appeared before her, seeming to materialize out of the gloom. Behind them, Lhaurel could make out the tents constructed there and the score or so Earth Wards still retaining their statuesque stances in between. Lhaurel studied the sentries as they dashed toward her. Each was clad in red capes and conical steel caps, quivers full of arrows strapped to their backs. Each carried a massive bow in one hand. To a man, they were tall and muscular, as tall as the tallest Rahuli warrior, but they weren’t even close to Samsin or Nikanor’s massive height. Were there different types of Orinai, just like the Rahuli were divided into clans?

They surrounded her, arrow tips inches from her face. One of the men produced a torch and lit it with an ornate striker. Lhaurel squinted against the sudden flaring light, raising her hand to block the light. The torchlight glinted off her blood-red nails and hair. Immediately weapons were lowered and the archers all took a collective step back.

The one holding the torch cleared his throat, proffered a hasty bow, and said something that Lhaurel didn’t understand. Were they talking in another language?

“Take me to my Sisters,” Lhaurel said. She held her breath, hoping he would understand. Nikanor and Samsin had spoken in her language, hadn’t they? A bead of sweat formed on her brow and slid down the side of her face.

The torch bearer’s eyebrows rose into his dark black hair and his eyes widened. They shone a pale green in the light. “Your pardon, Honored Sister,” the man said in the Rahuli tongue, though with a heavy accent. “We meant no dishonor. We did not know you were here. Your Sisters did not tell us to expect another.” He swallowed and licked his lips, though his posture returned to rigid straightness and his expression melted back into the soldier’s nondescript stare.

Lhaurel felt something relax inside her and she let out the breath she’d been holding. She also released her grip on her powers, which she’d grasped at in desperation when the torch-bearer’s eyebrows had risen. For the first time, Lhaurel was grateful for her blood-red hair and nails.

“Take me to my Sisters,” Lhaurel said again.

“Yes, Sister,” Torch-bearer said, bowing low. He gestured curtly and the other archers formed up around her into two long lines. They kept their eyes forward, not looking over at her or out to either side. The torch bearer took up a position in front of Lhaurel at the head of the two lines. “Would you care for me to fetch you a chair, Sister?”

A chair?

“No thank you.”

The man shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.

“Would you like us to fetch you a steed, perhaps?” he asked.

“I will walk,” Lhaurel said, as calmly as she could muster.

The torch-bearer nodded.

Lhaurel walked along in the middle of the two lines as they approached the tents, physically forcing herself to remain calm. The first part of her plan—and honestly the part which had the greatest chance of going wrong and making the entire gamble completely meaningless—had gone surprisingly well, mostly due to the power of the Seven Sisters’ reputation and Lhaurel’s hair color. But what about when she met with the very women who inspired such terror and ultimate respect? Lhaurel bit the inside of her bottom lip, not wanting to ruin the imperious image she was trying to convey.

They strode through the camp, more red-clad archers giving way before them, not one pausing to make mockery of her or protest the group’s movement through their ranks. The only thing Lhaurel’s little procession moved for was an Earth Ward. They passed around him, pushing aside a group of red-clad soldiers who were in the process of getting a fire going using a wood that Lhaurel didn’t recognize and that had a sharp, spicy scent.

Lhaurel ignored the throng of bodies, the smells of so many people in the same place. They walked, clambering up the broken stones as if they were steps, as more red-clad soldiers passed down to one side, moving out onto the sands and setting up tents on either side of those already erected. Lhaurel had never seen so many people in one place.

She turned her thoughts back to the reasons she was doing this. Images of Shallee and her baby passed through her mind, of Khari, Gavin, Farah, Tieran, Makin Qays, Fahkiri. They danced through her mind and strengthened her as she walked.

Eventually, they reached the top of the stand of rocks, now in full darkness except for the torch held before them. A massive pavilion of red material stood there, a stream of people coming in and out. Half a dozen massive Orinai stood outside it, some with blond hair and others with dark or grey, but each as large and tall as Samsin or Nikanor had been.

Lhaurel steeled herself against the cold and the shivers which threatened to creep up her spine. A strange white powder covered the ground, which crunched underfoot and soaked through her boots.

She’d long since been forced to draw on her powers to keep up her strength. She felt each of the Earth Wards and Storm Wards, but what was more, a deep, powerful perversion emanated from the pavilion. The feeling of wrongness was so profound that Lhaurel had to swallow hard to keep her stomach from emptying itself.

The procession stopped, but acting on instinct, Lhaurel continued forward, passing the torch-bearer without a word. It seemed like the right thing to do. One of the massive, blond-haired Storm Wards moved to stop her, white energy crackling up his arm in instant. In a tight grey shirt, pristine white vest, and black leather pants stretched tight over a muscular frame, the Orinai mystic cut an imposing figure.

Lhaurel didn’t stop. Instead, she gathered her courage and raised her gaze to meet the man’s eye, pointedly flipping her curly red hair over one shoulder with one hand. Color drained from the Storm Ward’s face in a rush, like the flesh stripped off a carcass by a pack of sailfins. He stepped back, muttering something in the language Lhaurel didn’t understand. She kept her gaze on him until he dropped his eyes to the ground and fell into a bow. Some of the others, noticing his movements, fell into bows of their own when they noticed her. Only one of them stood up long enough to have a look of confusion cross his face. Nodding once, Lhaurel strode forward and, pushing aside the canvas door, stepped into the lighted pavilion, steeling herself against the feeling of revulsion spinning in her stomach.

The room was lit by over a dozen lanterns suspended from the poles which held the massive pavilion up. Lhaurel was immediately struck by the warmth and cleanliness within, a stark contrast to the freezing cold outside. The room was empty, save for three extremely tall, thin women with blood-red hair sitting in high-backed chairs directly across from her. At least, Lhaurel thought they were women.

Blood-red hair hung from scalps so white they appeared almost like bone. Their eyes shone with a deep reddish luster, though they were varied in color in the center. Their features were young, though the eyes and expressions hinted that the appearance was deceiving. Though they sat, they were all tall, taller than Lhaurel even by several feet, their figures curvy and voluptuous.

Upon seeing Lhaurel, the center woman smiled, revealing teeth that had been sharpened to points. She tapped a long wooden walking staff that lay across her chair with one long, blood-red nail. Lhaurel couldn’t help but shudder.

“So,” the center Sister said, “it is true.”

Lhaurel wondered that they were speaking her tongue.

The Sister on the left nodded and made a gesture with one hand. A short man, clad only in a white vest and leggings, appeared from another door in the pavilion’s canvas just behind the Sisters. “Send everyone away,” she said. “We will have privacy. Remove everyone from hearing range.”

The servant scurried away.

Lhaurel licked her lips, her throat and mouth a barren desert. She cleared her throat. “I have come to negotiate on behalf of my people.”

“Your people?” the Sister on the right asked, laughing. “Oh child, your people are before you.”

The other two Sisters laughed as well. Lhaurel heard movement from outside as those near the pavilion moved away from it, as instructed. A bead of sweat dripped down Lhaurel’s forehead and slid passed her ear.

“The Rahuli,” Lhaurel said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I have come to bargain for their lives.”

“They are of no consequence, child,” the center Sister said. “Tell us, have you been having dreams?”

Dreams?

Lhaurel struggled to form cogent thoughts. They hadn’t killed her yet, had even seemed to have expected her.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Lhaurel said, playing for more time as her mind slowly worked over the information she had available. “You seem to have been expecting me?”

“Expecting? No, I wouldn’t say that at all. Did we hope we’d find you when we came? Yes. Why else would we have taken an entire month on this wretched journey? We left this place over a thousand years ago, left it to rot within its own decay and mildew as it turned from the true Progressions. Why would we have come back, if not to find you again?”

Lhaurel blinked, more confused than ever. They’d known she’d be here? A thousand years? What were they talking about? Hadn’t Nikanor and Samsin been surprised to find her here?

“Now look, you’ve gone and confused her, Sellia,” the Sister on the right said. “Of course she doesn’t know anything about that. You can’t really expect the slaves to remember anything at all, can you?”

The Sister on the left snorted and Sellia, the center Sister, frowned and narrowed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. She stands before us radiating with the power of the Sisters. She is Elyana’s newest incarnation. We must take her home.”

“Agreed,” the two other Sisters said together.

“We will teach her our ways, return her to the fold,” Sellia said with a smile of pointed teeth. “She will renew her Progression and replace the sitter.” Her deep, blue eyes glinted in the lamplight. “Let us bind her.”

“Wait!” Lhaurel said, a note of terror creeping into her voice as she sensed all three of the women reaching for their power, a vast reservoir of strength flowing through them that made anything she’d channeled seem like a spit in the wind by comparison. “I will go with you, whatever you want. You don’t have to bind me. I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Just let the Rahuli go.”

“Go?” the Sister on the left said. “Why ever should we? They’re slaves, descendants of rebels who slew one of our very Sisters through your past betrayal.”

My past betrayal?

Elyana had betrayed the Sisters, not Lhaurel. She pushed that thought aside, ignoring everything but the three women sitting before her, radiating power yet sitting there as if nothing of any real importance was going on.

“Indeed. If they had simply left that sword in the rock, they never would have triggered the alert we left behind. They have chosen their own fate, my dear.”

Lhaurel felt the three woman acting as one, reaching toward her with their collective strength. Desperately, Lhaurel pulled at her power, but the three Sisters brushed aside her efforts as if she were a child fighting a sailfin. They entered her mind, her body, her blood. Pain erupted from every part of her body at once. She screamed.

“Tell the armies to pull back out of this place,” Sellia said. Lhaurel heard the words as if from a great distance as waves of pain coursed through her. She felt as if her blood was on fire, her very skin alight with flame. “Bring the Bleeders back except for the Seventh Phala. They can deliver our message for us. Let Beryl destroy them in this eruption. Let him destroy the very people he once saved. Take her to one of the wagons when she’s subdued.”

Blackness closed in around Lhaurel. “No,” she whispered, dropping to the floor. Her last fleeting thought as she succumbed to the pain and power thrumming through her was that she’d failed.

The vulcanist who had once been Beryl roared as flames licked at his body, but left his skin untouched, whole, and unburned. Beryl had kept him contained—mostly—for centuries, shutting him away in a tiny corner of his mind with the other past and future incarnations and Iterations. Now others blocked his powers. He could feel the Earth Wards working in concert to keep the stone, metal and earth intact above the roiling, beautiful magma deep within the volcano’s belly. They strove together to keep him contained.

The vulcanist laughed. He was finally out. He would not be contained again. He fought against the Earth Wards and, eventually, began to win out as they dropped out of the fight one by one, until only the first remained.

Chapter 27

Power

“The blood mages, the Seven Sisters, link us all to the paths we trod. They are the connecting force of the Iterations. They hold the ultimate power.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Gavin awoke as Farah stirred in his arms. He blinked blearily, his mind momentarily a second behind his body, then sat up, careful not to wake Farah. It was still dark, but there was a faint reddish glow resting on the eastern horizon and the stars were starting to fade in the night sky. It had been a long night, and it took several long yawns and stretches to fully banish the sleep from his eyes and mind.

The aevian riders had gone out and brought back as many as they could until the sun had fully fallen. Gavin had maintained a careful watch on the enemy army as Khari had taken charge of making sure everyone got bedded down for the night, Roterralar and Rahuli alike. As Gavin had observed before, there was unity in fear, and unity in a common enemy.

Evrouin’s clan had stumbled in a few hours after nightfall, the warlord himself leading them in by following the glowing lights of fires that blazed from the enemy encampment. Once during the night, shortly before the other clan had arrived, the ground had shaken and trembled. Gavin had thought they’d be too late, that Nikanor had lost his silent vigil, but the shaking had subsided after a moment. It wasn’t long after that the second clan had arrived, and Farah had found her way over to him. She fell asleep with her head in his lap, and he’d succumbed to exhaustion shortly thereafter.

Gavin got to his feet as the first few tendrils of dawn pierced the deep blue sky above. He stretched and looked at the slumbering forms around him. Dozens were already awake, though Gavin questioned whether or not many of them had even slept at all. Maugier’s clan still hadn’t arrived.

They were still alive though, that was something. Nikanor and the other Earth Wards had been able to keep the Sharani Desert from exploding, at least for now. Now they only had to worry about the armies of Orinai blocking their way. One problem down, just to be faced with another.

Gavin yawned, scratched at his growing beard to get the sand out of it, and then walked toward the sentries. He might as well go see how large the army had gotten during the night.

A few of the aevians called to one another from the outskirts of the group. Gavin looked over at them, spotting Nabil by himself to one side. Gavin shook his head. Why did Nabil insist on holding himself apart from the others of his kind?

Samsin lay a few spans away, head on a blanket, white-blond hair splayed out across the red sand.

Gavin shook his head again and then looked out to where the Orinai army had formed up. He blinked. Army? Fires still smoldered in the dim light, but no tents remained. Gavin had heard a commotion from the camp for a short while. Had that been them leaving? Only a hundred or so red-clad archers stood in formation in front of where the army had been. One man stood in front of the others, though he was clad all in white.

Gavin hurried up to the sentries. Darryn noticed him coming and met him partway.

“When did this happen?” Gavin asked.

Darryn shrugged. “Nearest we can tell, sometime in the night. Those ones have been standing there since it got light enough for us to see again.”

“Why didn’t you come get me?”

“There didn’t really seem to be a need,” Darryn said. “They’re just standing there. Besides, you and the girl . . .” He trailed off and then shrugged.

Gavin ignored that part, though he felt himself flush slightly. “Go get Khari and Cobb. Then wake Samsin on your way back.”

“I’m here already, boy,” Cobb said, walking up behind him. “These damnable beasts don’t allow my old mind much rest to try and sleep.”

“Go get the others, then,” Gavin said, nodding at Darryn. The man nodded and hurried off.

“He’s a good man, that one,” Cobb said. “If a bit stubborn.”

Gavin didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes forward, watching the red-clad archers simply standing there. Where had the rest of the army gone? Were the Earth Wards still helping keep Beryl in check or was Nikanor on his own once again? Why had that man been so willing to sacrifice himself for them?

Before too long, Darryn returned with Khari and a grumbling Samsin. The man looked even more disheveled, blond hair a matted mess sticking to one side of his face. The grumbling stopped as he got alongside Gavin and looked out over the remains of the army. He swore.

“Storms and seas unite!” he cursed. “That’s an Honor Squad.”

“A what?” Cobb demanded at the same time that Khari said, “I can’t find Lhaurel anywhere.”

Gavin held up a hand to quiet Khari and turned to look at Samsin, waiting for his answer to Cobb’s question.

“An Honor Squad,” Samsin said. “They leave behind a squad of Bleeders to deliver a message and allow a worthy enemy their final honors before death. When the sun appears on the horizon, the one in white will deliver the final message, then the archers will kill everyone here.”

“What honor is there in that?” Cobb demanded, voice quivering with anger and emotion.

Samsin turned to look at him. “The honor is being allowed to die on your own, without becoming fuel for the Sisters.”

Cobb snapped his mouth shut.

“We’ve got to stop them then,” Darryn said. “We can rush them from above and kill them before they have a chance to shoot us down.”

“They’ll just shoot you out of the sky,” Khari interrupted. “You’ll lose both the aevians and their riders.”

“Would you rather just sit here and die?”

Khari’s eyes narrowed. “What I’m saying is that we need a better plan. What range do those archers have, Orinai?”

Samsin looked down at her, lips pursed, expression affronted. “You can’t attack an Honor Squad.”

“What range, Samsin?” Gavin asked in a level voice.

"Fifty paces for accuracy. But they don’t have to get as close as that. They just fire in a massive cloud of arrows from far away.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Gavin said, ignoring the look of incredulity that still clouded Samsin’s chiseled features. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before the sun gets over the edge of the Forbiddence. Listen closely.”

Fifteen minutes later a score of aevians rose into the air, riders on their backs. The Bleeders, upon seeing this, started advancing.

“So much for stealth,” Cobb said with a chuckle.

He stood next to Gavin, sword in hand. A line of warriors stretched out to his left. More were on Gavin’s right. There weren’t many of them, only about ninety or a hundred. The rest of the Rahuli people, the women and children, retreated. Samsin stood in the line next to Gavin, though he kept muttering about impossibilities and dishonor.

“How do you miss a great massive bird flying around in the sky?” Samsin snapped. “Of course there’s not going to be any stealth.”

“It worked for the Roterralar for a thousand years,” Khari said from the other side of Samsin.

Gavin chuckled and Samsin muttered something under his breath. It felt good to laugh. Gavin had had so few opportunities for it lately. The large Storm Ward still disagreed with their plan, but had agreed to help them anyway. As he’d put it, it was better than simply giving up.

As the aevians climbed higher, the Bleeders broke into a run, narrowing the gap as quickly as they could. A small part broke off and stopped, loosing arrows up at the aevians. They fell miserably short, but it would only be a matter of moments before the bulk of the army was within firing range of Gavin and those with him. Gavin heard muttered whispers dance through the line of people and looked up at the aevians.

“A hundred paces,” Cobb yelled.

The aevians climbed high into the air. The riders, led by Farah and another of the mystics, carefully turned and climbed up out of the range of the archers below. Several of them readied the bundled blankets each carried with them.

“Eighty paces!”

Gavin felt Samsin drawing energy into himself through the sands, a tingling sensation running through Gavin’s body and up his arms. Gavin drew his greatsword and reached inside himself as well, pulling on the energy already flowing around him. His arms erupted into white sparks and crackling bands of energy at the same time that Samsin’s did.

“Sixty paces!”

The aevian riders hurled their bundles over the side of their aevian’s backs. Rocks, daggers, bits of metal, and misshapen, heavy lumps of crockery and anything heavy they could find plummeted through the air toward the heads of the Bleeders beneath just as the red-clothed soldiers halted in formation and readied their bows.

“Now!” Gavin shouted.

The rocks and assorted falling objects hit the bleeder Honor Squad at the same time that Gavin and the rest of the Rahuli Warriors surged forward in a rush, shouting at the top of their lungs. Dozens of the Orinai men were struck, falling with brushed skulls or with something sharp sticking from some soft bit of their anatomy. Not all of them went down, however. At least two score arrows left strings and screamed toward the oncoming Rahuli.

Gavin felt a thrill of fear as time seemed to slow. Screams filled the air, both from the crushed Orinai army and the Rahuli, though theirs were screams full of fear rather than pain. The arrows fell. Rahuli fell. Gavin screamed and pulled ahead of the others, matching Samsin’s longer strides pace for pace. They closed the distance between them and the remaining Bleeders before a second wave of arrows could be launched. Gavin spared only half a thought for those who had fallen behind him. More would die if he didn’t stop them now.

Samsin crashed into the line with a sound like thunder. Gavin, one step behind him, noticed that the Bleeders weren’t as tall as Samsin, nor as muscular, though they were larger than the average Rahuli. Then a bolt of ragged energy burst from Samsin’s fingers and tore into a cluster of Bleeders on the verge of shooting another wave of arrows. The smell of char mingled with the salty tang of sweat, fear, and pain.

Gavin crashed into one of the bleeders who was still standing, his greatsword leading the way. They collided with resounding force and toppled to the ground. Gavin flared his powers, driving the energy down his blade and into the man that had landed beneath him. Anger and confusion melted to terror in the Orinai’s eyes as Gavin stared down into them. Green eyes. Human eyes. Eyes that clouded over in death even as Gavin watched. Then he tore his sword free of the Bleeder’s chest. He was up moments later, joining with the wave of Rahuli warriors who fell upon the red-clad remnants of the Honor Squad.

Samsin roared and fired another bolt of energy through the crowd. Gavin felt the hairs on his arm stand on end and his own inner powers and energy pulsed with the crackling beam branching off from Samsin’s upraised fingers.

Something slammed into Gavin’s shoulder. Gavin spun around as pain blossomed along his right arm and down his back. One of the Bleeders who Gavin had thought dead, stood just a few paces behind him, bow still upraised, string slowly reverberating back and forth. Had he just been shot?

The Bleeder reached for another arrow. Gavin drew upon his powers, drawing energy into himself like a cloth wicking liquid from a pail. He poured it into the greatsword in his hand until it crackled and pulsed like a living thing. Then he threw it, ignoring the fire of pain that lanced through his back as the arrow sprouting from his shoulder dug just a little deeper into his flesh, working toward bone.

The Bleeder froze with his hand halfway to his quiver, eyes widening slightly. Then the sword took him in the chest. For a moment, the sword crackled with surging light, the buried hilt deep in the Bleeder’s chest. Then the smell of char grew stronger and the man toppled into the sand.

Gavin stumbled forward and pulled his sword from the man’s chest, groaning now at the pain. He considered yanking the arrow free, but thought better of it. Gripping the sword in his left hand, Gavin turned to survey the battle.

What was left of the Honor Squad fought hand to hand with the Rahuli, who now outnumbered them at least three to one. Here and there, Gavin noticed a Rahuli body among the fallen with a rush of anger, guilt, and sorrow, but the majority of the bodies that littered the ground were Orinai. The soft hum of pain buzzed through the air accompanied the greater staccato clangs of battle.

“Gavin!”

It was Khari’s voice. Gavin turned toward the sound, expecting to see Khari walking toward him. Instead he saw her forcing the white-robed messenger forward at the point of her sword, the man’s face cut and bleeding, several other wounds slowly staining his clothes. Gavin realized he was still holding onto his powers as he raised a hand and noticed the faint dancing sparks bouncing across his fingertips. He dismissed them as the white-clothed Orinai came to stop before him.

The man’s face bore the same chiseled quality as Samsin’s did, but without the extra muscular physique. Despite being held at sword point, the man held his chin up and met Gavin’s gaze without flinching. It probably helped that he was over a foot taller than Gavin, though he didn’t let that intimidate him. Gavin had an arrow sticking out of his back, after all. He thought that certainly leveled their respective internal strength.

“Tell him what you told me,” Khari hissed, prodding him with her sword hard enough to draw blood.

The man didn’t flinch. He remained silent.

“They’ve got Lhaurel,” Khari supplied for him. “They took her with them. That’s why I couldn’t find here before.”

“Took her? Samsin said they wanted to kill her.”

At this, the white-clothed man reacted slightly, a minor shift of his gaze to one side. Gavin watched the man closely, but didn’t get any other reaction.

“We’ve got to go after her,” Khari demanded. “They’ll only be a short distance away. If we can move quickly enough we should be able to get in there and rescue her.”

Gavin winced as fresh pain washed over him. He opened his mouth to protest the ridiculousness of that plan, when the earth rocked beneath his feet and a massive crack rent the air. The ground surged and rolled, nearly knocking Gavin from his feet. Khari cried out, though Gavin had gotten turned about by the rocking earth and didn’t see her. The ground surged again, then stilled. Gavin licked his lips, suddenly nervous even though they’d won the battle.

He turned back to Khari. She lay prone on the ground, her own sword through her belly. The white-clothed man was halfway to the Forbiddence wall already, clothing flapping in the wind.

Gavin rushed to her side, dropping his greatsword and gritting his teeth against the terrible pain blossoming in his arm.

“Khari,” Gavin nearly shouted, taking the woman’s hand. It was terribly cold to the touch. “Khari can you hear me?”

Khari’s eyes fluttered open and she looked over at him. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“Cobb! Darryn!” Gavin shouted. He looked up, casting around for anything, anyone that could help. Cobb came running forward, his limp making his gait awkward, but effective. Darryn was only a few steps behind, though he sported a cut on one cheek and his sword dripped crimson. Farah and some of the other aevian riders alighted nearby and Farah, after dismounting, ran toward them.

“Please,” Gavin continued, putting a hand beneath Khari’s head and tilting it upward. “Look at me, Khari. Don’t die on me now, you annoying old lady.”

She groaned at him, though one side of her lip twitched up. Farah skid to a halt near them, hand over her mouth. Cobb frowned somberly and Darryn looked murderous. Gavin looked from one face to the other, then made a decision. The earth trembled slightly under his hand, like the feeling of distant vibrations in water. Khari couldn’t die. Not now. Not when they needed her most.

“Cobb, Darryn—gather everyone. We’re getting out of here. Fetch Samsin and have him show you the way.”

“Maugier and his clan aren’t here yet,” Darryn said.

Gavin looked over his shoulder at the women and children who were hurrying toward them and then back over toward the surviving warriors who had attacked the Bleeders.

“There isn’t time. This place could be obliterated any second now. The threat blocking our way is gone. We go now and save the ones we can.”

Darryn looked like he was about to protest, but Cobb placed a gnarled, wrinkled hand on the younger man’s shoulder and he stilled, nodded, and turned to carry out his orders. Gavin watched him go. He turned to Farah then.

“Can you help me with a stretcher then, Farah?” he asked.

She nodded and then one of her knuckles slipped into her mouth. She frowned and something that looked suspiciously like anger crossed her face. “You know you have an arrow sticking out of your back, right?”

“Yank it out,” Gavin said.

“What?”

“Yank it out,” Gavin repeated.

“Leave it there,” another voice said.

Gavin turned to see another woman approach, scurrying forward. He didn’t recognize her, but Farah made way before her as if she knew her.

“You stay put,” the woman said. “You’re fine. Let me look at Khari first, then I’ll be over to look at you.”

Gavin frowned and opened his mouth to speak.

The earth shook. It rocked. Gavin nearly fell. Farah reached out to steady the woman, but she shrugged her aside, leaning over to Khari. Gavin tried to stumble to his feet, but a massive cracking sound split the air. A wide rent appeared in the sand a dozen feet from them, splitting wide. Sands spilled down into it as half of it rose slightly. Screams of terror and pain filled the air.

“Go!” Gavin shouted, ignoring the pain and trying his best to stay upright. “Get out of here. Up the rocks and out of here.”

Gavin stumbled forward, grabbing Farah and stumbling over to the woman helping Khari. Samsin appeared at Gavin’s side. He bent down and scooped up Khari despite the other woman’s protests.

“Let’s get out of here, slave,” Samsin hissed. “Nikanor is losing by himself. Don’t let him die in vain, idiot.”

Gavin growled. “I’m not leaving until everyone gets out.”

“Gavin, look!” Farah shouted, pointing.

Gavin turned and looked where she was pointing. Scrambling over the boulders, clambering up the side of the broken Forbiddence walls, the Rahuli people were fleeing. Aevian’s flew up through the crack, riders on their backs. Cobb, Evrouin, and the woman Gavin had sent after Maugier lead them. Gavin breathed a sigh of relief, lungs heaving.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter 28

Mountain Snow

“The Sisters are the knife threatening at the neck of the entire nation, and the balm which calms the wound.”

—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I

Gavin stumbled along the path and barely caught himself as his foot found a rock hidden under the light dusting of snow. It was like cold sand, piled in drifts and making walking difficult.

Why had Lhaurel gone with those monsters? They had threatened the destruction of the entire Rahuli people. The armies were gone now, not one of them killed in the fiery eruptions which had struck the instant the Rahuli had gotten clear of the Forbiddence itself. The horror of that moment was something Gavin never wanted to remember.

Gavin’s mind was as numb as the rest of his body, unused to the cold. Samsin, his face a hard mask of stone, strode to one side of him, long legs taking half as many steps as Gavin had to. Who was this creature? He was one of them. One of the Orinai. How could he trust him? He’d saved Gavin’s life, but was it all just an elaborate game?

“Gavin.”

He turned at the sound of his name.

Farah ran toward him, a blanket draped over her shoulders, though it was thin and offered little real protection against the cold. Samsin had said the snow was early and was lingering as a result of the weather magic being disrupted by his changing of the winds to send the ash from the volcano’s eruption out to sea and not over them.

“We’ve got to stop,” she said, stopping near him.

The procession of people continued onward. Evrouin glanced over at him, but kept walking, eyes downcast watching his feet. Everyone trudged along the path, carrying what little remained to them on their backs, which were bowed under the weight.

“The wounded?”

Farah nodded. Gavin reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She was freezing—so was he, for that matter—but holding her there, the closeness, rekindled a little warmth within him.

“Samsin,” Gavin called over his shoulder.

The Orinai reacted slowly, but signaled a halt to the line with a lethargic motion and then walked over to where Gavin and Farah stood.

“Yes?” The hollowness in Samsin’s voice matched the sunken expression on his face. The once-fine clothing draped over slumped shoulders. The only thing about the man that shone with any sense of gleam was the war hammer strapped to his back.

“We need to take a break. Should we have them eat again or something to keep warm?”

Samsin blinked a few times and suppressed a shiver. He didn’t have a blanket or other warm clothing on, but he’d said the cold was minimal for him. He was used to it.

“How should I know?” Samsin snapped, a trace of his usual arrogance returning. “Nikanor was the one who cared for these sorts of things. Do what you want. At this pace, we’ll never make it before you all freeze to death.”

“Where are we going?” Farah asked. Her tone was sharp. It was obvious, with everything else going on, that she didn’t like not knowing about the lands through which they were traveling. And she and Samsin never seemed to get along.

Samsin shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Farah pulled away from Gavin’s embrace and dropped a hand to the glass dagger at her belt.

Samsin gave her an uncaring look in response to her glare. “This was Nikanor’s idea. I’m only here because I can’t go back. He told me to walk southwest for three days, then turn west above the Straights. That’s all he told me before he sent me away. The fool.”

Gavin scratched at his beard. Why had Nikanor sacrificed himself like that? What was there to gain? Gavin didn’t know, though he was grateful.

“And what will we find there?”

Samsin shrugged again. “At the speed we’re walking, we won’t even get to the Straights for another four or five days. We’ll be dead before then.”

“And the wounded will be dead before then if we go any faster,” Farah snapped.

Gavin stepped up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t helping,” he said. “We don’t have anywhere else to go either way.”

Farah sniffed and pulled away. She turned around without looking at Gavin and strode back the way she’d come, back to Khari’s side, where she’d been since the woman had been wounded.

“That woman has a mean streak in her as wide as the sea,” Samsin grumbled.

“She’s right, you know,” Gavin said, a little more sharply than he intended. “You have no idea where we’re going, we have no food, and the cold is going to start taking its toll on us faster than we could hope. I’m going to send out the aevian patrols to see if they can find this place. If we’re lucky they’ll find it and be able to start transporting the wounded and some others back and forth.”

Samsin shrugged again. Gavin ground his teeth, feeling suddenly frustrated.

“You know what, Samsin?” Gavin snapped. “Our lives are in your hands. The least you could do is show a little emotion and try and be helpful.”

“Why should I care? You don’t have any idea what you and your people have forced me to give up.”

“That was your choice.”

Samsin threw up a hand and spun away, storming off toward the head of the line. Gavin ran a hand over his chin. Stubble made a gruff sound as it caught on his skin, though his hands were too cold to feel it.

“Evrouin!” Gavin shouted.

The man detached himself from the group he was with and shuffled through the snow over to him. A few flakes of snow dusted his black hair.

“Why are we stopping again?” Evrouin asked once he was close enough.

“The wounded,” Gavin said, curtly. “I need you to take a cast of aevians and fly until you get to a place called the Straights.” Evrouin looked like he was going to ask a question so Gavin held up a hand to stop him. “Ask Samsin where it’s at. From there, fly due west until you find the place we’re headed for. I have a feeling you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Can I speak now?”

Gavin nodded.

“I thought you said we couldn’t use the aevians in this cold,” Evrouin said. “And I’ve never ridden on an aevian, remember. You Roterralar were rather particular about that.”

Gavin snorted. “Take a look around you, Evrouin. Do you see any Roterralar? I don’t. All I see is one broken people. Just the Rahuli. We don’t even have a place to call home anymore.”

“Fine, but I don’t know anything about the beasts.”

“It’s time you learned then. Find someone who knows and have them show you what to do. Take the big white ones—the grye. They seem to be handling the cold the best.”

Evrouin opened his mouth, raised one hand, and then let it fall. “Alright,” he said simply, then left.

Gavin watched the man leave and make his way first to Samsin, then back along the line toward where the Roterralar guides were. There were a few scouts in the air, but the vast majority of them walked along with everyone else. The aevians, those they could find at least, flew above them or waited in crags ahead of them for the slower moving humans to catch up. At least, that’s how Gavin saw it.

He longed to whistle for Nabil and join them up in the sky, despite the cold. His grandmother had always said that leaders became such because they were men and women of action, that they became leaders because they actually did something. Yet he’d learned that sometimes doing what was best for a group forced leaders to simply become a pillar of strength for them to lean on when something challenging happened. With Khari gravely wounded and near death already and the other clan leaders quiet, broken remnants of what they’d been before, Gavin had been forced into that role, just when he thought he’d figured out his role within the Roterralar.

Gavin sighed and ordered the line back into motion again. Samsin was right. They needed to keep going, and at a faster pace than they were currently walking. The Rahuli people trudged forward through the snow. At the back of the group, a handful of white aevians climbed into the sky.

An hour later, Khari died.

Gavin leapt from Nabil’s back, shivering from the cold, but with an awed warmth spreading through his chest. When the patrols had returned with news of structures in the area Samsin had described, Gavin hadn’t believed it. Thousands upon thousands of tiny structures dotted the valley in front of him, snow covering their roofs in a white blanket. Hundreds, no thousands of people scurried through the space between the structures. Gavin faintly heard a horn sound, but didn’t process the information for the warning call it was until he noticed everyone below him scrambling for the buildings. Hundreds broke off and ran for specific points throughout the valley. Samsin landed behind him and flopped down onto the ground. Nabil hissed gently.

“It can’t be,” Samsin whispered, walking up next to Gavin.

“What?”

“They’re slaves.”

Gavin gave him a flat look.

“No really, they’re all slaves. Is that—?”

Samsin cut off as a group of the people below headed in their direction. One figure stood at the forefront, sword in hand. Samsin darted forward, long strides making his passage down the steep slope a quick and easy one.

“Samsin, wait!” Gavin called, but the tall Orinai was already gone. Gavin hesitated for a moment. They didn’t know these people. How did Samsin know them? But Samsin was the only one who knew the way around this place. Gavin chased after him.

“You!” Samsin shouted. “What are you doing here?”

Gavin chased after him. The approaching men, armed with spears, swords and an assortment of clubs and axes, didn’t slow. The man in the lead stopped in front of Samsin, who pulled to a halt as the group of men encircled him. Gavin tried to dodge out of the way, but one of the soldiers slammed his spear in front of him and sent him toppling to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Samsin demanded as he was surrounded in a ring of spears and sword. “How dare you draw weapons on a Great One.”

“Silence, you,” the leader said, sword coming up to rest on Samsin’s shoulder. Gavin got to his feet carefully, keeping his hands out to appear as unthreatening as possible. “Where’s Master Nikanor?”

“He’s dead,” Gavin said. “Died saving us.”

Stunned silence filled the air for a long moment before muted whispers sprang up among the group. The leader silenced them with a single raised hand.

“Who are you?” the leader asked, regarding Gavin with an intent, even condescending expression. Were even the Orinai slaves that arrogant? “From which plantation do you hail?”

“You! Explain yourself,” Samsin demanded. “What are you doing here? What is all this?”

The leader ignored him. “From which plantation do you hail?”

Samsin interjected before Gavin could reply. Gavin felt the building power within the Orinai before the sparks appeared on his arms. Why only sparks instead of the bands of energy?

“I will not be ignored, slave. Answer me!”

The leader turned and gave Samsin the coldest, most condescending look Gavin had ever seen. “I am not your slave. I am not anyone’s slave. If you move, you’ll be dead before you even feel the prick of the sword.”

Gavin swallowed hard as the sparks on Samsin’s arms died and the power dissipated. It wasn’t the threat, but the cold fury behind the man’s voice.

The leader turned to look at Gavin again. “I will ask you one last time. From which plantation do you hail?”

“I don’t know what a plantation is. My people and I are what’s left of the Rahuli. We’ve got wounded and cold people behind us. Can you help us?”

The leader’s face went from cold and condescending to stunned and disbelieving in less than half a second. The spear tips and sword points bristling in Gavin’s face dipped and quivered as their bearers reacted with their own expressions of shock and surprise.

“He was right?” the leader said, voice soft. “Nikanor was right.”

Gavin held up a hand. No one stopped him. “I don’t mean to be rude or violate any sort of protocols or anything, but I have people dying only a few hours walk from here. Can you help us?”

The leader shook his head as if to clear it and then turned to one of the other men there. “Go fetch another few squads. How many of you are there?” The leader looked at Gavin expectantly.

“A few hundred.”

“Go. Hitch up some of the wagons,” the leader said to another of the men as the first ran off. “The rest of you, take the Great One to the Box.”

“Wait,” Samsin protested. “What are you doing? I helped these people. What are all of you doing here?”

The leader ignored him again. The other soldiers grabbed him and led him away. Gavin watched him go, unable to even think about protesting as an ethereal sense of relief washed over him. His shoulder throbbed and he fell to his knees in the snow. The leader was at his side in an instant.

“Come, we’ll get you a hot meal. I’m called Brisson. I was Nikanor’s steward.”

“My people,” Gavin said, struggling to his feet. “We’ve got to go get them. They’re up the pass there.”

“Don’t worry,” Brisson said. “We’ll get them. What’s your name, Rahuli?”

Gavin licked his lips, finding them numb. “Gavin.”

“Is what you said before true?” Brisson asked. “Is Master Nikanor truly gone?”

Gavin nodded.

Brisson sucked in a breath and then let it out in a long, sibilant hiss. “We will honor his passing this evening, once we have your people back in and sheltered.” Brisson looked over at Gavin and gave a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t worry. You and your people are safe now.”

Gavin slipped back down onto the ground. Safe? He didn’t even know what that was supposed to feel like.

Epilogue

Lhaurel sat upright and immediately regretted it. Her head throbbed for a moment, blood pounding in her ears. Then it cleared, dissipating like water left too long in the sun. Memories flitted through her mind, but she couldn’t tell if they were real or merely part of dream.

“Peace, child.”

Lhaurel spun, reaching desperately for her powers.

Nothing happened.

One of the Sisters sat on the rocking, wooden floor with her, watching Lhaurel intently. Fear laced through Lhaurel and she found her lips and throat dry.

“Where am I?” Lhaurel asked, looking around. They were in a small room made of wood, which bounced back and forth slightly beneath her. Was that another quake? Terror worked up her throat and tried to strangle her.

“On your way home, child.” The Sister flashed her a smile, revealing her pointed teeth.

Lhaurel shuddered. “What about the others? Did you honor our arrangement?” Lhaurel’s voice held a measure of desperation to it, even to her own ears.

The Sister smiled again.

“Why can’t I feel my powers?”

“Well, child, we can’t have you playing with things you don’t understand.” The Sister’s eyes flashed and she smiled a third time, as if she’d said something clever or funny. Lhaurel swallowed hard to keep down the bile that arose within her.

“Are you going to kill me?” Lhaurel licked her lips, finding herself ready to meet her fate.

“Kill you?” The woman laughed. The sound had no humor in it. “No, child. We’re going to make you one of us.”

“One of you?”

“Welcome to the Seven Sisters, child.”

About the Author

Kevin L. Nielsen's journey into writing began in the 6th grade when an oft-frustrated librarian (Ms. Jo Wolf) told him there simply wasn't enough money in the budget to buy any more books. She politely suggested he write his own since there were no more unread books left in the entire library. His teacher at the time also challenged him to read the Iliad by the end of the year (which he did). Kevin has been writing ever since (and invading libraries and bookstores everywhere).

Kevin currently resides in Utah with his amazing wife and two wonderful children. He's still writing and continuing a lifelong quest to become a dragon rider. He also has a thing for purple shirts.

Connect with Kevin:

Website: http://kevinlnielsen.com/

Twitter: www.twitter.com/kevinlnielsen

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