The World Weavers (26 page)

Kadar nodded. “Just southeast, a short ride.”

“You will take the Voices there,” Jonas said. His voice was flat again, and Kadar looked into his eyes and recognized Parasu. “If we deities have a source of power, we can heal and energize our Voices. We use the energy around our Voices to keep them healthy and able to meet our demands. No energy exists in this wasteland for us to draw on. The Herald is ill from lung sickness. The Templar has been drained. The Crone is exhausted from the pain of sunburn. And my Voice needs to regain energy. Be ready to guide us when the sun begins to set over the dunes.”

Kadar shook his head. “I will need morning light,” he said. “This is not a part of the usual caravan route, so the way to the stone is marked visually, by cairns.”

Parasu sighed. “It is probably better in the morning. I do not know that any of the humans will be able to travel without an extended rest.”

At first light, before the sun had even risen above the dunes, Kadar was arranging travel with the Voices. The Templar's scouts reported no sign of the Tigu nomads or warriors of the One.

The Templar left his second in command at the camp to maintain order. There was a short debate about whether the seconds of the other Voices needed to come along. In the end, the four Voices, the Mother Superior and the Ranger, and all the Voices' guards rode out. Their
feli
ranged around them, some alongside the humpback, some loping into the distance to scout.

“T
he advance cohort of warriors and healers is positioned behind the sentinel rocks, a short ride from the oasis,” a scout reported to Master Gursh. “Our scouts report a small group of Northerners, led by Kadar Shalendar, has broken off the main army and is traveling east.”

Abram stood with Casia behind Master Gursh at the small watering hole they were camped at, a sandglass from Voras's army.

“The separation has gone as planned,” Master Gursh said. “Another sandglass and they will have traveled too far to turn back in the face of a sandstorm.”

The weather mages, warriors of the One with magical talent, and half the Tigus were at this camp, raising energy under Master Sandiv's command. Once the sandstorm was unleashed, the advance cohort would attack Voras's army. Here at camp, those warriors who were not exhausted by the weather working would form a second attack against the army. The Tigus would continue their illusion, making the sandstorm seem to last half a day. Voras's fighters were expected to surrender when battered by the sandstorm and demoralized by waves of fighters attacking them.

“Abram.” Master Gursh gestured him over. “You must coordinate between the Kabandha warriors at the Obsidian Temple and us. I'll need you beside me.”

“Casia, you are needed,” Master Sandiv said, gesturing for her to join the weather workers.

Abram could feel Casia's pride as she took her place, the youngest among the energy workers, but more powerful than most. Jarol had no energy talent and had already ridden out with the advance force.

Turo came up beside Abram and grinned at him. Abram smiled back nervously and touched the knife by his side.

“Ah, your first battle, right?” the older man said. “Stay to the back and let the fighters do their work. Anyone comes close, stick a knife in him, just as I showed you, yes?”

Turo had found out Abram did not have a weapons teacher and had taken it upon himself to brush up Abram's skills. He had pointed out that the lines of battle often shifted to include noncombatants. Abram was grateful for the man's patient guidance.

“It is time,” Master Gursh announced. “Abram, tell the Kabandha warriors we need to unbalance the air currents north and east of our oasis, so the warriors of the One can draw on the energy.”

Abram connected with Sari and relayed the orders. Almost immediately he felt a shift in the air currents, a prickling on the skin.

“Enough,” Master Sandiv ordered. “Warriors, draw on the energy. Feel the currents as we have practiced.”

Abram watched Casia's face. It was focused and her brow puckered as she followed the master's orders. Then it smoothed and she smiled. Abram felt the energy around him rise and the air became thick, hard to breathe.

“It is too much,” Turo said, loudly enough for the masters to hear.

Master Sandiv frowned at him. “Do not interrupt,” she said harshly.

“You are not a weather worker. It is no more than is necessary. Warriors, focus the energy, begin feeding it into the atmosphere.”

Abram glanced behind as the Tigus murmured restively.

“Can all the Tigus feel the energy?” he whispered to Turo.

Turo nodded, his lips pressed tight with worry.

“Now release it,” Master Sandiv ordered. “Push the energy east.”

Abram informed Sari,
The mages are releasing the energy into the air. They will begin pushing the storm into the deeper desert.

The feeling of pressure in the air seemed to move away from them. The winds kicked up sand in their path, blowing it eastward toward the targeted oasis. Casia's face was focused, determined as she pushed the winds.

“Maybe it is fine,” Turo said in an undertone. “This doesn't seem . . . no!”

The Tigus groaned. Casia's eyes flew open wide in panic. The sand in the distance exploded into the air in a massive wall as winds whipped furiously through Abram's hair.

“Let go of your energy,” Turo shouted, and Abram realized he was talking to the mages. “It is rebounding, let it go!”

But it was already too late. Casia screamed in agony, then fell, her eyes wide and blank. The air became choked with sand and Abram was blinded, unable to see more than a length in front of him. All around Abram, warriors were crying out and falling into the sand. Sand slashed Abram's face as he tripped over a body trying to run to Casia. Abram fell to his knees and realized the body was Master Gursh. The master's eyes were open and blood flowed his nose and ears. A strong hand grasped Abram's arm and yanked him up.

“We must get to shelter. Go to the humpbacks by the rocks of our water hole,” Turo ordered over the wailing winds.

“I have to get Casia,” Abram yelled back, trying to yank away.

The Tigu man was stronger than he looked and he determinedly hauled Abram around, shoving him toward a huddle of bodies already surrounding the water hole.

“She is dead. They are all dead. We must save the living,” Turo said as he pushed him into the pile. The men on either side of him linked arms around him. Abram realized he heard a low drone that was not the screaming of the wind. The Tigus were humming. When Abram joined the circle, the wind felt less on his back and the sand did not choke him. Somehow they were using their magic to shield themselves and their water source from the worst of the storm.

Abram felt Sari trying to contact him.

They have all fallen, all the warriors,
Abram sent wildly to her, tears streaming down his face.
We are trying to survive.

K
adar spied the first cairn up a dune shortly after they rode southeast. Up the rise they looked back to see an excellent view of the camp, the oasis, and the empty dunes surrounding the area.

“The desert warriors must be waiting until we approach the Obsidian Temple,” the Templar said. “We haven't seen a single Tigu since we began.”

The Ranger nodded. “They are probably hoping the desert will reduce the numbers of our troops greatly before they have to fight us.”

The Herald bent over her saddle coughing. Her
feli
touched his head to her boot. “They're smarter than us,” she said, through gasps. “Letting the heat do their work for them.”

“We will still outnumber them, in spite of the desert's toll,” the Templar said, but his voice sounded uncertain.

The camp disappeared from sight as they went down the dune, following the stone markers. The black mountains rose in the distance. As they traveled over a smaller dune, the way became rockier, into the foothills of the mountains rather than the endless dunes of the Sands. A warm breeze lifted sand into their faces without cooling them at all.

One of the Knights scouting to the west gave a shout, and Kadar squinted against the harsh wind, blocking sand from his eyes with one hand. A small dark cloud appeared on the horizon, growing rapidly, covering the blue sky. A furious rush of hot, stinging wind blew at his face.

“Sandstorm,” Kadar yelled.

“We have to return to the troops!” the Templar bellowed, trying to pull his humpback around. The beast refused to turn to face the wind.

“Too late,” Kadar yelled. “We have to make it to those rocks! Hang on.”

The humpbacks knew the danger, and once Kadar focused his will on the beasts and pointed them to the eastern rocks, they followed, in spite of their riders' protests.

The wind picked up around them, painful shards of sand flaying any exposed skin. Kadar glanced back once to see the daylight fading as the storm approached and swept everything in its path. He saw the humpback carrying the Mother Superior stumble and fall, but there was no time to go back for her.

They reached the rocks, buffeted by winds, and Kadar ordered the humpbacks to kneel behind the rocks. The
feli
quickly curled themselves into tight balls beside the beasts, tucking their noses under their tails. The Ranger helped the Herald off as the Crone tumbled down from her beast. The Herald's breath was wheezing in her chest as she knelt behind the rocks.

“Our guards are still scouting out there,” the Templar shouted above the rising wind. He attempted to make his humpback rise, but Kadar kept the beast under his control.

“Where is my Mother Superior?” the Crone cried. “You must go back for her.”

“Get down! You will die if you go out again,” he yelled. “They will find shelter elsewhere. Get low to the ground, and cover your face and any exposed skin.”

Then the storm was upon them. Kadar motioned for the others to hunker close to the ground between the humpbacks and the rocks. He covered his face with cloth and put it between his arms as he knelt, hunched close to the sand. The whistle of the wind covered all other sounds. The very air had turned against them and Kadar breathed in fine particles of dust and grit even through the cloth covering his face.

The humpbacks panicked as they were scoured by the hot, harsh wind and Kadar clamped down on his control of their minds. His world narrowed to the brutal whistling wind, his clogged breathing, and controlling the beasts that helped shelter them.

The sand heaped around him, piled on his back. He fought his fear of being buried alive, instead finding some relief from the scouring winds by burrowing more deeply in the sand. He kept the area around his face as clear as he could. The humpbacks settled more calmly now that the sand had built around their sides, sheltering them from the burning winds, but the winds raged on around them. Kadar could not remember ever encountering a sandstorm of this length and ferocity. Exhaustion and lack of air took over and he fell into a half doze, barely aware of his surroundings.

“H
ere comes the energy turbulence from the weather working,” Tori told her Counselors in the Temple of the One. “Focus on keeping the partial shields up. Once the energy of the weather they've created hits the shield, you'll feel like you are holding on to a large rock that wants to roll back. ­People on the first shield, keep your energy centered until I say to let go, then shift to the next shield back.”

The Temple of the One was quiet as the Counselors focused. The exits were blocked by numerous
feli
, who spilled into the hallway and did not let the curious peer in to see what they were doing.

The warriors of the One in the desert released energy into the air currents, building tension in waves of wind and gusts. When the energy crested, they released the shields and let it blow out into the desert.

“Too much,” Elida murmured, alarmed, when the energy collided with a natural temperature inversion and rebounded.

“Whiskers, that's a killing storm,” the former Cantor whispered, horrified.

Tori spoke loudly enough for all the Counselors to hear. “The storm is too large. The mass will go southeast—­but the winds will blow storms throughout the desert. If the energy meets the cooler air up here, we could get dangerous storms and funnels. Be ready to shunt it to the desert with the shield.”

They spent a tense hour, watching the energy spread out in waves, splitting into dangerous cells as it hit air currents.

“This is it,” Elida called.

­People groaned as the energy smashed into their shields. She braced the half shield and could feel much of the energy shunting to the desert, as the wilder energy broke over the shield, heading to the next. Wave after wave of energy pushed against the shield as they mentally, energetically shored it up. It died down as the wave hit the second shield.

“Let the first shield go,” Tori commanded. She pitied the acolytes at the far southern outpost on the border who were enduring the storms they let through.

The energy waves hit the shields just south of Illian, and their combined shield shunted most of the energy to the desert. The rest broke around them. Tori jumped as lightning struck nearby and thunder rattled the dome.

“Gently release the shield into the earth, as we practiced,” Tori directed. She could hear rain lashing the city as more thunder shook the Temple. She could feel the energy of the violent storm, but it was no longer as unstable and would not create wind funnels or killing winds.

Elida raised her hands, quieting the jubilant Counselors. “Excellent work,” she said. “Next we will practice full shielding, so no energy can get through at all. Today, go find some food and relax. You have kept Illian and her ­people from harm.”

K
adar came to his senses when the humpback he was hunkered by rose and shook itself free of the sand. Kadar quickly regained mind control so the beast would not flee. The other humpbacks followed their mate. The
feli
were already up and nosing around the stones. The wind had died down, but the sun was still obscured by the grit and fine particles in the air. Kadar clawed out from under a foot of sand covering him and the surrounding area. The Templar was already shaking himself out. Kadar turned to the wriggling lump closest to him and brushed the sand off. The Crone was curled in a fetal ball, and as Kadar uncovered her, she gasped and sat up. She buried her head in her hands and cried with gasping breaths. Kadar didn't know how she had the moisture for tears—­his body felt like it would crack and flake apart at the next gust of wind. His eyes were gritty, and blinking hurt as the sharp sand particles scratched under his eyelids.