When she can no longer run, she collapses on the scorching sand. Needles of agony dig into her skin. Then a shadow provides a tiny bit of relief and a man dressed in red looms over her. He scoops her up in his arms.
The trauma of being left in the desert had remained with her all these circuits. Unable to get close to anyone, Rae kept herself emotionally apart. Not anymore. Rae sagged against Shyla, exhausted.
She pulled Rae into her arms. “The deacons forced your parents to abandon you.”
“I know. I’ve known. I just…”
“Couldn’t help wondering if they decided to leave you and asked the deacons for help,” Shyla said softly.
“Yes.” A sigh.
“Now you see the truth.”
“I do.”
“And the best part—”
Rae jerked away. “There’s nothingbestabout it.”
“There is. Your parents might still be alive and living in Zirdai. I’m sure they’d be ecstatic to see you again.”
The woman stared at her as if Shyla had just told her she could fly.
“Get some sleep, Rae.” Shyla pointed. “You’re welcome to use my mat.”
A small smile tugged at Rae’s lips. “No offense, but the piles of sand in level eleven are more comfortable.”
“Go, then,” she shooed good-naturedly. Then she took a few moments to center her thoughts and emotions before calling in the next person to open.
After the last of the potentials left, Shyla crawled to her mat. Uncomfortable or not, she needed the balm of oblivion. The emotional release of the traumas from nine people had bombarded her. Every bit of her body felt raw as if she’d just walked naked through a sandstorm. She longed for Rendor, and imagined curling up in his embrace, borrowing his strength. With the memory of his scent in her mind, she fell asleep.
From her vantage point on the edge of the dune, Shyla watched Zimraan’s caravan through the holes in her camouflage. Pulled by teams of gamelus, the line of twelve wagons trundled through the sand. Each wagon had two drivers. Guards wearing sun cloaks and swords strode on each side of the line. The sun hovered in the sky at angle thirty-one.
She’d been hidden under a blanket of sand since before the sun started its jump. Ximen and Gurice were also concealed at other key locations nearby. They’d been fighting the magical command not to look to the west since angle twenty—when the Arch Deacons and deacons had arrived to intercept the caravan. Others hid behind dunes. Shyla guessed the extra personnel were there in case they were ambushed. Overall the priestess’s people were being careful not to be spotted by anyone.
Shyla counted sixteen Arch Deacons and six deacons—four of them able to wield magic—plus ten more hiding. A total of thirty-two opponents. The priestess certainly had big plans for this encounter. Shyla guessed she should be flattered.
As the caravan approached, the deacons stopped the magical command. To Zimraan’s eyes, it would look like a wall of Arch Deacons had suddenly appeared. They wore green tunics and pants, black dillo leather boots, and green turbans. Their faces were covered with veils.
Zimraan cried out in alarm. He raised a hand and the wagoners halted the gamelus. His guards rushed to the front, ready to protect the merchandise. But the deacons remained in place. After a few tense moments, one Arch Deacon strode to Zimraan as the caravan master dismounted.
Shyla strained to listen to their conversation.
“We’re here to purchase all the platinum you carry. Also there are agitators in Zirdai who plan to do the same thing. We would like your help in trapping them,” the man said.
“I’m sorry, but I already sold all my platinum,” Zimraan said.
“Who did you sell the platinum to?” the Arch Deacon shouted, drawing his knife.
Zimraan backed away, his hands up. “The monks.”
This answer caused the Arch Deacon to pause. His grip on his weapon relaxed. “The Monks of Parzival?”
“No, the Monks of Arinna.”
Shyla smiled. That had been her idea.
“I’ve never heard of them.”
