 
Wanderling

Spirit Seeker Book One

Hannah Stahlhut

To Marvin and Paul, who have transformed many lives including my own.

Learn more about author Hannah Stahlhut and her work on the Spirit Seeker novels!

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Be sure to check out Resistance: Spirit Seeker Book Two and the rest of the series!

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Copyright 2016 by Hannah Stahlhut

Cover design by Hannah England

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### Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Adala

Chapter 2: Shem

Chapter 3: Adala

Chapter 4: Eleanor

Chapter 5: Adala

Chapter 6: Tobin

Chapter 7: Adala

Chapter 8: Shem

Chapter 9: Tobin

Chapter 10: Adala

Chapter 11: Burano

Chapter 12: Adala

Chapter 13: Tobin

Chapter 14: Adala

Chapter 15: Eleanor

Chapter 16: Tobin

Chapter 17: Shem

Chapter 18: Adala

Chapter 19: Tobin

Chapter 20: Adala

Chapter 21: Tobin

Chapter 22: Burano

Chapter 23: Adala

Chapter 24: Tobin

Chapter 25: Adala

Chapter 26: Tobin

Chapter 27: Adala

Chapter 28: Burano

Chapter 29: Adala

Chapter 30: Tobin

Chapter 31: Adala

Chapter 32: Tobin

Chapter 33: Burano

For More Reading

Acknowledgments

### Chapter 1: Adala

"Yes, it's hopeless. You'll miss me the instant we cast off," Raban lamented loudly, with an exaggerated sigh and a shake of his head. "You will recant your rebellious ways and dive into the harbor, begging me to take you aboard."

Adala rolled her eyes at her father's self-assured remark. "I suppose you think I'll weep to see you go," she said, breathing in the salty breeze as she lugged a trunk across the boarding ramp and onto the deck of The Sea Sprite. The wide dock was bustling with crew members carrying their personal effects or rolling last-minute barrels of supplies on board.

"You've never been one for weeping," Captain Raban replied to his daughter, rolling a barrel on deck and handing it off to his new cabin boy.

"Only those with hearts weep," hollered Rolfe, hopping down from the mast.

All around, crewmembers hooted at Rolfe's comment as they swarmed to and fro, carrying the last of the supplies below deck and checking all the sails. From somewhere, one of them called out, "We're glad to see you go, girlie. Bad luck to have a woman onboard!"

"Hang on, she's a woman?" hollered Rolfe, winking at Adala.

"Your charm is astounding," Adala shot back. "Really, it's a wonder you have no wife."

"Enough," her father said. "Back to work. I want this deck spotless when I come back, understood?" He barked the words, not using the full force of his captain's voice but speaking harshly enough to let the crew know he was serious.

A chorus of "ayes" answered him as everyone turned back to their tasks.

Adala followed her father over the freshly swabbed boards, sailors stepping aside to make way for them. She always liked the first day of a voyage—seeing everyone all cleaned up, their hair washed and clothes all clean. The energy was vibrant, prickling with the thrill of a new adventure. Only Adala's excitement wasn't for the voyage this year—she was excited to stay home.

Raban led her to the captain's quarters and pulled open the window on the back of the ship, allowing a fresh breeze and light to spill into the room. He spread out a map of the western coast of Bolgir on his table. At the top, the northernmost city in the empire, rested Gerstadt, their port home and the place where Adala would spend the entire summer for the first time in her memory.

A summer at home. Her heart raced at the thought—a summer without cabin duties, navigating, sparring, and sleeping in a hammock aboard a moving ship. A summer to do as she pleased and finally start her own life.

"The southern wind currents have been closer to the coast this season," Raban said, tracing along the edge of the map.

Adala traced the map southward. "You can navigate the Shadow Isles then. We've done it before, and you know I don't put much stock in the legends surrounding those islands."

"That may be our course," Raban said, creases deepening on his brow. "At least I have your notes on the map to guide me."

Adala sighed at the comment. She pretended to be interested in the map to avoid eye contact with her father. "You're angry with me for staying behind," she said quietly.

Raban chuckled softly. "Adala, you know I make it clear if I'm angry. Tell me what's really on your mind."

"I just don't want to part ways thinking you are disappointed in me," she blurted, turning to meet her father's gaze evenly. His eyes were well wrinkled in the corners from squinting at the bright sea, and his beard was more grey than black lately. She sometimes forgot that he was getting older, forgot that he was already having difficulty reading the charts up close. He relied on her greatly for navigation.

But you can't be stuck in his crew forever, she reminded herself, lifting her chin confidently.

"If staying home with your mother is what you really want, my feelings don't matter one way or another," Raban said, lips curling into an amused smirk. "You're seventeen years old; you're tougher than any woman I know. Tell me, what do you plan on doing with your time while I am away?"

Adala smiled, relieved at his words. "I will earn my keep aboard fishing boats until I can buy one of my own," she said with pride. "I know enough men at the docks to get a place with Konrad's fishing boat while he is abroad this summer."

"Konrad," Raban groaned, feigning disappointment. "My own daughter abandons ship to help my competitor? Now that hurts."

"Only until I can have my own boat," Adala reminded. "I told you before, I still want to sail, I just want to stay in Gerstadt."

"If that's your path, I can't stop you," Raban said. He smiled until his eyes crinkled at the edges, the way he did when he really meant it. "The sooner you succeed in your little plan, the sooner you can find out it's a dead end and rejoin my crew next summer. The best I can do is help you achieve your goal."

Adala's heart leaped at his words, but she tried not to show her delight. "Have you bought me a boat?" she blurted.

"By the gods, no!" Raban exclaimed, throwing his head back and releasing a short, hearty laugh. "You will earn every success in life by the sweat of your brow, child, just as I did."

She tried not to look too disappointed, leaning back over the map to hide her scowl.

"However," Raban continued. "I have asked Master John to look in on you over the summer. He can counsel you in your endeavors."

Adala frowned at the thought of Master John monitoring her progress. "John? He's never held a fishnet in all his life."

"He may not know about fishing," Raban said, "but he knows about people. You could learn from him." Raban studied his daughter's face as he added, "He's spoken to me about a marriage arrangement, you know."

Adala jolted at his words, face flushing. "John? I mean, me?" she stammered. She would never have guessed his interests before. However, she had seen him more often as of late, and they did flirt, though she hardly thought it was enough to indicate interest. He always acted so... composed... polished... reserved even. Not at all the sort of behavior she would characterize as romantic advances.

"My daughter. Speechless," Raban said, interrupting her thoughts, "I never thought I'd see the day." He shook his head in amusement.

"What did you say to him?" Adala exclaimed, her mind racing. If she were to marry Master John, she would have high standing in Gerstadt. As wife to the Master of Arms, she would likely live in the castle for heaven's sake!

"I told him he should take the summer to let you change his mind." Raban shrugged.

"You didn't!" Adala exclaimed. "Father, he is an important man. You can't turn him away like that."

"I wasn't turning him away," Raban said dismissively. "Besides, my warnings didn't seem to get through to the poor man. It seems that, unless you put a stop to it, he may be stuck with you the rest of his life." He threw up his hands in mock defeat.

She crossed her arms at her father's jest, fuming. "What if I decide I don't like him?" she said with defiance. "It could go the other way around."

Raban shrugged again, then grew serious. "You and he will have to report on your decision when I return in autumn. I don't care to make that big of a decision for you, and I encourage you to take your time with it."

"I will consider him," Adala promised, still confused by the whole proposal.

"Don't turn him away because you think your mother or I approve of the match either," Raban said sternly.

"Isn't that why Mother married you?" Adala teased. "To defy her parents?"

Raban shrugged his broad shoulders innocently. "Guilty," he said, rolling up his chart. "Marriage is a funny thing, Adala. Don't do it for the wrong reasons. If you think you're in love, don't marry. It will pass. If you need money, don't marry John for that purpose either. You can borrow it cheaper, and with less headache."

"Wise words," Adala said, grinning.

"In fact," Raban continued in a joking manner, "just tell John to back off. I have plans for you after you're done with your little adventure as a fishmonger."

"Father!" Adala exclaimed, aggravated to hear him belittle her plans. "I am serious about becoming a fisherwoman. I love the sea, yes, but more than that I want to come home every night and see Mother and Shem. I don't know how you can leave them behind year after year, honestly!"

Raban grew solemn. "It hurts each time, Adala," he said. "But the sea is my life, my livelihood, and it's yours too. We can't help it. It's in our blood."

Adala knew the call of the sea, the itch every spring to weigh anchor without looking back. But she refused to believe that her love for the ocean couldn't be fulfilled with a fisherman's life, never leaving sight of the shore most days.

"Speaking of your mother and Shem," Raban continued, "We should get to the docks. They will be here soon to see me off."

Adala followed her father onto the deck, where the crew mostly stood in groups now, speaking excitedly about the cities they would visit in Bolgir and Diggeret. The more pious ones held necklaces and prayed for safe travel. Others ran to the docks to kiss their families goodbye.

"There she is," Raban said, nodding toward the edge of the dock where Adala's mother, Eleanor, awaited them in her best dress, her gray eyes already puffy with tears. Shem, Adala's brother, stood next to her, wearing his new tunic and breeches, his sandy blonde hair blowing in the breeze. Adala recalled envying her mother and brother's fair complexion and golden locks when she was younger, but she resembled her father both in temperament and in looks, with straight, dark hair and sun-roasted skin from sailing.

"Take my advice, Adala," Raban said, waving to his wife as he approached the dock. "Don't spend too much time in the cottage or you and your mother will drive each other crazy."

"We survived the winter, didn't we?" Adala said, striding next to him.

"Yes, but you had me to keep you occupied," Raban said. "She's going to try to teach you housework and all other sorts of things. Stay at sea as much as possible. That's also good advice for a happy marriage, if you ever need it."

They stepped off the loading platform together, and Raban embraced his wife affectionately. "Eleanor, my love. I miss you more with every voyage."

"Be safe," Adala's mother whispered back tearfully, "and remember to honor the holy feasts for me."

Raban groaned. "I suppose so," he said, kissing Eleanor firmly and brushing a strand of golden hair back into her braid.

"Papa, don't go!" cried Shem, hugging his father around the belly. At nine years of age, Shem was barely chest height compared to his father. "Take me with you!" he whispered.

"You'll come with me someday," Raban said, hugging his son tightly. "Until then, you have Adala. She can teach you all about duties aboard a ship, navigation—she'll even teach you how to punch if you let her!"

"She will not!" Eleanor exclaimed, jaw dropping open.

"Okay, okay," Raban gave in. He whispered, "She'll teach you how to punch when your mum isn't looking. Sound good?"

Shem smiled and nodded while his mother shook her head and scoffed, mumbling something about sea captains having no manners.

"Be well, all of you," Raban said. He turned to his crewmembers who were still on the crowded docks. "All hands on deck," he commanded, using his throaty captain's voice.

Turning to Adala, Raban said at last, "Remember to look after Shem and your mother while I am away, Adala. They need you more than you know." With that, he clasped her shoulder, as he would one of his crewmembers, and turned on his heel to board the ship.

Adala and her mother and brother stood aside as other sailors rushed past to climb aboard. Within moments, the loading platform was withdrawn and the anchor out of the water. Oars appeared from the sides of the ship below deck, and Adala heard the familiar sound of voices chorusing, "Heave... heave... heave!"

The Sea Sprite pulled away from the dock, treading steadily towards the western sea. Adala watched it go with bittersweet emotions, recalling that this would be the first summer in eight years that she wasn't abroad.

Good things will come my way, Adala reassured herself. It's time to make my own path.

Suddenly, Adala felt Shem's arms around her waist. She looked down to see a hopeful smile on her little brother's freckled face. "I'm glad you're staying with us this summer, Adala," he said, grinning up at her.

"Me too," she said, looking out to see her father's ship, now breaking free of the harbor. "Me too."

### Chapter 2: Shem

"Adala, we have to stop by the cloth maker's tent before we leave," Shem reminded his sister as they briskly entered the marketplace together. "I want to see Mistress Tabea. Her husband isn't well, and I think we should buy some material from her so she can pay a healer."

"I'm sure Mistress Tabea is fine without our business," Adala mumbled absentmindedly. "She sells mostly frivolous lace, doesn't she? Or maybe that's Mistress Tabitha. Step up the pace, Shem. We have no time to waste!"

Shem had to trot to keep up with his sister, weaving through the people in the market and clutching his empty water bucket to his chest to keep it from knocking into everything. He had come with Adala to draw water, but she insisted that they needed to visit the dock first. He smelled fish everywhere as they navigated through the crowd, bumping into more than one person as Adala raced them through the market.

People were everywhere, intently negotiating prices for fish and other meats. He passed the alley where the bakers sold their tasty confections and he breathed in the wonderful scent of yeast. But a few steps later the scent was gone, replaced again by raw fish. He enjoyed the feel of the crowd at the market today, how everyone felt happy and eager to have the warm season before them. There was less arguing than usual, it seemed. People had more energy to their steps.

Especially Adala, who continued dragging Shem from block to block, scanning the booths relentlessly.

"Where are we going?" Shem said over the sounds of fishermen boasting about their catch and shouting prices to bystanders.

"I told you, Shem," Adala groaned. "I must find Captain Konrad before his ship sets off today. Best check the docks."

Shem sensed her impatience and decided not to ask any more questions. Instead he raced after her as she turned away from the fish market and strode briskly to the edge of the harbor where the docks stood. After navigating against the flow of foot traffic, they emerged on the dock, weaving past fishermen and sailors until they stood at Captain Konrad's ship.

Shem knew that Captain Konrad had a smaller ship than his father's because he had heard his father say so, but to him it looked enormous next to the fishing boats at the dock. It had a painted red stripe along the top edge, and two scripted words carved in the side. Shem didn't have to sound out the letters because he knew the ship's name: The Mariella.

"Konrad," Adala stated, using her harsh voice. Shem didn't always like it when she used it, but he supposed it was the only way to get the attention of a captain.

Konrad strode down from the loading dock of his ship and tipped his weathered captain's hat to Adala. He was a large man with a hooked nose and a bushy red-brown beard that curled in every direction. "Miss Adala," Konrad said in an admiring voice. "I heard you left your father's crew this year, but I didn't believe it until now."

Shem looked out to the harbor. Their father had left two days before, sailing his ship south to trade. He missed him already, a pit in his stomach forming any time he was reminded of it. Still, Shem was glad to have Adala home with them for the summer. It got lonely sometimes with just him and Mother.

Adala sighed. "I elected to stay behind, yes," she said to the captain. "And I have been trying to reach you for two days. You're difficult to track down!"

"We set off today," Konrad explained. "I have been busy with inventory."

"I understand," Adala said impatiently. "I'm here because I want work."

"I've always thought your father doesn't appreciate your skills like he should," Konrad said, nodding his head. Shem sensed Konrad's delight to hear her words, but the sea captain hid his eagerness by stroking his beard and scowling behind bushy eyebrows. "You always have a welcome place aboard my ship as navigator and bookkeeper, provided we can agree on payment. We set sail at midday and we'd be all the better to have you."

"I'm done with merchant vessels, thank you," Adala said. "And besides, I think I'd be better suited as first mate if I were to join your crew."

"Keep dreaming," Konrad said with a bellowing laugh.

"That's not why I'm here though," she said. "I want to work aboard your fishing boat."

Konrad raised an eyebrow. "Fisherman's work, eh?"

"I can do a man's work," she said matter-of-factly. "And I know sailing. I am willing to settle for a position as fisherman if you don't want a captain or mate."

"No thanks," Konrad said simply. He turned to chide one of his crewmen, saying, "No, that barrel goes in my quarters, not the hull! Lackwits."

Adala strode forward and gripped the captain's arm, saying, "You know my father. You know how I was brought up. I can pull my weight aboard a ship."

Shem observed their conversation with growing apprehension. He isn't going to budge on this one, he thought. She's stubborn, but he has already made up his mind.

Konrad looked her over curiously. "On a ship, yes. You are a skilled navigator. Better than me, perhaps. But look at you." He squeezed her upper arm with disdain. "You have slightly more muscle than my cabin boy. Fishing is a man's game. Requires too much labor."

Shem felt Adala grow angry, and he decided to walk away from their argument. As he began walking back towards the coast, he heard Adala's strained voice, saying, "I can hold my own as a sailor and fisherman, too. I'm not a fragile flower."

Their tense voices faded into unintelligible syllables. Shem wandered into the seaside market again, swinging his bucket with each step. He observed as Captain Ludwig, the fisherman, sold a barrel of fish to the cook from Gerstadt Castle. Shem recalled the cook because he knew she had lost her baby a few months before. It made him sad to see her, still full-figured from the weight of pregnancy but without a baby to nurse.

He turned to see Walther and Mathis, twins his own age. He liked them because they always prayed solemnly in the temple on holy days instead of acting restless like the others. He waved to them, wondering if they might want to throw rocks into the harbor with him, but their mother pulled them into the textiles alley of the market before Shem could get their attention.

At Captain Stephan's canopy, a group of sailors spoke in angry tones, speaking of Iviannite trade routes, and how the empire of Iviannah had dominated trade with the eastern countries, leaving out many opportunities for Bolgish and Diggerish merchants. Their anger was palpable, seeping out with every comment. One man whispered in an angry, hushed tone that the Iviannite tradesmen were using witchcraft to make their crops yield three, even four times a year. "It's unnatural, I tell you!" one man burst out. The others just laughed at him, and one of them threw a fish. "Witchcraft, sure," one of them said offhandedly, and their conversation switched topics.

Shem sighed, glancing back at the dock. He couldn't hear Adala, but she was speaking with large, angry gestures. She's not going to let me visit Mistress Tabea after this, he thought.

"Shem?" called a crisp voice from the crowd.

Shem grinned at the sound of Master John's voice, turning to greet him. Master John wore the blue uniform of a Gerstadt soldier, with a polished sword at his hip and a gold pin on his chest that showed his rank as the master of arms. Shem always liked how easily John smiled, and how his brown beard was trimmed close to his face instead of twisting every which direction. It made him appear younger and leaner than most leaders. Most of all, Shem liked how John brought them food from the castle on occasion. Soft bread and fresh fruit from the same kitchen that served Lord Christopher himself!

"Shem, are you here all alone?" John asked with concern, looking past Shem and nodding with understanding when he saw Adala and Konrad arguing on the loading ramp of the ship.

"Adala wants to be a fisherman, but Konrad won't hire her," Shem explained, sighing. "She's going to be grumpy for the rest of the day now."

John smiled and tousled Shem's blonde hair. "We'll see what we can do about that," he said. "Stay here, I'm going to go cool them off."

Shem nodded, turning back to the market while John strode down the dock. Shem noticed a group of young women, close to the age of Adala, watching him go, chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

"He's handsome!" one said, the others giggling.

"More than that, he has the ear of Lord Christopher," said the other. "If he were a fish, I would become a fisherman."

Shem sighed. He had seen these girls flirting with men at the market. Two of them already had beaus—how could they talk about Master John like that?

"Speaking of fisherman," one of the girls piped up. She was the shortest of the four, and had a high voice. "Did you hear that Captain Raban's daughter wants to take up fishing now?"

The others burst into laughter. "Impossible!" one exclaimed.

"It's true!" the shorter one insisted. "I thought she was staying home so that her mother can teach her some manners, but no. She is looking out for a fishing boat, according to my father. She asked about how much his would cost last week!"

The others stifled laughter, and Shem turned away from them, a bad feeling in his stomach. He watched the dock, where John reached Adala and Konrad and began speaking with them. Immediately, he saw Adala's body language change, growing less angry looking but still tense.

"I heard that she wears a man's tunic and trousers when she is on her father's ship," one of the girls behind him continued. "Can you imagine?"

"Captain Aldric said she once got involved in a tavern brawl," another added.

"What's she doing walking this way with Master John?" one of them said in surprise.

Shem was relieved to see John and Adala walking towards him, Konrad returning to his ship in the opposite direction.

"Hello, John," one of the girls said, waving to him as he and Adala stepped off the dock.

John tipped his cap. "Ladies."

"Adala, where did you get the material for that gown?" one of the girls asked.

Adala looked down at her ordinary wool dress, laced together along the sides of her waist. "I'm not sure," she said. "My mother made it. Your gown is nice too. I like the... yellow." Shem could see Adala struggling to find something to comment on regarding style.

"You should come to my father's shop sometime," one of the other girls said quickly. "You would look well in a dark blue. It would really bring out your eyes."

"Thanks..." Adala said hesitantly. Shem could see her puzzling over the other girls' interactions, wondering why they were a little too overly nice to her.

"We should take a walk," Shem said, eager for any excuse to leave the company of the four girls. "Master John, are you coming over for dinner today?"

John shrugged. "Only if it pleases your sister."

The four girls raised their eyebrows, then one of them said, "Well, we better get back to the shop. Good day Master John."

Shem was glad to be rid of them. "How did it go with Captain Konrad?" he asked.

"Not well," Adala said in an irritated voice. "He still won't budge, and now it's too late."

"Konrad's isn't the only fishing boat in the harbor," John reminded her in a calming voice. "I will speak to fishing captains I know. One of them will give you work if that's what you seek, Adala. I will see to that."

"If you say so," Adala said, taking a deep breath. "Either way, I suppose we should be heading back. Mother will need a bit of notice if you will be joining us for dinner."

They moved into the street and weaved through the baker's alley towards home. Maids with caps and baskets bargained beneath each canopy in the street, their skirts a sea of earth-toned patterns.

"I was glad to hear that your father let you stay home this summer," John said to Adala as they all walked.

"Father decided she would be too much trouble if she didn't get her way this time," Shem added quickly, laughing at Adala's glare. "I don't know how long she's begged to leave the sea behind."

John laughed at the two of them. "It seems you've proven yourself even more stubborn than the old man, Adala."

She smiled. "It will be pleasant to spend one summer without the crew pushing me overboard or hanging my nightshirt at the top of the main mast."

"How will you cope without the humor of sailing men?" John remarked.

"I will have to manage." She turned to Shem. "How about drawing water from the well on our way home, Shem?" she asked.

John cleared his throat, and Shem sensed his hesitation. "That may not be wise. There's a trial in the square today, by the well. A man from the valley stole three sheep. He'll likely be banished."

Shem shuddered at the thought. "Is it true that they brand them when they're sent away?" He imagined the glowing hot metal and shook away the image.

John's normally cheerful face grew grim. "Yes. It's not something for a young gentleman like yourself to witness. It's even hard for me to watch some days."

"Have you ever seen a branding?" Shem asked his sister.

"Once," she said. "I'd rather not repeat that experience today, so we can get water at the castle."

"That far?" Shem groaned, shoulders sagging. The way to the castle was many blocks away, through somewhat winding streets in the city, and all uphill.

Adala laughed. "Come on—you need to build some muscles on your tiny frame."

Shem started to skip forward, but was stopped short with a heart-wrenching pain in his chest. He gasped, and his water bucket dropped to the cobblestone street with a dull thud.

Suddenly, Shem was consumed with the pain of a breaking heart, and he wavered, falling to his knees. A scream rose in his chest, but did not escape in his throat. Instead it reverberated loudly, uncontrollably, in his ears until he shook with a helpless sob. His vision blurred, and the pain and horror that consumed his being seemed to slow time to a crawl so that a few seconds felt like hours.

Then, as suddenly as the terror came about, the sensation left entirely, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake.

An earth-shattering thought echoed in Shem's mind: My father is dead.

### Chapter 3: Adala

"Shem, are you coming?"

Shem gave no response. Adala heard the clattering of the wooden bucket as it fell to the street and rolled over several cobblestones: clunk, clunk, clunk. She turned to her brother, opening her mouth to tease his carelessness. But the child before her kneeled paralyzed, face as pale as the snow-covered peak of Mount Horu.

"What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

Shem's round eyes blinked hard. He began to choke, his whole body shaking. Adala raced forward just as he collapsed to his hands and knees, his whole body quaking. She realized that they were not chokes, but sobs. He moaned. "Papa," he whispered hoarsely. Then louder, "Papa! Father!"

"What's wrong?" she begged, helpless. "What are you doing, Shem?"

"I can't feel him anymore," Shem screamed, his pitch higher than a seagull's call.

She touched her brother on the shoulder. People in the street began to stare as Shem jumped to his feet and screamed, "Papa, come back!"

"Shem, calm down!" she commanded, but there was no stopping her brother. He turned and ran back to a stunned Master John and wailed, "We have to go get him—he's two days' sail south, southwest of here. Please, Master John, send out a ship!"

"Your father is a skilled captain, and the weather has been good. I assure you, he is safe."

"He's not there anymore, I tell you," Shem said, his voice garbled by sobs. "One minute I could feel him, and the next he was gone... dead."

Adala's stomach began to wrench. "Shem, don't shout such nonsense," she murmured, kneeling at his side, her mind spinning with confusion. Her brother had once thrown a tantrum begging her father not to leave on a summer voyage, but she had never seen him as pale and quivering as he was in this moment.

Master John felt Shem's forehead and neck with the back of his hand. "He isn't feverish," he observed.

"He's gone," Shem choked. "I can't feel him anymore. He's gone."

Adala felt the blood rushing to her face, not just because of the collecting crowd of onlookers in the market alleyway but also because she felt a strangling fear gripping her in the gut. Fear for her brother's wellness and also a deeply buried fear of losing her father at sea. She had never worried about losing him on a voyage because she had been right next to him her whole life. Now, she wouldn't know for sure if he was safe for months, until his scheduled return.

"You aren't doing this because Father left you behind, are you?" she demanded.

"I'm serious! Papa's gone. I can't find him!" Shem exclaimed, tugging at her dress. "We have to find him!" he wailed, collapsing in a sobbing heap on her lap. Adala had never seen anyone cry so hard.

"I don't know what's gotten into him," she said to John. "What kind of madness is this?"

"You should take him home now—I will bring water after dinner; you don't need to worry about it."

"I can't have him unsettling my mother," she said in a low voice as her brother buried his face in her shoulder to muffle the sobs. She awkwardly patted him on the shoulder, ignoring the stares from strangers in the streets.

John stared wide-eyed at Shem's collapsed figure with what Adala thought for a minute was fear. He shook his head and straightened. "You should take him to the spellweaver by the docks. Madame Georgetta. I know what you think about her, but she has some remedies that will make Shem less excited. It may do him some good to just rest."

"I'm not going to the witch of the wharf," Adala said bitterly. "Spirits and magic herbs, they're a sham."

"She may have something to calm him. Here, we're taking him to Georgetta," John said, scooping Shem's scrawny form up from the ground.

"I don't want to waste money on Georgetta," Adala said, but Shem's sobs made her hesitate.

"I insist," John said. "She is a practiced healer aside from all her charms. I will pay."

"Certainly not," Adala said.

"Your mother can repay me with a hot meal, I'm sure." John started walking, Shem curled up in his arms, sobs still racking his body.

Adala snatched up the water bucket and reluctantly followed him through the market. The road wound downward, back towards the harbor.

Shem's bawling had barely quieted when they stopped in front of Georgetta's shanty. It was made of wood, with a thatched roof and herbs drying from the eaves all around. Adala wrinkled her nose at the conglomerate of scents.

John lowered Shem gently to his feet and knocked on the door.

After only one knock, the door burst open. Georgetta, tousled gray and blonde hair poking out of a braid, stepped out to meet them.

"Ah, the Master of Arms himself pays me a visit," Georgetta said, smiling sweetly at John. "Come to me with questions, dear child?"

John cleared his throat. "This is Adala, daughter of Raban, and her brother Shem. He has taken ill, and we thought you would know his affliction."

Georgetta's eyes moved from John to Adala. "Ah, the lady captain of Gerstadt," she said mockingly. "Why would I take you and your brother into my home? You once called me a fraud and dumped a basket of my herbs into the harbor. It took months to replace them. Many only grow in the mountains or the desert beyond, you know."

Adala shifted uncomfortably.

John put a hand on Adala's shoulder. "She is with me, Georgetta," he said. "And if I recall correctly, you owe me a favor or two."

Georgetta grumbled beneath her breath, glaring at Adala. "If you so much as touch any of my things, you'll be paying for them missy, you hear?" she said.

Adala rolled her eyes impatiently. "Look, if you have anything that might calm him down, let us have it. He had a bout of madness at the market."

Georgetta looked to Shem's quivering figure and took his hand in hers. "Come in, child," she said, leading him through the door. "Let's see what's bothering you."

They sat at her table, and Georgetta sat across from Shem to study his face. "Tell me what's happened, child," she said, pushing the boy's sandy blonde hair back from his face.

"My father has died," Shem said, choking on the words. "I can't feel his spirit anymore."

"Father is at sea," Adala interjected.

"Shush," Georgetta said, shooting Adala a nasty look. "I'll hear the boy's story."

"I always can feel Father in my heart," Shem hesitated, then continued. "And Adala, and Mother. I sense the others, but it is strongest with them. And I don't feel Father anymore. He disappeared, and it hurts so bad."

"Have you seen anything like this before?" John asked anxiously as Georgetta felt Shem's forehead and held a lamp up to look at his eyes and in his mouth.

"He is in shock," Georgetta said.

"From what?" Adala asked.

"From his father dying," Georgetta said. "Can't you hear the dear boy?"

"Absurd," Adala said.

"Is the child usually dishonest or dramatic?" Georgetta inquired, turning to confront Adala.

Adala jolted. "No, I suppose not. He's been upset when Father and I left on past voyages though."

"But he hasn't had an attack like this?" Georgetta said.

Adala shook her head.

"Surely you don't mean to say that the boy may be telling the truth," John said, studying Shem carefully.

Georgetta shrugged. "Maybe he has taken ill, or maybe he has decided to become surly and imaginative all at once. But I would consider keeping an eye and ear out for your father, missy. There is always that chance that your brother knows more than we do. He has the smell of the spirits on him, something familiar about him that I can't quite place."

"You're mad," Adala said, standing abruptly. "John, let's leave. I don't want her encouraging Shem."

"Wait, wait," Georgetta said. "I said I would help you, and now I will." She stood and shuffled over to one of a dozen cluttered shelves by the fire. "Here," Georgetta said, pulling a tuft of dried leaves from a jar and crumbling them over a pot of water over the fire. She used the dipper to serve a cup of the mixture to Shem.

"Take this tea, child," Georgetta said kindly. "It will make you feel better."

Shem wiped his eyes as he sipped at the tea, his body shaking with silent sobs.

"What is it?" Adala asked.

"It will relax him and give him rest," Georgetta said. "He will sleep, and when he wakes he will have a clearer head. That is all."

"Good, maybe we can leave this nonsense behind us," Adala said. "Mother doesn't need this burden, not when we won't hear from father for months."

"Have it as you will," Georgetta said. "He will be asleep soon. You should take him home."

Shem looked up from his cup, cheeks wet with tears. "I'm not lying," he said. "You don't feel it, but I do! I do." He yawned.

"Come, Shem," John said, taking his hand. "We'll get you tucked in at home and you will feel better when you wake."

Pressing a copper coin into Georgetta's palm as payment before John could pull out his coin purse, Adala followed them out the door.

"You're welcome!" Georgetta called out.

Adala shut the door firmly behind her.

As they walked up the street, Shem began rubbing his eyes and walking slower. Soon, John was carrying him again, the boy curled up in his arms.

She tried not to fret, but Adala couldn't escape a recurring doubt.

What if Shem was right?

### Chapter 4: Eleanor

Eleanor sat at her spinning wheel, pumping the pedal and guiding the wool into thread, when the front door of the cottage burst open. Before she could stop her wheel, Master John was carrying Shem's slumbering form into the loft.

"Shem took an ill turn at the market today," explained Adala from the doorway, hastily adding, "nothing to worry about, really. He will just need some rest."

"Is he feverish?" Eleanor asked, concern welling in her chest. He was such a sensitive boy, and always prone to over excitement. She worried about him wherever he went in public, knowing how easily crowds affected him. "Get a bowl of water and some towels, just in case," she told Adala. "I don't want to take any chances."

Eleanor followed Master John into the loft of the cottage, and they situated Shem on his straw mattress, bundled in blankets. Adala joined them shortly, and Eleanor took the wet towels and wiped the boy's face and arms with cool water while he slept. He breathed evenly, and did not feel warm.

"Don't worry too much, Mother," Adala mumbled dismissively.

Eleanor sighed, raising an eyebrow at her brusque daughter. My two children, she thought, looking back to Shem. The two could not be more different. Adala's frame was wide and hearty, toughened by years at sea with Raban, and so was her temperament. Shem, in contrast, was meek and impressionable, besides being small of frame.

"He doesn't seem sick," Eleanor admitted reluctantly, squeezing the hand of her slumbering son. She kissed his freckled cheek and pulled the blankets up to his neck. If he wasn't well, she wanted to make sure to have a soothing meal waiting for him when he woke. That would be the best thing to raise his spirits and bring him to good health.

"We should get dinner started. Will you be joining us, Master John?" she turned to send an inquiring look toward John.

The master of arms possessed the jaw of a wise man, but his face still appeared full and youthful, with only slight laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes. They would make a good match, she thought, reminiscing on Raban's conversation with him. He would take care of my daughter, whether she would want it or not.

"I'm sorry, Madam Eleanor," John responded absently. "I have business to attend to, and I won't be able to join you tonight. But I will return in the morning. Shem will feel better after his slumber, I'm sure."

"You know how he loves your visits," Eleanor said with a smile.

Eleanor and Adala followed John to the main floor of the cottage and bid him goodbye. Eleanor clasped his hand and thanked him for bringing her son home safely, and Adala simply nodded her head to him in acknowledgement, remaining an awkward arm's length away from him.

He tipped his cap to them both and offered a weak smile before he ducked outside the door.

"You could be a little more affectionate towards him," Eleanor scolded lightly when the door closed behind him.

Adala rolled her eyes in the way only a seventeen year old daughter could. "The topic of a union has been brought up, Mother. That's still a long way from the altar."

"Apparently so," Eleanor remarked. "Are you displeased with the prospect?"

"I haven't decided," Adala said dismissively.

"I would suggest you think on it," Eleanor advised firmly.

Eleanor and Adala ate dinner quietly that evening. Eleanor simmered the soup and Adala wiped the dishes after. It was a routine that they had developed one winter because they discovered very quickly that Adala had no skill for cooking. Afterwards, Eleanor sat next to the fire, its glow shedding light on her work at the spinning wheel. She thought of Shem, still asleep upstairs.

"I think he made himself ill missing your father," Eleanor said, running her fingers over the newly spun yarn. "He always misses you too, you know, when you're gone."

Adala glanced up from her work darning a pair of socks with large, uneven stitches. "Is it possible he's pouting because Papa didn't let him go on the voyage this year."

"That's not like him," Eleanor mused. "He is almost as old as you were on your first voyage though. Maybe we shouldn't be as restrictive with him as we are."

"He is too small to endure life on the ship."

"Give him more credit; he would be useful on board. Your brother has a knack for directions, you know. He pours over your father's old navigation charts every voyage, tracking where you two are at every stop." Eleanor smiled at the thought, filling with pride at her son's growing talent.

"I knew he liked charts, but didn't know he tracked all our voyages," Adala said. "I guess I've missed a lot being gone each summer."

"I think he's glad you are here, at any rate. It is always tough on him when you and your father leave," Eleanor said. It broke her heart to see Raban leave the family each year. But having him away just made her limited time with her husband more precious. She looked forward to autumn already, and she knew that Shem felt the same. Such a sensitive child, and with such a gift for loving others, she thought. He should have a close companion here at home to keep him calm.

"I think I will take him to get a pup in the morning," Eleanor said abruptly. "Captain Konrad's dog had a litter this week, and it will make Shem so happy to have a pet of his own."

Adala snorted. "You want a mutt around the house to clean up after?"

"Well, we have you to help out this summer. Keeping house is not always clean and easy, Adala." Eleanor chuckled to see her daughter's frown.

"I'm going to bed, Mother," Adala changed the subject, putting away her darning basket. "It's been a long day."

"Good night. Bolt the door before you go up, will you?"

"Of course, Mum."

Eleanor idly watched the fire die, pondering the changes in store for her daughter this summer. The fireplace was the center of a woman's livelihood, the place where Eleanor worked to serve her family. It was the center of the home, where meals were prepared and chunks of metal warmed for bed heaters in the winter. Where she would heat wax for candles and boil water for wash day. Could Adala manage the work of maintaining a household? To cook Master John's meals, wash his clothes, keep his house, and share his bed? Eleanor shook her head. That life was difficult to imagine Adala adapting to easily. Perhaps Adala's foolhardy plan to captain her own fishing boat was more realistic, though it made Eleanor scoff to think of it.

She pondered the potential changes at bay until the hearth was a pile of ash and coal. Then she climbed upstairs and greeted sleep with open arms, drained from the day's intriguing events.

When she woke, it was to the scuffling feet of intruders in her home.

### Chapter 5: Adala

A dull thud startled Adala out of her sleep. She sat up straight on her straw mattress. The crashing of wood downstairs brought her to her feet. Footsteps scuffled on the dirt floor of their cottage below. More than one set of footsteps.

Adala knelt at her trunk and fumbled to find her knife. She trembled, unsheathing the wide blade and bracing herself against the trunk. A golden light appeared abruptly from the ladder's hole. Adala's throat constricted with panic as an ominous shadow swayed on the roof of the loft. She crawled to Shem's mattress and laid a hand on his shoulder, covering his mouth. His dark silhouette stirred and sat up. She pointed to the light and made a gesture to shoo him off the mattress. "In the corner," she whispered as quietly as she could manage, "behind Mother's trunk."

Shem slid off the bed and Adala turned back to the ladder, struggling to steady her breath. The shadow on the ceiling grew larger, and she could hear someone climbing the rungs. In a panicked motion, she lay back on the mattress and tucked her unsheathed knife beneath her pillow, still clutching the handle.

Through squinted eyes she saw a husky figure emerge, a rope in hand and a short sword at his hip. Two more men followed him, the last bringing up a lantern.

Light filled the loft and Adala's mother stirred across the room.

Don't wake up, Mother, not yet! Adala pleaded silently, as she desperately tried to formulate a plan.

The men moved forward as a group, one with a lantern, one grasping a rope, and the other holding his sword.

The lantern light paused over Adala's bed and she closed her eyes, trying to breathe regular sleeping breaths as the men surveyed her mattress.

"Just a woman," came a whisper, barely louder than a breath. "Where's the kid?"

Shem! She thought. What could they want with him?

The light moved away and Adala opened her eyes. The men were past her, looking over her mother's mattress. Their backs were turned.

With a cringe at the slightest shift in the straw, Adala stood up on their side of her bed. She was in her undershirt, bare feet gripping the floorboards. Fear for her brother's safety welled in her chest, forming a pit of rage that rose to her throat. Abruptly, she sprang into action. With three determined strides she was behind the closest intruder, the one holding a sword. She pushed her shoulder and the rest of her weight into a stab directed below his rib cage, but she was not quick enough. The man turned around, leaning sideways and calling out, "Whoa there!" Her thrust caught only air. His arm swung, and he struck the side of her head with the flat side of his blade.

Adala staggered backwards and heard her mother's frightened scream pierce the darkness. Chaos broke out in the loft. Eleanor seized hold of their chamber pot a few feet away and crashed it into the side of the man with the rope. The man with the sword called to his companions, "The girl's up," and lunged for a stab at Adala's chest, but she dodged to the left. She heard the sound of the chamber pot crashing to the floor and Shem's scream, but was too busy ducking another swing to even look past her hulking opponent. The darkness made it difficult to see anything. Light bounced around the walls; the lantern was bobbing, and the form of the man with the sword swung once more, this time at her legs.

Adala leapt backwards, then dodged forward and thrust her knife at him. Her opponent, caught off guard by the swiftness of her retaliation, had no time to block. Her knife dug in easier than she expected, burying into the side of his stomach and angled upwards to do the most damage, as her father had taught her.

"I don't know who you are, but you better get the hell out of here," she said. Behind her opponent, Adala caught sight of her mother reeling backwards and one of the intruders dragging her brother from behind the trunk.

"Shem!" Adala screamed, but the man she had just stabbed caught her in the side of the head with a brute-forced punch. Acute pricks of light danced in her vision as she staggered backwards, still grasping her knife.

"Adala, help!" came Shem's frantic voice.

"Let him go," Adala pleaded. She tried to step forward.

The man before her clutched his side with one hand while he swung wide and fast for her head. Adala dropped low and sucked in a quick breath. He fought like a wounded animal. He pulled back for an overhead strike, and she rolled to the side and lunged for his stomach, ready to plunge in the knife for a second time. He moved to the side in a flash and changed the course of his sword. It slid against the outside of her upper right arm and a sharp pain shot through her. The next thing she saw was the bottom of his boot as he kicked full-force into her face.

Pain.

First in her nose and then her side as he kicked her again. She writhed on the ground, knife forgotten. She curled up to protect her vital organs. No other blow came.

"Get the boy to the horses," she heard the injured man say. "I've got to get bandaged up before we ride out."

When she opened her eyes she saw the ceiling above her and the lump of her mother's mattress to the right. Eleanor's arm hung over the edge, blood dripping from the fingertips. Adala stared as her mother turned her head weakly and looked Adala in the eye. "You can't let them take him," she whispered shakily. "Protect him, Adala," she said in a trembling voice, "it's what you were raised to do."

The man with the lantern was already climbing down the ladder, and the room grew darker. The injured man went next, leaving the last man, who pulled a struggling Shem from the corner, ready to lower him to the others.

Adala fumbled about the rough floorboards for her knife, earning more than one splinter in her frantic search. Her fingers felt the cool, wet blade in the darkness, and she grasped the handle with determination. As a final attempt, she ran behind the last intruder and used her left hand to yank back his chin from behind. She swung her knife around to slit his throat, but he anticipated her move. He reached with his left hand to grab her wrist. Instead, neither one reached their target. He aimed for her wrist and caught the knife in his hand; she aimed for his throat and sliced open his palm instead.

"Stupid wench!" The man groaned, and thrust his right elbow into her jaw. She lost grip of her knife and staggered backwards, hands over her throbbing face.

Shem screamed, "No, no, no!" and the intruder kneed him forward so that he fell through to the first floor, crying and screaming.

The man approached Adala, and she crawled backwards on the floorboards until she was against the low ceiling of the slanted loft. "Please don't," she whispered, "he's just a boy! Take me instead—I can sail and fish. I'll do whatever you need."

"We don't want you," he said. He grabbed her foot and dragged her out of the corner, then lifted her up by the hair with his good hand. She painfully tried to wriggle free, choking back the terror. He came close to her ear and said, "We don't want you getting in our way, either, wench." His foul breath reeked worse than his words. Her scalp burned as he yanked her hair, and she felt him gather momentum as he swung her head toward the floorboards. That was all she knew before splitting pain and then darkness consumed her.

***

How much time had passed before Adala woke she did not know. The throbbing of her head was excruciating, and the loft was still pitch dark. The house was silent.

She sat up straight, the memory of her brother's screams echoing in her mind. Her movement was punished with a sharp pain in her head. She cursed, feeling the side of her head where sticky blood caked her hair against the scalp. She felt dried and fresh trickles of blood leading up her arm to the swordsman's gash, and the flesh of her arm throbbed to the touch. Even her nose was bleeding, the pain from his boot going deep into her sinuses.

"Mom?" Adala whispered. She fumbled on the floor for a lamp and struck flint to light it.

With shaking hands she held up the lamp to her mother's still form, sprawled across the mattress and pale with death. A weak sob shook Adala's body and she swayed on her knees.

"No," she cried, sucking in a quick breath and shoving the lamp aside to clutch her mother's thin wrist, frantically searching for a pulse. She felt nothing.

"No, no, no, no," Adala shrieked, leaning over to pull her mother's limp form into an embrace. Eleanor's head and arms hung lifeless against her daughter. Adala felt stifled by the stench of old blood, which covered her mother's gown where she had been stabbed in her abdomen.

Terror seized Adala's gut, and she dropped her mother's body, scrambling backwards as she struggled to regain her breath in wheezing gasps. She choked on a sob, taking shallow breaths and feeling her vision waver as dizziness took hold.

The grain of the wood floor blurred as her tears began spilling uncontrollably. They splattered onto the floor as Adala struggled to breathe. Her mind raced in panic, and she choked at the realization that she was now alone in the cottage, her father at sea, brother kidnapped, and her mother dead.

Raban's parting words came to her. "Remember to look after Shem and your mother while I am away, Adala. They need you more than you know."

I've failed, she thought, huddled on the floorboards in the corner of the loft.

"No," she said to herself frantically. "Shem's still out there." Her body shook with sobs as she crawled to pull her sailing breeches from the trunk and pull them up to her waist, wincing at the effort it took to pull them with the cut on her right arm still bleeding. Hastily, she tore a section of her bed sheets and wrapped up her gash.

"I've got to get him," she said to herself. Through her dizziness and the blur of tears, she took a sack and shoved a few items into it along with her knife, still sticky with blood. She gagged at the sight, remembering how the blade sunk into the intruder's stomach with such ease.

His blood won't be the last on my blade, she thought, I have to get Shem.

She dropped her satchel through the ladder hole and climbed down hastily, missing the last rung of the ladder and stumbling to the ground floor. In haste, she took whatever foods were handy—dried meat, a couple of potatoes, bread. She grabbed a wineskin and filled it to the brim with water. She shoved a few fresh carrots in her mouth as she headed out the door, mobility coming slowly but steadily back to her aching limbs.

She kissed her fingertips and touched the statue of Corpia, the god of nautical warfare, that hung over the door of the cottage for protection. She had little faith in the gods, if she believed they existed at all, but fearful times brought her back in their allegiance, and this was her time of greatest need.

In the cottage-lined street she headed east without hesitation. The injured man had let slip in the attic that they were "riding out." The thought of traveling anywhere by land was foreign to her, but if that was their method of travel, there was only one option, and Adala didn't like the prospects. She turned around and looked past the ghostly form of Gerstadt Castle to the valley. Beyond it stood the mountain pass that was only taken by the outcasts of her town, the branded criminals banished to the wilds.

She took one last look at her family home, bringing on another onslaught of panicked breaths that made her vision swim with pricks of light. She turned away in a fit of sobs and began her trek up the eastern valley through a blur of hot tears. With the image of her mother lying on the mattress and Shem's pale face in her mind, she pushed onward without a moment's hesitation. If she woke Master John and had him call up the brigade, it would be hours before they embarked on the chase. But with her knife at her side and no one to dissuade her, Adala knew she would bring her brother home or die trying. Death would be preferable to greeting her father after his voyage with the news of his wife's death and son's kidnapping. No, that would be the most shameful end to the affair. Adala swore to herself over and over as she walked that she would have a family when this was all over. If she didn't retrieve Shem, she was alone. A helpless girl awaiting the return of her father who would be devastated with loss and angry with her failure. No, she had to press on, no matter how much it hurt.

### Chapter 6: Tobin

Tobin shuffled rocks at the peak of a hill, looking up to survey the western horizon. The sun was growing higher, and he felt it beating down on his shoulders. But a pleasant breeze rose from the valley, and as long as he shielded his brown eyes from the dust, he could enjoy the spring air. In summer, he and his comrades would have to cover their skin to protect from the scorching sun whenever they scouted during the day.

"Tobin!" Trigg shouted from the next peak. His voice came like an echo to Tobin's ears, faint and weak. Trigg, Tobin's youngest companion on his day shift at only fourteen years, waved his arms from the adjacent hilltop where he stood lookout with Boggs, his half-brother.

"Do you see something?" Tobin called back, and turned one ear towards Trigg for a response.

Boggs laughed and shook his head in the distance, then cupped his hands to his mouth to shout, "We're just hungry."

Trigg rubbed his stomach, then mimed the act of shooting an arrow.

Tobin chuckled at the boy's exaggerated gestures. "Look out for game then, and stop scaring them off with all the shouting!" he hollered back.

Tobin took his longbow from his back and strung it, counting his arrows. He would need to make more when he returned to the village. Until then, he had work to do.

He turned in a circle, scanning the landscape for any movement that might indicate potential food. He was glad to be part of the lookout teams for exactly this purpose. Instead of starving away on a meager field hand's rations in the outcast village, he often brought home game in the evenings for him to share with his sister, Sarah. Sometimes, he even got the occasional spoils when they took in a new prisoner. Tobin always thought it poetic justice when a new banished criminal of Gerstadt wandered into the valley, because their first greeting consisted of Tobin and his companions removing them of any supplies that they brought. Most of them were outcast from the city because of thievery, and thievery is what greeted them as initiation into the outcast, or "Wanderling" community.

Though there was a certain order amidst the Wanderlings. Tobin was all too aware of the strict code of conduct that rationed the food and water and determined who performed what tasks. He had been unfortunate enough in his childhood to be on the less desirable end of the work assignments in the village.

But now, as Tobin hiked down from his hill and began climbing the next with leather boots on his feet and a bow in his hands, he knew that his situation was improving. He waved up to Hal, on the peak to his left, and signaled a rotation of posts.

"Why are you hunting?" Hal called over to him in a bellowing voice.

Tobin barked back, "Quiet!"

"The boys will be here soon," Hal said back, loud as ever. "They'll share some of their supplies with us. I want some real bread for a change, and maybe they'll lend me a sword from this shipment. I think it's my lucky day."

"In your dreams," Tobin muttered to himself, ignoring Hal as he reached another good vantage point to look out for game.

After only a few moments of silence, he spotted movement around the bend of the valley. He nocked an arrow and stood alert, watching as the dark patch of fur came out from behind some scraggly shrubs. Squinting, Tobin saw a horse and rider emerge at the edge of the valley, followed by two more horses, one with two riders.

He raised his arms to signal his companions. "Jarod's back!" he shouted. Tobin was always curious to see the supplies that Jarod brought back from Gerstadt, the city by the sea. He had always heard of it since childhood—an idyllic place where food and water were plentiful, and the sea washed against the mountains. He always thought he would go there, but he knew that was a trip reserved for only Burano's most trusted captains.

Cheers erupted from his companions, and they all began scurrying from their posts, eager to meet the travel party. Tobin hiked carefully into the valley, avoiding a sticker bush here and a cactus there, all the while eyeing the approaching riders with suspicion. Something didn't seem right. One of the riders was doubled over, almost lying down in the saddle. And the other carried a passenger in front of him—what appeared to be a young boy.

"There's no extra horses or supplies," a disappointed Trigg said, coming up next to Tobin.

"What's this?" Hal called out to the travel party as they rode up. "No weapons, no pots and pans, or food?"

"Mind your tongue," Jarod growled, trotting past Hal to address the whole lookout crew. "Havard's got a nasty gash, and it's starting to fester. Do any of you have bandages or some ale?"

Tobin turned to Boggs, "You grab your flask. I have some bandages and herbs with our supplies, will you run for them? Just bring my whole pack."

"What happened?" Boggs inquired.

"Now!" Tobin ordered, striding past Jarod's horse to where Havard hunched over the mane of his mare. "Let me help you down," he said, sliding an arm under Havard's and helping him off the saddle.

"We had a nasty run-in with a damned girl with a knife," Havard said, groaning with pain as he landed on the ground. His skin was hot and damp to the touch.

Hal scoffed. "A girl? That's the reason why you left the shipment in Gerstadt? You guys are really slipping up."

"Sit down and rest here while I look at your wound," Tobin said to Havard, helping him to a boulder nearby. He began unwrapping soiled cloths from the soldier's abdomen, cringing at the smell of decaying flesh.

"We ran out of fresh cloth two days ago," Tosser explained, joining them. "I tried to keep cleaning it with water, but we barely had enough for us and our horses."

"Hey, who is this kid?" Trigg asked.

Tobin took his waterskin and rinsed out Havard's oozing wound, a pit growing in his stomach to see inflamed skin. Vaguely, he heard Jarod explain, "When we were in the city, our orders changed. We took the boy instead of the shipment."

"How long has the flesh been changing color?" Tobin asked, trying to stay focused on his patient.

"A couple of days," Havard informed weakly, his face pale.

Boggs jogged up to Tobin, panting, "Here's your bag, and my ale. It's the last of it, you know."

"I know," Tobin said, pouring the warm liquid over the wound before letting Havard chug the rest of it. He rooted through his bag while the boys all bombarded Havard, Tosser, and Jarod with questions.

"Who is the boy?"

"What does Burano want with him?"

"How did you get into a fight?"

"Were you discovered by Gerstadt soldiers or something?"

"Enough!" Jarod bellowed, voice deafening. "We were commanded very specifically to take this boy back to camp in a short order. We ran into trouble along the way. End of story. Back to your posts, you pesky strays. Now!"

At the harsh sound of their superior's commands, Trigg, Boggs, and Hal dispersed, looking back curiously at the scene.

Tobin stayed put, pulling soiame root from his bag and chewing it to lather it into a paste.

"What are you doing?" Tosser said, kneeling next to them.

Tobin spit the lathered salve into his palm, the potent taste making his mouth sting. "It's to help clean the wound. I don't know if it's too late though. I've never seen anything this bad before." He reached forward to rub the salve over the infected area.

"Stop there, you desert rat," Jarod jeered, yanking away Tobin's wrist. "What's the name of the herb you're using?"

Tobin clenched his jaw slightly, sighing because he knew Jarod wouldn't like the answer. "It's called soiame," he explained. "My mother used it to—"

"That's all I need to hear," Jarod said, scraping the salve out of Tobin's hand and pushing him back so that he rolled onto his haunches.

Tobin gritted his teeth and stood to meet Jarod's stare, measuring his words carefully so as not to show his anger. "It could help draw the infection out if it's not too late. It's helped me prevent infection in my own wounds in the past. I know that it's—"

"Your desert cousins may rub dirt and spit together to heal their wounds, but I think we can do better," Jarod said, his voice threateningly quiet. "Now wrap him up, and we'll take him to a healer in the village. One who isn't part of a primitive race and who knows the difference between medicine and witchcraft."

Tobin took measured breaths to keep calm, enraged that Jarod would keep him from tending their comrade's wound.

"It's okay," Havard said, smiling weakly. "Just wrap me up again, and when I get back to the village my wife will fix me up real good. Her mother was a healer back in the city, you know."

Tobin nodded, begrudgingly wrapping up Havard's abdomen without applying the herbs. He felt Jarod's cold eyes on his every move, and out of the corner of his eye noticed the blonde-haired little boy, observing quietly from behind Tosser without a move.

"You poured some ale on it," Tosser said reassuringly. "That's as good as any could do. I don't know that I'd want any desert herbs in me if I were in his position, anyhow. Those people are backwards."

Tobin winced at his words. He knew that Tosser was attempting to make him feel better after Jarod's outburst, but further insulting his mother's culture was not a comforting gesture. "Just get him to a healer right away," he said, stepping back as Jarod and Tosser helped their wounded companion to his horse.

"I don't understand. You were only trying to help him," said a small voice to Tobin's right. He turned to see the young boy, standing bewildered in a dusty nightshirt and watching Tobin with somber gray eyes. His hands were bound together tightly by the look of him.

Tobin studied this strange child for the first time. Scrawny limbs, messy hair, but healthy looking. "What's your story?" he asked the child. "Did your father get banished, and now he's sent for you?" He had heard of stories like that, and had even met entire families before who had moved into the mountains because the father was branded. It seemed like such a sacrifice to Tobin. He would never give up his freedom for someone else's crimes. Never.

The boy shook his head and bit his lip, shoulders shaking with contained sobs.

"What's wrong?" Tobin said, suddenly forgetting all of his troubles with Jarod.

"Kid, come back over here," Jarod called. "We need to get back to the village."

Tobin kneeled in front of the boy and rested his hands on his shoulders to look him squarely in the eyes. "Who sent for you?"

The boy shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I don't know him. They call him Burano. They said he's been looking for me."

Tobin balked at his words, mind reeling with questions. What does the commander of the Wanderlings want with a little boy from the city? Does this child still have a family waiting for him in Gerstadt? Or, worse, Does he have any family left after what looks like a nasty fight? Tobin looked from the boy to Havard, doubled over in the saddle, and to a suspicious bandage on Jarod's left hand. This child was taken by force from his family, and the struggle didn't go well for anyone.

"Get out of my way," Jarod growled, riding his horse past Tobin and reaching down to scoop the little boy off the ground and swing him into the saddle in front of him.

Tobin stood in a stunned silence, watching as the three horses trotted away. He paced back and forth, confused and outraged at the same time. He harbored disagreements with Commander Burano's rule over the Wanderlings, but the man usually governed with some sense of justice, even if it was a twisted sense of justice.

Interaction with people of Gerstadt was strictly prohibited, by penalty of death, except for Jarod's supply runs every month or so. The survival of the village depended on secrecy. If their numbers were known in the city, they would be destroyed. Why, then, would Burano or his top officers see it worth a risk to kidnap a child from Gerstadt?

"Did you find anything out?" called an eager voice. Trigg was scrambling down the nearest hill, anxious no doubt for more details about the unusual Gerstadt excursion.

"Get back to your post," Tobin barked, turning away and rubbing his temples to think.

"Who was the kid?" called Hal from the next hill over.

"Shut up!" Tobin cried, using arm signals to command complete silence. He needed to think, and he didn't want to share his disturbing revelation with his comrades.

The group returned to duty, Tobin praying silently that Jarod's travel party wouldn't be followed by a cavalry of fifty Gerstadt Soldiers, charging down the valley to avenge the kidnapping. He watched the valley with renewed vigilance, scanning the horizon continually for movement.

After only a few minutes at his watch on a hilltop, Tobin realized that he had left his bag and bow in the valley. He sighed, hiking down the hill to retrieve his belongings. As he approached the bottom of the hill, he heard a panicked, "C-Caw!" from Trigg at the adjoining hilltop.

Tobin used an arm to shield his eyes from the sun and saw Trigg frantically waving towards him and cawing like a dying bird. The boy waved and excitedly pointed to the edge of the valley path, where Jarod and his men had rounded the corner less than an hour before.

As Tobin followed Trigg's gaze, he saw a lone figure hiking towards him. Panicked, he ducked behind a patch of shrubs, peering over a cactus blossom and thorn bush to see the traveler approaching. With hurried gestures and a few bird calls, he alerted the other lookouts. Trigg scampered partially down the hill in front of Tobin, while Boggs and Hal took the rear, behind Tobin. They couldn't move too much, for the figure was close by that time. Tobin squinted through the brush and saw that it must be a boy, maybe no older than Trigg. The traveler had long, brown hair, held together loosely at the neck. He had on an oversized tunic and breeches, plus a satchel and waterskin by the looks of it. Not much, so this must be a recent outcast, still stunned from banishment.

Usually, on the rare occasion when an intruder ventured into the valley, Tobin had his bow ready. But at that moment it rested on a boulder farther in the valley with his bag, not fifty feet away. He drew his knife, ready to spring into action if the intruder should discover his bow. However, the stranger walked right past, coming within a couple of paces of Tobin's bow and not noticing it because of the thick brush. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then tensed up as the boy passed right by him, so close he could reach him in only a few steps.

As the figure safely passed his hiding place, Tobin rose from his crouched position and signaled Trigg up on the hill. Trigg nodded and threw a rock to the right, causing a diversion.

It worked. The intruder stopped in his tracks, turning towards the noise. Tobin took the opportunity and sprang forward, seizing the stranger's arm and wrenching it into an arm lock, poking his blade at his ribs to let him know it was there.

"Careful now," Tobin said, not wanting a fight, "I'll stab you if you move."

Trigg scrambled out from behind his boulder halfway up the hill in front of them. "Good one, Tobin," he hollered. "Why don't you see what he's got in that bag."

The intruder cursed softly, but Tobin tightened his grip on the boy's arm and stuck his knife back in its sheath so he could reach around his captive for the satchel's strap, which hung across the stranger's chest. He groped blindly, intending to pull the satchel off of the boy for loot, but was shocked to realize as he grabbed the strap that he was gripping it against the breast of a woman, not the flat chest of a boy.

He jolted backwards in surprise, releasing the strap and loosening his grip on his captive's arm in surprise.

Just like that, the woman leapt into action like a coiled cat. She twisted to the left, wrenching her arm away from him and drawing a wide knife from a sheath at her belt.

"Get him!" Trigg shouted, unaware of Tobin's groping revelation about their intruder.

Tobin stared in shock at the wild woman before him for just a second. Her boy's clothes were dusty and haggard from the trip, and he could see dried blood on her sleeve and even in her hair. She twitched her head to knock a strand of dark, stringy hair away from her dirty face, eyes never leaving him. Nothing caught his attention more than her eyes though; stark blue and wide with the fear and desperation of a cornered animal.

He stepped in to grab her arm again, but she struck like a viper and grabbed his arm with her left hand, dancing around him and twisting him into a painful bind. Now his arm was in a lock with her blade pressed against his throat.

He cringed as she screamed over his shoulder in a high-pitch, panicked voice, "Stop right there, or your friend with the eager hands is dead!"

### Chapter 7: Adala

Adala gripped her knife firmly against her captive's throat, struggling to keep her hand steady. She had run out of water earlier that day and was beginning to feel the effects of dehydration. But now fear pumped adrenaline into her veins, and she held fast to the young man's arm with her knife to his throat, stepping on her toes to peer over his shoulder. The other youth, now paces away, froze. He had just picked up a bow from the ground.

"Drop the bow," she said, trying to maintain a commanding voice, "and the arrow sling. And that knife you're ready to grab behind your belt. Toss it away."

The youth did as she said, his weapons dropping to the ground next to tattered leather wraps instead of shoes. His eyes were round with confusion.

"Did any men on horseback come by here?" she demanded.

"You expect us to tell you anything?" asked her captive, the darker one. He had browned skin and curly dark hair that stuck out behind his ears. He remained very still at her knife point, but there was an edge to his voice.

"My problem is not with you," she said. "I'm looking for three large men with a young boy nine years old. He has sandy colored hair. He's a quiet kid and he eats a lot. About chest height." She stopped as her voice cracked on the last word. She quivered at the thought of Shem in captivity these past few days.

The stunned youth in front of her finally blurted, "But you're a girl!"

"Just tell me where the horsemen went—" A stirring of rocks from behind her cut Adala off. As quickly as she heard the noise, she felt the prick of a blade against her lower spine.

"Drop the knife now," said a voice behind her. "You're in well over your head, girl."

Adala shivered at the lethal positioning of the weapon and stifled a whimper. Could her weak, quivering muscles sustain a fight against three attackers?

In her moment's hesitation, a jarring blow struck the back of her head. A rock. The sharp pain shattered her thoughts. A curse escaped her mouth and the hillside reeled before her. She staggered backwards into the arms of an unseen attacker. Vision fuzzy, she wriggled to escape his grip. A calloused hand pried her knife away.

"Get away!" she screamed. She elbowed the one holding her, but he caught hold of her arms and held them together behind her back. She kicked the darker one in the gut. "Let me go!" she hollered at the top of her voice. "You filthy criminals, leave me alone!"

She dropped mostly to the ground as quickly as she could, suspended only by the iron grip of the man behind her. She felt him stagger at her sudden movement and she elbowed his knee as hard as she could. The man screamed and stepped back, but another one rushed forward and pushed her to the ground.

Adala's face met the dirt. One of her attackers sat on her back. The weight crushed her against the satchel, which was still strung over her shoulder. She saw nothing, but heard the scuffling of boots and hasty communication between her attackers. "Get the leather-- bind her legs." "You get her arms." "Don't let her get away now!"

She wiggled and cried out, fighting the panic that threatened to consume her. She used the full force of her sailor's vocabulary, cursing them, their children, their families.

The work on her legs was finally finished, and the figures in her peripheral vision backed away to see what she would do. With the weight removed from her rib cage and her limbs restricted with bindings, Adala's urge to scream turned into an urge to cry. All this way, just to be captured by a band of teenagers in the hills, she thought bitterly. Don't show any weakness. Not to these vagabonds. Get up, Adala. She rolled onto her side and curled into a sitting position, legs beneath her.

She sat in the dirt and surveyed her attackers. Four of them, in all. None resembled the build of her mother's murderers. They were barely men, one of them perhaps younger than herself. Their skin was browned by the sun and their clothes faded. The oldest appeared to be the darker one, and he looked to be of Diggerish ancestry perhaps. Maybe farther south. He had the curly hair and rounded features similar to sailors from that region. He also appeared to be the leader of this confused bunch, as he was the first to break away from his puzzled gaze.

"Trigg," he said, addressing the smallest companion, "go tell Jarod that we need men to take her back to the village. Tell him to send a couple at least."

Adala listened with more interest. If these young men were lookouts for a village, she may be on the right track after all.

The one with dark features continued giving commands. "Boggs, go collect your weapons; this is ridiculous. Hal, see if she's got anything good in her supplies."

A boy with a missing front tooth stepped forward. He must have been the one with the knife, or the one who hit her head with the rock. Either way she did not like him.

"Oi, Tobin," he called, poking her bag. "I can't get her bag off of her because we tied her hands around the strap."

Tobin sighed. "Just cut it. That's easier than tying her up again."

The toothless one took a blade to the strap of her satchel.

"That's my weapon, you pig," she muttered, anger flaring in her chest.

"Ain't it fine?" he said. His grin made her sick. "A knife like this is hard to come by out here, unless you know the right people."

"Unless you ambush the right people, more like."

He tossed a skirt out of her bag, saying, "At least we know you dress like a lady sometimes. Ah, here we have the good stuff." He gnawed on the last of her dried meat. "This is why I love being a lookout, Tobin," he called. "You want some?"

"This one's all yours." Tobin squatted an arm's length from Adala and studied her as she watched her supplies spill onto the ground with growing anger.

"You said you're after a boy," he said. "Your brother, I assume. Why do you think he was taken away from you? Do you have any relatives who have been banished to the outskirts?"

"The waterskin isn't bad—not dried out yet, either," said the voice of his companion.

"Shut it, Hal," said Tobin.

Adala looked away from the scrutinizing eyes of her captor. She yearned to slide her hands up to the binding strap and feel the type of knot that restrained her. She wanted to take back her knife and her things and leave these foolish boys in the dust. But Tobin's eyes watched her like a hawk, and his questions persisted.

"Why was your brother taken away?" he said. "And what made you come after him alone?"

She stiffened in defense, thinking, I shouldn't have come alone. This was a mistake. The insult of his words stung, though his expression was not malicious. "My father was away," she said hesitantly. Another thought came to her mind, and she blurted it without thinking. "I'm promised to the master of arms in Gerstadt. He will come for me and he won't be alone. You would be well advised not to harm me."

Tobin chuckled, "Master of arms? Sure you're promised to him."

Her face grew hot with embarrassment and indignation. "I am," she insisted, somehow upset by his disbelief.

His eyes scanned over her dusty sailor apparel and ratty hair, even the bandage on her right arm, brown with old blood. "Oh no, I believe you," he said with false reassurance, as if speaking to a child with an overactive imagination. "I'm sure your fiancé will be uprooting his army and charging through the valley any minute now."

This insult was not disguised. Adala cringed, not because he noted her haggard appearance, but because of his insinuation that John would not come. An honorable man like John would not let her disappearance go forgotten, she knew. He held much affection and respect for her and her family. However, she hadn't left any sign of her whereabouts in town. Maybe he would never realize that the kidnappers went by land instead of sea.

"No one knows where you are, do they?" Tobin murmured solemnly, sounding more like a statement than a question.

"I left a note," she lied, raising her chin.

"Fancy," he said to his companion, his eyebrows raised. "This one claims to know how to read. Burano will want to see her right away."

The other boy, Hal, smacked his lips. "I ate all the meat, Tobin. Hope you don't mind."

"That's fine, but I'm taking the boots. If I don't grab them, someone else will."

"You won't fit in them," said Hal.

Adala scowled in disgust to hear these two boys bickering about who gets what from her belongings.

"Don't be greedy," Tobin murmured to his companion. "Sorry," he said, gently pulling out her bound ankles from her curled sitting position and fiddling with the buckle on her boot. Without hesitation she drove her coveted boots straight into his face.

"Damn," Tobin cursed as he jerked back, out of range of her feet.

Serves you right, Adala thought to herself, gritting her teeth.

Hal, next to her, threw a reckless punch to the side of her head, causing her ear to ring. "I got her legs, Tobin; just grab the boots and let's be done with the wench."

The force of Hal's weight pinched Adala's legs to the dirt. The pain was enough that she barely noticed her boots coming off.

"All right, just let off of her," Tobin said. "I've got the boots; let's leave her until Jarod's men arrive." He touched his nose, traces of blood coming away with his finger, and cursed again.

At last Adala was left alone, curled up on the hard earth. As their footsteps dispersed, she slid a finger over her leather bindings. The knot was quite simple, elementary even. It wouldn't hold under pressure. While her young captors horse-played on the hill, she began loosening the leather, sliding her wrists against each other. It was far too easy. She knew she could be free in less than a minute if she tugged at the primitive binding. If she waited for them to take her into this village that Tobin spoke of, however, she had a chance to get supplies and information about her brother's kidnappers.

She had never heard of villages in the wastelands. Tales of life beyond her home valley included rabid beasts, barbaric outcasts, and evil desert savages—never organized settlements. There was sure to be water and food at the very least, and the best way of finding this village was to remain captive for perhaps a few more hours.

Adala didn't have to wait a few more hours, however. Within the half-hour, heavy footsteps approached from atop the incline, and she turned to see a middle-aged man with an untrimmed beard coming with Tobin's young messenger. The man's skin was wrinkled and tan, like old leather, but his arms were thick with strength. Unlike the boys, this man was equipped with a sword and sturdy, worn boots.

Tobin rose to address the newcomer. "Ollie, we've detained her by that rock."

"I can see that much," the scruffy one grunted, "why doesn't she have a dress on?"

"Damned if I know," Tobin said. Adala curled her legs under her, conscious of the stranger's gaze.

The older man approached her and noticed the discarded skirt lying nearby. "You boys can't even cover her up after you've taken your spoils?" He mumbled and cursed, pulling her roughly to a standing position. In a moment, her feet were free and he had stuffed her skirt between her bound arms behind her. "Get-a-moving," he said. "Up the hill. If you try to run off, I'll run an arrow into your back without a moment's regret."

Adala peered at the corner of a crossbow strapped to his back. She hadn't seen many bows up close, but they seemed commonplace with this band of renegades. The man, Ollie, brushed away his sweat-soaked forelock, and Adala froze. A pale, textured scar in the shape of a capital T rested above his right eyebrow. T for thievery. It was the brand mark of an outcast from Gerstadt. She shivered.

Her stare did not go unnoticed. The man grinned, baring a mouthful of ill-kept teeth. "Pretty, isn't it? I murdered three men and raped a dozen women for this badge."

"Don't listen to him," Tobin said. "Only the gods know what he stole to come here, but he won't hurt you unless you try to get away."

"That's comforting," she said, still staring at his brand.

"Ollie, I'll come with you," said Tobin, slinging a long bow over his shoulder. "You may need an extra hand with her."

The man's pale eyes danced toward the heavens as he laughed. "I think I can handle a woman! Come along though, if you'd like. You might learn a thing or two, boy."

Within a few moments they were trekking up the incline, Adala carefully leading the way on her bare feet with Tobin and Ollie right behind. Ollie did not cease his chatter for a minute. Since Adala had taken note of his brand, he told tales of stealing the emperor's scepter from the castle at Narshton, taking the virtue of countless priestesses, and commandeering a shipment of Diggerish gold off the coast of Iviannah.

Tobin ignored their companion's monologues and simply directed Adala in their journey, telling her to go a little more to the left or right, or to travel around the next hill instead of over it.

"Where are we going?" she dared to ask.

"The village," said Tobin.

"Yes, but what village? Who lives on this side of the mountains?" she asked in a low voice. Behind them, Ollie was wholly engaged in a graphic story of identical Sabrian triplets he once encountered in Hugerford.

"Most of us are outcasts from your seaside city, Gerstadt," said Tobin.

"But you carry no brand," she said. "Surely there aren't enough criminals to populate an entire village."

"Branding someone doesn't make them infertile, you know. They call us Wanderlings—the descendants of banished criminals."

"And, of course, you supplement your population by capturing wayward travelers," Adala added with a bite to her voice. "Don't forget that."

Tobin's voice was bitter. "It's only fair, isn't it? Wanderlings aren't welcome in your town because of what our ancestors did. I would be as worthless as a mangy stray. We treat wanderers from Gerstadt with slightly more courtesy, offering them places in our community as slaves."

His last word made her gulp.

I will be no man's slave.

### Chapter 8: Shem

As Shem and his captors reached the summit of a hill overlooking the Wanderling village, a great bustle of movement unfolded before him. Haphazard rows of shanties and tents lay in the valley below, people lingering in the streets and children playing. Shem spied a herd of goats at the opposing edge of the valley and horses tethered to posts outside tents. Meager crops sprouted here and there in an unorganized manner—a yellow patch of new corn, some already-dry winter wheat. Shem marveled at the sheer size of this village. Hundreds of tents lay before him, and people of all ages bustled through the streets, worked the fields, and spread hay for the livestock.

"Why doesn't anybody know about your village?" Shem asked, baffled to see so many people living in secret behind the shelter of the mountains.

"Your town isn't keen on outsiders," Jarod replied shortly.

The horses picked up their pace as they navigated down a path on the side of the hill, perking their ears and whinnying at the sight of their home. The wind carried the scent of smoke and meat up the valley, making Shem's stomach growl as they arrived at the edge of town. Tanned and half-clothed children scurried away and peered at him from behind tent flaps, eyes round and curious. Adults and youths took note of Jarod and his men's arrival with curiosity, some whispering. Shem felt exposed in front of them, filthy and barefoot, still wearing his nightshirt. Yet the others showed signs of neglect almost as strong. A girl his own age wore a tattered skirt that scarcely reached her knees. A young boy walked past without any shoes, and his hair was a scraggly mess hanging in tatters to his shoulders. The middle-aged men in the street, who paid little attention to Shem's passing, were greasy, weathered beasts with unkempt beards, but none of them showed signs of violence. They went about their business, carrying bushels of crops and speaking animatedly in groups. Barely any of them even had brands, as far as Shem could tell.

A couple of buildings ahead of them were built of gray stone, the roofs made from patchy leather and canvas canopies. Jarod tugged the reins to stop in front of the largest structure, where men mulled outside with crossbows and knives at their hips.

"Willie, take Havard to a healer straight away. I need to talk to Burano now," Jarod ordered. "We had a change of plans in Gerstadt, and I hope to gods it was worth the trouble."

Shem sucked in a nervous breath as he was pulled off of the horse and roughly prodded past the guards and through the doorway of the larger stone structure. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he saw a wide windowless room inside with a gigantic table in the middle and a bed to his left, plus a row of trunks to his right.

From behind the table rose a broad-shouldered man with greying hair and a trimmed black beard. Something about him emanated authority, and Shem thought, This must be Burano, the commander that Jarod and his men talk about. Shem blinked to notice an H branded into the leader's forehead. He could not think of any words starting with an H sound that were against the law, but he wasn't great with letters yet anyway. His stomach quivered at the thought that he was now in the presence of another outcast, one who must be more terrible than Jarod if he was the ruler of all the outcast criminals.

"What's this?" Burano said, looking from Shem to Jarod with a scowl.

Jarod glanced back to check the doorway, then strode to Burano's table and leaned across to whisper angrily, "Your bloody contact in Gerstadt changed our plans the night we were about to leave!" He sighed loudly and began to pace. "'Get the boy to Burano,' we were told. 'He's more valuable than the supplies!'" He spoke spitefully, his voice low and hoarse. "Well, he better be important, because Havard's on his way to his deathbed because a bloody woman stabbed him in the gut when we went to get the kid!"

Shem shrank back from Jarod's rant, trembling in fear of what these strangers might be planning to do with him.

Burano followed his captain's movements and remained calm, his voice low and matter-of-fact. "Were you seen by the authorities?" he asked.

"No," Jarod replied irritably. "I'm not an amateur, though you seem to think I should take orders from one." He spat on the floor. "I'm telling you, I'm sick of being ordered around whenever I'm in the city!"

"Who is this boy?" Burano changed the subject to Shem.

"Some city kid. His father's a merchant," Jarod explained.

"Why would I want him?" Burano asked.

"Here," said Jarod, shoving a piece of paper at Burano. "This is supposed to explain everything. What does it say?" The note was folded and crumpled from days of travel in Jarod's saddle bag, but Burano spread it out neatly on the table.

Shem caught sight of large lettering on the paper, but didn't know what the words said. His father had taught him his letters, but Shem scarcely had material to practice his reading skills at home. He wished he could translate the figures on this strange outcast's note.

Burano's expression immediately changed upon seeing the script, and his eyes shot up to meet Shem's nervous gaze.

"Jarod, thank you for your service. You are relieved now. Take a day of rest and double rations for you and your comrades."

Shem looked down at the floor, uneasy beneath the scrutiny of this bearded man with a strange brand on his forehead.

"That's it?" Jarod asked. "I can't even know what I brought him here for?"

"Leave us at once," Burano growled, finally tearing his eyes off Shem to address his officer. "See that your wounded hand is tended to. You don't want to die because of a fight with a woman, do you?"

"'S'pose not."

"Go tend your wound and your pride, Jarod. I have business with the boy."

"Bugger that, I'm headed to the tavern," mumbled Jarod over his shoulder.

Shem backed against the wall as Jarod left the room. He felt the cool stone against his back and shivered when Burano walked around his table.

The outcast leader knelt before Shem and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be afraid," he said. "I won't hurt you, child. I'm sorry for what my men have done."

"They tried to kill my mom and sister," Shem sniffed, his vision distorting with tears. He looked away, studying the dirt floor instead of Burano's brand.

"I'm sorry," Burano said quietly. "I didn't order them to do anything like that."

Shem wiped tears from his cheeks with the back of his dirty hand. "It's no good," he whispered, words spilling out. He felt like for the first time in days, he had someone who would listen to him. "They came in the middle of the night—Mum and Adala tried to fight them off, but Mum was stabbed. I thought she was going to die."

Burano nodded in understanding. "Here, have a drink," he said, taking a wineskin from his belt and handing it to Shem. "It will calm your nerves."

Shem sipped at the warm, watered-down wine and sank to the ground, hanging his head between his knees. "Can't I go home?" he whispered. "I just want to be home with Mum and Adala."

Burano knelt on the dirt floor next to him. "How can you be so sure they are still alive?" he asked slowly.

Shem shrugged, wiping his nose on his sleeve, the way his mother always told him not to.

"You can tell me anything, Shem," Burano coaxed. "I want to help you."

Shem sighed, relieved by his kind words. Days of travel with grumpy Jarod and the wounded, gloomy Havard had scared him into silence. "Can you just help me get home?" he asked.

"My letter from Gerstadt says that you have a gift. Do you know for certain that you mother is alive?"

"Yes," Shem stated firmly, closing his eyes and reaching into his heart. He could feel her there, still alive and over the mountains, west from him. He knew it. "She grew stronger today. I think she will survive. And Adala..." Shem reached out, feeling her presence. "She's here," he realized, jolting upright.

"Who?" Burano said, hanging on Shem's every word.

"My sister," Shem said, climbing to his feet. He focused his thoughts on his sister and sighed with contentedness. "She's that way," he said, pointing northeast. "Close by. She's come to save me."

Burano's bushy eyebrows drew together with skepticism. "Really?" he said.

Shem's heart leaped with joy, and he said, "I can go get her. She will take me home."

"I will send someone to find her and take her here to meet us," Burano said quickly. He leaned out the doorway and called one of the soldiers in. "Go see if there's a woman traveling from the mountain pass right now. Bring her here straightaway if you do."

The soldier looked confused. "You mean, besides the one that we just sent Ollie to retrieve?"

Burano's expression remained unreadable. "What girl? Why wasn't I notified?"

The soldier cleared his throat. "We sent Ollie out to get her. I didn't think it would be news to you."

"This is the best news I've heard in ages," Burano said. "Go back to your post. We will wait for her to come to us."

"Are you going to let us go?" Shem asked with apprehension. He narrowed his eyes as his captor went back to re-read the note on his table.

"I just have some questions for you first," said Burano. "How do you know it is your sister that is headed towards us?"

Shem shrugged. "I just know."

"How specific is your knowledge? Can you tell where others are?"

"If I think about it really hard," Shem said hesitantly.

"Can you tell me where Jarod has gone?" Burano said, searching Shem's face with frantic interest that made Shem nervous.

"I shouldn't be talking about this," Shem frowned, shaking his head. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers about this. Only Mother."

"It's just a simple question," Burano demanded, his voice growing firm. "Tell me where Jarod is."

Shem looked at the leader's harsh eyes and said, "Tell me again that me and my sister will be free to leave today if we want."

"Of course you will," Burano promised quickly. "After you tell me where Jarod is."

Lie. Shem thought. Still, there was only one way to find out for sure. Shem pointed behind Burano. "He's behind that wall with lots of other men," he whispered quietly.

Burano's expression transformed into a wide smile, and he pulled Shem towards the table. "Show me on the map where the desert dwellers are," he said.

"No!" Shem exclaimed, pulling his wrist free. "I want to go back to Gerstadt."

"You will," Burano said. "Eventually."

"Why keep me here?" Shem questioned worriedly.

"Because you're going to help me," Burano declared, unrolling a great map that covered nearly his entire table. "Together, we're going to win a war."

### Chapter 9: Tobin

Tobin followed closely behind Adala, ducking through the doorway of Burano's quarters. He blinked to adjust his vision in the low candle light. Behind the table sat Burano, stroking his salt-and-pepper hair, and next to him, hunched over a map and trembling slightly, huddled the little boy that Jarod had captured. His face was tear-streaked now, and he looked scared, but Tobin saw no signs of abuse.

Adala's chest heaved with a silent sob at the pitiful sight of her brother. The boy saw her and began to cry again.

"What is it?" barked Burano. When he looked up and saw them, however, his demeanor quickly changed.

"We've got this girl here," Ollie explained.

Burano cut him off, saying, "I know who she is." He addressed Adala, saying, "Do you know this boy?"

The way she choked on a sob at the sight of her brother, dirty and weeping in his night shirt, made an answer unnecessary.

"Shem, are you okay?" Adala said, voice cracking. "Did he hurt you?"

Shem shook his head and sniffled. "I'm okay."

"Who's the boy?" Ollie asked.

Burano cleared his throat, ignoring Ollie to address their female prisoner. "So you tracked my men through the mountains alone. Are there others searching for him?"

Adala raised her chin and stared past Burano in defiance, her lips pressed in a thin line.

"I ask simple questions," Burano said succinctly, moving in to tower over his prisoner. "And I will get an answer from you one way or another. Now tell me, who knows your whereabouts?"

Tobin cringed at the threat, feeling ill with the knowledge of how female prisoners were often handled in the village. If she proved defiant, she could have a very rough life.

"Please," the little boy began, wiping his face. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, just don't hurt her."

Burano put a hand up to silence Shem, keeping his eyes on Adala the whole time. "Who have you told about the banished men who took your brother?"

She swallowed. "I left a message for my betrothed, and he won't rest until me and my brother are safe."

"If he comes, we can kill him," Burano said dismissively. "Will he have others with him? Will his family come to avenge him?"

"There will be hundreds searching. My fiancé is the master of arms in Gerstadt, and he will bring his men to retrieve us. They may be coming through the mountain pass as we speak." Her voice grew a little high at the end of her speech.

Burano paused for a moment, then threw back his head in laughter. "I'm sure," he said. "Honestly, that wasn't even a good lie. And you are a fool, to boot. Wandering into the mountains alone without telling anyone where you went." He made a tsssk sound. "However, you are here now, where so many others have ended up." Turning to Tobin, he said, "Put her to work in the fields."

Tobin cringed. "I really don't think that's a good idea, with all due respect," he blurted.

Burano seemed surprised, but allowed him to continue.

"She isn't going to follow orders, not in the foraging groups or the fields," Tobin said. "Besides, she can read. I thought you might have a use for her." He waited for a response, hoping that she would be spared the drudging work of tilling the rocky soil where he had spent most of his childhood.

Burano studied Adala, eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" he asked Tobin, eyes still on her dirt-smudged face.

"Test her yourself." Tobin nudged her toward the table.

"What does this say?" Burano demanded, pointing to the swirling script at the top of his map.

Adala cleared her throat. "The Northernmost Wilds of Our Magnificent Bolgish Empire," she said.

Burano's face lit up, and he rushed to a trunk behind him. "Here's a book. Read the first page to me."

She squinted at the faded text and began aloud, "When the Sabrian people, having been ordained by the mighty and just assembly of gods, weighed anchor in the North Sea, they were challenged by the most ferocious of savages. These primitive people were warriors without pity on the battlefield, and called forth the evil spirits of the earth to plague the Sabrian people, whose bows and swords held no power against the spirit beasts."

"At last, I have my scribe," Burano exclaimed. "Can you write as well?"

"Yes," she admitted.

He turned to Tobin, saying, "This is a grand gift you have given me. You and your comrades are relieved of watch duty. We'll begin training you for combat in two days. Take tomorrow for yourself and be merry."

Tobin raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't expected to gain a new position as a result of his efforts, especially for participating in the kidnapping and capture of an innocent boy and his fiercely loyal sister. If he was to train for combat, that would mean more food and water rations for him and Sarah. However, it would also mean more time with Jarod and his lot. Regardless, he was not foolish enough to turn down a promotion.

Tobin stood tall and gave a small nod of thanks to acknowledge Burano's words, mind racing with all the changes about to take place.

"What about me?" Ollie said, breaking his silence. "I brought her in too, didn't I?"

"Yes, yes. Take a day off with double rations tomorrow, Ollie. Also, take the girl and see that she is fed. Keep her in your tent, away from the others. Take the boy, too, and see that Willie gives him food and clothes before taking him to a cell."

Tobin called after Ollie as the old man guided Adala and Shem outside. "Leave her tied up," he advised. In a way, he was grateful to see her put in Ollie's care. The man talked big, but he wouldn't be unnecessarily hostile towards her. In fact, Tobin wondered if Ollie could contain her for one night.

"I know what I'm doing," Ollie called back over his shoulder.

Tobin started off to follow them, but was stopped short.

"Stay," called Burano's voice from the doorway. "I want to speak with you privately."

Tobin pushed the apprehension out of his mind. "What is it, sir?" he asked, turning back to face his commander.

"Tobin," Burano said, offering him a mug of grog from his personal stash. "That isn't a common name for the Roharian people, is it?"

Tobin tentatively accepted the grog, relieved to hear his mother's people called by their true name. "Mother thought it best to give me and Sarah names that would make us fit in with the Wanderlings." Much good it did us, he thought bitterly.

Burano continued talking over Tobin's thoughts. "I want to thank you for your service today. Sometimes we do difficult things for the safety of our community, and I am glad to know that I can count on you."

"Thank you," Tobin said automatically, though the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

"Honestly, I had no part behind Shem's kidnapping," Burano confessed, staring at Tobin intently. "But now that he and his sister are here, we cannot let them leave. If they go back to the city and tell of our settlement.... If the girl has connections to the castle, as she says she does, we will not only be found out but obliterated. Our numbers are threatening to Gerstadt, and secrecy is our only protection."

Tobin realized the truth of the commander's words, wishing he didn't agree with Burano's reasoning. The last thing Tobin wanted in the world was a Gerstadt cavalry riding through the valley to burn the Wanderling village. It wasn't much, but it was his home.

Burano continued, "They will be treated reasonably as long as they cooperate. And they both have skills that will greatly help us. This could be a positive relationship after all."

We'll see, thought Tobin, recalling Adala's boiling anger. His nose still throbbed from where she kicked him with her boot.

"Tell me, how much do you know about your mother's people, the elusive desert dwellers to the east?" Burano said.

Tobin jolted from the change of subject, immediately on the defense.

"You spent considerable time with the Roharian tribes after your mother passed on," Burano continued. "Surely you have some sort of insights on them?"

Tobin tensed as he considered the possibility that Burano wanted to hunt the Roharian. On occasion, bands of Wanderlings would accidentally poach on clan territory, and that always meant blood. Perhaps Burano intended to destroy the nearest clans to get more water and resources? Tobin couldn't guess. "I know enough to realize that crossing them would mean the end of our village," he responded carefully.

Burano leaned forward, "Gods no, I would never presume to have enough manpower to fight them. On the contrary, I hope to make peace with them."

Tobin relaxed a little, though he smiled in amusement at the thought of Burano making peace with the Roharian people. The only way to make peace with them was to stay out of their way.

"Do you speak the language still, Tobin?" Burano asked. "I remember when you returned from your travels in the desert, you could hardly speak Bolgish anymore. Have you lost the skill, my boy?"

Tobin sensed that this question was the real reason he was invited to speak with his commander. He looked down at the map that covered the table and saw the line of the mountain range, then the desertlands beyond. He wants an interpreter to make peace, he thought. A fool's errand.

"I speak it a little," Tobin fibbed. "It's been six years; I don't remember much."

"But you remember some. Good." Burano clasped his hands together in satisfaction. "I hope that I can call on you in the future if I have the need. You will be a valuable resource for our community, and I am sure you could pick it back up with a little work."

Tobin swallowed, uncomfortable with Burano's confidence in him. No amount of interpreting could unite the Roharian people, surely. He itched to inquire about Burano's plans, but thought better of it. Instead, he said his thanks and let himself out of the commander's quarters, blood pounding in his ears.

The sun was low in the sky as he made his way through rows of tents and shanties to the tent that he shared with Sarah, his sister. His mind was still racing with thoughts about Adala, Shem, and his bizarre conversation with Burano when he ducked through the front flap of the tent.

"You're home early!" Sarah exclaimed from where she sat at her loom.

Tobin smiled to see her bright, dimpled face, framed by wavy locks that were the envy of other girls her age. Sarah was a little fairer-skinned than him and looked older than her fourteen years, her long limbs stretching more every day it seemed.

Tobin greeted his sister, "I have good news."

"The Lord of Gerstadt has come to town and wants to whisk us away to the golden seaside city?" Sarah teased, grinning from ear to ear.

"Not that good," Tobin said, setting down his bag. "I have boots for you," he said, pulling out the pair he had taken from Adala earlier that day.

Sarah jumped up from her weaving with a squeal. "Really?" she asked, rushing to hold the boots to her chest. "They're wonderful," she said. "There's room to grow into them, and they look like they will last a long time." She hastily sat down on the dirt ground to pull on the new boots.

Tobin grinned, taking a seat on the ground. They had no furniture to speak of in their little canvas tent, just homemade straw mattresses covered with threadbare blankets, Sarah's loom, and a few old wooden dishes in a crate, but Sarah always did what she could to make it a home. Little desert flowers and cactus blooms hung in wreaths from the ceiling, and she had painted the canvas of one tent wall with different types of clay, creating a mural of swirled designs that brightened the tiny tent.

"Wait a second," Sarah said, her expression changing to suspicion. "Where did you get these boots?"

"From the Gerstadt shipment," Tobin lied. "Jarod and his men came back today, and those boots were too small for the soldiers, so they let me take them just for you."

"You're sweet!" She said, buckling them up and holding her feet out to look at them. "They are perfect!"

"There will be more where that came from soon, I hope," Tobin said. "They tell me I'm going to be a soldier now."

Sarah's smile faded, and she pursed her lips. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Burano made the call," Tobin said. "We will get more food and water, and I might be able to protect you better with a soldier's standing." He sighed beneath her scrutinizing gaze. "Come on, Sarah, I may even get a horse. It's a good thing."

"It's dangerous," she reminded him.

"I will be careful," he said. "I'm going to stick around to bother you for many years to come. Deal?"

"Deal," she agreed, giving a crooked smile. "Now, what's for dinner?"

### Chapter 10: Adala

Ollie forgot to feed Adala that night until she snapped at him about accommodating guests. He offered her a jug of foul smelling drink and an unidentified hunk of green vegetation of sorts. She accepted the drink the first time he offered, but the noxious liquid burned her throat. He broke off a chunk of the slimy green vegetable and shoved it in the side of her cheek, since her hands were still bound behind her back. The plant tasted bitter, but cool and refreshing. Adala wanted more, but after that, Ollie was too far gone to remember that she hadn't eaten a full meal or used the privy since midday.

Adala sat on the hard earth until her limbs grew numb as she waited for Ollie to sleep.

His shadowed figure on the cot across from her began snoring after what felt like an eternity. She wasted no time in making sure his slumber was genuine—from less than six hours in his company, Adala had a sense that he wasn't the cunning type. Not enough to fake a drunken coma anyway.

She slipped her hands from the leather knot with little caution and ducked under the cloth tent opening. People lingered in the street, mere silhouettes against the few tents that still glowed with lamplight. She shrank into the shadow of the neighboring shelter and watched for a few moments. The street was too open, too wide. She backed into the gap between tents and found a smaller, darker alleyway between rows of dwellings. Darting from shadow to shadow, she made her way towards the center of the village. More and more of the homes she passed had walls of stone and mortar. Their roofs were straw, cloth, or leather. She'd never seen anything like it. At last, she found herself behind what was obviously the largest structure in the village, the one where she had seen Shem captive.

A cricket screeched in the distance and a log fell from a fire nearby. Adala flinched, but there was no one to be seen. She surveyed the building in front of her. It was perhaps the size of the stable in Gerstadt, presumably with a dozen different rooms. Two doorways stood covered by tattered cloth on the nearest side of the building, a glow of light shining from within each one. Across from the openings stood a long latrine just paces away. She judged that there must be many men in the building to warrant such facilities.

Her feet moved silently over packed dirt. The dull hum of various male voices in conversation reached her, and Adala flattened herself against the stone. One man from inside the first doorway was asking someone about his family, another group seemed to be arguing the results of a dice game, while a few other voices bellowed curses at someone called Tosser. She heard nothing of Shem.

She crept next to the other opening and listened again. There was nothing for a second, but then a shrill cry: "In here! Adala, I'm locked in this room!"

The noise spurred a scolding from a male voice, barking, "Be quiet, kid."

Adala stood paralyzed at the sound of her brother's voice. She resisted the urge to burst in right then and there. Barefoot, without a weapon, and dehydrated, she did not have much to work with in a fight.

Another male voice sounded from within: "Why do you think Burano has us guarding an infant?"

"At least we aren't on the desert brigade," came a replying voice. "This isn't a bad job for this dung hole anyway."

"Speaking of which, I'm going to the privy," said the first voice with a laugh.

Adala backed against the wall right next to the archway. A broad-shouldered figure strode out of the opening and made a line for the latrine. This is my chance, Adala thought, quelling her nerves. The man didn't notice Adala's faded figure against the stone, nor did he hear her move as she shadowed him to the door and slipped her fingers around the hilt of his scimitar. She began to slide it out of its sheath, but her opponent's oblivious streak ended right there. He reeled on Adala, and her grip was wrenched painfully from the hilt.

"What's this?" he said, stepping back. "You think you can take a soldier's blade, girl?"

He seized her left arm, and Adala acted on instinct. She feigned an attempt to escape, rushing out until his grip tugged her back violently. Using the momentum of his pull, she came back at him fist-first. The force of her blow struck his throat hard, and his hold slackened immediately. As he gripped his throat and bent over for breath, she seized his shoulders and brought her knee into his gut. He groaned and plowed head-first into her stomach.

Adala hit the ground, her opponent's weight knocking the breath out of her. She scrambled out from under his wheezing, writhing form. Her body trembled as she stood over her defeated foe, but she hesitated only a second. At last she seized his scimitar. He weakly tried to bat her away with a spare hand, but his breaths were hoarse and short.

She faced the door from which her opponent had come and swung his weapon for familiarity. A lightweight sword with a curve at the tip. Keep it together, she thought to herself. Shem's in there, and it's on you to get him out. She wielded her new weapon with her right hand as she charged through the doorway.

A lamp illuminated a small room inside. A slim man in a gray tunic jumped to his feet from a table in the center of the room, behind which stood four wooden doors. "What are you doing? Drop the sword," he said, but she was already upon him. He swiftly brought up a forearm-length blade to meet her sword.

"I'm here for my brother," she said frantically as he blocked her blow.

"Don't be a fool," the man said.

Adala jabbed for his chest, but he evaded the blow. "Let the boy out!" she cried.

Her opponent lunged for her stomach, but she knocked the blade away with her sword just in time for an overhead swing for his neck. Time seemed to slow as she watched his knife come upward to block the force of her swing. The blades met with a resounding clank, but her momentum still drove downward. He pushed the force of her blow slightly to the right, and her sword struck his upper arm.

He clamped a hand over the gashed shoulder, and his knife dropped to the ground. Adala hastily picked it up from the dirt and heard a high-pitch voice from the first door. "Adala!" Shem's voice screamed. She could hear his fists banging against the wood.

"I'm coming," she called, pointing both the scimitar and the knife at her opponent. He backed against the wall, eyes darting between the tip of her scimitar to the rapid flow of blood seeping down his arm.

"Bandage yourself up," she said, trying to sound authoritative. "Call for help, and I'll kill you with your own knife."

The man sank to his knees in a growing puddle of blood. Adala raced to her brother's door and realized that there was only a simple plank wedged to keep the door shut. She tucked her newly acquired knife into her belt and used her free hand to hoist the blockade out of its perch, swinging the door outward.

No sooner was the door open than Shem's arms were around her waist. His body shook with sobs. "Adala, I knew you were coming," he said shakily. "I was so afraid they would catch you."

She kissed the top of his head. His golden hair was matted to his scalp. She smelled salty grime from sweat and tears, and her throat grew dry. "There's no time," she whispered, unwrapping herself from his embrace. "Take this knife, Shem," she said. "I want you to follow close behind me and be a quiet lookout, okay?"

"There are two men coming around the corner," Shem said. "They're behind the wall right there." He pointed to the right.

Adala froze. Beyond the frantic panting of her defeated opponent, now tying his belt around his arm and blinking to stay conscious, the ruckus voices of men outside drifted through the door. She pulled Shem to the wall by the doorway and whispered, "Stay quiet when they come in. Once I attack them, I want you to run out the door. Stay in the shadows between tents and don't stop until you are north of the town. I'll find you."

Shem's body quaked with a muffled sob. "I don't want to lose you, too," he whispered.

The men's voices outside changed in tone. One cursed vehemently. "What the hell is going on?" another voice demanded. The shink of a sword drawing from its scabbard split through the still air.

They've found their comrade outside, Adala thought with a curse.

"I don't want to leave you," Shem whispered.

Adala kissed his matted hair and winced at the moan of pain from her defeated opponent. Her fingers stiffly clung to the hilt of her scimitar, and her knees nearly buckled with fatigue.

"Wait," she said, mind racing. She rushed to the side of the panting man on the floor, laid down her blade, and put his head in her lap. Sticky blood oozed from his arm still, drenching her breeches. His glazed eyes focused for a brief moment on her face, and his brows arched in confusion. But his eyelids drooped downward and his body slumped in a faint from loss of blood.

This is either going to work perfectly, or fail terribly, she thought, shooing Shem back into the dark corner, unseen from the doorway.

Two men, swords drawn, burst through the flap of the door across from her.

Adala looked up and felt her pulse pounding in her ears. She blurted, "Go get help—they've stabbed him!" Somewhere in her gut, she summoned the instinct to cry, and she began to sob.

"Where did they go?" said one of the men.

"They went left out the door, four of them," she said frantically between sobs, them screamed, "What are you waiting for? Get after them!"

The men rushed out the door and turned left. Adala laid her unconscious opponent back on the floor and calmed her breath shakily. Keep going, Adala, she said to herself. Focus on getting out of here. "Follow closely," she instructed to Shem, and gathered the sword from the dirt.

"Not yet, there's still men talking along the street," Shem said urgently. "They'll see us."

Adala paused. "I don't know what you're talking about-- I can't hear any footsteps."

Shem shook his head. "You don't understand, Adala. I can feel people. I will know when they're coming for us, where the soldiers are."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said, shaking her head in bewilderment. Now was no time for Shem's stories. She crept closer to the door and peered out discreetly, noticing a group of men in discussion on the next corner.

"I know things about people, Adala," Shem insisted. "Mother always says that I'm gifted."

"Mother is dead," Adala blurted, turning to face him.

Shem searched her face in the dim lamp light, his eyes round and moist with tears.

"They killed her," she said, eyes stinging. She hadn't said it out loud, and the words made a lump rise in her throat.

"Mother isn't dead," Shem said. His voice was steady, in contrast with Adala's hoarse words, thick with emotion and fatigue.

"She was dead in her bed when I left home," Adala said. "Bled to death from a wound to the chest."

Shem shook his head with certainty. "She was weakened, but not dead. I felt her grow a little stronger today."

Adala backed away from him, shaking her head quickly. "This is nonsense. Shem, you're ill. It must be the shock of what's happened to you. You're just—"

"You're the one who is in shock," Shem said, his voice eerily quiet. "Father is dead, not Mum. I don't know how I know, but I do. That is why that evil man Burano wants me. I've always been able to feel people."

Adala turned her back to Shem, wringing her shaking hands and swallowing hard. She took a deep, quivering breath, trying to shake away the confused cloud building in her mind. She peered out again, seeing that the group of conversing men had moved on.

"We'll talk later, Shem," she said hastily, "It's now or never. The men on the corner have gone." She grabbed her brother's hand and rushed into the street.

Shem dragged his feet, crying, "Not now, Adala-- wait!"

From behind the corner of the building emerged the men that Adala had sent away moments before.

"There she is-- with the boy!" one shouted, and started running towards them.

Adala's heart pounded in her ears, and she pulled to a stop, turning to flee the other direction.

"As fast as you can," she called to her brother, leading him forward.

They made it ten steps before a stranger with a bandaged hand emerged from a doorway in front of them, causing a collision.

Adala reeled backwards and tried to back away, but the hulking man before her seized her wrist forcefully. Fear struck her heart as the moonlight cast light on his cruel face, the harsh brand of the letter R engraved on his forehead.

"Run, Shem!" Adala blurted, lurching forward. She barreled all her weight into the man's gut, causing him to stagger backwards. From behind her she heard the footsteps of others. Several sets of arms jerked her back, and she screamed with rage.

"Stop it!" cried Shem's small voice in the commotion, and Adala went limp to see him still standing there, his face creased with worry.

Shem stepped forward until he stood right in front of the man with a bandaged hand and his group of soldiers, a lamb surrounded by wolves. "I'm ready to help your people, Jarod," he said softly but firmly. "Just don't hurt my sister."

### Chapter 11: Burano

When Jarod brought the boy in after the attempted escape, Burano could not bring himself to wait until morning to test the limits of his abilities. In fact, he pulled the boy into his quarters immediately after the girl was confined to a cell in the main building.

"Let's have a talk," he said, gesturing for Shem to sit on a stool next to the main table at the center of his room.

"I will answer any of your questions," the child said in a steady, quiet voice. "But only as long as Adala is safe."

Brave kid, thought Burano as he leaned against the table next to Shem. "She is safe, only a couple of rooms away from us now. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Shem nodded. "A lot of women I passed in town," he said hesitantly. "They were weak and unhappy. It's hard to explain...."

Burano nodded his head. "I will keep her in her cell, and her occupation in the village will be as a scribe for me, nothing more strenuous. My men will not touch her so long as she cooperates."

The boy seemed satisfied at that.

"Now, we must turn to matters of business," Burano said, his pulse quickening at the potential he saw before him. "Describe how you can tell where someone is without seeing them."

"I just know," the boy began. At first, Burano thought that was to be the extent of his explanation. But, hesitantly, the boy continued. "You don't ever feel that someone you know is close, like you can smell them? It's not so much a smell, really. I just feel their spirit is all. When the baker on my street died, when I was little, I felt him disappear. It made me wake up crying in the night, and that's when my mum told me that not everyone can sense other people the same way I do."

"Can you find anyone, using your sense?" Burano asked quickly, mind racing. If the boy could track the movements of the desert clans, if he could determine the number of enemy soldiers on the move and determine their speed.... The possibilities were endless. The boy seemed confused, so Burano clarified. "Can you tell me where my soldier Reggie is?"

"I don't know which one he is," Shem explained, shrugging. "Can you find my mother in a crowd? Of course not. You don't know her."

Burano strummed his knuckles on the table impatiently. "What about Havard? Do you know where he is? Or Tosser or Jarod? You traveled with them through the mountains."

Shem nodded. "I feel them. Do you want me to take you to them?"

"After you." Burano gestured to the doorway, following Shem who strode outside and quickly announced, "Havard is this way."

The boy wound deftly between shelters, and Burano almost lost him for a minute. They raced between tents and shanties in the dark, with only the stars and some ambient light from the tents to guide them.

"This is Havard's house," The boy said at last, halting abruptly before a shanty made from scrap wood and leather.

Burano knew the shanty by sight, and recognized it as Havard's. "Good work," he said. "What about Jarod?"

"Back where we came from," said Shem. "In a room of that big building, where all the men are drunk."

Burano raised his eyebrows. It's likely true, he thought. It's no wonder we almost had an escape. "But you've never been in that room," he commented.

"I know what drunk men are like, and they were all over that corner of the town center building."

"Take me to Tosser then," he said.

Shem turned back and was off again, just like that, weaving between tents.

This is the wrong direction—Tosser lives back that way, Burano realized with confusion. He seems so genuine... could this be the work of merely a perceptive child?

Shem emerged on the main street of town and took them to the opposite side of the settlement, where he stopped by a small tent on the edge of town.

"This isn't Tosser's tent," Burano said harshly, frustrated by the boy's inconsistency. If he was going to use him as a resource to gaining an alliance with the desert clans, his instincts needed to be one hundred percent reliable.

"He's in there," Shem insisted boldly. "He's in there with a girl."

Burano reached forward and flung aside the front flap of the tent.

"Commander," mumbled Tosser, sitting up from a bedroll on the ground. He hastily pulled a blanket to cover the woman lying next to him.

"Is that Hugo's wife?" Burano asked his soldier.

Tosser stammered awkwardly, "Hugo is on night watch duty..."

"You disgust me," Burano said, letting the flap fall closed.

"Do you need something from me?" came Tosser's embarrassed voice from the tent.

"No, you're useless," Burano barked back. His voice was reprimanding, but in his chest burned excitement at the realization that Shem had led him directly to his officer. Against all odds, and after years of searching, he had discovered genuine talent.

He and Shem meandered through the village back toward the town center, where Burano's quarters were. As they walked, Burano pointed to tents along the way, asking Shem to identify how many people were within.

"A man, a woman, and two children," Shem would say, or, "a man and a girl." "Someone is sick in that tent, I think. They're weak."

Burano stuck his head into a tent periodically to verify the boy's estimates, and they were all accurate. He felt childlike giddiness as he realized the potential behind Shem's gift.

"How many people are in the whole Wanderling village?" Burano asked.

"A lot," the boy said, shrugging. "I don't know."

"But you said you can feel everyone."

"I can't count them just like that," the boy protested.

"Can you tell how many leagues we are from Gerstadt? How about the desert dwellers? Do you sense any of them roaming in the east? How many leagues?" Burano entreated the boy fervently.

"I don't know how long a league is," he replied, lower lip quivering. "I'm sorry... I know Gerstadt is that way, and I can feel lots of people there... I just don't know how far away we are. I don't really feel anyone to the east.... But I'm distracted by all the people around me. I can't concentrate." The boy's voice broke, and he bit his lip to keep from crying.

Burano realized that he had spoken harshly. "There now," he said, kneeling to be at level with the child. "You have a beautiful gift, Shem. We will work on your estimates. Maybe with a little practice, you can concentrate your senses better."

The boy's eyes pooled with tears in the moonlight, and he sniffed. "You promise we will go home eventually, right?"

Burano nodded. "You will," he said. "I know it's hard to be away from home, but you must be brave."

"I just want to be there for my mother," Shem whispered longingly.

"I know what it's like to be taken away from your home," Burano said. "I was torn away from Gerstadt too, nearly thirty years ago. Not a day goes by that I don't think about the life I lost."

"Did you leave your family behind?" Shem asked curiously, blinking his tears away.

Burano decided to be honest. The boy's perception may pick up on a lie, and he didn't want to risk losing his precarious cooperation. "I took my son, just a baby, into the hills with me," he admitted. "But he's gone now." Burano recalled the sting of being parted with his son. He always promised himself they would be reunited one day, but he had responsibilities to attend to first, for the good of his people in the Wanderling settlement.

"I'm sorry," Shem said, lowering his head.

"It's history now," Burano assured him. "But you are the future for our people. With your help, we have an amazing opportunity to build an alliance with the desert dwellers east of us. With their friendship, we could have more food and water for our people. We wouldn't be as tired or starving, and our people wouldn't have to slave in the fields."

Shem nodded. "I will help you. I'm too tired tonight though." He rubbed his eyes.

"Of course," Burano said. He took Shem's hand and led him to Willie on guard duty. "Willie, would you clear out a shanty and post two men on duty to see that the boy isn't disturbed while he sleeps?" He asked. Quickly, he added. "Make sure it's a shanty a few streets over from this building. His sister is being held here, and I don't want them to be able to collude with one another during the night."

Willie nodded, then raised his eyebrow in confusion. "Which shanty?" He asked.

"I don't care who you evict," Burano said. "Just make sure they have somewhere to hole up for a few weeks while we use their home as a holding cell for the child."

Willie seemed reluctant for a moment, but shook his head in bewilderment. "Yes, Commander," he said.

Burano turned on his heel and strode into his quarters, closing the heavy door behind him. He rustled through his trunk of weathered old books, holding them like old friends. It had been years since he had been able to make out the small script on the pages, and he could not remember the titles of most of the volumes. Many of them he had never read, in fact, having received them from Gerstadt shipments. His son was no longer around to read the books to him, and he hadn't found the time to teach one of his imbecile officers to read. None of them had interest, if truth be told.

But now everything was about to change for Burano. He finally had the three pieces of the puzzle. First, he had taken Tobin under his wing. When the boy's mother died, Tobin had taken his sister away and lived in the desert for perhaps a year. He could be of value in coming months, if he were ever able to catch the attention of the desert clans and unite them under his banner.

Second, he had Adala. With her help, he could read through his histories and make note of any mentions of the desert tribes and their religion and superstitions. In particular he was interested in finding details about their prophecies and the desert spirits to which they prayed. The histories would fill in the gaps of what Tobin couldn't remember about his people's culture and history.

Third, and most key, Burano had Shem. With the boy's potential gifts only in their budding stage, Burano had a rare gem indeed. Through his contact in Gerstadt, he had heard of Gifted children to the east. It was a rumored phenomenon stemming from Iviannah, the eastern empire of the Sabrian continent. But here he stood, in possession of a child with a most extraordinary and useful gift. If Shem's abilities couldn't invoke religious fervor and unite the desert clans, Burano didn't know what would.

### Chapter 12: Adala

The sun's rays peeked at her between the gaps in the canopy ceiling when Adala woke to the sound of the door unlatching. She sprang to a sitting position and scrambled to the back wall, too disoriented to guess what may come through the door.

A young girl, perhaps 13 years old, stepped through the doorway with a bowl of steamed oats and a cup of water. "Just your dinner," she said, setting the cup and bowl on the cot. Four guards lurked behind her, two of them with swords already drawn.

Adala snatched the dishes as the girl backed away.

"Eat quickly," the girl recommended, tucking a stray hair into her braid. "The guards will take you to see Burano soon."

By the time she heard the door bolt, Adala had gulped down the cup of water, savoring each and every drop. The oats disappeared just as rapidly. Plain, mushy oats had never tasted so good.

After a few minutes, two scruffy guards entered and took Adala's arms, escorting her painfully to Burano's room.

The bearded commander stood stooped over a pile of maps when Adala entered.

"You may release her," he said, looking up.

Adala sighed with relief as the guards released her arms. She rubbed her aching shoulders, cringing to discover fresh bruises coating her skin.

"I have come to an agreement with your brother," said Burano. "He has promised to cooperate as long as you are treated with respect. You will be fed full rations, will always have a place to sleep, and will not be sold as a wife to any of our men. I clearly cannot allow you to go free. You're too much trouble. Therefore, I vowed to keep you safe and privileged in our little community as long as you agree not to cause a stir. Will you cooperate?"

"I don't have much of a choice."

Burano shrugged. "You are quite weathered from your exploits. I will have Sarah put a wash basin and fresh clothes in your room. You have shown more recklessness than any woman I've seen, coming here to steal your brother back. But now is the time to work together, you see? Because if you cause trouble or manage to escape, we will not only find you, but we will punish your brother for your disobedience. Are we clear?"

"Very." Adala's blood boiled with his every syllable.

"Good." Burano gestured to his guards, and they left the room.

When they were alone, the leader put a hand on Adala's shoulder as if she were a good friend. She shivered.

"Now, I have a special project for you—almost as important as what your brother is working on with the maps." He took her to the corner and gestured toward a crate. "This will be your desk. I am going to have you reading scripts to me and copying them from time to time. You may sit."

Adala side-stepped the little wooden crate and sat on the dirt floor. "Comfy," she said dryly.

Burano dug through his trunk and emerged with a strip of smooth leather and a quill.

"Where is my brother?" she asked as he laid the writing materials on her crate.

"He is resting in a safe place," Burano informed her. "I assure you, he is being treated quite well. In the mean-time, I want you to focus on your work. Most days, you will be reading to me. If I hear anything important that I want to copy down, however, I will ask you to write the passage on these scraps of leather. Now, show me what your writing is like—the letters should be as tall as my thumb is wide. Try it now."

"What do you want me to write?" Adala asked.

"Anything. Write your name."

She dipped the quill and laid it to the smooth leather sheet Burano laid in front of her. Her letters were even and clear, the way she wrote in the ship's log: A-D-A—

"No, no, they need to be big," interrupted Burano. "I told you, the size of my thumb. I can barely see those letters."

Adala studied the face of her captor, from his black beard to the branded H on his forehead. "You carry the brand for hubris," she said quietly. The crime of reaching higher than one's standing. "Someone well-connected enough to commit that crime surely knows how to read and write on his own."

The man's dark eyes narrowed. "Write your letters, little girl," he said quietly.

She dipped the quill again and wrote in exaggerated, angry letters: "ADALA DAUGHTER OF RABAN, PRISONER OF BURANO THE ILLITERATE HALF-WIT."

Burano took the strip of leather and held it at an arm's length, scanning the letters. His lip twitched and brow creased with irritation. "You think you're clever, Adala, daughter of Raban. But you would do well never to mock me again."

She smiled. "You can read, your eyes have just failed you," she said quietly. "You want me to copy everything in big letters because you're too old to see the script and you—"

"Silence," he barked in a harsh, authoritative tone. "Do not speak unless spoken to. For the rest of the day, I don't want to hear anything but the script from my books and scrolls." He dug violently through his trunk and emerged with a weathered book, so old its binding had split into two volumes. "Start at the beginning and don't stop reading until it is too dark for you to read."

Adala surveyed the tiny script over yellowed book pages and began to read. "Before man ruled this earth, before life christened the expanse of nothingness, and before the earth, the air and the sea came into being, the gods arose to rule the cosmos. They arose forth from the Creator's flesh. Tiscus, the god of knowledge, came from his head; Shayanna, the goddess of bravery, from his heart; Celia, goddess of peace, from his hands; Weatherbie, god of youth and beauty, sprung from his loins.

"What is this?" Adala said. "What use could you have with these myths?"

"Keep reading," Burano said. "Don't ask questions."

She turned back to the cosmogony. Burano listened to the tale, reclined on his cot with eyes closed in concentration. The story told of the first humans, Hasha and Aradese, made by the Creator to govern the gods' creation with solemnity and peace. The gods created their own children: the wood nymphs and sea nymphs; dwarves and giants; centaurs and fauns; sprites and elves. All the magical beings ruled in harmony with humans, multiplying and spreading throughout the earth. But the seed of envy planted itself in the hearts of men, and they began waging war against each other, and then against the children of the gods. The magical beings retaliated, waging war against man and other races. The slaughter was horrific, nearly ending all humankind. That was when the gods came together and bound the magical creatures by the old laws, forbidding the harm of any mortal. From that point on, man's numbers grew and the magical beings dwindled, until eventually they were only heard of in whispers and tales.

"You may stop there for today," Burano said quietly as Adala was about to begin the tale of the first king of Old Sabria. She tucked the loose pages together into the bind of the book and studied the bearded villain before her. He ran a hand through his mane of grey-streaked hair and sighed with what appeared to be satisfaction.

"It's like meeting an old friend again after decades," he whispered.

Adala knew at once that he meant the quality of the words, the familiarity of high speech that was so rare in her own city and even more diluted in the crude accents of her criminal captors. She never had much use for the old tales herself, but her father used to read aloud from his single book of poetry while they were at sea, just to "wash out the sailor language" from her vocabulary, and used to give the same satisfied expression after reading the fluid words.

"You will come again tomorrow, and we will read the rest of this volume," he said, voice soft and wistful.

Adala eased the pages shut and stood as Burano brought in one of the guards to escort her. "When will I see Shem?" she asked. The question hung in the air for a second. Deciding to play the weakness role, she softened her tone; "May I see my brother?"

"I can't trust you to talk to him," Burano said. "And besides, I need him for more tests."

"What kind of tests?"

"I have to be certain his gift is reliable before I gamble on it," he said. "Take her back," he added with finality, and before Adala could utter more questions she was wrenched out the doorway and guided forcefully to her holding cell.

Adala leaned against the stone wall of her cell as the door slammed shut behind her, closing her eyes to alleviate the pounding of her head. Every joint in her body hurt to move; even breathing seemed a chore after reading to Burano for a few hours. How long had she read? Half the day, perhaps? She sighed. His final words haunted her. I have to be certain his gift is reliable. She might have laughed if her situation wasn't so dire. This man is a believer, she thought to herself, placing his hopes on some fabricated magical ability he is projecting onto my brother. She smiled despite herself, but then scowled. Her thoughts drifted to Shem's episode the morning before he was kidnapped. Georgetta believed him, that Father died at sea, she thought. What if she thought he was some sort of seer and sold the information to Burano? Adala gritted her teeth. She had never trusted that witch. When I get home safely with Shem, I will have to pay that witch a visit, she thought.

The bolt outside her door scraped, and in came the girl who had delivered breakfast, Sarah. She carried a wooden bowl with water. "For your wounds," she said, setting it on the ground by the door. Behind her loomed the guards, always watching.

Adala reached for the bowl at the girl's feet and paused. "My boots," she whispered, startled. Sarah's browned, spindly legs ended in sturdy boots that were too long for someone with so small a frame.

The girl balked at that statement, jaw falling open. "I'm sorry, I didn't know!" she whispered.

"I'm not going to fight you for them," Adala said, a bit more harshly than she meant to. "You aren't the thug who pried them off my feet." She glanced longingly at the boots, her feet growing even more sore at the sight of them.

"I need to have words with that thug," Sarah said quickly, her lips pressed into a thin line. She turned on her heel and left, and the door thudded shut behind her.

Adala sat for a moment in silence. Her mind, occupied for days now with the drive to win her brother back, felt numb and stagnant, unable to calculate a plan B. She mechanically reached into the bowl of water and found a tattered rag. With it she wiped the scum of travel and bits of dried blood from her face and neck, then removed her shirt to wash her limbs. They were riddled with cuts and black bruises. She didn't even remember the blows from each fight that caused them; the whole night was a blur in her memory now. And Shem, little innocent Shem, was not any closer to freedom after all her efforts.

Adala's eyes stung with welled-up tears. "I let you down, Father," she whispered. "You wouldn't have let them get away with Shem in the first place. You would have protected Mother." The thought of her mother's last moments brought another memory to Adala. Her mother's dying words floated in her mind. What had they been exactly? She told her daughter to protect Shem, to save him. "It's what you were raised to do," she had said. Adala bit her cheek to keep the tears of shame from spilling down her cheeks. The words didn't make complete sense to her—why would her parents think that she should be her brother's sole protector?—but the distinct sting of her failure to fulfill this duty made her sink onto her cot defeatedly.

"I've got to keep trying," she whispered. She knew she couldn't do anything now; her body would take weeks to recover, and she needed that time to plan an escape. But she couldn't accept defeat, not while she was still able to walk. And she could never return without her brother. If her father was still alive, something she was very confused about after Shem's tearful revelation, she could never face him after failing to bring his son home.

The door swung open abruptly, interrupting her thoughts. A guard threw down a pile of clothes and departed just as hastily as he arrived, the door slamming shut behind him. Adala sorted through the bundle, discovering a ratty blanket, shirt, and a brown skirt.

Below the skirt lay her boots, leather wiped clean and straps tied up neatly.

### Chapter 13: Tobin

By the time the sun began to rise on the horizon, Sarah was already up, fetching their daily ration of water at the well and sitting down to work at her loom.

Tobin greeted her as he rose, yawning. Today was his first day of combat training, and Jarod had been assigned as his instructor. It was sure to be a long day.

Sarah coldly ignored his morning greeting, focusing on her weaving.

"Is there any breakfast?" Tobin asked.

"I don't know," Sarah replied. "Maybe you could go steal some breakfast from a defenseless woman and then lie to me about it. That sounds about right."

So that's how it's going to be, he thought, sighing. After last night's lecture, he hoped the topic would come to rest. He would have to make some kind of gesture to apologize about the stolen boots. Until then, at least she was going with the quieter, passive-aggressive treatment instead of yelling at him more.

Tobin tied up his bedroll and met the morning air with determination despite his sister's silent anger. He knew the best way to soften her temper would be to ignore her, but he could feel her bristling as he ate a breakfast of dried coyote meat and a stale piece of bread. He had other things on his mind besides appeasing her wrath. He was, after all, about to join the ranks of Wanderling soldiers.

When he arrived at the clearing on the south side of the village, where the soldiers trained, Jarod was waiting for him, leaning with both hands propped on the hilt of a bulky wooden sword.

"You're late," Jarod barked. "Let's begin."

Tobin raised an eyebrow at the pile of armor on the packed dirt. Chainmail, shields, helms, wooden swords and other weapons Tobin didn't recognize. Around him, the clearing was alive with action, soldiers sparring in full armor everywhere he looked. He dodged sideways as Ollie ran past in an uneven path, wielding a wooden mace and panting beneath a heavy breastplate.

"Why are you sparring with armor now?" Tobin asked. He couldn't recall ever seeing a soldier in full armor. The heat made it unrealistic, and they hardly ever saw battle anyway. Most of Burano's soldiers were over-glorified patrolmen, and only saw battle in the occasional dispute with the desert clans. Most of those turned into bloodbaths anyway, with the Wanderlings on the bloodier end of things.

"Burano's orders," said Jarod. "It's important, if we ever come to a battle, to be accustomed to the weight of the armor. However, since this is your first day of sparring, we will start without armor. I want to see how you fare in a bare-handed fight."

Tobin nodded. In his time in the desert, he had learned to fight and shoot alongside the fierce young Roharian men, so defensive responses to simple attacks and punches were not new to him.

Tobin stood opposite his trainer. Jarod rolled his neck and said, "Okay, now if an opponent approaches you like this," he said, stepping forward slow-motion to swing a fist towards Tobin's face.

Tobin adopted a defensive stance and swatted away Jarod's slow-motion punch with the palm of his hand.

"Good. What about a stomach punch?" Jarod said, and suddenly sprung forward full-speed and walloped Tobin in the gut, taking the breath out of him.

Tobin staggered backwards, clutching his stomach. "That was foul play," he breathed.

"I gave you warning," Jarod said with a shrug. "You should be ready to defend yourself in a fist fight. I've seen you spar with the other lookout boys when you should be on duty. Let me show you how a man fights."

Again, Jarod stepped forward and reached back to throw a swing into Tobin's stomach.

Instinct took over, and Tobin seized Jarod's shoulders and neck, pulling downward and kneeing him in the face.

"Sorry," he stammered, startled that his attack had gone through, "I didn't mean for it to be that hard."

Jarod groaned, clutching his nose.

"Are you all right?" Tobin asked, stepping forward.

Jarod threw a punch, and this one took Tobin by surprise again, hitting him squarely in the face, where his nose had just recovered from his fight with Adala. His eyes watered from the sting, but he quickly regained his footing.

"Show me what you've got, Tobin. Show me why your people are called savages," Jarod spat on the ground.

Tobin backed up and bent his knees to remain grounded in a defensive stance.

When Jarod attacked, it was fast. He swung for the face, and Tobin raised an arm to deflect the blow, stepping to the side.

"Not going to hit back?" Jarod taunted, flinging a punch again.

Tobin tried to deflect again, but the blow struck the edge of his jaw.

"Come on, you rat. Give me your best shot."

Jarod stepped forward to punch again, but Tobin was ahead of him this time. When Jarod's arm shot out to land a punch, Tobin grabbed it as he stepped aside, yanking Jarod off balance. He took his trainer's fist and twisted it, pulling his arm behind his back so he was doubled over in pain.

Jarod writhed in pain, but then jutted out his boot and kicked backwards hard, hitting Tobin's shin full-force.

Tobin lost his grip, and suddenly Jarod had turned around and was upon him, throwing punch after punch. Tobin dodged and deflected, but he felt himself growing weak. Half of the blows struck him in the face, and he found himself retreating backwards through the crowd of sparring soldiers. All around them people turned to watch as Tobin ducked and tried to punch back, but his movements were slow and sluggish. Jarod's broad arms struck him with brute force that Tobin could not match.

He did this on purpose, thought Tobin. He wants to humiliate me on my first day to tear down my spirits.

"Don't want to fight back?" Jarod taunted, stepping inward.

Tobin mirrored his movements, stepping back.

"Maybe rats don't fight, they just run away."

Tobin gritted his teeth and landed a solid right hook straight into Jarod's stomach.

In response, Jarod grabbed his head while it was low and pulled him into a headlock under one arm.

Tobin felt his neck squeezed in the crook of Jarod's arm, and he struggled for breath.

"Remember this feeling, you disgusting desert cockroach," Jarod said, loudly enough for the whole crowd to hear. "This is what it feels like to be put in your place."

With that, Tobin felt himself released suddenly from the vice grip on his neck, and Jarod shoved him backwards, hard.

Tobin tripped on something and landed painfully in a heap of what he realized was the pile of armor and fighting equipment. Somewhere underneath him a wooden sword was poking him.

His face grew hot with anger as the crowd laughed.

"It's nearly midday, rookie," Ollie said, emerging from the crowd with a slight frown on his face and offering Tobin a hand. "Time to get some rest. You and I have guard duty on the girl's cell tonight."

Tobin took his hand reluctantly, relieved to see the others going back to their business.

"See you tomorrow at sunrise," hollered Jarod, leaving the camp.

"You did well, considering," Ollie said, following Tobin's glare at Jarod's back. "If he's being a jackass in the future, I suggest you remember that he was stabbed in the hand by a girl recently. It helps you not take him too seriously, you know?"

Tobin allowed himself to crack a smile. "An amusing image," he said.

"I want to share a drink with that girl for putting him in his place," Ollie said with a throaty laugh.

"I do too," Tobin said quietly.

### Chapter 14: Adala

Adala's first days as Burano's prisoner passed agonizingly slowly. When she wasn't bored to tears reading aloud the histories of the massacre of all the mythical beings in Sabria or the Iviannite Revolution, she was confined to her small cell with no one to talk to except the stone walls. The guards didn't engage her in conversation, and they were usually too paranoid to even let her share more than a sentence or two with Sarah, the girl who brought her food every day and emptied the chamber pot. One night during the first week, a drunkard was confined in the cell next to her to sleep off his inebriation. She tried to engage him in conversation, but the guards banged on her door when she spoke. Through a night of loud snoring that drifted from the next room over, Adala tried again and again to work out an escape plan or a way to make Burano pay for what he was doing to her and Shem.

It was too soon to act on anything, even if she could dream of a viable escape plan. Her body was bruised and aching from wounds sustained during her escape attempt, and it would take some time to recover. So she comforted herself with assurances that she would see Shem soon, and she would figure out a way to take him home. Every night she set her ear against the wood grain of her door to eavesdrop on the guards, hoping they would talk of her brother and she could learn where he was being kept, but she gleaned nothing specific. From what little tidbits she could gather, Shem was being held in a shanty.

It was during one of her nights of plotting revenge that she heard the bolt of her door unlatch from the outside. She jolted upright, startled by the disturbance. Sarah had already brought in some cornmeal mush for supper, and Burano had never summoned her at dusk before.

In came Ollie, the portly drunk who had tried to keep her captive her first night in the village. Adala stood back from the doorway uncertainly. She didn't know Ollie, but hadn't judged him as a cruel man, despite the criminal's brand on his wrinkled brow. She tried to gauge his intentions as he swayed in the doorway.

"This kid is boring me to sleep, poor bastard. Come on out here and keep me awake for my watch, girl." He belched.

Adala raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously and said, "I'm sorry, but I'm terribly occupied in here. And having a wonderful time in my solitude. You should check the tavern for female company."

"Ollie, leave her alone. You know our orders," called an irritated voice behind him.

Ollie laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "I'm not looking to warm your cot, woman." He turned to call over his shoulder, "She's still in no condition to be any harm, Tobin. Besides, I know you won't say anything to Burano if she sits with us for a little while."

"What's the plan then?" Adala inquired.

"Just come and share a drink. I haven't had anyone interesting to talk to for ages," Ollie said, stepping aside for her to walk past.

"How's your nose?" she greeted Tobin, crossing her arms.

He made a sound that could have been a short laugh, but Adala wasn't sure.

"Come sit with us," Ollie said, kicking a stool next to the table. "We will teach you to play a bit of cards."

Her instincts cried out in alarm that this situation must be a trap. It would be just too easy to kick Tobin in the head and dart past Ollie to escape into the night. She glanced at the door.

"Before you think of escaping," Tobin said, visibly following her gaze, "remember that you will never be able to find your brother before somebody raises the alarm."

She gritted her teeth. "I suppose not. But you would know where he's being held, wouldn't you?"

"I see him around sometimes. In the mornings, they study maps together. That is, before you go in to read fairy-tales in Burano's office."

Ollie chuckled. "Does he really have you read myths to him? If he values story-telling so much, I should be his chief officer!" He poured his foul-smelling grog into a wooden mug and thrust it in Adala's face. "Drink! We will teach you how to bluff before our watch is up, young lady."

"You're taking an awful risk just to have a partner to play cards," Tobin snapped at his companion.

"If you were going to raise the alarm on me you already would have done it. Stop being sour about it and join the game!" Ollie cried, taking a hearty swig from his mug.

Adala sipped the hideous concoction from her own mug and watched with mild interest as Ollie dealt cards made of dried corn husks.

Tobin sighed in defeat, his thick eyebrows furrowing with dissatisfaction, and picked up his cards.

Ollie dropped a handful of dried beans on the table next to her and said, "This is what you bet with, milady. Let's show you how to play One Eyed Ox."

Adala relaxed in her stool, observing her hand. "Please, I'm a sailor. I know how to play One Eyed Ox." She held in her hand two minotaur cards, scrawled messily on the husk, a moon goddess, and a trout.

"Then show us your bet," Ollie said, slamming his down on the table.

She selected nearly half her beans and pooled them into the center of the table, and Tobin followed suit.

She offered up the moon goddess as a trade card and picked up a trout from Tobin. They raised their bets. In less than twenty seconds, she called a close to the hand and had a mound of beans in her cache. She observed her opponents carefully, thoughts of escape dormant in her mind. Her best strategy, she knew, was to gain their trust for a while, at least until she could connect with her brother.

She bluffed her way to a win the next two hands, then Ollie managed a lucky win before she dominated the game in a long winning streak. As they played, Ollie boasted about his hands always, making it difficult for her to judge the occasions when he actually had a good hand. Tobin was subdued, offering modest bids and watching her movements carefully behind his brooding expression. She ignored his suspicious gaze and focused on enjoying the game.

After what Adala judged to be the first hour of play, Tobin began winning hands. All of a sudden, he began matching her bets—raising them even. Almost every time she bluffed, he matched her bets, and many times he raised the stakes. Before the night was through, he had raked in all of the beans at the table.

Ollie laughed as they rounded up their last hand. "What are you going to do with all those beans, kid? You should go next door and clean out the drunkards in the tavern."

"I'll be cooking them for myself and my sister, thanks," Tobin said, allowing a small grin. "You two have provided us with food for a day or two. Many thanks."

Adala was surprised to see Tobin's smile as Ollie slapped him on the shoulder. After seeing him so stone-faced all night, she had thought it impossible for him to look anything but unhappy. But when the edges of his mouth curled up despite him, the creases between his dark brows disappeared and dimples appeared on each cheek. His brown eyes looked warm and genuine, she thought, the way they scrunched up when he smiled. If her instincts were correct, maybe he could be persuaded into taking pity on her and revealing information about Shem's whereabouts.

"What is going on here?" growled a voice from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts.

Adala looked up to see Jarod, the bulky man with a patchy blonde beard whom she had stabbed in the hand back in Gerstadt. He stood in the doorway, glaring at her. Beneath his rumpled hair, she caught sight of the R branded into his forehead.

"Just an honest game of One Eyed Ox," Tobin said carefully. Adala noticed him rest his hand next to a knife at his hip.

She dropped her cards on the table and feigned lightness in her voice. "Hardly an honest game, Tobin. You robbed us blind!"

Ollie chuckled. "True. We were just locking her up for the night, Jarod. No harm done."

The man in the doorway strode forward and seized Adala by the hair.

Tobin shot up, his stool clattering to the ground. "We can guide her to the cell. Carry on with your business, Captain."

Adala winced as Jarod wrenched her hair tighter.

"Do you remember me?" he said, face inches from hers. He touched her cheek with his left hand, still bandaged from their fight in Gerstadt.

She stared straight into his cold grey eyes, hatred welling inside her. "How could I forget the reek of your breath?" she said. "You aren't sour about the hand, are you?"

He released her hair to bring the back of his hand across her face. She felt the sting on her skin, and the room spun around her as she slouched back, leaning against the table. "It's not just my bloodied hand, wench!" The man growled in her ear. "You stabbed one of my men. A mortal wound, they're telling me. I have a right mind to pay you the same favor."

"Let's not do anything rash," she heard Tobin say. Adala looked up to see him stand between them. "Remember our orders. She isn't to be touched."

Jarod stared him down, sweat beading on his forehead where the R-shaped brand rested. "She's also not to be let out of her cell unless Burano calls for her. Did you forget that one, you desert rat?"

Ollie walked around Jarod and put his hands on Adala's shoulders, steering her towards her cell while the other two men stared at one another in a tense silence. "I think we've had enough excitement for tonight, fair maid. One of these days I will show you all my tricks in the art of gambling. You have a bit of potential, I will grant you. Until then, I bid you goodnight."

Adala collapsed onto her cot and heard Ollie bolt her door from the outside. Her head reeled from Jarod's slap, even though it hadn't been a full-force punch. "I'm not healing as fast as I'd like to think," she muttered quietly to herself, closing her eyes to listen for voices outside.

She couldn't quite make out the words, but a few angry phrases were exchanged, followed by Jarod leaving the building. Tobin and Ollie remained quiet the rest of the night.

When morning came, Adala woke to the girl Sarah laying a cloth on her forehead.

She sat up, and her head spun.

"Have a drink," Sarah said, "It should help you feel better. I just drew it up from the well—the water should be cold."

"Thanks," Adala murmured, drinking from Sarah's flask.

"I heard what happened last night," the young girl said sorrowfully. "My brother was very angry about what happened."

"Tobin is your brother?" Adala said, more of a statement than a question. She observed the girl's dark curls and features, rounded lips, and golden brown eyes, wondering why she hadn't realized before. "But you're nothing like him. I mean, you're a decent human being."

Sarah scowled. "My brother's far from perfect, but you shouldn't judge so quickly." She took Adala's hand and placed a slimy weed into it. "Now, chew on this for breakfast. It will clear your head a little."

"I don't know if the headache is from being struck by Jarod or from Ollie's moonshine," Adala muttered.

Sarah giggled and stood. "Chew on that herb, but don't swallow it. Someone will come and get you soon."

"Is Burano angry?"

Sarah looked back from the doorway. "I don't know," she said, chewing her lip. "You must stay brave."

Adala didn't let herself grow uneasy. She couldn't be blamed for her own guards' negligence, especially when she had behaved herself throughout the whole thing, even restraining herself from fighting Jarod, which hadn't been easy.

As a pair of guards came and escorted her to Burano's office, she prepared a few smart remarks for him regarding her exemplary behavior as a prisoner. She thought Burano would appreciate them. As conniving as he was, she judged him as no stranger to wit.

"Take a seat," Burano said when she arrived. Instead of her usual perch on the dirt next to a crate, he offered her a chair opposite him at his desk. "We have much to discuss, Adala."

They sat across from each other, and he dismissed the guards.

"It sounds like you had a wild night," Burano said, stroking the grey streak in his beard.

"I've had worse," she said.

He leaned back in his armed chair and studied her face intently. "I've decided you may join the men for your meal times. I see no reason to keep you confined to that room while you recover from your wounds."

Adala's jaw fell agape. "Excuse me?"

"You have served me well in the last few days," Burano admitted. "You will remain under heavy guard, of course. But you will be allowed out of your cell for the evening meal with the men, since drinking and gambling seem to be to your taste. Who knows, maybe you will grow fond of our little community."

She snorted. "That's funny."

"I am a reasonable man, Adala. Proper discipline and service always earn a just reward in my town, and this is my reward to you." He brought out a scroll from his trunk. "Who knows? One day soon I may trust you to care for your brother while you are both guests here."

She sat up straight at that thought, though she suspected he was simply waiving that privilege in front of her nose to keep her docile. Still, more than anything, she wished to be reunited with her brother.

"Do you agree to take this new freedom without causing a stir?" Burano asked, eyes narrow.

She stared right back, saying, "As long as they don't give me the treatment your man Jarod did last night."

He nodded. "My men will be disciplined for their breach of protocol last night, all three involved. I trust you won't hold a grudge."

"Not at all," she said.

"Good." He tossed a scroll on the table before her. "Now let's get started on the Great Iviannite Explorers' scrolls. I'm hoping you can read all of them in the week."

She sighed and began towards her station on the floor with the crate.

"No, not there," Burano said. "Sit across from me. That way I can hear you better while I work."

She read aloud from the dim script all morning while Burano fashioned arrowheads out of flint. The afternoon passed slowly while she awaited her new privilege of dining with her captors. Though she scoffed to think of it as a reward for good behavior, she was eager to glean tidbits of information from her guards.

### Chapter 15: Eleanor

Eleanor's days passed in a fog still. She stayed always reclined on a pile of blankets and pillows next to the fireplace in the cottage that she used to share with her husband, son, and daughter. But she was alone now, aside from frequent visits from neighbors. At night, all was empty, the creaking wood and crackling fire her only conversationalists.

During the days after she woke, bandaged around the stomach and bruised from fighting to save her son and daughter, Eleanor had felt immobilized. The pain in her gut from the agonizing stab wound and the crippling agony from realizing her children were taken away from her were indistinguishable. Georgetta, the healer at her side when she woke, had to subdue her with teas daily. At first, the healer stayed with her night and day, but now that Eleanor could make her way weakly around the cabin, she sent Georgetta home most nights.

Eleanor had grown to despise Georgetta's teas. The healer woman came twice a day to check Eleanor's bandages and give her the bitter herbal mixture. At first, Eleanor was barely lucid enough to make a decision one way or another. But now, she insisted on less potent herbs, preferring to remain wakeful and vigilant in her recovery.

When I am healed I can search for my children, she thought to herself one evening as she fervently stitched up a hole in the knee of Shem's old breeches. During her bed rest, she had mended all of her husband's old clothes, Adala's tattered under-tunics and dresses, and a basket of socks with holes in them.

A knock came at the door, and Eleanor didn't even look up from her stitchwork. "Come in, Master John," she said. It was her evening report from the master of arms, though she knew what he would say.

"Madame, you have more color in your face today," Master John said, removing his hat as he came through the door. "You get stronger each time I see you. Georgetta should be proud of her good work."

"I will be satisfied when I can travel to the wharf," she responded, a bit more impatient than usual.

John's face fell, and he looked at the floor. "I'm doing my very best, Madam. I've talked to all the fishermen, and they have nothing."

"I don't mean to criticize your efforts," Eleanor sighed, dropping her needlework into her lap. She stared into the dull coals that had become of her fire. It was true that Master John had gone beyond precedent to find her missing children. He commanded that the fishing boats spread out their treks to scour the shoreline in both directions as far as they possibly could. He even had the largest of them scout the edges of the Shadow Isles to see if any boats had taken harbor there. Perhaps that could reveal any information about Shem and Adala. But no matter to whom he spoke and how many people he enlisted to scour the city for someone who possessed even a shred of evidence regarding Adala and Shem's whereabouts, they came to nothing.

"I keep thinking," admitted Eleanor, "that if I go down to the seaside market myself and ask around, that more people may be open with me. I have friends there—people who have worked with Raban before. Maybe they have more information and they just aren't comfortable sharing with someone from the castle...."

John nodded slightly. "It's worth a try, once you are well enough to go. Georgetta tells me that you shouldn't be leaving the walls of this cottage yet though."

Eleanor sighed deeply. "Georgetta has lots of rules for my recovery."

"She is a well-practiced healer," John said protectively. "And she is right; you need rest."

"She won't even let me tend to my goats!" Eleanor exclaimed, tossing up her hands. "They need to be fed and milked daily, and now I have to make the neighbor's boy do it in exchange for some turnips."

"You're in no condition to crouch on a milk stool," John said sternly. "Speaking of which, I do have fresh cow's milk from the castle today. And some hot lamb stew, made special by the head cook." He pulled two jars from his sack, carefully placing them on the table.

Eleanor smiled reluctantly. Though she was hardly ever hungry, Master John continued coercing her to eat with the same level of dedication that Georgetta brought when she convinced her to drink the herbs. Eleanor had to admit to herself that they were doing a fine job taking care of her. She was just restless, unused to being cared for with such attentiveness.

"Have you had any visitors today?" asked Master John, taking a bowl from the shelf to pour a steaming jar full of stew into it.

"Not many," Eleanor said, not wanting to recount her visits. Mistress Tabea had come by crying after she heard about Shem's abduction, speaking about how he had always been so thoughtful and kind to her and her husband. Eleanor could hardly suffer any more visitors telling her about her son.

I know very well how special he is, she thought. And there is no need to speak as if he's dead. He's still out there somewhere!

"Is there anything you need tended to?" John asked, looking around the small cottage. Thanks to help from neighbors, the cottage was still reasonably put together. The night the intruders came, the cottage had been roughed up a little. Contents of the trunk upstairs were strewn over the floor, and some food canisters had been rifled through. Nothing of great value was taken, which puzzled Eleanor. Just some food and one of her husband's knives and waterskins.

"Eleanor," Master John pleaded, interrupting her thoughts. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Eleanor was saddened to see his face so broken and remorseful. Worry lines had chiseled their way between his eyebrows since Shem and Adala were taken, and she could see dark circles beneath his brown eyes that had not been there before. His beard was unkempt and patchy, a far cry from his usual clean-cut appearance. It appeared he had aged ten years in only weeks. She couldn't imagine what the loss had done to her own appearance.

"There is something I've been meaning to acquire for some time," Eleanor admitted. "I don't really need it, but it would help me pass the days without going mad on this floor."

"What is it?" asked John eagerly. "Any way I can help."

"I want to make a dress," she said. "Could you purchase some finely stitched linen at market? I want it to be royal blue and soft to the touch. I want silver thread, too, and a nice belt that isn't just decorative. It should be sturdy."

"Consider it done," John said without hesitation. "I will ask for the best."

Eleanor managed a weak smile at him. The poor young man seemed relieved—elated even—that he could do something to help her. John has a good heart, she thought as he put a spoon in the bowl of lamb stew and handed it to her for supper. While she ate, he took out her cooking knives and sharpened the dull blades, polishing them before hanging them back on their hooks above the fireplace. He examined the bolt in the front door, mumbling something about how he needed to bring in a new latch since the old one was broken by thugs.

"You have been a blessing to me these past weeks," Eleanor said, placing her empty bowl on the floor next to her. John swiped it up and wiped it in the wash bucket.

"I am here to help," he said, hanging the bowl on its hook.

"Adala will be lucky to have you if she is found," Eleanor added, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"She shouldn't have been taken," he said, staring into the fire with clenched fists. "None of you deserved this."

"Sometimes the gods test us," Eleanor said, as much a reminder to herself as to John. "It is a feast day of Shayanna tomorrow. I cannot go to the temple, but I will pray from here that she brings bravery to my children, wherever they are and whatever troubles they may be facing."

"I just wish things were different," said John, and Eleanor thought she saw a hint of tears in his eyes. But he swallowed hard and stood up straight, retrieving his hood from the table. "I must go, Madame Eleanor. I wish you well, as always. And I will have the fishing boats sail even farther in their routes from now on. I don't want to leave any inch of coastline unsearched."

"Thank you again, John," said Eleanor. She watched the door shut behind him, dreaming of a day that Adala and Shem would burst through the entryway, all rosy-cheeked and excited to be home.

But they didn't come through the door that night, nor the next morning when a knock came at the door before dawn. It was a messenger from the castle, bearing gifts from John: a small figure of Shayanna, the goddess of bravery, and several holy candles from the castle's vestry.

Eleanor set the holy items up on the hearth, touching the wicks of the candles briefly to the flame to light them. The resulting shrine had much to be desired, but it was something, and she maneuvered her weak, aching body to kneel next to the relics in prayer. She prayed for her entire family. She prayed that Raban find a speedy tailwind to carry him home safely. That Adala continue to be as spirited and contrary as ever in her captivity, wherever she may be. That Shem keep his treasured gift secret as she had always taught him to do. That he not be mistreated or manipulated or even killed because of his beautiful sensitivity to other people.

Eleanor and Raban were aware of their son's strength and had lived in fear of someone discovering Shem's talents for years. They selected Gerstadt as a home precisely because of its obscure location, with the rugged Shadow Isles separating them from the rest of the Bolgish Empire. They forbade Shem from joining Raban on his trade routes for fear of watchful eyes. Rumors spread fast between ports, and Eleanor knew that just one slip of knowledge could reveal Shem's true value. They had always been so careful. And now he was gone.

Please protect Shem and give him the will to do the right thing, she prayed urgently. He is a good boy. Don't let him lose faith.

Last of all she prayed for Master John. That he be renewed in his fervor to find Adala and Shem. That he find peace and not guilt. That he remain well and keep good spirits in his work for Lord Christopher.

By the time she was finished in prayer, the candles had burned out and Georgetta had arrived to change her bandages. The wound was tender, but healing cleanly, thanks to Georgetta's salves.

"No more herbs for the pain, only ones to prevent infection," Eleanor said firmly as Georgetta reached for her herb satchel.

"Very well," the old healer said with a shrug. "I can respect that. What I don't respect is that Master John asked me to deliver you all of this material. I am not an errand maid!"

Eleanor leaned up on her pillows, wincing at the pain from her abdomen. "Is it the blue linen?" she asked.

Georgetta tossed her head to knock aside a strand of graying curls, leaning over her massive satchel with a quizzical look. "Is that what it is?" she said. "With how fine it is, I thought it silk."

"Bring it out, Georgetta, don't leave me waiting!" Eleanor said excitedly.

The healer proceeded to pull out yards upon yards of the richest blue linen Eleanor could have asked for, along with silver thread and a woman's belt with silver edges and an intricately woven pattern of gray embroidery in the middle. They were the most beautiful materials Eleanor could have requested.

"It's the most frivolous, impractical expense I have ever witnessed," Georgetta said in her husky, overly cross voice.

"Thank you, Georgetta," Eleanor said, feeling the fine fabric between her fingers. "Oh, thank you so much." She squeezed the soft, wrinkled hand of the healer, who cracked a reluctant smile.

"I can't imagine where you will wear that kind of linen," Georgetta huffed. "Imagine if it gets dirty. You will have ruined the whole thing."

"Don't chastise," Eleanor said. "This is exactly what I needed. I will pay John back the next time he's here."

"If he lets you," Georgetta scoffed, gathering her collection of herbs and tinctures. "I'll leave you to your stitchwork. Good day, Eleanor. Be well!"

As the healer left the cabin, Eleanor held the rich material to her chest and breathed in its fresh scent. She hadn't held such fine new fabric in ages.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Eleanor took up her sewing basket and began work on her daughter's wedding dress.

### Chapter 16: Tobin

At dusk, Ollie and Tobin replaced the guards on duty outside Adala's cell. Tobin felt skeptical about the whole arrangement. He tried to tell himself it was because he didn't trust Adala and thought she may attempt escape. But deep down, he knew it was really because he felt guilty being in the same room with her, much less sharing a meal and a card game with her.

What made it worse was Burano's command to him. Build a friendship with the girl, he had said. She may have valuable information about her brother's gift, and she seems to not despise you and Ollie as much as she does the rest of my men.

Tobin tried to shake the thought away as he picked up their dinner platter from the tavern and made his way to the holding cells. Just forget what Burano said, he thought. He's ludicrous, believing that Shem has some sort of supernatural ability. All my spying will do is prove his delusions wrong.

Ollie greeted him at the dinner table with a slap on the arm, then turned to Adala's cell, pulling off the plank that held it shut. He opened the door and gestured to a roasted lamb thigh on the table. "Seems you're our guest tonight," he said jovially. Winking, he added, "But I won't be taking it easy on you when we play cards this time, lass."

Tobin was already chewing a slice of the meat when Adala stepped around Ollie to take in the room. He paused with his food in his mouth, surprised to find her much better for the wear compared to the last time he had seen her. She wore clean clothes now—a brown dress that laced up in the back and down the sleeves, showing despite his first impression that she did infact have a full, womanly shape. Her long brown hair was freshly washed, and the top half of it was pulled into twists on each side of her head and held together with thread in the back. The rest fell softly to her shoulders, no hint of the ratty, blood-matted strands that had framed her face before.

"Did my sister do that?" he asked, recognizing the hair style as something that Sarah would do with her own hair.

"She did everything." Adala shrugged. "The hair, the dress."

Tobin groaned inwardly. How much had Sarah traded for a dress like that? He would have to speak to her about saving her food rations.

Adala's gaze moved toward the door, where the shifting of boots outside gave away the additional guards, waiting outside the building just in case.

"There are four of them," Tobin said, answering her silent question. Though her bruises were mostly gone—only a slight discoloration along her strong jaw line and beneath her left eye—he knew that she would be in no shape for attempted escape. Not against six men.

"Sit with us, and I shall tell you the secrets of my life," Ollie said to Adala jovially, interrupting Tobin's thoughts. "Misadventure, thieving, defying the law, and banishment to these barren hills where water is scarce and easy women scarcer."

"Is he drunk already?" she asked Tobin, with a touch of amusement lighting up her eyes. They looked more gray today than blue, perhaps because of the low light.

"Hasn't even started drinking yet," Tobin answered simply, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But maybe you should start, if you're to be subjected to an entire evening with us." He handed her a mug with Ollie's noxious smelling drink.

"What is this anyway?" she said, gagging at the taste.

"Hooch made from cactuses," Tobin said, a flare of irritation rising inside him. Of course it isn't good enough for her—she's been raised with the wealth of the city at her feet. "It's what we live on because your lovely town banishes us to this wasteland," he added, almost involuntarily.

"Bitter?" she commented dryly, taking another sip.

"Too bitter for my taste. I stick to lukewarm water myself," he responded, regretting what he said and chiding himself to be nicer. If Burano wanted them to become friends, he wasn't off to a great start.

"Don't be a smartass. You know I wasn't talking about the drink," she said. The way she cocked an eyebrow at him seemed condescending. With a shrug, she tugged at a piece of the meat and chewed on it, sighing with contentedness.

Ollie laughed, gnawing at a green slice of cactus. "Tobin's just whiny because he's stuck in this hole without crimes of his own to banish him here. You see, his father was the one who was banished from Gerstadt years and years ago, and his mother was—"

"The woman doesn't want to hear a dismal story," Tobin interjected. "Why don't you tell us about that one time you met the Queen of Diggeret."

Ollie took the bait easily enough. "Ah, sweet Hyleigh. She was an angel," he reminisced. "I was masquerading as a monk from Sabria, come as a guest of the royal family. When she opened her legs to me, I thought I had died and gone to heaven."

Adala snickered quietly, and the old man continued his stories as they ate their simple meal. When they began playing cards again, Adala shared some of her own travels, speaking of the rich old merchant who had once asked her father if he could have Adala as his third wife.

"A feisty girl like you, settling into life as a wife to a merchant?" Ollie laughed, leaning so far back that he nearly tipped his chair over.

"My father was livid. It was all I could do to persuade him to set sail the next day instead of slitting the man's throat. I don't think the man meant it as an insult. In more remote parts of Arjeesh, it is common for men to have multiple wives. He offered me a position that would wield great power in his household. I would have essentially inventoried his ships and helped manage his affairs. Aside from warming his bed from time to time, I suppose." She dipped her mug into the basin of water and drank, then laid down her cards. She had won that round.

"Imagine the tales!" Ollie exclaimed. "Fierce Adala—pirate at sea and merchant's concubine at port!"

She laughed. "Funny you should say that. My father has always suspected that man of piracy. Though I thought he was paranoid. Always trying to defend my honor."

Ollie gathered the cards, then announced that he needed to use the privy. He lumbered out the door with a stagger.

The moment he left the door, Tobin set his drink down and cleared his throat. This was his opportunity to speak with Adala alone. "I saw your brother today," he said hesitantly.

Adala paused. "Do you know where he is? Is he well?" she asked guardedly.

"He is well." Tobin said, recalling how Shem had greeted him by name on the way to Burano's quarters that morning. "He asked me to tell you that he is okay, and he is being treated well."

"Did he?" She narrowed her eyes. "Why should I believe you?"

"He also said that your mother grows stronger every day," he continued. "He said she is going to live."

Adala jolted, almost as if she had been slapped. She looked away from him, studying the floor and chewing on her lower lip. "If you see him again, can you tell him I am healing well, that I am safe, and that I won't give up until we are together?"

Tobin nodded.

"Thank you," she said. "It was kind for you to carry the message for me."

Tobin nodded, searching for the right words. How could he make her understand that she wasn't the only person trapped in this town? That he resented the entire situation almost as much as she did? "It's difficult," he began, but stopped short. "All I mean to say is I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you."

Adala swallowed and took a shaky breath, nodding her head almost imperceptibly. She opened her mouth as if to respond, but Ollie staggered back into the room, cutting their conversation short.

They played various card games into the night, but Tobin's thoughts were not on the game. Ollie won a few lucky rounds that night, but Adala raked away a larger pile of dried beans. Tobin allowed himself to enjoy the banter between Ollie and Adala, bemused by their rough jibes. Ollie insisted his losses were due only to him assessing Adala's playing style, and Adala jokingly implied the old man to be slow of wit. They each even took a jab at Tobin now and again, but he quietly observed them for most of the evening. By the end, he and Adala had almost tied in the number of beans, and Ollie had only a few left. Tobin divided the beans evenly between them at the end of the night so that they could play again the next evening.

That night brought fitful sleep, Tobin surprised to find that he looked forward to the next night's game. But he dreaded the day that Burano would ask for a report on Adala.

### Chapter 17: Shem

During his days as a prisoner, Shem was exhausted by his training regimen. Burano's exercises resembled concentration games to Shem, and not the fun kind—the kind that gave him a splitting headache afterwards.

Each morning, he was wakened by his guards and taken from his dilapidated little hut to Burano's quarters, where Burano would describe a party of men that he had sent on a foraging mission. "Thirty men," he would say. "This time they are on horseback."

Shem would close his eyes and concentrate hard, reaching outside the confines of the village to feel life beyond those around him. Not only would he have to find the direction the men went on his own, but he would have to try and estimate how far they went, and translate that onto the map.

Shem found it difficult to focus his mental energy on tracking people unless he knew them, and Burano switched out the groups he used often so that Shem could gain practice in finding unfamiliar individuals.To help him concentrate, sometimes they walked beyond the village together. With the noise of the village behind them, Shem at last felt peace. In the empty hills, he could concentrate better.

Little by little, as he overcame the challenges that each new exercise brought, Shem's unique ability grew in strength. In a few days' time, he was able to track the Wanderling scouting groups with relative ease, and he also began to sense other groups of people to the east. At first one or two, then a dozen. Burano assured him that the groups weren't appearing all of the sudden in the desert to the east. They had been there all along; Shem was just now sensing them. They began pinpointing the locations of desert clans on Burano's gigantic map. Through practice with the scouting groups, Shem learned how to judge distances when he tracked people's movements. He had always tracked his father's voyages by instinct and estimation, but with Burano's help he was growing used to attaching numbers to his estimates.

"Ten leagues, that's the nearest tribe."

"The scouting group is five leagues north, northwest. Into the mountains right there on the map."

"The large group left together but they split into two groups. The bigger one turned north and the other smaller one has headed east now, down the Red Brick Valley."

And so it went on, day in and day out. Some days Burano would give Shem the number of men sent out and Shem would have to determine their exact location. Other days he would tell the boy their location, and Shem would have to concentrate really hard to determine their exact numbers. All morning, Shem would play seek and find on the map. Then, in the afternoon and evenings, he would be confined to his little hut with two guards. On occasion, he was allowed to draw water from the well or take a walk around the dusty paths that wove through the village with his guards, which always gave him great pleasure.

Sarah would come by with food in the mornings and evenings, providing him with much-desired company. The girl would always bring him kind words about his sister, saying that she had brought Adala breakfast that morning and she was well and happy. Shem knew she exaggerated because he could feel his sister's bristling anger every day, emanating from behind the walls of her cell. He felt it most potently when he was in Burano's quarters, just paces away from her cell. He felt it flare up in the afternoons, when he knew she was reading with Burano. Shem yearned to go to her. To tell her that he was being well taken care of and she shouldn't worry so much. But no matter how he pleaded, he was not allowed to see his sister. Burano forbade it.

"I am not allowed to see your sister except during breakfast," Sarah said one morning as she brought Shem a water bucket and some type of porridge for breakfast. "But she is allowed to eat dinner with her guards in the evenings now. They play cards into the night, and Tobin says she is very good."

Shem nodded. He had spoken with Tobin on several occasions and felt he could trust the young soldier to deliver his messages to Adala. When Tobin and Ollie joined Adala during supper, her anger usually subsided a little, giving Shem some peace. He enjoyed the lively energy of their company coming from the center of town. He smiled to think that his sister had found amiable companions in the midst of her captivity.

Sarah continued chattering to Shem about one thing or another. "Tobin's being combat trained, you know," she said. "Jarod is teaching him."

"Jarod is?" Shem asked, curious. "That's surprising."

Sarah nodded as she finished unloading Shem's breakfast from her basket. "I don't know why Burano thought it would be a good idea to pair them up, but that's how it went."

Shem shivered. Whenever Jarod stood guard over Shem, he wasn't allowed to even speak with Sarah. Or anyone else for that matter. Reggie isn't so bad, Shem thought, looking to the doorway where his current guard sat on a stool making arrowheads and singing a song. He paid little attention to the two children in the hut, preferring to spend his shifts quietly to himself.

"They aren't causing a stir, are they?" came Tobin's voice from outside. Shem saw Reggie look up from his seat.

"Naw," Reggie said. "Your sister's in there giving him food and talking his ear off, as usual."

"Can I check in with her before training?" asked Tobin outside. He ducked into the hut at Reggie's nod.

"You're going to be late," scolded Sarah to her older brother.

Tobin smiled. "Jarod will wait for me," he said. "I just wanted to check in to see Shem beforehand. Adala sends her regards, as always. She is doing well."

"I know she's doing well," Shem said, exhausted by all of the generic messages that Tobin and Sarah brought him from Adala. "Tell me what she said. Tell me she isn't planning escape, please."

Tobin paused, then broke into a short laugh. "You think your sister would tell me if she plotted an escape? Oh no, more likely she would take pleasure in stabbing my back during the escape."

"Stop joking," Shem said, crossing his arms. This was a rare moment—he could legitimately receive and send a message to his sister through Tobin, who (unlike Sarah) spent a significant amount of time with her. He wanted to make sure he got all the details. "You must tell her that she cannot try and escape. It wouldn't work. Burano would just catch us again."

Tobin grew more serious and nodded, sadness ebbing away his smile.

Shem added, "Also tell her that our mother is doing well. She isn't really weak anymore, so I don't think she is going to die. Not like Havard."

Tobin jolted at Shem's words, his thick eyebrows coming together with concern and curiosity.

Shem realized that he didn't yet know. "The man Havard, who kidnapped me with Tosser and Jarod. He died early this morning." Shem's stomach still felt queasy thinking about the dull emptiness when he tried to find Havard. Still, he supposed that was better than the agony that had emanated from the soldier's hut when he laid in bed with infection.

"How could you possibly know that?" Tobin said. "Did somebody tell you? I haven't heard a thing."

Shem felt sorry, realizing that this news was upsetting to Tobin. "I didn't realize," he said as a brief apology.

"I haven't heard anything either," Sarah said at her brother's questioning glance.

Tobin shook his head, "I wish I could have helped him. He made me promise just the other day to take care of his horse when he was gone. How did you hear that he passed on, Shem?"

Shem lowered his voice in case Reggie was eavesdropping. "I just feel it when people I know die, or people who are around me die. When we were in Gerstadt, my father died at sea. Adala doesn't believe me, but I knew it the instant it happened." Shem shook his head, feeling anew the pain of his loss.

"Is this connected to whatever power Burano thinks you have?" Tobin asked slowly, disbelief in his eyes.

"Burano knows about my gift," Shem said. "That's why I am here."

"Well, I have to go soon," Tobin said, changing the subject. "Don't let Sarah talk your ear off, okay Shem?"

Shem nodded, and Tobin paused at the door to whisper something to Reggie before he left. Reggie shook his head, saying, "I haven't heard any updates on Havard."

But Shem knew that word would spread soon, and Tobin would know he was telling the truth. Perhaps he shouldn't have revealed anything. Better to keep things as secret as possible if he could. Shem's mother always taught him that secrecy was essential when it came to his senses about other people, and he vowed to be more careful.

It was too late to keep anything secret from Burano, however. Shem sighed as he readied for another morning of charting and seek-and find. He had almost mapped the entire desert, tracking clans of up to a hundred or more desert dwellers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't manage to count the numbers for the ones on the far eastern side of the desert. Burano always challenged him to concentrate harder to find their numbers, but he also revealed to Shem that he would soon be able to focus better on the clans because they were going to set out on a journey into the desert itself. Shem was frightened at the thought, but also curious to see the world outside the hills. He couldn't remember having ever left Gerstadt before last month, and now he was facing a trek into the wilderness in the near future.

### Chapter 18: Adala

"We should sing a drinking song," Ollie proclaimed, slamming his mug onto the table.

"Which one shall we do?" Adala said, breaking into a grin. She had grown fond of Ollie's antics, and was on board with watching any kind of spectacle he had in mind. It seemed like weeks since Burano had given her rights to eat with the guards. She had even been escorted on a walk to fetch water at the well one morning. In the evening, she sometimes dined with Tobin and Ollie, sometimes it was Otto and Mathis. They were fine, but not creative conversationalists. Tonight, Trigg and Boggs, two of the boys who had initially ambushed Adala when she first arrived, had joined them for some drinks and a game or two of cards. And now Ollie wanted a drinking song.

Ollie stood on his stool, swaying precariously for a moment before belting the first line to a sailor's tune that Adala knew all too well.

One spring I went yonder to find me a wife,

Who'd clean up my cottage for all of her life!

I needed a housemaid, you see, and I thought,

Why not hold someone at night who ain't bought?

Tobin's eyebrows rose at the last phrase.

"You haven't heard this one?" Trigg questioned, hooting.

"Never."

"Ah, you'll appreciate what he's about to do," Adala said, leaning back to cross her arms with feigned judgment.

Ollie leaped off his chair and knelt in front of Adala before continuing the next verse.

I saw this little lady right here, right here.

She was ugly enough to fill you with fear.

She had blisters and freckles and stunk like a fish,

But no pretty ladies come to a pub for a dish.

Now I had imagined somebody more fair,

Maybe less surly, with not so much hair.

But I looked and I saw no other lady in sight,

So I settled on her for maybe one night.

I asked for another jug of beer, jug of beer.

Before I know'it we're a'dancin right here, right here.

Ollie pulled Adala out of her chair, and she laughed, dipping into a mock curtsy and linking arms with him. She sang along as they circled each other, stamping to the rhythm of the dance.

"We marched to the temple right there, right there," she continued, "Gulping another jug of beer, jug of beer."

Ollie spun Adala three times and guided her back into her seat, continuing to the next verse while she laughed with the others. The old man took a swig from his mug every verse, following the story to show how he took the girl on a voyage, and after a few months at sea, she looked like the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, even without a jug of beer.

Pretty girls are hard to come by,

And they're flighty as can be,

So the moral of my story, and I hope you will agree,

Is to find an ugly woman, and to take her out to sea.

Everyone applauded, and Adala pounded her fist on the table.

"You're actually an okay dancer, Ollie," Tobin praised.

"I know, surprising," Adala added.

"Beautiful," said Boggs.

"I used to dance every evening with Cynthia. She had the voice of an angel and danced like one, too," Ollie reminisced, settling onto his stool and scowling at his empty mug.

"Who is Cynthia?" Adala asked.

"She was my wife, in Gerstadt," Ollie said sorrowfully. His eyebrows furrowed.

They all stared at their drinks for a moment in silence.

"We should get to our watch," said Boggs. He slapped Tobin's shoulder and tipped his cap at Adala. "You take good care of Tobin, Adala. Ever since he got promoted, he's been so full of himself."

"Yes. It's impossible to shut him up," Trigg added sarcastically with a laugh, ducking out the door. Boggs followed closely behind.

"I'll do my best," she called after them. "Thank you for sharing our meal, both of you."

She rose to head back to her cell, yawning.

"Wait," Tobin called after her.

Adala turned around to see that Ollie had fallen asleep, slumped over the table.

"Shem spoke with me this morning," Tobin whispered.

Adala eyed the outside door. The guards outside were talking loudly amongst themselves, unaware of any conversation inside. "How is he?" she questioned, taking her seat.

"He seemed well. Sarah has brought him some of our rations and gave him one of her old dolls," Tobin smiled fondly. "She likes to take care of people."

"How is he being treated? Is he miserable?" Adala was desperate for news.

"He seemed happy enough. Sarah and he talk often. He was well fed. Mostly, he wanted Sarah and I to assure him that you weren't planning an escape. He is eerily calm, your brother," Tobin added.

"I am beginning to realize that," she said. "I have never been a very good sister to him."

"Why would you say that?" Tobin asked skeptically, crossing his arms.

"I was always gone, on one voyage or another," she admitted, eyes drifting out of focus. "He grew up while I was away. And when I returned, I never listened to him. I should have paid attention to him. I should have taught him to read. He would like the legends of old that I read to Burano every afternoon. Shem deserves more attention than I ever gave him."

"I don't think Shem feels like you abandoned him," Tobin said softly after a moment's pause. "You traveled alone into the wilderness and risked your life many times to try and save him. That's the biggest sacrifice you can make for a loved one, offering your life. Your freedom."

"My sacrifice hasn't done him any good so far," she muttered. "I just wish my father was here. He always knew what to do."

"Is your father the one who taught you to fight?" Tobin asked.

She smiled sadly. "He taught me everything I know. He put a knife in my hand instead of a cooking spoon. He taught me to climb the mast instead of hoe a garden. I once thought he was punishing me—depriving me of the skills of a woman's labor and dragging me away from Shem and Mother. But now that I'm far away, I am homesick for the ship. The only thing I've ever loved and hated with all my heart is the sea. The freedom of it. Nothing but open air and water as far as the eye can see."

"Your father gave you a great gift," Tobin said.

"A life as a sailor? I suppose so," she added. "The fighting skills have come in handy, not that they've done me much good in my plight to save Shem."

"No, not the skills he gave you," Tobin said. "The freedom."

She laughed. "If you call it freedom. He kept me within an arm's reach as I became a woman. And all the fighting drills—they were grueling!" She had to smile. "Father used to say, 'Adala, you try to fight like a boy. All offense and no perspective! Fight smart, not hard.'" She stared into space, fondly remembering his lessons.

Tobin cleared his throat. "Do you think your father lives?"

She jolted. "Why would you say that?"

"Shem told me that your father was dead, and that you didn't believe him."

Adala bristled. "I don't know what to believe. And I didn't know Shem was spouting his theories all over this god-forsaken village, either."

"He told me in confidence," Tobin added quickly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just wondering if you trust Shem's instincts."

"You're mad if you think a little boy can tell if somebody dies across the empire," Adala said. She started back towards her cell, but her hands were trembling.

"Adala, I meant no offense, I just wanted your opinion. Shem told me something today that bothered me, and it turned out to be true. I don't know what to believe about him. I thought you'd know because you know your brother better than anyone..." he stammered.

"No, I don't," she said, backing away. She hated how Tobin looked genuinely concerned for her, his eyebrows drawn together over his wide brown eyes. She kept talking, the words tumbling out in an emotion-filled rush. "Did you hear anything I said? I don't know him, and that scares me. Because what if he is right? What if my mother lives and my father is dead? Either picture isn't a pretty one for my future, thank you very much. It's ludicrous anyway. Only a simple-minded Wanderling would believe in that kind of power."

She strode into her cell and slammed the door behind her, then slumped over in her cot, her head between her knees. Breathing came in ragged gasps. How could she explain that she somewhat hoped her brother was wrong? That her father lived and her mother died? It was a terrible thought, but one that often rose in her confused mind. She had already mourned her mother, and the images of her body haunted her still. To get her mother back and then face the death of her father would open the wound afresh, and she couldn't do that. Not now.

Because if her father lived, there was some hope for their rescue. Eventually, when he returned from his voyage, she knew he would come to save his children, some way some how. Adala yearned for the safety of her father's bear-hug. The knowledge that he would take care of her, protect her if need be. She used to think she didn't need his protection, but now she needed it more than she ever thought possible.

"I miss you, Father," she whispered quietly as she drifted into a troubled sleep.

***

The next afternoon, Jarod arrived to escort Adala to Burano's quarters. She was cross already, but seeing Jarod's scruffy, spiteful face further vexed her.

"You know what he'll do with you after you or your brother outstay your usefulness, right?" Jarod said in a venomous tone.

"He'll give us a week's worth of supplies, a pair of good hunting knives, and send us on our merry way?" she responded wryly.

"Don't be cute, princess," he said, spitting on the floor and pulling her out of the cell. She followed begrudgingly. "Women slaves are usually sold as a wife to the highest bidder," he continued, "or given as a gift to a loyal soldier. You're too dangerous to be trusted outside of your cell though. I'm hoping Burano keeps you in there forever. Maybe offers a night with you as a gift to the soldiers who do well."

Adala blinked in the sunlight as they emerged in the street outside and made their way to Burano's doorway. "That would be a terrible prize for good behavior, as they would be missing appendages after their visits," she said. "If that situation ever arises, I hope you are my first guest." She flashed him a sarcastic smile and strode into Burano's study, trying to shake off the slimy feeling she got any time Jarod spoke.

Adala lounged in her chair across from Burano's desk all morning, droning about some desert-dweller myth. Her thoughts went to Tobin, and she was sorry for the way she had treated him before. She hoped he would be on duty that night so she could apologize. He had not mistreated her, and she had no right to fling her emotional storm in his face like that. The truth was, she was more angry with Tobin sometimes than any of her other guards. She felt that he was a generally good person. But that just made it worse for her. She wanted to hate him for being a part of her captivity, but found herself always looking forward to their talks over supper.

He's just following orders, she told herself silently as she paused in her reading. Don't blame him for Burano's decisions. But Adala couldn't help being irate that Tobin, who seemed otherwise understanding and reasonable, could live with himself while assisting an evil man like Burano in keeping Shem and her captive. The thought of it made her wish that he wouldn't join her for supper, and they would send Jarod instead. At least she could hate Jarod without conflicted emotions.

Adala's mind continued wandering as she read. She paid little attention to the script, merely repeating the words in monotone while her thoughts drifted where they will. She was jolted back to reality, however, when Burano straightened up hastily from his hunched position over a map. She took note of his attention and continued reading with renewed interest in the faded script. She held a scroll made of old leather, dry and crinkled like it may fall apart at any moment. She had been reading it all afternoon, and it appeared to be the startled account of an exiled monk who was captured by the savage desert-dwellers. It read:

My understanding of their language is growing rapidly. Their barbaric grunts have sorted out in my mind to form sentences, and I am afraid that they may be planning to end my life.

Some of the men who understood my early messages about the gods' wrath are describing me as a prophesized figure, one who is supposed to unite the clans and take back the "Slagorsea," a word I believe means "Fertile Seaside" or something of the like. Those who believe me their warrior want to use me as a sort of spiritual guide, and they often seek counsel with me about where to find water and how to fight the "fair-skinned warriors" of the west.

I try to reply to them, but they do not understand when I say that they must never go to war. Instead, I believe they are taking it that I don't want them to go to war yet.

And still there are those who believe me an imposter. They say that I do not have the mark of the prophecy. They say that if I were the true warrior destined to unite the clans, the North Star would rest on my shoulder. I know not what that means, but members in this party wish to put me to death because I do not carry this mark.

"That's it!" Burano exclaimed, slamming his hand against his table. "Guards, get the boy!"

A movement on the other side of the door told Adala the guards were complying. She raised her eyebrows, realizing that he was summoning Shem. She hoped to be there when Shem came.

"Read the part about the signs of the spirit guide again," Burano commanded.

She skimmed the script. "They want to use me as a sort of spiritual guide, and they often seek counsel—"

"The other part, with the star," Burano said.

She scanned up the page. "They say that if I were the true warrior to unite the clans, the North Star would rest on my shoulder," she said.

"Good. Write those two lines in large text. Here, use this." He tossed a strip of cured leather at her and she used a quill to copy the lines in bold letters for Burano's fading eyes to read.

Shem emerged in the doorway, escorted by the two guards. His face lit up to see Adala at work by the table, and he rushed forward to give her a hug.

Adala smiled and embraced him reassuringly. She sighed to see that he was dressed well and looked healthy. His cheeks were round, with more freckles than the last time she saw him, and his hair was curling out behind his ears.

"I missed you," Shem whispered.

Burano stepped forward and knelt to her brother's level. "Come here, son. I need to see something." He pulled down the neck of Shem's tunic to reveal his left shoulder.

"What is this for?" Shem asked.

"I'm not sure," Burano said, turning Shem roughly the other way so that he could look at his right shoulder. "Ah, there it is," he proclaimed. "The North Star rests on his shoulder!"

Adala raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. What could he possibly mean?

"You see this?" Burano said with excitement. He pointed to the pure white birthmark on Shem's shoulder blade.

Adala crept closer and saw that it resembled a shining star to some degree. When Shem was a baby, she always thought it looked like a splotch of white paint on his shoulder. "That's a far stretch," she said. "I think you're pushing it to say he's the one in their prophecy."

Burano let go of the boy's tunic, covering Shem's birthmark. "It doesn't matter if he is or isn't the one in the prophecy, just so long as we can persuade the desert savages that he's the one," he murmured distractedly as he wandered back to his desk.

"But what if they don't buy it?" she said quickly. "The monk's journal made it sound dangerous for him if they aren't convinced." She began to panic, realizing that the danger of her brother's situation was about to grow exponentially. "Burano, you can't do this," she challenged, standing up to face the leader. "He's just a boy. Leave him out of this weird obsession of yours. Have you heard anything from these scrolls? The desert people are dangerous!"

Burano stepped toe-to-toe with her, making her look up into his dark eyes. His threatening presence silenced her, but she refused to step back or look away.

"You are a guest in my community," Burano said in a threateningly quiet voice, almost inaudible. "Never tell me what I can and cannot do."

Adala gulped, looking from his narrowed eyes to the brand on his forehead.

"Now, go back to your cell with your guards, and I will forget your insolence," he breathed.

Adala stepped back to be escorted back to her cell, finally looking away from Burano's wild, threatening expression. She paused to rest a hand on her brother's shoulder, terrified to realize that Burano was far from finished using her brother for his personal gain.

She nodded to Jarod and began walking with him toward the door.

"And Jarod," Burano called. "See to it that our scribe gets a good dinner tonight. She has earned her keep. Just tell her guards to watch her closely. We leave for the desert tomorrow."

### Chapter 19: Tobin

Tobin was wrapping up an informal archery contest with a few of the other soldiers when he heard the news. The competition was down to him and Mathis, a weathered soldier and very good archer, when Tobin pulled back his bowstring and heard a shout at the edge of the training grounds.

"We're leaving tomorrow!" hollered Willie. "Orders are in, men! We're taking a long desert journey. Pack light on the supplies and heavy on the food and water. Move!"

Tobin lowered his bow as the archery challenge was all but forgotten in a bustle of excitement. The men began carting the armor and wooden training swords back to the supply shed, some of them already lining up at the well to get water for their journey before it went low enough that the water turned brown.

"I assume you will be joining the group as a way to make the desert dwellers more friendly with us," Tosser said, helping Tobin collect the arrows. "That's good thinking on Burano's part."

Tobin shrugged. "I guess so."

"I have no idea why he thinks we can make peace with those savages now though, after so many years of fighting over water sources," Tosser added, stuffing a fistful of arrows into his quiver.

Tobin let the "savages" comment roll off his back. Instead, he said, "I wonder if this means my training is over."

"Training is never over," called Jarod's voice gruffly.

Tobin turned to see his instructor walking towards them. "Will we continue on the road?" he asked, wondering how that would be possible.

"We will," Jarod said. "Every evening after we make camp."

Tobin couldn't help but sigh. He was exhausted from the drills. Not as much from the physicality of them but from the grueling nature of spending every morning under Jarod's command.

"You will carry this as your weapon while we travel," Jarod said, tossing him a wooden sword.

Tobin caught it out of reflex, meeting Jarod's eye with a glare. "We will be in dangerous territory, running the risk of attack from the desert dwellers," he reminded his superior officer. "I think you can grant me a real sword for this occasion."

"Why should you fear your own people?" Jarod asked. "Don't you remember when you were just a little whelp and you used to go around telling people that you wanted to go live with your savage cousins?"

Tobin clenched his teeth and took a short breath. "I'm ready to carry a real sword, Jarod."

"Show me then," Jarod taunted, lifting another wooden sword from the cart. "Give me your best shot."

Tobin was surprised by the challenge. So far in their training, he had only fought other soldiers while Jarod criticized on the sidelines, critiquing his form and reflexes. Not since the first day had he initiated a one-on-one fight between the two of them.

Tobin gripped the hilt of his wooden sword, swinging it to test its weight.

Tosser and the other soldiers cleared way as Tobin and Jarod circled one another with mirrored steps, holding their swords at the ready.

Tobin focused on keeping himself grounded and staying on his toes, always watching Jarod.

His trainer took the first move, charging forward with a combination of attack swings that Tobin had seen before. Tobin stepped back, defending with a series of blocks and parries. It was easier to keep his balance and hold the form in his swings without the weight of chainmail holding him down. He struck away Jarod's blows with energy, reacting to each hit appropriately according to his endless hours of training.

"Not bad form," Jarod praised as Tobin blocked an overhead swing, their swords meeting above their heads. "But you have one problem."

"What is it?" Tobin said, dodging left and knocking away another of Jarod's attacks.

"You still never take the offensive," Jarod said, darting forward with a jab towards Tobin's gut.

Tobin leaped backwards and knocked his sword away. He took the bait, trying to start a combination that would force Jarod backwards in defense, but found himself blocking another series of swings instead.

"Do you have the guts to attack a man? To kill him in cold blood?" Jarod knocked away Tobin's next swing with force that made pain shoot up Tobin's arm.

Tobin took a jab towards his stomach, then a swing at his head. Both were blocked with jarring strength.

A crowd had collected around them by now, and they stepped back as Tobin retreated away from Jarod's advances, blocking the blows with more and more sluggish movements.

"Would you do it if your life depended on it?" Jarod taunted.

Tobin wished he would shut up. He made a lucky swing towards his opponent's left arm, barely scraping it before his sword was knocked away.

"What if your sister's life depended on it?" Jarod asked with a sickening smile. "Sweet little Sarah."

Of all Jarod's jibes, this one struck home. Tobin gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he blocked the next blow, and he saw red spots in his vision. With clenched teeth, he charged forward, no longer focusing on his form or what combination he was using.

"Don't you even talk about her," Tobin growled, plowing full-force into an attack that put every muscle of his body behind the swinging of his sword.

Jarod smiled with satisfaction for a moment at Tobin's rage, but the smile disappeared as he was soon very focused on defending himself.

Tobin attacked from all the angles he could think of, swinging for his knees, jabbing towards the abdomen, and trying for the head any time he got the chance. Even though they wore no armor, he harbored no reservations about using the full force of his attack. He knew that Jarod wasn't holding back either.

Vaguely, he was aware of a spectator shouting, "Get him!" as Jarod began backing up rapidly under the fierce attack.

Jarod swung for Tobin's head in retaliation, and Tobin ducked, barreling forward to push his trainer off balance. He struck Jarod's midsection with his shoulder and the weight of his body behind it, and they both tumbled to the ground.

Tobin moved quickly, rolling to pin Jarod's right arm to the ground.

Jarod's left fist swung around, boxing him in the side of the head by surprise and making a ringing sound erupt in Tobin's ear.

Tobin dropped his sword to clamp a hand over his ringing ear, and Jarod rolled him over so that he was pinned to the ground.

Applause erupted around him.

"You showed him," someone called out.

"Not bad, kid," said somebody else. It sounded like Ollie.

Tobin struggled to catch his breath, unable to move beneath Jarod's weight.

"Why did you lose?" Jarod asked, leaning forward to further pinch Tobin's wrists against the ground.

Tobin winced. "Because I let myself get tired before I went on the offense?"

Jarod shook his head. "That was part of it, but you did well there at the end. The real reason you lost was because you dropped your sword after I punched you in the ear. In battle, you can't tend your wounds. Nobody's going to wait while you get a bandage or nurse your headache. You have to keep going no matter how much you hurt. You have to be willing to keep attacking until you've finished the job, and then you have to live with it afterwards."

Tobin nodded, his veins still flowing with anger towards Jarod for his comment about Sarah. If he so much as looks at her sideways, he thought to himself, he will learn firsthand that I have it in me to finish the job when my family is on the line.

Jarod released him, climbing to his feet and offering Tobin a hand.

Tobin got up on his own, dusting off his pants.

"You can't hold back in your fight if you think it isn't fair, either," Jarod added. "That's what Havard did, and now he's dead of infection because he let a girl stab him in the gut."

Tobin flinched at the reminder.

"That girl killed him," Jarod added, eyes never leaving Tobin's face. "If it comes to it, you may have to fight her, you know."

Tobin shrugged, looking at the ground. "And?"

"If you hesitate for even a second, she will kill you," spat Jarod. "She's not the strongest fighter, but she's got what you don't. That damned wench is crazy, and she won't hesitate to attack. Watch your back when you're around her. Don't get sympathetic."

"I won't," Tobin said quickly, though he knew it was too late for that. From the very beginning, he knew he wouldn't be able to retaliate against Adala. He had thought about it at length, the scenario of her trying to escape. He couldn't consider the thought of using his knife against her when her only crime was trying to save her brother.

"I hope you're right," said Jarod. "Pack your things and get a good night's rest. You'll need it tomorrow. You will ride Havard's old horse on our journey, as he requested." He started to leave, but then turned back to add, "And stop by the storage shed before you go. Pick out a real sword. If we get into trouble with the desert savages, you can find out if you're really fit to use it."

***

Tobin did as Jarod said, selecting a lightweight sword with good balance from the weapons shed. He enjoyed the way it felt hanging from his belt.

He had hours still before his evening shift guarding Adala, so he took Sarah to the outskirts of the village where Havard's horse was tethered to graze. Tobin recognized the chestnut mare immediately, her slender legs and long neck. She looked so delicate and precocious next to the other stubby-legged horses. As he and Sarah approached, she perked up her ears and tossed her head with a whinny.

"Does she bite?" Sarah asked, slowing down to keep her distance.

"I don't know." Tobin plucked a few strands of the patchy grass and holding it out for the mare, who snorted suspiciously, then quickly nibbled the grass from his palm.

"What is her name?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know," repeated Tobin. "But Havard wanted her to be mine, so I suppose we must give her a name."

"She's taking you to the desert," Sarah said, stepping forward to stroke the mare's shining copper coat. "We should give her a desert name."

"Do you even remember any Roharian names?" Tobin inquired. He looked around to be certain that nobody was around them, then switched to the tongue of his mother's people, saying to his sister, "We hardly speak the language anymore."

"I remember some," Sarah replied in the same tongue. "When we lived with the Niralhi clan, I remember I had a friend named Leyenne."

Tobin was surprised she remembered that much from their time in the desert. After their mother died, he had been filled with rage. He knew that his mother wouldn't have been malnourished enough to die of illness if she had been with her people. So he took his sister, who was only six years old at the time, and went into the desert. They were half dehydrated when the Niralhi clan found them and took pity on the children. They became like family to him and Sarah, teaching them to live and fight in the desert. For nearly a year he thought they had found someplace to settle. It felt like he was returning home, to the region where his mother spent her childhood.

"Stop being so sullen," Sarah said, interrupting his thoughts. She had switched back to Bolgish. Her Roharian was broken and awkward anyway. She had lost much of her language skills since their return to the Wanderling village. "We have a good life here too, you know," she added.

Tobin nodded. "We are in a better place now," he admitted. "If you want, I will call her Leyenne."

"She is friendly," said Sarah, kissing the mare on her nose. "Sweet Leyenne, you keep my brother in line on his journey."

Tobin grew nervous about his impending departure, realizing that Sarah would be all alone in his absence. "Keep a knife next to you when you sleep and always watch your things while I am away. You never know when someone is going to decide they need your food more than you do."

"Don't worry about me," she said. "Worry about how you are going to look after Adala and Shem." She started braiding Leyenne's mane while she spoke, smiling at the mare. "You can't continue helping Burano keep them captive. You're better than that, Tobin. Look out for them, and make sure they're safe, whatever happens. Okay? You owe them that, after how you helped capture Adala."

Tobin pressed his lips together and nodded slightly. He didn't know what he intended to do or how loyal he truly was to Burano. He was too smart to go against Burano's orders and risk the safety of himself and his sister. But he wondered, what are the limits of my loyalty? He didn't have it in him to attack Adala, he knew that. But what if his standing as a soldier was on the line? If he was found guilty of direct disobedience, he and Sarah could suffer greatly from it. Sarah could be cast into the position his mother was when she died, living on the smallest rations and working in the field by day and in the bedroom by night.

He shuddered to think that Sarah was the age his mother was when she first got pregnant. If he wasn't in good standing as a soldier, he couldn't protect her at all. His word would mean nothing to Burano. But now, with some sort of negotiations with the desert clans on the horizon, he was the most valuable soldier in town. The only one who could translate a word of the Roharian language. He was close to being able to protect his sister, but first he had to follow his orders.

"Be careful out there," Sarah said. "I may not remember much from our days in the desert, but I remember how it ended." She shuddered, looking away. "Please be careful around the Roharian clans. I want you to come home safe."

Tobin nodded. "No one knows better than me how dangerous they can be. I will watch my back."

### Chapter 20: Adala

Burano's promise for good food did not go unfulfilled. That night Adala, Ollie, and Tobin dined on fresh bread, a rarity in the village, with butter and a bucket of berries. Much more flavorful than the usual dried meat with stale biscuits.

Adala had hoped to get a moment to speak with Tobin, but instead they were treated to Ollie's life story before he was banished from Gerstadt.

Ollie's pale blue eyes focused into the distance. "Ah, those were the days. You see, I was a strong lad, eager to build myself a name from thievery and popularity with the women. My first love, Nadine was her name, told me I had to buy my own cabin before she would have me. So I traded myself as a sailor aboard a pirate ship to earn my wealth and earn her love."

Adala dug into the food, not listening from that point forward. Ollie spoke mainly to himself as he ate, spouting exaggerated escapades on islands she was certain did not exist. Tobin withdrew to his own thoughts as well, sipping at his cup of water and rhythmically sharpening his sword, carefully keeping the blade outside of her reach.

"Do you know of Burano's plans?" Adala said in a low voice to Tobin. "You sometimes guard the door to his room. Have you heard that he seeks to make my brother part of a desert-dweller prophecy?"

Tobin froze, sharpening rock paused halfway down the edge of his sword. "Is that what he believes?" he whispered.

Ollie continued telling his stories. Adala thought he might be deaf the way he remained oblivious to their conversation.

"He seems to think my brother is prophesied to unite the desert clans against the western shore. Against my home town. Have you heard of any prophecy about a spirit guide leading the desert dwellers back to conquer the seaside?"

Tobin sheathed his sword abruptly. "That's his game with the desert dwellers? To get them to take back Gerstadt? The man is insane!"

Adala met his gaze, puzzled by the anger in his voice. "His scrolls tell of a spirit or warrior guide who is supposed to unite the clans and help them take back the fertile lands on the other side of the mountains. Does Burano want the desert people to destroy Gerstadt, as some sort of vendetta against his banishers?"

"I doubt he wants Gerstadt destroyed," Tobin said. "More likely he wants to rule it. That's why he was banished, you know. His brand says H for hubris, which can only mean that he was too ambitious. That's what they say anyway. He either bedded a woman far above his rank or he sought to assassinate the leader and appoint himself Lord."

"I thought so," she whispered. "He intends to use my brother as a tool to build an alliance with the desert dwelling warriors and use them to overthrow Gerstadt."

"But how would he really get them on his side?" Tobin thought aloud. "They are scattered, and they tend to hate outsiders even more than other clans."

Adala shrugged. "Do you know anything of the prophecy? Do you think they will believe that my brother is some sort of uniting force, a sign that they will defeat Gerstadt?"

Tobin shook his head. "The desert people are always talking about returning to the seaside eventually, but I don't recall any specific prophecies about it. I don't think Burano believes in that sort of thing anyway. If he thinks your brother fits into the prophecy, it's for reasons of manipulating the desert people, not because he has faith in the cause."

"Will it work?" she wondered, as much to herself as to Tobin. "Will the desert dwellers rally behind him?"

Tobin paused. "I really don't know," he said. "They are very spiritual people, and incredibly superstitious. But as much as they may believe their prophecies, they may decide that they hate Burano more. He does often infringe on the water supplies and hunting regions of the nearer clans."

"And what if they decide they hate Burano more?" Adala asked.

"Then they rally against him," Tobin said. "Hope for the first option, trust me. It would be ugly for everyone if they fight us."

"That's encouraging," she said. "So option one is they side with Burano to destroy my home town. Option two: they kill us all."

Tobin's dark eyes looked to the floor. "It doesn't bode well for anyone, you know. I will either die at the hand of my mother's people, or be an accessory to manipulating them and leading them into battle."

Adala had never before realized the complexity of Tobin's position. She knew without saying that he was sorry about her and her brother's situation, even if it enraged her to think that he did nothing to help them. But his hands were tied more than she imagined, between two cultures at odds with one another. She could see the weight of the stress in the lines on Tobin's forehead, the way he frustratingly sighed and ran his hands roughly through his dark curls as if that would pull some sort of solution from his mind.

Ollie slammed his jug on the table, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Have more grog," he hiccupped, "m-m'lady. You're our guest tonight." He took off his hood to give a short bow.

Adala pushed the drink away grimly. "Not tonight, Ollie. I don't want a headache for our journey tomorrow."

Tobin nodded. "We should all take it easy tonight. The good thing for you, Adala, is that I don't think they will be able to keep you and your brother separate, since we have to travel in a relatively small group. Probably fifty or a hundred men. Burano will keep you with us, because Shem probably won't cooperate if you are not allowed to come as well. He's remarkably stubborn, for such a gentle child. Something he must have gotten from you, I suppose."

"We both get it from our father," she confided. "He was an immovable authority figure aboard the ship. No one could change his mind when he had it set."

A moment of silence passed as they were both lost in thought. "What is the sea like?" Tobin's voice asked, hesitantly.

"It's wonderful," she said immediately, surprised at her own words. "I miss the open space and fresh air of the sea more than anything. In the ocean, you have the spray of water and rocking of waves, not the dusty gale of the hills. There are no paths to restrict you in the ocean, no real boundaries. No one to tell you who you can and cannot be. You're just free."

"I used to dream I would go to sea one day," Tobin said. "I was baffled when I found out that it was a real thing. That there could be so much water in one place. I think if I went there, I'd drink a barrel of water!"

"From the ocean?" Adala burst into laughter.

"Don't laugh," Tobin said. "You don't know how scarce water is out here. We have to ration it."

"It's not that," she said, clutching her side from the pangs of laughter. "You can't drink seawater."

"Why not?" Tobin said. "Where do you get your water then?"

"We have wells, just like you do here," she said between gasps of laughter.

"Yours must be an awfully wasteful people if they insist on digging for water when it laps at their doorsteps," he said indignantly.

"If you ever come to Gerstadt, I will take you to the wharf to drink the water. You will know what I mean." She barely attempted to stifle her amusement.

Silence hung between them. Adala thought about her words, about the idea of returning to her town of origin. She liked to avoid thinking of her return, with the future so uncertain.

"If Burano succeeds in forging an alliance with your mother's people, the desert nomads, what will become of my brother and me?" she asked, Jarod's words from earlier that day haunting her.

"Your brother will be safe," Tobin reassured quietly. "The desert people's allegiance would depend on his presence, assuming they believe in the prophecy at all."

"And me?" she whispered, her voice holding a hint of fear in it. "Will Burano keep me around in order for Shem to cooperate?"

Tobin cleared his throat. "I don't know what Burano has planned for him, or if you will be needed for it."

Adala licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry. "I thought so," she said. "How long do you think we will be traveling in the desert?"

"Weeks, maybe more. However long it takes to find a clan leader who will hear Burano's claims about your brother. Then they will have to assemble all the tribes. I don't know how many there are or how long it will take for them to unite. They are scattered and don't usually form alliances with each other, much less with Wanderlings. But they do take their prophecies very seriously."

She was not a pious person, but right then she said a silent prayer for her brother's safety in the days to come. Her usual indifference towards the gods was cast aside in light of the impending dangers of the future.

### Chapter 21: Tobin

The next morning, Tobin woke Adala before sunrise and thrust a bundle of clothing into her arms. With weeks of riding ahead of them, she would need to do away with modesty and just wear a man's breeches and tunic.

"What's this for?" She glared at the pile of material through sleepy eyes.

"Riding clothes. We're departing shortly." He left to wait for her to change.

She emerged dressed in the loose tunic and trousers, and Tobin was pleased to see his choice of clothing from the soldiers' supply shed fit her surprisingly well.

When they emerged outside, the street was packed with the bustling of men saddling horses, filling giant water flasks, and embracing their families in a final farewell.

About a hundred men were in their travel party, each of them mounted. Sometime in the night, the men had filled barrels of water and loaded them onto wagons pulled by oxen. Another wagon was stocked with food. Other than that, the men carried their supplies in packs tied to their saddles. No one carried armor, just the clothes on their backs and some food and water.

"You will be hard pressed to break away from the party and out-run us on your steed," Tobin hollered to Adala over his shoulder, leading her to Dusty, a malnourished looking burrow whose withers came only to his waist.

"You're jesting, surely," she said with disgust.

"Not at all," he assured her. "I have instructions to chain you to the saddle for the first two days."

The donkey lazily opened one eye to peer at them. Its fur was tan in color, but patchy and dull. Its rat-like tail swished from side to side to keep the flies away from a few blisters on its hind-quarters.

Adala threw her hands in the air. "That animal is going to collapse of exhaustion. If you chain me to the saddle, it will squash me when it dies."

Tobin grinned. "Nah, good old Dusty won't squash you," he paused, eyes twinkling with mirth. "At the most, you may break your leg. But afterwards at least I won't have to worry about you trying to escape."

"That's what you think," she seethed, angrily shoving her foot into the stirrup and settling into the saddle.

"The pack behind you has your waterskin and blanket," Tobin informed her as he took iron shackles and clasped one end to her left ankle, then ran the chain beneath the donkey's belly and latched the other end to her right ankle.

"My weight is too much for this animal," she protested. "This donkey is barely fit to carry a child."

"Do you ever stop grumbling?" he asked through an amused smile.

"Do your people ever feed their animals?" she retorted.

"Only when they can find food in this wasteland where your people banished them," he shot back, turning to his own mare and climbing into the saddle. Leyenne perked her ears at the excitement around her, trying to take in everything. He patted her neck, then pulled out his scarf. "When it gets hot," he explained to Adala, "you will tie a scarf like this to protect you from the sun." He wrapped the light material around his head and then over most of his face, leaving only room for his eyes to peek out. It was a wrap he had done many times on long journeys, both with the Wanderlings and with the Roharian people.

"You look ridiculous," she said.

"Here's yours," he said, tossing her a lightweight brown shawl.

"Why can't you use a hat or something to keep the sun off your face?"

"Hats blow away in the desert wind. You really should use that scarf, you know. Your skin is going to burn if you don't cover up." Even his own browned skin couldn't take the sun in the heat of the day. Not once they got out of the hills anyway.

"Please, Tobin. I have lived under the sun my whole life. There's nothing the desert sun can do to my skin that the ocean sun hasn't prepared me for." She stuffed her shawl into her saddle bag.

"We'll see," Tobin said, shaking his head.

"Tobin! Adala!" shouted Boggs, trotting up on a broad gelding with Hal and Trigg close behind.

"How did you get stuck on the desert brigade?" Tobin asked, surprised to see them.

"We're coming along to care for the animals and help with cooking," explained Trigg, smiling so wide that his dimples showed.

"If we do well, maybe we will be trained for combat soon, like you," said Hal. "If you're a soldier now, we can be too."

Tobin thought about what Adala had said, about Burano wanting to make an alliance with the Roharian and overthrow Gerstadt. He hoped for their sake that Trigg, Boggs, and Hal would not become soldiers just in time to die in a siege battle. He kept quiet, however, as the riders collected in the wide street. Burano mounted his horse, standing in his stirrups and shouting, "Today we make history and reach out to our desert brothers to make peace!"

Everyone cheered, and the travel party began slowly riding out of the village, waved onward by men, women, and children who were staying behind.

"It's like we're heroes," said Trigg, waving back.

Adala sullenly muttered, "Yes, heroes setting out for their own slaughter potentially."

They traveled slowly, following a narrow road that led over several hills heading east. The sun shone in their eyes, and within a few hours, Tobin and the rest of the men had to cover their faces to protect from the heat. The hills leveled out into plains, and even Trigg grew too tired to speak much on the dusty trail.

Tobin made sure Adala drank enough water. He knew she wasn't used to the desert. He could see her shifting uncomfortably in the saddle and swatting away the flies, and noticed that despite the sweat soaking through her tunic, Adala surprisingly refrained from complaining too much. He could almost see her physically restraining herself from remarking about the heat or the pain from riding in the saddle.

"Your cheeks are getting pretty pink," Tobin said as the sun rose in the sky. "Are you sure you don't want me to show you how to wrap the scarf? It will keep you cool, too."

"I'm fine," she responded mechanically, staring straight ahead with dull, glazed eyes.

In the late afternoon, she begrudgingly tied the thin linen shawl around her head and face in a rudimentary wrap. The skin on the top of her hands blistered, and when they stopped to make camp that night, Tobin and Boggs had to take her by the arms and help her slide painfully from the saddle.

Tobin winced to see how she struggled to straighten her legs after all day in the saddle. His legs weren't in wonderful shape either, but he had spent more time in a saddle than her. Around them, soldiers gathered dried brush to feed to their animals and to start fires. They led their horses to the water wagon at the rear of the group or wiped the sweat from their coats with strips of stiff leather.

"You can rest here," Tobin said, laying a blanket on the ground and dropping Adala's supplies onto it. "Boggs will start a fire while I care for our animals."

The sun sank below the horizon, and Tobin kept one eye on Adala as he removed the saddles from Leyenne and Dusty. She sat in a heap and fixed her eyes towards the center of the group, where five or six of Burano's men tugged at ropes to erect a tent, the only one in the encampment. Tobin knew that Burano would be staying there, and likely Shem.

Over Leyenne's withers, Tobin caught sight of Shem being guided into the tent with a bedroll under his arm and four guards behind him. Burano followed, with a stack of maps and candlesticks.

Tobin turned away from the camp, trying to think about anything but Burano and his plans. It made him sick to think of it.

He breathed in the fresh night air, relishing the open space around him. There were still slight hills behind them, but flatter land lay ahead in the east. Wide open spaces, wild and untarnished, with nothing to stand in the way. People in the Wanderling village always talked about the desert as a wasteland, but Tobin could see the life wherever he looked. A lizard darted behind a rock in his path as he walked away from camp to make water, and he saw a beetle crawling on a half-withered weed sprouting from a crack in the dirt. Little shrubs and cactuses were everywhere, and even a withered tree here and there. The desert was harsh, that much was true; difficult to survive off of. But it was also wildly beautiful, and to Tobin it felt like home.

After tethering Leyenne and Dusty to nibble on a shrub for the night, Tobin made his way to the camp, where the men were beginning to gather around campfires. He wound his way to where Adala sat staring into the flames of a fire with Ollie at her side.

"Take my flask, girlie," Ollie was saying in a slurred voice. "It will keep you warm tonight."

"Keep warm?" she said. "It's the desert!"

Ollie just laughed, and Tobin allowed himself a faint smile. He leaned in so only Adala could hear him. "There's another blanket in your satchel, if you need it," he said. "And I will refill your water in the morning. It will be another long day."

"I don't think I can stay in the saddle tomorrow," she confessed reluctantly in a low whisper.

"Fold one of your blankets and use it as a cushion in your saddle," Tobin whispered back. "It will help a little."

Around them, Boggs, Trigg, and Hal were debating how the desert dwellers find water.

"I'm telling you," Hal was saying on the other side of their fire, "the desert dwellers store water in humps of fat on their backs."

Tobin held back a sigh.

"I've seen one before," Trigg argued. "He didn't have a hump on his back."

"That's because you're looking in the wrong place," Ollie interrupted. "They store the water up their arses, the same place where Hal gets his information from."

Laughter erupted in the group, and even Tobin chuckled. He appreciated Ollie's natural gift of lightening the mood while shutting down Hal's ignorance.

"What about you, Tobin?" Asked Hal. "Do you have any insights into your people's savage lifestyle?"

"Not at all," Tobin replied carefully. He had never wanted to draw attention to his past and was not about to start now. "I share a bit of blood with them and not much more." Changing the subject, he added, "I need to go check on our horses before I sleep. Ollie, aren't you supposed to be on first watch?"

Ollie scrambled to his feet, and Trigg said, "I'm ready for sleep anyway. I'm rightly sore from our ride!"

Adala, next to Tobin, let out a short, exasperated laugh. "Sore," she said. "That's an understatement."

### Chapter 22: Burano

Before the first light of dawn, Burano was awake and lighting the candles in his tent. Shem was yawning and still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as they pored over the faded map together.

"This is the nearest tribe, right about here," the boy said, placing a stone only a couple of inches away from their location on the map which was marked by a wooden button.

"How many?" Burano asked. He knew the answer before the boy even said it, because they had been over the numbers time and time again.

"Sixty," said Shem. "And they haven't moved, I don't think, since we have been tracking the desert clans."

"Good. Very good," said Burano, scanning the map with great interest.

"Are we going to go meet them today to make peace?" asked Shem, wide-eyed.

"No," replied Burano quickly. "They are too great in numbers. We need to confer with a much smaller clan first, and preferably one that hasn't dealt with us before. For that, we are going to have to travel deeper into the desert." He recalled past attempts to negotiate water and hunting rights with the desert people. He had lost too many men to the clans of the western desert, and he knew he would have to travel far to find a clan that wouldn't attack his travel party on sight.

"Sir," said Willie, coming in through the opening of the tent. "You asked me to bring Tobin to see you."

"Yes," Burano said, looking up as Tobin stepped into the tent. The young man was dressed in a plain soldier's tunic with his headscarf pulled around his neck since the sun wasn't yet out. On his back was strapped a longbow, and at his hip a sword.

"How have you enjoyed your training?" Burano asked, hoping that the young man was appreciating the importance of his new position as a soldier.

"Very well, sir," said Tobin with a nod.

"Tobin!" exclaimed Shem, his bright young face looking up from the map. "I'm glad you have come with us. We are going to make peace with the desert dwellers! Won't that be so good for you and Sarah?"

"Making peace. Is that what we're doing?" Tobin asked, eyes darting back to look at Burano.

Burano watched the young man's reaction, realizing that he must have pieced together the plan for Gerstadt by this point. "That is our first step," he said carefully.

"I know Adala is angry about being here," Shem added in an excited voice, "but she will be glad when she knows that we're helping people."

Burano saw the judgment in Tobin's eyes. "Shem, you may go join your guards outside. They will get you something to eat while Tobin and I talk. How does that sound?"

Shem smiled brightly. "Yes, sir," he said, waving goodbye to Tobin as he darted out of the tent, leaving them in silence.

This is where I determine his allegiance, Burano thought to himself. He cleared his throat. "I hope you have enjoyed traveling with your friends from your old lookout team," he said initially, trying to judge Tobin's response.

Tobin's expression was unreadable, though he did raise an eyebrow and say, "It was an unusual assignment for them. I was wondering if you had a hand in it."

Burano nodded. He had made certain to include friends of Tobin's in the travel party to ensure that Tobin had some stake in protecting the Wanderlings in battle, in case it came to that. The young man would be less likely to betray him and join leagues with the desert clans if he had friends in the camp that may be compromised by his betrayal. But Burano was far from saying this. Instead, he commented, "I am glad to have you with us, Tobin. And I want to make sure you have friends among the group. It is tough being new to the brigade, and I know that you aren't on a familiar basis with many of the soldiers."

Tobin made no response, but nodded slightly.

"You see," Burano continued, selecting his words carefully, "I know I am putting you in an awkward position, helping me negotiate with a people that you have some history with."

"You don't need to worry about me switching sides," Tobin said in a dry voice. "When we were banished, my sister and I were made very much aware that we are unwelcome in the desert clans. I have no intentions of re-joining any of them."

"I see you have cut straight to the point," noted Burano gratefully with a smile. "Were there any circumstances of your departure that will affect our negotiations?" he asked. Burano remembered the day that Tobin and his sister, just a child, returned to his village, covered in dried blood and in a ragged state. The boy, only a young teenager, marched straight into Burano's quarters and said in broken Bolgish, "We come back, but no more as slaves." Burano had never drawn the full story from him, but hoped Tobin's past would not impact their diplomatic efforts.

Tobin shifted his feet and looked down. "The priest who banished us is dead. And the clan that I stayed with is mostly gone. Their territory is farther north, and even if we ran into them, no one would recognize me at this point."

"We will keep that in mind if we manage to assemble the clans together," Burano asserted, readily moving on. "With the boy's help, we may be able to get them all on our side. I assume the girl Adala has told you about the prophecy she read to me?"

Tobin nodded.

"Good work. That means she trusts you." Burano looked to his map absently. "If the desert dwellers are as zealous about that prophecy as they are about their property rights and religious practices, we should have no problems rallying them behind Shem. When that happens, you will be the most valuable person in my infantry, Tobin. I want you to know that your assistance as our expert on the desert dwellers will be well rewarded when we take back Gerstadt. You and your sister will have the resources and freedoms of the city at your fingertips, and you will be a continual help to us in maintaining peace with the desert clans after our occupation begins."

"Thank you, sir," said Tobin.

Burano nodded in response and shifted topics. "Beginning today, your responsibilities are twofold. First, help me prepare for negotiations with the desert clans. Second, draw information from Adala. I want to know more about her brother's talents."

"What are his talents exactly?" Tobin spoke up. "If you intend to pass him off as a prophecy fulfilling figure, he must be able to impress. The desert people are highly religious, yes, but they are volatile in their beliefs. He needs to be more than just intuitive to win them over."

"Intuitive is one word for it," Burano remarked. "He is more insightful than any seer I have ever met, more powerful than a spellweaver. Most of them are hoaxes anyway. Shem is the real thing. And he knows nothing about what his talent is or how it came about. The more background we can get out of his sister, the better prepared I will be to know the limitations and potential growth areas of his ability." He gestured to the maps that cluttered the table before him.

"Your continued companionship with Adala will serve that purpose," Burano added, "as well as one other. Because Adala has put the pieces together by now and knows that we are planning to take Gerstadt, she will be harder to control. I want you to be friendly with her. Give her hope for escape. From the jests of the men, it sounds like she is very fond of you and Ollie. If there is any romantic potential between you, pursue it. Anything to keep her content. If she causes a ruckus and needs to be confined or disciplined, it could mean that Shem stops cooperating. That cannot happen."

"I understand," acknowledged Tobin.

"Thank you," Burano said. "You have done well with Adala, and I appreciate your insights about the desert clans. I will call on you in the future to help me plan our negotiations."

"Of course."

Burano grasped Tobin's shoulder in a friendly gesture. The young man tensed at the motion, but then relaxed, saying, "I hope you will consider my insights about the desert people and religion. They are very flighty about what they believe, and their religious practices can have a wide range. They often speak about returning to the sea, but I don't know that they will all believe that it's the right time, or that they are following the right person as a leader."

Burano nodded. "Alas, that is a risk that we take," he said. "And much of our success rests on your shoulders. One misinterpretation, and they may turn against us."

Tobin nodded grimly in agreement. "I know that better than anyone."

### Chapter 23: Adala

Adala awoke with sharp rocks stabbing her backside from beneath the blanket where she lay propped up against her saddle bags. She stirred, her sleep interrupted by the scuffing of boots and conversation of men around her. The sun peeked itself over the horizon and the camp came to life again as she stretched her aching muscles. She was grateful to feel the warm light on her skin, even if her limbs were cold and stiff.

As she folded a blanket and fitted it as a cushion to her saddle, she was delighted to catch sight of Shem's bright face twenty paces away.

"Adala!" he exclaimed, waving eagerly.

She smiled and waved back. He looked well, with round cheeks and a spring in his step. His guards were directing him to his horse, however, and Adala lost sight of him almost immediately in the crowd of men saddling and mounting their horses.

"What, you're not going to shackle me to the donkey today?" she asked Tobin dryly when he rode up to her on his copper-colored mare.

He smiled. "Do you think you could gallop into the sunset in your condition?"

"I might surprise you," she said, cringing as she settled into the saddle.

"Boggs will be your personal guard today while we ride," Tobin said, cuing his horse forward. "Burano wants me to ride with him and Shem for a while so we can talk about the desert clans and their whereabouts."

Boggs trotted forward on his painted gelding, and Tobin saluted farewell, cantering toward the front of the party.

Adala and Boggs rode in relative silence until Adala's headscarf was itchy with sweat from the heat. "I don't know how the desert savages survive this dry land," she muttered as her eyes watered from the dust. "Who would choose to live here?"

Boggs laughed. "Tobin, for one. When we were little, he used to talk about it all the time. Pretty annoying, actually. But I've never even been in the desert before now. Just the hills near the village, no farther."

"I've never been to a desert either, really," Adala mused. "I've been to ports all around the kingdom. Cities in Bolgir, Diggeret, Iviannah. Some climates were dry, but not like this."

Jarod trotted his horse next to them, eavesdropping. "The desert dwellers believe their spirits live in the soil and soak up all the water," he said. "When they water their crops, they call it an offering to the gods. Same when they draw battle and spill blood. If our negotiations go poorly, I will try to persuade them that what their desert gods really thirst for is the salty blood of a sea-faring woman."

"Have you ever seen the desert dwellers?" Boggs asked.

Jarod laughed. "Don't you remember that desert wench who birthed Tobin and that scrawny girl? I knew her a time or two. She was spirited, that one."

Boggs shuddered. "I mean besides her. Have you seen one of the clans?"

"Once," Jarod admitted. "We had scouted a new spring of water on the outskirts of the desert and thought of building another settlement there. They ambushed us in the night. Six of my men were down before we realized they were upon us."

"How did you escape?" Boggs asked, drinking up every word.

"They surrounded us, and their leader began speaking, but none of us understood," Jarod said. "The leader pointed to a mark chiseled in stone next to the spring of water. It was their well. They gestured for my party to leave and never return, and that's exactly what we did."

"He just let you go?" Boggs exclaimed.

"Yes, she did," Jarod corrected with disgust in his tone. "The desert dwellers are backwards in their customs, but fierce warriors. Their leader was a woman with a keen eye for archery. She must have shot a dozen of my men herself. But she needed survivors to carry the gist of their message back to Burano. Twenty of my men died in the ambush. The three of us who survived were lucky."

"How many men did she command?" Adala asked, curious about this she-warrior.

"Twelve," Jarod said. "If you think the desert dwellers will have mercy on you because they are so generous with women's positions, don't flatter yourself. They are not too keen on outsiders."

She bit back her response, wishing Jarod away. Luckily, he rode past, and she and Boggs were left to ride in comfortable silence for a while as they both pondered Jarod's stories of the desert warriors.

***

Adala had always imagined the great desert to be a sea of golden sand. As the travel party moved past a hill on the second day of travel, she was met with a much different picture. Cracked dirt and rocks crunched under Dusty's hooves, and she coughed from a sudden gust of dirt in the air. She tugged her shawl over her mouth. Instead of great dunes of sand, she saw a great plain before her, reaching as far as the eye could see. Contrary to what she had heard of deserts in the far south, the Roharian desert was full of dry foliage. Cacti and withered trees littered the region, shrubs and sparse greens sprouting from between the cracks in the dirt. Adala could hardly tell any of the plants apart, and she saw a yellow lizard scurry in front of Dusty's path that she had never seen before.

Her thighs cried out in pain. But her seat bones weren't as tender, thanks to the blanket she used as a cushion in the saddle. By the fourth day of riding, Adala felt the pain lessen slightly, to her relief. Soon she was able to relax in the saddle for most of the day without too much stiffness.

Despite the scorching sun and Adala's irritated eyes from all the dust, their trek through the desert was a happier time for her. Instead of being confined to a cell, she was allowed to ride with the men by day and eat by the fire at night, sharing stories with Trigg, Boggs, Ollie, and Tobin. She began to feel less like a prisoner and more like a comrade.

During the day, Shem rode astride a palomino pony next to Burano at all times. Sometimes Adala rode near them and was permitted to exchange greetings with Shem. Such was the highlight of her day when it happened, but it was a rare treat. Most of the time Shem was surrounded by Burano and his officers, and Adala was left to converse with her own guards. She supposed that wasn't all that bad. She enjoyed a comfortable camaraderie with Ollie, and was beginning to know Trigg and Boggs better. Mostly, she looked forward to sharing moments with Tobin, who continued giving her details about Shem's daily activities. She lived for those details, hanging on his every word. They talked about her brother, about her life in Gerstadt. Most of all, Adala found herself growing more and curious about Tobin's people, not just because they were riding through the desert wastelands to meet with them but also because they were a part of Tobin's history, a topic from which he was good at deflecting.

"How long before we find your people?" Adala asked quietly. She judged they had been riding across the vast expanse of wasteland for at least a couple of weeks with no sign of the elusive desert savages, and she was restless for some sign of life. The travel party had located hand-dug wells to replenish their water barrels on three different occasions, but there was hardly a trace of the desert clans to be seen.

Tobin shrugged. "I wouldn't necessarily call them my people. They threw stones at my mother and chased her away because the clan priest had a dream that her children would one day cause the end of the clans."

"Superstitious bastards," she said immediately, surprised to gain a small grain of knowledge about Tobin's history. "No wonder they haven't found the intelligence to move to a more habitable region. How far away are they, anyway?"

"They don't live in one place; they are spread out and often on the move. It may take months and months to find them, though Burano seems to think your brother will lead us to them in a prompt manner."

"He thinks my brother can do a lot," she sighed.

"Is it true?" Tobin asked tentatively. "I know we talked about it before, but if you have any insights about his possible abilities, it would help to acknowledge them."

She swatted a beetle off Dusty's neck, and the donkey tossed his head. She was annoyed with the stubborn donkey, who seemed to never listen to her commands and instead just followed the horse in front of him in a brain-dead manner. Also with Tobin, because he was yet again changing the subject away from the desert dwellers and his childhood. "I don't know what to think about Shem's oddities," she said, displeased with the flow of conversation. "Either way, I hope your desert savages don't kill him if his skills disappoint them."

"What are his skills exactly? Have you noticed anything in particular that Burano may not have noticed?" Tobin pressed.

"He is odd, that is for sure," Adala said. "The day before he was taken, he had a fit of madness. Maybe Shem described it to you. He told me our father was dying, that he could feel him and his crew die. He was hysterical— I didn't know what to do."

"You don't want that to be the truth, do you?" Tobin asked.

"I don't know," she said quietly. She felt ill inside to consider it. "If Shem is right, our mother is alive and our father is dead. If he is wrong, Mother is dead and Father alive. I don't want either to be true. And at this rate I may never know if he is right or not." Her voice trailed off at the end as she was reminded of her uncertain future. She tried to push thoughts of Gerstadt out of her mind.

"Has Shem confessed any other insights that turned out true?" Tobin said. "Anything beyond logic that would hint at powers beyond sight?"

Adala shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "He is just a sensitive boy, that's what my mother always said. Nothing more."

"You don't sound too convinced of that." Tobin remarked.

She shook her head, dislodging her scarf from its place atop her head. "It doesn't matter what I think," she said. "It matters what the tribes think."

"I hope to the gods he isn't harmed," Tobin said, looking down to his reins.

"Your hope won't do him much good, will it?" Adala said, her annoyance with Tobin growing as she rewrapped her scarf securely. He always says how he hopes Shem will be okay, how he is sorry about what has happened to us. But what good is it anyway? He just stands by and watches it all happen.

"I suppose not," Tobin admitted.

"How does anything live in this cursed place?" she said, for maybe the millionth time, slapping a fly off her neck.

"We drink our own piss, princess," said a nearby soldier, laughing and riding ahead. She couldn't tell anyone apart with all their scarves, but she thought she recognized Jarod's laugh. He was always lurking by as they rode.

Tobin shook his head. "There's life here. And water. You just have to know where to look."

Adala grumbled incoherently and scanned the travel party to see if she could catch a glimpse of Shem.

"He will be kept safe," Tobin said, following her gaze.

"Of course he will," she snapped impatiently. "He's safe as long as he can still be used as a pawn."

Tobin shrugged. "Safe is safe." His voice grew quiet. "My sister is only safe until she can bear children. After that, she becomes even less than a pawn to these men." Contempt dripped from his voice.

Adala swallowed, her mouth dry. She recalled Sarah's sweet face, tiny frame. Too young and innocent for marriage, much less the type of arrangement that Tobin implied.

"Are they not given a choice at all?" she said hoarsely. "Or you? Can't you negotiate some kind of compromise, as her elder brother?

Tobin shook his head as he explained. "Not now. Maybe if things go well between me and Burano.... But even then, I'm not sure. Sometimes the girls or their families are given some say in whose children they must bear. She has desert blood though. Desert-dwellers and prisoners are sold as wives, whenever they come around. My mother was sold to three different men before she became sick. When she died, Burano only remarked that he thought she would have been tough enough to bear more children for our community. I don't think he knows I overheard him, but that's what he said. And I'll never forget it."

"How could you serve a man like that?" Adala blurted. "A man that would treat people that way? You actually believe in his cause. Don't you have any honor?"

He halted his horse with a jerk of the reins, and her dim-witted burrow followed suit, perking its ears toward Tobin's rigid posture.

"Do you support Burano?" Adala blurted pleadingly, then bit her tongue. She was startled to realize the pitch of her voice, the emotion behind her question. Her situation being as impossible as it was, she felt everything was somehow bearable if she had Tobin as a friend. Someone who truly understood. But Tobin had always skirted around the issue, saying he was sorry for the situation, but never directly stating that Burano was in the wrong. She tentatively matched Tobin's tense gaze with one of her own, silently urging him to take a stand. She was tired of guessing and hoping that he cared. It was time to pick a side.

Silence hung between them. Tobin sighed, looking away. His thick eyebrows furrowed with sadness. "I think he is doing what he thinks is best for his people to survive, and even to prosper," he replied quietly. "If we reach an agreement and earn a place in Gerstadt, we will have a better future. My sister will be safe, and Burano's rule will become less harsh with the population of Gerstadt under his command."

Adala's eyes stung with held back tears as she processed Tobin's response. She inhaled a shaky breath and held it in with a vengeance, her palms curling into fists around the reins while she studied the desert floor through blurred vision. "Yes, of course. It doesn't matter how many lives you ruin or women and children you exploit in your path," she spat, "so long as it means your people will prosper afterwards. What a cowardly way to live."

"You would say differently if you lived the way we live," Tobin's voice growled. "I want to live somewhere you can have your own home, buy your own animals, grow your own garden. I want my sister to grow into a woman without worrying about scavenging for food and water, and laboring in the fields all day, bearing children for outcast scum until she grows too ill to carry on."

Adala's voice trembled with fury. "And you can sacrifice my brother's childhood for your sister's freedom? That's mature, Tobin. Why can't you make your own way in life? You and your sister can move away, find your own—"

"All the water sources are populated with clans of my mother's people. We have nowhere to run."

"Then why not go to Gerstadt peacefully? You don't have to go in sword-wielding and demanding to conquer." The words kept tumbling out, Adala grasping for some common ground. She wanted him to understand. She needed him to see there was another way. He couldn't be with Burano. He just couldn't. "The city doesn't even know you exist," she continued. "The lord of Gerstadt is reasonable, and since you aren't branded you would have rights as a guest in the town. You and Sarah can go there, explain your origins, and earn your place diplomatically."

"You're one to talk about diplomacy!" Tobin shot back with seething words. She had never seen him angry before, and it transformed his face. He glared at her through dark, narrowed eyes, spitting the words through terse lips. "You don't ask questions or hardly look at a man before swinging a punch. You're nothing but a foolish woman, out to claim her brother to save her own pride like a child taking back a stolen pet."

Adala balked at his words, speechless from his onslaught of insults.

"You don't care who you hurt in the mean-time either," Tobin continued in his rant, throwing his hands in the air. "Havard, the man you stabbed when your brother was taken from Gerstadt, he died from an infection back in the village. Did you know that? A slow death. You killed a man and you didn't even know him. He was a decent enough man with a wife and three children that he adored. Orphaned because of you."

Adala winced at the reminder, recalling how easily her blade penetrated the stranger's gut in her father's cottage. It seemed like ages ago, but she remembered the hot blood on her hands and the sickness she felt in the aftermath of the fight.

"Don't you dare chastise me," Tobin continued in a low, trembling voice. The travel party had spread out, and the nearest riders were twenty or thirty paces away. No one to hear their row. "You think you're a survivor because you've been a prisoner of Burano's for a few weeks. Try being one your entire life. You have no idea what it's like to fear for your life every single day, to depend on others for the safety of your family. To see the man who sold your mother every day and know that building his trust is your only option to gain freedom and live a peaceful life. To compromise every moral you hold dear because you know that earning respect as a soldier and helping your commander keep two innocent prisoners is your only path to freedom and protection for those you love."

Adala stared straight ahead, her face hot with anger. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, she said hoarsely, "No matter what circumstances we come from, we all have to make choices. Whatever you say, when they get rid of me because I'm not useful any more, my blood will be on your hands, too. But I'm sure you'll console yourself with hollow words about how selfish a woman I was for trying to protect my kid brother—the only family I have left."

Tobin cursed under his breath and cued his mare forward into a canter, leaving her in a brooding silence.

Nothing could shake the sting of Tobin's words from her head that day, nor the bitter taste in her mouth. She tried to tell herself that he was being spiteful, jealous even. But she had only to look around to confirm some truth in his words. The horses around her were short and slim— not exactly prime stock. The men were better fed, but their clothes and leather armor were old and dry-rotted—some of their blades grew spots of rust. If these were the privileged class among the outcasts, she couldn't imagine the extreme conditions Tobin and his sister had endured in childhood, the conditions his sister would endure after becoming a woman. Adala's life as a prisoner all of a sudden seemed mild—luxurious even.

"Don't you look buried in sorrow," Ollie barked, trotting up next to her as they rode. "Haloo! Are you falling ill from the sun already, kid?"

"I'm just preoccupied," Adala muttered, shaking away her musings.

"You're out of your element here," Ollie said darkly. "If you value your brother's life, you won't try to escape. At sea you may know how to take care of yourself, and you are a wildcat with a knife, but you are no match for the desert wind."

"Don't you sound serious," she said, scowling. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you cared for my well-being, Ollie."

He scoffed, mumbling, "Don't be ridiculous. If you want to kill yourself trying to escape, fine by me. If we don't kill you before you leave, the desert will kill you for us. Burano won't care as long as he's got your brother."

She looked around the horizon, seeing all the vast expanse of desert around them. It would be impossible to escape anyway, she thought. You could see for miles in every direction. The search party would find her immediately.

"What's that in the distance?" she said, pointing to a lump on the horizon ahead of them.

Ollie stood in his stirrups. "A rock formation," he said. "We're approaching deep clan territory. If we have a run in with the wrong tribe out here we probably won't be making it back."

### Chapter 24: Tobin

That evening as they made camp, the large rock formation loomed on the eastern horizon. Tobin was occupied most of the evening answering Burano's many questions about the customs and religious beliefs of the desert dwellers. When Burano said that he needed Adala to read more of his scrolls for information, Tobin piped up.

This is your chance to make things right with Adala after earlier today, he thought to himself, saying carefully to his commander, "Have you considered allowing Shem to listen to her when she reads?"

Burano took a second look at Tobin, a quizzical expression on his weathered face. "I want to keep them apart so that she doesn't attempt escape," he said.

Tobin nodded, adding quickly, "That is a good practice, I am sure. However, if you are looking to appease her for the short-term and keep her complacent, as you told me before, I think it would help if they saw a little more of each other than just passing glances and a word here or there. Your tent would be a good place for them to see one another, as it is always well guarded. And if she is reading your scrolls in here when they are together, I don't think it will be easy for her to plot escape."

"You make a good argument," Burano said thoughtfully. "Very well, have Jarod send Shem this way. He can listen while she reads. You can stand guard outside. If she tries anything, she may be less likely to harm you than Jarod."

She would take pleasure in harming Jarod, Tobin added to himself with some amusement. Though he wasn't so sure she wouldn't enjoy a good fist fight with him after the way he reacted earlier that day. The pang of regret still hung over him, a dark shadow at the edge of his vision. He had no right to belittle her troubles because of his own demons, and the insults he had hurled her way still tasted sour in his mouth.

When Shem arrived at the tent, he greeted Tobin with a broad smile. "Tobin!" he exclaimed, flinging his arms around his waist in a hug.

"Hey little soldier," Tobin said as he tousled Shem's hair. He was taken aback by the hug, but glad to see the young boy so excited.

"You two are awfully friendly," came Adala's voice as she approached the tent.

Shem gasped and ran to throw his arms around his sister's neck. Adala embraced her brother, closing her eyes and holding him to her chest for a brief second.

"Tobin persuaded me to have Shem listen in on your reading tonight, my dear," Burano said from the door of the tent.

Tobin winced at his commander's words, feeling that his gesture to reunite Adala and Shem was somehow cheapened when Burano tried to use it to help Tobin manipulate them. It felt dishonest.

Adala raised her eyebrows at Tobin, then swallowed. "Thank you," she said quietly, still resting her hands on her little brother's shoulders.

***

When she read that night, Tobin listened through the canvas of the tent. She spoke about the traditions of the Roharian people through the voice of an imprisoned monk, who described their sunset feasts and dances in a comical manner, exaggerating every detail into a terrifying portrait of a savage culture. It was dull, describing their dances and prayers, plus condemning their desert gods. Tobin stopped listening to the story and instead focused on enjoying the sound of Adala's voice as it rang out in the cool evening air. She spoke with a soothing voice, reading the words steadily and with animated tones. Tobin knew she spoke in such a lively manner for her brother's sake, but he enjoyed hearing the tone of her voice when she wasn't complaining or offering a sarcastic remark. She sounded... kind.

"That's enough for tonight. It's getting too dark to read anyway," said Burano's voice, interrupting Adala's story. The commander called out, saying, "Tobin, you may escort Adala back to her belongings."

Tobin ducked into the room.

Adala glanced at Burano. "May I say goodbye to my brother?" she asked. At the outcast leader's nod, she knelt to embrace Shem, who practically knocked her over with his enthusiasm.

"I loved listening to you read," Shem said, arms clinging around her neck.

She kissed his forehead and brushed his sandy hair out of his eyes.

"I'm trying to keep you safe," Shem said. "So we can make it back to see Mother."

"Stay strong," She said. "Be good. We will go home, okay? One way or another."

The boy nodded, smiling through tears.

"Best get ready for supper," Burano said, clearing his throat. "Tobin, why don't you take Adala on your rounds. Gather some dried weeds for a fire, if you can. She may as well lend a helping hand."

Tobin nodded and gestured out the door. Adala looked once more at Shem's rounded face before ducking outside, relief apparent on her face. Shem stopped Tobin on their way out and gave him a hug goodbye, whispering, "Thank you!" before Tobin followed Adala out the door.

"What was that about?" Adala said as Tobin guided her through the crowd of soldiers watering their horses and unpacking dried meat and foraged greens for supper. "I didn't know you and my brother were such good friends."

"I guard him, too," Tobin said. "You never complained when I relayed his messages to you." They reached the edge of the camp and continued walking toward the setting sun, out of earshot from the bustling camp.

She shrugged. "I suppose not. It just doesn't feel right, you pretending to be his friend."

Tobin breathed deeply. He struggled to find words, as he often did when forming an apology. Words didn't usually come easily to him, not until they burst out, as they had earlier in the day. But for all her faults, he knew Adala didn't deserve the way he had treated her, and he forced himself to find the words to make things right. "I am sorry for losing my temper. I was wrong to speak to you like that."

Adala pressed her lips together. "You took things pretty damn far, Tobin. I didn't know you could be so vicious."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "I'm sorry I directed my anger towards you."

She let out a huge sigh, and the tension in the air lessened. "And I'm sorry I baited you about your support for Burano. You're in a difficult position, more difficult than I imagined. I may not agree with you, but I will try not to bring it up again."

"Thank you," Tobin said. "And I don't want you to think I support Burano.... It's just that I don't have much of a choice. We aren't too different, you and I. We're both just trying to do whatever is necessary to protect the ones we love."

"I suppose."

"I would never want to see you or your brother harmed," Tobin confessed. "If I don't guard you, someone else will. And some of them aren't too nice. Jarod has been trying to persuade Burano that he should be your main guard."

She shuddered. "I hate him."

Tobin nodded, sickened at the thought of leaving Adala in Jarod's hands full-time. He had seen the way Jarod looked at her, and it made his blood boil just thinking about it.

"Thank you for asking Burano to bring Shem in while I read. It means the world to me," she said. "After spending a whole evening with him, I can hardly be upset."

Adala spread her arms out towards the horizon as if to grasp the world in an embrace. "Enough negativity. It's a beautiful night," she exclaimed. Not a cloud cluttered the sky, leaving only the orange patch on the horizon where the sun was setting. The last rays of sunset cast a golden hue that light up Adala's unusually happy expression.

Tobin smiled to see the joy in her face. She had her hair tied back in a braid, and it flew out behind her as she spun in a helter-skelter pattern, recklessly staggering to and fro in her spin. Her smile was a startling thing, after seeing her frown, smirk, and scowl most of the time. She had a beautiful smile, her usually downturned lips curling into a grin that made her nose scrunch.

Jarod may be a brutal, cruel man, Tobin thought to himself, but he is right about one thing. I am too attached. "Come on, you've got to help me gather some brush for a fire," he said, looking away from her.

Adala followed Tobin's example and pulled some dried weeds out of the ground. There were clumps of dead bushes here and there as well, and they had soon gathered a good sized pile of brush.

"The still air tonight reminds me of the calm days when my father would have all of us on the ship do fighting regimens," she said absently, tugging at a tangled mess of brush. "I remember the look on everyone's faces when I first knocked a sailor on his back with my wooden sword. By the most recent voyage, I had defeated most of the sailors at one time or another. They knew all my tricks though, so it was hard to beat them every time."

"I seriously doubt you won that often," Tobin remarked, smiling crookedly at the thought.

"You're just sour because I bested you when we first met." Adala laughed.

"You caught me off guard that day we ambushed you, but not by your own skill," Tobin said resolutely, recalling his surprise when he reached around to grasp the strap to her satchel.

She scoffed. "You groped my breast and then seemed shocked when I repaid you with a knife to the throat."

"That's not true!" Tobin bristled, his face growing hot.

"So sensitive," she teased. "I've hardly seen you express any emotion besides gloom today."

"Please," he said. "You know I'm not that kind of man. I was reaching for your bag, and when I felt you were a woman, I was startled. You got lucky and caught me off guard, that's all."

"Now that statement is full of deceit," she cried in mock outrage, placing her hands on her hips. "You may not have meant me harm, but you certainly expected to threaten me, steal my things, and enslave me. Besides, luck has nothing to do with it. Having breasts is one of my few natural advantages, don't you think? A lot of people don't expect a woman to have a weapon, much less know how to use one. I will take that advantage any day. Not that I need it to overpower you. You're too soft to truly harm anyone."

"Too soft?" He laughed now, a low chuckle. Jarod had accused him of the same thing, but he laughed to think of Adala knowing anything about his fighting style. "You've barely seen me fight. I don't blindly throw punches and swing blades like a dust storm the way you do; I actually assess my opponent and learn their weaknesses before my final blow."

"I've gotta see this," Adala said, a devilish grin on her face. "Show me your oh-so-calculated fighting technique, and I will show you a nice view of the stars while you writhe in agony on the ground."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, dropping an armful of brush into their growing pile of fuel.

She took his arm and pulled him to a clear spot of ground, mostly free of rocks and brush. "No really, I'm curious. We can't let my skills go to rot while your boss has me prisoner. I need a little practice to keep me in shape."

"No," he said flatly.

She circled him. "If you won't fight me, I guess I will just walk away. It's a beautiful night to begin my journey home."

"You aren't that stupid," he said, maneuvering to block her path.

"I guess I am," she said, stepping around him.

He touched her arm, panic beginning to rise in his throat. "Adala, you have no supplies and no hope of finding water out there. Burano will send a group to scout for you and you will be caught by sunrise."

"Then you better stop me now," she said, "show me your moves."

Tobin sighed impatiently. "I suppose I'd take your arm like this," he said, reaching out.

Adala darted left, and her arm shot out to lightly slap his shoulder. "I just stabbed your shoulder," she said. "Poor reflexes."

"Okay," he said, "we can do this." He stepped forward with his right foot to grab her arm again, but she jammed her heel into his shin in return.

He released her arm, leaning forward for a split second while the pain shot through his leg. Adala took hold of his shoulders and jabbed her knee into his gut. She wasn't too rough, just enough to take his breath away for a minute. He gasped, stepping backwards.

"Defend yourself. You can't be too honorable to fight back or you're dead in a fight," she taunted.

Tobin's arms clenched and he threw a light punch at her stomach, nothing with too much force—just enough to show her he could do it.

"Not bad," she breathed. She looked alive, eyes wide with the thrill of their fight. "But if it were a real fight, you would still be punching me." She swung for his jaw, but he dodged. He blocked the next three blows, then grabbed her fist on the next swing and wrenched her wrist backwards into a hold that he knew was painful. She gasped, sucking in her next breath.

"You rely too much on brute force," he said in her ear, then raised an elbow to block a flailing stroke from her left fist. "You have the speed necessary, but when you're a smaller opponent already, you need to go for pressure points."

She brought her knee swiftly into his groin without warning, forcefully enough to cause his eyes to water. He released her from the hold, staggering backwards.

"Is that a pressure point?" she spat, massaging her wrist and kicking his ribs lightly while he was doubled over.

"That was dishonorable," Tobin groaned. For her second kick, he rolled to the side and grabbed her supporting ankle, pulling her foot out from under her.

She landed on her backside with a thump, but Tobin wasn't finished. He launched himself at her, and they rolled, her kicking and scratching in the dust. When they stopped, his weight held her to the ground. She scrambled to unsheathe the knife at his belt, but he pinned her arms to the ground, locking eyes with her one-on-one.

"Are you satisfied now?" he said with annoyance. "Only a fool fights for sport. Unless you actually thought you would escape, which is madness."

She panted, squirming against his weight to test his grip, but he held her fast. "I didn't think I'd do it today," she said. "I just thought I'd test your strength so I know what to expect when I do escape," she said lightly, avoiding his stare.

"You can't escape," he said, his voice soft and urgent. "Adala, they won't hesitate to kill you. Don't do it." He couldn't think about what would happen if she tried to leave. She was reckless and headstrong; he knew she wouldn't be smart about it if she did attempt to escape. He didn't understand how he could care so much about someone so difficult.

"What do you mean 'they'? Like you aren't one of them?" She said desperately. "You got your promotion by turning me in, you bastard. You'll be the one hunting me down if I do escape." She swallowed, her voice raw with emotion.

He leaned forward, bringing their faces close. "Listen well," he whispered. "Now is not the time. If you are going to escape on your own, do it when we're in the hills again. You don't know the desert; you cannot hope to find water for yourself and a horse in the wastelands, and without a horse they will catch up to you without question."

"What do you care if they do?" she muttered, looking at the sleeve of his tunic instead of his face. "I'm just a body to guard. That's all I am to you."

"You have no idea what you are to me," he blurted.

Silence hung between them a moment, and Tobin became suddenly all too aware of his position on top of her. She seemed to realize it too, shifting uncomfortably beneath him. He released his hold on her wrists abruptly, but remained where he was, his body pressed against hers.

"Then what am I, Tobin?" she said, finally lifting her crisp blue eyes to meet his gaze.

He brushed his fingertips over her flushed cheek. He desperately wished he could protect her. Wished they could know one another under different circumstances, in different lives. But Tobin knew this life was the only one they had, and he knew that she was the most spirited, loyal woman he had ever been privileged to know. If he did anything that brought her harm, it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Promise me, Adala," he whispered, growing almost inaudible. "Promise me you won't try to escape. Not without me."

### Chapter 25: Adala

"When do you think we should leave?" Adala said as they approached camp, brimming with excitement. She could still feel the flush in her cheeks and warmth on her skin where Tobin had gripped her wrists. The memory of his nearness and the joy of knowing his true allegiance added a spring to her steps.

"I'm not sure yet. Before Burano has the desert clans on his side, that's for sure," Tobin responded. "We can discuss our options during tomorrow's ride. Right now I have to send a group of men after our pile of brush and go water the horses."

"Sounds good," she said. "What should I do?"

"You have the freedom to roam camp now that we're well into the desert. I don't have to babysit you. Eat some food from your saddle bags and wait for me," he said. "You're just not allowed near Burano's tent without a guard or within twenty paces of the water barrels — Burano is a bit touchy about you having more than a day's supply of water on hand."

"Imagine that." She grinned at him, feeling an unfamiliar sense of well being.

Tobin smiled back, revealing his deep dimples, and headed toward the other side of camp where the wagon with water barrels stood. As soon as they parted, a million thoughts swarmed through Adala's mind. Her heart leaped to know that she had Tobin as an ally, and she couldn't wait to begin planning their escape. She made her way between piles of saddle bags, bedrolls, and groups of men playing cards while they ate their evening meals, imagining a future that left Burano in the dust behind her, Shem, and Tobin. It was a bright thought, having endless possibilities before her. She felt both relieved and giddy about Tobin's revelation, suddenly not encumbered by the helpless feeling that had consumed her in captivity.

The sense of relief followed her as she made her way to her bed roll. She stared at the stars, enveloped in her own thoughts and too excited to sleep just yet. But with the burden of planning escape now shared by Tobin, her body relaxed at last and she began to drift into a peaceful sleep.

***

The next day, as they pressed on in their travels, the rock outcropping in the distance grew larger and larger, until eventually they reached its base at dusk.

"Water!" Adala heard someone shout. Beneath the rusty red rock formation, nestled in some meager trees and shrubbery, lay a small pond, maybe ten paces across.

Burano stood in his stirrups to address his men, voice booming over the excited rumble of conversation. "First we replenish our barrels of water and give our horses a drink, then we all have a drink ourselves. Bring up the wagon!"

The men did as he said, and others began making camp. Jarod found coyote tracks in the dirt, and he and Tobin followed the trail away from camp to hunt.

Adala scraped the sweat from Dusty's ratty coat and led him to a meager patch of grass, at which he gnawed greedily. She admired the sandy red lines in the tower above them. The cliff bent inward so that the rock sheltered the pond from the sun. To her left, though, the rock rose in layers of sandstone, rising straight into the air, maybe fifty feet up. She wandered to the base and put a hand on the stone. It was hot from the sun and gritty against her skin. She studied the layers of sand made solid by time. Red, tan, brown. The last rays of the sun glistened in the rock, creating a dazzling rainbow of earth tones.

"Thinking of climbing to the top?" said Tobin, coming up behind her.

She turned. "How far do you think you can see from up there?"

"Maybe a hundred leagues," he estimated. "It depends on the day. I'll race you up."

"I thought you were hunting," she said.

"I was hunting. Now Ollie is starting a fire to cook my catch, and I am beating you." He grinned and leaped up to grab a ledge of rock a few feet above his head, propelling himself up the wall like a cat.

Adala was no stranger to climbing, however, and she heaved herself up as fast as she could. The rock layers made for easy hand-holds, and she climbed swiftly after him, catching up before the halfway point. They both gasped for breath by the time they reached the top, Adala's heart pounding joyously in her chest.

"I won," she said, standing and offering him a hand.

He waved her away, catching his breath. "We tied, fair and square."

"But you had a head start," she said, turning to survey the terrain. The top of the rock was worn smooth by time, and orange-red. She looked out to see the encampment below, and even the mountains in the distance. In the other direction, she saw mostly flatness, with a few hills here and there and some other rock formations.

"When does the desert end?" she asked, walking to the edge of the rock to look out.

"The desert dwellers say it takes a month to cross. And they travel light," Tobin added, coming to stand next to her.

"Why do they stay in the desert if they are capable of traveling away?" Adala said. "It doesn't seem very practical."

Tobin got a far-away look. "It's integral to their culture," he said. "And their faith. They believe the gods condemned them to the desert because of their sins. They also believe they thrive on the spirits of the desert, and until a day comes when the spirits lead them out, they are destined to remain."

"You believe that?" Adala asked, looking up at him.

Tobin shrugged. "I don't know. Did the gods banish them to the desert? Probably not. The Bolgish Empire made settlements in the fertile lands and drove them out. Your people have a habit of banishing the undesirables."

"What about the Flairnishmen? Flairn is east of here, beyond the desert. Diggeret is south. Why couldn't they find sanctuary there?"

"The desert people aren't good at making friends," Tobin said. "Their spiritual practices would look like evil witchcraft to your people, not worship."

"You've seen these things?" Adala said.

Tobin looked into the distance next to her. "I've seen enough."

She sensed he would not welcome more questions, though she ached to learn more about the desert people. About Tobin's past. His face was solemn, creases deepening on his forehead as he stared into the horizon. She tried to envision what had transpired between him and the desert clans that would cut him off so permanently from their culture. Surely they must be a savage people, to turn away Tobin and Sarah.

Adala hesitated, then rested a hand on his shoulder. "We will leave all of this behind," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring voice.

Tobin swallowed and made a slight nod. "I will begin hoarding my food, maybe swiping some from the supply wagon. We will have to travel quickly and make it to the Wanderling Village to get my sister. If we escape, Burano may use her as a hostage, the same way he used you as leverage to get Shem."

Adala nodded. "Of course. Then, we're going home." She sighed at the sound of that word. "You'll hear the lapping of the waves and smell the fishy smells of the market. The air out here is dry and dusty. You won't believe what you've been missing when you feel the ocean breeze." Her voice trailed off as she daydreamed of sleeping atop a straw mattress instead of a thin blanket. The comforts of home called to her.

"It will be an adventure," said Tobin. "We'd better head back though. They may wonder where we are."

They carefully started the climb back down, sounds of merriment drifting up from camp, where Ollie sliced coyote meat on a slab of stone.

Adala was surprised and a little concerned to see how quickly the water level had dropped in the pond. After the barrels had been filled, the horses watered, and the men's flasks dipped, the pond was a mere mud hole, lost of its serene, crystal-clear shine.

At their encampment, Adala found Shem sitting on a rock next to the cooking fire, listening to Ollie sing a sailor's song. She walked briskly to catch a seat on the ground next to him, surprised and elated to see him outside of Burano's tent.

"I'm so glad to see you!" Shem said, wrapping his arms around her in delight.

Adala returned his hug and began singing along to Ollie's sailor's song, overjoyed to have a rare evening with her brother and glad to be done with the long day's ride. Hope of leaving with Tobin and Shem soon certainly lifted a weight that had been hanging over her since the night Shem had been taken. Even Jarod's scowl didn't dampen her spirits. He stood behind Shem, a hand on the hilt of his sword while he watched her.

"Don't be tense," Adala said to the soldier. "Are you afraid I'm going to steal my brother away right here, surrounded by your men?"

"I'm hoping you try just that," Jarod said, "so I have the pleasure of killing you myself."

"A bit harsh," she said. "I don't like you talking like that in front of my brother."

Shem shifted uncomfortably. "Adala, what is Ollie singing about?" he asked, changing the subject.

She turned him. "He's singing of the Maiden of Halorea. The legend says her husband died at sea, and she waits for him on the rocks of Halorea Island, singing softly. Many sailors claim to hear her voice when they sail by that place."

"Or, if you listen to Ollie's version of the tale, you can see her on the cliffs," Tobin said, sitting down on the other side of Shem. "He told me once that he stole the Maiden away from her island, and sailed with her to Sabria."

"That's far away," Shem said. "Even you've never been to Sabria, Adala."

"You have an uncanny memory for your age," Adala said. "Do you remember all the places I've sailed?"

"I don't always remember the names of the cities," Shem said in a discouraged voice, "but I remember where the cities are."

"How do you know where they are?" Tobin asked quietly.

"I feel them," Shem said simply as he stared into the flickering fire. "I can feel lots of people if I concentrate. And I always feel Mum and Adala."

"You always know where I am?" Adala said, her voice strained.

"Always," Shem confirmed. "I can find Tobin really easily now, too. And Burano."

A lump rose in Adala's throat. "And Father?"

Shem looked at her with sad gray eyes. "Not anymore."

A sense of dread filled Adala's gut. "I have to go for a walk," she whispered, standing. "No, not with you," she said as Tobin rose to join her. "Please, stay with Shem. I don't want Jarod to be his only guard." She gave him a grateful look as she turned to leave the group.

Adala wandered around the rock structure alone, stopping occasionally to look at an odd bug or soft, spongy plant. Flies and beetles buzzed around the plants, and she spotted lizards emerging from between the rocks as the air cooled off for the evening.

You have a choice, Adala thought to herself. You can either blindly move forward using only logic, or take a leap of faith and trust Shem.

Believing in Shem's ability was harder than she imagined. Her insides knotted at the thought of her brother being correct, that their father was dead. But Burano seemed to trust Shem's intuition, and she had no proof against her brother possessing some sort of power from the gods. Even Tobin appeared to be reluctantly accepting the truth. Deep down, she knew Shem's instincts were legitimate. It seemed evident that he had a true gift, even if she didn't understand it. How and why he had it she would never understand. And, if her parents had known about this gift, why had they hidden it from her?

Adala looked into the darkening sky, welcoming the sight of the constellations. She used to chart by them on her father's ship. But even as she searched the sky, Adala knew that the answers she was looking for were not to be found in the stars above, but inside herself.

"You always taught me to question and to think, and to not believe anything I can't see and feel for myself," Adala murmured, mainly to herself. "Why couldn't you prepare me for this, Father?"

If Shem is speaking truthfully, Adala thought with a cringe, he is in even more danger than I thought. If she were to believe in her brother's strange ability, as Burano seemed to, she knew Shem could be used for great evil. In war, he could track movements of armies. He could be used to sneak past patrols and find individual targets in a battlefield.

Adala shuddered. "Even if it isn't true, I need to get him out of here, and now," she said with finality. She took swift strides in her walk back to camp, rubbing her bare arms as the evening chill swept up from the desert floor.

When she returned to camp, she found Shem where she had left him, gazing into the dying fire and chewing freshly cooked meat.

"Adala, I saved some for you," Shem said, offering her a slice.

Adala bit into it gratefully. "Where is Tobin?" she asked Jarod. "There's something I need to discuss with him."

"I am not the half-breed's keeper," Jarod growled, still guarding Shem and staring at Adala behind cold gray eyes.

Shem shrugged. "Earlier, Burano asked him to his tent. I don't know if they're still talking, or if Tobin is on guard duty, but he's still there."

She nodded and turned to weave her way between groups of men having their dinner and enjoying a bit of grog after the long, hot day. She approached the tent with her thoughts distracted. Whatever Tobin says, we need to make our move soon, she insisted to herself. Whatever the dangers of the desert may be, Shem is in far more danger with these men. We need to do it tonight, if possible. No time to slowly collect food rations. She looked over her shoulder at the shallow water hole. The water was murky, but drinkable. They could supply themselves and slip away in the night during Tobin's watch. Hopefully it would be hours before someone noticed that they were gone.

She stopped as she heard the sound of voices from within Burano's tent.

"Has she described any other odd behaviors or abilities of the child?" came Burano's demanding voice.

"Not really," came Tobin's voice in response. "She seems more skeptical than anyone else about him having any sort of gift in the first place. She doesn't want to believe Shem is right about her father being dead."

Adala froze, her pulse racing in her ears. She was at the back of the tent, unable to peek through the door. But she heard the muffled voices through the canvas walls.

"Ah yes," said Burano. "A woman who loses her father is in a precarious state. I need to be sure she is complacent for a few more days. It's not just because her presence here ensures the boy's cooperation—she is actually helping me prepare for what's to come. Her readings about the desert tribes will be helpful for the negotiations to come."

"I have been telling you about the desert tribes," Tobin's voice said defensively. "I know more than what your scrolls can tell you."

"So you keep telling me," Burano snapped. "Your knowledge is useful, but vague. My scrolls hold valuable information specific to Shem's role in the coming war. And you certainly cannot read the script to me, now can you?"

"No, I can't." Tobin's voice was curt.

"Your role will come when we meet with the tribes," Burano said. "You're certain you can translate? Good. Until then, your job is to keep Adala occupied."

"She is impatient to make her escape, Sir," Tobin said.

Adala's stomach churned, and she brought her hand to her mouth to keep from choking. She could feel the conversation's direction, and silently begged that she was wrong. That somehow she was hearing things incorrectly.

"I don't care what you need to do," Burano continued, "make her guilty, promise her freedom if she just waits a couple of weeks, seduce her even. I'm depending on you for this. Jarod thinks we should beat or threaten her into submission."

"It wouldn't work," Tobin interrupted quickly. "I will occupy her. She wouldn't respond well to physical intimidation."

"I assumed as much," Burano said. "She's as bull-headed as the worst of my soldiers, but she's a woman all the same. Romance her; continue offering your sympathies and promise her freedom. She can be trained, just like the rest of them. And keep up your companionship with the boy as well. He is fond of you, and if he is keeping any secrets from me I want to hear them."

"Yes, sir."

A burning fire rose in Adala's ribs, and she clenched her fists. She turned on her heel and stalked away, face burning with anger and shame. Her joy from earlier in the day, planning her escape with Tobin, turned to a stab of pain and humiliation. I'm just a foolish girl, she thought, believing anything a man tells me just because he acts like a friend. For the sake of the gods, why did I trust him? She recalled how exhilarated she had felt when he promised to escape with her and Shem, as they lay in the desert together. She had experienced such warmth and joy, she could have kissed the man. Now she trembled with fury at the thought.

Her eyes stung with tears, but she clenched her teeth and willed herself not to cry. Not over him, she told herself. Don't cry for him.

### Chapter 26: Tobin

It is a mistake to wait, Tobin thought immediately as he emerged from Burano's tent. Burano said that we are less than days away from our meeting with the desert tribes. I cannot let that happen. He thought of Shem. The boy clearly had some kind of gift that Tobin did not understand, but if he knew one thing it was that the desert people would react in the extreme when presented with something beyond their understanding. Whether the extreme reaction would be positive or negative, he did not care to discover.

We must leave tonight, he thought, looking around. But we have to get a head start. First, I saddle the horses. Then maybe a diversion... a brush fire in the bushes maybe? We can fetch Shem in the chaos and ride away. His mind raced with the possibilities, and he walked faster. His heart pumped rapidly when he realized the risk he was about to take. There's no turning back, he thought, striding towards the campfire where Adala sat perched next to the coals.

"Where's Shem?" he said, surveying the area. Adala sat alone by the fire, the rest of the men in a circle on the other side of the fire, deep in a card game and not paying attention to them.

"Jarod had him taken to the tent for the night," Adala said shortly. She sat with her legs hugged into her chest, wrapped in the blanket he had given her on the first night of their journey.

Tobin crouched next to her and said quietly, "We need to work out a plan."

Adala's jaw muscles clenched visibly, and she finally turned to look him in the eye. "Let me make one thing clear," she said through her teeth.

"What's wrong?" Tobin met her eyes, confused at her body language. She quivered, glaring at him enough to make him shift uncomfortably.

She continued in a hurry, words tumbling out over one another. "You have no right to intervene in my brother's life, no more than you have a right to mine. You are a vicious backstabber—a mutineer at heart, playing every side."

Tobin balked at her words, struggling to intervene and ask what on earth she was talking about, but she continued without so much as a breath.

"First I thought you were Burano's man out of necessity, guarding me because it was your only option," she spat, anger flashing in her eyes. "Then I hear you're a sympathizer with the desert dwellers. Then you say you're on my side. It's all a farce. You're one of them, through and through, and I don't want you confusing my brother with your false kindness. Everything about you is a lie, and I bought all of it because it's what I wanted to hear. You are deplorable, and you can fall on one of your arrows the next time you go hunting for all I care."

"You heard my conversation with Burano," Tobin said, suddenly realizing the source of her anger. He sighed, struggling to find an explanation. He felt himself flush with shame; he was truly embarrassed to have accepted Burano's order to grow close to Adala in the first place. But he had to explain everything to her—she needed to understand his position.

"You're perceptive," she exclaimed before he could get a word out, voice rising. "You aren't even denying anything! The game's over, Tobin. No use still trying to play. Leave me alone and try to keep out of my sight, or I might be sick."

"You don't understand," he said. "Even when Burano asked me to keep an eye on you, I resented him. I only tried to protect you!"

"That's sure what it sounded like," Adala said, standing up to leave.

Tobin rose quickly and grabbed her arm, pulling her close so only she could hear him. "Adala, please. I meant what I said. We can escape. Together."

"That's exactly what he told you to say, you bastard!" she said, prying her arm away.

"Please, just listen!" Tobin pleaded, grasping her hand this time.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she seethed in a low, trembling voice, leaning in to meet his eye with a hateful glare. "I heard everything. There's no point in pretending. Jarod was right all along—you're just a lowly desert rat."

Tobin blinked, feeling as if she just slapped him in the face. He had heard that insult from the mouths of many soldiers. But it had never hurt the way it did when she said it just then. He turned away, looking into the fire instead of at her. He cleared his throat and said slowly, "If that's what you think of me, there's nothing more I can say."

"I suppose not," she said, turning on her heel to leave.

Tobin crouched next to the fire and stirred it with a stick, still fuming at Adala's insolence. If she would have given me a minute, he thought, I would have explained everything. But he realized that there was probably nothing he could say to gain her trust. He hadn't given her reason to trust him.

I still have to get them out of here. If I don't, dozens may die. Or thousands, if Burano succeeds in bringing a force against Gerstadt. He thought about Shem's quiet, honest disposition. The boy needed to go home, and even Adala, in all her recklessness and backstabbing comments, deserved to have some sort of control over her future. And Tobin was their only hope. Their last chance for freedom.

And they were his last chance for freedom as well. Freedom from Burano's rule and from the shadows of his past with the desert dwellers. Tobin envisioned a future by the sea, with endless waters at his feet. If he returned Adala to the city, perhaps her connected fiancé would allow Tobin and Sarah to become part of Gerstadt's community. Maybe even get their own cottage, close to Adala and Shem. Her fiancé, the master of arms, he thought, imagining Adala's future, playing house with what was sure to be an older, politically powerful man. It was difficult and somewhat painful to envision. No, he thought. I won't take any charity for bringing Adala back to her beloved. Sarah and I will make our own way, maybe sailing to a different city. There is so much of the world for us to see, without being witness to Adala's happily ever after.

Tobin resolved to continue his plans for escape. When it came time for action, he knew Adala would have no choice but to trust him.

***

Tobin prepared himself for more of Adala's hateful remarks and glares the next morning, but received neither. Her fuming demeanor was replaced with cold ambivalence and outright avoidance, as she barely acknowledged his presence while he led her to Burano's tent in the morning for a reading. In fact, she brightly greeted almost everyone besides him, causing him some amusements at the lengths she went to in ignoring him.

As they stepped into Burano's tent where he and Shem stood pouring over the maps, the commander looked up only for only a second.

"Please, sit down. Shem will be charting while you read. I am anxious to hear more about the desert tribes before we begin our negotiations with them. Tobin, you should stay too. I want to hear what you think about the writings and if they are accurate."

Shem greeted them with an eager wave from a map spread out on an overturned water barrel. "Are you going to read to us about the monk today?" Shem asked excitedly.

"I guess I am," Adala said, sitting on a blanket across from him and taking a scroll from Burano, never allowing herself a glance at Tobin. She paused to look at Shem's work on the map. Pebbles appeared to be cast across its surface, as usual.

"You see what I'm doing, Adala?" Shem said. "The rocks are where people are. This one over here is home, where Mum is." He pointed to a stone next to Gerstadt on the map. "This one is where we are." He reached over to touch a little button a few inches into the desert portion of the map.

"We aren't even halfway across the desert," Adala exclaimed, dragging a finger across the expanse of the desert on the map.

"We have a clan close by," Tobin remarked, surveying the map. Dozens of rocks were scattered across the desert area, but one was particularly close to the button that represented their location.

Shem pointed to the one Tobin referred to, maybe an inch and a half away from their location. "This one switched directions when we made camp yesterday. Burano says they must have seen the smoke from our campfires. They are coming to meet with us."

"Meet with us," Tobin repeated with a bad taste in his mouth. Slaughter us for stealing their water, more like, he thought.

"Adala, please begin," Burano urged, kneeling next to Shem. "We will be tracking their movements as you read, but you may ignore us."

Adala's words were clear and crisp with twinges of annoyance. The monk's writings described how, even though the desert clan that he traveled with was fierce and slaughtered any enemy encroaching their hunting region or stealing water, the desert people were quite generous to him as an outsider, never turning him away when he was thirsty. Tobin listened with mild interest, always amused by the exaggerated accounts of the Roharian customs. The monk described a blessing ceremony as though it was a violent affair, but to Tobin it sounded like it was a feast in his honor.

While Adala read the words, Tobin watched Shem. He tweaked the placement of the rocks every now and then, closing his eyes in concentration. Tobin could hardly guess what went on inside the child's head. He didn't understand it, and realized that he probably never would. But he did know that he wanted to protect Shem if he could.

The reading went on to describe the different weapons of the 'savages,' deadly accurate bows with long range, plus arrows and spears that were dipped in poison.

"How many of these desert dwellers are coming to greet us?" Adala asked abruptly, when she read the part about the poison spears.

"It doesn't concern you," Burano said; but at the same time, Shem blurted, "Thirty five or so."

Tobin knew their party was made up of a hundred men. He shifted uncomfortably at those odds though. The Roharian bows had longer ranges than the Wanderling crossbows. He wished they had caught the attention of a smaller clan. We should leave before they get here, he thought.

"Don't concern yourself about our negotiations and strategy," Burano said, studying Adala's face as she looked nervously at all the rocks strewn around the desertlands portion of the map. "You and your brother will be kept safe," he said. "I think we've had enough for the day, however. You're distracting your brother from our work."

Adala rose reluctantly and nodded farewell to Shem. "I will see you tomorrow then?" she said to Burano.

"In the morning," he said. "Bright and early."

"I'll be here." She stalked out of the tent, brushing past Tobin roughly.

"Tobin, you stay," called Burano as Tobin began to follow her.

The commander continued looking at the map while he spoke. "I want to see you tonight so we can go over some things. I'm interested to hear your thoughts about the reading, and also get an in-depth look at how we should approach the meeting with this clan. I know I suggested you keep an eye on Adala, but things have changed now that this tribe is on its way here. I want to instruct the men on how to not seem imposing to the desert people. I will instruct them to heed your word and seek you out if they have any questions."

Tobin let out a long sigh, realizing that his freedom of the camp had just been restricted. Now I will draw attention wherever I go, he thought. But maybe with my guidance, he won't provoke the clan into a battle that we would likely lose.

### Chapter 27: Adala

Adala walked back to her supplies and paced while she nibbled at the dried meat and some cactus slices from the day before. We should have escaped long ago, she thought bitterly. I may have missed a good chance. Now that the group is staying here to wait for the desert tribe to come to us, we're going to be watched day and night by a bunch of soldiers who have nothing better to do. She slapped her forehead with her palm. Stupid girl! She exclaimed inwardly. You've played right into their hands, reading Burano the scripts that will help him use Shem. Letting Tobin spy on you and impair your judgment. Gods, why did I let him get to me? She slumped in the dirt.

"You look especially cross today," said Trigg, dropping his supply bag next to her and taking a seat.

"Aren't you usually the one feeding the horses in the morning?" she snapped, wishing him away.

"Don't bite my head off," he said, putting his hands up. "I'm your guard today."

"Of course," she said. "I can't say I'm not glad to be rid of Tobin though."

Trigg scowled. "I thought you and he got on well."

She sighed angrily. "Not anymore. I'm done trying to trust you people. If you're going to be my guard today, can you do me the decency of shutting up?"

Trigg blinked, but then sat back with his arms crossed, an amused expression on his face. "Seems like you've had a lover's quarrel, that's all. Maybe I should switch back with Tobin so you can work it out."

"We're not lovers, and you can do whatever you like. If Tobin guards me, at least I will have some silence. He's usually good at that, except when Burano is asking him questions about me and my brother."

Trigg's eyes grew wide. "He was spying on you for Burano? That's a surprise, right there. I wouldn't have guessed Tobin had it in him. He's usually so..."

"Insufferable?" she muttered.

"Honorable," Trigg finished. "Ah well, I guess it's all over then. Hey Ollie!" he called. "You owe me two days' rations."

"Bullshit," Ollie called back. "The trip ain't over yet."

"What's that all about?" Adala said. "Did you bet that Tobin would betray me?"

"Nah, I bet that you two wouldn't share a bed. Ollie seems determined it will happen before we return."

"Men," she said, disgusted and appalled that her personal life had been the subject of their gambling.

"We don't have much else to bet on," Trigg admitted, shrugging sheepishly. "It's all the entertainment we have."

"There wasn't much to go on between me and Tobin, but I'm glad at least someone found amusement in it." She rolled her eyes and laid back to look at the clear sky. The sun was up now, but the rock structure still sheltered them from its harsh rays. She felt cool and refreshed, and would have been grateful to not be riding if it weren't for the fact that their lack of mobility had made it more difficult to plan an escape.

"What's Tobin doing?" Trigg said abruptly. He pointed to the rock formation.

"I don't give a care in the world," Adala said.

"No really, it's weird. I think he is cleaning the rock or something."

She glanced up and saw Tobin twenty paces away, reaching his scarf up to wipe the surface of the rock.

"That's odd, even for him," said Boggs as he came up behind them. They watched with curiosity for a few minutes, and eventually a small crowd had gathered to watch Tobin climb the wall, wiping his head scarf over the rock in random places.

"I wonder if it's a desert dweller thing," said Ollie. "For good luck maybe?"

"Maybe it's a ceremony before battle," added Boggs. "Or a strength building exercise?"

Tobin, ten feet up the rock formation, dropped to the ground abruptly, his scarf around his neck. Then he pulled it off and folded it, wringing it over a large bucket.

To Adala's surprise, the cloth dripped water into the bucket, maybe a pint of it.

"Gods, the boy is a genius," Ollie exclaimed. "It's condensation, in the shadow of the rocks. That water is probably fresher than anything we can pull from the pond."

Everyone applauded. Even Adala had to raise her eyebrows. Tobin knew more than he let on about desert life.

Tobin turned to address the crowd, somewhat uncomfortably and in a hesitant voice. "Some of the desert tribes gather water this way if they have no well nearby. They put tremendous effort into gathering each drop, and they conserve it religiously. Keep this in mind when we meet with them. Never guzzle water in front of them, but savor it. Also, never, ever, take their water." He glanced back at the sad little mud hole where there had been a clear pond when they arrived. "Too late for that, so we need to be pretty apologetic towards them."

"Can you teach me how to do that?" said Boggs after a short silence.

A few of the younger men stepped up to follow Tobin's lead, gathering water from the surface of the rock.

Adala turned away from the madness, shaking her head in wonderment at Tobin's nontraditional methods. She chose to look after Dusty for the morning instead of watching grown men soak their scarves with dew. Trigg followed her closely as she made her way to the outskirts of the camp where the horses were tethered.

"You know, I usually don't have a guard watching me all the time," she said, irritated at how closely he followed her.

"I'm not taking any chances," Trigg said. "If you leave camp, I don't want it to be on my watch. Burano would have me flogged."

She sighed and walked to where Dusty was tethered near some patchy grass, his lead rope tied to a stake in the ground. She swatted some flies away from his neck and used her hands to comb through his unruly mane.

"Do you have a horse at home?" Trigg asked, patting a gelding a few feet away. The horses were spaced out, grazing in the patchy weeds. One of them was attempting to roll, though that resulted in a tangled lead rope.

"My mother always had goats, for milk and for meat in the winter," Adala replied. "We never had need for a horse though."

"Why not?" Trigg said. "How do you get places by land?"

She shrugged, "We don't need to go places by land. Everything we need is right there, in the town and surrounding hills. If anyone wants something else, they may trade with a merchant like my father. There is only one other merchant who makes his home in Gerstadt. We're not exactly a huge trading hub, but we have everything we need."

Trigg had a faraway look. "Is it true that the sea surrounds the whole world? Every country?"

"Have you never seen a map?" she snapped. "Yes, we're surrounded by water."

"Have you sailed all the way around the world, then?" he asked.

"Not all the way around," she said, "But I've been as far as the beginning of the East Sea a time or two."

"I heard that in the east, a man can have as many wives as he chooses," Trigg said curiously.

"In some countries that is true," Adala confirmed. "But it doesn't sound too great to me. Sounds noisy and complicated. If I were a man, I don't know that I could suffer one wife, much less three or four."

Trigg laughed. "You're a strange woman, Adala."

"So I've heard," she muttered, petting Dusty's soft muzzle. The donkey pushed his nose into her stomach and began itching his head on her. "Ouch! Stop it, you dumb animal," she complained, stepping back. "Just when I was starting to like you."

"He's just being affectionate," Trigg chuckled.

The donkey snorted, and she gave up on trying to be angry with him.

"When will Shem be done with Burano's business?" she asked. "I'd like to see him when he's finished."

Trigg shook his head. "I don't know."

Adala wondered how long it would be before the approaching tribe arrived. A couple days, maybe less? Anger and fear rose inside her as the day passed on. She brooded over possible scenarios of a desert dweller attack. From the scripts she had read to Burano, they may not stop for negotiations after realizing how depleted the water in the pond had become. After their morning meal, she could scarcely call the water hole more than a murky puddle. She lurked in the shade of the rock structure all day with Trigg as her shadow, her eyes always on Burano's tent. She had worked herself into a bind and had no allies in retrieving Shem from a party of a hundred men. She hoped beyond hope that Shem would be allowed a break, but she knew that even if he was, Burano would never leave him unguarded.

### Chapter 28: Burano

When the sun rose high in the sky and the camp was no longer under the shade of the towering rock formation, Burano heard the bustle of activity in the camp pause as a horn signal bellowed from the lookout, everyone holding their breath because of what it meant.

Shem looked up from his work on the map with a questioning expression.

"That's the patrol," Burano said. "They must have spotted the clan."

"They will be here within the hour at this speed," Shem said, looking down to adjust their placement on the map again.

Burano wiped sweat from his forehead. It was a hot day for a fight. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he called Jarod to the doorway for instructions to his men: "Pack up your belongings and saddle up in case we have to make an escape. Have weapons ready, but not in your arms. Also, bring Tobin to me now and send someone after the girl. Whatever happens, keep her away from the kid and away from a horse. You never know what she might do if our meeting heads south."

Jarod nodded through his head wrap, which covered everything but his gray eyes. "How long before they reach us?" he asked.

"Soon enough that we have no time to waste," said Burano.

Jarod moved to the center of camp and began calling out orders to the men in a booming voice.

Burano turned back to Shem, bemused by the child's calm demeanor. Burano himself felt his pulse quicken at the clan's proximity. The boy's unique sensitivity did not appear to pick up on the danger that they would be in when the clan arrived.

We have to focus, he thought. It may take all the persuasion in my being to prevent these savage people from engaging us in battle. I have too much on the line to fail this time. He recalled past dealings with the desert tribes, in his earlier years as the Wanderling leader. He had thought it was a simple negotiation. They had a common enemy, Gerstadt, and they could both profit from a conquest. But dealings with these people were not easy, and he had grown weary of them.

Burano focused his mind on the prize as he pulled his crossbow out and made certain he had a full quiver. My people will only thrive with this alliance, he thought. Otherwise, it is eternity in the desolate hills.

His self-assurances did not calm his pulse, but did help his resolve. The plan will not fail, not after these months of refinement. I am confident that I will gain the friendship of this clan, and with them others will follow. If we seize Gerstadt, then... then my people will prosper and I can once again be united with my son. Burano smiled at the thought.

"There is a rider approaching camp, sir," said Tobin, ducking into the tent.

"Good. They mean to speak with us first." Burano was glad to have traveled well into the desert before catching the attention of a desert clan. The clans with territory surrounding the Wanderling village were not open to diplomacy anymore. He had made the mistake of encroaching on their land too many times and lost any chance of friendship there.

"When two clan leaders meet," Tobin said hesitantly, "they pull off their scarves so they aren't hiding their faces from one another. It's a sign of respect and honesty."

Burano nodded, more grateful than ever that he had decided to allow Tobin back into the Wanderling community after his little adolescent stunt running off to live with his mother's people. He had always known that the young man would repay the favor when the time came. "What is the rest of the clan doing as the rider approaches us?" Burano asked, looking down to Shem.

The boy placed a pebble on the map. "This is the rider," he said, "and the rest of them are hiding behind the rock structure on the other side I think. No wait... they're climbing it."

"This is bad," Tobin blurted. "If they have the higher ground, they will pick us off easily."

"They must mean to treat with me first, if they are sending a rider," Burano said.

"Sir, I don't think it's a good idea to stay here. The rider could be a distraction tactic."

Burano's eye twitched with annoyance, and he said dismissively, "I value your advice on the desert people's culture, Tobin. However, I know battle strategies better than you. Be silent unless you know something I don't."

The young man bowed his head slightly, lips pressed together in a straight line.

The minutes went by slowly, creating a hot, intense waiting game. Burano collected his thoughts, re-reading the copied scripts that Adala had made him about the warrior guide prophecy and silently rehearsing which parts to emphasize first.

"We should go out to meet him now," Shem said suddenly from his seat on the ground. "The rider is approaching the camp now."

Burano took a deep breath and stepped out of the tent and followed the gazes of his men to the approaching rider. The horse rounded the corner of the rock formation and galloped towards them, kicking up a cloud of dust thirty feet high. The rider wore brown leather pants, a billowing brown shirt, and a woven head scarf that concealed his face.

Burano watched with surprise as the lone rider did not slow upon reaching the camp. Instead, with gentle tugs on the reins, the rider guided his horse between the gawking men until he reached the center of camp, close to where Burano stood at the main tent.

The horse came to an abrupt halt, and Burano was curious to see that the horse was toned and lean, its bay coat glistening in the sun. This was no mountain pony, as most of Burano's soldiers rode. It was a prized animal.

Before Burano could address him, the rider pulled off his scarf to reveal brown skin and black hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. He held a spear in the air and called out to the camp, turning his horse around for all to hear his booming voice. Anger spouted from every word, but the language itself was smooth and musical, contrasting with the harsh consonants of the Bolgish language.

The meaning of the desert dweller's words were lost to Burano, who glanced quickly at Tobin.

As the desert dweller spoke with a deep anger in his voice, shouting at the camp and pointing his spear to the sky, Tobin cleared his throat and began translating in a low voice to Burano.

"He says we have trespassed on the land of the Roharian. We have stolen the life's water from his people, eaten the animal life that gives them energy... or happiness. He says 'Where is your leader so he may face the wrath of the desert spirits.'"

Burano swallowed, his mouth dry. He cleared his throat and said loudly, "Friend, I beg you forgive this offense, but I came to find you because I bear wonderful news. Please join me in my tent so that we may share the tales of our people." Burano opened his arms in greeting, then nodded to Tobin for a translation.

Let him see that we have one of his own, Burano thought. He will know we come on friendly terms.

Tobin's voice, quieter than the angry shouts of the desert rider, rang out in melodic phrases, translating Burano's words for the stranger hesitantly at first, then loud and clear.

The rider interrupted Tobin with more angry declarations, pointing his spear towards the pond next to the camp. It was scarcely a mud hole now.

"He says," Tobin began, "that we have offended the desert spirits and harmed his tribe's livelihood. He asks what we have to say in our defense, with the gods and the spirits of the desert as witness, along with the men, women, and children of his clan who now have one less source of life's water."

Burano selected his words carefully, his muscles tense. "I know the offense we have made against you is unforgivable," he said, pausing for Tobin to interpret. "But we only drank of this water out of necessity because we needed to find your people."

"And what would you need of us?" Tobin translated the rider's reply.

"It is not out of our own need that we come," Burano said. "We have water and food of our own in our home settlement. We only left there because we have a great gift for the desert people. Not just for your tribe, but for all the tribes."

The rider's reply was harsh and short. "There is no gift more precious than the water you have stolen," Tobin translated.

"I do not know the value of my gift, but it would honor me for you to accept it," said Burano.

The rider didn't even let Tobin finish interpreting. He shouted loudly and waved his arm in three sharp gestures, looking at the sky.

Tobin looked up and said hastily, "His tribe is up there," he said. "He asks for one reason he should let us live."

Burano followed his gaze and spotted at least two dozen lumps at the top of the rock structure. They were hooded figures, crouching at the summit of the rock with arrows nocked to bowstrings.

"We will rain arrows on your men until your life's blood returns to the earth as water," Tobin translated, his voice tense.

Burano knew they had no cover on the ground, and the archers were directly above them. There would be no running out of range, and it would be difficult to shoot straight up at them—any loosed arrows would run the chance of coming back down to impale someone else on the ground. All around Burano, soldiers gripped their sword hilts and murmured curses. Some of them nocked arrows of their own, preparing to shoot upward.

Burano held up his hand. "Do not engage!" he shouted to his men. To the rider, he said quickly, "You will let us live if you believe in the spirit guide that is destined to lead your people to the fertile lands by the sea."

Tobin translated in a jumble of words, speaking urgently.

The rider held up his hand to halt the archers on the rock. He studied Burano silently for a moment, and Burano returned the critical look. The desert dweller was in his thirties, maybe forty, with a solid build and narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Do you take me for a fool?" the rider said, through Tobin's interpretation.

"I take you for a wise leader," Burano replied. "I have found a boy, one with remarkable abilities in communion with the hearts of men, as the prophecies of your people foretell. I do not know all the signs myself, but I want to be a friend to my desert neighbors. If this is the boy your people have waited for, I did not want to miss a chance to make an introduction."

"Show me this boy," Tobin translated.

Shem emerged from the tent without being called. He trembled slightly.

"This boy told us that you would come," Burano said. "He foretold your arrival down to the very minute, and he even told me of your archers on the rock. I am not here as an enemy, but as a servant to the gods. They meant for this boy to meet you in this place."

The rider spoke after a minute's hesitation. "Show me a sign of his power," he said through interpretation.

"Shem, tell him what you told me about their clan," Burano urged. "It's okay."

Shem cleared his throat. "On the rock tower, there are fourteen women and twelve men. There are also three children up there, but they are hidden from sight, out of the way of arrows."

Tobin translated a terse reply, saying, "Your lookouts could have seen that much."

"How could our lookouts tell men from women in your clan?" Burano protested angrily, thinking, They all dress the bloody same. "The boy knew your numbers before you arrived," he reminded everyone.

The man began speaking, but Shem interrupted. He stepped forward with confidence. "There's one more thing, something I have not told Burano. One of the women, the eighth from the left. She carries a life inside her."

Burano blinked at Shem, surprised by the boy's revelation. We've got them now, he thought, looking up to the figures at the top of the rock tower. As far as he could tell, none of them looked pregnant.

Even Tobin paused to process this odd declaration before interpreting. As he spoke in translation, the rider's gaze rose to the figure Shem pointed toward, the hooded archer eighth from the left. He made a quick gesture with his arms, and the archers put away their arrows.

"What the boy says is true," the man said through Tobin's interpretation.

Burano sighed with relief, brimming at his success so far.

The clan leader continued, "Yarele, my wife, is with child by only two moons. She does not show, but the boy knows what is in her heart. I will hear your tale, and we will negotiate an agreement to forgive this offense against the spirits." He gestured to the scarce water hole.

"Good, join me in my tent and we will find an agreement," Burano said.

"I am an honest man. I make decisions with my clan as witness, and with my wife at my side."

Burano nodded, bemused by the odd practices of the clan. "Then bring them to us, and we shall make peace."

At the call of their leader, the archers on the rock slung their bows over their shoulders and began free-climbing down the face of the rock. Their limbs swung in agile swoops from one layer of rock to another, and Burano was surprised at how quickly they descended into the camp. All of them wore head wraps, loose fitting shirts, and cloth or leather pants.

As they reached the bottom, they filed through the heart of camp to stand next to their leader, who dismounted to speak with them briefly.

Burano twitched as he felt the unease of his men around the desert clan. He heard a few whispers, catching the word "savages," and "this was a mistake." He wished there was something he could do to put his soldiers at ease, but even he was uncertain what the outcome of this meeting with the clan leader would be.

The leader of the clan turned to Burano and, through Tobin, said, "If our people are to trust one another, let us show our faces." Behind him, the desert dwellers pulled off their scarves, revealing the same black curls, brown skin, and golden eyes as their leader and Tobin. Burano counted the women and was not surprised to see fourteen of them, as Shem predicted. Most had wild hair, hanging halfway down their backs. Others wore it in braids, with beads and feathers and even cactus needles entwined in the locks. The desert dweller eyes and lips were rounded and soft, but Burano saw a strength in the distinct set of their jaws. Many of the women were as tall as the men. The clan as a whole held expressions of curiosity and skepticism while they spoke to one another in quieted tones.

Burano's men pulled off their scarves at his command, and in a flurry of movement they had all removed their head coverings.

The chief introduced himself loudly to the whole camp, and Tobin followed suit with his translation. "I am Shairo, protector of the Levenor clan. This is my wife, Yarele, and my people." The chief gestured to his clanspeople. The striking woman at his side nodded in acknowledgment. She wore beads around her neck, and it looked to Burano like her hair might be braided with sharp teeth. From what animal he couldn't tell.

"I am Burano, son of Murano, leader of the Wanderling men. We are outcasts from the fertile lands by the sea, something we share with your ancestors." He spoke to Tobin. "Ask them if they would like food from our morning's hunt, or any water. They have traveled hard to reach us so soon," Burano said.

As Tobin relayed the message, a woman stepped forward and cut him off, speaking passionately and pointing at Burano.

"You dare to offer us food that you took from our territory, and give it to us like we are your guests?" Tobin translated. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts on the matter.

Burano hastily sought to make peace over the matter. "I mean no offense against your clan. Of course this is your hunting ground. Please, reclaim the food. It is yours by right."

Shairo put up his hand. "What she says is true. You have offered us great offense on many levels." He turned to his clanspeople. "But he and his men sought us out in hopes of uniting us with a child of great insight. A child possibly closer to the spirits than our own priests and priestesses."

Burano put a hand on Shem's shoulder to nudge him forward. "See for yourselves what this boy can do. Shem, show them." He handed a rolled up map to Shem, who spread it out on the ground.

The native people watched with interest, some of them whispering, as Shem took pebbles from his pocket and laid them out on the map.

"This is the nearest clan," Shem said, placing one stone. "There are only seven of them. They are a half day's walk from here." He laid another stone. "This is the next nearest clan. There are thirty-five of them, and they have been at this location over here for a few days." With each stone that Shem placed on the map Tobin relayed his every word.

Yarele, the chief's wife, knelt next to Shem and laid a hand on his, speaking quietly.

"Men and women do not live on paper," Tobin interpreted. "Show us where they are."

Shem stood hesitantly, glancing back at Burano, who nodded permission. Shem closed his eyes. "The clan with seven is that direction," he said, pointing south southeast. Then he pointed northeast, saying, "There is the clan with thirty-five."

"How many males and females are in the clan of seven?" Yarele asked.

"Five men, two women," Shem answered.

She nodded. "Our clan neighbors to the south have five males and two females," she said. "You could have known of their clan before, or seen them in your travels. Tell us something else to show your gift. Can you see the past, or the future?"

Shem shook his head. "No, I can only feel the life around me. I cannot tell the future or past of someone's spirit, but I can feel the life of your baby as it grows."

Yarele put a hand over her stomach, and looked back at her husband. Shairo said, "I told him nothing, but the boy knew."

"You have a great gift," the woman said tenderly. "The spirits are strong with you."

Burano stepped forward. "They are more than strong with him. They have marked him with the north star, resting on his shoulder." He pulled the neck of Shem's tunic down to show the splotchy birthmark. It was a bit of a long shot, but Burano knew how impressionable the primitive tribes could be when it came to faith.

The desert clan moved in closely, eager to see the mark for themselves. They spoke amongst themselves rapidly.

At last, Shairo came to Burano and spoke. "We have no priest in our clan to call on the desert spirits and see if the child is a spirit guide. But at sunset I will send a message to all the clans and we will gather ten days from now. Then the priests can tell us if this boy truly has the gift of the spirits."

"Good," Burano said, pleased by the chief's words. With all of the clans present, he could rile them into a religious fervor over Shem's gifts and convince them to depart for Gerstadt straightaway.

"How does he communicate with the whole desert?" Shem asked Tobin curiously.

"You will see," said Tobin. "They are proposing to set up their own camp just north of ours now... they will rest and then send up their message to the other clans at sunset."

The clan dispersed after parting greetings and an agreement to share a feast with Burano's men the next evening as a sign of peace. A sense of contentedness came over Burano, and he felt immensely pleased with how the negotiations fared. For the rest of the evening, he observed the desert people from afar and discussed their behavior with Tobin, who agreed that they had been overwhelmingly positive during the whole encounter. Burano had often doubted he would reach this far in his conquest for Gerstadt, and it filled him with accomplishment to see the fruit of all his labor.

And to think that I was nearly desperate enough to use a fake spirit guide to assemble the desert clans, he thought, bemused. He had always thought the whole prophecy was a sham, and planned to benefit from it by presenting a random child from his village as the savior for the desert people. But then word from Gerstadt brought him rumors of gifted children in eastern ports and from Iviannah. That was when he knew he had to find the real deal if he was to secure the unfailing loyalty of the desert dwellers. And here he was, in the middle of the desert, harvesting the fruits of his patience and good work.

While Burano soaked in the success of his first meeting with them, the desert people gathered outside of the Wanderling camp and rested in the shade of the rock structure while their children played in the afternoon. As the sun grew low in the sky, Shem's question about their communication methods was answered. The desert dwellers rallied in the last rays of daylight and built a fire. Shairo poured a flask of liquid over the flames, and the smoke turned black as night. The clanspeople took a sheet of oiled leather and suspended it over the fire for seconds at a time, letting the smoke rise in intervals. Burano watched with mild interest as great black plumes rose into the sky.

"Surely you can't see that across the whole desert," he said, turning to Tobin for explanation.

"No, but look," Tobin said, pointing to the horizon. An answering plume of black smoke was already rising into the sky several miles away. "Each clan repeats the message in their own campfire at dusk."

"That's incredible," said Burano. "They are a lot more organized that I thought. Can you read their signals?"

"No," Tobin admitted. "They don't use the signals all that often. I never learned them."

Soon, the horizon was littered with smoke clouds. Burano wondered how intricate their code was. He imagined messages couldn't be too complicated using smoke signals, but the chief Shairo had seemed confident that the other tribes would arrive in ten days. He supposed they would. Then came the real challenge of persuading an entire race to come under his command. He had his work set out for him, but Burano was prepared. He had been working towards this moment for almost thirty years.

### Chapter 29: Adala

Adala observed from a distance as the fire died and the sky grew dark. After an eventful day she found a comfortable stillness settle in the air, and the natives shed their top layer of clothing. Underneath their loose shirts, they wore leather vests, most holstered with knives. A child in the clan caught a lizard and began cooking it over a fire. A young man with some type of wooden flute began playing a longing tune, and some of them sang along in smooth notes, their foreign words flowing from one syllable to the next like the voices of angels.

"They aren't what you expected, are they?" said Ollie, coming behind her.

"Not at all," Adala replied. "They sounded so brutal from all the stories. And when they appeared at the top of the rock formation earlier, I thought for sure they'd kill us."

"They have been merciful," Ollie said as they both continued to watch the clan from a distance. "I've scarcely seen them make peace so easily. Your brother must have struck a chord with them."

"I just hope he can strike a chord with the entire population of the desert," she said. "Otherwise, they may slaughter us yet."

"True enough. Best not worry about it today though. Get your rest. Burano might have you up early to read again." Ollie yawned. "I wish you could take my watch, if you are going to stay up watching the tribe. I could take your place and sleep!"

Adala rolled her eyes and brought out her blankets, lying down reluctantly for the night. Sleep came slowly for her as her mind raced through the events of the day. But at last, her eyelids drooped shut and she embraced the comfort of sleep.

The following morning, Burano did not send for Adala to read for him. She wanted so badly to see Shem, but was disappointed to be sent out with a foraging party instead. She, Trigg, and Boggs meandered past the desert dweller camp to find food. The clan was gathered in a circle, faces raised to the sky in prayer. Adala wondered for what they prayed.

"Did you see the chief's horse?" Trigg asked. "It's magnificent."

Boggs nodded. "His saddle is just a leather pad though, no supply bags or stirrups or anything."

"They don't look like they have many supplies," Adala remarked. She saw blankets here and there in the camp, but the desert dwellers seemed to only carry a waterskin, a bow and quiver, and the clothes on their backs. Many of them had large staffs or spears as well, but in all they packed much more lightly than Burano's men.

"My real question," said Boggs, "is why the women dress like that. Their clothes grip all the wrong places. There's nothing appealing about a woman in a man's clothes."

Adala laughed, looking down at her own trousers and tunic. "Thanks a lot," she said.

Trigg continued looking back at the camp even after they had passed the desert dwellers. "I like how they dress," he said. "I like to see their legs. And did you see them late last night? Some of them took their over-shirts off when it grew cool. All they had was vests underneath. You could see their shape then."

"I missed it," said Boggs, disappointed. "I was on third watch, so I was asleep early last night."

Trigg grinned. "And you thought I was unlucky for drawing first watch."

"Aren't we supposed to be finding food, gentlemen?" Adala prodded, impatient. "Let's scrounge something before it gets hot out. I left my shawl back at camp and I don't want to get sunburnt."

"Good idea. Check by those rocks over there and we'll harvest slices of cactus over here." Boggs directed her to some boulders in the shadow of the rock structure.

Adala rolled one rock over and saw a lizard the size of her forearm scamper away. She tried to grasp its tail as it ran under another stone in the pile, but caught nothing. She could still see him, huddled against stone deep in a crevice. Wanting a better angle, she stepped onto a rock near the bottom of the pile.

"Almost got you," she said. She reached in her arm and felt its tough skin. "Aha!" she exclaimed, pulling it out. But in her haste to retrieve the lizard, she lost her footing. The rock she stood on tipped, and Adala fell backwards, landing hard on the ground.

The lizard scrambled away in a flash, and Adala cursed. But just then she heard a hissing sound and froze. She moved her head slowly to look by her feet. From behind the rock that she had turned over lay a snake nearly five feet long and as wide around as her thigh. It was pale, with tan markings on its back and red eyes. It slithered right next to her feet, head raised and tongue flicking out rapidly.

Adala's muscles felt paralyzed for a second, but she gathered the sense to sit up and slowly scoot back.

As she moved, the snake hissed, baring fangs at her.

"Boggs," she called out, as loudly as she dared. Her eyes never left the snake. In the fields and woods around Gerstadt Adala had seen snakes of varying colors and sizes, but none near as large as this one. She heard Boggs and Trigg arguing about the effectiveness of spears as a weapon. "Boggs!" she whimpered, scrambling backwards. The snake's head shot out and snapped at her leg, but she moved away just in time. "Is this snake venomous?" she cried in a panic.

The boys stopped talking, and then she heard Trigg curse.

"Hell, I don't know," said Boggs' voice. "Get away from it."

"I'm trying," she shrieked, moving back slowly. The snake kept pace, slithering in wide arcs. It extended to maybe six feet in length as it uncoiled completely. But it was the fangs which held her attention.

"Tobin would know," said Trigg.

"Just shoot it," said Adala urgently. "I don't care if it's venomous or not at this point. Boggs, put an arrow through the damned thing."

"Right," said Boggs. She saw his shadow as he fumbled with the crossbow.

The snake raised its head and hissed again at Boggs' movement, and Adala tried to scramble back yet again, but it lashed out towards her. She saw it move as if in slow motion, baring its fangs to strike. But its forward momentum was interrupted with a blur, and the snake was flung backwards against the dirt with a loud thwunk.

Adala stood on shaky legs. The snake lay pinned to the ground with an arrow through its eye, its body writhing against the dirt in short spasms. She turned her head around to see Boggs staring dumbfounded at the snake, his crossbow still not strung. Behind him maybe fifty paces stood a desert dweller from the clan. He lowered his bow and walked towards them slowly.

"Nice shot!" said Boggs quietly.

From a distance, the desert dweller looked much like Tobin, curly black hair sticking out in every which direction. But he wore leather pants and a vest that bared his arms, bulkier than Tobin's.

Trigg, Boggs, and Adala watched in a stunned silence while the desert dweller plucked his arrow out of the snake, wiped it on his pants, then returned it to his quiver. He turned to Adala and smiled, putting his right hand across to her right shoulder in greeting.

"For you," he said, voice thick with accent. He thrust the snake into her arms, and she fumbled to hold its weight.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do you know Bolgish?"

"No speak," he said, shrugging. Adala noticed at least three scars on his broad shoulders. Though he appeared not much older than she, he had clearly seen a few battles, or at least some run ins with wild animals.

"How about Diggerish?" she asked, switching languages. The desert bordered northern Diggeret, and the languages had some similarities in the general melanic sound of them; she thought he may speak some Diggerish.

He shook his head, still keeping his golden eyes on Adala.

"Thank you for this gift," she said, lifting the snake corpse. "I am... grateful."

He seemed to not understand the last part, but he bowed his head slightly to accept her thanks. He started to leave, but turned back to add, "Ravi." He put a hand to his chest.

"I'm Adala," she said, pointing to herself.

"Pretty." His eyes moved across her, and Adala thought he meant to say more than her name was pretty.

Adala let out a long breath as he turned away to return to the desert dweller camp.

"Someone has an admirer," said Boggs.

"More like a life saver," she corrected.

"We should put you in mortal peril more often if it means free food," Trigg jested, taking the snake from her arms. "Let's bring this to Ollie. He will cook it real well for tonight's feast."

"Feast?" Adala said. "I haven't heard."

"We're dining with the clan," Boggs said. "It's a ceremonial peace-making meal. There will be dancing afterwards. I am eager to see how the native women move!"

They lugged the snake back to camp, and Ollie was glad to see it. "That will feed a good few people," he said. "Adala, help me skin it and skewer it with this spear so we can cook it evenly over the fire."

After the better part of an hour, they had the bare snake meat suspended over the fire on a spear, and Adala slowly turned it around and around while Ollie rubbed salt and various dried herbs onto the reptile meat.

"This will be quite the feast tonight," he said.

"Won't it grow cold before our feast at sunset though?" Adala said.

"It takes all day to cook it right," Ollie said. "Just keep rotating it over the fire. Slow and steady, lass."

She did as he instructed and listened as he taught her about the different herbs he crushed over the meat. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about cooking, much more than her anyway. Adala's mouth watered as the day went on, and scent of the meat cooking drew many longing glances from soldiers in the camp. As the sun grew high in the sky and she was no longer protected by the shadow of the rock structure, she put on her head wrap and even wrapped her chapped hands to shield them from the heat of the fire. The day was long and hot, but at least she felt like she was achieving something besides just lurking around Burano's tent in the hopes that Shem would be allowed to see her. Besides, Tobin was at Burano's tent all the time now, and he was the last person she wanted to see.

Adala noticed a cooking fire in the desert dweller camp as well as evening drew near. She saw the gray smoke rising in wisps. Around her, Ollie and a group of younger men plucked needles from cactus slices and seasoned them, suspending them over the fire on sticks. They filled two bushels full of the cactus chunks, and a few of the men brought back medium sized lizards and a hare to cook. By sundown, they had an array of food. It wasn't the most exquisite meal Adala had ever laid eyes on, but she was certain she would never appreciate having a hot meal as much as she did right then. How long had they traveled in the desert-- two weeks? Three maybe? She couldn't say, but the weariness of travel made her appreciate even the most haphazardly collected feast.

As dusk came, so did the desert dwellers. They arrived in Burano's camp carrying baskets of food. Most had herbs and foraged greens, all gathered that day. Adala watched as they laid the baskets by the soldiers' feast. She was surprised to see how much they had gathered, and the variety of plants. The Wanderlings had mostly collected slices of cactuses on their foraging trips, seeing as cactus was the only abundant and edible plant that grew aplenty in the harsh desert terrain. As she looked closer at the desert dwellers' baskets of greens, she realized that the mixed herbs seemed to be grilled and crisp with crickets and slimy worms. She gagged at the realization. They did have one coyote though, cooked whole over a fire without even being skinned first.

Burano emerged from the gathering crowd, Shem and Tobin at his side, and raised his hands for silence. The soldiers quieted their disgusted remarks upon seeing the uncouth feast of the desert dwellers and listened for Burano's words.

"Friends, this night we make peace and celebrate the potential of our gifted young friend, Shem," he paused for translation. "Let us share this meal as brothers and pray that it gives us strength to serve justice."

Shairo led his people in a passionate prayer, all their faces lifted worshipfully to the darkening sky. When they were finished, Burano announced the beginning of the feast, and the crowd gathered in for everyone to get what they wanted from the feast. Adala helped by slicing off chunks of the tender snake meat for a long line of hungry people. The soldiers wanted large servings, but Ollie chastised her for allowing it. "Give them a slim piece. There isn't enough to go around, and we want the savages to have some of it."

She nodded and began cutting smaller pieces, handing them to the soldiers as they came. Ravi, the desert dweller who had saved her that day, came up for his slice, offering her a wide smile.

"Thank you," he said, taking the extra large chunk of meat that she cut especially for him.

"I should be thanking you," she corrected, waving him on.

Jarod was next, and he scowled at her. "What is she doing with a blade, Ollie?" he said.

"She's helping me," Ollie said. "I don't see you volunteering."

"Send her around with a basket of the savage worms instead," Jarod said. "Trigg can serve the meat. I don't want her using a knife."

"As you command," Ollie said in an exaggerated voice, and thrust her a basket of the herbs, crickets, and worms. She made a face, but did as he said. She welcomed a chance to wander through the camp, offering some of the bizarre salad to the soldiers. Few of them accepted, so she was free to eavesdrop on Burano and Shairo as they spoke of their plans.

"The boy's gifts are valuable for battle strategy. He can see troop movements from leagues and leagues away, anticipate their every move," said Burano. "With his help, we can know the numbers and placement of the Gerstadt defenses."

Adala offered some of the salad to a soldier, who looked at her like she was crazy and pushed the basket away. She paid no heed, listening to Tobin's translation of Shairo's words.

"We know nothing yet," he said. "The boy has a valuable gift, but even so, our tribes will not take it as a sign to take back the fertile lands unless he is the one with the spirit gift. If our priests agree that he is a sign from the gods, we will consider it. If he is false, there is no harm done between our people. You may go back to your well in the hills and leave our territory forever."

Burano seemed impatient. "But regardless of what your priests say, it would be a shame to let this chance go to waste. With our numbers combined, we have maybe three thousand men. With that force, combined with the boy's skill of knowing enemy troop movements, we can catch Gerstadt off guard and take it over easily. There aren't many soldiers, and the city's only great defense is in the walls of the castle. We must act swiftly, before they know what is happening."

"My people have waited a thousand years for the gods to send us a sign and lead us to the fertile seaside. If this isn't the right time, we will wait longer."

Burano scoffed. "Do you want your child to never see the ocean? To never set eyes on a fertile crop and have a plentiful life?"

"My child will take care of himself or herself better than anyone born in this land of plenty from which you came," Shairo retorted, standing up. "Speaking of which, my wife is calling me. It is time to dance and celebrate the hope of our spirit guide."

Shairo turned around and raised his voice in a rejoicing cry, which led into a song that his clanspeople joined in on, chanting the words and clapping their hands. Adala paused to watch as many of them rose from their seats on the dirt and spun round and round, arms reached towards the sky and voices calling out in a steady beat that seemed to make the earth shake. They shed their top shirts, revealing vests underneath. A few of the men were shirtless, whooping and spinning to the music.

Through the sea of spinning bodies and women's hair flying around, Adala spotted Ravi. He weaved between dancers and came straight to Adala.

"Come," he said, taking her basket and setting it on the ground.

"No, I don't think that's a good idea," she said. "I don't dance usually."

"Come," he said, and pulled her forward. She groaned, looking to the native women as examples. They spun in arching circles, and some of them stomped and moved their hips with the rhythm of the song.

Ravi took her hand and spun her around twice, then drew her closer. Adala backed away a little and began to sway with the rhythm, listening to the singers as their foreign words strung one into another in an endless, beautiful ballad. Ravi sang the words in a low voice, winding his hands around Adala's waist to guide her with the rhythm of the music.

She noticed Trigg being dragged into the dance by a native girl with wild braids in her hair and a vest that showed part of her stomach. Adala grinned to see him try to imitate the dance with rigid movements.

Ravi led Adala in waving her arms to the sky, then circled her in a swerving, stomping dance. She turned round and around, letting the music take her up. The words of the song were unknown but glorious to her ears, and she drank in the moment.

The song grew faster. Though they could not communicate with her through words, Ravi led her well through the steps, their feet moving in mirror movements. Then he lifted her into the air on a high note unexpectedly, and she felt weightless for a brief moment before he returned her softly to the ground. She spun, her arms in the air, faster and faster as the music climaxed. She turned so rapidly that as the last note of the song ended, she began to stumble. But Ravi's arms stopped her, and she smiled up at him.

"Thank you," she said a little breathlessly. She turned away, thinking it was probably time to find Ollie and begin cleaning up the feast if there were any leftovers. But she stopped in her tracks when she saw Tobin's eyes on her from the edge of the crowd. He still sat next to Burano, but he stared at her with a stone cold expression. He looked away quickly as she returned the gaze. Is he jealous? She thought, laughing inwardly. She dared to hope he might be.

"On second thought," she said, turning back to Ravi with an alluring smile. "Another dance?"

### Chapter 30: Tobin

Tobin's head swam with thoughts of the evening's events when he slept that night. Something about the rhythmic music of his mother's people evoked an emotional response within him, making it harder to suppress his anger with Burano. It pained him to see Burano use Adala and Shem the way he did, and it pained him almost as much to see him manipulate the Roharian people. And in spite of himself, he kept seeing images of Adala dancing with the Roharian warrior.

Tobin wished he had Adala to talk to. He wanted to share with her how the music of the desert clan haunted him. How he felt his mother was speaking to him, telling him to get away. But he had no chance to plan a successful escape or to speak to Adala. She was not called to read in the following days, and with the clan camped near them Burano always kept Tobin by his side for translating. As far as Tobin could tell, Adala spent her days caring for the horses and chatting with Ollie. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of her from a distance as she helped prepare and serve the evening meals, but he scarcely saw her outside of that.

Tobin spent endless hours watching Shem and Burano track the movements of the desert clans and translating their findings to Shairo and Yarele and any other members of their clan that they brought to meet with Burano. The tribes farthest away began their journey on the first night, traveling faster than Tobin thought possible on foot. The closest tribes stayed where they were, for days, and when Burano expressed curiosity about that, Shairo explained that all of the clans would plan on arriving precisely on the tenth day, as not to use up all the resources at the central location. The closer they came to the meeting day, the more smoke Tobin saw on the horizon during the evening meal. He grew more and more anxious to find a time to sneak Shem away, but they were constantly with Burano, surrounded by his most trusted officers, including Jarod.

Each time Tobin opened his mouth to translate for Shairo and Yarele, the leaders of the hosting desert clan, he considered telling them the truth about Burano: that he had stolen Shem from his family and was using them for his own gain. However, he couldn't guess what Shairo's response would be. Burano's offenses would anger them, to be sure, but Tobin feared that if he revealed the truth they would wage battle against Burano. What would happen to Shem, Adala, Ollie, Trigg, and Boggs if that were the case? Would Tobin make it back to his sister ever again? With so much at stake, Tobin was hesitant to risk it all by revealing the truth.

As much as Tobin feared Burano and his plans for Shem, he feared the power of Shairo, the proud Roharian chief, far more. In their dealings, Tobin observed him carefully. Shairo was sure to stop Burano short any time they discussed a battle with Gerstadt, always stating that it was for the priests of the clans to decide if it was time to return to the seaside. The chief seemed perturbed by Burano's constant references to the potential battle, though he never lashed out about it. He was an elusive type of leader, the one that remains patient and understanding until you break his trust entirely. And Tobin hoped to never learn what would happen if Shairo lost his precarious confidence in Burano.

A group of the desert dwelling warriors shed their weapons and over-shirts to climb the face of the rock structure every morning, soaking up the condensation with their shirts as Tobin had demonstrated for the Wanderlings. They spread out in the morning to hunt, then gathered in the shade of the rock tower when it grew unbearably hot. The foliage near the soldier camp was growing scarcer by the day, and foraging parties had to travel farther and farther to gather food for the campsite.

Tobin wished he could speak with the members of the Levenor clan about Shairo and learn more about the leader, but he had few chances to do so without Burano. In fact, the leader seemed to be directly preventing him from being alone with the tribe, always keeping Tobin at his side under a watchful eye.

He thinks I will switch sides still, Tobin realized one day when Burano requested yet again that Tobin sleep on the floor inside the tent as a guard for Shem. He suspects I will try and sell him out to Shairo and his people. Tobin couldn't be angry about Burano's suspicion, of course, because it was entirely correct. But it was difficult nevertheless to be at Burano's beck and call.

The most private interaction that Tobin had with a desert dweller in Shairo's clan came during a couple of evenings at the sunset feasts. Ravi, the young warrior who had danced with Adala on the first night, approached Tobin directly, clasping his right hand across to Tobin's right shoulder in greeting.

"I need your help," pleaded Ravi in the Roharian tongue.

Tobin translated his words into Bolgish for Burano, who sat next to him as always.

Ravi shook his head. "No, I want you to teach me words in the white language. I need to speak to the woman in your clan."

Tobin raised his eyebrows, peering up from his seat on a boulder to evaluate the warrior before him. Ravi had longish hair and high cheekbones, plus a broad chest that barely fit into his leather vest. He boasted a couple of visible scars from arrow wounds, and he had a very polished knife at his hip—his prized possession aside from his bow, Tobin guessed.

"What does he say?" asked Burano.

Tobin shook his head. "He's asking for advice on women," he replied to his commander. "I will get rid of him." Turning back to Ravi, he said quickly, "The woman in our clan is named Adala, and she has been called for."

"But she is still unmarried?" said Ravi, looking a bit too hopeful for Tobin's comfort.

"She is unavailable," said Tobin, a bit too harshly. "She has planned to marry a white man from her home clan. She talks about it all the time. It's bothersome."

Ravi's dark eyebrows lowered in confusion. "She plans to be married?" he said.

Tobin sighed, understanding Ravi's misunderstanding somewhat. In the desert clans, relationships went a little differently. If a man took a woman to bed, then they were married. There were no formal in-between stages and surprisingly few separations as far as Tobin could tell. "In her home clan, marriage takes longer. People have to think about it for months or even years first," he explained.

"If she is still thinking about it, then she is free to consider other options," Ravi said simply, with a hopeful smile. "I need to tell her my interest. What words can I say?"

"If I understood that woman enough to know the words that would woo her, I wouldn't be standing here right now," Tobin said. "She danced with you the other night; that's progress. Just keep doing what you're doing."

Ravi seemed to finally pick up on Tobin's tone, and he bowed his head slightly before departing.

On the morning of the tenth day, Tobin chanced another run-in with Ravi. Early in the morning, Burano addressed Tobin, saying, "Fetch Adala for me, will you? All of the desert clans will be arriving today, and I want her to read the final installment of the monk's writings before we all gather together."

As Tobin wandered the camp looking for Adala, he spotted Ravi striding between piles of supplies carrying a cactus flower. Tobin rolled his eyes and followed Ravi's sickeningly adoring gaze to where Adala sat, crouched next to a fire and helping Ollie with breakfast.

Tobin tried to catch up, but Ravi reached her first, tapping her on the shoulder and presenting the blossom to her with a winning smile.

When Ravi held his gift out to her, Adala's face took on a highly annoyed expression, her lips curving into a frown. "Why do you insist on keeping this up?" she cried, crossing her arms and ignoring the flower.

Tobin stopped in his tracks, barely concealing a laugh. He had hardly seen Adala in days, and seeing her tortured by Ravi's advances was a surprisingly amusing scene. He stayed at a distance, unnoticed by Adala, Ollie, and even Jarod, who leaned against a boulder by the fire.

Jarod laughed from his seat in the shade. "I'd think you knew why he's here by this point, wench."

"For you," Ravi said, ignoring Jarod's jeer. "Pretty flower, pretty girl."

He picked up a couple of words, thought Tobin with a grin. Poor guy; it's all for nothing.

Adala let out a sigh, her whole body slumping in frustration. "How could you like me? We don't even speak the same language!"

"Someone would have to speak a different language in order to like you," Jarod called. "You two are perfect for each other."

Adala shot Jarod a death glare, a muscle rippling in her jaw.

"Flower," Ravi said again, taking her hand and pressing the bloom into it.

"Why?" she groaned again.

"Blue eyes," Ravi said, brushing her hair away from her face in what should have been a tender move, but Adala's sour expression took away the moment. "Blue eyes, blue sky."

Adala waved his arm away. "Lots of people have blue eyes, you know. If you're into that, give the flower to Ollie! His eyes are blue." She gestured to where Ollie sat, sipping from a flask.

"Don't cast him on me, girl," Ollie chuckled. "He's your problem to deal with. If he's going to persist though, you should tell him that the hare and lizard were better, more delicious gifts."

She turned back to Ravi. "You cannot give me any more gifts, do you understand? It's no use. You only speak five words. If you could understand anything, I'd tell you to get lost and to take the rest of your clan with you."

Ravi reached forward and tugged a stray lock of her hair, slicing it off with the blade of his knife.

"Seriously? Taking my hair?" She said, balking at his bold move. She backed away, towards Tobin, and then turned abruptly, only to run straight into Tobin's chest.

"Hey there," Tobin said, clasping her arm to keep her from losing balance. He couldn't contain what he knew was probably a smug grin on his face.

Startled, she pushed away. "Eavesdropping much?" she spat.

"Just enjoying the show," he said, glancing over her shoulder to where Ravi stood, stuffing her lock of hair into a pouch on his belt.

"I'm glad someone's amused by it," she said. "Why don't you make yourself useful and tell him I'm not interested."

Tobin looked from her to Ravi and back again, soaking up the best entertainment that he had witnessed in days. "I couldn't do that," he said finally. "It would break the poor man's heart. Besides, he probably doesn't interact with women besides married ones and sisters, considering how small his clan is. He will have more distractions when the other clans arrive tonight."

"Why are you here, anyway?" she said. "Shouldn't you be plotting with Burano?"

Tobin stopped smiling, reminded of his dull existence as Burano's shadow. "Burano sent me to get you. He has one final scroll from the monk that he wants you to read before the clans arrive."

"He waited until the last minute on that one," she said, following him towards the tent. Tobin stopped at the doorway and gestured for Adala to duck inside. No sooner had she gone in than Burano emerged to speak with Tobin.

"Stay on guard," said Burano, stepping in closely to speak in Tobin's ear so that Adala and Shem couldn't hear his words inside. "From what I recall, the monk's story ends quite poorly, so the girl might be a bit less cooperative when she finds out what happened to him."

A lump rose in Tobin's throat. "What happened to him?" he asked.

"The monk failed the tribe's test... and they were less than graceful about the disappointment," Burano said grimly.

Tobin's throat felt tight, and he couldn't find the words to say anything else. He stared dumbly after Burano as the leader disappeared inside the tent.

As Tobin stood guard outside of the tattered tent, he felt numb with shock. His head spun with worry of the possible outcomes for Shem and the rest of them if the tribal test went badly. Vaguely, he heard her words drift out of the tent in muffled phrases.

At sundown, my captors intend to perform some sort of ritual. The witch doctor called it a "spirit feast," and I fear that I may be the feast.

My advocates assure me that I will survive because I am their prophesized warrior guide, and the desert spirits will not kill me because they will be under my command.

They don't believe me when I say I am not the warrior guide. They say I may not know it if I am. Perhaps it's true, though I know it is heresy against the gods to say so. I do not pay homage to the desert fiends.

I cannot speculate as to what they have in store for me at this "spirit feast," but all I can do is wait. Dusk is nearly upon me, and my hand trembles as I write these words. I fear they may be my last, if I am to fail this test of a spirit feast. My hope is that the gods grant me mercy on this night.

Adala's voice quivered at the final words, followed by a moment's tense silence.

"It is as I thought," came Burano's voice from within the tent. "Thank you for reading, Adala."

"Did he die?" Shem asked in a small voice. "Did the spirit feast kill him?"

Tobin gulped, feeling like his head was on fire. Burano is leading the boy into a ritual that I've never even heard of, and it appears that the man who wrote those scripts died during it. Tobin could hardly believe his mother's people were capable of such wild practices, but he knew that he had underestimated both their superstitions and their propensity for violence in the past.

"You knew this was the end of it," cried Adala's voice inside, cutting into Tobin even though her words were directed at Burano. "You saved the final scroll until we were all the way out here because you didn't want me to know how it turned out."

"You may go," came Burano's voice, loud and clear. "I have no further need of your services."

"You are despicable," she seethed. "You knew that the monk died from the beginning and you led my brother out here for slaughter." Adala's voice boomed from within the tent, quivering with anger. Her anger reflected the resentment rising in Tobin's chest, and his fear for Shem's life. He swallowed, an immense wave of guilt washing over him. I've helped Burano do this, he thought.

"There will be no slaughter if the desert people find his skills impressive," Burano said. "Now please return to your day. I'm sure you have something to keep yourself occupied for a few more hours."

Adala spoke urgently from within the tent now, voice full of emotion. "Shem, you need to persuade them you aren't the spirit guide. Tell them you can't feel where people are, that you made it up. Don't let them test you or perform any kind of ritual."

"Tobin, get her out of here," Burano called.

Tobin jolted out of his frozen state and ducked into the tent where Adala knelt in front of Shem, holding his shoulders and speaking in emotion-filled words. As Tobin took her arm to lift her to her feet, she pleaded with her brother, "Shem, don't let them perform the spirit feast!" she said.

"Get her out!" shouted Burano.

"Adala, come on," Tobin said quietly.

She thrashed, and Tobin tried to pull her out as gently as he could. She continued speaking to Shem as Tobin tugged her towards the tent flap, crying, "Don't do it. Be strong and don't let them push you around!"

Shem's startled figure disappeared behind the flap of the tent as Tobin pulled Adala out. He pushed her away from the door and released her, letting out a long-held breath. His heart pounded in his chest with panic, and he felt he had failed both Adala and Shem by letting things get this far. Surely there must be a way to save them from all this, he thought, searching his mind for answers.

"You knew too," she said, spitting at his feet. She shoved her palms against his chest, causing him to fall back two steps.

Tobin looked at the dirt, trying to explain himself. "I didn't know before today. He just told me. I had no idea, Adala. I would never put Shem in harm's way."

She struck his face with a stinging slap, and Tobin turned away, blinking from the pain.

"Don't pretend you have any sort of affection for my brother," she said, her voice dripping with spite. "If you understood at all the love for a younger sibling, you wouldn't be a part of what Burano is doing."

She stalked away, her hair tossing back and forth with the bewildered shaking of her head. Tobin did not follow.

I deserved that, thought Tobin, turning to walk the opposite direction. He knew Burano would want him to stay at the tent, but he needed to take a moment before the commander fetched him again.

He found himself wandering through the tethered horses to Leyenne, Havard's old horse.

"Sweet Leyenne," Tobin said, stroking her soft muzzle. "How am I going to make things right?"

"I can't tell you how many times I've asked myself that in my life," said a gruff voice behind him.

Tobin turned around to see Ollie reclining against a barrel, sipping from his flask.

"I haven't done half the things I claim credit for," Ollie said, getting a faraway look in his eyes, which Tobin realized were glistening with tears. "But no story I can tell is as terrible as the truth."

"What was it that really earned you your brand?" Tobin dared to ask, nodding towards the T engraved on Ollie's brow.

"I stole from a healer," he admitted. "A witch by the docks. I thought her poultice would heal my darling Ana of her fever." He gulped from his flask.

"Was that your wife?" Tobin asked.

He shook his head. "Cynthia and I were so happy when Ana was born. We got married that day, with her still in the birthing bed. She was a happy baby, always smiling at me and tugging my beard. She grew very ill her first winter, though. She shivered and shivered, nothing would make her stop crying." Ollie wiped away a tear. "I waited until it was unbearable, and I stole medicine to save her."

"Did she live?" asked Tobin. "Is she still in Gerstadt?"

"No," he said. "I got confused looking at the bottles—I couldn't read the labels, you see, so I thought I remembered which one was the right poultice...." He shook his head, shoulders quaking with silent sobs. "She didn't survive the day after I gave her the medicine."

Tobin looked away, stunned by Ollie's story. He wished he could believe this was just another dramatic story of Ollie's creation, but the tears in the old man's eyes betrayed the truth.

"Cynthia turned me in to the city guard that day. She said that she didn't want to see me anymore, and she made sure it happened. They gave me this because of stealing the medicine," he said, gesturing to his branded forehead. "But no punishment could be greater than living with the death of my daughter on my conscience."

"I'm so sorry," said Tobin. "I had no idea."

"You don't want to be a part of the death of a child, or anyone you love," said Ollie, tossing his flask of cactus hooch to Tobin.

Tobin snatched it from the air. "What are you talking about?" he asked, looking down at the small canteen in his hand.

"Drink it," instructed Ollie as he rose to his feet. "You'll need to dig deep in your spineless self if we are going to set Shem and Adala free. I've seen the way you look at that girl, and I won't let you stand by anymore while Burano puts them in danger."

### Chapter 31: Adala

Within the hour, Adala found herself shadowed by four guards instead of the customary one. She had to admit that Burano was not unfounded in his suspicion of her, especially after the morning revelation. Jarod, Willie, Tosser, and Reggie followed her everywhere she went, and they weren't very good company. She wished that Trigg and Boggs weren't out on lookout duty. After her revelation in Burano's tent that morning, she needed time to think, so she watered and groomed Dusty in a tense silence, her bodyguards barely saying a word.

She wrapped her head as the day grew hot and often touched the bulge underneath her tunic to reassure herself that she had at least snatched a weapon before Burano had sent the guards to watch her. The best she could hope for was that the camp would be all a bustle when the clans arrived and she could shake her guards and steal Shem away. It seemed a desperate hope, and an unlikely one, but she had no better plans. She had no gift for battle tactics, nor vanishing acts.

Horns sounded as the first of the traveling clans arrived. The group, larger than Shairo's clan, was greeted by Burano and Shairo, Tobin and Shem at their sides. Adala hovered close by, watching from a short distance as they were welcomed to the camp. Shairo offered them water from the spring, and they accepted. Not much was said of Shem, except that he was close to the spirits and that Shairo hoped that the priests and priestesses would evaluate him at sunset. The newcomers moved on to drink from the spring and then mingled with Shairo's clan, not associating much with Burano's soldiers.

Three more clans arrived soon after. One included only seven desert dwellers, five men and two women, but the others were fifty strong. They all carried bows or spears and dressed much the same in leather and faded cloth, though some of the clans wore charms and colored wooden beads in their hair that distinguished them from the other groups.

Burano's greetings of each tribe grew dull and repetitive to Adala's ears, especially when her hatred for him was so fresh. But she couldn't bring herself to turn away. She watched her brother obligingly greet each clan leader at Burano's side, hoping and praying for a moment to speak with him. A simple privy break could offer the opportunity to snatch him away and put the camp behind them. But she had no such luck.

The gathering of desert dwellers collected until Adala lost count of the clans. A sense of dread grew in her gut with each new arrival. As the crowd assembled, the devastating potential of an alliance between Burano and the desert clans loomed more ominous in her mind.

The masses huddled in the shade most of the day, their heads bare as they mingled with other tribes. Unintelligible words of their conversations drifted to her, and she resented the pleasant interactions between clanspeople of varying groups.

"Aren't these people supposed to be competitive and highly territorial?" she muttered. "They aren't supposed to be pleasant and united, ripe for the plucking from a conniving, ruthless schemer like Burano."

"They are territorial, that much is true," Jarod said. "I've never seen the clans gather, but Tobin says they have a meeting like this every ten or twenty years. If they call a meeting, it is a truce. All disputes are forgotten for one day."

"Wonderful," she said. "The savages are more diplomatic than our own people."

"They're backwards as ever." Jarod watched her as he continued. "Just you wait. I heard that if your brother doesn't impress them with his magic, they will skin him alive and feed him to the fire."

Adala clenched her fists until her knuckles grew white, resisting the urge to snap at him. She didn't want to lose her temper. If they took her away from eyeshot of Shem, her plans were over. Instead, she thought of the knife in her belt and felt comforted. Whatever happens, she thought, as long as I have a weapon I am not powerless.

At sundown, the crowd had grown to an unimaginable size. Situated at the center of Burano's camp near his tent, she was surrounded in every direction by native clans. Burano had said there were a couple thousand, but she thought that a very low estimate. The thrum of their foreign conversations throbbed in her ears.

As the evening breeze sent up a first gust, Shairo stood on a boulder at the center of the crowd and blew a horn for silence.

The crowd grew quiet, and he began speaking loudly.

Tobin stood next to the rock with Burano and Shem and translated the words rapidly for Burano's comparatively small group of soldiers.

"Friends, I have called you here tonight because I have been a witness to a boy with a gift from the spirits. This boy can feel the hearts of men. Where they are, who are their kin, and what they feel in their spirit. In the past ten days, I have been more and more convinced that this child is not entirely of our world, but of the spirit world. He knew from afar that my clan was coming, and even knew what my wife only knew weeks before: that she is growing a life inside her. He has great insight, and also bears the mark of the gods on his shoulder. But I am no spirit warrior. Knowledge of the spirits is not my gift from the gods, and I ask that the priests come forward to meet this boy Shem for themselves."

From the crowd emerged different individuals of various sizes and shapes. Women with hair so coarse it stuck out from their heads, men with shaved heads and burn marks on their arms, elderly people with beads and pouches strung around their necks and hanging from their belts. Many wore colorful feathers and painted bones in their unruly hair. A few of them had eerily bleached blonde hair, which stood out against their bronze skin.

Adala was surprised to see that none of them carried bows or any type of weapon, just leather bags or woven pouches that attached to their belts. They made a tight crowd around Shem, maybe a hundred of them, and Adala tried to move in closer to hear Tobin's translations of their murmurings. But Jarod put a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. One of the priestesses spoke Bolgish, and she took over conversations with Shem, asking him questions that Adala couldn't hear. Shem appeared to be making statements about members of the crowd, giving his insights about them in the same way he had when Shairo's clan arrived at camp. The priests and priestesses examined the birth mark on Shem's shoulder and debated amongst themselves. Adala hoped Shem would have the wisdom to give them false information. Better to disappoint them immediately than to suffer the spirit feast, whatever that was.

Her hopes began to ebb, however, when Burano entered the conversation. She caught the words "must know for sure," and "spirit feast."

Burano is encouraging them to perform the ritual, she thought angrily. If I live past this night, I want a chance to kill that man myself.

After what seemed like an eternity of debate between Burano and the priests, a priestess stood on the boulder and announced something to the crowd. Before Tobin began interpreting, Adala could see the restlessness of the natives. They began talking amongst themselves, enough that Tobin had to yell over them, his voice hoarse.

"They're putting him to a test of the spirits, a spirit feast. Stand back, they're going to make the fire a lot bigger," he said.

A group of clansmen pulled up several bushes and threw them over the fire, sending sparks rising in the night sky. Different clanspeople brought other dried weeds, and some of them even threw their spears into the pyre. Every nerve in Adala's body tingled as she watched the procession, waiting to see what they would do next.

As the crowd shifted and Burano's men stepped away from the fire, so did Burano, Tobin, and Shem. Adala was glad to realize that they were within earshot. Only four soldiers stood between her and her brother.

The desert dwellers quieted, and a priest stood next to the fire, speaking loudly.

"We must unite our voices to call the spirits of the desert," said Tobin in translation. He turned around halfway, searching the crowd of soldiers anxiously. His eyes lingered only a second on Adala's, surveying the rest of the group before turning back to the fire. He fidgeted and shifted on his feet nervously.

"This boy carries the mark of the spirits, and today we ask the spirits to claim him if he is theirs."

Adala reached a hand beneath her tunic to grasp her stolen knife, tensing in preparation to lunge into action when an opportunity presented itself.

"And if he is not of the spirits, and is therefore an imposter of evil, we ask that they vanquish his soul and spill his blood as an offering to the gods. The spirits will serve us justice this night, whether by calling us to follow this boy to our ancestral home by the great water, or by destroying a false spirit warrior for us."

The crowd murmured, but Adala's mind raced in confusion.

"I thought they would kill him themselves if he fails," she said, leaving the hilt of her knife hidden at her belt for the moment.

"Their faith is strong if they're asking their gods to kill him for them," Jarod admitted. "We may survive this just yet."

The priests gathered in a circle around the fire and began passionately speaking as one voice, chanting with their heads bowed. Sparks danced from the flames, which cast dancing shadows of the priests in their rhythmic chant. The priests and priestesses cried out in their reverie so loudly that Adala couldn't hear Tobin's translation. They knelt and pounded their fists to the ground in near-perfect synchronization.

Nothing can happen to Shem, Adala thought. They're just going through a superstitious ritual, and they might decide it is inconclusive when their gods don't show up. As much as she tried to reason with herself that the "spirit feast" would culminate to nothing, she found her anxiety rising as the pitch of the priests' chant grew higher and the rhythm faster. One of the priests stepped forward and thrust a fistful of dirt into the fire, then sprayed the contents of a water skin into it. The voices cried out in one escalating note at the very end, and then all of the priests stepped forward in unison to toss some type of dried leaves into the fire.

The flames turned white as snow and erupted instantly into a great pillar. Adala shielded her eyes from the brightness and felt herself jostled backwards with the crowd as everyone stepped away from the incredible heat. The clamor of abrupt conversation, cries of alarm, and speculation among the crowd was silenced by a great roar from the fire. Not just the roar of a fire, but of a beast.

Adala made herself look towards the blinding light. The pillar of white flames rose fifteen feet into the air and spread wide over the priests at its base. The form twisted and stretched until the flames unfolded into wings and a horned head with icy blue eyes.

Terror seized Adala's very being, and she stared at the winged creature made of fire, her muscles frozen for a split second. I have to get to him, she thought, seeing Shem's small form gazing upward at what the fire had morphed into.

"What is it?" she heard Tosser ask.

"It's a dragon!" someone cried from behind Adala, but by then she was moving. Without realizing it, she had grabbed the knife from her belt. Now she rushed forward, shoving between two soldiers and darting over someone who had passed out from the initial burst of light.

Someone grabbed her tunic and jerked her backwards, but she was hardly even aware that it had happened before she wheeled around and thrust her knife into his chest. It was Willie, one of her guards. No sooner had she pulled out her knife and turned back towards Shem than five sets of arms seized her. She screamed, kicking and writhing, elbowing and biting, but in only a few seconds she was helpless, held fast and surrounded by Burano's soldiers, her arms firmly held behind her back. Adala heard someone call for help behind her. "Bring bandages—Willie is hurt badly!"

They tried to pull her back, but she screamed, "Stop! I have to see!" Through hot, angry tears, she watched her beautiful, sandy-haired brother glance back for just a second, nodding his head at her, and then walk towards the fire.

His silhouette moved slowly and certainly. The priests all knelt in a circle around the fire and the beast which it had become. The head priest rose to his feet and called up to it. At last, the roaring of the fire lowered enough for Adala to hear Tobin's translation.

"We pay respect to your sovereign reign over the fire of the desert and ask you a favor this night. A stranger has come into our midst in the guise of one in communion with the spirits and the gods. He claims to be the spirit warrior. Please, guide us and discern for us if this boy is of the spirits or an imposter. If he is false, we ask that you spill his blood as a sacrifice to replenish the earth. It would not please the gods to let a deceiver walk away."

Adala's chest pounded as the beast swooped its head low, locking its blue eyes on Shem.

In front of her, Adala saw Tobin step forward and seize Shem's arm, attempting to tug him away from the beast, but Shem shook his head, pushing Tobin back to Burano's side.

She saw only her brother's silhouette, but he stood tall and spoke in a loud voice to the spirit. His words howled like the wind and cracked like a fire. It was no language Adala had heard or dreamed of, with whimsical whistles and low, earthy tones, all tied together into a lyrical song. She had never heard such sounds from a human, much less from her kid brother. The crowd stood still when the boy finished speaking, everyone holding their breath for the response.

"What language is that?" Burano asked Tobin, only a couple of paces in front of Adala.

"I've never heard it before."

The beast bent down and began speaking to Shem, its voice exhibiting the sigh of a fire and the sound of rain splatters against the earth. Adala watched with frozen terror as it leaned its head forward and flicked its tongue out. Flames licked around the tongue as it darted out in a flash and brushed Shem's forelock. The winged creature stared at her brother evenly and spoke to him in its bizarre tongue. Shem replied, his voice soft but clear. Their conversation went on for what felt like an eternity, sounding simultaneously like a windstorm, a gushing river, and a blazing fire as opposed to definitive words.

In an abrupt move, the beast stopped speaking and stood on its hind legs. It reached its head towards the sky, wings spread out over the crowd, and let out a roar so deep and consuming that the earth shook, rattling rocks loose from the cliff behind them. While others ducked out of the way to avoid falling boulders, Adala was held fast, forced to watch in wonder and terror as the great white beast leaped into the air and beat its wings, rising in the dark sky with a whoosh that blew Adala's hair out behind her in a hot breeze.

No sooner had the dragon left the ground than the fire burst to life again, this time in a purple and silver light. Two more beasts emerged, catapulting into the sky and circling closely above the crowd. A green one came next, then red, then deep blue. They flew in a tight circle together and then rose straight into the sky. Their high-pitched whistles and low growls filled the night air. When they came down, it was with a great blast of wind, and each of them careened back into the earth through the fire, the same way they had come. The last to go was the pure white one, diving into the fire after a twisting descent. Its body of flames disappeared as it flopped into the fire full-speed, and so did the fire itself. The force of the final creature's disappearance into flames was powerful enough that the crowd around the fire could barely remain standing.

Darkness fell instantly over the crowd, and Adala saw nothing. The roaring of the beasts and the crackling of fire was gone. The shadow that consumed the camp was unnatural, blotting out the moon and the stars. The lack of light left colored blotches in Adala's vision, but as she blinked them away, she realized that what met her was a more complete darkness than she had ever seen.

The stunned silence of the crowd lasted only a brief second before chaos ensued.

### Chapter 32: Tobin

Shouts and screams erupted all around Tobin in one crashing moment as he froze in the surreal darkness.

"What the hell was that?" said one voice.

"Where is my sword?" said another.

"Somebody get a bandage!"

"Did they take the boy with them?"

Voices around him drowned out any other phrases, and Tobin felt himself jostled by several different people feeling their way past as the crowd boomed with the sounds of chaos. An elbow banged into his face.

"Shem!" he shouted, staggering forward towards the last place he had seen Shem. "Shem, are you here? We've got to get out of here!" Someone banged into his shoulder, and he sidestepped onto someone else's foot in the jostle.

From nowhere, a hand gripped Tobin's arm tightly, "You are going nowhere," said Burano's voice, low and threatening at his ear.

Tobin cursed Ollie silently for what must have been the fiftieth time that night. The old man was supposed to have caused a diversion much earlier and allowed Tobin time to escape before the desert ritual began. However, he supposed that the brutal darkness over the camp would provide a more than adequate diversion to cover his escape.

Tobin threw his head backwards, knocking it painfully against Burano's, then wrenched his arm away and threw a wide punch into the darkness. It struck Burano in the neck, and Tobin heard the man gasp for air. Before Burano could reach for him again, Tobin staggered backwards. Backwards into the hulking form of a soldier.

"Who the hell?" said Jarod's voice in the dark, and Tobin quickly retreated, backing up quickly and tripping over a rock.

Burano's voice rasped out, "Jarod, get him. Tobin's after the boy."

Tobin scrambled backwards in the dirt, but heard Jarod's heavy, uneven footsteps, then felt a swift kick to his ribs.

Fiery pain.

Tobin doubled over, but struggled to remember Jarod's advice about not nursing his wounds. He clutched his side, but managed to swivel around, swinging both of his legs out in an arc in front of him. They struck his intended target, sweeping Jarod's legs out from under him in the darkness.

Unseen, fumbling hands found his leg, then Tobin felt an iron grip around his neck suddenly.

"I told Burano he shouldn't trust a rat," spit Jarod, his reeking breath spoiling what little air Tobin could gasp.

Before he lost too much air, Tobin flung his leg around, rolling back and catching his boot firmly into what must have been the side of Jarod's head.

The grip on his neck fell away, and Tobin rolled sideways swiftly, choking in air. He heard footsteps all around, and a passerby tripped over him, leaving a painful bruise on his side.

Jarod's fumbling hands found Tobin's boot, but Tobin kicked out again. From the feel of it, he got a shoulder. Before Jarod had ended his enraged cry, he kicked again, this time higher. He felt his captain's nose snap beneath his boot.

Curses followed Tobin as he scurried backwards, leaping to his feet and sprinting the other direction. He turned sharply left, then right, moving as quickly as possible to lose Jarod in the crowd. His trainer's shouts were drowned by the cries of soldiers, men, women, and children, all trying to find their way to one another in the darkness. Tobin wound his way through the crowd aimlessly and anonymously, tripping over a rock in his haste and running into two people. In the chaos and darkness, all he could think of was finding Shem.

Come on, he thought, The kid is probably the only one not lost in this mess.

"Tobin! Adala!"

Tobin heard the familiar small voice and sighed with relief, turning towards the sound of Shem calling his name. A sea of frantic movement around him, people shouting and shoving, made his movement slow, but he heard Shem's voice calling one more time and went towards it, tripping over every rock and elbowing practically everyone in his path.

"Tobin, I'm here," said Shem's voice, very close now. Tobin felt a small hand grasp his. "We have to get Adala. Ollie is waiting for us with the horses.

"How do you know about our plan?" asked Tobin, bewildered.

"I knew you would help us all along," said Shem. "Come this way, Adala is here."

"Shem!" called Adala's frantic voice in the crowd. Tobin rushed after Shem, who guided him off to the left. He had lost all sense of direction by this point, but Shem guided him quickly forward until he could hear Adala's ragged breaths as she stumbled into a bush.

Tobin reached out and felt her arm.

A punch took him in the side of the head. "Get away from me!" she shouted, and Tobin heard a scuffle as if she fell backwards.

"Ouch, gods," Tobin cursed.

"Get lost," she shouted.

"Adala, it's us!" said Shem's voice. "We need to leave now. Tobin is helping us."

"Tobin isn't on our side," her voice seethed.

Tobin reached in the darkness again and clasped her lean shoulder. "Come with me," he called into her ear. "Ollie has horses ready for us at the southern end of camp."

"How can I trust you?" she demanded, but Tobin heard the hesitation in her voice and knew she would come along.

"Your brother does," Tobin said simply.

"This way to Ollie," cried Shem, tugging Tobin's hand. In turn, Tobin took Adala's hand. At first he thought her palm was moist with sweat, but the stickiness revealed the substance as blood.

"Are you injured?" he asked quickly.

"No. It's not my blood. Let's get out of here."

Tobin was not surprised that Shem guided them perfectly through the crowd without bumping into a single person, though Tobin and Adala tripped on more than a couple of rocks. They trekked one after another for only a few moments before the sounds of chaos were behind them and not around them. They walked a little more until Shem stopped abruptly.

"Ollie," Shem greeted.

"That you, kid?" said Ollie's slurred voice. "It's about time. I thought for sure those dragons had gotten the better of you, the way they bolted toward the ground," he said. "It was all I could do to keep two of the horses here," he said. "The yellow one ran off. At least I think it was the yellow one. All I have is the chestnut mare and the donkey."

Tobin groaned inwardly. He wanted to find another horse, but there was no time. They were likely scattered, and he had no time to saddle one.

"Let's go," Tobin said. He walked towards the anxious snorts and stomps of hooves and felt the sweat-soaked neck of Leyenne. Her muscles twitched beneath his touch, and she sidestepped to and fro, spooked by the events of the desert ritual.

"All we need is two mounts anyway," said Adala's voice behind him. "Shem, the donkey is more your size."

"I'm coming too," Tobin said, wondering how she thought both of them could ride a horse together without wearing it out, or without killing each other. He wasn't sure which would happen first.

"How is that?" Adala asked. "And, more to the point, why is that?"

Tobin sighed. He didn't have time to dispute anything. "You cannot hope to survive without me. You take the donkey, and I will ride with Shem."

"No, I will ride with Shem," Adala corrected. "I don't trust you not to abandon me and take Shem back to Burano."

Tobin felt out and found her shoulders, steering her firmly towards the nervous braying of Dusty. "We don't have time to argue. You ride Dusty. I'm the better rider and I can ride fast while having Shem as a passenger."

Ollie's voice sounded out quietly. "Best listen to him, lass. He's taken a grave risk to arrange this."

"Curse you both," she said, but Tobin heard her fumbling to find the donkey's saddle, clumsy in the darkness.

Tobin lifted Shem into Leyenne's saddle and climbed up himself. The mare quivered and danced, ready to flee.

"Safe travels," said Ollie's voice, and Tobin heard his steps fall back.

"I am in your debt, Ollie," Tobin said, wishing he could have persuaded the old man to come with them in their escape.

"I know it, kid," said Ollie, chuckling. "Just give my regards to my wife, if you see her in the big town."

"I will," said Tobin, holding the reins in front of Shem, who sat in front of him in the saddle. "Tell us which direction, Shem," he said.

"Straight ahead, then a little to the right," the boy instructed, not a hint of nerves in his voice. Tobin wished he could be so confident in their escape plan.

Tobin loosened the reins and gave a slight nudge with his heels, and with that they were off. Leyenne sprung into action, first at a nervous trot, then a full-speed gallop. Tobin had to rein her in so that Adala could keep up on Dusty.

The eerie darkness faded as the sounds of the camp drifted away. Leyenne pounded away at the desert ground, the moon lighting her path now that they had escaped the dark spell. Tobin peered over his shoulder to see Adala, bouncing in Dusty's saddle behind them. The night was clear, the air cool and fresh. Nothing stood in front of them but the wide expanse of the desert plains.

Free at last.

### Chapter 33: Burano

"None of the search parties have returned. The girl and her brother won't be found in the middle of the night, sir," said Jarod angrily, the muscles in his jaw clenching. "Especially if they have Tobin. No one has seen them since everything went dark, and he knows the terrain better than us."

Burano felt his hands clench into fists and he kicked over his stool, reeling with anger. "The bastard went soft on me," he growled between his teeth. He knew Tobin was fond of Shem, but didn't think he would risk everything for the little boy and his bullheaded sister. Even Burano regretted keeping the boy away from his home, but he had enough foresight to see the potential triumph that awaited the Wanderlings and the desert people alike if Shem could unite them. What type of madness had possessed Tobin to throw away all that they had worked towards? Did he care nothing for mending old wounds and helping his native people conquer the paradise of their myths?

"He planned this right under my nose," Burano said to himself.

"I never trusted him," growled Jarod. "But you did keep him close. And Adala was surrounded by guards the entire day. I don't know how they were able to get the horses ready in the dark. His horse and the donkey that Adala rode, they're both still missing, along with their tack and supplies. We've retrieved all the other horses."

"They must have had an accomplice," Burano said suddenly.

Jarod's eye twitched. "That must've been Ollie. He is pretty friendly with Tobin and Adala. Must've helped them out."

"Is Ollie still here? Find him," growled Burano in a low voice.

"With pleasure," responded Jarod, backing out of the tent. Burano appreciated Jarod's loyalty, even if he often was brutal. Jarod was the one officer he felt he could rely on to do whatever was necessary in their mission. Burano nodded to him in thanks.

"You have the clan chief and an interpreter waiting for you out here," Jarod added through the opening of the tent. "Do you want me to let them in?"

"Fine," said Burano, setting his stool back up again and pacing the floor, trying to figure how he was going to gain the loyalty of the clans now, with Shem gone and the entire gathering in chaos. I was right at the cusp of earning their loyalty, Burano thought to himself bitterly. Now I have one more chance to get their attention, but I've lost Shem.

Shairo entered the room with a priestess from the fire ceremony, her curly hair in a knot on her head with cactus needles poking out of it in every direction. She also wore beads and charms around her neck, wrists and ankles that clinked together as she walked in.

"I talk for Shairo," she said with a thick accent as the clan chief began speaking.

Burano remained still and tried to appear composed and in control of the situation, which couldn't be further from the truth. Shairo spoke slowly and diplomatically, much more held together than how Burano felt, and the priestess continued interpreting his words in broken Bolgish.

"Boy is no place. Clans say different things happened.... Chiefs think the boy stealen away by the gods in the darkness... everyone no agree what to do. Chief one say spirits steal boy to tell us to walk to the sea, chief two say spirits took boy to tell us not to walk to the sea, chief three say the boy left for the sea and waits for us. All chiefs say different, and fight with words together."

Burano listened carefully, trying not to fidget with impatience. "Yes, yes," he said. "I understand that what happened was confusing." The spirit feast had startled him more than anyone, in fact. Burano had always suspected nothing at all would happen at the spirit feast, that the whole thing was rubbish anyway, and he would have to persuade the desert dwellers of a favorable result. However, the results of the ritual were more splendid than he could ever have imagined. More splendid and more terrifying. The way the boy spoke to the fire creatures, and how it captivated everyone. He could have had the desert people in the palm of his hand just that easily if Tobin hadn't taken Shem and his sister away in the surreal spell of darkness that followed the ceremony. As it was, with Shem gone, he would have to work harder than ever to align the desert people with his plan of action. It would be especially difficult given the quality of their new interpreter, whose skills in the Bolgish language left something to be desired.

"Tell Shairo that I know what happened after the spirit feast," he said to the interpreter, speaking slowly so she could gather his meaning. "Join me outside. I will explain everything to you and your desert brothers and sisters."

Burano emerged from the tent with Shairo and the priestess following close behind him. They entered a frenzy of motion as the soldiers who remained at camp saddled their horses and gathered supplies here and there. By the light of torches and campfires, Burano could see the desert people gathered in groups here and there, arguing heatedly in their foreign tongue.

Standing atop a boulder and cupping his hands to his mouth, Burano hollered to the crowd, "Gather 'round, men!" After a few good shouts, Burano's soldiers crowded hesitantly around his boulder, uncertain and skittish after the spook of the spirit feast. Most of them had strung bows and drawn weapons, and eyed the swarms of desert warriors with fearful glances.

Following by example, the desert clans grew curious about the gathering and joined the crowd, surrounding Burano in every direction.

To see these warriors crowded in before him, Burano felt a sense of urgency to command their attention. He had never seen so many clan members assembled in one place, and he felt the overwhelming hunger to be at the helm, commanding this army of desert savages to win back the city that had spurned him in his youth. The city that should have been mine in the first place, he thought as he prepared for this key moment in his campaign.

"Friends!" he called out, and the priestess cried out her translation loud and clear from the ground next to him. The crowd grew quiet. Burano continued, "The boy who was shown to be your foretold spirit guide has been taken from us tonight. I beg your forgiveness, because this was my doing."

A murmur ran through the crowd, and Burano raised his hand to silence them.

"I was far too trusting, and for that I was betrayed. A man in my group was an enemy of the desert people, and I did not have the wisdom to see it. I did not know he plotted against us until tonight. He did not want the desert tribes to reach the seaside. He and the girl in our camp wanted to sell the boy to the white men by the sea and make themselves rich."

A large desert chief with broad arms and a bare chest that boasted several scars stepped forward and replied angrily: "Gods will judge this man and woman. We will find and kill them."

Shouts erupted among the desert dwellers, growing into a dull roar.

Another chief came forward, an almost elderly man leaning on his spear for support. "Do not be so quick to kill based on the words of a white man," he said, and the crowd began to hush at his words. "This white man has taken water from many tribes in the east. He has no honor, and I will not listen to his stories."

Burano licked his lips, preparing a response in his mind, but Shairo began speaking first, and Burano waited anxiously for the translation. Shairo had spent ten days dealing with the Wanderlings. If ever he had a character reference, it was him, and all of Burano's hopes hung on his words.

The priestess interpreted Shairo's words as he finished speaking. "Burano broke laws and stole water. But he bring us great gift. Why would he take the boy away this night?"

One of the others replied. "Why listen to him if he lost the boy?"

"How do we know a man took him and not the gods?"

"What if the boy is dead and the gods kill him during spirit feast?"

"We should not go to the sea without the spirit pathfinder."

More and more desert people began speaking at once so much so that the priestess could not translate.

The voices bore down on Burano, and he cried out inwardly for help. He searched the crowd, grasping for an idea. When he spotted Ollie, standing next to Tosser close by, an idea occurred to Burano. He seized the opportunity, perhaps his last chance to command the crowd's attention.

"Friends!" Burano called quickly. "Listen here! I can prove that the boy was taken away. If you doubt my words, cast your eyes on the perpetrator himself." He pointed at Ollie, the old man wrinkled and scowling up at him from beneath bushy white eyebrows.

It was Burano's men who erupted with disbelief and outrage this time, and several of them jostled Ollie around, shoving him to the center of the crowd and at the base of the boulder where Burano stood. Their shouts and jeers calmed down at Burano's raised hand.

"Ollie," he said, peering down at the old drunk with his heart pounding in his ears. "Do you deny involvement in the kidnapping of the child?"

Ollie peered up at him with narrowed eyes, then took a swig from his flask. "Kidnapping is an interesting term for it," he said quietly. "That's a stretch of the truth if I ever heard one, and I've told my share of tall tales."

Burano grew impatient. He feared he was losing the faith of the desert people more with every passing moment. "Tell us now, before your brothers and our hosts from the desert: did you conspire to take the boy away during the ceremony? If you confess it now, you stand a chance to live."

Ollie lowered his voice and spoke quickly enough that the interpreter could not catch his meaning. "Curse you for putting me in this position, Burano. You took me in when I was alone and half insane in the hills. You built a home for all of us, and for that I will always be in your debt. But stealing away the boy and putting him on the slaughtering block? That's low. You didn't used to be that sort."

Burano cleared his throat. He could see the cold defiance in Ollie's pale eyes. The sort that doesn't go away with a few lashes. He had never seen that look on Ollie before, and regretted what it meant for the old man's punishment. Ollie had always been harmless. Reckless, sure, but a true spreader of morale among the men and a loyal soldier all around. He couldn't allow Ollie's insubordinate attitude to spread. "Confess, Ollie. Tell us yes or no," Burano growled.

Ollie spit on the ground with a splat. "Hell, yes I am guilty!" he called to the crowd, reaching out his arms out as he addressed everyone. The crowd grew silent, listening to his words and the translation from the priestess. "I am guilty of giving them food and supplies and sending them off after the ceremony. But let me tell you: when I speak to the Creator in my next life, that will not be on my list of confessions, I assure you. Let it be known that on this day, Oliver the coward, the drunk, took a true stand for what is right."

As the priestess' translation made it through the crowd of desert people, shouting began.

"They shout for his death," the woman explained to Burano.

Burano nodded, bracing himself for what was to come.

Ollie continued his tale, saying, "Am I guilty of kidnapping? Yes! We're all bloody guilty of kidnapping!" He gestured towards his Wanderling comrades.

"Jarod!" Burano called, looking to the crowd. His right hand man was only a few paces into the crowd, and they locked eyes. Burano knew Jarod could tell what he was thinking at that moment. We must silence him before he reveals everything to the desert clans.

Jarod shoved his way through the crowd as Ollie shouted frantically to his comrades. "Any one of us that helped guard that girl or her brother was helping Burano keep them prisoner. No amount of loyalty should compel you to hold someone against their will, especially an innocent child. That boy was stolen away from his mother's arms in the middle of the night!"

"He talk fast," the priestess said up to Burano. "What does he say?"

Burano replied quickly, saying, "He says he isn't sorry for stealing the boy away."

Jarod was almost to the center of the crowd now, his sword drawn as he pushed his way past the last few men standing between him and Ollie.

"Don't wage war against Gerstadt," Ollie said, glancing quickly at Jarod's advance. "We've all been cast away for a reason. The people of the city shouldn't pay for our—"

Ollie's words cut off with a gasp, and Burano looked down, puzzled at his pause. Jarod, just now reaching the edge of the crowd with his hand on the hilt of his sword, stopped short in his trek towards Ollie.

Ollie sank to his knees at the base of the boulder, an arrow protruding from the left side of his chest.

Burano stared, numb for a second as he realized that the feathered shaft was not from any of his men. He tensed himself for an attack, looking out to see the bare-chested chief who had pledged to kill the perpetrators who stole Shem at the start of Burano's speech. He held his bow, the string still quivering from the shot.

As Ollie fell limp to the ground, the bare-chested chief with his hair in a braid lowered his longbow and raced forward to climb onto the boulder next to Burano. He had high cheekbones and a vicious look in his eye. He shouted to the crowd, raising his fist to the night sky and shrieking the savage words of his native language. Burano did not like sharing the high ground with this reckless chief, partially out of fear for what he may do next and partially because he was annoyed that the chief had just undermined his authority by taking Ollie's punishment into his own hands. But he waited tensely for the translation before deciding how to react.

"The ancient white man sold our spirit guide, our pathfinder. He confessed in front of our eyes and in our ears, and now his blood feeds the earth. Let us join the search groups in the desert and save the boy who will take us to victory by the sea. And if we do not find him tonight, we know where he goes. We follow him to the sea both ways, and we will take back what was stolen from our fathers' fathers!"

As the man's booming voice reached the climax of his speech, the desert people burst into a hearty roar, stomping their feet and shouting great war cries. From all around, the sound of horns erupted into the dark night, reverberating through the air until Burano felt filled with the energy of the united crowd.

At last, thought Burano. He climbed down from the boulder, stepping around Ollie's still form to greet Jarod.

"Give him an honest burial," said Burano. "Ollie's sacrifice has just secured our alliance."

###

### For More Reading

Download Resistance: Spirit Seeker Book Two and continue the adventure!

Can't get enough of the Spirit Seeker Novels? Follow author Hannah Stahlhut online for updates on her progress for the series and all her other writing escapades:

@hstahlhut on Twitter

www.facebook.com/stahlhutauthor

www.stahlhut.wordpress.com

#WanderlingNovel

#SpiritSeekerNovels

Also explore Hannah's chapter books for children ages 8-13, a series she began at just age 15. Meet Keegan, a young boy gifted with animal speech, and his friend Nora as they embark on a dangerous and exciting adventure!

Journey to the Homeland (2008)

Danger in the Shadows (2009)

Strangers in Madrona (2011)

Visit Hannah's website at www.stahlhut.wordpress.com to order copies of Keegan's adventure books and for updates regarding the upcoming release of Spirit Seeker Book 2. Print copies of all her novels, including Wanderling, are also available at that site.

Thank you for reading, and please let us know how you enjoyed the book—leave a review with your favorite retailer!

### Acknowledgments

God knows where I would be without the support of my friends and family who have tirelessly supported my writing hobby/addiction. First, a huge thanks to my parents, who poured their time and resources into my education, always letting me be creative with my schoolwork and supporting my aspirations as I began writing. Also thank you to my sister Lawana, who is a better critic, editor, and friend than I deserve.

In addition to family support, I am blessed to have Marvin, Paul, and Joe, all of whom have encouraged me and offered professional advice and feedback on many projects. I am also thrilled to have a talented cover design artist in Hannah England, who perfectly captured my novel in the cover of this book. Thank you Hannah!

Last but not at all least, I want to acknowledge my first reviewers and proofreaders who helped me in various stages of development, from rough draft to last-minute polishing. To Ted, Genevieve, Heather, Kristin, and the LASMU writers: thank you for your criticisms, corrections, encouragements, and heartening words. You held me (and the manuscript) together through this lengthy process!
