“Do not pity the beasts, Sai’el Travis.” Avhir stroked the neck of one of the camels as it used its long tongue to draw water into its mouth. “After all, you do not pity the animal whose flesh you eat. Instead, be grateful for their sacrifice and accept it.”
These words were scant comfort. Travis started to move away, then paused. “So how are we going to get back? If the camels don’t survive, how will we leave Morindu?”
“You and the dervish are great sorcerers. Once the power of Morindu is at your disposal, there will be little either of you cannot do.”
Travis stared at him; the assassin’s eyes shone in the gloom.
“Come,” Avhir said. “The camels are ready. It is time to go.”
They set out as the enormous Eldhish moon rose above the horizon, flooding the desert with white light so that the dunes seemed made of snow rather than sand. Of the four T’gol, only Vani and Avhir were in view, and even they were difficult to see, skimming over the sand like shadows. Travis could only assume the other two were up ahead, scouting.
The camels moved at a languid but unceasing pace, keeping to the troughs between the dunes, and the huts of the village quickly vanished from sight. Just as when she rode a horse, Grace looked assured and regal atop her camel, clad in a flowing white serafi, as if she had done this all her life. Even Farr did not seem so at ease as she though he was clearly a practiced rider.
Travis, in contrast, bounced in the hard, square saddle that perched on the hump of his mount, his black serafiflapping around him. The camel paced with an odd gait that rolled from side to side, and he felt like an egg sitting on a tray balancing on the top of a mountain. In an earthquake. The sand was shockingly far below him, but at least it would provide a soft landing if–or more likely, when–he took a tumble.
Besides, Travis could take consolation in the fact that he wasn’t having nearly as hard a time as Master Larad. The Runelord’s scarred face was pasty in the moonlight, and evinced a greenish cast.
“Up and down, back and forth,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Cannot this wretched beast stop rocking? By Olrig, this is worse than being on the sea. Steady, now. Steady!”
Travis made a poor attempt to stifle his laughter. He had planned to speak to Larad once they set out; the Runelord had wanted to talk about the rift. However, Travis decided it could wait. Besides, he had other matters on his mind.
Once the power of Morindu is at your disposal, there will be little either of you cannot do. . . .
Travis’s laughter died. What had Avhir meant by those words?
You know what he meant. Morindu was an entire city of sorcerers–the most powerful sorcerers that ever lived. Who knows what knowledge is buried in there, what secrets, what artifacts?
He found himself gazing to his left. Did Farr know what was buried in Morindu? Is that why he was helping them? Not to get Nim back, or to stop the Scirathi in their quest for power, but rather to claim those secrets, that power, for himself?
Travis studied the former Seeker, as if the moonlight might reveal secrets that daylight had not. Before they had set out, Farr had cleaned himself up. He had shaved his beard and trimmed his hair, and except for the black serafihe looked like the man Travis remembered: darkly handsome, compelling, but dangerous as well, like the haunted protagonist of a noir film. Then Travis looked past Farr and saw that his was not the only gaze locked on the former Seeker.
He waited until they began to wind around the base of a curving ridge of sand, then–with far more tugs on the reins than he would have thought necessary–brought his camel close to Grace’s.
“Can we trust him?” he said in a low voice.
Grace gave him a startled glance, then her gaze moved ahead, to where Farr rode.
He seems di ferent, Travis said in his mind. He knew she– and only she– could hear him.
Heis di ferent, Grace’s voice–her presence–spoke in his mind. Sareth said that working blood sorcery changes a man, and that’s why we shouldn’t trust him. But I don’t think we have a choice.
Travis licked his lips; they already felt dry and cracked. “He fell in love with you, Grace, when he was watching you as a Seeker. Deirdre told me about it.”
“I know,” Grace said. “At least, I think I did.”
“And do you love him?”
She smiled: a sorrowful expression. In Malachor, I would think about him sometimes. I would wonder what I might say if I saw him again, what it might be like if he was near. But I didn’t believe it would ever happen. That made it safe to think about him. Only this feels . . .
Dangerous, he said in his mind.
She shook her head. Whatever I feel for him isn’t important. The only thing that’s important is finding Nim. I’m no expert when it comes to feelings, but there’s one thing I am certain of: I love you, Travis, and I love Beltan. And we will find your daughter.
“Thank you,” he managed to croak.
“Don’t worry about him, Travis,” Grace said, speaking aloud now. “If Hadrian tries to do something, she’ll know about it.” She nodded toward a shadow that flitted just behind Farr’s camel.
Travis sighed. We don’t love each other anymore, Vani and I.
I know.
He felt Grace’s reply as much as heard it, and it was enough; she understood. And even though he didn’t love Vani, he knew he could trust her. Vani had spent the last three years doing everything she could to protect Nim. She was not going to stop.
They rode in silence after that. Travis concentrated on breathing through his nostrils, to preserve the moisture in his breath. And to keep himself from breathing too deeply. He had not forgotten Vani’s warning; the air of the Morgolthi was intoxicating to sorcerers. This place was dangerous because it could make himdangerous.
The moon soared to its zenith, then began to descend. The dunes rose and fell like ghostly waves, and the rocking of the camel caused Travis to drift into a kind of waking sleep. From time to time he saw a shadow slink down the lee side of one of the dunes, or flit by on the edge of vision, and he knew one of the T’golwas close. They were keeping watch, and if there were any perils in the desert, the assassins skillfully led the party around them.
Travis jerked in the saddle. They had come to a stop. He looked up and saw the last sliver of the moon just vanishing behind a ridge.
“We will stop here,” Avhir said.
They made camp in a hollow beneath the lee side of a dune. Travis clambered down from his camel, limbs stiff and aching. He noticed Grace shivering, fetched a blanket from one of the packs, and wrapped it around her shoulders. The desert night had grown cold, though Travis didn’t really feel it. These days, his blood was always hot.
Once the sun crested the horizon, the need for blankets evaporated, and in minutes the air began to shimmer with heat. The T’golerected a simple shelter by tying the blankets to wood staves pounded into the sand. The tent offered a small patch of shade, and as the blankets were woven with desert colors, it offered concealment as well.