“I want to.”
Farr nodded. “You might regret that in the end.”
He flicked the reins of his camel, and the beast quickened its stride, distancing itself from Grace’s mount. She stared after him. Her pulse was no longer rapid; instead, it seemed her heart did not beat at all.
They rode all that night, hid from the sun during the heat of the day, then pressed on again as darkness fell. Nothing assailed them, yet Grace felt her fear growing with each passing league. Was the Morgolthi drawing them on, waiting until they were deep within it to swallow them?
Just before dawn they halted at a dead oasis. It must have been beautiful once. No more. What had once been a sizable pool fed by a spring was only a shallow depression caked with salt and littered with the bleached bones of antelope and jackals. Trees circled the oasis, reaching out of the sun‑baked ground like skeletal hands from a grave. Their branches bore no leaves, only thorns.
Grace’s camel lowered itself to its knees, and she half climbed, half fell from the saddle, her legs and back aching. The beast bowed its head, eyelids drooping; a yellow crust of dried spittle framed its mouth. Travis, Larad, and Farr dismounted as the air shimmered and the T’golappeared.
“The camels grow weak,” Avhir said, stroking the neck of one of the animals. He turned his bronze eyes toward Farr. “They cannot go on much longer. One more journey is all they have left in them.”
“It will be enough,” Farr said. He sat with his back against one of the trees, covered his face with the hood of his robe, and did not move.
Travis drew close to Grace. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” he said under his breath, “but Farr is starting to make Master Larad look like Mr. Congeniality.”
“He’s just tired,” Grace said. “Like all of us.”
Travis gave her a questioning look, but she moved away, to the scant shade beneath a clump of dead trees, and sat down. She had been avoiding talking to Travis. Because if she did, she would have to tell him what Farr said to her two nights before.
You might regret that in the end. . . .
Were Travis’s suspicions right? Was Farr taking them to Morindu for his own ends–out of his own desire for power? Maybe. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was taking them there, that he was helping them find Nim. And, once they were there, if he did anything that put Nim in danger, Grace would . . .
She didn’t finish that thought. Instead, she took out her leather flask and drank a little water. It was hot, and tasted sour, but all the same she had to will herself not to guzzle it. The flask was already less than half‑full, and there was no hope of finding water there.
Grace lay down on a blanket, shut her eyes, and soon fell asleep. However, it was a fitful repose, haunted by dreams in which the dead trees began to move, their wood creaking with a dry sound like laughter. She tried to run, but the trees grabbed her, holding her tight in their branches, as thorns drove deep into her flesh. . . .
She sat up. Master Larad knelt beside her.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s time to eat something, Your Majesty.”
Grace pushed sweat‑tangled hair from her face. She had slept longer than she intended; the sun was already halfway to the western horizon.
“I was having a nightmare,” she said.
“I know. We were all having nightmares, Your Majesty. This is an evil place. Death lingers here.” Larad tilted his head. “And something else.”
Grace looked up at the dead trees arching over her. “It’s hatred. This place hates life. I can feel it.”
“Come.” Larad held out a hand, helping her to her feet.
They joined Travis and Farr beneath a larger clump of dead trees. Grace wished they could get away from the trees, but they offered the only shade, and the day was still hot. Vani and Avhir were there, but Kylees was nowhere in view.
“She is scouting,” Vani said. “To the south of here, the land is riddled with pockets of slipsand. To step in one is certain death. We must find a way around.”
“I already told you,” Farr said, his face dark with anger, “there is no way around. We have to go through.”
Avhir let out a snort. “If you try it, you will be swallowed before you walk five steps. The slipsand will fill your lungs and suffocate you, if it does not first crush your body as you are dragged down into its depths. We must go around.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Farr growled. “I spoke with the dying sorcerer, and he told me about this place. The region of slipsand stretches on for leagues to both the east and west. The camels are nearly dead, and it would take us days to go around on foot, even weeks. We’ll die, too, before we can do that. We have to go through.”
“How?” Travis said.
“The sorcerer told me the region of slipsand is no more than half a league across from north to south. If we continue south, we can pass over it quickly. The burial site of Morindu lies not far beyond.”
Avhir’s eyes narrowed. “I will repeat Sai’el Travis’s question. How can we go through even half a league of slipsand without perishing?”
Farr licked blistered lips. “The spirits can guide us through. As you said, the slipsand lies in pockets, with stable areas between. All we have to do is make our way around the pockets without stepping in them.”
“You cannot tell slipsand from normal sand by looking at it,” Vani said. Her words were not combative, not like Avhir’s; they were merely a statement of fact.
“That’s where the morndarican help us. The sorcerer told me the spirits guided him through the slipsand. I can summon them and bid them to do the same for us.”
“Can you?” Master Larad said, his scarred face turned toward Farr. “I confess, I know little of blood sorcery, but I watched you in the ruins of Golbrora. You had to command the morndaritwice before they would obey you and destroy the vipers. The powers of sorcery are weakening, just like rune magic, and the magic Queen Grace wields.”
The former Seeker said nothing; his silence was answer enough.
Avhir stood. “It is still two hours until sunset. We will think about what has been said, then decide.”
Farr opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak the air shimmered and Avhir was gone. Those who remained beneath the trees made a frugal meal of dried figs and a little water. Grace chewed without relish. Everything tasted like sand, even the water.
“Maybe it’s good,” Travis said, drawing spirals in the sand with a stick. “Maybe it’s good that magic is weakening.”
“How so?” Larad said, raising a jagged eyebrow.
“Because if the sorcerers get to Morindu before us, maybe there won’t be anything left for them to find.”
Grace hugged her knees to her chest. Despite the heat, she felt chilled, as if with fever. “What willwe find if we get there?”
She glanced at Vani and Farr. However, before either could speak, the air rippled, unfolded, and Avhir was there.
Vani leaped to her feet. “What is it?”
“I cannot find Kylees,” Avhir said, his voice sharper than usual.
“Where did you last see her?”
“Just south of here, near the edge of the slipsand. She was attempting to see if a route could be found through the area, as the dervish suggested.” He shot Farr an accusatory look; Farr said nothing.
“She has not returned here,” Vani said. “We must continue to look for her.”
She started to move, but Travis gripped her arm, halting her. “Wait. Maybe there’s a better way.” He turned his gray eyes toward Grace. “Can you sense her nearby?”