“What about conjuring a wind? You’ve done that before.”
“I can’t,” she said, hating how worthless the words were, but the Weirding was too weak, and there was so little life here in the desert.
Travis nodded, his eyes sad but not accusing; he didn’t blame her. He glanced at Larad. “Do you know the rune for sand?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t many deserts in the north,” the Runelord said, his words sardonic as ever despite the fear in his eyes. “I do not know the rune for sand, but the rune for dirt is Khath.”
“Speak it with me,” Travis said.
Together the two Runelords chanted the rune. Grace felt magic shimmer on the air, but it abruptly faded. Larad pulled something from his robe: a small iron box. He opened it, and three orbs shimmered in his hand, one white, one gray‑green, and the other blazing crimson. The Imsari–Larad had brought them with him.
Travis and Larad chanted the rune again, and the Stones flared. However, it was no use. Either it was the wrong rune they spoke, or rune magic had no power over these things born of blood sorcery. The sand creatures kept coming.
Avhir tried to dodge one of the sorcerers, but as he sprang aside it dived at him, and his boot caught its jaw. The sorcerer’s mandible flew away from its skull, and red powder poured from its gaping mouth. The others had also managed to harm themselves by flailing at the T’gol. Their wounds were small, but dust flowed from them. Now there were five of the sand creatures, and in several spots the sand was pushing itself up into pillars, forming more.
“What do these fiends want?” Larad said, staggering back. He thrust the box with the Imsari back inside his robe.
The sand creatures kept advancing. Vani and Avhir combined their attacks on one of the creatures. They rained blows and kicks upon it, pummeling the creature down into the sand. Grace felt a spark of hope, but it was extinguished as the ground churned, and the sand creature began to re‑form. Grace, Travis, and Larad were forced to back up another step.
Grace’s foot sank deep into the sand. A hundred invisible hands seemed to pull at her, dragging her foot down. There was a moaning sound deep in the ground. She would have gone under in a second if Travis and Larad hadn’t grabbed her arms, pulling her back.
“Slipsand,” Larad said, glancing over his shoulder at the flat expanse behind them. “We can’t go any farther.”
Nor could they go forward. The T’golstood between them and the sand creatures, battling furiously, their arms and legs blurring. Sand filled the air as heads and torsos exploded under the fury of the assassins. However, the sand creatures continually re‑formed themselves, and already the T’golwere beginning to slow down. Sweat poured down Vani’s brow; Avhir’s breath came in ragged gasps. They could not keep this up.
A low chant sounded, and Grace looked up to see Farr’s dagger flash in the light of the dying sun. Blood spilled from a gash in his arm, and a buzzing filled the air like a swarm of unseen insects. The buzzing swarmed around one of the sand creatures. The thing stood still for a moment, as if frozen, then ruptured in a cascade of sand. This time it did not coalesce again. Farr had destroyed it.
Grace glanced at the former Seeker. He had fallen to his knees, and his face was gray. She reached out with the Touch and at once saw that he had lost a large amount of blood. If he lost any more, he could go into shock. All the same Farr gripped the dagger and, moving weakly, began to lengthen the gash in his arm.
No!Grace spun the words over the Weirding. You can’t afford to lose more blood.
She felt his surprise, and he looked at her. Then, faint but clear, she heard his reply. There is no other way. . . .
Grace wouldn’t believe that. “Travis, you’re a sorcerer. Can you do what Hadrian just did?”
Travis didn’t answer. He gazed at the sand creatures, less than ten paces away. The T’golwere losing ground. There were seven of the creatures by then–no, eight. Avhir fell to his knees. Vani jerked him back up. Only it didn’t matter. Even the T’golcould not win this fight. They would fall, and Farr would die from loss of blood. In moments it would be over.
Larad gripped Travis’s shoulders, shaking him. “Rune magic is no use against them. But you are a sorcerer, Master Wilder. You can do something!”
“Yes,” Travis murmured. “It’s the only way. It’s me these things want. Once I’m gone, they’ll go, too.”
Grace stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
There was a fey light in his eyes; he touched her cheek. “Don’t worry, Grace. You’ll bring me back. I know you will.”
Vani let out a cry of pain. Two of the sand creatures had flanked her, and they were crushing her between them. Avhir staggered, trying to defend himself and failing as three of the creatures pummeled him with fists of sand. Beyond, Farr sprawled on the ground, motionless, a dark stain spreading out from his arm. Three of the sand creatures broke through the line of the assassins. They shambled forward, arms out before them.
Travis drew in a breath. “I believe in you, Grace.”
Then he took a step backward.
Instantly, the slipsand gave way beneath his boots. One moment he was there, gazing at her with his gray eyes, and the next he was gone. There was a low moan as the sand shifted. It poured back into the hole where he had vanished, filling it, and in the space of a heartbeat all traces of it, and of Travis, were gone.
The sand creatures hesitated, as if uncertain what to do, and the T’goltook the chance to free themselves.
“No!” Grace screamed, flinging herself to the ground. She would have been sucked into the slipsand herself but for Larad’s hands pulling her back. She reached out with the Touch, probing deep into the sand, willing the magic to work. All was dark. She groped, searching blindly, flinging her spirit after him. There–she felt a glimmer of life. It was him, it had to be. . . .
The glimmer of light went dark.
“No!” Grace shouted again, but it was no use.
Master Larad pulled her away from the edge of the slipsand. Through her tears she barely saw the sand creatures collapse into heaps of motionless dust; she hardly noticed as the T’golapproached, or as Farr slowly pulled himself up from the ground. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
Travis was dead.
PART THREE
MARIUS
31.
It was early when Deirdre reached the Charterhouse. Behind the reception counter, Madeleine’s chair was empty, the computer screen blank. Only a single fluorescent light flickered overhead.
Eschewing the elevator, Deirdre headed down a shadowed corridor, descended a flight of stairs to the basement, and made her way to the door of her office. It was locked; he wasn’t there yet. That had been her hope, and the reason she had left her flat before dawn. She needed time to think before he showed up, time to decide what to do.
Time to figure out whose side Anders was really on.
The office was dim–only a faint gray illumination oozed through the office’s one small window–but she left the overhead lights off. Her head hurt, and her stomach churned, and like a sick animal she wanted nothing except to curl up in a safe, dark spot.
But you’re not safe here, Deirdre. Not if you’re right.