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When the blackness in the sky eased in the east, Tauno stopped and dismounted. We ate a quick breakfast and fed the horses. As the day brightened, I saw how well Tauno blended in with the plateau. He had camouflaged himself with the plateau’s colors of gray and tan.
“We walk from here,” Tauno said. “We will leave the horses. Take only what you need.”
The clear sky promised a warm day so I removed my cloak and stowed it in my backpack. Dry air laced with a fine grit blew, scratching at the back of my throat. I decided I needed my switchblade. Strapping the sheath around my right thigh, I removed the weapon and triggered the blade. I treated the tip of the blade with some Curare. The muscle-paralyzing drug would come in handy if Cahil wouldn’t cooperate. After I retracted the blade, I positioned the weapon in its holder through a hole in my skirt/pants pocket. I wrapped my long black hair into a bun and used my lock picks to keep the hair in place. Finally, I grabbed my bow.
Dressed for battle, though, didn’t mean I was prepared for battle. I hoped I would be able to find Cahil and Ferde and take them without killing anyone. But the grim knowledge that I would kill to save myself formed a knot in my throat.
Tauno scanned our clothes and weapons. Leif’s machete hung from his waist. He wore a green tunic and pants. Marrok had strapped his sword onto his belt. The dark brown scabbard matched his pants. I realized that we had all dressed in the colors of the earth, and, while we didn’t blend in as well as Tauno, we wouldn’t stand out either.
We tied our packs and supplies onto the horses’ saddles, then left the horses to graze on what little grass they could find, and walked south. The plateau appeared deserted. The need to search the area with magic crept along my skin, and I tried to ignore the desire. Connecting with the life around me had become almost instinctive and I felt exposed and out of sorts by not knowing what breathed nearby.
Taking a circuitous path, Tauno eventually stopped. He pointed to a cluster of spine trees. “Just beyond that copse is the camp,” he whispered.
I searched the plateau. Where was the Sandseed army? The earth undulated as if the sand had liquefied. The waves on the ground grew. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry of surprise. Row upon row of Sandseed warriors stood. Camouflaged to match the sand, they had been lying on the ground in front of us and I hadn’t noticed them.
Moon Man smiled his amusement at my dismay. “You have been relying on your magical senses and have forgotten about your physical senses.”
Before I could respond, we were joined by four Sandseeds. Though they dressed the same as the warriors, these Sandseeds held themselves with authority. They issued orders and power radiated from them. Story Weavers.
A male Story Weaver handed Moon Man a scimitar. His sharp gaze pierced me as he studied my features. “This is the Soulfinder?” Doubt laced his words, but he spoke softly. “She is not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” I asked.
“A large dark-skinned woman. You look like you could not survive a sandstorm let alone find and release a soul.”
“It’s a good thing you’re not my Story Weaver. You’re easily distracted by the pattern of the cloth and can’t see the quality of the threads.”
“Well done,” Moon Man said to me. “Reed, show us the camp.”
The Story Weaver led us to the trees. Through the spiky needles on the branches, I saw the Daviian camp.
The air shimmered around the camp as if a bubble of heat had gotten trapped near the ground. A large cook fire burned in the central area. Many people scurried about either helping with breakfast or eating it. Tents fanned from the area, extending out until they reached the edge of the plateau.
Squinting in the sunlight, I looked beyond the encampment’s border. Just the tops of the trees in the Illiais Jungle were visible. They reminded me of a time when I had stood on a platform built near the peak of the tallest tree in the jungle and had seen the flat expanse of the plateau for the first time. The sheer rock drop-off into the jungle had appeared to be an impossible climb. So why set up camp there? I wondered.
Moon Man leaned next to me. “The camp is an illusion.”
“Do you have enough warriors to attack?” I asked, thinking the illusion hid many more Vermin.
“Every one.”
“All—” The Sandseeds yelled a battle cry and dashed toward the camp.
Moon Man grabbed my arm, pulling me with him. “Stay with me.”
With Leif and Marrok right behind us, we followed the Sandseeds. When the first warriors crossed into the illusion, they disappeared from sight for a moment. The sound of rushing water reached my ears as the chimera dissipated.
I blinked a few times to adjust my vision to what the Daviians had concealed. The central fire remained the same. But instead of many Vermin around the flames, there stood only one man. The rest of the camp was empty.
CHAPTER 4
WHEN THE ILLUSION disappeared, so did the expanse of tents and all the Daviians. The lone man standing by the fire collapsed before the Sandseed warriors could reach him.
Evidence that a large army had camped here was imprinted on the ground. Although, by the time the Sandseed leaders restored order to the milling warriors, many of the Daviian tracks had been ruined.
And the only witness had taken poison.
“One of their Warpers,” Moon Man said, nudging the corpse with his bare foot. “He held the illusion and killed himself once it broke.”
“If you can clear the area, I might be able to tell you where they’ve gone,” Marrok said.
The Sandseed warriors returned to the copse of spine trees. Moon Man and I stayed by the fire as Marrok and Leif circled the camp. Marrok looked for physical evidence while Leif used his magic to smell the intentions of the Daviians.
I projected my mental awareness as far as I could. If I sought a specific person, then I could reach them from far away, but with a general search my magic could only extend about ten miles. I reached no one in the plateau, and the bounty of life in the jungle was too overwhelming to sort out.
When they had finished their circuit, Marrok and Leif returned. Their glum expressions reflected bad news.
“They’ve been gone for days. The majority of the tracks head east and west,” Marrok reported. “But I found some metal spikes with rope fibers in the ground near the edge of the plateau. A few Vermin could have climbed down into the jungle.”
I touched Leif’s arm. “The Zaltanas?”
“If the Vermin can even find our homestead among the trees, they’re still well protected,” he said.
“Even from one of the Warpers?” I asked.
Leif blanched.
“Are the ropes still there?” I asked Marrok.
“No. The others must have waited and either cut the rope or taken it along with them,” Marrok said.
“Do you know how many went down?” Moon Man asked.
“No.”
Leif said, “There were so many scents and emotions mixed together. The need for stealth and urgency predominated. They moved with a purpose and felt confident. The eastern group, though, had the most men and they…” Leif closed his eyes and sniffed the breeze. “I don’t know. I need to follow their trail for a while.”
Marrok led Leif to the eastern tracks. I asked Kiki and the other horses to come to us. While waiting for them, Moon Man and the other Story Weavers split the warriors into two groups, and sent two scouts, one to the west and the other to the east.
But what about those that went down the rope to the jungle? What about Cahil and Ferde? Were they even with the Daviians? And, if so, which way had they gone?
When the horses arrived, I grabbed my pack off Kiki’s saddle. Opening it, I pulled my rope out and headed for the rim of the plateau. I found one of the metal spikes Marrok had mentioned and tied the end of the rope to it. On my belly, I inched closer to the edge until I could see down into the jungle.
The sides of the cliff appeared to be smooth, with no hand-holds in sight. I tossed the rope over, but knew it wouldn’t reach the bottom far below. The end stopped a quarter of the way down. Even with a longer rope, the climb looked dangerous. Water sprayed out of fissures in the rock face about halfway down. The stones below glistened.
I considered the descent. A desperate person might attempt it, but Leif’s assessment of the Vermin hadn’t included desperation.
Moon Man waited for me by the horses.
“When the scouts return, we will set out,” he said.
A notion that had been bothering me finally clicked. “Your people have swept the plateau and have been watching the camp. How could the Vermin slip away without you knowing?”
“A few of their Warpers had been Story Weavers. They must have learned to make a null shield.”
“That would only hide their presence from a magical search. What about seeing them?”
Before Moon Man could answer, a shout rang out. Leif, Marrok and the scout ran toward us.
“Found a trench,” Marrok panted.
“Heading east then north.” The scout gestured.
“Ill intent,” Leif said.
North toward the Avibian Plains. Toward the Sandseeds’ unprotected lands because their warriors were here in the plateau. Every one.
Moon Man covered his face with his hands as if he needed to block out the distractions and think.
The second scout arrived from the west. Puffs of sand from his passage reached us before he did.
“Another trench?” Marrok asked.
“The trail ends. They doubled back.” The scout reported.
Moon Man dropped his hands and began shouting orders, sending the warriors northeast at a run, ordering the Story Weavers to make contact with the people who stayed behind on the plains.
“Come on,” he said, turning to join the others.
“No,” I said.
He stopped and looked back. “What?”
“Too obvious. I don’t think Cahil would go along with that.”
“Then where did he go?” Moon Man demanded.
“The bulk of the Daviians went east, but I think a smaller group either went west or south.”
“My people are in trouble,” Moon Man said.
“And so are mine,” I replied. “You go with your warriors. If I’m wrong, we’ll catch up with you.”
“And if you are right, then what?”
Then what, indeed. There were only three of us.
“I will go with you,” Moon Man said. He called one of the Story Weavers and a touch of magic pricked my skin as they linked their minds.
Not wanting to intrude on their mental conversation, I focused on finding Cahil. I examined the edge of the plateau. A branch from one of the tall jungle trees reached toward the cliff. I could use my grapple and rope and hook it—
No, Leif said in my mind. Suicide.
I frowned at him. But I could swing—
No.
Nutty could do it. Our cousin climbed trees as if valmur blood coursed through her veins.
You’re not Nutty.
I reluctantly abandoned that course of action. Even if I could swing to the tree, I doubted anyone else would follow me. Then I would be alone. I berated myself for being worried about being on my own: living in Sitia had made me soft.
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