frightened of all”
Nine riders from the center of the Mikku formation continued forward, while the remainder waited. The nine found their imposing display bedeviled by the loose sand on the face of the ridge. Horses sank up to their hocks, drawing their shod feet out with considerable effort. Wapah smiled, the expression hidden by the dust veil covering his face, as the full import of Adala’s logic became clear to him. Stopping here had given them the moral advantage of meeting the Mikku on higher ground, but she had foreseen a tactical purpose, too. The Mikku lost momentum and dignity as they labored up the shifting slope.
Twenty yards away, the nine riders halted. In the center was a nomad with the tallest, brightest helmet the Weya-Lu had ever seen. Golden horns sprouted from the polished steel brow, curving up and back like a desert antelope’s. From their tips fluttered squares of shiny gold silk. The sides and rear of the helmet were protected by heavy curtains of mail.
“I am Shaccan, warmaster of the Mikku,” said the warrior in the horned helmet. “Who are you?”
Before speaking, Wapah glanced at his leader. Adala had shifted her dust veil, exposing her fiery eyes to the Mikku. She nodded slightly at Wapah.
“Greetings, brothers of the desert! Peace to you, and all your kin!” he called, then introduced himself and Adala.
“Are you alone, Weya-Lu?” Shaccan asked.
“Those who believe are never alone,” Adala replied. “Is this not so?”
The warmaster plainly did not like having his question answered with a question. Gruffly, he said, “We were told the Weya-Lu had left their range. Is that so?”
“We went to the Valley of the Blue Sands, but we have returned. Why are you here?”
“With the Weya-Lu gone, we ride for Kortal, to hire as caravan escorts.”
“You cannot.”
Wapah flinched at the impoliteness of Adala’s abrupt command. Shaccan’s thick eyebrows rose.
“By what right do you stop us, woman?”
Adala lifted her eyes to the sky. “I claim the right of divine maita. Those on High have chosen me to lead all the people of the desert to Khuri-Khan, to cleanse our land of foreign corruption. You may join us.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Shaccan put back his head and laughed. He laughed so long and hard, tears streaked his cheeks.
“You’re either mad or the greatest woman in Khur,” he said, dabbing at his eyes. “I like you! Are you married?”
For the first time in many years, Adala was nonplussed. As she regained her composure and admitted being a widow, six of Shaccan’s men surrounded her and Wapah, and the other two rode off to confirm the presence of the rest of the Weya-Lu tribe.
Shaccan grinned. “I thought this was going to be a dull journey. When I heard the Weya-Lu had gone, I thought it must be because of plague or war. Now you speak of gods and corruption and maita. You’ve been out in the sun too long. Stand aside. It would be bad luck for me to harm one so insane.”
Adala didn’t move. “We’re bound for Khuri-Khan. Join us, or share in the infamy of betraying your nation.”
His affable manner evaporated. “You’re in our hands now. Don’t make trouble, or there will be bloodshed. The whole of the Mikku are at my back.”
“You would take up arms against your sisters and brothers of the desert?”
“Anyone who threatens the Mikku is no brother-or sister-of mine.”
A peal of thunder, startled the horses. Wapah looked up. The clouds had become heavy and dark. Lightning flickered among them. He was past fifty, and had seen rain only once before in his life, during a visit to Delphon twenty-two years ago.
Adala paid no heed to the gathering storm. “I am chosen by Those on High to do what must be done, Shaccan of the Mikku. I cannot refuse, nor can you oppose me without risking the wrath of the gods. This is my maita.”
“You’re mad as a mouse.”
Shaccan ordered his warriors to take Adala in hand. Hardly had the words left his lips than a tremendously loud burst of thunder broke over them. Horses shied and bucked, and the men struggled to keep their animals calm. Only Little Thorn, his eyes protected from sand and sun by an embroidered cowl, stood placidly.
Rain began to fall, the fat droplets sending up tiny puffs of dust when they hit the ground. The Mikku, young men all, had never seen rain before. They began muttering among themselves. When he heard them use the word “maita,” Shaccan angrily drew his sword.
“Idiots! Does a madwoman make the rain? Seize her! Immediately!”
Wind swept over them, driving warm rain into their faces. Wapah turned his horse’s head away from the gusts.
Mikku, thinking he was trying to flee, thrust his sword at Wapah. It would have pierced his side, had not Adala intervened. She caught the blade in her hand and shoved. Angry at being thwarted, the Mikku jerked his sword back, laying open Adala’s palm. She hissed in pain.
Outraged, Wapah yelled. He pulled out a scarf and tied it tightly around her injured hand.
The rain fell even more heavily. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed directly overhead, blinding flash and earsplitting noise coming almost simultaneously. This was too much for the Mikku’s horses. The animals reared and fled, taking their riders back down the slope to the main body of warriors. Only Shaccan remained, his horned helmet gleaming dully in the gray light filtering through the thick clouds. He glared at the pair before him.
“Widow or not, your life is over!” he cried. “Here is your maita!”
He raised his blade high, to cleave the impassive Adala from head to waist. No sooner had the sword reached its apex than another bolt of lightning sliced down from the sky. It struck the Mikku’s sword, searing down the steel blade and the warmaster’s arm.
The blast knocked everyone down. Adala hit the sand and rolled to avoid being crushed by her falling donkey. When her head cleared, she crawled up the slope to Wapah. He was dazed but uninjured.
Where Shaccan had been was now a smoking pit in the sand. Adala crawled to its edge and looked down. What she found was ghastly. Horse and man were dead, horribly burned. Most of Shaccan’s sword had melted and run down his arm like candle wax. His flesh, inside his armor, was charred black. His helmet was gone, for which Adala was profoundly sorry as it left bare the unbelievable ruin that had been his face.
She looked away from the grotesque visage and noticed the sand around Shaccan had changed. No longer filled with loose pale grains, the crater in which he lay resembled a bowl of crude glass, blue-green in color. Adala immediately was reminded of the hidden valley. Did its soil’s blue-green tint come from the same source, the fire from heaven?
Raindrops sizzled and hissed into steam when they hit the blasted corpse and glassy crater. The other Mikku gathered slowly, dismounting and staring down into the crater. So great was the terror on their faces as they regarded Adala, Wapah was certain they would slay her forthwith. Disregarding the deeply ingrained stricture against touching the Weyadan, he crawled frantically to her and flung his body over hers.
“Away with all of you, lest Those on High strike you down as well!” he shouted at the sword-wielding Mikku.
Wapah had misread the warriors. They had no intention of lifting their weapons against Adala. Instead, all fell on their knees, calling to her to forgive them, pledging to serve her, affirming their belief in the power of Those on High.
Adala tried to rise. As she shifted beneath him, Wapah flushed in embarrassment and moved swiftly off. She sat up, straightening her black robes.
On her feet again, she looked around at the kneeling Mikku. “Will you believe in my maita?” she asked them. “Will you follow where I lead and fight only for the purity of Khur?”
To a man, they vowed they would.
Wapah went to round up his mount and Adala’s donkey. The rain was easing, and as Wapah returned, it ceased altogether. He brought with him more than their mounts, Shaccan’s helmet was cradled in his arm. The tall golden- horned helm had been flung many yards away. It appeared completely untouched by the lightning that had so utterly destroyed its owner.
