Bronwyn nodded. “Better. Continue.”
Toria followed her train of logic until she came to a split and found herself considering two possibilities. “Either the destruction of their vaults destroyed them, or they re-created them later. Which was it?”
“They each occurred, depending on the person,” Bronwyn said. “We never found a pattern we could use to determine which would happen. In the end, it hardly mattered. Our gift is insufficient for the task.”
Sorrow filled Toria and despite her revulsion, she reached out to lay a hand on the sleeping man’s chest. “Is there nothing that can be done for such as these?”
Bronwyn nodded her approval. “There is no healing to be found within the use of our gift, but there are some who have recovered from such brokenness. It takes time and love—and an abundance of both.”
Toria nodded. “What of him? Will anyone be able to heal him?”
Bronwyn’s expression closed. “He has already been tried and convicted, Toria Deel. This man’s fate has been determined. It’s not our place to interfere.”
“His name is Eofot.”
Anger brought heat to her skin until she burned with it, at the waste of life, at her own inability to heal it, but most of all at whatever circumstance had taken Eofot and broken him.
Toria replayed the memory and a hundred more like it, searching for some knowledge or lore that might help her. A touch brought her out of her mind, and she opened her eyes to see the horizon swallowing the light of the sun.
In the midst of the small rectangle that defined their camp, men and women, dressed in black, their faces smeared with lampblack or mud came stumbling into the waning day, their eyes covered in heavy swaths of cloth.
“Tell me, Lieutenant,” Toria said. “Has she killed any besides those who have come from the forest?”
The lieutenant shook his head in a way that told Toria she’d asked the wrong question. “No.”
On her left, Fess might have sighed in relief.
“How many of those who come from the forest are women?” Toria asked.
The lieutenant’s face tightened. “Nearly half.”
She pointed at a figure emerging from the blackened tent, a figure owning a heart-shaped face, visible despite the cloth and mud. “How many women from the forest has she killed?”
The lieutenant stiffened. “None. She has left them for the others.”
“Come, Fess, and bring Wag with you. Let us renew our acquaintance. Lelwin is waiting for us.”
“Lelwin?” The lieutenant’s mouth twisted around the word, giving it an unfamiliar sound. “You mean Brekana?”
Sorrow, but not surprise, washed through her. She forced a nod. “Yes. I mean her.”
Chapter 38
A little over a week out from Erimos, Dukasti held up his hand and they pulled to a stop, the horses champing and huffing. The sun still stood well above the horizon. Pellin had long since stopped bothering to mop his brow. The cloth allotted for the purpose was sodden past the point of usefulness.
Dukasti dismounted with a signal, and a score of southern warriors followed suit, their crescents—the half-moon blade affixed to a bar of iron—clanking at their side. “We will rest here, Eldest,” he said. “Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, we will endeavor to make the journey to the border of the true desert, the Maveth, where Igesia awaits.”
“Can we not journey a bit more today?” Mark asked. “We still have hours of daylight left.”
Dukasti smiled. During their journey Pellin had watched his counterpart develop an affinity for the urchin, not only for his insights, but for the unwavering commitment he exhibited for Elieve’s care. “Igesia dwells in Oasi,” he said. “It is one of the few spots of respite on the border of the corruption, but there are no more between here and there. The ride can be accomplished with twelve hours of hard riding, no less. The desert is not a place to spend the night, unless you wish to freeze to death.”
“Freeze?” Mark laughed. “I feel like butter that’s been left next to the oven.”
Dukasti nodded. “Oasi lies beyond a stretch of tens of miles of nothing but sand. No river or stream, no plants or animals, make their home there. The air cannot hold the heat, and when the sun goes down, any who are caught unaware succumb to the dry and cold.” He beckoned. “Come. The hospitality of the sandmen is proverbial here, and my brother Karam will be expecting us. I sent a bird ahead.”
They surrendered their horses, and Dukasti led them to a long low building in the shape of a cross. Arched hallways tapered toward the center of the roof and focused the breeze, but even so, the force of the southern sun struck Pellin like a physical blow. They passed through a doorway into a room whose roof was latticed to provide shade and permit air to circulate.
Instead of chairs, large cushions surrounded low tables, but few merchants or traders were in attendance. A southerner, his azure eyes bright against the deep charcoal of his skin appeared out of a side room and made for Dukasti. “Brother! It is good to see you.”
Dukasti’s lips parted into a rare smile. “Karam, it is good to see you as well.”
Karam’s smile deepened, but he shrugged. “Yes and no. The only time I see you is when you are on your way to Oasi, and that only happens when there is trouble.”
Dukasti’s expression turned stricken. “I came to visit you on your naming day, did I not?”
This earned him a shake of the head. “That was five years ago, brother.” Turning serious, he eyed Pellin and the rest of their company. “I have a hard time believing dire circumstances could arise from such as these. Surely the light of Aer shines upon them.” His eyes narrowed when he noticed Elieve. “Though this one carries a tale worth hearing.”
Dukasti shook his head. “Some tales are for the bearer only.” To Pellin he said, “My brother Karam holds a
