Once again, Arhrhakim roamed the lands of Pawan Kor. Hyrkas, Chaolis, and Lharro wore their hoods up more than necessary and they rode huddled together, cowed by open land and a vast sky. The night amazed them. On Vaalshimar, they had never seen so many stars, so clear and distinct. And their first sighting of the faint blue-green Eye Nebula shocked them since it perfectly matched the Eye of the Farseer hieroglyph. Chaolis surged with pride, Hyrkas as well. They passed their enthusiasm on to the others. Only Lharro, who missed his homeland, wasn't excited.

Though Zyrella's mood improved, she remained withdrawn. Twice she had sex with Ohzikar, but she wouldn't dare more than that. While it had restored the energy she had depleted against Salahn, it had sent Ohzikar into a morbid depression. He rarely spoke to anyone and was having trouble learning the palymfar arts from Jaska.

Zyrella again grew comfortable in Jaska's presence. Several times she spoke with him about the weather and terrain. She listened while he taught palymfar concepts to the others over their campfire at night. And she watched in the mornings, when despite the speed of their pace, Jaska took them through palymfar exercises and meditations. Whenever the mounts were resting, Jaska was teaching.

He was an excellent and patient instructor. That was clearly why the other palymfar had followed him with such devotion. Even while corrupted by Salahn's sorceries, he had cared about each of his students. His might have been the only love some of those men had ever received, even if he was brutal and harshly demanding of them.

~~~

On the tenth day, they reached the borderlands of the Sheflar Wastes, a pebbled expanse with little water, vegetation, or animal life. Once the Sheflar Wastes had been the primary homeland of the Eirsenda, but with their demise, so went the land that had nourished them.

They were two days out from the caravan post of Ekris, a town the rust-colored desert had swallowed decades ago. It was little more than a village now. Jaska placed their camp within a shallow ravine that held a tiny seep. That night, after Jaska finished his combat instructions, Zyrella approached him.

"Can I speak with you in private?"

"Of course."

She walked around the seep to the other end of the ravine, out of sight of the camp. She carried a small leather bag with her. "I'm sorry I've been distant."

"I understand."

"At least the pain makes us strong, right?"

"If it does then you and I must be the strongest people in the world."

"I hope so. We will need to be to stop a god." She lifted the bag. "I have a gift for you."

Jaska took the bag and looked within. His eyes grew large with astonishment as he looked upon a dozen qavra stones set within palymfar chokers. "Where did you get these?"

"From the Farseer. Remnants of the palymfar who chased us. I didn't want the others to see them because I didn't know if you would want them to have them."

"That's probably for the best. The spells require the most preparation and learning of all, far more than the combat maneuvers and meditations." He retied the bag. "Thank you, Zyrella."

She swept several strands of hair from her face. Under Avida's light, her pale skin shined with vitality. How, Jaska wondered, had he been cursed to fall in love with two sisters so much alike and yet so different?

"I'm having trouble with the new chakra meditations I learned," Jaska said. "Could you help me?"

"Of course." She smiled wryly. "I wasn't going to do anything else but mope about and think of things I cannot change."

"Ah, something I've had little time for lately myself, except when riding."

"Riding is too long and silent a process. I've learned to indulge in its evils." She sighed. "Do you wish to begin tonight?"

"We can."

~~~

Jaska hadn't seen his former master through the Shadowland. He didn't dare get that close. But he could feel him, along with two palymfar, pursuing them far faster than Jaska and his comrades could travel. Jaska had feared from the beginning that Salahn would come after him before he was ready to face him. There was no way he could beat him, and there didn't seem to be any way he could escape. Salahn was traveling fast, probably through the use of magic. If determined, he could create demon horses that could travel fast without rest, and Salahn himself could go days without sleep if necessary.

"Salahn will soon overtake us," he told his companions. "We have but a few hours at the most."

"What can we do?" Hyrkas asked.

Jaska shrugged. "Nothing except ride and hope."

"And fight to the death."

"You don't have to," Jaska replied. "You and your companions could ride away."

Hyrkas looked at him, his expression masked by the Farseer's illusory cloak. "I came along knowing that the most likely result. I would be a coward not to stand against this man."

"You'd be throwing away your life."

"Death does not invalidate doing the right thing. No matter what my mistress thinks, there are things more important than survival. We must stand against evil whenever we have a chance. That is what makes us more than beasts."

"Besides," said Lharro, "we are palymfar now and we will stand against the corruption that defiles our order."

Chaolis nodded and clenched his fists. Jaska was humbled by their devotion and fearlessness. Bakulus and Caracyn also affirmed their own devotion to standing against Salahn. They had sought to be heroes, and they would die as such.

Zyrella's mind raced through various stratagems to escape Salahn but came up with naught. Ohzikar was fatigued from sex with Zyrella, his mind numb, his depression so overwhelming that fear barely stirred any response within him. Jaska had begun to worry about him, not knowing the cause of his melancholy.

A wind stirred, kicking dust up into their faces. Everyone lifted their veils and lowered their heads. Jaska checked within the Shadowland, searching the terrain ahead. He found some hope but also a new curse.

"We need to veer west," he told the others as they slowed their pace to rest their horses and pack camels. "There's a canyon with a rope bridge across it. If we make it there before Salahn, we can cut it loose and trap him on this side. But don't rejoice too much. There's a sandstorm ahead, and behind it there's something strange and dark that clouds the horizon. I'm not at all sure what it is."

~~~

On the horizon churned a strange, slow-moving sandstorm and miles behind it loomed a black fog cloud reeking of sorcery and blocking out the light of the setting sun. None of them had ever seen or even heard of any storms like these.

"Is this the work of Salahn?" asked Bakulus as they neared the bridge.

Zyrella closed her eyes and concentrated. "The black cloud is an old and angry magic. Of that much I'm certain. It cannot be Salahn's doing. As for the sandstorm, I'm not sure, but I think the cloud is generating it."

The bridge of weathered planks and fraying ropes stretched out across a massive dry chasm. The horses and camels were restless and agitated as their hooves pounded across the swaying bridge.

Jaska could feel Salahn's presence like the tip of a stiletto pricking at the back of his neck. As soon as they reached the other side, all dismounted save for Jaska. With their swords they hacked at the massive ropes mooring the bridge. Jaska simply stared back the way they had come, unable to take his gaze away.

Salahn and three palymfar appeared like ghosts rising from a grave, riding demonic horses whose hooves floated above the ground, speeding them along like a violent storm wind. Could the demonic beasts fly across the bow-shot-wide chasm? Was cutting down the bridge pointless?

"We should finish it when they try to cross," said Bakulus.

But Salahn and his palymfar stopped at the chasm's edge, unwilling to give them such a chance. It seemed their nightmare horses were unable to fly across.

The ropes snapped under a few last, frantic slashes and the bridge collapsed into the canyon.

"My son!" the Grandmaster called out, his voice echoing across the canyon. "Return to me and I will give you all that you desire!"

"I will never return!" Jaska yelled.

Salahn's voice lowered an octave. "Return to me, Jaska Bavadi." He used the voice of command, and it worked, despite the protections of Jaska's qavra. Jaska could do nothing but hold himself in place. His heart hammered at his ribcage, threatening to burst from the strain.

Salahn's dark eyes turned on Jaska's companions. "Go from here! This is not your fight! Leave at once!"

Bakulus and Caracyn began to back away. The Arhrhakim shifted nervously. Ohzikar seemed ready to throw down his weapons and give up. But then Zyrella countered with a word of power and the spell was broken over all but Jaska.

Sneering, Salahn summoned a crackling ball of darkfire and flung it toward Jaska, who didn't even attempt to dodge it. Hyrkas jerked Jaska from his saddle at the last moment. The darkfire struck the horse and exploded into a mass of black flames. Charred hide and boiling blood splattered and scalded the other horses and the camels. The beasts fled.

Zyrella dodged a second cast and the darkfire spattered into the ground, kicking up sand. Despite the range and the wind, Bakulus feathered a shaft into Salahn's chest. The Grandmaster looked at it with disgust and yanked it free. Then he swatted a second arrow loosed by Caracyn.

Then Salahn began a long incantation, and the companions retreated from the canyon. Hyrkas towed Jaska along with him. The companions gathered most of the horses and camels, which were as well trained as their seller had claimed and hadn't run far despite their fear. Hyrkas placed Jaska in the saddle behind Zyrella, since no one had the time to rouse him from his stupor.

Sand stirred around Salahn, massed, and then streamed out across the chasm, forming a bridge held solid by magic. He threw his arms out and spoke arcane words. A small portal to the Shadowland opened in the sky and three beasts flew forth.

Seeing this, Zyrella yelled, "Ride toward the storm! Salahn has unleashed demons against us!"

The storm was still a few miles away; she hoped they could reach it in time. She didn't have the power to banish the demons, not after countering Salahn's word of command. She might be able to hold them off long enough for them to get to the storm, but that depended on how powerful they were. The demons looked to be larger versions of the same variety he had thrown against them in the Shadowland, where she'd been able to leach some of the White Tigress's power from Salahn.

~~~

Salahn staggered back and leaned against his demon-horse. It would take a few hours for him to recover. Much of his energy was tied up in the rituals he'd left behind. His eyes fixed on the sandstorm and the black cloud behind it. "Go after them, Adynarh, for I must remain here and study the dark cloud. Its power is unlike any I've ever seen before."

"We may lose them in the storm, Grandmaster. I'm having trouble reading the priestess's aura even this close."

"The cloud behind this storm may be interfering with your abilities, my servant, but failure is not an option."

When the bridge was complete, Adynarh and Hjrun rode across. Toward Zyrella and Jaska Bavadi, toward a mysterious dark cloud and into a sandstorm. But they obeyed without objection. To do otherwise was certain death. And though cruel, Salahn was faithful to his palymfar. He would ask anything of them, but in return, he rewarded them well.

Salahn brooded. He would rather go after Jaska himself, but Nalsyrra's warning echoed in his mind. And he knew that whatever this cloud was, he didn't want to face it unprepared.

~~~

The winds forced the demons to land and draw their wings back onto their scaled bodies. They sprinted forward on all fours, their claws digging into the sand for traction. The sandstorm ahead didn't bother them. They would survive it while their prey would likely not. The black mass beyond did worry them, though, and there was not much that could worry demons of shadow.

Zyrella could no longer see the demons, but she could sense them. Jaska came to himself, shaking off the aftereffects of Salahn's word of command.

"To the left!" he yelled immediately, hoping his companions could hear him over the howling winds. They could barely see one another now. "The canyon circles back toward us and there's a path down! I saw it earlier from the Shadowland! It's steep, but if we can get there we'll escape the winds and only have to worry about the sand pouring down on us!"

Zyrella led them. Her horse's hooves slid several times, but it managed to stay upright. The Arhrhakim had the most difficulty due to their lack of riding experience. They were falling behind, so Ohzikar slowed to aid them.

Overhead the wall of sand struck at full force. Sand rained down onto them. Even at the base of the canyon, the wind whipped the sand in giant eddies and nearly tore them from their saddles. What little daylight remained didn't reach the canyon. In complete darkness they called out to one another. Even from close-by, the voices were faint.

Soon Jaska and Zyrella became separated from the others. The weather continued to get worse.

"I think the canyon shallows ahead!" Jaska yelled. "We need to take shelter!"

That Jaska and Zyrella found a rock cleft that led into a cave was a miracle. It was big enough to shelter everyone, camels and horses included. They called out to their companions but to no avail. Jaska attempted the Shadowland, but the sorcerous black cloud was so close that he couldn't see anything.

The two sheltered at the back as sand poured down over the mouth of the cave. Zyrella took out the sunstone she'd made in a different canyon only weeks ago, though it seemed many months. The light was poor but bright enough for them to judge their situation. They had plenty of space and the cave was empty except for some debris.

Zyrella wiped dust from her dry, burning eyes. "We may get trapped in here."

"I'll take that risk," Jaska replied. "Anything is better than staying out there."

She touched his face, and he recoiled. "Hold still. You've got a cut." She pulled back the hood of his burnoose and held the sunstone close. She avoided his eyes. "It's not bad. I'll clean it for you."

He put a finger through a hole in his mask. "A bit of debris, I guess. That's why I'd rather be in here. I just hope the others are alright."

"I don't know about Bakulus and Caracyn, but Ohzikar has survived sandstorms before. I worry most for the Arhrhakim. They have never had to endure anything like this."

Neither mentioned how they worried about their companions having to face the demons.

~~~

Rahazakir mounted Yumiryo, a cloud-white mare with a golden stripe down the length of her face. Rahazakir had never seen a braver, more capable charger. Decked out with a saddle blanket of saffron silk and crimson ribbons in her sandy mane, she looked like a mount more befitting of the Bright Spirits than of a nomadic chief. Rahazakir rubbed a hand through her mane, and she snorted playfully.

Rahazakir had already said farewell to his three wives, hoping it wasn't a final goodbye. If it was ... He cleared the thought from his mind. Surely, the next chief would see them and his seven children treated fairly.

Goat Shaman gave him a steady, encouraging look with his strange eyes. The other elders fretted and paced.

"I'll return soon," he said in what he hoped was a confident voice.

"I beg you not to go," the Prime Elder said once again.

"I must. This is our only chance to rid our tribe of the Stain. Imagine, twelve generations of forced traveling could end at last."

The elder shook his head and mumbled further disagreements. The problem, Rahazakir knew, was that the elders couldn't imagine it. They had always traveled, racing ahead of the Stain. They were scared to live any other way. Rahazakir's father had warned him that old men hated change, even for the better. They had chosen a young chief for the sake of change but they didn't like that he was now doing what he was chosen for.

"I must go."

"Ride to the lesser canyon," said Goat Shaman. "The sandstorm will be worse there, but the Stain may reach the greater canyon before you." He bowed deeply. "May the gods be with you."

Rahazakir rode toward the sloping canyon of a small river that had been tributary to the larger before both had dried up long ago. The torches of the Yritti camp bobbled in the distance like shrinking stars and then were gone. Except for faithful Yumiryo, Rahazakir was utterly alone.

The strangers from the south were trapped in the canyons. Goat Shaman had foreseen only that much, but Rahazakir was a pathfinder and needed nothing more. Only those born with that gift could lead the tribe. A pathfinder's skills were essential for finding oases and keeping them ahead of the Stain.

The most dangerous times were when terrain forced the tribe onto a new track. In a few weeks, they would reach the heart of the hazardous Sheflar Wastes and have to do just that. The Stain would take an angle on them, and the danger would increase further. Worst of all, if Rahazakir were lost in this gambit, a new chief would have to be chosen and there weren't any good candidates.

After a half-day of heavy riding, Rahazakir reached sight of the unnatural sandstorm and the Stain. From the ground to a hundred feet up, the latter was a black bruise on a shadowed sky, a night without moon or stars. The storm winds barely touched him here, yet they raged about the canyon in an expansive vortex. It had lingered there for many hours now, as if waiting for the slower-moving Stain to overtake it.

The Stain had to be the unnatural sandstorm's origin. Had it foreseen what the Bright Spirits had? Was it trying to keep the strangers from helping the tribe?

With the rising sun lightening the sky behind him, he said a prayer to his ancestors and veered toward the front of the storm. He pulled a silk mask across his face and fastened a shield of thin glass to a wire frame beneath his burnoose hood.

Soon dust clattered against his face-shield. Winds howled about him. He patted Yumiryo with soothing strokes. She had her head lowered, her eyes masked by blinders. With their movement slowed by the headwinds, they pushed on, down into the canyon where the winds were weaker. Sand rained down onto them. Several times Yumiryo slipped, but she didn't falter.

Despite his fear of the Stain, whose darkness he could feel, Rahazakir kept his breathing regular and emptied his mind. His instincts led him toward those he must save. He only hoped he was going to get to them in time.