It was not fast enough. About a league out from the edge of the desert the clouds thinned and cleared, and the blinding disc of the sun burst forth. Aurian clamped her hands over her eyes to shut out the agonizing glare as Shia’s pain seared into her mind. The horses screamed, trying to rear and bolt blindly away from the source of their torment. The Mage wrestled with the reins, sightless and disoriented, trying desperately to control her maddened, plunging beast. She was pierced by terror that she must have lost Anvar—until his mount blundered into her own, almost unseating her. Wild with fear, the horses ran, keeping close to one another through herd instinct. Aurian hung on tightly, trying to keep mental contact with Shia, to guide her friend’s blind flight. Through her link with the cat, she could sense Anvar doing the same, and prayed that they were fleeing in the right direction.
Then mercifully, miraculously, the white glare vanished, cut off as though it had never existed. The horses stumbled to a halt, their limbs trembling. The dazzling afterimages gradually cleared from Aurian’s sightpand she saw Anvar close by, looking over his shoulder, transfixed with horror.
The hot wind tore in gusts at their clothes, whipping up stinging dust devils of the sharp gem sand. And behind them, blowing up from the south and east and obscuring the sun, great dark clouds were rolling across the desert floor from horizon to horizon, gaining on them even as they watched, “Sandstorm!” Aurian shrieked. “Run!”
They ran. The horses, knowing instinctively what was behind them, put on a burst of speed that astonished Aurian. Shia ran to one side, out of the way of the pounding hooves. With her life at stake, she could run. But how long could she keep up the grueling pace? How long could any of them? Could they hope to outrun the wind itself?
Streamers of sand swirled around them, already beginning to tear at Aurian’s robes, abrading the skin of her face as the sharp-edged dust worked its way beneath her veils. The pain acted as a spur to horses and riders, speeding their flight. Aurian caught glimpses of the way to safety ahead of her, appearing and vanishing in the far distance through the shifting curtains of sand—a steep cutting in a shallow cliff with trees growing at the top of it. Blessed, thickly planted trees; ragged and ravaged by the desert, but enough to shelter them from the force of the deadly storm. But they were too far away. As the wind ripped the shreds of her veils from her blood-streaked face and her nose and mouth filled with choking sand, even as Aurian was forced to close her eyes on the vision of safety ahead, she knew it was too far. She could sense the gloating malice of the Weather-Mage behind the power of the storm, and she knew that Eliseth had won.
Anvar sensed, rather than saw, Aurian falter, and hauled on the reins with all his strength to pull up his crazed horse, looking wildly around for his friends. Of Shia there was no sign, and he could not touch her mind. Twisting in the saddle, he peered through shredded veils to see the Mage with her hands over her face to protect her eyes, using her knees to control her mount with the skill that was a hallmark of Fame’s teaching. But this was no Northern war-horse, trained to such methods, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the panic-stricken beast went berserk and pitched her off. Pain clouded his mind as gem dust scored his flesh through robes that were in ribbons, but Anvar could feel Eliseth’s triumph, and it goaded him to a towering rage such as he had not felt since the night he snatched his powers from Miathan. Aurian was powerless to counter the attack—if anything could be done to defend them, it would have to come from him. Suddenly decisive, he leapt from his plunging horse and flung the reins at Aurian, forcing her to drop her scoured and bloody hands from her face in order to grab them. Ignoring her startled exclamation, he whetted his anger on the edge of his fear, and wielding it like a sword, he extended his consciousness as the Mage had taught him, flinging his power out into the face of the storm.
Peace. There was sudden, blessed stillness within the enchanted bubble of Anvar’s shields, though the storm flung itself with increasing fury against the shimmering, translucent barrier that surrounded himself and his friends. He saw Aurian struggling with the frantic horses, her streaming eyes fixed on him in astonishment. The ground heaved nearby as Shia emerged, shaking gem dust from her coat in a glittering shower and sneezing violently. The cat had had the sense to lie down and bury herself, so that the sands had given her some protection from their own cutting force. That was all that Anvar had time to glimpse before Eliseth flung the focus of her power at him in frustrated fury, sensing his magic from afar.
His shields were shattered from the force of her blow—the storm was upon them once more! Grimly, Anvar closed with Eliseth, his consciousness straining to confront the core of her will. He felt her recoil in shock at the identity of her assailant, and used her hesitation to reassert his power, driving the storm away from his friends. Eliseth struck back like a viper, but this time he was expecting her, and his shields wavered but held. Their battle settled down into deadly earnest as they waged a desperate struggle, their wills locked and stalemated; Eliseth was unable to pierce his shields, while Anvar was forced into a position of defense, too occupied with maintaining his frail barrier to strike at her. The air around the shields crackled and hummed, glowing now red, now blue with the stresses of the magical battle, and erupting into showers of piercing white sparks.”
Anvar lost all track of time as the deadly battle continued. Though minutes or hours might have passed, it felt as though he had been locked forever in this endless combat, and as Eliseth’s malice sapped his strength, he felt himself beginning to tire. He was new at this game, unused to fighting with magic, but Anvar gritted his teeth and held on, though his face contorted with strain and his knees were buckling beneath the relentless force of Eliseth’s will. If he should falter now, they would be lost . . .
The hand shaking urgently at his arm was an unwelcome break in his concentration. Anvar’s shields wavered, sagging ominously inward beneath the force of the storm. Aurian was yelling into his ear, her voice shrill with strain as she fought to attract his attention. “Drop your shields, Anvar! Drop them and strike, while you still have the strength!”
He shook his head despairingly. “It’s too late!”
Aurian muttered a savage oath. “Here—use this!” She thrust something into his hand.
Anvar felt a tingling surge flood through his body, coursing along his veins like liquid light. The Staff of Earth! Struggling to focus its unruly new power, he dropped his shields— and struck.
He had failed—he knew it instantly. Air and Water, the elements of Weather-magic, were foreign to the Staff, and so its power was limited. Anvar, inexperienced as he was, used it clumsily, without the deadly precision that Aurian might have commanded. The focus of his power was weak and uncoordinated, dissipating before it reached its target to leave him exposed to attack.
“Dead and buried, Anvar! Flayed, dead, and buried without trace!” Eliseth’s shrieking laughter mocked the Mage as she lashed back at him with the full force of the storm. He dropped to his knees, bleeding and choking, mauled by the gnawing teeth of the dust . . .