Slanya nodded.
“Pick a spot on the ground just ahead and focus on that,” he said. “Glance up frequently to make sure there’s nothing dangerous approaching, but always come back to the spot just ahead. That should help with the vertigo.”
Slanya took a slow deep breath, her face waxy and sallow. “I’ll try that.”
The ground moved, started dropping ever so slowly. Abruptly, Slanya fell to her knees behind him. Clutching her gut, she vomited on the shifting ground.
This was going to be a long trip.
Climbing back up to her, the shale surface slipping under his feet, Duvan put a hand on her back. “You all right?”
“I’d say the answer to that is pretty obvious,” she said, but her tone was wry.
“I hate to say this, but we have to keep moving. And this is just the beginning of this sort of thing. You can do this.”
Slanya stared at him for a moment, focused her attention on him. Then she gave the barest hint of a nod. “Give me just a moment,” she said. The ground shifted again, and Duvan found that he was already starting to get used to it.
A high-pitched screech pierced the air off to his right, and he glanced over to see a wave of spellplague ripping up the landscape. It seemed like the sound of the universe tearing. Gusts of foul wind laced with fume and needle-sharp rocks blew over them.
“I hope your moment is up,” he said, yelling to be heard over the din. “We need to keep moving!”
He tugged Slanya to her feet, and she rose at his insistence. She followed him as he plunged down the slope, choosing a path perpendicular to the approaching wave. Her eyes were locked on the ground just ahead, and she’d gotten control of her breathing. Quite remarkable.
The blue shimmer passed by them like a ripple in the fabric of the world, a few body-lengths away. And in its wake, the ground lurched and buckled. The air crystallized and swirled in the vortex created by its passing.
Duvan gripped tightly onto Slanya’s hand, determined not to let go. He brought his other arm up to protect his eyes. Tossed into the air by the heaving ground, they flew airborne.
He did not let go, and when the two of them came crashing down, landing hard and skidding down the slope, he still hung on. He was determined not to lose her. Tyrangal liked her, and despite her previous isolation from real-world issues, Duvan found himself concerned about her. He would do his best to protect her until their mission was fulfilled. He’d given his word.
They rolled down the slope and skidded to a stop next to a small patch of spellscarred bushes. How anything could grow in here always amazed him. And as he watched, the bushes doubled in size, then dried up, withered, and died.
The silence that followed left his ears ringing with the screech of the passing wave. And for the moment, they were in a small pocket of calm.
For the moment.
“You all right?” he asked, getting to his feet and brushing the rocks and debris from his hair.
“I think so,” she replied. Her voice quavered at first as she stood next to him and took stock of herself. “Yes, I seem to be all here.”
He laughed. “Corporeal unity-always better than the alternative.”
She gave an amused snort. “Agreed.”
“Let me see if you’ve got any splinters,” he said. “The shards are so sharp they can be difficult to feel, and if left they’ll work into the skin. You don’t want that. Believe me, I know from experience.”
“Good to know,” she said.
And as he examined the exposed skin on her face, he discovered that he was touched somewhat by her story about being orphaned when her aunt had died in the house fire. Despite his dubiousness about the telling, Duvan felt sure there was a good deal of truth behind her story. Perhaps he understood her; he too had been orphaned.
Perhaps she could understand him.
He removed three shards from her face and neck. “Please check me,” he said.
Her head was close, her measured and even breath on his face. She smelled of lilac soap.
She pulled a shard out then looked into his eyes. “I–I think that’s all of them.”
Duvan looked away, but the look of concern or connection or whatever it was that passed between them stayed with him. He’d only ever felt that kind of connection for one other person-his twin sister, Talfani.
This look was fleeting and perhaps only imagined after all. “We’ll wear gloves and goggles and face scarves from here on in,” he said, and he heard traces of anger in his voice. Anger at what? he wondered, but now that he was aware of it, he recognized that he was truly angry.
“Done,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I owe you my life,” she said. “I should thank you.”
At her gesture of appreciation, he felt the anger well inside. Why did she have to be so kind? Why did he care so much?
It was infuriating.
In the privacy of his office, Gregor scratched absently at the white hair over his spellscar and stared at Vraith. “You seriously believe this young man could be … what did you say? ‘A threat to your entire order’?”
Vraith gave a tight smile. She had sent her entourage into the courtyard while she and Gregor spoke of more sensitive matters. Kaylinn had excused herself. “I said he could be a threat to our operation-our plans for the ritual. It depends on what we discover about his powers.”
“He seemed to me to be unconcerned with the affairs of the Order,” Gregor said. “More interested in relatively petty activities, really. I wouldn’t concern myself with him.” Gregor didn’t despise small-time thinkers, but he certainly had no deep respect for them either. He was going to make an impact on this world; he would achieve greatness. Of that he was certain, and those who had no aspiration for deep impact on the world-for greatness-deserved little respect.
“I don’t take chances,” Vraith said, her tone serious. “Not when it costs me almost nothing to avoid this risk. We need to discover if his ability is controllable and how much power he has over it. His power is a threat, and we need to determine how much it has the ability to derail our plans.”
Gregor nodded. He didn’t really care about Duvan as long as he got his plaguegrass. Though he did worry about Tyrangal’s reaction if she learned of his complicity in helping the Order capture Duvan. He would have to do something to prevent her from finding out.
Still, it would not do to anger Vraith at this time. The Order of Blue Fire had its fingers in too many affairs in Ormpetarr. This situation would require finesse and diplomacy. Outright defiance had the potential for dire consequences.
“Duvan and one of our clerics left this morning on an important mission for me,” Gregor said.
“Where did they go?” Vraith asked.
“The Plaguewrought Land.”
“When-”
“And I am not certain when they will be back,” he continued, cutting Vraith off. Gregor was growing annoyed at being treated like a subordinate. “But it will be no later than noon tomorrow.”
Vraith frowned. “I’d rather not wait that long,” she said with a sigh. “But I see that I will have to. Very well, I will send Beaugrat and a party to scour the border. When they come out, we will take them by force.”
“I just need what they’re carrying,” he said. “They’re gathering a vital component of the resistance elixir.”
Vraith gave the slightest of nods.
“I would also like to have my monk, Slanya, unharmed and brought back safely. She deserves nothing less.”
“We only need the rogue-Duvan,” she said. “And your continued participation, of course, in the plans ahead.”
Gregor nodded. “As long as we are in agreement about the plaguegrass and Slanya.”
“We are.”
A grin spread across Gregor’s face. “Perfect,” he said. “I am excited about the festival. As soon as Slanya returns, I will have everything necessary to manufacture a batch of the elixir-enough to accommodate the thousands of pilgrims necessary.”