Grace stood beside him. “I’m going with you.”

He gave her a grateful look. She took his hand and gripped it tightly.

Vani turned away from Farr, a look of shame on her face. “Travis is right. Nothing matters now save for finding my daughter.”

“What of the rift?” Master Larad said, rising from his chair. “I journeyed here with Queen Grace because I wished to speak to you about the weakening of rune magic, Master Wilder. I believe it might be related to the rift, as well as to the Last Rune. If we answer one mystery, we may answer the other as well.”

Seldom in his life had Travis felt certain about what to do. At that moment, he did. Nim was more important than everything else. Even the world. All the worlds.

“We can talk about it on the way,” he said.

27.

They made ready to leave the village of Hadassa as evening drew near.

“It’s best if we journey into the desert by night,” Farr said as they let the camels drink their fill from the village’s oasis. “The moon is almost full. We will have more than enough light, and it will be far cooler than traveling by day.”

The T’golAvhir crossed lean arms, his bronze eyes on the former Seeker. “The heat is not the only danger in the Morgolthi.”

“No, but it’s the only danger we can hope to easily avoid,” Farr said. He turned his back on the assassin. “I will be on the south edge of the village. I want to see if I can spot any storms while there is still light. Meet me there when you are ready.” He walked away among the white huts, his dark serafigusting behind him.

“Well, it’s nice to see he’s as cuddly as ever,” Travis said.

Grace followed Farr with her gaze. “He’s only doing his job. He’s promised to take us to Morindu.”

“And the brooding helps with that how?”

“I’m going to go get my things,” Grace said, and headed toward one of the huts.

Travis sighed and turned his attention back to the four camels, amazed at how much the animals could drink. A thought occurred to him. He approached Avhir. Of the three T’golwho had accompanied Grace south, the tall man seemed the most talkative—which wasn’t saying much.

“We’ve packed water for ourselves,” he said to Avhir, “but where will the camels get water?”

“Nowhere. I do not imagine the beasts will survive this journey. I can only hope they will bear us close to our destination before they perish.”

His words shocked Travis. “This isn’t right. We can’t kill them for nothing.”

“So you believe this journey is for nothing?”

Travis clenched his jaw. They both knew the answer to that question. “Maybe we could go on foot.”

Avhir shook his head. “You cannot travel as fast on foot as T’gol, and time is against us. The sorcerers are already on the move.”

Travis couldn’t disagree. However, he doubted that saving Nim was the assassin’s sole reason for hurrying.

They want to find Morindu the Dark. They’ve been searching for it for three thousand years. Now it’s been found, and they think I’m going to raise it from the sands that bury it.

And was he? Travis didn’t know. If that was what it took to save Nim, he would find a way to do it. Otherwise, Morindu the Dark could stay buried for countless eons more for all he cared.

“Do not pity the beasts, Sai’el Travis.” Avhir stroked the neck of one of the camels as it used its long tongue to draw water into its mouth. “After all, you do not pity the animal whose flesh you eat. Instead, be grateful for their sacrifice and accept it.”

These words were scant comfort. Travis started to move away, then paused. “So how are we going to get back? If the camels don’t survive, how will we leave Morindu?”

“You and the dervish are great sorcerers. Once the power of Morindu is at your disposal, there will be little either of you cannot do.”

Travis stared at him; the assassin’s eyes shone in the gloom.

“Come,” Avhir said. “The camels are ready. It is time to go.”

They set out as the enormous Eldhish moon rose above the horizon, flooding the desert with white light so that the dunes seemed made of snow rather than sand. Of the four T’gol, only Vani and Avhir were in view, and even they were difficult to see, skimming over the sand like shadows. Travis could only assume the other two were up ahead, scouting.

The camels moved at a languid but unceasing pace, keeping to the troughs between the dunes, and the huts of the village quickly vanished from sight. Just as when she rode a horse, Grace looked assured and regal atop her camel, clad in a flowing white serafi, as if she had done this all her life. Even Farr did not seem so at ease as she though he was clearly a practiced rider.

Travis, in contrast, bounced in the hard, square saddle that perched on the hump of his mount, his black serafiflapping around him. The camel paced with an odd gait that rolled from side to side, and he felt like an egg sitting on a tray balancing on the top of a mountain. In an earthquake. The sand was shockingly far below him, but at least it would provide a soft landing if—or more likely, when—he took a tumble.

Besides, Travis could take consolation in the fact that he wasn’t having nearly as hard a time as Master Larad. The Runelord’s scarred face was pasty in the moonlight, and evinced a greenish cast.

“Up and down, back and forth,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Cannot this wretched beast stop rocking? By Olrig, this is worse than being on the sea. Steady, now. Steady!”

Travis made a poor attempt to stifle his laughter. He had planned to speak to Larad once they set out; the Runelord had wanted to talk about the rift. However, Travis decided it could wait. Besides, he had other matters on his mind.

Once the power of Morindu is at your disposal, there will be little either of you cannot do. . . .

Travis’s laughter died. What had Avhir meant by those words?

You know what he meant. Morindu was an entire city of sorcerers—the most powerful sorcerers that ever lived. Who knows what knowledge is buried in there, what secrets, what artifacts?

He found himself gazing to his left. Did Farr know what was buried in Morindu? Is that why he was helping them? Not to get Nim back, or to stop the Scirathi in their quest for power, but rather to claim those secrets, that power, for himself?

Travis studied the former Seeker, as if the moonlight might reveal secrets that daylight had not. Before they had set out, Farr had cleaned himself up. He had shaved his beard and trimmed his hair, and except for the black serafihe looked like the man Travis remembered: darkly handsome, compelling, but dangerous as well, like the haunted protagonist of a noir film. Then Travis looked past Farr and saw that his was not the only gaze locked on the former Seeker.

He waited until they began to wind around the base of a curving ridge of sand, then—with far more tugs on the reins than he would have thought necessary—brought his camel close to Grace’s.

“Can we trust him?” he said in a low voice.

Grace gave him a startled glance, then her gaze moved ahead, to where Farr rode.

He seems di ferent, Travis said in his mind. He knew she— and only she— could hear him.

Heis di ferent, Grace’s voice—her presence—spoke in his mind. Sareth said that working blood sorcery changes a man, and that’s why we shouldn’t trust him. But I don’t think we have a choice.

Travis licked his lips; they already felt dry and cracked. “He fell in love with you, Grace, when he was watching you as a Seeker. Deirdre told me about it.”

“I know,” Grace said. “At least, I think I did.”

“And do you love him?”

She smiled: a sorrowful expression. In Malachor, I would think about him sometimes. I would wonder what I might say if I saw him again, what it might be like if he was near. But I didn’t believe it would ever happen. That made it safe to think about him. Only this feels . . .