Nine riders from the center of the Mikku formation continued forward, while the remainder waited. The nine found their imposing display bedeviled by the loose sand on the face of the ridge. Horses sank up to their hocks, drawing their shod feet out with considerable effort. Wapah smiled, the expression hidden by the dust veil covering his face, as the full import of Adala’s logic became clear to him. Stopping here had given them the moral advantage of meeting the Mikku on higher ground, but she had foreseen a tactical purpose, too. The Mikku lost momentum and dignity as they labored up the shifting slope.
Twenty yards away, the nine riders halted. In the center was a nomad with the tallest, brightest helmet the Weya-Lu had ever seen. Golden horns sprouted from the polished steel brow, curving up and back like a desert antelope’s. From their tips fluttered squares of shiny gold silk. The sides and rear of the helmet were protected by heavy curtains of mail.
“I am Shaccan, warmaster of the Mikku,” said the warrior in the horned helmet. “Who are you?”
Before speaking, Wapah glanced at his leader. Adala had shifted her dust veil, exposing her fiery eyes to the Mikku. She nodded slightly at Wapah.
“Greetings, brothers of the desert! Peace to you, and all your kin!” he called, then introduced himself and Adala.
“Are you alone, Weya-Lu?” Shaccan asked.
“Those who believe are never alone,” Adala replied. “Is this not so?”
The warmaster plainly did not like having his question answered with a question. Gruffly, he said, “We were told the Weya-Lu had left their range. Is that so?”
“We went to the Valley of the Blue Sands, but we have returned. Why are you here?”
“With the Weya-Lu gone, we ride for Kortal, to hire as caravan escorts.”
“You cannot.”
Wapah flinched at the impoliteness of Adala’s abrupt command. Shaccan’s thick eyebrows rose.
“By what right do you stop us, woman?”
Adala lifted her eyes to the sky. “I claim the right of divine maita. Those on High have chosen me to lead all the people of the desert to Khuri-Khan, to cleanse our land of foreign corruption. You may join us.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Shaccan put back his head and laughed. He laughed so long and hard, tears streaked his cheeks.
“You’re either mad or the greatest woman in Khur,” he said, dabbing at his eyes. “I like you! Are you married?”
For the first time in many years, Adala was nonplussed. As she regained her composure and admitted being a widow, six of Shaccan’s men surrounded her and Wapah, and the other two rode off to confirm the presence of the rest of the Weya-Lu tribe.
Shaccan grinned. “I thought this was going to be a dull journey. When I heard the Weya-Lu had gone, I thought it must be because of plague or war. Now you speak of gods and corruption and maita. You’ve been out in the sun too long. Stand aside. It would be bad luck for me to harm one so insane.”
Adala didn’t move. “We’re bound for Khuri-Khan. Join us, or share in the infamy of betraying your nation.”
His affable manner evaporated. “You’re in our hands now. Don’t make trouble, or there will be bloodshed. The whole of the Mikku are at my back.”
“You would take up arms against your sisters and brothers of the desert?”
“Anyone who threatens the Mikku is no brother-or sister-of mine.”
A peal of thunder, startled the horses. Wapah looked up. The clouds had become heavy and dark. Lightning flickered among them. He was past fifty, and had seen rain only once before in his life, during a visit to Delphon twenty-two years ago.
Adala paid no heed to the gathering storm. “I am chosen by Those on High to do what must be done, Shaccan of the Mikku. I cannot refuse, nor can you oppose me without risking the wrath of the gods. This is my maita.”
“You’re mad as a mouse.”
Shaccan ordered his warriors to take Adala in hand. Hardly had the words left his lips than a tremendously loud burst of thunder broke over them. Horses shied and bucked, and the men struggled to keep their animals calm. Only Little Thorn, his eyes protected from sand and sun by an embroidered cowl, stood placidly.
Rain began to fall, the fat droplets sending up tiny puffs of dust when they hit the ground. The Mikku, young men all, had never seen rain before. They began muttering among themselves. When he heard them use the word “maita,” Shaccan angrily drew his sword.
“Idiots! Does a madwoman make the rain? Seize her! Immediately!”
Wind swept over them, driving warm rain into their faces. Wapah turned his horse’s head away from the gusts.
Mikku, thinking he was trying to flee, thrust his sword at Wapah. It would have pierced his side, had not Adala intervened. She caught the blade in her hand and shoved. Angry at being thwarted, the Mikku jerked his sword back, laying open Adala’s palm. She hissed in pain.
Outraged, Wapah yelled. He pulled out a scarf and tied it tightly around her injured hand.
