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they would see him and capture or kill him, but they ignored him. Slowly, as the day passed and Lexi failed to return, Tiberius realized he was going to have to do something. He could see Olyva tied to the stake in front of the large tent at the center of the camp. He watched as the raiders piled wood around her, and it was obvious what they intended to do. Tiberius was much too weak to fight the entire group of enemy warriors. Working magic took total focus and a great amount of mental energy. If he tried to use one of the Fourth Order spells, he risked unleashing so much power he couldn’t control it. So he waited, biding his time and racking his brain for a plan.
    He was feeling better but still very weak. If he could have drunk something, he thought he might feel stronger, but there was no clean water. He watched the raiders, hoping he might discover their secret stash of clean water, but they only drank the tribe’s fermented ox milk the Hoskali called Kumis . Tiberius was tempted to try and steal some of the milk, but he needed something that would clear his mind, not befuddle it more. The Kumis was not a strong drink, but Tiberius was craving water. His muscles were cramping, and his kidneys ached.
    When night fell, Tiberius realized he was out of time. He had to do something. Fires were kindled around the camp. Most of the raiders were now in the large clearing at the center of the encampment near Tiberius’ large shelter. The warriors laughed and sang as one of the oxen was butchered and roasted. The smell of the meat was intoxicating, and Tiberius’ mouth watered.
    Tiberius had tried desperately to come up with a plan. He’d gone over the list of spells he knew, but there was nothing he could think of that would help free Olyva without risking her life and the lives of the other ailing tribes members, as well. Finally, he decided on a path of action that was less than favorable but was all he could come up with.
    Getting to his feet wasn’t easy. Tiberius had to hold onto the overturned ox cart to steady himself. It was dark, and there were no fires nearby, so Tiberius waited patiently for the waves of dizziness to pass. Finally, after several minutes, he felt strong enough to walk. He was desperate for something to drink. His mouth was so dry that his tongue felt swollen and gummy in his mouth. He couldn’t help but chew on the swollen tongue even when he felt the lancing pain and tasted the coppery blood that resulted.
    His plan depended on getting captured. He needed to be subdued but not knocked unconscious. His biggest fear was that he might be clubbed on the head and then come to only to find that Olyva had already been burned alive.
    He moved quietly toward the roasting oxen. Tiberius guessed that the raiders would feast first, then burn their prisoner afterward. In the meantime they were drinking and boasting of their great victory. Tiberius needed to strike a little fear into them, and he knew just what he needed to do it.
    He crept through the darkness. The big wagon that had held the Swanee’s possessions was now gone, used by Lexi and Rafe to retrieve water for the tribe. It had been emptied, and those few possessions had been scattered, but Tiberius noticed that one item had been carefully laid aside. The Hoskali had called it the Illepax , or death stick. It had been left on the ground, but as Tiberius had watched through the day, the raiders had been careful to avoid it. Tiberius had no idea if the small staff hung with feathers and skulls had any real magical power, but the Hoskali obviously believed that it did.
    Tiberius picked it up, then walked toward the large fire that was roasting the oxen.
    “ Vocavi Ventus ,” Tiberius chanted.
    The summon wind spell stirred the air. The blighted lands never seemed to have a breeze. The air was warm, humid, and still. Tiberius had stood on the walls and watchtower of Avondale where the wind never seemed to stop blowing, but for the Hoskali, wind was