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a strange occurrence. The raiders cooking the oxen didn’t notice the wind at first. They were drinking Kumis and watching the fat from the oxen drip into the flames below. But the wind grew stronger, and as they turned, Tiberius came walking out of the darkness toward them, carrying the Illepax and doing his best to seem frightening.
    Most of the raiders turned and ran, shouting for help. Two stood where they were, transfixed as the wind grew stronger, making the flames flutter wildly and the debris on the ground tumble toward the men. Then a tent was blown over, crashing into one of the men. He fell backwards, one arm landing in the fire. The tent was still stretched over the flexible wooden shafts. It bounced into the air and went spinning further into the camp.
    Tiberius was already feeling tired, so he let the wind die down. He needed to make a scene but he wasn’t strong enough to challenge the entire band of enemy Rogu. Bu’yorgi came rushing forward, followed by a dozen warriors, all inspired by their leader. They held clubs at the ready, but Tiberius could see the uncertainty on their faces.
    Tiberius pretended to stumble. It wasn’t difficult since he was so weak. The Illepax flew out of his hand, and the raiders moved in quickly.
    “Subdue him,” Bu’yorgi shouted. “Don’t let him touch the Illepax.”
    The warriors obeyed instantly. They were frightened of the death stick, which had clattered to the ground several feet away from Tiberius, but they had no qualms about roughly jerking him to his feet. Bu’yorgi smiled, fully expecting that Tiberius was now powerless without his magical staff.
    “You see,” Bu’yorgi said loudly. “Not even their Kuja can withstand the Sellado. He is weak and sick. Don’t worry, Swanee — we will put you out of your misery soon enough.”
    “You want us to slice his throat?” one of the raiders asked.
    “No, let him burn with his Hosscum,” Bu’yorgi said with a vicious smile.
    The raiders cheered, and Tiberius let his head droop as they dragged him toward the center of the camp. He didn’t resist, and he did his best not to smile. He had wanted to be close to Olyva, and the raiders were unwittingly giving him exactly what he wanted. The pile of wood around Olyva had to be partially removed. Tiberius was held nearby, and while he waited to be tied to the stake with Olyva, he studied her bonds. She was tied by the same grassy rope that the Hoskali used to bind up their tents and secure their possessions in the carts when they moved from place to place across the prairie.
    “Tie him!” Bu’yorgi ordered.
    Tiberius was shoved forward, and his hands were pulled behind him. The raiders tied his hands together so tightly that he could feel the tingle from lack of blood flow immediately. Once his hands and feet were bound, he was carried to the spear that served as a stake and tied securely to the weapon. Tiberius sagged, much the same way that Olyva did. The raiders meanwhile began piling the wood back around his feet.
    Tiberius doubted that there was enough fuel to burn a person up, but the fire, if kindled, would certainly be enough to kill him. He didn’t move for several minutes while the raiders shouted insults at him. Some even threw clods of dirt or remnants of food at him. Tiberius did his best to seem oblivious to it all, and the raiders soon tired of their sport. Luckily, the oxen was finished cooking, and great hunks of roasted meat were being served to the warriors.
    Tiberius cleared his mind. He knew his plan was shaky at best, but he had to try something. He could never live with himself if he let something happen to Rafe’s lover. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the words of his spell.
    “ Quievi Adfectus ,” he whispered, saying the spell over and over.
    The magic felt like mist to Tiberius. It was growing and spreading around him;he could move it with his mind. The raiders were gathering in a circle around the stake where Tiberius and