A/N: Through a random act of God, I found my own copy of Wild Mage. I am now, once more, entranced with Tamora Pierce, but this story will remain a drabble. I really don't know exactly what I'll do with it, but I kinda like having a more defiant character. So, in general thought, here's a short chapter.
Chapter Three: On the Wind
Taren spent the next two days moving her troops and seething. Djen had taken his people... and twice the amount of loot agreed on. Her friend had been healed, but it had taken twice the magic than ever. She herself felt stiff, and her arm moved slower. The only other healer was looking after the other casualties. Taren herself would come last.
She had failed. She hated to admit it, but she had failed. Every sense in her body told her that she had not only hurt her friends, but she had hurt her cause. The future was changed, and she was to blame. Even the wind said so.
She listened to it when she could. Each utterance on it brought news. The baby was healthy, progressing well, and even at two weeks old, even with a delayed ceremony due to circumstances caused by Taren herself, the child showed signs of the Desert Gift. Taren groaned when the wind brought news of moving knights and companies. She did not want to fight them. She wanted to keep the future from altering.
Taren faced the truth that night, sitting up in a cold sweat in her mussed bedroll. I want to keep my nightmares from happening.
In her dream, she had seen a lovely desert mage using her Gift to... persuade... people, often against their will, into violent acts for her amusement. A few fought each other to be her bedmate for the night, often to merely wake up alone with a tarantula or a scorpion on their chest. The lucky ones suffered her keener fantasies. When one tribe was gone, the mage would move to another, and another, and another.
Taren shivered when she pictured the destruction she had seen on the horizon. And she had failed to stop it, had gotten her friend hurt, hurt herself, and possibly started a war with an enemy too great for her to match. What good can I do?
It took her a moment to realize she was wallowing in self pity. The disgust she felt was easily tempered by exercises, including a run on the dunes to the highest point where the wind blew the clearest. There she sat, immersing herself in meditation. She breathed deeply, softly, as the wind painted pictures in her mind and heart. All will be well, it said. She grunted softly, then stood and walked back to the campsite and her worried companions, still alert after this short peace. She said nothing to them about the task ahead – they knew that it was important, that it still had to be done, and that this time, there would be no hawk-song to save them.
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Raoul and Keladry patrolled the campsite together each night. Kel was still riled from the insult of being frozen and threatened when nothing could be done. However, they both thought on an important piece of food for thought.
Why didn't she kill us when she had the chance?
True, she had to look after her friend. And, it probably took a lot of power. But why not go after the child then?
And why did she seem to appear just as the ceremony started? There were no warning signs to show it was beginning. Only the sun in the sky. And it's not like she could have predicted -its- position ahead of time.
Kel finally looked at her friend. "I don't get it. She didn't even seem to want or enjoy fighting us. It's as if her whole goal was to destroy that child. And yet, when she her chance, she left! Now we can't find a single clue. It's as if she's always two steps ahead of us..."
Raoul let her ramble, looking around as they walked. His former squire was right. This was no normal raider. He knew that to counter her moves, they needed unusual methods. But exactly how was that to happen?
The answer came in the form of Dom, rushing forward, breathing hard. "I went... the whole... perimeter..." he panted, before standing up straight. "Zahir and Joren think that the raiding party was strictly after the shaman's child. Us leaving has put them right in the clear. And the trail we're following is basically a large semi-circle. We're heading back where we began.
"She's heading back to the tribe, and we might be too late to stop her."
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Taren looked down the dune at the sleeping village. Mounting her horse, she used her hand signal to get them moving. Time was wasting, and right now, it was of the essence.
A/N: That last part is another day later, just before dawn.
