Read Online Reawakening by Amy Rae Durreson - Free Book Online Page B

of sand, only the pitch and volume varying. The sand grew thicker, and Tarn, Eryl and one of the other mages rode along the line to set colored witch lights at the front and back of each wagon.
    Midway through the afternoon, Sethan called a halt. By then, everyone who could get into a wagon was inside and lashing the doors closed as tightly as possible to keep the sand out. The guards riding watch were so wrapped against the wind that they would barely be able to lift their swords against an attack, and their faces were covered with layers of brown dust.
    “We need to get the storm covers out,” Sethan yelled into the wind. “Bring the wagons into the tightest circle possible—at least two rings, three if possible.”
    It took a while, as the horses struggled against the sand whipping around their feet, but as soon as the first ring of wagons was in place, the more experienced traders started hauling out extra canvas. Within an hour, they were locked into a dim, canvas-roofed world, with the gaps between the outermost wagons sealed too, and the sand already filling up the spaces underneath.
    Tarn couldn’t hear the screaming desert so clearly in here, though the sound still ripped at his heart. Brushing sand off his face, he made his way over to where Ia and Sethan were waiting in the central ring.
    “How long can we stay here before our supplies run out?” he asked.
    Sethan looked grim. “Not my foremost worry.”
    “The canvas can only hold so much weight,” Ia explained. “Too much sand settling up there, and it’ll all come down on us. That’s a bad way to go.”
    “Especially as we’ll likely be coming back to gnaw on the next travelers who pass by,” Cayl added gloomily.
    “Do try not to repeat that in anyone’s hearing, dearest,” Sethan said sourly.
    With nothing else to do, Tarn went to sit with Ellia, sending Jancis away to change her clothes and wipe her face. He sat in the dim quiet, hearing the canvas creak overhead, and held her small, strong hand.
    “At least, if we do get buried, she won’t know,” Jancis whispered, slipping back in. “She won’t have to feel it.”
    “That won’t happen,” Tarn said, but the wind was screaming agony again, and he didn’t even convince himself. He began to imagine it, the first shudder and dip of the canvas, the bursting seams, the trickle of sand turning into a flood as people ran and screamed.
    He would be safe himself, he supposed. He couldn’t imagine a sand drift big enough to bury his true form.
    He thought about that again and shot to his feet. Jancis, half dozing at the side of the bed, blinked at him, looking startled. “What’s wrong?”
    “I’m just going out,” he said, trying to sound calm. “I won’t be long.”
    He took the image of her worried face with him as he slipped between the wagons.
    What was the point of keeping his presence secret if he lost his new hoard in the process?
    He pressed between two of the outermost wagons, feeling the piled sand slip under his feet.
    “Tarn?”
    He turned to see Barrett leaning between the wagons. Even in the dim light, Tarn could see the concerned expression on his face. He held out his hand gently. “Don’t do that, friend. It’s not that bad.”
    “I have to stop the sand,” Tarn growled impatiently. He didn’t have time for this.
    Barrett stepped forward, keeping his voice low. “It’s just storm madness, Tarn. Stay with the rest of us. Don’t waste your life.”
    “I will not waste yours,” Tarn said. “Don’t stop me.”
    “There’s nothing we can do now,” Barrett said. “Live or die, it is in the hands of the gods.”
    Tarn shook his head, irritated. He was older than mere human gods, and had never had much faith in their power. What were they but less communicative nature spirits? “You are protected, Barrett. You are under the dragon’s wing.”
    “Ah, that’s just a saying, Tarn.” He smiled wryly. “Besides, the dragons never got south of