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might die trying to save her, but that would be better than living with regret the rest of his life.
    The camp was set up near a stream. It was little more than a spring that flowed down a narrow, rocky stream bed, but it had been a reliable source of water for the tribe in a land where water was sometimes hard to find. The camp itself was set up around Tiberius’ large tent in the center. He’d inherited the tent when he and Rafe had defeated Moswanee and became leaders of the tribe. He’d also inherited the Swanee’s wives and possessions. Most of the tribe were simple people, each with skills that helped the group as they roamed across the wide prairie. A select few served as Rogu, the hunters and warriors of the tribe. But Tiberius’ Rogu had been struck down by the same illness as everyone else in the tribe. Everyone except the prisoners that Tiberius and his Rogu had captured when the Kepsmee led by Bu’yorgi had attacked them.
    Tiberius realized that Bu’yorgi had planned everything. Perhaps he would have raided and returned to his own tribe if Tiberius hadn’t stopped him, but it was obvious there was a plan of retribution in place. If Bu’yorgi’s men had poisoned the stream to make Tiberius’ tribe sick, then the prisoners must have known not to drink the water. And they couldn’t have known that unless they had been prepared for such a possibility. Tiberius guessed that for a Rogu there could be no worse fate than to be captured by an enemy tribe and forced into slavery doing menial tasks. Still, the tribes lived by an unwritten code of conduct known by every Hoskali, and Bu’yorgi was breaking that code. Tiberius bitterly regretted not having Rafe kill the enemy Velora or champion when they fought in the Tuscogee. Killing Bu’yorgi might not have stopped their plan, but it certainly would have weakened them. Instead, Tiberius had shown mercy, even healing Bu’yorgi’s most grievous wounds. Now, the wicked leader of the enemy tribe was leading his warriors against Tiberius and risking the lives of nearly a hundred innocent women and children.
    He made it as far as an overturned cart and leaned heavily against the sturdy wooden wagon. The Hoskali used small carts and oxen to move their possessions from place to place across the great expanse of flat prairie land. The cart wasn’t as large as a traditional wagon, but it was big enough to hide behind. Tiberius kept the cloaking spell in place, although it was becoming harder with every passing moment. The magic had a mind of its own, and Tiberius’ will had bent the ethereal substance to his bidding, but it longed to break free. It was like trying to hold water in his hands without letting it drip away between his fingers.
    He could see Olyva now; she was tied to one of Rafe’s spears, which had been thrust deep into the ground. Her hands were bound behind her, and her feet were tied to the spear as well. Worst of all, she was covered with a thick blanket, which seemed to hang heavy on her, heavier than it should have. Tiberius realized it wasn’t the weight of the blanket that was torturing Olyva, but the fact that it blocked her from the sunlight. Olyva needed the sunlight, and at night she was as weak as a child. Now, tied to the makeshift stake, she was bent almost double and sobbing from having been cut off from the source of her strength.
    A small group of men were breaking apart a cart and gathering as much of the tamaka dung as they could find. Tiberius realized with a stab of horror what they were planning. Ever since Olyva had nearly been captured by the sentient trees at the foot of Avondale’s mountain, she had been different. She fed on sunlight and had a newfound sense of strength. She could feel changes in the weather and sense vibrations deep within the ground that alerted her to large creatures moving toward the tribe. She had also developed a deep fear of fire, and Tiberius realized that Bu’yorgi intended to burn Olyva