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world.”
    â€œHuh,” he said.
    And delayed the tea-making some more.

CHAPTER 5
    The Sahara Desert
    PAIN BURNED THROUGH THE BOY’S flesh. He clamped his teeth over his lower lip, not sure whether he was trying to keep quiet or remain conscious. It did not help that the dark beneath the makeshift sand dune was thick and impenetrable—it made him think that all he had to do was close his eyes and sweet oblivion would be his.
    â€œI’ve set a one-way sound circle so no one can overhear us,” came the low, slightly scratchy voice of the elemental mage he could not get rid of. “Now I’m going to amplify outside voices.”
    Instantly a gruff voice boomed in the boy’s ear. “—sibility, Brigadier?”
    â€œWe will have our elemental mages clear as much of the area as possible, to improve visibility,” answered a woman. “A one-mile radius has been set. Man the stations and start the dragnet. One regiment from the center out, two from the periphery in.”
    Part of him wanted to turn himself in—Atlantis would give him something to dull the marrow-rotting pain. But the desire to remain free was so great, it was almost primal.
    It was the only thing he knew.
    Not his name, not his past, not a single event that might shed light on how he came to be in the middle of a desert, badly wounded, only this: he could not allow himself to be captured by Atlantis or its allies, or all would be lost.
    The calls and shouts were now only those of soldiers obeying orders. The elemental mage countermanded the earlier spell for voice amplification. An abrupt silence descended, still and suffocating.
    The boy weighed his scant options. Without any memories, he could not vault away, even if he had the vaulting range to put himself beyond this radius Atlantis was establishing. Were he able to see to any distance, then he could blind vault. But with the sandstorm obscuring everything, that too was out of the question.
    If only he had had the presence of mind earlier to ask the elemental mage to punch a tunnel of clear air in the sandstorm, then he would have been able to distance himself from that torrent of suspicious solicitude.
    He had been almost entirely convinced that the elemental mage had been responsible for his injury. Who else would be so close at hand, if not an enemy? Who else would continue to prowl at the periphery of his dome, despite his express wish to be left alone?
    The elemental mage’s fear of Atlantis could have been an act. The blackmail to get under his dome certainly could have been a feint for finishing him off. The elemental mage’s willingness to give the first drop of blood, however, had taken him aback.
    One could wreak much mischief with voluntarily offered blood. Only a fool—or someone with absolutely no ulterior motive—would have dared as the elemental mage had. Now, from an almost certain enemy, he had become an unknown in the equation.
    â€œDid you hear their plan of action?” said the elemental mage.
    He grunted an answer.
    â€œI’m going below the surface—it’s what I should have done in the first place, instead of getting involved in any kind of blood magic.”
    â€œThen why did you not?”
    â€œI’m sure you always think lucidly and from every angle when there are armored chariots bearing down on you,” the elemental mage said, with an arch tone. “In any case, my earlier failure to consider this particular alternative is your good luck. I can take you below with me.”
    The offer stoked his suspicions anew. Was the elemental mage a bounty hunter of some sort, concerned that a cash prize might be spoiled by Atlantis’s arrival on scene? “Why do you insist on clinging to me?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou push your company on me.”
    â€œPush my—have you been raised to walk on by when there is a severely wounded mage lying on the ground?”
    â€œSo asks the