Chapter 29 -- Equipoised on the Edge of a Sword

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"Will they ever find us?" Rhoz asked Utor for the fiftieth time. She was stretched out in the shade of a tree on a bed of moss, nursing her sunburn. Utor had summoned enough magic power to heal her wounded arm, but was obliged to resort to the mundane remedy of a dozen aloe vera plants to ease the misery of her parboiled skin. Despite his ministrations, she was too tender to wear even her magic snake belt, which felt like a band of fire wherever it touched her skin. She had wound it around her head to control her unkempt hair. She thought it most unfair that Utor's pale hide seemed naturally immune from the bite of the sun, and had reddened only slightly.

Her uncle did not respond to her whining, but strode off in search of food, whistling jauntily. He had done well provisioning them over the past two days, unearthing roots, berries, and various edible creatures.

"My first real battle -- and I am missing it!" Rhoz muttered when he was out of earshot. Annoying as Utor was, she wished him back at her side. Talking to herself was most unsatisfactory.

She found it impossible to adopt Utor's attitude that there was nothing to be gained in fretting over things they could not change. He treated this unexpected interlude as a vacation. The weather was warm, food was plentiful, and there was no sign of hostile wildlife. After years of unceasing vigilance to stay alive, Utor visibly enjoyed whiling away the hours collecting roots and berries, watching the sun rise and set, and dozing in the sand. Rhoz, on the other hand, had only a single thought: escape. If she had any way of compelling Utor, he would be a dolphin again, and she would be on his back, navigating the waves of the Mystic Sea. He insisted that the way back to Helion was too long and dangerous. Even if they managed to travel far enough to reach their destination, they might land hundreds of leagues from Thureelor. Rhoz was certain his judgement was flawed by his enjoyment of the present moment. Her acerbic comments on the matter had fallen on deaf ears.

Rhoz had made her way around the island twice, climbing rocks until her feet bled in her quest for ever-new vantage points from which to stare into the horizon for some sign of nearby land or a vessel. She had gathered a huge pile of driftwood for Utor to light with a firespell in case a ship came into view, ignoring his observation that it would be wiser not to make their presence known until they had determined whether said ship carried friend or foe. When she became too sore, tired and sunburned to continue her search for salvation from the sea, she badgered Utor with questions and demands.

He had assured her again and again that they would be retrieved by friendly forces when the time was right; but he was frustratingly vague about how long that might be.

The cry of a hawk brought Rhoz to her feet. An ordinary wild bird -- or could it be a messenger with news from Helion? She dashed into the open, peering upwards. The hawk was descending like a falling leaf, feet braced forward and wings outspread to slow its fall. Rhoz reached for the bird's mind, and found human awareness instead.

"Grandmother! How . . . ?"

The hawk landed on a rock facing her. Rhoz saw the great signet ring encircling her leg.

"Grandmother!" she said again.

By some trick Rhoz could not fathom, the ring slipped past the hawk's talons and rolled onto the ground.

Take it, my child. It is yours now.

Rhoz stood stock still, reasoning things out, trying to avoid the obvious. The passing of the signet ring could mean but one thing.

"No!" Rhoz fell to her knees.

The hawk hopped from the rock and picked up the ring with the talons of her right foot. Put it on. You are the hope of Helion now.

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