Unfortunately, the sandling did not leave him to his digging. Kenton’s jump had confused it, but it quickly reoriented itself. It came at him, the only sound of its movement that of sand rubbing against sand. Kenton continued to dig until the last moment, then dashed away, running desperately. He could feel the dryness on his skin, and each time he blinked his lids seemed to stick to his eyes. His lungs were beginning to burn, and his breaths came painfully. He was approaching the last of his water reserves—he would probably even be chastised for going this far. For the good of the Diem, one mustn’t even come close to overmastery, the familiar teaching claimed. It was time to give up.

Just as he made the determination to escape, however, he saw it. Resting beside the far wall of the basin was a speck of red, brighter than the dark drops of his own blood that ran behind him. Crying out, Kenton switched directions, ducking beneath the sandling’s arms and dashing so close to its body that he could smell the sulfurous pungency of its carapace.

And, as he ran by the creature, feeling the sand slither beneath his feet from the sandling’s motion, he noticed an incredulous sight. There, trapped between two bowl-like chinks in the sandling’s carapace, was another red sphere.

Kenton continued his dash, his mind confused. He stopped beside the wall, digging in the sand until his fingers found something round and hard. He pulled the sphere free, looking at it with a frown, then turned his eyes back on the sandling. From this angle he could see it distinctly—a red sphere, just like the five he had already found. There weren’t five spheres on the Path, but six.

Kenton dropped the sphere into the pouch at his side, then turned eyes up to the edge of the cliff. Directly above he could see the faces of twenty mastrells looking down at him. He could escape now; his time was probably all but up anyway. He had won—he had found all five spheres. What was he waiting for?

For some reason he looked back at the sandling. Its shell and skin were terken, but its insides …

Kenton knew his father wouldn’t be satisfied with perfection—he never was. Praxton would demand more. Well, Kenton would give him more.

The mastrells cried out in surprise as Kenton dashed away from the wall, his face resolute.

“Idiot boy!” Praxton’s voice sounded behind him.

Kenton brought sand to life, whipping it past the creature and using it to snatch his discarded sword from the sand floor. The blade flashed through the air, carried on fingers of sand. Kenton caught it as he ducked beneath the sandling’s first attack, grabbing a second handful of sand as he came up barely inches from the creature’s chest.