“Yes, you like the stone. I get it, but I don’t have time. Why don’t you go pester that other stone?” Jake nodded to the witch, who was less than ten yards away. “Go scare her.”

Its tiny head tilted as if pondering this idea. Then with a hiss it vanished. One second it was there, the next gone.

This time Bach’uuk gasped, as surprised as Jake.

Where did it go?

The answer came with a shriek.

Across the short distance, Heka struggled with her staff, shaking it. Jake spotted an emerald rope twisted along its length, hissing back at her—then as before the wisling vanished, blinking out of sight.

Taking the staff and stone with it.

Across the sand, the witch screamed—not in fury this time, but in pain. With the protective shell of the ruby crystal ripped from her, she no longer had any shelter from the storm. The Great Wind fell upon her with all its might. She leaped, attempting to fly free, but she was no harpy. She twisted in the winds as sand shredded the skin from her wings, from her face. As she flew, blood blew like black smoke from her writhing form, turning her into a burning flag of agony.

Tossed end over end, she vanished up into the storm, leaving only her shrieking pain behind—then even that finally ended.

Stunned, no one spoke.

Jake searched behind him. The dark shadows of the harpy horde broke apart and scattered to the winds. With the grakyl brood queen gone, whatever spell she had cast to yoke them to her will had shattered. Free at last, they fled home with frightened cries.

With the way open, Jake pointed to the darker shadows at the heart of the storm, to where the ruins of Ankh Tawy waited. “Let’s—”

The wisling suddenly reappeared, weaving in front of him, wings blurring, still wrapped around the staff. But it was too small to hold it for long. The staff slipped from its coils and fell.

Bach’uuk lunged and caught it one-handed before it hit the sand.

Free of its burden, the wisling snaked up through the air. It seemed oblivious to the storm, unaffected by it, and hovered in front of Jake’s face. It panted, jaws open, tongue flickering, like a dog after fetching a stick.

“Good boy,” Jake said, but it came out more like a question. He didn’t know if the wisling was a boy, and he knew even less about its intentions. Had it read his mind earlier? Is that why it went after the stone? Or was it far more intelligent than it appeared?

Jake had no answers and no time to ponder questions. Kalverum Rex was still out there, and by now he’d subdued the prisoners. Fear for Pindor, for Nefertiti, for all of the people of Deshret drove him onward. Their only hope lay ahead.

But another passion, equally strong, also pulled him forward: to search for some clue to the fate of his parents. According to the mosaic back at Ka-Tor, his mother had been here. That alone made him push harder against the winds.