The first week of Council was as unreasonable and frustrating as fighting with Nuar and Samina. In an afternoon break, Djola escaped to a south wall of the emperor’s citadel—a maze of domes, columns, gates, and towers. He was a solitary figure in an Anawanama travel cloak and mesh veil. The third void-storm in a week roared through the capital.

This wasn’t a regular wall of sand blowing in from distant dunes and blotting out the sky. Rogue twisters popped up here and there from nowhere, from static and shimmer. People barricading windows were too late. Whirligigs snaked through the streets, searing cheeks, burning lungs, and desiccating ancient cathedral trees. The library’s onion domes were engulfed in sooty sparks. Stone turrets swayed in a shower of static. Wooden shops and hovels rattled. Thatched roofs lifted up and spun away.

Djola took perverse pleasure in this spectacle. The good citizens were primed for change. Tonight’s Council session would be better: hope was on the other side of a lethal storm.

An elephant staggered down a riverstone alley toward the citadel’s iron gates. Harassed by an angry mob, the elephant flapped her ears and trumpeted. A squall of soot and sparks chased her and had good citizens charging for cover. Djola chuckled at false bravado. The squall wound itself tight behind the elephant’s tail, twisting and sparking with a fury and then disappeared. Nobody ventured forth to take up the chase. Who could say where else a poison whirlwind might dance? Twisters vanished and the air cleared. Blue-green water sparkled beyond the docks. Djola opened his cloak. Rogue elephants and demon storms fueled his resolve. A sea breeze would cool his temper.

The elephant stomped distress, calling to family, pleading for rescue—no elephant reply, just horses and men hollering in the distance. Maybe she was the last of her clan to survive. A massive beast roaming behind the emperor’s citadel without a handler was strange. How had she gotten to the back alley? No guards raised an alarm. They were busy patrolling capital streets, quashing unrest. Djola was right to leave Samina and the children behind. Council always faced riots these days.

His heart warmed to see the wild elephant, a fellow northlander, a rebel defying the odds, making her own way. What would a simple bolt or spear do against an angry elephant or thousands of anxious citizens for that matter? The People needed vision, a map to tomorrow. Djola was the Empire’s greatest mapmaker. He stroked the spell-scrolls in his bag, years of hard work. Samina’s wisdom was there too. She would tell him to be careful, patient this evening at Council. He could do that. Soon was better than never.