The World Weavers by Kelley Grant

have warned you that you were pushing his mind too far. Now what will we tell the Southern Territory?”
    â€œHe was trained to resist,” the Templar said, frustrated. “That proves he was important. Clearly he held secrets to have shields like that. He died before they were even broken.”
    The Herald coughed into her hand, looking as disgusted as Jonas felt. “And now the South has a good reason to go to war with us,” she said. “To restrict trade, pull their ­people. We need to let the rest of the Southerners go, lift travel restrictions. If the Hasifels had anything to do with the kidnappings, they’ve paid for it with Tarik’s life.”
    â€œThere is no need to inform them. We will let them believe he is still imprisoned,” the Templar said. “We cannot lift the restrictions. We’ve gained much from the caravan guides we brought in, but we need more. Trade routes, watering holes, ways to survive in the desert.”
    â€œYou were not authorized to arrest the caravan guides,” the Magistrate protested. “You were only to bring in those involved in the kidnapping. We did not give the approval for other arrests. And my ­people were not in on those interviews either. You have no grounds to bring in civilians, especially those from our allies to the south.”
    The Crone sat forward. “He did so because of news I brought from the North,” she said silkily. “We felt it best to act quickly.”
    The new Crone had arrived from the North the day before the meeting and had cloistered herself in her altar with only the Templar attending. This Crone was much younger than the Crone who had passed, more the age of Jonas’s mother than grandmother. She had a pale white face and used cosmetics to enhance her green eyes and generous mouth. She did not cover her long black hair as the last Crone had. Her voice was a low, husky croon.
    â€œWhat news?” The Magistrate looked bewildered and glanced over at Jonas, asking Parasu for information. Parasu kept silent and Jonas shook his head.
    â€œThere is an uprising in the North,” the Crone said. “That is why it took me longer to travel here—­I had to put men on the problem. A group of anti-­deity fighters who call themselves the ‘Descendants of the Prophet’ have risen up and are riding south, coming to overthrow the Temple system here in Illian. Voras believes they will seek the help of the other Forsaken and the Southerners.”
    The Herald protested. “I’ve never heard of this,” she said. “Aryn has acolytes in the same temples as Ivanha, and Aryn has messengers all over the North. If a group of heretics had formed a resistance, we would have known about it.”
    â€œIvanha herself did not know about them until about fifteen years ago, when she stumbled upon their secret city,” the Crone said mildly. “They keep themselves apart from decent society. Ivanha has declared them Forsaken, but they are dangerous and have weapons and training. She thought she’d eradicated the enclave, but some survived.”
    â€œEradicated?” Jonas choked out, before he could help himself.
    The Crone gave him a contemptuous look. “They are heretics, animals. I organized that first hunt, which is why Ivanha chose me as Crone. I understand the threat. These heretics will join with the Southerners.”
    The Herald sat forward, opened her mouth, and snapped it shut. Her expression was surprised. She glanced down at her lap, where her feli had placed his head. Jonas wondered if Aryn was telling her Voice through her feli not to speak. The only other feli in the room was Jonas’s Pollux, who was always at his feet. Parasu stirred in the back of his mind, and Jonas began the meditation that allowed Parasu to take the lead in his own body.
    The Herald took a breath. “You will send everything you know about this incursion to Aryn and