Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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as Dreamdust.Using it kills you —the more power you use, the younger you die, she reminded
herself, riding the sensation of power like the swells of the sea, the voice of her mind the thin lost mew of
a gull.
In the woods on the next hill a screech owl called. She reached for the sound, imagined it echoing
through the rows of tents.Quiet at first. Play them . Then across the camp she imagined the sounds of
armor, like pots being beaten on with sticks.Men shouting .
Men shouted, rousted out of bed as the alarm was given, torches flaring.Stop . She melded back further
into the shadow of the infirmary tent, hearing the groan as someone inside, wounded, woke up to a pain
he'd escaped in sleep; the smell of medical alcohol and the sweet stenchof thai , poppy derived.
It took a good halflbead for the camp to settle down again. "Fikken kaina, we can't sleep. Yeoli
bastard has the gods on his side…" someone snarled, unbuckling by the sound. "Shut up, Jas, that's
flogging if heard." — "Fik you." —"… and your mother, asshole."
It was quiet when Megan acted next, quiet enough that thechhee-rup of swifts in the night sky could be
heard again, though there were many more men awake. She could almost teel them trying to sleep, their
breathing refusing to even out, ears unconsciously straining for the next wrong sound.
She settled herself in such a way that she couldn't fall over. This was going to take all the power she had.
Night wind raised gooseflesh on suddenly sweating skin.
Faintly. Softly. The sound of distant bells out of the sky. Flutes, metal flutes and the clashing of
metal on metal, like swords dancing to the flute-notes, swelling louder and louder… Sound was
easier than images, even only affecting a handful of men. Her mind filled withmanrauq-sound , she heard
the questions and shouts and sounds of running feet like the buzzing of meadow flies.
Louder. A choir of men, hundreds, singing praises to the God of Solas, The Steel Armed One,
chanting ARAS, ARAS, ARAS! Directionless sound from the sky. Stars falling into the Arkan camp
falling to shape the figure of their God, taller than the trees. Sapphire stare pitiless under the edge
of the helm, sword in glearning steel fingers, and the other hand a clenched fist over their heads,
outlined in the yellow glow of my power… No more shouting; silence around her as those who saw
the image froze.
"YOU SIN." The voice was like the sound of a sword-blade breaking, the shriek of metal being sheared
through, though soft, the rumble of a volcano about to erupt. "YOU SIN." Megan knew thesolas accent
in her bones, the images and words taken from books seized out of the libraries. A scream, then others,
deep and unaccustomed from male throats. "The God! The God is here!" They threw themselves to their
faces, cupping hands at their temples, even those who had not seen, believing those who had. The image
faded but the voice from the sky went on. "YOU FIGHT FOR A FALSE SON. I DISOWN HE WHO
YOU CALL SON OF THE SUN AND RAISE A NEW SON. AND FOR YOUR SINS HE SHALL BE
SEEN AS DARK WOE UNTO YOU MISGUIDED, WOE—"
Then Megan tumbled, the image in her head snapping, the mighty voice gone like a snuffed candle, as a
man running blindly in the dark fell over the guy-rope and landed on her.
His panting breath cut off. "Yai!" Here was something he understood; he leaped for the vague shape on
the ground, shouting. "Itzen!" Their word for "alarm." Assassins in the camp!Itzen !"
Megan flailed blindly at his face, the headache of being jolted out of the spell slamming her so hard she