Arduans were a polite folk, their tiny nation founded on respect for individual rights, including that to privacy. No one would disturb him if he claimed it; no, not unless he showed his face. That, he suspected, would invoke the other great passion of Arduan. There was only one misshapen Ellyl half-breed in Urulat. Even Arduans would require no further justification than his face to nock an arrow and fire.

Ushahin waited.

A part of the world died.

It hurt. He felt the passing of each node-point as it flared and died. Little deaths, each and every one, a shock to his flesh where a shard of the Souma had branded it. He made himself breathe slowly, enduring it. He wondered if it took Vorax and Tanaros the same way. He thought about Malthus the Counselor trapped in the Ways, and smiled through his pain.

It was done.

“Are you all right, mister? Something funny happened just now.”

A high voice; a child’s voice. Ushahin opened his eyes to see a young girl stooping under the banyan tree to peer at him. She had a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a child’s bow clutched in one grimy hand. The children who had set upon him so long ago in Pelmar, breaking his bones and rending his flesh, had been scarce older. Neither had he, then.

“Aye, lass,” he said, slipping behind her eyes and into her thoughts without an effort, twisting them to his own ends. “I’m fine, and so are you. I need to purchase a boat; a skiff, such as fishermen use in the Delta. Surely a clever girl like you would know where I might find such a thing.”

“Oh, aye, you need to see Caitlin’s Da!” She beamed with pride, happy to have an answer. Whatever she had sensed of the death of the Marasoumië was forgotten. “He’s a boatwright, mister. He’ll sell you a skiff!”

“Well done, lass.” Ushahin unfolded his legs, rising. He adjusted the hood of his cloak, then extended a hand, suppressing a smile as she took his crooked fingers into her trusting, grubby grip. “Take me to him.”

SHE HAD NO PRIVACY LEFT,

That was one of the worst aspects of the occupation of Beshtanag. It had been hard to watch when Gergon was led through the fortress in chains, shooting her an agonized glance of apology and regret. It had been painful to behold the gratitude with which her Beshtanagi people welcomed the intervention of Haomane’s Allies, the alacrity with which they surrendered, eager for a handful of grain, a plate of mutton. Blaise Caveros, Aracus Altorus’ second-in-command, took quiet control of the situation. Despite the injury he had sustained on the battlefield, he was calm and competent, seeing to the housing of their troops, ordering supply-trains into the fortress.