Ivar had shot and butchered a half-grown wild pig, and Alberdina had roasted it on a bed of hot rocks from the ruins. One of the mages had helped her make the bed—with magic, which had been amazing to watch, as the right-sized rocks levitated into place, forming a sort of pavement. Ivar had built a fire over the rocks, let it burn down to coals, brushed the ashes away, and spread pieces of pig over the rocks, turning them until done. So everyone had pork and salt and herbs from Alberdina’s pack with their travel bread.

Delia thought that she had never tasted anything so good.

Just at sunset they all had a short wash in the lake, then took to their bedrolls. The reeds, spread over the flattened grass that had grown up inside the ruined tower, made a passable mattress, at least enough to keep stones from sticking into her. She was asleep faster than she had thought she’d be able to manage.

In the morning, when she woke with the first light, she picked her way through the sleeping bodies to take care of business and have a better wash-up afterward. Then she had a look at those two proto-Gates.

One pair was on land, and was about as far apart as a pair of wagons side by side. The other was just on the edge of the water, so that boats that went through would slide right down into the water naturally, and had been positioned where the jetty had been. Deeper water, deep enough for the fully loaded barges. The wood they were made of was some of the oddest that Delia had ever seen, and she could not make up her mind what it was. It was darker than anything she had ever seen before, greenish in color, and much denser. It looked varnished, and practically brand new.

Was this something their mages had done when they’d been erecting the things? Or had the wood come from some place outside of Valdemar?

She heard footfalls behind her, and turned to see Jonaton approaching. “How—” she began.