They both scanned the now-empty temple, but there was no sign of any children now. “It must have been one of the youngsters from the courtyard,” Geri replied, looking puzzled. “All of the Karsite children were with me.”

“Are any of the children who come here in the evening named Kantis?” he ventured, not knowing whether he wanted to hear the answer.

But Geri only shrugged. “I haven’t a clue, there are so many of them, and they just swarm the place in weather like this. Some of them aren’t even worshipers of the Sunlord. They just come to play with our children.”

Alberich licked dry lips and thought furiously. It might just have been a child playing a prank; it would have been natural for the Karsite children to tell others about Kantis and their peculiar prophecy. Children sometimes played the most elaborate jokes, especially on adults, when they thought they could get away with it. Although the families who worshiped here were fluent in Valdemaran, they all spoke Karsite at home, and children picked up languages easily. It would have been easy for one to pick out some passages from the Writ that matched that “Prophecy.” Wouldn’t it?

And who was he, to be the recipient of a visitation from the Sunlord Himself? No one. If anyone should have gotten a visitation, it should be Geri. Not him.

And—no. I won’t worry this to death. If it was the Sunlord in His aspect as Child of the Morning, or if it wasn’t, it is all the same to how I should continue to act. That was Free Will again, the Gift of the Sunlord, to choose or not choose a path. He would choose the same path he always had, that of honor. And in either case, because pearls of wisdom drop from innocent mouths, I shall take the advice to heart, for it comes from the Writ, and I shall take comfort from it for the same reason.

“It probably was one of the youngsters from outside; if you see him again, make sure to get him to talk to you, for he is remarkably well-spoken,” he said, and slapped Geri on the back. “I am dying for a decent glass of tea. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing with these children, and give me some idea of how I can help?”

After all, wasn’t that what everyone was supposed to do? Even an exile in a strange land—

Exile? The Writ—and the boy—were right. When he had come here, perhaps, but among these people, he had found those who understood that a man had to hold to his word and his honor. People who were the truest sort of friends—and as the Writ said, the sort of friends who became one’s family.

Which meant that he wasn’t really an exile after all.

It was good to be home.