AS THE DAY wore on, Nomi's anger grew. It was like a flower blooming in the sun: stunted with shock that morning, stretching high at midday and spreading into an encompassing bloom come late afternoon. The heat of the day, the wear of the saddle, Beko's cool silence, the dust and flies and sunburn, all conspired to make her irritable and annoyed—bad companions for anger. When they finally stopped within sight of a border post, Beko slid from the horse and held out his hand to help her down.

“I can get down on my own,” she said. “Keep your hands to yourself, warrior.” She had not meant to sound petulant, but Beko's surprised reaction meant little to her right then.

Ramus stole from me. This was the thought that had implanted itself in her mind, seared there by the sun. He stole from me. First Timal, and now those parchment pages that Ten brought to me, and which I paid for. He rode away with them, self-righteous and superior, and it was not only me who wronged him.

The anger simmered, ideas surfaced and sank again—dangerous ideas, and some of them brutal. If such thoughts had not concerned Ramus, he might even have been impressed at her maliciousness.

They had been approaching the border along a rough trail, lined on both sides with young trees which had evidently been planted in some attempt to mark the route. They could have gone cross-country and avoided any contact with the border guards, but Nomi had insisted that they converse with the Chieftains' militia. And now the border was at last in sight.

“Small border post,” Rhiana said, riding back to join the main group. She and Beko had ridden together several times that afternoon, chatting about the terrain, the weather and what they might meet when they arrived at Marrakash's southern extreme. The border guards were a hard breed, but they often had valuable information about the state of things on the Pavissia Steppes. Both had agreed with Nomi; it would be worth suffering the guards' surliness to gain knowledge.

“Have they seen him?” Nomi asked.

Rhiana looked at her like a mother regarding a naïve child. “I haven't been close enough to ask. They're not the sort of people you talk to on your own, Voyager.”

Nomi stared at the Serian, refusing to look away. Piss on you, she thought, and she hoped it gave her expression feeling.

“How many?” Beko asked.

“I saw eight. Four at the post, four more spread along the ridge. Which means there are sixteen, maybe more.” Rhiana smiled. “But they'll not give us trouble.”

“No?” Beko asked, surprised at her certainty.

“Ever hear the saying ‘small world’? I saw their leader. Bastard called Volkain.”

“And you know him?” Nomi asked.

“I fucked him.” Rhiana stared again and this time Nomi looked aside. There was an uncomfortable silence.