Above those tents rose the cracked and broken wall, and beyond that, beyond the gates that sat ajar, was the ruin of all the hill, wall thrown on wall, bricks and stone blocks broken and cast down like a midden heap.

People climbed on that ruin even at this hour, carrying lamps, frail, small lights, that bobbed and moved all the way to the crest of the hill.

The inhabitants of the holy city, perhaps, searched the rubble for their dead, or perhaps the destitute of all the villages in the world sought what they could salvage.

“The Ila must be here,” Tofi said anxiously. “Omi, we need to find the Ila’s captains. I daren’t leave our tents here.”

Tofi had the right of it. Tents and beasts were life itself now. Water flowed free, but food and shelter might be another matter. “They’re our escape,” Marak said. “Claim the Ila’s hire. Say that to whoever asks. We’re leaving as soon as we can. And watch out for Hati.” Her people might be here, but they had given her up, and she had as yet made no move to go to them. “Keep an eye on Norit, too.”

Tofi looked about him, pointed, where armed men stood in the dusk by the largest of the tents. “The Ila’s men.”

“Stay close,” Marak said, and took the au’it by the arm. “Hati, help Tofi.”

He moved quickly, walked as far as the guards, who immediately came to attention. The au’it, their au’it, in her red robes, holding the book clasped against her chest, simply walked on into the tent, then beckoned.

The guards made no further move. Marak walked into the lamplit interior, where a second set of guards admitted the au’it, but barred his way.

Then he knew to his dismay that Hati had followed him, and that Norit had. There was nothing he could do. The presence of the Ila’s guards was no place to dispute who had followed orders and who should be kept out of the Ila’s grasp.

“I’m Marak Trin,” he said in a voice unreliable with dryness and exhaustion. “I’m on the Ila’s commission, with her au’it.” He almost asked the man to report their presence, but before he could, their au’it held the curtain aside with one hand, holding her book with the other, and nodded, a gesture for them to follow, the guards doing nothing at all to prevent her.

So they walked through, into a small space between curtains. An officer stood there by a camp table and a chair under a lantern, and that worried, wearied officer was one of the Ila’s captains.

“Marak Trin,” Captain Memnanan said, as if he had met the dead. “Marak Trin Tain.”