“No,” he agreed. He saw one of Tofi’s slaves rode up with Osan in tow, saddled and ready for him. Bosginde and Mogar rode next behind that man, and got down to help him up to the mounting loops and into Osan’s saddle, holding Osan from his usual step forward.

That meant Osan swayed, taking his weight, and his head did, and he forgot all about tribesmen and dark riders and vermin mobs.

He hit the saddle, and the feeling passed. He took the rein when they passed it to him, and being on Osan’s back was good, despite the giddiness of the perch. It was far better than lying under Lelie’s weight and better than the occasional jolts of the priests’ handling. He saw that the priests had taken up the litter, and walked near them, still carrying Lelie.

“Hand the baby up,” he said.

“You’ll drop her,” Hati said, and it was true: his side was sore, and that arm was not dependable. In the end Hati mounted up and took the baby up to her own saddle. Then she excused herself and rode up the line to Norit, where she gave Lelie to her own mother.

Marak let Osan travel up through the moving line and met Hati halfway on her way back. There were tribesmen on either hand, as they had drifted back. The colors were Haga.

He rode forward with Hati, and also overtook Norit, who failed to notice his presence. She rode with Lelie half in her arms, half-sitting on the padded saddlebow, and talked to her daughter.

It was, for that moment, and rare that he was sure of it, only Norit in that Haga-robed body. Luz was silent, in his mind, in his ears and, he hoped, in Norit’s.

“Luz,” he said under his breath, reeling with the strangeness of the day, but rewarded by what he saw, Norit happy, and for a moment sane. “Luz, do you see what’s going on? I’m up and riding. We’re on the road. The tribes have come around us to protect this camp. There’s no danger at the moment. You can let Norit alone. Give her a day. A day to herself.”

He heard nothing by way of answer. But that silence was what he wanted.

Then Tofi overtook them.

“You’re alive,” Tofi crowed. “And riding! It’s a miracle of the god!”

“It’s the damned tower’s doing,” Marak said. “If I thought it was the god, I’d complain to the priests and the Ila. It hurt like hell.”

Tofi thought that was funny at first, and having laughed, looked as if he had swallowed something questionable, and it was too late to stop swallowing.

“I’m glad you’re all right, omi. All of us are glad.”