They were a tribe, themselves. They had gotten to be… and a handful of all of them did not age, and healed of their wounds—templates, Luz called them, not their word for it. Memnanan had become one: the three who ruled their lives counted him necessary. And for that reason Memnanan knew he was back, as he knew exactly where Memnanan was, out in the tents, arguing with Aigyan on issues he could almost guess.

But of all the rest, passing the clamorous rush of small children, it was Hati who came running out to meet him, Hati, forever young, braids and veils flying, bracelets flashing gold under the leaden sky.

He slid down from the besha’s saddle and opened his arms.

But, almost within his reach, she stopped and looked up, light touching her, and the tower, and the astonished children, who gazed skyward half in fear.

Marak looked up, too, at a long-forgotten power in the heavens.

Sunlight, if only for an instant, found its way through the clouds.

§ —§ — §