She heaved herself up onto the lowest ledge, shaking and trembling. ‘Ai, God, I pray she is not dead.”

“Sorgatani does not think so. She believes she lives still, although we do not know where she is.”

“Is that why you stayed here? Seeking her?”

“No.”

She found a ragged but clean scrap of linen on the top of the pile and rubbed off as much of the water as the cloth could absorb. Despite the chill in the air, it was still warmer out of the water than in it. He remained silent, back still turned, as she shook out a silk robe that barely reached her knees although it had perhaps been meant for a shorter, stouter woman. Certainly it was broad enough for her shoulders and hips. It was a rich red, embroidered with golden dragons grappling with golden phoenixes.

“This is no Wendish tunic!”

“These are the clothes that belonged to one of her servants.”

“Her slaves? I will wear no slave’s robes, however rich they may appear!”

“You are no slave, Hanna. You are Sorgatani’s luck. These are the only spare clothes we have until yours dry and can be repaired.”

“What of the woman who wears these?”

“She is dead.”

“Then who serves Sorgatani? I know it is said—what you told me once—ai, God! It seems so long ago! You told me that a Kerayit shaman can be seen by no person except her blood kinfolk along her mother’s lineage, her slaves, her luck, and her pura, who is also her slave. How came you by these garments?” She had found, now, a cloth belt and a heavier wool tunic to throw over the silk underrobe. Beneath them came baggy linen drawers dyed a soft purple. The soft leather boots had to be fastened by garters to the broad belt, which was studded with gold plates embossed with the heads of griffins.

“Both her slaves died in our flight, alas, as did all nine of the Kerayit guardsmen who fought so that she might not be captured. Without any to serve her, Sorgatani would have perished as well, because of the geas laid upon her kind.”

“Then who serves her?”

As quickly as she asked the question, she knew the answer. He did not turn, or shift at all, but his shoulders tightened and the angle of his head altered subtly and dangerously.

“You became her pura?” she asked, as shocked as she could be.

He chuckled. “Certainly she is beautiful, but alas, she made no such tempting offer. I accepted the chains that make me her slave.”

“Do you not serve God, Brother? How can you serve both God and an earthly master?”

“Is it not a worthy service to save the life of another, even if she is a heathen? So I do believe. If I did not serve her, she would have died. No one else in Lady Bertha’s troop was willing to take on the duty. In any case, without Sorgatani’s protection, we would have been discovered and killed long ago, and we would not gain a steady supply of meat to feed ourselves.”