“Do you think there might be?”

She looked at Hathui. Hathui shrugged, without expression. The two women trusted each other in a way that, annoyingly, excluded him.

“I don’t think it likely any other person born of humankind has survived who can see if I cannot.” Liath said the words without vanity or arrogance. “Eagle’s Sight ran through the world on the river of aether. That element is bound into my being, so I should be more sensitive to its ebb and flow than most of my father’s kinfolk. Yet it also seems likely to me that a sorcerer whose skills are honed to the finest pitch might be able to discern things I cannot. And I know nothing of those ancient ones who spoke to me, or the Ashioi, or the Horse people. They may still possess the sight, while we’ve gone blind. And anyway, I am so young, so ignorant, compared to someone like Li’at’dano—”

“See who comes,” interrupted Hathui, lifting her chin.

The centaurs had proved hardiest of all his soldiers. Like goats, they seemed able to eat almost anything, although he had never seen any of the Horse people eat meat. Capi’ra’s fine coat was discolored by streaks of grime, but she looked perfectly able to trample him on the spot if he gave offense.

He nodded, acknowledging her. She stamped once.

“It is time.” She gestured toward the east. “We turn east and follow the hills on our own path. We come to northern plains of Ungria and from there east to home. Our alliance is finished. Now we leave.”

“I am sorry to see you and your people go,” he said, “but I know I cannot hold you here.”

“That is right.”

He smiled. She did not smile in reply, but neither did she frown. “What of the future?” he asked. “What of our alliance?”

“I report on all we witness to the council, as you would say. The ones who lead us will discuss all that happened. The strong minds will decide. We, the rest, will follow.”

“What of our daughter?” asked Liath.

“I have not forget your daughter, Bright One. See who comes with me.” She flicked a hand up.

There were some of the steppe-dwelling Kerayit among her dozen attendants, but to Sanglant’s surprise the shaman, Gyasi, had also come, together with a pair of Quman captains. He hadn’t noticed them at first because, not mounted, they weren’t yet wearing their wings, and judged by facial features alone they did not look so very different from the Kerayit tribesmen.

The shaman and his companions knelt before Sanglant, tapped knuckles to foreheads as they acknowledged Liath’s presence.

“We beg you, master,” said Gyasi, “let us return with the Horse people to our homeland. I will be your messenger. I will seek news of your daughter. I will bring her back to you if she still lives. My clan owes her our service, for as long as she lives.”

Liath looked away, wiping a tear off her cheek. “She lives,” she muttered. “I saw her.” She swung back to face Sanglant. “I should go.”