She inclined her head to the man, who made the formal two-handed sign of the circle. Others in the small gathering followed suit. She noted that they were plainly dressed. One still wore the scorched apron of a metalworker. Most avoided her eyes, while a few gazed at her in awe. She smiled warmly at them.

“I am also the owner of the watch-house,” Borean said, gesturing to the building on the edge of the cliff. “Priest Valem has arranged for you to stay there.”

“I would be honored to visit your home,” Auraya replied. “I hope I have not caused you inconvenience.”

“It is no trouble,” he replied. He beckoned politely and they began walking toward the house. The priest fell into step on her other side. “I let rooms to travellers from time to time, so I am not completely unprepared for visitors,” Borean assured her. “I cannot promise the comforts of Jarime, however.”

“Neither I, nor my fellow White, lead an extravagant life. Is the house very old?”

She did not have to feign interest as he told her of the long history of the building. It had been built by one of his ancestors many hundreds of years before, as both home and watchtower to warn of a sea invasion.

When they reached the door she paused to thank the villagers for meeting her. Once inside she encouraged Borean to take her through the house, the priest following silently. The interior was rich in artifacts, but not overly luxurious. They finished in one of the squat towers, where he presented a suite of rooms for her.

“I have arranged for local women to serve—”

A crash downstairs interrupted him, then a woman’s scream. The sound of running footsteps followed. Borean and Priest Valem exchanged puzzled glances, then the village head excused himself and moved to the entrance of the suite. As he reached it a man in a brown travelling tawl stepped into the doorway, blocking his exit. His eyes slid over the village head and the priest, and met Auraya’s.

Her skin prickled as he stared at her. There was something strange about him. His skin was pale but his eyes were so black she could not make out his pupils. That was not the source of the strangeness, however. She looked closer and her stomach sank as she realized what it was.

She could not read his mind.

“Who are—?” Borean began.

The man glanced at the village head. Borean tumbled backward. He landed heavily and clutched at his stomach, gasping for breath. Drawing magic, Auraya hastily created a protective barrier across the room between Borean and the sorcerer. The village head scrambled away from the door, still struggling to breathe. She stepped forward to take his arm and help him to his feet, not taking her eyes from the man in the doorway.

“Are you hurt?” she murmured to Borean.

“Just…win—ded,” he said hoarsely.