They wore the simplest of garments, nothing more than linen kilts for the men, simple sheath gowns for the women and mantles for both to shelter them from the worst of the direct rays of the sun. The kohl about their eyes was smeared, and it did not look as if they had renewed it since they left the borders of Tian lands. They were not laden with gold and faience jewelry either; the most any of them had were common amulets on leather thongs to mark which god they served. The little priestesses were in the saddest condition, nearly fainting with weariness, thin and parched looking, so much so that it would have taken someone with a much harder heart than anyone here possessed to turn them away.

But it was Kaleth who stepped forward first, to extend his hand to the priest in the lead of the group, as the Bedu who had guided them here dropped discreetly back.

The leading priest drew himself up with weary dignity. “We have come to fling ourselves at your mercy, Altan,” he said, his voice hoarse, the Tian accent and pronunciation sounding strange in Kiron’s ears after all this time away from it. “We are no longer safe in our own land.” Not only did he look weary, he looked bleak, as if he had no real hope of anything other than being turned away.

“This is why we called this city Sanctuary, my friend,” said Kaleth, his hand still extended. The priest looked at it for a moment, as if he could not quite believe it—then he stretched out his own hand, and the two clasped arms, hands to wrists. “Welcome, brother,” Kaleth added softly.

One of the little priestesses burst into tears of relief, and as her sisters clustered around her, the rest of the women of Sanctuary, Aket-ten among them, hurried up to them, enveloped them, and carried them off before the priests could say a word.

The priest smiled wanly. “Trust the women to cut through all the nonsense we men put up as barriers. I am Baket-ke-aput.”

Kaleth’s smile was broader. “I am Kaleth, and you all are weary, hungry, and, most especially, thirsty. Come. You can tell us the rest after you have remedied all these ills, and when you are not standing in the desert sun.”

But the priest held up his hand. “There are some others with us. I would know if they, too, are welcome.”

Some of the priests stepped slightly aside, and from the back of the group came forward—a set of faces that Kiron had never expected to see again. Especially the tall, blocky, bald-pated, white-kilted man in the front of the group of much younger men and boys.

Nor, it seemed, had Ari.

“Haraket?” they exclaimed simultaneously in disbelief.