“They made a bargain with the council of Olossi that if they could drive off the army, they’d be allowed to settle in this region.”

“I heard, too, that they’re cursed rich. That they’ve a canny merchant among them, a real Rat, if you take my meaning, who flayed the coins off those fat Olossi merchants and filled the outlanders’ coffers.”

“She’s an Ox, not a Rat, and a very beautiful woman, but, yes, that’s more or less how it happened.”

“Ah. You’ve an interest there?”

Joss laughed. “Not I, ver. She’s married to the captain. And she’s very young.”

“Good fortune for him. So these young soldiers, any one of them are well set up? Likely to be well endowed with land and coin? Worthy of one of my good daughters?”

Joss grinned. “As worthy as any man could be, ver.”

“Heh! You have me there, for I don’t think much of most men when it comes to my good daughters. But tell me true, reeve. If it were your own daughter, would you be willing to marry her to one of these outlanders?”

“I suppose they’re no different than other men in most ways. They held to their side of the bargain. They mean to settle here, and make their way. I’d seal no bargain until the lass had looked them over, but it’s worth a look.”

“My thanks, then.” He shifted his staff and, with a slight grunt as he bent one knee, seated himself on a stone wall. Scar’s shadow loomed above them, at the summit of the rocky promontory. “I’ll settle here to keep petitioners away, ver, if you’ve no objection and if your eagle won’t tear my head off.”

“My thanks.”

He picked his way up through the ruins. Dressed stones gave way to true rocks where the ground was too rugged to tame into architecture. At the crest, he paused to catch his breath. Behind lay the busy encampment, lit with watch fires, itself inhaling and exhaling with so many frail lives huddled in what fragile haven they could find. Before him, the hillside plunged down a steep slope impossible to climb. Because of the clouds, it was too dark to see anything. He felt out an open-sided overhang in the rock that offered a little protection from the night rains. Above, Scar had roosted for the night. After wrapping himself in a blanket, Joss lay down and closed his eyes.

THE DREAM UNWINDS itself in a veil of mist, rising into the heavens as if the rocks exhale the breathe of life, which has in it the essence of all those spirits killed in the recent attacks. The dream is familiar, well remembered. He is walking through a dead countryside of skeletal trees and scorched earth. He is himself dead, yet unable to pass beyond the Spirit Gate. The mist boils as though churned by a vast intelligence. For years, at this point in the dream, he would see her figure in the unattainable distance, walking along a slope of grass or climbing a rocky escarpment, always in a place he cannot and must not reach because he has a duty to those on earth whom he has sworn to serve.