He sent Scar to earth at the base of the trail. The tall grass was greening under the onslaught of early rains. He unhooked from the harness, dropped to the earth, and strode forward to the road. Not too long after, they trudged into sight. It was obvious even from a distance that they were arguing, and soon enough he heard their conversation.

“Bai, we can’t just give up—”

“What do you intend to do? Turn around and toil up that damned steep road? It’s better to face what’s chasing you than to keep running.”

She was close enough that he could raise his voice and hope to be heard. “Good advice, verea. For here I am.”

Her gait shifted subtly, enough to make him catch in his breath as she sauntered in full swing toward him. She looked him up and down in a measuring way that made his ears burn. “Yet I must be wondering why you have come after us and, apparently, alone but for your fine eagle there.”

He grinned. “Reason enough.”

“So I imagine, by the look of you.”

“Bai!”

Joss spared a glance for the brother, then looked again, surprised that he recognized the young man. The intricate architecture of causation and consequence unfolded before him: he’d met this young man for the first time in the village of Dast Korumbos, when they were both standing over the body of an envoy of Ilu who had been mortally wounded by the ospreys—the bandits—who had invaded the village.

For a moment he was speechless; he’d known, but it hadn’t really occurred to him that so many of the players in this tale were linked so neatly. Then they halted in front of him, the horses blowing and stamping, eager for water and yet nervous of the eagle, the woman amused and the man irritated and anxious. Two holy ginny lizards stared at him. Their gaze was unnervingly disapproving, so he shifted his attention.

“Keshad, isn’t it?” he asked.

“So it is. We’re clear of our debts. We’re free to go.”

“As it happens, you aren’t.”

The young man had an expressive, passionate face, although his features were marred by a sense of perpetual impatience and anger. “That bastard Feden—”

“Master Feden is dead. His heirs, indeed all the Greater Houses of Olossi, are in disgrace. You’re safe on that count.”

“What does the Hieros want?” asked Zubaidit.

She was a truly magnificent young woman, handsome without shallow prettiness, built with the strength of a woman who knows how to labor, forthright, bold, unbelievably attractive. Her black hair was pulled back from her face, but a few thick strands fell over her shoulders. Her sleeveless vest was short enough to show a bit of belly; her kilted wrap left most of her long, muscular legs showing. The hike had made her sweaty; her brown skin glistened. Whew.

“What are you thinking?” she asked with a laugh.

“Just thirsty all of a sudden.”

“I can see you’re the kind who drinks a lot.”