Anji had none of those weaknesses. Kesh was sore not so much because they had been traveling for ten days but because they had pushed on, with a string of mounts for each man, at such a blistering pace. He was rubbed raw in places he did not want to think about. But in this group he would never dream of complaining. Under Anji’s leadership, no one complained. They just got on with it.

Now they were many days’ ride west of Olossi, having rounded the southern limit of the Olo’o Sea and ridden north into the Barrens with the land-locked sea stretching away to the east and the jagged Spires rising abruptly in the west. Broken tableland bridged the transition between mountains and water.

“You can’t farm this land,” said Kesh. “Not like that estate on the West Spur we stopped at. At least that had a substantial olive grove.” He crouched, drew a finger across flat rock, and tasted the substance on his tongue. It was oily, salty, and entirely nasty. He spat. “But there are unexploited seeps of oil of naya everywhere in this region, if hard to reach and transport.”

“There’s enough grass for sheep and goats to graze. Streams coming down out of the mountains, and other sources of water to be channeled. There may be water and forage enough for horses and even cattle, maybe even fields.” The captain scanned the landscape. “Maybe a spring is hidden out there.”

They had left West Spur days ago and ridden north-northeast on a cart track past a few villages and hamlets so isolated that everyone had come to stand at the side of the track to watch fifty Qin soldiers ride past. The locals had been wary, but not scared; as the local experts in oil of naya and pitch, they didn’t expect trouble, even from foreigners.

More fools they, thought Kesh. The Qin could have slaughtered them without breaking a sweat.

“There’s no one living this far out,” added Anji. “I haven’t even seen herdsmen with flocks.”

“All the villages we passed trade in oil and pitch. There are enough seeps and sinks south of here to keep them in livelihood. I’m sure traders send expeditions into this region occasionally, but it’s difficult to transport.” Kesh shaded his eyes. “If you keep riding north, if there’s a path, which I doubt there is, you’ll eventually reach the valley of the River Ireni. Ten or twenty days’ walk, I’m not sure.”

Anji indicated the sea. “Has no one thought of sailing from here to Olossi?”

“Trade over the water is expensive to maintain, and anyway there’s nothing much to trade. There’s a route that runs overland from Olossi around the eastern shore of the sea and then north through the valley of the River Ireni, that I just mentioned. Heaven’s Ridge and the Spires meet northwest of there. It’s possible to travel over the hump from there into the land beyond the Hundred, the white-grass plains, but it’s so dry out there that no one goes that way except to trade with the barbarians—eiya!—that is, the folk who live on the plains.”