“Like the Qin.” That quirk in his lips was Anji’s way of showing amusement.

Kesh found himself smiling. “Like the Qin. Horses, hides, steel, gems, slaves.” The wind off the mountains brought a chill that crawled along his shoulders. He shuddered, thinking of the ghost girl he had brought out of the southern desert. “I heard there are tribes of demons on the plains. You can tell them by their blue eyes and white-grass hair.”

Anji looked away from Kesh, and something about the way his shoulders stiffened and his jaw moved slightly, as though he was swallowing hatred, made Kesh wonder what the Qin captain was thinking. “Plenty of demons. We Qin have battled demons for generations.”

Caution stilled Keshad’s tongue. The oily film oozed and bubbled on the rocks, and the smell hit so hard it was like tasting. Then a wave of salt water washed the edge of the shelf, changing the composition of the liquid, and the stink eased.

Anji said, “You know a great deal about the trading routes in and around the Hundred.”

“How much I know might depend on what it’s worth to me.”

Anji’s smile made Kesh shiver. “Your sister’s life and freedom, perhaps?”

“You have no control over that!”

“Is that so? The Hieros placed you in my custody, and in my custody you’ll remain until the transaction is complete. Yet what can you do? You’re not a soldier, a farmer, a herdsman, a craftsman, a poet to weave songs and tales. A man who contributes nothing to the tribe is worthless. If he has his own tent and herd, he may survive on his own, but if hard times come—and they always do—he’ll need the support of his kinsmen. You and your sister are alone, without tent or herds. That leaves you vulnerable.”

“Do you want something from me? Just say so!”

The sun set behind the mountains. A fire burned where the Qin soldiers had set up camp. Two guardsmen waited close by, arms crossed and shoulders slumped in a posture that to the untrained eye might appear as boredom, but Kesh knew from experience that the men who guarded Anji never relaxed.

Nor did Anji.

“You may carry an accounts bundle that marks you as a man freed of this debt obligation you Hundred folk call slavery. But a man is not free if his heart is not free. It seems to me, Keshad, that you are always carrying your chains. You trust no man because you cannot trust yourself.” He began to walk carefully along the rock shelf toward drier ground beyond.

Kesh hurried after him, sliding once, arms flailing, and righting himself. “Why should I trust any man? What man has ever done right by me, or tried to do anything but exploit me?”

Anji’s boots crunched on gritty earth. He flashed a grin over his shoulder for no reason Kesh could fathom. “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say since we rode out on this expedition. Trust no man. No man except one who holds honor higher than his own life.”