“What do you mean to do with him?” Hari asked.

“Cursed if I know. Find him a place he can heal.”

“And thereby condemn whoever aids him as an accomplice, to be cleansed?”

“I can’t just stand aside and do nothing! Help me with the other one.”

“A waste of time. The lad’s near death.”

“How can you tell?”

“You’re young to this yet, aren’t you? It’s a sweetness they get, when they cross beyond where they can be brought back. If you want, I’ll kill him quickly.”

“Are you going to help me, or not?”

His gaze shifted past her. Anger had made her careless. She turned. The sergeant, marked by his shoulder braids, stood a prudent distance away, gaze still averted, shaking as though terrified by his own audacity.

“Lord, if you will hear me, I would tell you that the man you cut down was cleansed for being a spy. He was sent from Toskala to infiltrate our territories and scurry back to his masters with what news he could tell them.”

Marit rose. “Take the lad down. Also, bring me a pair of saddled horses, rope, wine, and a sack of rice.” His abject obedience gave a rush that made her ears burn, and then at once she knew the shame of letting his fear feed her. Demons ate fear; that was what made them demons.

Hari nodded toward the lad. “Listen with your second heart, and look with your third eye. His spirit is passing.”

The death rattle exhaled as softly as mist rises. The young spirit lightened within the night, a shudder of trembling confusion caught between death and the Spirit Gate. The wind quickened. Chains scraped on wood as bodies shifted. The odor of death grew strong, then faded abruptly. She sucked in breath—breath is life—and that quickly, the youth’s spirit crossed over and was gone, joyful in its final release.

A pair of frightened soldiers brought a pair of saddled horses—decent mounts, to her surprise—and scuttled away. The accused spy screamed in pain as she and Hari bundled him onto the horse, and tied him on the saddle. Mercifully, he passed out. She tied the lead lines to her own saddle and strung the spare at the end.

They rode for a long while without speaking, her heart steaming hot with a bitter rage. The fields beyond High Haldia had a tidy architecture. This was fertile land, well populated, sufficient to feed High Haldia and besides maintain a brisk trade upcountry and downriver. The footfalls of the horses rang in the night, as loud as hammers. The unconscious man breathed in unsteady gasps, his pain like a haze of muddy pressure around his torso. Rain washed them, pouring for a while, and then they rode out of it. In the southwest, three stars shone in a break in the clouds.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with him now,” she said at last.

“Why do you bother?”

“Because I can’t walk away.”