“Did the reservoir take water from the rains?” she asked. “Is the underground channel going to work?”

Tuvi squinted, but said nothing.

Priya said, “It will take many years for the entire conduit to be dug. There was such a channel in Kartu Town, bringing water down off Dezara Mountain.”

“That’s where O’eki earned coin, didn’t he?” said Mai. “The channel had to be repaired and cleaned out.”

“Dangerous work,” said Priya. “But he supervises now. Others take the risk.”

Down on the flat land, fields might bloom, although the landscape looked dusty and brown. Last night’s storm had been the first substantial precipitation since she had arrived weeks ago. The season of Flower Rains was giving way to that of Flood Rains.

“Strange to think of this place as becoming green,” Mai said. “I would love an orchard, with sunfruit and almonds. And white-stone fruit. If it will grow here. Maybe it is too hot.”

She wiped sweat from her brow. A stream of laborers hauled materials up into town. They wore kilts or long jackets much worn and faded, their caps sewn of scraps of material in every color: peacock green, dingy brown, clay red, fig yellow. Some acknowledged her with a nod; others ignored her. She noted those with a morning spring in their step, and those with a slump in their shoulders despite the early hour. She felt compassion for the weary, but in another part of her mind she totted up the cost of maintaining laborers who were not as strong. Shelter, now that they had set up the barracks tents, demanded little coin to maintain, but food enough to fuel labor did not come cheaply, since much had to be brought in from Olossi. She wanted her outlay on foodstuffs to be used at maximum efficiency, with strong workers, not lagging ones. Rice was easy to transport, but quantities of fresh water to boil it in remained problematic. All in all, the difficulties of this holding seemed overwhelming despite Chief Tuvi’s assessment of its superior defensive capabilities.

Yet that did not mean that strangers did not on occasion walk into the settlement, seeking employment or, perhaps, less tangible goals.

“Is that a priest? An envoy of Ilu, by his clothing.”

A man was climbing the road. He was a man of mature years, not yet elderly, and dressed in a bright blue cloak, dark-red trousers, and a tunic dyed a brilliant saffron yellow. As he approached the gates he looked up, saw her, and smiled as though they were old friends. She smiled back. He did look familiar, but she could not place where she had seen him.

“Greetings of the dawn,” she called, abruptly sure that her day would pass without undue troubles to disturb her.

The guards shifted to take up flanking stations, but the envoy of Ilu flashed no weapons and made no threatening gesture.

“Greetings of the dawn.” As he halted in a neighboring patch of shade along the raised gateway, he mopped his brow and chuckled in an amiable manner. “Whew! Hot today, despite the storm last night, neh?”