He lifted his chin, as a man might who has just been slapped. “She carries her staff? Aui!”

“It is leashed to her belt.” She did not bother to glance at Yordenas, who had not, evidently, noticed this crucial item. Nor for that matter had Hari mentioned it to Marit.

“An annoying development,” murmured Lord Radas.

Marit thought of the envoy of Ilu, the one Kirit had left, the one who had refused Marit shelter and friendship. He had asked Marit if she carried her staff, but she had not known what he meant.

“Not at all,” said the woman. “We must welcome her all the more kindly, and teach her to be wise.”

He frowned. “If you say so.” He went outside.

“Yordenas, move Hari. Drag out the entire carpet.” She clucked at the mess, then beckoned. “If you will, Ramit, retire with me.”

Marit followed cautiously past the inner wall and into another chamber, this one with dirt for floor except for a single humble carpet spread in the middle of the dim chamber. A low writing desk and a traveling chest sat on the carpet, squared off to match the corners. Pillows rested on the other end, one in each corner.

“Sit.” She stepped over a spear lying behind the desk and sat. She touched the objects lying on the desk, shifting those that had moved out of line with the table’s edge. “Come closer, Ramit. You are disturbed by what you have seen.”

Marit pulled a pillow closer, settled down cross-legged with her short sword laid across her thighs, and said nothing.

“Radas has a cruel streak. Hari is reckless and does not understand the responsibilities that have fallen to him. I remain surprised that the cloak fell to an outlander, but the gods make these decisions, not us.”

Her indignation got the better of her. “Surely Lord Radas could be commanded not to punish a man by torturing him.”

“Yes, I came too late to stop that piece of petty brutality, for which I am sorry. Matters have long since gotten out of hand. The criminals should have been culled from our ranks, not formed into their own army and sent to Olossi. So be it. I had other things on my mind and let it pass. Now I do what I can to mitigate the worst.”

“What do you mean?”

She raised a hand, palm up, in the gesture of receiving and questioning. “What respect do we owe the gods? When respect is no longer shown, is it not true that people wander into the shadows? That they ignore those laws which displease them personally? That they scorn the helpless and needy? That offerings are scanted, and tithes not properly paid? That a few who believe they know what is right for others begin to call for change? Yet change is all too often only a word to signify chaos.”

The words seemed reasonable enough. “Yes.”

“The weak should not suffer injustice simply because they are weak.”