They waited.

At length her mare clattered to earth on the ridge, and Marit dismounted. She halted a prudent distance away and drew from a leather sheath a serviceable short sword, nothing fancy to look at: plain, good steel. “The sword, called death, cuts the strand of life.”

“Where did you find it?” he asked.

“The place no one else thought to look,” she said with a grin. “I’m Marit, as I said before. Kirit I already know. Will you tell me who you are, ver?”

“No one who ever did a cursed thing in his life to deserve good or ill, verea. But my mother, who has long since crossed the Spirit Gate, gave me the name Jothinin.”

“ ‘Foolish Jothinin, light-minded Jothinin.’ An old-fashioned name. Just like in the tale.”

He smiled but said nothing.

“What is a Guardian?” she asked, but answered herself. “It’s not a thing already made. It’s what we become of our own shaping.”

He rested his staff against a shoulder and opened his hands in the gesture of welcoming. “Will you join us, little sister?” Kirit looked sharply at him but did not object. “We have scant hope of victory, but we must make the effort.”

She laughed, and the air wicked away her tears. “Allies, then?”

“Indeed we are,” he agreed with a sweet, sober smile. “The last of our kind.”

54

At dawn, as the clangor of the temple bells called men to prayer, Keshad confronted the guards at the gate, holding his blessing bowl in cupped hands.

“I need to pray.”

They looked at each other. One went into the guardhouse and emerged with the sergeant while the other stared straight ahead, pretending not to see Kesh.

“No foreigners allowed in Sarida today,” said the sergeant. He was a big man with hair shaved short and powerful hands that looked ready to crush the windpipe of any clamoring fool who annoyed him.

“I need to pray.” Again he displayed the bowl. “I am a believing man. Not like the others.”

He did not look into the courtyard where sour-faced men gathered yawning and stretching to mutter among themselves at the locked gate. The foreign merchants had heard trumpets in the night, and now it seemed they were to be imprisoned all day, not even let free to buy and sell in the market. Mutters turned to cheerful greetings as Eliar emerged from the cubicle he shared with Keshad, and at once the conversation flowered with laughter and spirited banter. Everyone liked Eliar! Kesh could not understand how the others could stomach the Silver’s convivial ways and inanely amiable chatter.

“All peace be upon Beltak, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the Shining One Who Rules Alone,” said the sergeant at last, having taken his time to think things through. “The priests bid us to open the exalted gates to all men. To turn away a man who wishes to enter would be like killing him. Therefore, go. But return here after. This guard will accompany you. He speaks nothing of the trade talk, so no point in trying to converse.”