The sergeant knelt and genuflected before the squad’s captain. They exchanged a running jabber in their own language as the sergeant kept his head bowed. An older merchant murmured a translation in a low voice for those around him to hear.

“The officer says there was trouble in the market district last night. Many compounds attacked. Only compounds sheltering foreigners. Report came at night that this compound and several others had driven away the attackers. Some local men were killed. There is to be an inquiry.”

“Against the mob, or against us?” Kesh muttered.

The older man shrugged, worry creasing his face as the sergeant turned around to survey the merchants. The cursed soldier lifted an arm and pointed—quite rudely, as outlanders always did, using the fingers—at Keshad.

“Bring him.” The captain frowned as his gaze paused on Eliar with his butter-yellow turban wrapped tightly around his head. “That one, also.”

Every man there retreated, leaving Kesh and Eliar exposed.

“You come,” said the captain.

Eliar took an obedient step toward the squad, but Keshad held his ground.

“What about our trade goods? What surety do we have they’ll not be stolen while we’re not here to guard them ourselves?”

The captain raised a hand, and two soldiers dismounted and, after a word with the sergeant, posted themselves by the door into the cell alloted to Kesh and Eliar.

“Now. You come.”

What else could they do?

THEY WALKED UNDER the market district gate and into the main city, a place no foreign merchant was ever allowed to enter. The streets were broad and clean-swept, walled on both sides with gates opening at intervals into compounds. No one roamed the streets today. The hooves of the horses echoed in an eerie silence. Once Kesh saw a face peeping over a wall, dropping out of sight when their gazes met. Their small procession wound inward and upward as the sun rose, and just when it was beginning to get really hot they arrived at a vast gate that opened into a vaster courtyard lined with pillared colonnades carved of finest white marble.

The captain indicated a bench in the shade. “Sit there.”

They sat. The captain assigned four soldiers to dismount; these four settled into guard positions as their comrades led away their horses through a wide pair of open gates to the left. The captain rode forward alone into a farther courtyard, glimpsed through a magnificently carved archway.

“Look at the figures carved on the arch,” whispered Eliar. “There is the sun in splendor, the moon veiled, and the stars assembled in ranks to acknowledge the suzerainty of the god they worship here.”

“ ‘The god they worship here’? That kind of talk will get you burned.”

Eliar shrugged. “I’m saying it to you. Not to them. What would they do? Force me to worship at their god’s temple?”

“How naive are you? Don’t you know anything about the empire? They could, if they wanted. Tell you to say the prayers to Beltak, or suffer the punishment meted out to those who don’t believe. Who would stop them? Who in the Hundred could do a cursed thing to them in return if they killed you, eh? Did you ever think of that?”