The woman put her basket down and raised the link pole in Klia’s direction so they could take stock of each other. She was of middling years, Klia guessed from the lines on the woman’s face, though her hair was covered by the long black shawl she wore over her head and shoulders. Her clothing showed her to be a prosperous peasant. Her skirt was clean and embroidered around the hem in a style Klia didn’t recognize. An islander, obviously. The woman was regarding Klia with some suspicion mixed with interest.

“My name is Klia,” she told her. “My horse bolted and now I don’t know where I am.”

“You’re not Island,” the woman said, coming no closer. “I can tell from your accent you’re not from here.”

“I’m Skalan.” Klia paused, debating how much to reveal. “I’m a soldier. I was heading to Deep Harbor when my horse spooked.”

“That’s a great, long sword you have there. I’m of a mind to be fearful of it.”

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Klia said, holding up both hands. “All I want is somewhere to stay the night, and then directions back to Menosi.”

“You came from Menosi?”

“Yes, I was just there.”

The woman took a step back, holding her light a little higher. “I knew there was something uncanny about you. Are you a spirit?”

Klia laughed outright at that, though there was more weariness than humor behind it. “I’m as solid as you, I promise. Here, touch my hand.”

The woman hesitated, then sidled closer and reached out to her. As their fingers brushed she gave Klia a relieved smile. “There, and just as you say. You’re mortal after all. Come along, then, my dear. You can stay at my house in Zikara tonight. It’s not far.”

“Is that a town?”

The woman nodded and continued on the way she’d been going.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Klia said as they walked along.

“Myna.” She reached into her basket and pulled out a bread roll. “You look hungry, soldier.”

“Thank you.” It was fragrant with cardamom and tasted wonderful.

The sound of the river grew louder as they went on, and the road soon dipped and ran along the bank. The clouds obscured the stars; the woman’s lantern was the only light, and it didn’t cast far.

At last the lights of Zikara came into view. It was surrounded by a wooden palisade, but the guard knew Myna and let them through.

Zikara was a poor, rustic place. A few grimy lanterns hung on hooks here and there, and even at this hour wild-looking black hogs wandered the streets. The largest structure was a squat, three-story tower that loomed over the town. Lights burned brightly in the windows, many of which were made of stained glass.