“Well…,” Dorna said, shrugging. “They’s raw about it. I mean, us Joratese have been Quuros for five hundred years or so. We’re comfortable with the idea. Proud of it. Plus, here in Jorat, we threw over to Quur so as to get Emperor Kandor’s help tossing out our old god-king. We wanted Quur here. But there’s Yorans whose grandparents remember being ruled by their god-king, Cherthog, and his nasty god-queen, Suless. Nobody had Urthaenriel, so killing god-kings was slow and messy. A real bloodbath. Door-to-door slaughter, putting anybody with an ounce of magical power to the torch. Proper Yorans still ain’t allowed any power. Ain’t allowed to practice their beliefs or speak their old tongue. They aren’t so keen as us to think themselves loyal to the empire, is what I’m saying.”

“Still a better deal than Marakor got,” Ninavis complained. “At least Yorans are allowed to own weapons.”

“That’s because Yorans don’t keep revolting,” Sir Baramon retorted. He shrugged. “Or maybe they’re just being a lot more patient about the idea. Would you live in a place as miserable as Yor if you didn’t have to?”

Ninavis rolled her eyes. “No.”

Sir Baramon raised his hands. “Well, there you go. Motive aplenty to try to expand their territory into lands sunnier and more fertile than their native snow-packed, frozen, personal Hells.”

“Relos Var,” Janel murmured.

The others looked at her.

“What about him?” Dorna said.

She shook her head. “Never mind. I will find out who he is, how he’s involved in all this, and how he ties in with that witch, Senera.”

“And then?” Ninavis asked.

Janel tilted her head. “And then I shall kill them. What else?”

PART II

THE SILVER SWORD

They took a break for dinner.

The evening meal entailed a spicy tomato stew with peppers and oxtail meat over long noodles. Kihrin ate most meals with sag bread, but he accepted the two-pronged forks the locals used for the noodles.

As he finished eating, he realized the smell of burning wood had grown more intense. His eyes watered. Right around the same time people started to cough.

Himself included.

Kihrin looked up from the stew in time to see smoke pour from the fireplace next to him. Also, from the larger fireplace across the room. A man he hadn’t seen before came running out of a room he assumed led to the kitchen, gasping. A gray smoke cloud followed him, pouring from the room beyond.

Janel stood. “Everyone on the ground! Stay low.”

“What’s going on?” Someone said.

“Glyphs, people. Right now!” That sounded like Ninavis.

Kihrin crouched. As he did so, Qown dropped down next to him. “Pull your hair back,” Brother Qown said.