Tears shone in the old woman’s dark eyes. Dis wondered if they would freeze.

“You have truly come back from the darkness.”

Ro released her hand.

“You will take us, then?”

Kufa’s gaze shifted to Dis, as if seeing him for the first time. “And who would you bring to the fields of Golamaran? Who would you bring to the Shrine?”

“This is Udi Dis,” Ro told her, raising a hand in Dis’s direction. “A … a friend.”

Dis liked that. Not a bodyguard. Not even just a pilot. A friend.

The old crone’s eyes bored into him.

“He is … what?”

Dis wanted to yell that he was freezing.

“He is Talortai,” Ro answered for him. “A species strong in the Force.”

Her eyes flicked back to her cousin’s masked face.

“The Force?”

This time Dis spoke up. “I am a navigator. A pathfinder.”

She chuckled, obviously amused by his choice of words. “Are you now? Well, whatever you are, whatever you can do, you are welcome.” Again she glanced up at Ro. “As were the credits that came before you. Such generosity.”

“I knew the journey here would be difficult for you,” Ro said. “Do you still have that old rust bucket?”

“The Open Hand? Yes, yes I do. Half devoured by rust-weevils, but she still flies, although not to the Shrine.” She patted the hide of one of the shaggy beasts that waited patiently beside her. “The slarga will get us where no transport will fly. They are strong.” She glanced back at Ro. “They have to be, where we’re going.”

The ride to the cave entrance was long and arduous. Thankfully the first part of the journey had been taken by hoversled, the slarga snorting at the back of the speeder that coughed and spluttered as it traversed the Golamaran ice flats. The landscape was barren, a frozen waste stretching out into darkness in all directions. Out here, in the tundra, Dis was grateful for the thick pelts that Kufa had supplied. The stink of stale sweat clung to the matted fibers, but they kept the wind from freezing his bones as Ro perched up front with his cousin.

Before long, Kufa announced they must go the rest of the way on slarga-back. They swayed into the gloom, the light from the hoversled diminishing as its droid pilot sped away as fast as its struggling repulsorlift would allow. The dark was almost absolute and yet their ponderous caravan continued in silence, any sound swallowed up by the howling gale that threatened to pluck them from their mounts. Somehow the slarga knew where they were going, thick heads held down against the wind, wide feet crunching into the snow.