Elen was too shocked to speak. Kem turned, looking puzzled and then astonished. The wardens did not appear surprised, but when Kem murmured a question to Ipis, she shook her head with a tilt of her chin toward Elen, as if to say she couldn’t tell him here, where the deputy courier might hear.

Luviara straightened her clothing and said, “Is there somewhere private I might relieve myself? I didn’t want to do so while in the swalters’ delving. I have it on good authority they skewer intruders, and mutilate trespassers, and how better to discern a trespasser than by smelling their piss?”

Elen nodded. “Yes, yes, of course, we should all take a quick pee among the rocks before we go on our way. Your Worthiness, may I ask—?”

“Not now,” said the haunt, strolling up. His gaze on Luviara was so unusually aggressive that the theurgist, for once, appeared flustered. “How many can you keep bound to you at a time? Do they do your bidding in exchange for release?”

“Your Highness, we theurgists are not required to speak of our art even to the palace.”

“Of course you aren’t required to, but my question stands.”

“I beg your pardon and mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but we are enjoined to never disclose the secrets of our craft.”

His blistering frown made him look as angry as a thunderous storm sliding across the lowlands. The displeasure radiating off him was sobering and unpleasant. Luviara’s eyes widened with alarm. The wardens glanced warily at him. All took a step away. His gaze flickered, noticing their reactions. As if by magic, his expression cleared to its usual sardonic amusement.

“Yes, yes, of course you are so enjoined. Make haste. We’ll go as soon as Jirvy is with us.”

Despite Xilsi’s insinuation about Jirvy’s inability to climb, the man reached the top quickly and without any sign of being winded or distressed. By then, the others had done their business over behind a shield of rocks. The scent of fresh urine dissipated in the ever-blowing wind as Elen led them at an easy jog into the uneven shadow and light beneath the trees, headed toward the rim of Grinder’s Cut.

43 THE ROPE BRIDGE

The rim of Grinder’s Cut was like an illusion. They walked for several hours through airy forests and rocky clearings and back into forest when, with no change in the landscape, the great canyon cut the ground open at their feet. At night, a person could stumble off the edge all unknowing and plunge a thousand ells to their death. If the fall didn’t kill them, then they would surely roll into the thread of Pall that ran parallel to the river that flowed along the bottom of the canyon. Death by smashing their head open on the rocks would be preferable.

The wardens stared across the gap between the southern rim and the northern rim.