Yet a tradition persists among the common people that the interred bones of the old venerables were infused with a holy power and it is the relics of those condemned as “witches” that have kept the roads safe. Even after all this time, the murdered venerables are said to still watch over the humble and the weak, the menial and the forgotten. Or so it is whispered, where the authorities cannot hear.

A passage censored from The Official’s Handbook of the Empire as compiled by Luviara, theurgist, working at the behest of the Inner Chamber of the Heart Temple

2 THE DEPUTY COURIER

It was early autumn, warm enough in the late afternoon that Elen and her nephew had taken off their long jackets, rolled them up, and tied them atop their packs. They tramped through the rugged Moonrise Hills on a path she knew well because every month for the last ten years she had walked the same route. She was a circuit courier for the local intendant, delivering messages, decrees, news, personal letters, contracts, warrants, and a copy of the imperial gazette to highland villages and hamlets that could only be reached on foot or by griffin scout. Griffins were out of reach for a humble deputy courier, but Elen had two good feet and was grateful for them.

“What are you smiling about?” grumbled Kem with the graceless bad temper of a cranky adolescent. “I have a blister. You said these boots would be broken in by the end of the circuit. And I’m hungry. How soon will we get home?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” He shaded his eyes and peered toward the setting sun as it spread a golden glow along the ridgeline that marked the edge of the hills. A knob of rock rising from the ridge was the best-known landmark, easy to spot. “There’s the lookout! We can’t be more than three hours from home.”

She didn’t need to check her official’s pocket watch to judge the sky. Birds were gathering, flocking toward roosting spots. “It’ll be dark in an hour.”

“Twilight lasts a while beyond that. It wouldn’t be so far to home, just another hour or two past the lookout. The trail is wide and chalky, so it’s easy to see. It’s almost full moon, so there’ll be enough light.”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

His voice got tighter and grouchier. “For one thing, Palls don’t rise during the week of the full moon.”

“A Pall is not what I’m worried about.”

“Joef told me there’s been no sighting of Spore in ten years, not anywhere near Orledder Halt or in this region of the hills.”

“All the more reason to assume it could happen at any time.”

“But—”

“How many nos do you need? I haven’t forgotten when you were two years old. I can say no all day and night long and not break a sweat.” She grinned.