Around the edges of the plain, in the sheltered places under the towering cliffs, were dwellings built of stone and mud. Some were built into the cliffs: half cave, half house. There were gardens with vegetables and rows of corn, and small herds of goats. There was a mine tunnel going straight into a mountain wall from ground level, with firestone dust blackening the ground around. As I looked, a group of Quelled came out with their full baskets. I looked for an overseer, but saw none. The Quelled walked in a group, laughing and chattering, and one of the women stopped, put down her load, and talked to a small child who ran up to her. No one corrected her; no caretaker came to take the child away. No one supervised. The Quelled took the baskets to different houses, and stayed in them, I assumed, to rest or to talk. I could hardly believe my eyes.

Three of the Quelled men came out again, brushing the dust from their trousers and coats. One of them must have said something witty, because they all laughed loudly, and then walked on, straight and daring, away from the mine. They were not wearing the dull grey garments of the Quelled, and some of their clothes looked colourful and fine under the firestone dust.

Beside me the Firelord laughed quietly, his face all life again, and urged his donkey on. “Come, handmaid,” he said. “I see my friend.” He called and waved, and one of the Quelled men turned and ran towards us.

He was a tall man, well-built, slender, with long dark brown hair and a rich beard. His skin was dark, though not as dark as my lord’s. He moved with an easy grace, with energy and strength, despite having just come from labour in the mine. He reached my lord and they embraced, laughing, and the man kissed both the Firelord’s cheeks, and hugged him again. Astounded, I saw that underneath the firestone dust the man had no brand. He was Chosen. And he was young, not more than five-and-twenty. I had expected someone old.

He turned to me, saw the bewilderment on my face, and smiled. He was not a handsome man, but there was something charismatic about him, under all the firestone dust. It was not a physical thing, it was spiritual, and difficult to describe. But I was drawn to him.

The man looked on my face and saw my brand, and he smiled again and welcomed me as he had welcomed my high lord – with a kiss on both my cheeks, and an embrace that made Kallai flutter, and my heart. I was stunned, speechless, undone. All my impressions of the Chosen vanished like smoke before the wind. I heard the Firelord tell the man my name.