Shaski made a sound-a wail, a heart's cry-and ran to his father then, a small bundle of spent force, to be gathered and held. He began to weep, desperately, like the child he still was, despite everything else he was and would be.

Clutching the boy to him, lifting him, not letting go, Rustem stood up and went forward and drew both his wives into that embrace and his infant daughter, as the morning came.

It seemed they had inquired of Bassanid mercantile agents on the other bank, and one of them had known where Rustem the physician was staying. Their escorts, the two soldiers who had crossed with them from Deapolis on a fishing boat before daylight (two others remaining behind), were waiting outside in front of the house.

Rustem had them admitted. Given what he now knew, it was not a time for Bassanids to be on the streets of Sarantium. One of them, he saw with astonishment (he had thought himself to have reached a place beyond surprise now), was Vinaszh, the garrison commander of Kerakek.

"Commander? How does this come to be?" It was strange to be speaking his own tongue again.

Vinaszh, wearing Sarantine trousers and a belted tunic and not a uniform, thank the Lady, smiled a little before answering: the weary but satisfied expression of a man who has achieved a difficult task.

"Your son," he said,'is a persuasive child."

Rustem was still holding Shaski. The boy's arms were around his neck, his head on his father's shoulder. He had stopped crying. Rustem looked over at the steward and said, in Sarantine, "Is it possible to offer a morning meal to my family, and to these men who have escorted them?"

"Of course it is," said Elita, before the steward could answer. She was smiling at Issa. "I will arrange it."

The steward looked briefly irritated by the woman's presumption. Rustem had a sudden, vivid image of Elita standing over the man's body in the night, a blade in her hand.

"I would also like a message taken to the Senator, as soon as possible. Conveying my respects and requesting an opportunity to attend upon him later this morning."

The steward's expression became grave. "There is a difficulty," he murmured.

"How so?"

"The Senator and his family will not be receiving visitors today, or for the next few days. They are in mourning. The lady Thenai's is dead."

'What? I was with her yesterday!"

"I know that, doctor. It seems she went to the god in the afternoon, at home."

"How?" Rustem was genuinely shocked. He felt Shaski stiffen.

The steward hesitated. "I am given to understand there was… a self-inflicted injury."

Images again. From the day that yesterday had been. A shadowy, high-ceilinged interior space within the Hippodrome, motes of dust drifting where light fell, a woman more rigid than even he himself was, confronting a chariot-racer. Another drawn blade.

We must learn to bend, or we break.

Rustem took a deep breath. He was thinking very hard, Bonosus could not be intruded upon, but the need for protection was real. Either the steward would have to make arrangements here himself for guards, or else…

It was an answer. It was an obvious answer.

He looked back at the man. "I am deeply saddened to hear of this. She was a woman of dignity and grace. I will need a different message sent now. Please have someone inform the acting leader of the Blue faction that I and my family and our two companions request admission into the compound. We will need an escort, of course."

"You are leaving us, doctor?"

The man's expression was impeccable. He had been very nearly killed in his sleep last night. He'd never have awakened. Someone might have been knocking at the steward's bedroom door, finding his body even now, raising a terrible cry.

The world was a place beyond man's capacity to ever fully grasp. It had been made that way.

"I believe we must leave," he said. "It appears our countries might be at war again. Sarantium will be dangerous for Bassanids, however innocent we might be. If the Blues are willing, we might be better defended within the compound. "He looked at the man. "We pose a danger here to all of you now, of course."

The steward-not a subtle thinker-had not considered that. It showed in his face.

"I will have your message sent."

"Tell them," added Rustem, setting Shaski down beside him, a hand across the boy's shoulders, "that I will, of course, offer my professional assistance for the duration of any stay."

He looked over at Vinaszh, the man who had set all of this in motion one afternoon in winter when the wind had been blowing from the desert. The commander spoke Sarantine, it appeared: he had followed this. "I left two men on the other shore," he murmured.

"It might be unsafe for you to go back to them. Wait and see. I have asked for you to be admitted with us. This place is a guarded compound, and they have reason to be well disposed towards me."

"I heard. I understand."

"But I have no right to act for you, it occurs to me. You have brought me my family, unlocked for. For many reasons I want them with me now. I owe you more than I can ever repay, but I do not know your wishes. Will you return home? Does duty demand as much? Did you… I don't know if you have heard about a possible war in the north."

"There were rumours on the other bank last night. We obtained civilian clothing, as you see. "Vinaszh hesitated. He removed his rough cloth cap and scratched his head. "I… I told you your son was very persuasive."

The steward, hearing them speak in Bassanid, turned politely away and crooked a finger at one of the younger servants: a messenger.

Rustem stared at the commander. "He is an unusual child."

He was still holding the boy, not letting go. Katyun watched them, her head turning from one man to the other. Jarita had dried her tears, was making the baby be silent.

Vinaszh was still grappling with something. He cleared his throat, then did it again. "He said… Shaski said… told us that an ending was coming. To Kerakek. Even… Kabadh."

"We can't go home, Papa." Shaski's voice was calm now, a certainty in it that could chill you if you thought about it at all. Penin defend you, Anahita guard us all. Azal never know your name.

Rustem looked at his son. "What kind of ending?"

"I don't know." The admission bothered the boy, it was obvious. "From… the desert."

From the desert. Rustem looked at Katyun. She shrugged, a small gesture, one he knew so well.

"Children have dreams," he said, but then he shook his head. That was dishonest. An evasion. They were only here with him because of Shaski's dreams, and last night Rustem had been told-quite explicitly and by someone who would know-that he was probably a dead man if he went to Kabadh now.

He had declined to try to assassinate someone. And the orders had come from the king.

Vinaszh, son of Vinaszh, the garrison commander of Kerakek, said, softly, "If your intention is to stay here, or go elsewhere, I humbly ask permission to journey with you for a time. Our paths may part later, but we will offer our assistance now. I believe… I accept what the child sees. It happens, in the desert, that some people have this… knowing."

Rustem swallowed. "We? You speak for the other three?"

"They share my thought about the boy. We have journeyed with him. Things may be seen."

As simple as that.

Rustem still had his hand across Shaski's too-thin shoulders. "You are deserting the army." Harsh word. Needed to be used, brought into the open here.

Vinaszh winced. Then straightened, his gaze direct. "I have promised to properly discharge my men, which is in my power as their commander. The formal letters will be sent back."

"And for yourself?"

There was no one who could write such a letter for the commander. The other man drew a breath. "I will not go back." He looked down at Shaski, and he smiled a little. Said nothing more.