“Will you shut up,” hissed Ke. He studied the woods.

And then Talen heard the voices of men in the distance. Or at least he thought he had.

“Get inside,” whispered Ke. “Now!”

Talen looked at his brother and sister. They were harboring Sleth. They were risking the anger of the Nine Clans and putting all of their lives in danger.

When Talen didn’t move, Ke handed the bow to River. He grabbed Talen by the nape of the neck with one hand and the back of his trousers by the other. Talen struggled, but Ke’s grip was like iron, and he marched Talen back into the house.

Talen watched in dismay as the girl hatchling led her brother to the hearth. When they were all in, River quietly barred the door and shuttered the window. She faced Ke. “I told Da it would never work.”

Someone called out in the woods.

River motioned for everyone to be still.

Ke turned to Talen. “If you’ve brought a pack of idiot hunters down on us,” he whispered, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Kill me?” said Talen. “Kill me? You two and Da, it appears, have already seen to that.”

“Shush,” said River.

They waited and listened. Queen barked twice and then fell still. Talen strained to hear what was going on outside, but heard nothing. Of course, that didn’t mean a pack of hunters were not moving now to surround the yard or running off to alert the bailiff.

After what seemed like hours, River opened the shutters enough to peer out. A few moments later she closed them again. “Queen’s right in front of the door. She would have barked if someone were out there. I think we’re safe.”

“She didn’t bark at these two,” said Talen. “The dog’s gone traitor.”

River left the window and moved to the girl’s side. She stroked the girl’s hair like one might a niece or sister. “Talen, this is Sugar.”

She put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. His hair shot up like a wildman’s. “And this is her blind brother, Legs.”

15

Argoth did not want one of the guards on the walls of the Shoka fortress, jittery from the attacks at the village of Plum, to mistake Hogan for the enemy and kill him. The guards had their orders, but it was night and the moon was only half full. And Hogan was Koramite. So Argoth waited atop the barbican, watching the roads for his friend.

He brought a sprig of spearmint to his nose. Serenity, his youngest daughter, had tied it to a string and made yet another necklace for him. He could never say no to wearing her gifts. In his pockets he carried at least a dozen tokens of affection-a small black stone with a slash of red in it, a finely woven lock of hair, dessicated bits of flowers, the pit of a plum. He inhaled the fine, strong scent of the mint.

Behind him rose the first of two rings of defense. More than seventy years ago, the early colonists had wisely located the fortress here on a wide outcropping of rock that capped one of the three hills of Whitecliff. One side of the hill sloped to the town. The backside of the hill, consisting of cliffs and precarious ravines, dropped straight to the sea.

The first structure built had been a simple timber tower and palisade. That had been torn down thirty years ago. In its place the Clans had erected two walls. The outer wall stood twenty feet high. The inner wall, placed almost twenty yards back from the outer wall, stood double that height.

Tonight, at the base of the outer wall, guards with dogs patrolled the dry moat, expecting some Sleth attack. They stood out against the whitewashed walls of the fortress. The Shoka had learned that trick from an old Mungo slave who had won his freedom: whitewash the bottom half of the walls to make it easier for defenders to see below at night, but leave the top unwashed, allowing the defenders to use the cover of darkness.

They used the idea on the ramparts as well, painting the walkways to allow the men to navigate without torches. As long as the moon shone there would be no torches on the wall. Not a lamp. Not a whisper of light that might ruin a guard’s night vision except in the one tower where men were eating.

The distant sound of laughter carried down from the tower. Then a guard somewhere up on the outer wall called out, having spotted movement in the town.

Argoth looked out toward the town. In the distance he could see the dark, squat towers of the town wall. Closer in and off to the left stood the temple of the Glory of Mokad on its hill. It was too dark to see, but within the round, domed structure stood the altar of sacrifice where the Divines drew Fire. Directly behind the altar stood the raised seat of the Glory. And behind the seat stood the statues of the seven Creators in a semicircle, looking down upon the altar.

During the Festival of Gifts, seven fifteen-foot statues would be made of wood and erected around the temple. They would then be paraded in a long procession to the fortress and then to the sea. Seven statues to represent the seven Creators.

Each was festooned with the creations for which He or She was responsible. The first and greatest was smeared over with rocks and clay. The second was in the form of a tree, woven with garlands of seaweed, flowers, and sheaves of grain; the third had the horns and hides of animals and eyes made of butterfly wings; the fourth wore the skins of sharks and whales; the fifth bore great wings upon its back and was clad in feathers; the sixth was in the form of a man with a face of gold. These were the six, dangerous as they may be, who brought life. The seventh was misshapen and black. Upon its head sat a crown of thorns and about its chest was woven a breastplate made from the bones of a thousand animals.

Who really served Regret? There were rumors of men and women who bound themselves to him. Was the creature that killed the harvest master in the village of Plum one such? Or did Regret work in more subtle ways, coming to you smiling and with an open hand so that you served him and never once thought you were doing anything but standing in the light? Argoth thought of his past before he found the Order. He had been a servant of Regret, even though he didn’t know it at the time. Bless the Six, the Order had found him.

At the base of Temple Hill a light moved along a dark street. It passed behind a number of dark homes. Then it reappeared on the fortress road. Whoever held the torch rode a horse and was accompanied by other men.

A half minute more and Hogan rode into the torchlight at the base of the gate road. Beside Hogan sat one of the barbican watchmen. The man called out his name and rank. “We have delivered Hogan, Bowmaster of the Koramites.”

“He’s mine,” Argoth called down. “Dismount, Bowmaster. Then proceed.”

Argoth descended the stairs from the top of the barbican. Before he reached the bottom, he overheard the guards below.

“What’s the warlord doing letting that thing among us? Who can tell which of them is part of the Sleth nest?”

“Good lord, man, it’s Captain Argoth’s brother-in-law.”

“I don’t care; this isn’t right-”

Then someone must have heard him because the conversation fell silent. Argoth walked into the main passageway and then out to the front of the barbican to stand with the five guards standing posted there. Hogan’s escort had departed back to the city barracks, so Hogan walked the ramp alone.

Argoth could have ignored the guard’s earlier comments, but he chose not to. “Do you know what I love about that Koramite?”

“Zu?” said the most senior of the guards.

“Not his might, nor the many Bone Face kills to his name, but his loyalty.”

“Yes, Captain,” said the guard.

“Mark him,” said Argoth. “I would rather have that one loyal Koramite at my side than a whole company of backbiters.”