THE MOUNTAIN INN was tucked into the branch of a gorge high among peaks that had taken an unseasonable snow cover. Like all inns of the Long Road, it was run by the Ivieth. Old porters, who could no longer bear the burdens of the road, brought wood for the fire and kept the soup hot and cared for travellers who might seek shelter, as well as tending the healthy Ivieth who passed through with pack and wagon.

Young children abounded, bigger and broader-shouldered than they should have been, unruly with each other, racing through the halls of the inn, but unreservedly polite with the inn’s clientele. Their half-grown siblings were already out on the roads to carry the burden that clan kalothi demanded. Before puberty an Ivieth hauled his load or was walked to death and eaten.

Oelita sat in a corner alone but as close to the fire as she could get and still be inconspicuous. She was subdued. Ordinarily she would be sitting at a table with the Ivieth or would have intruded upon travellers to make new friends and joke away the tiredness of feet. But this was already Kaiel territory. The fear had grown as the rolling hills had given way to rocky slope and twisting trail and heights that awed her while chilling winds played with her body like the bush she had seen caught and tossed into a ravine.

She had sent the crystal ahead by trusted messenger and it would be safe — but still she was afraid.

One of the little Ivieth boys rushed up with a cloth and over-eagerly wiped her table. Then he noticed her bowl and sniffed at the broth that was no longer steaming. “I’ll get you some more,” he said before whisking it away, tiptoeing with a careful eye on the bowl’s rim, remembering that he had already slopped some on the floor and had had to mop it up.

He was the same age as her boys had been when they were taken to the Temple of Sorrow.

Presently a white-haired woman, who was stooped and old but still far taller than Oelita, brought in a new bowl of hot soup followed by her angry grandson who was displeased that his grandmother did not see fit to trust him to carry it. “He’s being such a help, busy as we are with all the road building. I’ve scarce seen such a crowd!”

As she spoke three other men entered the door and pulled it closed behind them against the tugging wind. One Oelita recognized as clan Mueth from the brilliant headdress of fibers woven into his hair. One was of a far clan she did not know. The third stood shorter but carried himself with such authority that she knew him to be of the formidable Kaiel.

“Gaet!” said a man at the far end of the room, raising his mug. The Kaiel returned the gesture but went to another table and was lost in animated talk. Three Ivieth children, obviously well known to him, rushed forward and began to climb all over his back to remove his outer garments. For a moment Oelita glanced up and saw the grandmother standing transfixed, smiling in the Kaiel’s direction, waiting, as if she expected to be noticed shortly. He ignored her, making his rounds, a joke here, a backslap there, a fistclasp at another table, a hair ruffling for a child.

“Gaet!” said the old woman impatiently.

Finally, he turned to her, warmly. “You think I’m hungry, eh? You know I’m hungry. I could eat the bark off a tree! What’s in the soup?”

“Gaet, you sit yourself with this young traveller who’s braving the mountains without escort — it’s the only table we have free — and I’ll work up something to fill you.”

The man sat down. His shirt was open and Oelita could see the hontokae carved into his chest. She wanted to run, she wanted to be among her friends on the coast, yet he was smiling at her easily enough. She faced him with her back to the wall and smiled the soft smile she used to seduce men.

“How’s the broth this low day?” he asked to make conversation.

“Very good.”

“You’re far from the coast.”

“How else am I to reach Kaiel-hontokae?” she asked gently.

“It is a long journey. You must have deep purpose to send you such a distance.”

“I do. I hope to plead for the lives of my people. Perhaps in doing so I shall speak against your beliefs. You must have equally deep purpose. We are as far from Kaiel-hontokae as we are from the coast.”

“The improvement of the road through the mountains has been a recent concern of mine. But truly I am this far west for one reason only.” He grinned. “I’ve come at breakneck pace since I heard a rumor that a certain beautiful woman passes through the mountains unescorted. It seems to me that she courts unnecessary danger.”

Oelita started. He knew her then! He had been sent. He was here for the crystal. He was one of Joesai’s men. No, I cannot use him. I shall fly from him! “Would a Kaiel escort give me safety?” she asked ironically.

“Ah, then you have met Joesai!” he exclaimed, slapping the table. Her heart began to pound at the mention of this name. Here was a game she did not understand. “I want no Kaiel escort. I value my life.”

“There are disparate factions among the Kaiel. Is that not the case among all priest clans? I represent the faction of the Prime Predictor who very much wishes you alive.”

“Who is Joesai?”

The man called Gaet laughed at her intensity. “Joesai might perhaps be called a lonepriest. He has strong loves and his own ideas of the way things should be. He survives best when he is a long way from the reach of orders generated by men he disagrees with.” He sobered. “I don’t believe you have anything to fear from Joesai. We have reason to believe that his group was captured near Soebo.”

“The Mnankrei have him?” Oelita was incredulous.

“We know only that the Mnankrei took his ship and fifteen of his band. He may have been killed.”

“You lie!” she said hotly. “He and two of his men were with me in Sorrow too short a while ago. I’ve travelled at night afraid that he was at my back.” She watched a profound look of reaction cross Gaet’s face. What was it? Astonishment? Hope? Relief? Such a response made her afraid again. This stranger was no enemy of Joesai.

“Was he with a woman when you saw him last?”

Ah, I cannot trust this man. He loves Teenae. “She was stabbed. They took her up the coast somewhere to recover. Wherever Joesai might be, she is not in Soebo.”

“Thank our God.”

“Joesai sent you?”

“Hardly. We’ve had no word from him. Hoemei of Aesoe’s staff bid me escort you safely into Kaiel-hontokae. Hoemei is purveyor of the relief program to the coast. We have sketchy information that a famine approaches. What say you?”

“The underjaw ravages the land. The Mnankrei burn our stores. We need help.”

“It is fortunate that we have met.”

“The price you will ask for your help is too high.”

Gaet laughed a short burst and trailed off into silence. He began to turn his soupbowl with extended fingers, staring at it. She noticed that he only had nine digits. A little finger had been amputated. Over the soup, the aromatic vapors rose and dissipated like thoughts forming and unforming. “This pottery — pleasant design, eh?” he began. “I like the mix of cavorting moon-children who chase each other as if the chase was all. Do you like it?”

“I’ve never seen such shape before or such pure subdued color.”

“A fine glaze. The pieces chip easily. It’s not stoneware. These pots are common in Kaiel-hontokae, perhaps not so common on the coast. They are fired in a small mountain village and I mention it only because of a Kaiel bargain made long ago that created the markets. Did we ever need the pottery? Hardly. The village was suffering and this was the way out. Did we strike a hard bargain? No. We could have. We had and have the power. But we Kaiel see the future with almost the clarity of dreams. A hard bargain struck while we have advantage leads always to strife in the future, always, always, always. We make bargains in hard times, yes, for that is our skill, to mute misfortune, to merge leg and arm and head and heart and liver and anus into harmonious marriage, but we do not consciously forge bargains that have no use when times are better.”