Halun lit his lamp and hung it from the centerpole of his tent, and wished with all his heart that this farce was over.
The Khene's brother had come to Halun's tent as soon as he had returned from the Fortress; more than a week after he'd gone pounding wildly back up the road. Iridai brought word that the meeting they'd scheduled before all this happened was assembled and waiting for him.
Gods be thanked, this will be the last.
Behind him, Iridai put one hand lightly on Halun's shoulder. "I . . . my condolences, wise one," he said, awkward now that the message had been delivered. "I understand that the young man was once your pupil."
Halun shuddered, but did not remove the man's hand. I have to act the same; thank the gods they all think it's just that I'm mourning Zorsha. "Thank you," he said, stumbling over the simple words. These men are acting out of belief that Jegrai is wrong. I acted out of lust for power. They aren't barbarians. I'm the savage. "Yes, he was—something more than just a pupil, in fact, he was an orphan when he came to us. I was something of a father to him. . . ."
He let his voice trail off, and felt the muscles of his throat tensing with the effort of holding back tears.
Not that tears would matter to these people—they would -understand and give him room to weep. Except for Gortan, who was like a block of stone, they were mostly as open about expressing sorrow as they were about expressing joy. Oh, Zorsha, I needed to be brought to my senses—but I would that I could have paid a less dear coin than your life.
He still looked like something dragged through hell, and he knew it; too many sleepless nights, no few of them spent contemplating the amazing number of poisons in his workroom. But suicide would not have served to fulfill his promise to Zorsha. And he had a great deal to make up for.
Felaras had been amazingly decent about the whole thing; she could, so easily, have made every word, every hour painful for him, and yet she had done no such thing.
Not that she hadn't been tempted; she'd told him that herself, with that disconcerting frankness of hers, the day they'd buried the boy. But she'd also told him, "There's been too damned much pain already and damned if I'm going to add to it!"
A remarkable woman. And he'd been blinded to how remarkable she was by his own ambition. Now it was too late; too late for anything except a tentative alliance. Never a friendship. And never anything deeper.
What a fool I've been.
If it hadn't been for the boy . . .
For he'd finally met young Yuchai, who until then had been nothing more than a name and a huddled form under a blanket.
He'd been waiting outside Felaras's door for her summons, when he'd heard a strangled sob from the Master's Folly. Thinking it might be Kasha or Teo, he'd looked in, figuring on finding out which it was and fetching the other. Mourning alone was a lot harder than mourning with someone—as he now knew only too well. And he couldn't think who else would have been quartered next to Felaras besides those two.
But it hadn't been either of them; it had been a young boy, crying painfully into the fur of a pale-gold dog—
A golden gaze-hound like the one Zorsha had owned as a novice . . .
Perhaps it was the sight of the dog that drew him, but without knowing why, he found himself standing by the boy's side. The boy had raised his tear-streaked face, and he'd seen the shape, the bone structure of it, so like Jegrai's; and knew then who it was, and why he wept. So he'd held out his hand. "I'm Halun," he'd said, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "I was his friend too—"
And before he could blink, he had his arms full of crying child, and then Halun found himself weeping with him, and somehow when they both got under control again, they were friends.
He'd picked up Yuchai's education where Zorsha had left off, more out of a sense of duty than any real expectations. That was when he had discovered how absolutely brilliant the boy was, and duty became pleasure—the lone pleasure in all those bleak days.
Gods willing, by tonight this whole messy business will be dealt with, and I can go back to that pleasure. Zorsha, I pledge you, that boy will have everything you'd have given him!
He looked at Iridai out of the corner of his eye, and wondered how that stolid warrior was going to take the shattering of his plans and his own disgrace before the entire Clan.
No bloodshed, Jegrai had said. There's been enough bloodshed already. Felaras had agreed with him. Halun hoped this would work as well as they thought it would. . . .
"Where are we meeting?" Halun asked dully, half-turning, and watching the lamp flame over Iridai's shoulder instead of the mans face.
"Gortan's tent. It seems safe enough. If friends do not gather from time to time at the tents, it begins to look odd. And besides, Jegrai is up at the Wizard's Place."
Halun reached for the lamp again; he should have been feeling anticipation, but he felt nothing but weariness. "Now?"
Iridai nodded, and Halun put out the lamp, then ducked out the tent entrance, following him into the night. He glanced up at the sky; it was not overcast, but it was moonless.
It was going to be a perfect evening for Felaras's plan.
He followed along behind Iridai, stumbling now and again over a rock in the path. Soon. It will all be over soon.
His soundless litany might have been a conjuration: no sooner had they cleared all but the last circle of tents, where Gortan's tent had been pitched, than the sky above them opened up with an incredible display of—
Fireworks. Festival fireworks. But to the Vredai, it surely seemed like a visitation from the gods.
Every color possible bloomed up there, it seemed, accompanied by thunderous explosions that were close enough to hurt the ears. Not surprisingly, every person in the camp was out of his tent and gaping up at the sky within heartbeats—some with stark fear on their faces, some with less readable emotions, and the children with mingled surprise and innocent delight.
The guards at the entrance to the valley ran back to the tents, weapons at the ready, although from the despair on their faces Halun reckoned they'd already counted on those weapons as being impotent.
The stage was set.
The last of the fireworks bloomed and died, a spectacular burst of clusters of red that told Halun to ready himself.
There was a heartbeat of silence, then—
Horns blared from somewhere above them; horns like nothing the Vredai had ever heard, deep and menacing and incredibly loud. Not surprising; these were horns that had been sent to the Order by a wandering Seeker long ago, sent from some mountainous region to the north. They were as tall as a man, and used to warn of (or perhaps trigger, he'd said) avalanches of snow. Two of the most agile Watchers in the Fortress had scaled with ropes and crampons down the mountainside just after dusk with these things strapped to their backs, to set themselves up on the supposedly unclimbable cliffs above the valley.
There was a flash of fire and sulfurous smoke at the valley entrance—and a glowing figure rode through the smoke cloud, seeming to come out of the smoke cloud.
It was Felaras, but a transformed Felaras. The Vredai for the most part had never seen Felaras; those who had had certainly never seen her like this, with her hair streaming free beneath an ancient, dragon-crested Ancas helm, and her body encased from head to toe in burnished chain and plate. What was more, she burned with a bluish light of her own, as did the pale horse she rode—and the horse's hooves made no noise at all on the hard ground. It seemed to flow toward them, a ghost-horse ridden by a stern and angry spirit.
The Vredai behind Halun moaned with fear; Halun heard one or two mutters of "Wind-rider!" and "Lord's Messenger!"—and Iridai sank to his knees.
"Vredai, who were betrayed, you harbor traitors among you," Felaras boomed, using the voice that could be heard from one end of a noisy practice ground to another. And she wasn't speaking Trade-tongue, either; this speech had been carefully written out for her by Teo, transcribing Northwind's words into Ancas phonemes. "Treason is a disease; the Talchai touched you, and you are infected, you are sick with it. The Wind Lords brought you here to safe haven, but you brought a blight with you, in your hearts."
The Vredai muttered, the groaning of branches in the wind. Halun stifled a cough as a gust of wind carried spent smoke into his face. It burned on his tongue for a moment.
"And your sickness has its counterpart on the Wizards' Mountain," she continued, face as masklike as marble. "Vredai, will you hear the names of your traitors and deal with them?"
Far sooner than Halun would have expected, he heard a woman behind him shout "Aye!" Then there was a chorus of shouts of affirmation until Felaras raised her hand, and a heavy, anticipatory silence fell.
"Clan singer Gortan," she began, each word having a sound of doom about it. "Iridai kan Luchen . . ."
She told off the entire roll of the conspirators, from the greatest to least, all names Halun had given them. Beside him, Iridai trembled and moaned. At the end of the list the hidden horns brayed again.
Felaras waited a moment while the list of names sunk in. "These would have betrayed your Khene, who brought you to this place under the guidance of the Wind Lords," she said, "even as he and you were betrayed by the Talchai. Now I ask you, in the name of the compassionate Wind Lords: what will you do with them, these traitors to Jegrai and to your safety?"
From the angry shouts behind them, executing the traitors seemed to be one of the more popular notions. Once again, Felaras raised her hand to gain utter silence.
"Has there not been enough Vredai blood shed?" she asked, in a much quieter voice. "Treason is a sickness; it can be cured. Treason is a rot; rot can be mended. Take these men to you, people of Vredai. Watch them, but forgive them. To deal them death earns you nothing but more pain. Shed no blood of the Clans that you cannot avoid, people of Vredai. Rather, turn the fires of your anger upon the authors of the root treason. The spreaders of the sickness. The Suno. Consider how you should deal with them—and know that they merit none of your compassion."
Iridai was huddled in a knot on the ground, sobbing.
Felaras's voice strengthened again. "And there is another among you who is not of your blood, who merits none of your compassion, who fostered treason as a way to his own power and not because he felt that the Khene was faulty in judgment. Halun, Hand of the Seekers, of the chapter of the Tower, stand forth!"
Halun stepped forward until he was just within twenty paces of Felaras. He heard a slight rustle of the grass to his left as he took up his appointed position—and that was the only sign he noticed of Kasha getting into place and Mai passing him to plant her next surprise.
"See, people of Vredai—learn the reward given to those who betray for their own gain!"
Behind him, a flash of heat and light reflected off the metal surfaces of Felaras's armor and shining weirdly red off her eyes and the eyes of her horse told him that another flash-pot had been set off—and Kasha, so hellishly made up and garbed he would not have recognized her, leapt up out of the grass that concealed her and seized him with a howl of wild laughter. There were strange, moaning sounds coming from above, now; sounds he knew were being made by the toys they called "bull-roarers" being whirled around and around the heads of the concealed horn-blowers.
He put up a convincing show of struggle, as a third flash-pot went up at the entrance to the valley, and another glowing horse and rider—this time shining an evil green—galloped through it. They swooped down on Kasha and her "victim" and scooped both of them up.
Actually, Kasha leapt up behind Jegrai—who was about the only rider capable of pulling off this trick—while he hauled Halun up before him.
Jegrai's horse wheeled and headed back the way they had come, and Halun closed his eyes. Facedown across a saddle-bow was uncomfortable. Watching the grass whirl by while breathing powder smoke was making him ill.
"Remember, Vredai!" Felaras called. "Remember!"
She made her horse rear and pivot on its hind legs, before following Jegrai and his poor overburdened mount back through the valley mouth as a fourth flash-pot went up behind them.
Once on the other side, all four of them dismounted as invisible hands took the reins of the horses. Invisible, because the owners were garbed head to foot in black, and their faces were smeared with soot. The glowing horses were swathed in blankets and the glowing riders in cloaks. And the entire contingent—except for Mai, who would be quietly collecting the spent flash-pots she'd set off—mounted up again and headed for the nearest farm with a well to wash off the phosphor.
Mai joined them in the lantern-lit barn before they were quite finished. "They're very impressed, Jegrai," she said quietly, dumping her four pots, still stinking of sulfur and brimstone, with the rest of the gear. "I don't think you'll be having any trouble with them for a while."
"Maybe," he said, pausing for a moment to look closely at the Master, with his hands full of towel and his hair dripping down his back. "But—Felaras, what of the time when we pull this same trick on the Talchai? They are bound to realize that they were deceived."
"Thought about that already, lad," she said, while Halun silently helped her out of her greaves. He unbuckled the straps and lifted them away, and she groaned and flexed her ankle. "Gods, I'd forgotten how damned heavy this crap was. Kasha, love, get the cloth off my horse's feet, will you? You won't be a part of that trickery, Jegrai—or at least your people won't. I'll have the Watchers do it, tricked out in Vredai gear. Some of your people will know, or guess, what we did, and some will learn how and why—but I'd rather it was the next generation down the line."
Jegrai nodded, and began toweling off his hair.
"I think you're likely to have more respect than you know what to do with when you ride in, Khene," Mai said with a hint of amusement. "They're convinced that Felaras is a Holy Messenger from the Wind Lords, and equally convinced that a pair of kizhiin carried Halun off to unending torture. Last I saw, Iridai and Gortan were in the process of giving away all their worldly goods, beating their breasts and praising the compassion of the Wind Lords for sparing them."
Jegrai snorted: "Give them a few days, and they'll be back to telling me I'm a fool to my face," he said, with just a hint of amusement in his voice. "But at least I don't think I need to be watching behind my back for plots for a while."
"I doubt you'll ever need to again, Jegrai," Felaras replied.
Halun nodded, and handed her a wet towel. "What they heard back there was the Messenger of the Wind Lords all but telling them that you are their special darling. There were no few of your people who'd have been willing to follow you through hell before this. Now all of them will be."
The surprised expression on Jegrai's face was rather funny. "Me?" he squawked. "God-touched?"
Halun nodded again. "Yes, Khene."
"Think about that, son," Felaras said urgently. "Think about that hard."
"Indeed," Halun said, with a sorrow too profound for release. "Think about that. I was told I was all but god-touched; you people have given scholars that cachet. I was listened to as if I knew all wisdom. I was offered power—and it turned my head—and because of my own ambition and pride and self-deception an innocent boy died, died horribly. Think very hard about that, and decide what you want to do about it."
Out of the corner of his eye he caught Felaras staring at him with a very thoughtful expression, and when he finished—
She put one hand on his shoulder.
Just that—but he knew then, without her saying a word, that out of some well of compassion of her own, those words of his had given her the strength to forgive him.
Even though he would never forgive himself.
"Khene," she said into the silence, "it's time you went back to your people, and me to mine. Our work is still only half finished."
"In truth," Jegrai agreed, and tossed his towel back to Mai, who caught it with a grin. He pulled on his tunic, and then turned to where his horse was standing—all the phosphor washed off him, now—and jumped into the saddle without bothering to use the stirrups.
"I expect a full report in the morning, lad," Felaras called.
He grinned over his shoulder at her; then, with a wave of his hand, sent his horse out the barn door at a brisk canter.
"Yes," Felaras said, looking disconcertingly into Halun's eyes, "our work is only half finished."
"All right, all right," Felaras shouted, her head beginning to ring from all the echoing voices around her. "Get settled, damn you!"
The din in the Hall died down, and complete silence took its place.
Felaras took a long, slow look around the Hall—this time she could see her audience; she'd need to, so she'd insisted that every one of them bring a candle or a lamp. Row after row of faces, each lit from below by a yellow flame—it was, in a strange way, beautiful. The Hall glowed with light, as it never had before—
And likely, as it never would again.
"You all know what's been happening," she said gruffly, taking her seat in the chair she'd had brought to replace the lectern. After all of this evening's work, her leg was aching like a demon was gnawing at the knee, and damned if she was going to stand! She settled herself carefully, but pain still stabbed up her leg and made her catch her breath for a moment. "You all know by now what Halun did."
There was a rising murmur—rather unpleasantly like a growl. Halun, seated on the lowest tier of benches and directly across from her, flinched.
"Shut up!" she snarled, surprising both herself and her audience, who subsided into silence. "Don't you think he's going to pay for that every day of his life? He trained Zorsha! Think about that!"
A moment more of silence, then a muted sigh as his fellow scholars took in the misery on Halun's face, and saw that she was right.
"Whether we like it or not, he forced something on us that we should have faced a long time ago," she continued, more quietly now. "And that's our future. We have no choice; we're out in the world, now. The temptation to use our knowledge for mundane power is a great one, and it isn't going to become less. Then there's the question—how can we really devote ourselves to truly seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge when we have an eager Khekhene peering over our shoulders."
A murmur of surprise at that.
"Oh, yes, the three Chapter Leaders and I decided that Halun—and Zorsha—were right. We'd be damned fools to let this opportunity pass. Jegrai is enlightened, eager to learn—we can serve at his right hand, guiding him. More than that, we can be the ones to train—and select—his successors."
Felaras smiled in wry satisfaction at the buzz that last statement provoked.
"You heard me correctly. Jegrai has agreed, as part of our bargain to help him against the Talchai, and ultimately the Suno, that it will be the Order who selects his heir—male, female, first, last, or baseborn. And it will be the Order who has charge of educating all his children, in wedlock and bastard. There will be no discontented halflings if he has any say about it."
There were nods of approval and interest all about her. She smiled thinly, shifted her weight a little, and winced as her knee protested the move.
"But—" She held up an admonishing hand. "There lies temptation. There lies possible corruption, seduction by power, and ultimately, the end of what we know as the Order. Once again, Halun was right. We need to be in hiding in order to do our work freely and without either temptation or coercion. So now you're asking, 'how can we be both?' I'll tell you."
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Oh, gods, I don't want to do this—and I don't have a choice.
"I'm splitting the Order."
She'd expected an uproar—and indeed there was one, but it died down within heartbeats. She looked about her with some surprise, then continued as she'd planned.
"About spring of last year some of the Watchers I sent out to keep track of Jegrai's Clan came back here with a report of another Fortress like this one, south and east of us, in Azgun. Roughly a week hard riding away. This one was smaller, maybe half the size of our Fortress. Thing is, it's no wonder we hadn't seen it before; it was so cleverly built into the side of the mountain that if Aned hadn't stumbled on it, he'd never have known it was there. I hadn't considered fleeing to it when the Vredai first showed up at the Teeth largely because to get to it we'd have had to get past them. The building is in good shape, the Watchers tell me—a little work, and it will be livable. Two years at most and it will be about as comfortable as this place. And nobody except Ardun, a handful of Watchers, and I know where it is. That's where some of you will be going."
"Which, Felaras?" asked a novice, in a high, unsteady voice. "Which of us are going?"
Good gods, she thought in wonder. They've accepted it. They've accepted it without a fight. By the gods, Halun was right.
"Let me first tell you what the plan is that we've worked out," she temporized, giving them a little more time to adjust to what she'd already laid in their laps. "There will be two Masters—the Outer Master, and the Inner. And the Master of the Inner Order will always have the power to overrule any decision of the Outer Master. The Chapter Leaders will all be of the Inner Order. Members of the Order will be allowed one—one—transfer in their lifetime; in either direction, but once the choice is made, children, you are stuck with it. Seekers, there will be very little, if any, research in the Outer Order, and most of the real breakthroughs will be the secrets of the Inner until they decide to dispense them. Archivists, there will be a very great demand for you; we have three duplicates of the Library in storage; one goes with the Inner Order, one stays at the Outer Fortress, and one goes with Jegrai. You will be the keepers of those volumes and the teachers of Jegrai's people. So . . . in the Outer Order there will be a great deal of temporal power, and very little chance for advancement or research. In the Inner, the opposite. And only the Watchers and the Master of the Outer Order will know where the Inner Fortress is located. Ever."
She scanned their faces, and saw thoughtfulness, -anticipation—and no fear whatsoever.
"Watchers, yours will be the hardest job; to maintain communication between the two halves of the Order, to make certain that the Inner Fortress remains hidden—and, if need be, to make certain that no member or Master of the Outer Order ever betrays his or her trust."
She looked about her, and saw with pride the way the members of her own chapter took that.
Thank the gods. I made the right decision. They'll keep us safe.
"So, children, you've heard what I have to say. I want you to take a moment to think about which way you want to go. But first of all—Halun, come up here beside me."
Halun rose from his seat on the benches and walked, slowly and stiffly, toward her. His long silver hair was limp and neglected-looking, he had the appearance of someone only recently recovered from a long illness—and he acted at this moment like he was walking to his own execution.
And when I'm done here he might wish I'd had his damned head whacked off.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Order of the Sword of -Knowledge—I make Halun the Master of the Inner Order."
Gasps and weak protests, which she overran with her practice-ground voice.
"Can any of you think of anyone less likely to abuse his power?" she asked harshly. "After what he's done? When all of you are going to be watching him like hawks for the least little misstep? Remember, the old rules will still hold—the Convocation can unseat any Master with a two-thirds vote. If he turns out to be untrustworthy, take him down."
She cast a look over to Halun, who looked utterly stunned.
"As I'm certain you have deduced, I will be the first Master of the Outer Order. And again, the old rules still hold. My successor will have to be one not of my chapter. So now, while the rest of you think about who you want to serve under, and whether you're fit for a long trek and an uncomfortable couple of years, I am going to ask those of you who knew what I was going to do what their choices will be."
She looked over at Teo, who still wore his grief like a cloak. "Teokane, Outer or Inner?"
He looked up at her. "Outer, Felaras," he said simply—and a little sadly. "Jegrai needs me. And you do, too."
"Then I make Teokane my chosen successor," she said. "Not the least because the things he has faced have made him a different person from the Teo we knew. Teokane, step to my right. Halun, to my left."
Obedient to her will, they did so.
"Yuchai . . ." The boy looked up at her in astonishment, surprise replacing mourning. "I've had words with your Khene, lad, and he's released you to this choice. And he said—may I quote—you'd be a damned fool to swing a sword when you can send your mind out to the stars. Outer or Inner?"
"I—Inner, Master Felaras," the boy said, hesitating only for a moment. "Jegrai has all the strength you can give him now, he doesn't need me. And Zorsha—" a catch in his throat, then his voice strengthened. "Zorsha wanted me to stay."
"Kasha, Outer or Inner?"
The girl took a long breath, and looked her squarely in the eyes. "Forgive me, Felaras—Inner. Yuchai needs me, and I need him. Any of my sisters could be trained as your Second."
Kasha turned and looked up behind her at the tiers of seats. "Take Daisa, she's ready for her full status, she's as good or better than I was, at everything. And she's as disrespectful as I am. . . ."
Felaras nodded; after the way Yuchai and Kasha had been huddled together this past week, she'd more than half expected that decision.
"Ardun? Do you back Kasha's suggestion?"
"I agree, Felaras. What's more, I'll make her full Watcher, as of this instant."
"Daisa?"
"I'd—" the girl gulped, and seemed unable to reply—but got up and took her stand at Felaras's right, letting her actions speak for her.
Felaras nodded again.
But what she didn't expect was Halun's reaction.
"Then I name Kasha my successor," he said, as soon as Daisa had taken her place. "All of you to witness. It is only because she was of the same chapter as Felaras that she was passed over before. She is fully worthy to sit the Master's seat."
Kasha stared at him for a long, long moment, then seemed to come to a decision of her own. "It isn't usual," she said, "but it isn't unheard of for the successor to name her successor. I name Yuchai as mine. I can't think of anyone else more likely to live up to—" She choked, and brought her hand over her eyes to hide her tears "—his teachers—"
"So witnessed," Felaras said, softly but clearly, swallowing down tears of her own. Not now, old girl. Later. Not now.
Kasha and Yuchai took their places beside Halun, who put his arms around them both, so that they supported each other.
"Ardun?"
"Inner, please, Felaras," he said, looking at her pleadingly.
"Inner it is. And I'm glad of it. You're the best Sword Leader we've had in decades. Kitri?"
"Outer! This is the chance I've prayed for all my life!" The—now former—Book Leader's face was alight with a fierce joy.
"Name your replacement."
"Jesen."
"Jesen, do you agree to go Inner?"
Jesen, a tolerably young man, but one who lived and breathed books, nodded. He moved across the row of benches to Felaras's left, and Kitri to her right.
"Thaydore."
"Inner, Felaras."
"Boitan?"
"Outer."
"Mai?"
"Outer, Felaras."
So it went on, name after name, from the Leaders to the youngest novice, each of them making his choice and moving to the right or left of the Master's seat.
Finally it was over. Felaras looked over her people, and sighed. It had gone as she had not dared dream. Most of the Tower would be Inner—none of the Flame had chosen the Outer Order, and only about half of the Hand, mostly those who were far more technically oriented than investigative. Bridge constructors, she thought with hope. Healers, and toolmakers. Surveyors and teachers. Those who will build the future I can't even imagine. More than two thirds of the Book had chosen Outer, along with their former Leader, and all of them had that same glow of anticipation in their eyes. Jegrai's people would have good teachers. And the Sword had split roughly in half—
She looked to her right, to Teo. Poor lad—he's lost one best friend, and now he's losing the other. He's lost all chance of real advancement—Kasha will be able to overrule any decision he makes—
Teo seemed to feel her regard, and turned to look into her eyes. To her astonishment, he reached out for her hand, and squeezed it briefly. "It's fine, Felaras," he said softly, though his voice shook a little. "I'm going where I'm needed. Really needed. Isn't that the important thing?"
She glanced at her other side; Halun, Kasha, and Yuchai. They looked nothing alike—Halun tall, and Ancas to the cheekbones, Kasha tiny and pure Sabirn, lanky, exotic Yuchai. But they stood like three generations of a family. Supporting each other. And she somehow had the feeling that this was no passing thing—that this was a bond that would continue through all their lives.
No worry there.
She looked out over the last Full Convocation this Hall would ever see—and still saw no fear. Only determination, and an impatience, now that the decisions had been made, to get on with it.
My children. By the gods, how proud I am of you!
Then, wryly, And so much for a peaceful old age! Starting all over again. Training a new Second. Well—at least I got to keep the Fortress that doesn't need repairing. I don't envy Halun those winter and spring storms.
"All right, people," she said into the waiting silence. "I'll want you on the road five days from now. Take whatever you think you'll need, we'll replace it somehow. Make your farewells—if you can't stand it, change your minds, but I don't think many of you will. May the gods go with you all."
She filled her eyes with them, one last time.
"The Convocation is dismissed."