The Will of the Empress

17

While servants ran for the best healer in the district, Sandry requested, and got, a heavy sheet of canvas. She spread it out next to Tris, struggling not to look at her sister’s contorted body. I’ll just cry if I do, and if I cry, I’m no good to anyone, she told herself, smoothing the canvas over and over. She looked around. “Briar?” she asked, her voice still rasping.

“Right here.” He had come to stand on Tris’s other side, knowing without asking what she needed from him. Together, using their power as carefully as they had ever done, Sandry and Briar worked with the hemp cloth, wriggling it very carefully under the unconscious Tris. All of their concentration was on getting the cloth in place without causing her more pain. By the time it was under her, the healer and her two assistants had come. The woman nodded in approval of their work, then stepped back. The assistants let their magic flow out to grip the makeshift stretcher. Gently they raised it and floated Tris upstairs.

Sandry trotted after them. “She’s a mage, she’s a mage with weather, her hair is her mage kit,” she explained breathlessly, frightened for Tris. “Chime, go to Briar, you can’t help her. Chime, I mean it! Don’t make me use magic on you!” When Chime reluctantly changed course and flew back downstairs to Briar, Sandry babbled on: “Please, whatever you do, Viymeses, Viynain, don’t undo Tris’s braids or you’ll release something. I think they’re spelled so only she can untie them—”

They had gone into Tris’s room. Now the healer turned back, her finger to her lips. “We will tend to her. Thank you for the information about her power, and her braids. Now let us do our work.” She closed the door in Sandry’s face.

Briar and Daja came up the stairs at a slower pace, Briar with Chime on his shoulder. Once the door was closed, the only signs of life inside came when the assistants popped in and out with requests for hot water, cloths, tea, and the like. Sandry, Daja, and Briar sat on the floor out of the assistants’ way, Sandry with Chime in her lap, Daja and Briar leaning against each other.

Ambros and Ealaga had stayed below to settle the household and to bring in a mage to see what had made Tris fall so spectacularly. When they finally came upstairs, Ealaga ordered a footman to bring chairs for everyone. She and Ambros took their own seats, waiting for news, while the three young mages lurched to their feet to sit in a more dignified way.

After half an hour’s silence, Briar announced, “We can see magic, you know. There was no need to call an outsider in. There wasn’t a spell on the steps.”

“Have you studied curses?” Ambros asked quietly.

“Just the usual stuff, no specialization,” whispered Daja. “They’re disgusting.”

“Yes, but some people here use them.” Ealaga said. “A very few are so good that they can place a curse in a hidden place, where even those who see magic won’t see it. There it remains until it’s called to life. Then it will seek out its target.” She looked at her hands. “Ishabal Ladyhammer is said—in whispers, you understand—to be able to wield curses without detection. Subtle curses. Ones that seem like accidents.”

“But then every time there is a household accident, people could well think they had drawn the wrath of the empress,” protested Sandry. “You would follow that road to madness!”

“Or to very well-behaved citizens,” Daja murmured.

“It was an accident,” Sandry insisted, her face white. Did I bring this on Tris? she asked herself. Is she hurt now because I couldn’t be a good girl and simply wait out the summer to go home?

“When I fall on stairs, I land on my knees or my back or my side,” Briar said hesitantly. “If I’m on my side, I roll; if I’m on my back, I slide. On my knees sometimes, I slide down a little.” Briar traced a vine on the back of one hand, his voice muffled. “I never cartwheeled. I never bounced. She couldn’t even grab hold of the rails—did you see? But she was taught how to fall, same as the rest of us. She can twirl a mean staff, she can kick a fellow’s”—he looked at Ealaga and changed what he was about to say—“teeth up between his ears, and she can fall properly, so she doesn’t hit anything important. So she can stop herself and get back on her feet. Except here she just kept going.”

“They hope if she stays behind, they can persuade her that her interests are better served in Namorn?” suggested Ambros. “What she can do—it is so very overwhelming. To manipulate the weather itself ...”

“But if this is a curse from Ishabal, and Tris finds out, I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes,” pointed out Daja. “Trader log it, I wouldn’t want to be near her. Tris certainly won’t be hoping to work for the crown!”

Sandry nibbled her thumbnail, considering what Ambros had said. “She’s the most fearsome of us, on the surface of things,” she commented slowly. “What if they just didn’t want her going with us?”

Briar shrugged. “Easiest solved. We don’t leave without her.”

Sandry agreed, but her skin crept at the same time. Tris’s injuries weren’t as simple as a broken leg. Even with a good healer, she would need time—weeks—to recover. How many things could go wrong if they stayed on here for weeks?

The clock had struck two and Daja was drowsing when the bedroom door opened. The healer emerged. She was sweaty and shaky. Her hair straggled out from under the cloth scarf that covered her head. One of her assistants had to help her to stay on her feet; the other carried her medicines.

The healer looks like she battled Hakkoi the Smith God and lost, thought Sandry, rising to her feet. Everyone else stood to see what the woman had to say.

“The last time I treated anyone so badly off, he’d fallen thirty feet down a cliff, and he died.” The healer’s voice was an exhausted croak. “Your friend won’t die. Miraculously, she has five broken ribs, and none of them punctured her lungs. None of the broken bones cut through the skin, a blessing I never looked to get.”

“A very well-crafted curse,” muttered Ambros.

Ealaga glared at him. “How bad is Tris?” she asked.

The healer had looked at Ambros when he said “curse.”

“Ah,” she murmured. “Things become clearer. It explains much.” She sighed.

Sandry beckoned to the assistant who held the woman upright and pointed to her chair. Getting the hint, the young man carefully lowered the healer to the seat. Ealaga whispered to the maid who had stayed up in case anyone needed anything. The girl scampered off.

“Your girl has no punctured organs or skin. She has a broken collarbone, a dislocated shoulder, two small cracks in her skull, a broken cheekbone, one arm broken in two places, a broken wrist, five broken ribs, a dislocated hip, three breaks in her right leg, and a broken ankle on the left. She also has several broken fingers and toes,” the healer said once she’d caught her breath. “It is a miracle, or, if it is a curse, as you say, then it was deliberately constructed to save the girl’s life. There is only one curse-weaver in the empire with that level of skill, and that is all I will say on that topic.”

Sandry, Briar, and Daja exchanged horrified looks. They had all seen their fair share of injuries and healing. Never had they seen anyone who had endured the mauling Tris had.

I’m going to be sick, thought Sandry. She bit the inside of her cheek and forbade her stomach to misbehave.

“I did what I could tonight,” the healer continued. “She has been very well taught—I was able to work inside her power and around it with very little difficulty indeed. It’s always delightful to handle a mage who has been trained by good healers in the art of keeping power controlled. The hip and shoulder are back in their sockets. I was able to heal the ribs and skull completely—they are the most dangerous breaks. She is fortunate that she had no blood collecting inside her skull. I started the healing of the collarbone and jaw, and braced the broken limbs. I have safeguarded her for infection and shock. Tomorrow, when I come, I will bring two colleagues who will help to undo what healing has been done tonight on those breaks I was unable to look after, and begin clean healing for the rest of the broken bones.”

“Begin?” Ambros asked with a frown. Briar was nodding.

“This is not as simple a matter as a single broken arm or leg, good Saghad,” the healer’s male assistant replied at his most polite. “The more injuries the victim endures, the more time is needed for healing. If the healers do not take care, the repair will be weak and the bone will break again. Or scarring will take place and will put the patient’s entire body at risk.”

The senior healer nodded.

“But we were planning to leave for Emelan soon,” Sandry heard herself say.

“My dear Viymese, forgive me,” said Ambros as the maid arrived with tea for everyone. She served the healer first as Ambros continued, “This is my cousin, Sandrilene, Clehame fa Landreg, who is also Saghada fa Toren in Emelan. These are Viymese Daja Kisubo and Viynain Briar Moss. Your patient in there is Viymese Trisana Chandler.”

“Clehame.” The healer bowed her head, but did not try to get to her feet. She impatiently waved away an offer of cakes from the maid. “The girl—Tris?—she tried to tell me she was leaving soon as well. I let her know she won’t be leaving that bed for at least a week—more, if she tasks herself.”

Sandry firmed her lips, which tried to tremble and make her look like a pouting child. “As my sister, she will have the finest care money can buy,” she informed the healer.

“Hmph,” replied the woman. “Not much family resemblance. But it is as I have told you. She asks to see the three of you. She will not take the sleeping medicine until she sees you, so please, attend to her immediately, so she will sleep.”

Chastened, the three young mages filed into Tris’s room, Chime riding on Daja’s shoulder. Once inside, they all stopped to stare. One of Tris’s arms and one of her legs was bound to slats and covered in tightly wrapped bandages. Splintered fingers and toes had their own wooden supports secured with white linen. All of her braids hung loose. The lingering tracks of the healer’s magic were evident on Tris’s skull and body. None of them had ever seen anyone so badly hurt that they weren’t on their feet in a few days, given a good healer.

Tris looked naked without her spectacles, which had been smashed in her fall. Sandry went to Tris’s writing box and took out one of the spare pairs of spectacles that lay with the pens and ink sticks. Carefully she settled them on Tris’s nose, taking care to touch none of the bruises on Tris’s face. “At least your nose wasn’t broken,” she whispered.

Tris raised the unbroken arm and laid her splinted hand on Sandry’s. Her magical voice, while exhausted, was not as faint as her battered form might lead them to expect. Don’t put off leaving for me, she told them, her magical voice reaching Briar and Daja as well. You meant to go day after tomorrow—go. Don’t risk getting stuck here.

We’re not leaving you, Sandry retorted, her chin sticking out. Don’t be ridiculous.

Don’t you be ridiculous! Tris snapped in reply, her thought-voice as stern and forceful as pain and drugs would allow. I can catch up once I’m able to ride. I move faster alone than you will in a group. And when I go, I’ll have cooked up a shield that will return any ill wishes and curses to the sender, whether I see them coming or not. But the longer you put off going, the more they’ll be able to put in your way. Right now they seem to think I’m the biggest threat. They have no idea how dangerous you all are. That will help you. Take Zhegorz and Gudruny and the children and go, now.

“I don’t want to say it,” Briar said aloud, “but she makes sense.”

“I hate it when she does that,” added Daja.

Sandry glared at them. Apparently Daja and Briar had yet to reopen their connection to each other, though obviously they had renewed their ties to Tris and Sandry.

This is no time for jokes! she shouted.

“Oh, there’s always time for jokes,” Briar replied with his sweetest smile.

The healer’s male assistant opened the door. “She says to come out.” He walked over to the bed and picked up a cup of dark liquid. “And she says you will drink this.”

“Go home,” croaked Tris. “I’ll catch up as soon as I can.”

“We’ll do it,” Briar assured Tris. He leaned down and kissed her unbruised forehead. “You’ve got a good plan there. Get better.”

“I’ll be happy to leave as soon as possible, Rizu or no,” Daja added, kissing the top of Tris’s head carefully. “Don’t mind Sandry. She only goes on Her Nobleness when she’s frightened.” She followed Briar out of the room.

Tris looked at Sandry. The healer cleared his throat.

“I feel like I’m deserting you,” Sandry explained, looking at the floor.

“Try feeling like you’re using common sense,” Tris suggested quietly. “That’s what I do when I’m doing what I think is right.” She swallowed the medicine. The healer set the cup aside and steered Sandry out of the room, closing the door behind them. A last look at Tris showed Sandry that her eyelids were shut. She was already asleep.

Sandry lowered the lid on her last trunk and locked it, then nodded permission for the footman to take it away. She wondered if she ought to look in on Tris one last time. Tris had barely woken for two days, steeped in the spells of three healers. Sandry, Briar, and Daja had already said their good-byes to her around midday. Somehow Sandry doubted Tris would be up at dawn to wave good-bye to their small caravan of three mages, Gudruny and her children, Zhegorz, and the ten men-at-arms Ambros had detailed to escort her to the border.

Sandry looked at Ambros, who sat in her window seal reading an account book. “I wish you wouldn’t send those ten guards with me,” she told her cousin. “You need them back home and we’ll move faster without them.”

“It would look shabby if we sent you off without,” Ambros said in his dry way. “I will not let it be said that I failed in my duty to you.”

Sandry shook her head and took a folio of advocate’s papers from the bed. She gave it to Ambros. “They’re properly witnessed and sealed. The advocate filed copies with the clerks of the Court of Law here and for Landreg district. It’s what I said I’d do. You’ll never have to send me a set allowance every year again. Before you send a coin to me, you’ll see to any repairs and improvements on the estate.”

“The empress will still tax me. I’m not the landholder, so I cannot contest the taxation in court. And I won’t be able to free other brides like Gudruny, because I am not her liege lord,” Ambros pointed out.

“Do as the advocate suggests in there”—Sandry pointed to the folio—“and double-list all the unmarried women of my estates on your own lands, so you can declare yourself their liege lord. He says it should withstand a challenge in a court of law. It’s expensive, but you can take the money from what you would send to me for that purpose, with my blessing.” Sandry twisted her handkerchief. “Cousin, if I put off my escape, sooner or later the empress will find a way to keep me here. I can’t allow that. I have duties in Emelan, as she well knows. I’ve told her I will not stay. I will not give way to that famous imperial will. Uncle needs me, and you are a far better landlord than I could be. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

Ambros was about to reply when a maid rapped on the open door. “Forgive me, Clehame, Saghad, but a man has come to call on the clehame. He says to tell her only that it is Shan.”

“He plays a risky game,” Ambros murmured as he stood to go.

Sandry got to her feet, shaking out her skirt. “I will see him in the small sitting room,” she ordered. As the maid went off to do as she was told, Sandry went into the dressing room to inspect her appearance. Her gowns were an arrangement of two shades of blue that made her eyes brighter. She tucked a strand of hair away and pinned a sheer white veil over her head, then bit her lips gently to make them look redder.

I don’t know why I’m doing this, she thought. After the way he’s lied to me. Making me think ... well! I’ll at least give him a piece of my mind!

Shan stood by the window when she came in at a bustling pace, her chin up, her hands folded in front of her. When he turned and bowed she caught herself admiring his broad shoulders and warming to his kind smile. Stop that! she ordered herself. He’s played you like a fish on the line—start acting less, less damp!

“Sandry, they told me you’re leaving.” Two steps brought Shan up to her. Before she realized his intentions, he wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her, slowly and sweetly. When she tried to pull away, he simply deepened his kiss. Finally, when they were both breathless, he drew back to whisper, “Don’t go. Stay here. Marry me. You like me, you know you do. I think I would make a wonderfully amusing husband.”

That brought her to her senses. When he moved in for another kiss, she got her hands up to his broad chest and shoved. It was like trying to push a marble statue.

The bang of wood on wood outside reminded her that servants were stowing their luggage for their departure tomorrow. Shan held her tighter and ran his lips over her ear. Sandry gasped, her treacherous knees going weak, then ordered his clothes to move away from her.

Shan could hardly fight his own clothing as it dragged him back. He clung to Sandry until she summoned a cushioned chair. Since the cushions were firmly nailed to the seat, the entire chair slammed into Shan’s knees. He yelped and let go of her. His clothes yanked him down onto the chair and wove themselves into the cushions.

“Don’t try to get up,” she warned, her voice trembling. “If you do, I swear it by Shurri, you will go home with a chair as part of your breeches. You’ll be the laughingstock of all Dancruan, and your precious court.”

He stared at her as if she had lost her wits. “What is going on?” he wanted to know. “You like me!” He smirked. “And I know you like kissing me.”

“Kissing isn’t all there is to life,” Sandry retorted, repeating something her uncle’s mistress had once said. “I did like you—before I found out what a two-faced liar you are! You sneak around to see me because you have all you can handle at night, in Berenene’s chambers!”

Shan shook his head. “That has nothing to do with you and me, Sandry. Yes, I’m her lover, but it’s not like I really have a choice. She holds my purse strings.”

“I’d say that’s not all she holds,” Sandry snapped, blushing for her own vulgarity.

“And I repeat, that has nothing to do with you or me, or our getting married. Once we’re married, I’ll be yours completely. I’ll be a faithful husband, and a good father,” he said, reaching out to her. “We can make a wonderful life together.”

“You’ll have more than that,” said Ambros. The door was open a crack. Now Ambros opened it all the way to come in. Meticulous as always, he closed it behind him. “Did Pershan ever mention that the Roths were the second most powerful family in the empire, until his father and uncles gambled most of the estate away?” Ambros inquired, testing the cushion of a chair as if to make sure it would not attack him. “They have fifty acres where once they had twenty thousand. From twenty seats in the Noble Assembly, they have one.” He sat gingerly and continued: “I think Pershan came to court thinking that he could woo the empress into marrying him. It might even have worked—his family is so reduced, he presents no threat to the lords who might reject a more powerful man as Imperial Consort. If she had set that marriage before them, they might well have approved it.” Ambros looked at the captive, ice in his pale blue eyes. “But he knows Her Imperial Majesty better now, don’t you, Shan? She means it when she says she will not share power. When she tires of him, he returns to being nothing, instead of a man who wields influence over her. And she will tire of him. Quenaill can vouch for that.”

Ambros turned his gaze to Sandry as she sank down in a chair. “But you come along. If you cared to, you could wield real power in the empire. You are a kinswoman of the imperial house, vastly wealthy in your own right, with plenty of rich farmland, tenants, mines, fishing grounds, and forests as your inheritance. Married to you, Pershan fer Roth would be a great noble. He would no longer fear the day when the imperial smile vanishes. Even Berenene would have to treat him with respect.”

“Sandry, why do you even listen to this dried-up bookkeeper?” Shan begged. “Love isn’t a requirement for marriages in our class, but I know we would come to love each other. You’re so beautiful, you’re charming, you’re intelligent, you have a sense of humor—how could I not love you? I would treat you with the respect and affection you deserve. And any man who offended you would be my enemy. Moreover, I’ll wager your mage friends would stay if you did. Rizu would be overjoyed if Daja changed her mind—”

Sandry held up a hand to stem the flood of persuasion. When he shut up, she asked, “Did you tell her?”

“What?” asked Shan, baffled.

“Did you tell Berenene you were going to ask me to marry you?”

“Her Imperial Majesty? No. I didn’t want to come back to her in shame if you refused me.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Sandry asked. “Any of your friends at court?”

“Of course not. You know how they laugh at failure—”

“Is it their laughter you fear? Or the chance they might tell Berenene what you’re up to?” Sandry got to her feet, unweaving his bonds to the chair under him. “You’re so afraid of her, you sneak behind her back to even talk to me. I bet the next thing on your list was suggesting a nice, private wedding. Intimate, just a few friends, no fuss—maybe out in the country?”

“Assuredly out in the country,” murmured Ambros.

“And then we get to the business of baby-making, and return once I’d begun to show. Because you’d want to come back to Berenene only after there’s absolutely no way she can break the marriage without looking foolish. This is about her, not me. You want to throw it in her face that you could be politically powerful without her.”

“Sandry, you’re taking this all wrong,” protested Shan.

“Get out,” she said coolly. “Go on, stand up.” Carefully Shan stood, and dusted his backside. Sandry continued in an even tone, “When and if I marry, it will be to an honest man. Please go now, before I lose my temper.”

“My dear, think this over,” Shan said. “We could truly be happy together.”

“My temper is fraying, and so are your clothes,” she replied evenly. “Good-bye, Pershan fer Roth.”

Ambros opened the door. Shan risked a last look at Sandry, then fled. Ambros closed the door. “Will his clothes really come off?” he asked. He saw that Sandry was silently weeping. Walking over, he held her as he would one of his daughters. “He was unworthy of you, Cousin.”

“I just hate being made a fool of,” she explained.

“Love makes fools of us all, and desire does far worse,” Ambros explained. “Forget him. You deserve better, and you will find it.”

Sandry hugged him tightly, then pulled away, searching for her handkerchief. She blew her nose and said mournfully, “But he probably won’t be as handsome.”

Ambros chuckled. “He will be if you love him. Come along to supper. You’ll feel better for some beet soup.”

Tris stirred. It was near midnight. She remembered saying farewells to her friends earlier, though the spells and drugs the healers used to keep her still made her memory a bit fuzzy on exactly when. She knew she was not alone. There was a maid stitching by lamplight in one corner. From the way she jerked her thread through the cloth, she was angry. From the frequent glares she cast at the corner to the left, the cause was the person who huddled there.

“Zhegorz,” croaked Tris.

The man sat up. The maid put her sewing down and came to Tris’s side. “Viymese, I’m sorry, but he wouldn’t go away. Viymese Daja said to leave him be, but he’s been here for an hour at least—”

“Thank you,” Tris said, her voice still rough. “I needed to talk to him. I would like some cold water, if you don’t mind.”

The maid leaned down and whispered, “Are you certain? He is so very odd.”

A smile struggled on Tris’s battered face. “So am I. It’s all right.”

The maid left them, muttering. Zhegorz inched closer to the bed. “I was thinking,” he explained. “I ought to stay here. I’ll travel with you. They don’t need me, not even Viymese Daja—”

“Pavao,” Tris said rudely if softly. “They’re going to need you, heading south.”

“Need me.” For a moment, Zhegorz’s voice was so dry that he might well have been completely sane. “They need me? Viymese Tris, it’s clear the healers must take the magic off you. You’re starting to imagine things.”

“They need someone who can see and hear things on the wind,” Tris said. “I won’t be there to do that for them. That leaves you. You can warn them of danger they don’t expect.”

“But I can’t control it,” Zhegorz protested. “It comes and it goes!”

“You can control it more than you did,” Tris reminded him. “You have your ear beads and your spectacles. Any little bit of warning will help them. Please, Zhegorz.”

He shook his head.

Tris sighed. “Zhegorz, you’re a mage. What’s the point of being a mage if you don’t do something useful with your magic? Something most people can’t do for themselves?”

He stared at her, nonplussed. Tris met his eyes firmly.

Finally he mumbled, “I’m fit to work as a mage?”

Tris smiled and winced. “More fit than I am,” she reminded him. “Come on, old man. It’s time to go to work. Keep doing your exercises, mind. If you have questions, Daja or Briar or Sandry can send them on to me. May I count on you?”

He hung his head, trembling. “No one’s ever counted on me before, except to be crazy.”

Tris’s eyelids were fluttering. “Then this will be a new experience. That’s a good thing.” Her eyes closed. From her slow, deep breathing, she was asleep already.

Zhegorz gently patted her unsplinted arm. “I hope I don’t let you down,” he whispered.

Sandry, Briar, and Daja said their good-byes in the pre-dawn light, though not to Tris, who was still sleeping under the healer’s spells. They had seen her during one of her brief waking periods before they had gone to bed, and they could always speak with her from the road. They would be close enough still. Only separations of thousands of miles, as in previous years, could cut their ability to speak together.

As they rode through the city gates, Sandry straightened in the saddle. Watching her, Briar thought, It’s like having thick walls between her and the empress sets her free. Through their bond he said, She’s got a thousand tricks, and she hasn’t played one of them yet. Don’t get to feeling too comfortable.

She turned and wrinkled her nose as if she had smelled something bad. “As if I would!”

The sergeant in command of the Landreg men-at-arms looked at her. “Clehame, at the hostel near the inn where we stop tonight, there will be merchant caravans. Some of them will be going south. If we might join one ... ?”

Sandry shook her head. “A caravan is slower. Stop fussing, please. We can move faster and take care of ourselves as a small party. And we number three mages among us. Four, if you count poor old Zhegorz.”

“‘Poor old Zhegorz’ sure isn’t himself today,” murmured Briar. Zhegorz, to everyone’s surprise, had requested a horse. It wasn’t hard to see exactly how much experience as a rider he possessed. His mount insisted on wandering sidelong over the road each time he tugged the reins. Now he rode up beside Briar, a scarecrow in strange, brass-lensed spectacles, on a blue roan gelding that could tell his rider was uncertain. The madman’s insistence on riding in the front was also unusual, particularly when Briar could see it made Zhegorz nervous.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer keeping to the rear?” asked Briar, jerking his head toward the luggage cart, where Gudruny talked to the driver and her children hung out the sides. “That way you’re not all out in the open.”

Zhegorz gulped visibly. “I promised Viymese Tris I would look out for you. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m working as a mage.”

Briar rolled his eyes at Daja, who smothered a giggle. Chime makes as good a mage, and she isn’t half-cracked besides, thought Briar. Oh, well. Zhegorz will get tired of this soon enough. He’s jumpier ’n a flea on a hot griddle.

What was Tris thinking, anyway? he asked Sandry, who was close enough to hear Zhegorz. What does he mean, “working as a mage”?

Maybe she just told him that so he’d have something to do, Sandry replied. Remember yesterday he wasn’t going to come at all? I’ll wager he talked to her. She must have known he’d come along if he thought he could help out.

Remind me to thank her, Briar said wryly.

Zhegorz turned his face into the wind. “Sheep up ahead,” he said to no one and everyone. “Lots of them. And rain tonight.”