What if I buy you?

"Eight eagles!" Allara exclaimed. "That's eight hundred stallions!"

"Per horse," the stablemaster, a heavyset man with graying hair, emphasized bluntly.

"But a moment ago you said we could lease a horse for five stallions per day," Bogdyr protested.

"That was before I knew you were going to Makan Ridge. It will take you two, maybe three days just to get there. I can't send a groom that far. Not for that long. If you were staying here at Cherry Cove or somewhere close I would gladly do it for five stallions a day. But Makan Ridge is too far."

"I could BUY a whole horse for eight eagles. An outright purchase. Not a lease," Allara pointed out.

"You could," the old man agreed. "That's why I'm charging you that much. I make my living from these horses. What will I do if you two vanish with them?"

"We won't," Allara and Bogdyr said in unison.

"That's all very well and good," the stablemaster said. "But I don't know you. You are strangers in this city. I cannot just take your word at face value. Where do I go for recourse if you up and disappear with my horses? Makan Ridge is sixty miles away. By the time I get there, you could have taken The Rice Road south to Namantown or vanished into any one of the hundreds of towns on the way."

He pointed at Bogdyr, "No offense son, but you may not even be a real Baenarite. She may not even be your sister. Your mother may not be a mikhlin. The names you give me may be false. How am I supposed to verify what you tell me?"

"So you won't lease us your horses?" Allara grumbled. She wanted to storm out but this was one of only three stables in Cherry Cove that leased out horses. The other two were not open yet and she doubted they would be offered better terms there.

"I will lease you the horses at eight eagles, per horse, for however long you need them," the stablemaster said, "Once you return them, in good health, I will subtract the cost of a daily lease, and give you the rest of your gold back. The eight eagles are my security deposit. In case you vanish with my horses, I can buy new ones."

"Why didn't you say that the eight eagles were a refundable deposit before?" Bogdyr asked.

"I thought you understood," the stablemaster responded.

"Obviously I didn't," Bogdyr retorted while digging into his coin purse. "I thought you were trying to swindle us."

"I will even write you a contract but you have to return the horses within thirty days," the stablemaster added as he scrambled to find a blank scrap of paper on his disorderly desk.

"Bogdyr, I will pay," Allara said.

"No. I will," he insisted. "I get paid real money now. Stallions and eagles. Not wooden tokens for an extra ladle of unsalted bean soup."

"And what do you think I'm paid in? Cowrie shells?" Allara asked.

"No. I thought they just give you the living snails," Bogdyr said with a straight face.

Allara glared at him but gone were the days she could just glare him into submission. Staring into his eyes made her neck hurt. When did he grow so tall?

"I will pay for the horses, Alla," Bogdyr said as he plonked sixteen shiny golden coins onto the table.

It's all yours, the words came unbidden to Allara's head as she saw the coins. She'd gone back to the temple treasury to retrieve her savings for traveling expenses. The Thunderbolt's gold was still there. She hadn't touched a single coin. She had slammed the drawer closed as soon as she opened it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the snorting of two horses. They looked strong and healthy enough though they were a far cry from the thoroughbred destriers, coursers, and palfreys of The Thunderbolt's stables. They bore the stablemaster's brand on their thighs.

The stablemaster couldn't find a scrap of usable paper on his desk so he sent the groom with a fistful of coppers to buy some. Allara and Bogdyr saddled their horses and secured their bags as they waited.

The groom returned a while later with a couple of sheets of stiff mottled cream and brown paper, the cheapest kind. The stablemaster scribbled out a contract on one of them, cut it in half, and then passed it to them after pressing his seal into it. The terms of the contract were as discussed. The seal was a crude horse head surrounded by a wreath of better-carved cherries. Eadwin Gedianus Cherrybhurg, the name read.

"You are a relative of Lord Cherrybhurg?" Allara asked, intrigued and puzzled by the prospect of a man of lordly pedigree practicing a commoner's profession.

"A very distant one," Eadwin Cherrybhurg answered. "So distant his lordship refuses to acknowledge our kinship. Ninth cousin twice removed."

"Oh!" Allara gasped politely.

"No. It's not that rare," the stablemaster said. "Half of Cherry Cove is Cherrybhurgs and their bastards. Lord Merkin took many of us to the king's marshal a couple of years ago. Over a hundred families."

"Why?" Bogdyr asked.

"He wanted us to stop using our surnames. Said we were diluting the honor of House Cherrybhurg. I had my family tree and birth records. My ancestor was a son of the third Lord Cherrybhurg. He had 14 sons that one. My ancestor was the youngest. He died during the reign of Pharas The Philosopher. The Beheader's brother, you know him?"

"Yes," Allara said with a nod.

"Well, the Lord Marshal told Merkin Cherrybhurg that we had a right to use the name. Those of us who could prove our male-line ancestry that is. Only twenty families now. Young Merkin started styling himself as Lord Covebhurg to distance himself from us." Bitterness had crept into Eadwin Cherrybhurg's voice.

"That's not very pious," Bogdyr said as he started backing away discreetly.

"Yes! Yes," the stablemaster said. "Denying his kinsmen. The gods will punish him for that. He has four boys and his wife is pregnant again. He'll just have the same problem in a couple of generations."

"Naturally," Bogdyr agreed as he mounted up. "We have to go now. We have a long journey ahead," he added a little more forcefully.

"May Aephyr always be with you, my children," the old man said cheerily.

"And you too, Father," Allara and Bogdyr returned the blessing with small bows. Eadwin Cherrybhurg beamed.

"There's no way this half-breed donkey is worth eight eagles," Bogdyr grumbled the moment they were out of earshot.

"We'll get the gold when we return the horses. Not a bad deal," Allara consoled him. All she got back from Bogdyr was a grunt.

Allara was impressed by his ability to completely avoid the subject of their trip. Their mother. He had arrived in Pharasandria a fortnight earlier. She had told him immediately and he hadn't mentioned it ever since. Every time she brought it up, he changed the subject. He would rather discuss his skirmishes with the mountain tribesmen of northern Trevantum than speculate about their mother. Allara had her own worries so she didn't pester him much.

You will have to ask her, The Thunderbolt was never far from her mind. She kept wondering why her mother didn't want him to tell them about her. Her only conclusion was that her mother still blamed her. If it wasn't for Allara's insistence on not leaving without Fluffy, they would have made their escape on the ship before Dasiuk returned with Smandan's guardsmen.

The fact that Melilla had assumed Julia's name in the place of any other upon taking her vows told Allara as much. She remembered her dead baby sister Julia, newborn and innocent, drowned during their disastrous escape.

She shook her head to rid herself of the image of Julia falling overboard. They navigated the streets of Cherry Cove, still thinly peopled at this hour of the morning. Pharasandria would already be drowning in crowds by now. Cherry Cove had a nice small-town feel. It was technically a city, if only half the size of Salandport, but spending nearly half a year in Pharasandria made every other city look like a small town.

The sun was rising over the Sechia sea on the eastern horizon. She knew that just fifty miles to the east was Grape Island, the northernmost and easternmost island of the Chumbian Archipelago. Salandria lay just another 100 miles east of Grape Island although half a hundred islands, large and small, lay between them. This is the closest I've been to Salandria in 10 years, Allara thought wryly.

200 miles east of Salandria was the continent of Maevi'i. Bogdyr had told her the king might go to war with the Maevites again when the peace treaty signed after the Salandrian Revolt expired in late summer. A lot of the soldiers were eager for it.

She pushed thoughts of war out of her mind and focused on geography. 30 miles south of Cherry Cove was Bungman's Bay, Nicanor's home. 200 miles north was Pharasandria which they had left five days earlier. 800 miles south at the southernmost tip of Bha'andi, was Namantown, where The Thunderbolt was supposed to be at the moment. Or so Allara thought.

She wondered if he had arrived. He had left Pharasandria a full two weeks before she and Bogdyr did. It had taken them five days to arrive at Cherry Cove but that was only because the ship they boarded called at every port on the Sechia Sea. But she had no idea.

The Thunderbolt had sailed to Namantown down the Khars Sea instead of the Sechia sea. That would be on the western end of Bha'andi from her current position. It didn't stop amazing her. In Pharasandria, the two seas were joined by a seven-mile canal. Here in Cherry Cove, they were separated by a landmass 400 miles wide from one end to the other. The landmass narrowed again to a narrow peninsula at Namantown where the two seas joined.

But she was less concerned about The Thunderbolt's travel itinerary and more concerned with his intentions for her. She viewed him with less terror now but she couldn't forget who he was or what he was capable of. Like all of the servants at Landshield, she loved him as a master. He was fair, kind, and generous. But she still couldn't see him as a lover. The fear was impossible to eradicate. The ringing of temple bells interrupted her train of thought.

Bogdyr too swiveled his head towards the gleaming white temple on a hill near the center of the city. As with most seaside towns, the temple to Aemeia was the grandest building in Cherry Cove. Allara and bogdyr had visited it when they arrived the previous evening and gave thanks to Aemeia for a safe voyage.

They turned their heads and soon the city they had spent a single night in was behind them. The walls soon vanished from sight. They didn't talk much. Bogdyr was lost in thought. Allara had her own thoughts so she left him to his. They were few travelers on the road and apart from their boisterous hellos when they passed each other, the only sound was the clop of their horseshoes on the stone road. The Cherry Road, it was called.

"We're fools," Bogdyr said after a couple of hours. From the position of the sun, Allara judged that it was halfway between sunrise and noon. "The most foolish pair of fools south of The Drapes."

"How's that," Allara asked.

"Look," Bogdyr said, pointing at the walls of a town in the distance. The town between two hills. Tannonum.

"How does the town make us fools?" Allara asked.

"We could have leased the horses and galloped to this place. Have his groom take them back. Then lease a fresh pair of horses from this town and gallop to the next. Lease fresh horses there and continue. That's what couriers do. They change horses every couple of miles. I wager we would have made the trip to Makan Ridge in half a day. Now we're out an absurd deposit and we're gonna be stuck traveling the roads at a walk for two bloody days," Bogdyr raged.

Allara saw his logic and felt ashamed that she hadn't thought of it during her meticulous trip planning. The towns and major settlements in the area were almost evenly spaced, twenty miles or so apart.

"We can still do it," Allara suggested.

"And what are we to do with these horses?"

"Stable them."

Bogdyr sped up to a gallop as soon as she suggested it. They slowed down when they entered Tannonum. They walked the streets with a certain reverence. A reverence Allara had never thought to show any other place. Like many no-name towns on the Cherry Road, Tannonum was tiny. But it was far from nameless.

While the streets showed no evidence of it, it was here, two decades before Allara was born, that the greatest slave revolt in the history of the A Hundred Realms had started. An angry slave butcher named Hvirak cut his cruel master to pieces with a cleaver in front of a dozen customers waiting to buy meat for their dinner pots.

When two of the town's patrolmen came to arrest him, he killed them too. Hvirak had raised the town's slaves in rebellion and a frenzied night of slaughter began. North of Tannonum was Pharasandria and Rhexia and the bulk of the army so Hvirak moved in the only direction he could: south.

The band of slaves moved south, liberating slaves from every town they passed. They saved slaves from orange groves and vineyards, wheat plantations and rice paddies, mines and homes, and even brothels. With every victory, their numbers swelled.

For two years, Hvirak ruled the southern provinces at the head of a slave horde numbering in the hundreds of thousands. He ran rings around town garrisons and local militias until he found himself too far south when the real army came to turn him into a cautionary tale. Baenarites trapped him with his back to the sea and slaughtered every last man who followed him.

Allara could see the same reverence on Bogdyr's face. She said a prayer for Hvirak's Khwefian soul. She couldn't help feeling lesser in comparison. He had failed. But at least he had tried. She had…

"We're here," Bogdyr interrupted her train of thought.

The stablemaster they found at Tannonum was suspicious of their request to stable the horses for four days. "That's Eadwin's mark." He pointed at the brands. "Are you horse thieves? We hang horse thieves here."

They showed him Eadwin Cherrybhurg's contract and he reluctantly accepted to stable the horses for them until their return as long as they left the contract with him. They paid the fees for feed and stable space. He wrote them another contract for the stabled horses. He lent them two of his steeds for two silver stallions each.

"My lowest rate," he explained when they tried to bargain, explaining that they would only be using the horses for around an hour or two. "If I start charging in coppers, I might as well start serving soup and plums." He eventually accepted three stallions for both mounts and sent them with a groom to the next town.

They kept changing horses at each town and arrived at Makan Ridge by late afternoon. The town stood in the shadow of the ridge that gave it its name. Allara was feeling the onset of soreness. They had traveled the whole way at a brisk trot. Bogdyr wanted to maintain a full gallop but the grooms would often complain about them riding the horses too hard and they'd be forced to slow down.

Yet as they approached Makan Ridge, Allara started getting cold feet. She had been so eager to see her mother but now that she was within 10 miles of her, all she felt was apprehension. Most of Makan Ridge was lustily cheering at a chariot race in an open-air amphitheater just outside the walls.

"The Circuit of Baeon Pharasus," the groom explained. "Baeon The Bard gifted it to the town."

Allara and Bogdyr just grunted. She was feeling the beginnings of a tightening in her stomach. She rarely had such feelings. Only in The Thunderbolt's presence. She didn't know how Bogdyr was feeling but she doubted he was any calmer than she was. He had gotten progressively quieter as they edged towards their destination.

They went past the gate of Makan Ridge without much fanfare. The town had the same simple grid design of Bha'andini cities built after The Restorer's reconquest: wide and straight stone streets with open squares around which buildings were clustered.

Every building fronted a square, following the Rhexian practice of building every house around a central courtyard, the luuya. The streets only served to join these squares. Salandport was, by contrast, a maze of twisting narrow streets that only a native could navigate. Getting lost was very easy except in the newer sections of the city which adhered to Rhexian designs.

The groom led them to the town's stable. He left them with the stablemaster and headed back with his master's horses. "How far is Kiburk?" Allara asked. The Thunderbolt had told her mother was there but the village wasn't large or important enough to appear on any maps.

"10 miles," came the stablemaster's answer. "You follow the Rice Road south, ask after the ninth mile marker. It's a little off the road."

"We'd like to lease horses," Allara explained.

"A silver stallion per horse. Dale can show you the way," he pointed at a boy hauling hay. Allara judged him to be about fifteen sixteen. "If you leave now, you'll be there before the sun goes down."

"Perhaps we should set out in the morning," Bogdyr suggested.

He's anxious too, Allara thought. "Where can we get a good inn around here?" she immediately asked the stablemaster before Bogdyr could change his mind.

"My sister owns one down the street," he answered. "Dale!" he summoned the boy. "Show our guests to Lena's inn. Tell her to treat them well. They're from me."

"At once," Dale nodded and gestured for them to follow him.

Away from his master's glare, Dale was a talkative chap. He chatted about every building they passed but Allara and Bogdyr didn't respond much. He barely noticed their desire to not participate and just kept chattering on. Allara felt rather pathetic. She had sailed 200 miles and ridden another sixty in a day only to grow cold feet as the end of her journey approached. She didn't know about Bogdyr's feelings but he was just as apprehensive as she was. His mind appeared far off.

Dale led them down the street, through a square then turned a corner and came to a stop in front of a large aging building of gray stone with a roof of shingles. Stews, Breads, and Beds, the sign announced. Brown curtains fluttered from wooden windows lining the front of the building.

They followed Dale inside, wading past a maze of tables and benches to a portly middle-aged woman behind a counter. Dale said something to her and then pointed at them.

"Bunk beds in the common room are fifty coppers a night," she pointed at an open door to her right. Beyond, Allara saw rows of double-decker bunk beds lined up next to each other. "A private room is a stallion and a half a night. Food is extra."

Allara slammed down three silver coins on the counter before Bogdyr could even rummage in his coin purse. They'd been playing the same game all day. She trying to help pay their way and him trying to stop her.

"It's a stallion and a half for the room dear," Lena slid back one of the coins and reached into her drawer.

"We want two rooms," Allara said.

"Two?" Lena's eyes narrowed.

"Yes," came Allara's answer.

"You two are not married?"

"No. He's my brother."

"Really?" Lena said with half a smile, examining Bogdyr from head to foot the way someone would a goat at the market. Her eyes lingered on his striped red and black Baenarite's cloak.

"Have you met my daughter Falernia?" Lena pointed at a girl of around sixteen who seemed to appear out of nowhere. Falernia had her mother's look but not the stocky build. She was slim and nearly as tall as Allara with a heart-shaped face dotted with freckles. She wore a yellow frock and a timid smile. She clasped and unclasped her own hands nervously while staring down at her feet.

"No," Bogdyr said.

"Falernia will show you to your rooms," Lena said as she handed the girl the keys. "Dinner is at sundown. Don't be late."

Falernia led them up to a narrow flight of stairs to the first floor. She never once looked up. Or at them, almost running up the stairs while they followed with their bags. They had rooms opposite each other. Falernia unlocked the doors and scurried away almost immediately.

Allara's room was small but clean. A small wooden window opened onto the square below. The bed was wider than the one she had on the ship. The mattress was filled with straw but it was nice and firm. No weird smells. The linens were white. Always a good sign. She had read about cheap innkeepers using brown linens that hid the dirt and never changed them. Nevertheless, she missed her featherbed at Landshield.

She was exhausted and knew she would wake up sore and stiff from all the riding but lay down anyway. Sleep refused to come. She kept worrying about meeting her mother. And The Thunderbolt's words, If you have to speak to anyone, talk to your mother. I trust her to keep her mouth shut. And she knows about my… intentions with you.

The sun started setting while she was still worrying. It was Bogdyr. "You want to go eat?" he asked. She nodded her assent and followed him down the stairs.

The dining hall was half full, with diners scattered across nearly all the tables. She and Bogdyr found a quiet spot by a window and sat down. Falernia brought them a washbasin with water and then brought bread, a thick stew, and two horns of ale. The bread wasn't as good as Rita's but it was acceptable. The stew was a little on the light side but its color was healthy and it tasted pleasant. The ale was so thick it was chewable.

Allara had eaten anything since morning. Yet, hungry as she felt, she had to force the food down her throat. Bogdyr didn't have much of an appetite either. He toyed with his food far more than he ate it.

"What troubles you, little brother? Planning your wedding with Falernia?" Allara teased.

Bogdyr didn't seem amused. "If the king wanted me to have a wife, he would have issued me one along with my equipment," he tapped the pommel of his sword.

"I was just inquiring after what is worrying you," Allara backtracked.

"We should have gone," Bogdyr said. "We would have been there by now."

"You're the one who suggested we wait till morning."

"I got scared."

"You're a soldier. You've fought in a battle of the king. Why would you be scared of meeting your mother?" Allara asked. She had her reasons for being apprehensive. What did Bogdyr have to fear?

"I don't remember what she looks like, Alla," he admitted. "It was so long ago. I can't remember her face. When I try to remember, I just forget more. I don't even know her name. She was always mom to me. But that's what everyone calls his mother. What was her name before she became a priest?"

"Melilla. Her name was Melilla. Melilla Bogdyrus Vindeler. She was born Mellila Melwright. But it doesn't matter anymore. Her new name is Julia. Mikhlin Julia. And you were only six when she was taken away, Bogdyr. It's okay if you don't remember. I don't have many memories from that age either," Allara consoled him.

"She's my mother, Alla. And I don't remember what she looks like. What kind of son does that make me?" he nearly wept.

"You're not a bad son. You were just young. Maybe you will know her when you see her. It happens."

"Maybe," he said uncertainly. "All I remember is her hair. And priests don't have hair. It will just be a headscarf and brown robes."

That got Allara worrying. She only pictured her mother the way she was. An attractive woman of thirty with silky hair down her back. But Melilla was a priestess now. And priests shaved all their hair for purity. Even the eyebrows. Only the eyelashes were spared.

Allara hadn't thought to picture how her mother would look in her new role or with her advanced age. She always pictured Melilla as she had been all those years ago. Her name wasn't even Melilla anymore. It was Mikhlin Julia. Priests had to shed their old identities when they took their vows.

'Will I recognize her?' Allara puzzled for the first time. She had always taken that as a given but now she wasn't so sure. The rest of the meal was spent in mutual worry. Would mother even recognize us? Allara worried even more.

"Is something wrong with the food?" Falernia asked with a worried look when she saw their half-eaten supper.

"No, we're just stressed," Bogdyr handed her a few coppers for the meal. "Where can we have a bath over here?"

Bogdyr was shown to the town's bathhouse. Allara had to make do with a four-gallon clay tub. She longed for a long soak in a proper bath. And maybe a steam room. She immediately repented for her thankless and impious thoughts.

'I'm getting spoilt,' she chided herself. Six months earlier she would have considered her bath, food, and accommodations the height of luxury. The Sitabh was right on that count: A man is happy when he gets exactly what he wants. Then after a while, he realizes he wants more. That's why he's never truly happy. True happiness comes from contentment. Be content with your lot in life and you shall never be sad. Allara tried to live by that verse but it wasn't always easy.

Sleep proved elusive that night. She tossed and turned until the sun came up. Bogdyr didn't appear to have had much sleep either. They decided to forego breakfast altogether and said their goodbyes to Lena. Her brother, the stablemaster greeted them like they were long-lost friends. His stable was a hive of activity. He leased them two horses and sent them off with Dale on a third horse.

The journey was quiet except for Dale who did all of the talking. Allara and Bogdyr pretended to listen and nodded periodically. Until they finally arrived at their destination.

Kiburk wasn't a large village. Thirty or so homesteads surrounded by freshly sown fields. The homesteads varied in size. Some had up to a dozen houses while one had only three. The houses were clustered around a square central courtyard, the luuya, in the Rhexian fashion.

The sizes of the houses varied. The larger homesteads tended to have larger houses. The rich villagers were also easy to distinguish from the less prosperous ones. Their houses were built of stone. One even had a roof of red clay tiles like one would see up north in Rhexia where clay was more abundant. Many of the other houses were roofed with wooden shingles. The less prosperous villagers had wattle and daub houses with thatched roofs. There were granaries and barns behind the houses. The size of the granaries and barns varied with the apparent wealth of a homestead.

Children ran around. Cattle, sheep, goats, and the occasional horse grazed peacefully. The younger boys would run after them with whips when they veered too close to the fields. Most men were in the fields. The women sat in the luuyas, breastfeeding, knitting, pounding foodstuff with a mortar and pestle, shouting at wayward children, shooing chickens away from grain spread out to dry, and even gossiping.

Dale seemed to know everybody, saying rowdy hellos to everyone at every homestead they passed and promising to come back later. Some of the younger children ran after them.

They came upon the temple as suddenly as they had come upon the village. It sat on a small rise on the northern edge of the village. It was a circular building of gray stone and a roof of clay tiles flanked by half a dozen smaller outbuildings of similar construction. Stained-glass windows lined its sides. Aeduia's banner, five blades of grass on a field of brown, flew from the roof. The king's banner fluttered beside it in the gentle wind.

The temple was both the most beautiful and largest building in the village. Allara judged that it could hold 250-300 worshippers at once. Tiny by Pharasandria's standards but quite large for a mid-sized village in northwestern Kamia.

The temple was ringed by vibrant gardens with blooming flowers in all colors of the rainbow. Further north were fields, then what appeared to be a small stream, more fields, and then a dense wood beyond them.

A young woman around Allara's age walked through the garden, uprooting weeds. She wore the brown robes of a priestess but had hair poking from under her green headscarf so Allara took her for a period volunteer. She waved at them and went back to her duties after they waved back. Part of Allara was glad for their horse relay the previous day. One more day on the road and they would have arrived at Kiburk on Aephyr's Day. The day of worship. The temple would have been packed.

"This is where I leave you," Dale announced in the somber tone many men tended to adopt near temples. He helped them unload their bags and then secured the reins of their two horses to his saddle.

"May Aeduia keep you, siblings," he intoned as he mounted up.

"And you too, brother," Allara and Bogdyr returned the customary blessing.

Dale spurred his horse and set off at a trot while the other two followed behind. The temple had no fountain but there was a small tap at the bottom of a large clay tank at the base of the stairs. They took off their shoes and performed the ritual cleansing: washing their faces, hands, and feet before entering the temple.

There were two pairs of shoes beneath the staircase. One pair, a man's shoes, was frayed and old, the other, belonging to a woman, looked reasonably new and was gorgeously ornamented. They left their shoes beside them. Bogdyr left his swordbelt, weapons, and soldier's cloak. After some consideration, they decided to leave their bags as well.

They made their way up the stone steps in complete silence, only exchanging fearful glances. Allara's heart thudded as they approached the top, inching ever closer to the temple entrance. At the top, they crossed a small sacrificial courtyard tiled with stone. An altar sat ready, piled high with wood. Past the courtyard, they walked through the wide-open wooden doors into the shrine beyond.

The main shrine of the temple was nearly empty. An acolyte mopped the floors. The pews were empty save for two people, a man in worn-out clothes and a better-dressed woman, occupying pews on opposite ends. The woman was on her knees, praying. The man sat still, his attention focused on the life-size marble statue of Aeduia, mother of all men. She cut a matronly figure in flowing robes of brown slashed with green. Fresh flowers adorned her hair while offerings were laid at her feet.

The stained glass windows filtered multicolored light into the temple. The walls were adorned with mosaics depicting scenes from The Sitabh. Half the wall space was taken up by the narrative of the original sin: Aephyr's murder at the hands of his son Aemousikour.

Instead of dying, Aephyr had disintegrated into the four principal elements of the universe: earth, water, wind, and fire. His four loyal children were given control of each. Aemousikour is punished by being tied up and pierced by a thousand darts every day. Being immortal, he couldn't die. His anguish was eternal. But Aemousikour had already introduced corruption into Aephyr's perfect universe with his vile act of patricide: the cardinal sin.

The verses of The Sitabh warning about the corruption were inscribed around the temple and on a large tablet at the front. Allara knew them by heart:

Aemousikour seeks to corrupt all men. The more men he corrupts, the more malevolent he becomes.

Once he corrupts all living men, he will summon their souls to his prison, free himself, and plunge the universe into an era of eternal darkness.

An era of no solid ground to stand on. An era of no water to drink, sail upon, or fish. An era of no air to breathe, and no rain falling from the sky. An era of no sky at all. An era of no fire to warm your bones, cook your food, or light your way.

An era of no sun, no moon, no stars, and no gods. An era of no men and no life. An era of complete nothingness, total and eternal. Only your immortal souls shall remain, twisting in agony in the eternal darkness, devoid of all warmth and nourishment.

Only virtue can prevent this from coming true. Never let Aemousikour's corruption spread. Destroy it whenever you see it. Within and without yourself. Purge your world of all who serve him, let them be reborn as worms, and learn to live righteously.

Only by purging yourselves of Aemousikour's corruption can you destroy his power and bring about his death, ushering in the final age. The age of joy. The age of no suffering. The age of no degeneration. The age of bodies as immortal as the souls within them.

"Good morning to you, sister," Allara greeted the acolyte.

"Good morning to you too, sister. And brother," she returned the greeting.

"We're looking…" A man burst into the temple as Allara was mid-sentence. Tall and hard-faced he looked all wrong. Studded brigandine, leather trousers, a sword hanging from his belt, and worst: he had shoes on. They all turned to look at him. His head swiveled around, seeming to take in his surroundings for the first time. He dropped to his knees, muttered a prayer, took off his shoes, and ran back outside almost immediately. The acolyte muttered something under her breath.

"We are looking for Mikhlin Julia," Allara continued after the man had left.

The acolyte never got to answer. "Alla! Bogdyr!" a middle-aged priestess burst out of a side door, broke into a sprint, and engulfed them both in a long bear hug. "My children," she whispered. Allara returned the hug awkwardly.

Melilla, now Mikhlin Julia, released them after what felt like an hour. Tears were flowing down her face. It was the same face Allara remembered, just a little more lined with age. They had the same gray eyes. Allara had always pictured her mother as a tall woman. She was both surprised and disturbed to discover they were the same height now. "My babies," Melilla sobbed and hugged them again.

A whirlwind of emotions tore through Allara. It wasn't the reception she was expecting. It was her who had so conveniently stranded the whole family on the jetty all those years ago in Salandport. Her mother hadn't wanted The Thunderbolt to tell them anything about herself. Allara assumed it was because Melilla was still angry at her. She had been prepared for a cool, even cold reception. Not this. This was warm. And accepting. And loving. This was more love than anyone had given her in ten years.

All her childhood memories came flooding back. Little joys she thought she had forgotten. All the smiles that had been buried under a decade of misery. It all came bursting onto the surface. Allara hugged her mother back with as much intensity as she could muster.

They were interrupted by a cough. It was the acolyte. The man who had burst into the temple earlier was on his knees. The brigandine was gone, as were the shoes, and sword.

"Forgive me Miklin for I have sinned," he said in a low voice. "I entered the house of our great mother under arms. With unsanctified extremities and with violence in my heart."

"Have you sanctified yourself?" her mother asked.

"Yes, Mikhlin."

"Did you walk up the steps on your knees?"

"Yes, Mikhlin."

"Then your penance is complete. You can rise to your feet."

The man stood. "There is something else I would like your assistance with," the man said.

"I'm listening," Mikhlin Julia said.

"That man over there," he pointed to the man with ratty clothes on the pew. The man was young. Mid-twenties perhaps. He looked at them fearfully. "He is an escaped slave. I would like your permission to take him out of the temple and back to my master."

"You know I cannot do that," Mikhlin Julia said. "This is the house of Aeduia. All men are welcome. None may be turned away. Has he killed anyone?"

"No, Mikhlin."

"Has he stolen anything?"

"Yes, Mikhlin. He is my master's property. He stole himself. That is theft," the man responded argumentatively.

"You're not from around here, are you?" her mother deflected.

"No, Mikhlin," the man responded. "I'm from Mayan's Corner, five miles down the Wheatroad. The honorable Lord Mayanbhurg is my mother's cousin."

"I know Lord Maynbhurg well," her mother told him. "He's a keen scholar. And as I am sure he will tell you, a slave escaping may be a crime under the king's laws, but The Sitabh doesn't recognize it as such. He is a slave, no oaths he may have made are valid. I cannot allow you to drag that man out. He is no criminal. Just a wayward child. You have to convince him to come with you of his own free will."

"Thank you, Mikhlin," the man nodded and walked off towards the escaped slave. The two men soon entered a tense negotiation.

"Come with me," their mother placed her arms around them and led them out via the side door she'd just come through. She ushered them into a small apartment attached to the temple. It had simple furniture and little ornamentation. "My humble abode," she announced.

They sat down with their mother between them. She never let go of them. I could get used to this, Allara thought of the endless hug. Bogdyr yawned.

"Aww," Melilla swooned and tickled his cheek with her finger. "Are you hungry little papa?"

Bogdyr blushed and nodded at the same time. The endearment made Allara smile. It had been so long since she had heard anyone use it.

"I'll find you something to eat," Melilla tapped their thighs and ran off.

"Little papa… Come to mai," Allara teased as soon as their mother was out of the room.

"Don't even dare," Bogdyr wagged a finger a finger at her but he couldn't keep a straight face. His face broke out into the most unmanlike smile possible. "I have to tell her to stop that," he grumbled half-seriously.

"Too late, little papa," Allara was enjoying herself.

"Alla stop!" Bogdyr pleaded. "I'm going to tell mother."

That got them both laughing out loud. It was hard not to feel childish again. She pinched his ribs. He slapped her hand away and almost curled into a ball, stopping himself just in time. That elicited another bout of laughter.

"What are we doing," Bogdyr grumbled. "We're regressing into children."

"You're the one who wants to tell mother I teased you."

"I… I don't know. Did you pinch me this much when we were kids?"

"I don't know. Did you tell on me this much?"

"I haven't told on you."

"You were going to."

"No, I wasn't."

"I guess we'll never find out, will we, little papa?"

"Alla, stop it. I'm serious now," Bogdyr said a little more forcefully.

"Ok," she put her hands up in mock surrender.

Melilla returned with a plate of yams, figs, plums, and sour milk in a gourd. She poured the thick milk into bronze cups and helped peel the yams.

"You're not eating, mother?" Bogdyr asked.

"I already ate. You kids go ahead." Melilla fussed over them while they ate, talking about the weather, the spring rains, and a minor sect of zealots going around saying Aephyr was the only God. She also reminisced a lot about their childhood. The intervening decade of separation wasn't mentioned.

Allara and Bogdyr didn't talk much. There was still a little weirdness. They also had an appetite for the first time. And Allara had missed her mother's sour milk. No one made it like her. Thick like porridge with no lumps whatsoever. The sourness added just a little tang to it that made it taste so much better than fresh milk.

I'll have to get the secret out of her, Allara decided. She knew storing it in a gourd made out of calabash had something to do with it but had little knowledge of the rest of the process. When she had tried fermenting milk on her own, it had become so putrid after only three days that it made her eyes water and her stomach roiled just from the smell. It was nothing like what she was drinking.

Once they were done eating, Melilla insisted on clearing the table despite their offers to help. They gave in reluctantly. When Melilla returned, she had their things with them. She introduced them to the acolyte, proudly telling them they were her children.

They continued reminiscing for most of the day but Mellila steadfastly refused to acknowledge the huge elephant in the room: the separation. "His Highness said you didn't want him telling us about you," Allara blurted out.

"Yes," her mother admitted. "I was afraid, sweetlings. I was afraid you may not want to see me."

"Why would you be afraid of that? We missed you. Feared you were dead or worse." It was Bogdyr who spoke this time.

"I got your father killed, little papa," Melilla sobbed. "I got Stefan killed. And most of my family too. If it wasn't for me pressuring him to leave Salandport we might have survived. All the suffering you have endured in the last ten years was my fault," she broke down.

"Mother. It was me. Remember?" Allara took on some of the blame. "I held us up at the jetty because I didn't want to leave without Fluffy."

"Oh poor dear, you think that Maevite piece of… " Melilla stopped herself mid-sentence and muttered a short prayer. "Dasiuk didn't decide to betray us because of the dog. He had already done it. They were waiting for us on the ship. My brothers were on it."

"What happened to them?" Allara asked.

"They died."

"All of them?"

"Only Wilbyr survived. He and father refused to run. The others were on the ship."

Allara couldn't help feeling sad. At least her uncle Wibyr was alive. He was her favorite. "How did the ones on the ship die?"

"Nobody knows. His Highness couldn't find them. He thinks they drowned chained to oars on the emperor's ships. Many of the ships were sunk by the king's fleet in battle before the siege. But I have you now, my babies. I knew in my heart that you weren't dead. I prayed every day and the letter finally came."

"What letter?" Bogdyr asked.

"His Highness wrote to me," Melilla explained. "He had found two youths at his father's estate in Rhexia. He thought you were my children. Salandrian. Brother and sister pair. The right names and the right ages. He said the girl had my eyes and the boy reminded him of my father but he couldn't be entirely sure. You know our names. There are a thousand Vindelers in Salandport and only three of them share any blood with us."

"How did he know it was us then?" Allara asked.

"I identified you," Melilla said.

"Identified us? How?" Bogdyr puzzled.

"I traveled up to Rhexia. By the grace of Aeduia, there was a warship docked in Cherry Cove when I arrived in the city. The captain graciously gave me a ride to Pharasandria. I crossed the canal, took a merchant ship up to Caedmyria, and a barge up the Luche. I waited at Luche Bend for a day before His Highness arrived. He said you were still in the marching column. You two came two days later. Little papa captured an outlaw," she tickled Bogdyr's cheeks.

"You were there?" both of them asked in unison.

"Yes," Melilla responded simply.

"But we never saw you," Allara said.

"I didn't want you to see me, sweetie. His Highness said he hadn't told you anything because he didn't want to get your hopes up. I decided to keep it that way. I was still afraid. Your hair has gotten so much longer," she brushed Allara's hair with one hand. "And you Little Papa, you must have grown another inch in four months."

"Two," Bogdyr said proudly.

"His Highness tells me the army agrees with you. You're thriving."

"Yes, mother."

"How many battles?"

"Just one. A small battle and a handful of minor skirmishes against some stubborn holdouts in northern Trevantum. Barbaric mountain tribesmen. They worship trees and wolves. Even the Trevantbhurgs couldn't subdue them when they were kings."

"And you did?"

"For now. They're no trouble as long as they hide up in their mountains. They like coming down to raid the lowlands in winter. But they don't have the numbers or organization to threaten any substantial settlement. They stick to cattle rustling and run at the slightest sign of a challenge. Even other Trevantenes hate them. But they are broken for now. They won't be causing any trouble until next winter."

"You can't send an expedition to defeat them once and for all?"

"Too risky. There are a lot of narrow passes and crevices for an ambush. A lot of Trevantene armies were lost in such silly expeditions. Easier to just bribe one tribe to wage war on the others. That's what the Trevantenes have been doing for a century. There's nothing of worth up in the mountains anyway. The tribesmen are ferocious fighters but lack armor and discipline. No need to risk our men when we can just wait for them to come down and kill them more easily there."

"You're not afraid they'll kill you?" Melilla asked with a worried expression.

"I fight in armor. In a formation of proper soldiers. Those barbarians have no idea what a formation is. Their idea of armor is animal skins. And they worship bloody trees. If one of those sheepfuckers kills me, I'll refuse to be reborn and have my soul destroyed instead," Bogdyr asserted confidently.

"Watch your language little papa," Melilla scolded gently.

"Sorry mother," Bogdyr apologized.

They continued chatting for most of the morning until their mother was called away to oversee a sacrifice. They spent the rest of the day similarly, chatting with their mother until she was called away to see to one thing or another. They would accompany her at times and help with tasks around the temple.

A returning hunter from the village donated three hares and a deer rump to the temple. Bogdyr skinned the hares and Allara pickled the meat in a large vat of honey. Her mother instructed her to pack one of the hares in salt and set it aside.

As the sun dropped low in the sky, Allara helped the acolyte and volunteers prepare supper. Leftover meat from a lamb that had been sacrificed earlier was repurposed into a stew and served with freshly baked bread.

The food was served to the needy. There weren't many in Kiburk. There was Evan, the escaped slave, a lactating widow, two orphan boys who looked after the temple's small herd of cattle and sheep, a weary-looking traveler who put a few coins in the collection box, and a wandering singer.

The singer offered to entertain them all with a song. The song made Allara understand why the singer had to rely on temples for sustenance. But she still clapped politely along with everyone else once he was done.

As per custom, Allara, Bogdyr, their mother, the acolyte, and the two temple volunteers ate whatever was left after the needy had been fed. Her mother put aside one serving of bread and stew. "Who's that for?" Bogdyr eyed it hungrily.

"A needy man who likes to come in after dark," Mikhlin Julia answered.

"Why?" Bogdyr asked.

"He's a young man from a good family who has recently fallen on hard times. He does not want to be seen eating temple food."

The widow offered to do the dishes but her mother refused. Mikhlin Julia gave her a sack of wheat along with some beans, lentils, and the salted hare. She sent Bogdyr and the orphans to help her. Bogdyr carried the heavy sack of wheat on his back while the orphan boys carried the lighter sacks of beans and lentils between them.

The diners dispersed after supper. Only Evan remained. The man who had come chasing after him earlier waited outside the temple. He had been joined by three others. "Why did you run away son?" Allara's mother asked.

"They beat me Mikhlin. They beat me all the time. With or without a reason. And now they want to sell my children. Useless mouths, they call them," the escaped slave said.

"Who beats you?"

"Leon Robinus, his brother, the overseers, all of them."

"Is Leon Robinus the man outside?"

The slave nodded.

"What about Lord Mayanbhurg, couldn't you go to him?" Mikhlin Julia asked.

"His lordship doesn't take much interest in the affairs at the farm. He has a larger estate near Tannonum. He spends most of his time there," Evan explained.

"You're a farm laborer?"

"Yes, Mikhlin. Farm laborer, carpenter, builder, and all-around human donkey. Leon Robinus says he'll sell me to the mines under the ridge now," the slave sobbed.

"That's indeed sad," her mother sympathized with him. "And you have a family you said?"

"A wife, a four-year-old daughter, and a newborn son. We're not married officially because of the law but we're married in our hearts. I could take the beatings but they wanted to sell my children. We had to run," Evan said.

"Where are they?"

"I sent them ahead. We only had enough coin to afford one horse. Leon Robinus was chasing us so I sent them across a stream to throw off the dogs and continued on foot to take him off their trail. The longer he waits for me out there, the farther away they get."

"Where are they going?"

The man hesitated for a while then answered, "Pharasandria."

"Why Pharasandria?"

"It's a city of a million men. One thousand thousand men. They say a man can walk through its gates, melt into the crowds, and never be seen again. No one knows anyone and no one asks. Leon Robinus would never find us there. Plenty of work too. "

"But you're here," Mikhlin Julia pointed out.

"The plan ran into some problems. I have to sacrifice myself so they can escape. I just have to stay here until they are too far away for him to find. He thinks we're all here. The longer he waits, the farther they can run. It's 200 miles to Pharasandria. We bought a fine horse. Young and strong. In eight or ten days they will be beyond his reach. They have a two-day head start. I just have to endure two or three more until they're out of his reach."

"You know he's waiting outside," Mikhlin Julia said. "You are only safe within the sanctuary. What happens when you want to relieve yourself? I can't stop them from taking you outside the temple."

"I will guard him," Bogdyr, who had just returned from delivering the widow's sack of wheat, volunteered.

"How many are there now, Alla?" her mother asked.

Allara ran to the door to check. Leon Robinus had six men with him plus a similar number of horses and dogs.

"I'll hold in," Evan decided when he heard the report.

"You will hold it in for six days?" her mother asked. "Do you even think that's possible? You're struggling to hold it in now."

The escaped slave was shaking, his thighs tightly pressed together. "Eating was a mistake," he said. "I was so hungry. Why didn't I fast," he lamented.

"Let me negotiate on your behalf," her mother offered. "If you go back, they don't kill you or sell you to the mines."

"Leon Robinus won't listen to reason. And he will want me to give up my wife and children too. I can't do that. Whatever they promise, they will torture me once I return. They will scourge me and pull my nails and peel my skin until I talk. Better I die," Evan flashed a small knife. "Forgive me Mikhlin. I will do it outside," he said and stood up.

"You can't do that," her mother called after him.

"I have to," Evan said. "They can't make me talk if I'm dead."

"But your family is still on the road. How long before Leon Robinus realizes they're not here and goes after them?"

"We escaped yesterday. They have to be far enough by now. He can't catch up," Evan said.

"Mail carriers ride from here to Pharasandria in a single day. Is your wife changing horses every few miles like a mail carrier?"

"No," Evan sat down in defeat. "We didn't think of that. We spent all our money on the horse and a few provisions. All we had left was ten coppers. We wanted to use the side roads but once Leon Robinus got on our tail, I told her to take the Rice Road while I distracted him. It's quicker. I took Leon Robinus around in circles all of yesterday but he nearly caught me this morning. That's why I came here, barely a few paces ahead of him. I thought I could hold out until their escape was guaranteed. They're dead. I killed them," he sobbed.

"That's why you can't kill yourself. Not now," her mother explained. "A woman on a horse. With a toddler and a newborn on the Rice Road. How hard can she be to find? If you open your throat now your pursuers will have them by the time the sun sets tomorrow."

"What do I do, Mikhlin?" asked.

"What if I buy you?" Allara blurted.

Evan looked at her like she was mad. "I've never heard of anyone buying a runaway slave, my lady. Not for anything other than mine work or oar-pulling."

"I don't own any mines or ships. I don't plan to beat you or sell your children," Allara promised. "I used to be a slave myself not so long ago."

"What do you plan to do with me then?" Evan asked.

"I don't know," Allara admitted. She hadn't really thought the whole thing through. She had just blurted out the first solution that came to her mind.

Evan just stared at her, his face a sea of emotions: confusion, curiosity, gratitude.

"It's still a steep price, my lady. They'll want forty eagles for me, thirty for my wife, five for my daughter, and maybe one or two for my son."

77 eagles. 7700 stallions, Allara thought. That was more money she had Bogdyr had between them. More money than any of them ever had. A quick mental calculation showed the sum was equivalent to nearly two years of her wages. She hadn't even worked for half a year.

"I have enough gold," she said instead. Bogdyr looked at her funny. The Thunderbolt's gold, that part she left unsaid. She hadn't even thought of spending it and yet here she was. He said it was mine. I might as well use it for some good, she concluded.

The negotiations with the Mayanbhurgs were tense. They refused to let go of Evan and his family for anything less than 10,000 silver stallions, a steep premium on their value as slaves. Evan had mentioned that he was a carpenter but Allara had no idea how good he was. His wife was a weaver but with two children she wasn't bound to be very productive. The children were practically worthless as they would cost more to feed than any labor they could provide for around a decade. "Sell them then," Leon Robinus responded callously when Bogdyr pointed this out. "The girl can be raised in a brothel. And there's always some fool desperate for a son."

"The wife and children are not here," Bogdyr changed tact in an attempt to get the price down. "They've already boarded a ship in Cherry Cove for all we know," he lied. "You won't be able to get your hands on them. Evan is all you have to sell." Their mother would make Bogdyr kneel by the altar all night in penance for lying under Aeduia's roof afterward but she held her tongue for the duration of the negotiation.

Leon Robinus was unbothered by this new revelation, "10,000 silver stallions for the whole miserable lot or no deal. Evan knows where they're going. We'll just flay him until he talks. And if he doesn't know, we would rather not have the silver. We will take him back home and flog him to death. A lesson for the other slaves."

Allara and Bogdyr finally gave in to the exorbitant prices. Bogdyr pulled her aside. "Now that we've agreed to a price, how on earth are we going to pay for them? I've never seen 10,000 stallions in my life," he whispered.

"I have gold in Pharasandria," she replied.

"10,000 stallions worth? Alla, I get paid more than you. You can't have 10,000 stallions. You would need to save up every single coin you're paid for what? Three years?"

"It's not from my wages. It's from our inheritance," she lied, a little surprised at how quickly the lie came to mind.

"What inheritance?"

"From grandpa," the lie came effortlessly to her again. "He took an arrow for The Thunderbolt. This was his token of gratitude."

"And when were you planning to tell me about it?"

"He only gave it to me the week before you arrived. And you were so glum after I told you about mother. There wasn't a good moment to bring it up. But I was going to tell you."

"Alright," he nodded. "Is it enough?"

"Oh. It's more than enough," Allara responded, remembering all the gold in that deposit box. "We will take the 10,000 stallions out of my share."

"No. No," Bogdyr said. "I want to contribute too. Do my part for oppressed slaves. Let's go half and half."

Then the negotiations nearly blew up when Allara told them her gold was in Pharasandria. "You give us the gold now or we're taking him," Leon Robinus raged.

She and Bogdyr barely had a tenth of the money between them. Her mother saved the day by vouching for them.

"How does a mikhlin have children?" Leon Robinus asked.

"I had them before I took my vows," Mikhlin Julia explained. "They're decent and honorable. I will stake my honor on it. You will have your gold in a fortnight. That is a guarantee from me. Not them."

Pacified, Leon Robinus and his compatriots drafted the deeds of sale and allowed them to keep Evan after making Allara and Bogdyr swear an oath to fulfill the terms of the agreement. They added a 10% penalty for the additional time they would be made to wait for their money. Allara assured them she would send the gold to her mother as soon as she got to Pharasandria and they could collect it from her within a fortnight.

"How did you know I'm good for it?" Allara asked her mother later.

"Your master told me he made provisions for your upkeep."

"You know about that?"

"Yes. He told me. He said he had asked you to be his lover and he thinks you accepted out of fear instead of passion. He wanted me to tell you that you are free to reject him if you wish. It's very important to him that you go to him willingly."

"What do you think I should do?"

"I can't make that decision for you, Alla. What does your heart want?"

"I don't know. My heart is undecided. There is so much terror I don't know if there's any attraction there."

"You will have to reach that decision on your own. As your mother, I want you to be happy. As a priest, I can only repeat what The Sitabh says. And you already know that, don't you?"

"It's only adultery when the wife does it," Allara said.

"That's blasphemous, Alla," her mother scolded.

"But it's true. It is what the Sitabh says. Men can have relations with anyone as long as they don't dishonor their wives. Women can only have relations with their husbands and priests can't have relations with anyone."

"You are paraphrasing the Sitabh. Always a dangerous exercise. Wars have been fought over such things. Repeat it verbatim," her mother commanded sternly.

"Priests, be true to the gods you're wed to and only to them. Women, be faithful to your husbands. Men, honor your wives and do right by them. Don't dishonor your wives by elevating your bastards above their sons," Allara repeated.

"That's it," Mikhlin Julia said.

"Doesn't the provision on bastards in essence excuse adultery for men?" Allara protested.

"The severity of punishment should always match the severity of the crime is an accepted defense for women accused of adultery since the days of Pharas The Builder. The Sitabh doesn't give anyone supremacy. But men have the swords so they interpret it to fit their needs."

"What about bastards? Why are only men allowed to acknowledge their bastards?" Allara continued even though she knew she was losing the argument.

"Because women can't deny their bastards, can they?" her mother asked. "You can't reject them when everyone knows you gave birth to them. But men can just claim the child isn't theirs and put the burden of proof on the woman. What would you do if the child isn't a spitting image of the father? How do you raise a bastard on your own? Women are permissive of bastards but few men want to marry a woman with children. That's why the Sitabh asks men to acknowledge their bastards. It's for the benefit of unwed mothers and their children. The Sitabh acknowledges that such things happen. That's far from an endorsement. It recognizes man's weakness and like in everything else, urges moderation.

The gods acknowledge the difference between simple human weakness and sin. Murder is a sin. Drinking is not. Sins are abhorrent but weaknesses are excusable as long as you moderate them. You can drink wine. You can even get drunk at a feast. It's drinking yourself into a stupor every other day that the gods frown upon."

Allara didn't argue anymore. I should have known better than to argue theology with a priest, she chided herself. The rest of her stay was relatively uneventful compared to the first day. After three days, they set out in a flurry of hugs, tears, and promises to write.

Evan went with them. Allara and Bogdyr had resolved to give him his freedom but they didn't fully own him yet. They were yet to pay for him. Freeing him and his family would have to wait until they got to Pharasandria. At the moment, he retained the status of a slave. A hired slave.

He had been both grateful and reluctant when he heard of their plans for him, "M'lord, M'lady, you don't have to do that. I would be honored to serve masters as kind and generous as you. I'm a carpenter. In a city like Pharasandria, you could make a lot of money off me. You don't need to lose all that gold you paid for me."

"It's not a loss, Evan," Allara had told him. "It's an offering. A gift from two former slaves to another one of their brethren. And you can't be a carpenter in Pharasandria. Not as a slave. The guilds would stone you. The only work you can be allowed to do is corpse collecting and sewer cleaning.

Nevertheless, Evan had tried to be as helpful as possible. He was positively giddy when they set out for Cherry Cove. For the return leg of their journey, they set out at dawn and arrived in the city by noon.

"That old codger didn't look too happy to see us," Bogdyr said as they left Eadwin Cherrybhurg's stable. The horse leaser had been a lot less chatty when he returned their deposit.

"Maybe he's just having a rough day, m'lord," the perpetually cheery Evan observed.

"Maybe," Allara agreed.

They had to wait around in Cherry Cove for a day to find a ship heading to Pharasandria and another day for the ship to set sail. Evan wasn't as cheery during the voyage. He spent the entire three-day duration bent over the railing. He couldn't hold anything down. Not even water. Lord Retchbhurg, the sailors christened him. Allara found the name rather cruel but there was little she could do to stop their taunts.

"Forgive me, m'lady," he would apologize. "I have never been on a ship before."

"It's not your fault," Allara consoled him. Evan immediately ran off the ship as soon as it docked in the South East harbor.

"My legs are cramped from all the sitting," Bogdyr complained. "We should walk."

Allara would rather have taken a cart. It was faster. And more comfortable. But there was no changing Bogdyr's mind. "It's a long way from here to Landshield," she pointed out.

"All the better," came Bogdyr's response. "By the time we get there, my legs will be functioning properly again."

And walk they did. Evan was so amazed by the sights and sounds Bogdyr had to hold his hand to prevent him from getting lost. He marveled at everything as they navigated from the South East harbor past the packed streets of the lower city. By the time they got to the two bridges spanning the canal, Allara judged that they had been walking for nearly two hours. She was starting to feel sore on the soles of her feet.

"We should take a cart the rest of the way now," she suggested.

"What?" was Bogdyr's response. "I'm just starting to feel like myself again."

"It's such a wonderful afternoon for a walk, my lady," the ever-awed Evan chimed in.

Gods, I've grown soft, Allara cursed herself.

"Let's take the Copper Bridge," Bogdyr said.

"But they charge a toll," Allara protested. "The Sand Bridge is free."

"It's only a copper," Bogdyr said. "And the Sand Bridge is always crowded. I want to walk, not crawl."

And so they took the Copper Bridge, so named because of the copper crown that was charged as a toll to all who crossed it. The Copper Bridge was one of two 500-foot-long stone arch bridges that spanned the canal below. The canal had been officially named The Sea of Nakim Pharasus, after Pharas The Builder's favorite horse, but everyone just called it The Canal. The Copper Bridge's official name, on the other hand, had been long forgotten.

The Copper Bridge was separated from the adjacent Sand Bridge by a 200-foot gap. Allara preferred the Sand Bridge. Not just because it was free to cross. It always had merchants selling rare and strange things. The copper bridge provided a better view of the dozens of ships transiting the canal below but its crowns were thin and it had no merchants.

The Sand Bridge also had a more interesting history. It had been previously named The Commoners' Bridge. Its new name had been born of an act of defiance during the tumultuous first year of The Beheader's reign.

While away on campaign against his nephew Caedmyr The Crownless, one of the king's cousins had seized the undefended capital and proclaimed himself king. On entering the royal treasury, the pretender discovered that the crafty Baenar VIII had transferred all the gold out of the vaults before leaving Pharasandria. In a desperate attempt to raise money quickly, the cash-strapped prince doubled canal tolls on ships, imposed a toll on both bridges spanning it, and even charged fees on anyone entering or leaving the city.

On hearing of the developments, The Beheader sent a letter addressed to all citizens of Pharasandria. It was read by heralds from every square in the city and whispered from ear to ear. The letter only contained a single sentence: If you are asked for a toll, pay with a grain of sand.

That single sentence had inspired riots that toppled the pretender who styled himself Yaerad VII a mere week after he had proclaimed himself King of Kings. An angry mob had flung fistfuls of sand into the eyes of the pretender's soldiers at the Sand bridge and burst into the upper city. The self-proclaimed Yaerad VII fled the palace. He marched 200 miles barefoot to The Beheader's camp in Vaechia to seek the forgiveness of the king. The Beheader, ever magnanimous to his relatives, granted it.

"How did you and your wife plan to reunite in Pharasandria?" Allara asked Evan.

"She said she will wait for me outside the temple of gold at sunset. Every day for the first two weeks. Then once a week after that. Every Aephyr's Day," Evan explained.

"Two weeks haven't passed. Have they?" Bogdyr teased.

"No m'lord," Evan looked at the sun. Sunset wasn't too far away. "Can we go there? To the temple of gold?" he pleaded.

"It's on our way," Bogdyr clapped his shoulder. "Just don't get lost."

Evan smiled sheepishly. Allara wanted to sit down. She didn't know how long they had been walking but she didn't want to walk anymore. They were in the upper city but getting to Aemlilon's Golden Temple would take quite a bit more walking than she was willing to endure.

"Let's take a cart," Allara said forcefully.

"Come on. It's just getting fun," Bogdyr said

"Not for me," Allara insisted and summoned a carter. The two men climbed aboard. Evan was eager. Everything about Pharasandria excited him. Bogdyr was reluctant and grumbled all the way to the Golden Temple. Allara didn't mind. His grumbling was far more bearable than the walk.

The street in front of the Golden Temple was milling with pilgrims, vendors, carters, pedestrians, street performers, and idlers as usual. "Wow!" Evan marveled at the grandeur of the building, seeing with his eyes as well as his mouth.

"Evaaan!" a woman yelled. They all swung their heads to find the source of the voice. Allara saw her first. She was standing beside a lyre player. She held an infant to her chest with her right hand while her left waved frantically. A girl of around four stood at her feet, one hand clinging to her mother's frayed dress while the other waved at her father.

"Porciaaaa!" Evan howled and ran to her. Allara watched with a twinge of jealousy as husband and wife embraced and traded kisses. She couldn't help it. She wanted to be in a position like that herself. But she had been unlucky in love.

Siegvard had gotten himself killed. Nicanor had never loved her. He just used her to get a secluded spot to consort with his real lover. The man seeking her affection at the moment terrified her so much that she doubted she could ever get over the emotion. And The Thunderbolt would never run to her in a crowded public square. Of that she was certain.

"Now that, is true love," Bogdyr said.

"You're a romantic now?" Allara teased. "I thought you were all about whores and other disposable women?"

"That's unfair," he protested. "I can't marry. Not for five years. I wouldn't want to marry until my 20 years are up. Am I supposed to remain celibate?"

"Yes," Allara answered, acutely aware of the irony of claiming moral superiority while contemplating an affair with a married man. The gods might not deem it a sin worthy of punishment but she knew that if she was married, she wouldn't want her husband anywhere near another woman.

"That's not practical. Or possible. Everyone knows it," Bogdyr hit back.

"Stick to one girl then."

"Why would I do that? It's not as if the whores are faithful to me."

"Who said anything about whores? Why can't you find a nice girl and be loyal to her? People who can't legally get married still live together as man and wife all the time. I'm sure a lot of your soldier friends do it."

"They do," he admitted. "But where do I find a girl who will follow me to the ends of the A Hundred Realms and freeze in the followers camp for weeks while I'm away on the march?"

"Where?" Allara asked him. "Aren't there any girls in Trevantum?"

"There are. But the ones who hang out around soldiers' encampments are all prostitutes. The respectable ones don't spend a lot of time near encampments because people will think they're prostitutes. They have chaperones and leave as quickly as possible."

Evan waved at them, ending their argument. They walked to him and he introduced them to Porcia and their children. There was so much gratitude directed at her that Allara started to feel embarrassed.

"So when did you arrive, Porcia?" she changed the topic.

"Three days ago m'lady."

"Evan said you didn't have any money. How have you been surviving? Where have you been sleeping? Eating?"

"I sold the horse m'lady. I stay at an inn but I'm saving up for a nice apartment. The rent is cheaper than the inn but they want a deposit first. Also got some work as a weaver. It doesn't pay much but it pays for the inn. And there's always bread and soup in the temple. With Evan here, we won't have to eat there anymore."

"Why don't we treat you to a nice dinner to celebrate your freedom," Bogdyr offered.

"That would be very generous, m'lord," Porcia gushed.

"I think we should go send mother the gold first," Allara told him. "Make sure we own them before we free them."

"Of course," Bogdyr said. "Wait for us here."

They left their bags and shoes with Evan and Porcia then purified themselves in the fountain before climbing the steps into the temple. With her key and certificate, Allara was quickly ushered through into the vault at the base of the hill. She stopped at her box but there was no point in opening it. She had emptied it before her trip south to Kiburk.

She opened The Thunderbolt's box. Still her box but she hadn't quite gotten used to the idea. "Whoa!" Bogdyr gasped when she pulled the drawer open he saw all the golden coins. Allara just nodded at him.

"How much is that?" he asked.

"I have no idea. I never counted it."

11,000 stallions, she repeated the mantra in her head as she counted out the 110 eagles she needed to send her mother. Then she decided to double the amount. A small donation to the temple. "Count the rest while I take this up to the priest," she told Bogdyr. He just nodded.

"I need to send this gold to Kiburk," she told the priest at the counter.

"We do not have a temple in the village of Kiburk," the priest said after consulting a large leather-bound book. "The closest temple of Aemlilon to that village is in the town of Makan Ridge."

"That is acceptable," Allara said. The priest counted the gold and requested her name, the name of the recipient, and the purpose the money was for.

"Do we take the transaction fee out of this amount or will you be paying that separately?" the priest finally asked.

"A transaction fee?" Allara asked, half confused and half beating herself up for not thinking about it. It costs ten coppers to send a letter. Why did I think sending gold would be free?

"1%. For this amount it will be 220 stallions," the priest said.

Allara emptied the remaining contents of her purse onto the counter. She had just about enough. "When will she get the gold?" she asked the priest.

"Tomorrow morning," came the answer.

"You can send the gold to Makan Ridge overnight?" Allara was shocked. "How is that even possible?"

"Of course not," the priest laughed. "We're not sending the gold tonight. We will just send a letter to the temple there instructing them to give this Mikhlin Julia 22,000 stallions. If we send the letter by falcon now the bird will arrive long before midnight. We will reimburse the temple later. By secure means. We can't send gold by courier. Bandits would rob them all the time."

"Oooh!" Allara gushed, impressed and a little embarrassed by her naivete.

Bogdyr was almost done counting by the time Allara got back. He had piled up the coins in stacks of twenty on the floor. The sheer quantity of the gold struck her. She contemplated its sheer purchasing power for the first time. Set yourself up somewhere in the realm. Buy some land, maybe a small castle. You will be comfortable for the rest of your days, Allara couldn't keep The Thunderbolt out of her mind.

"I got 1,000 stallions when I got freed. We should give Evan the same," Bogdyr suggested. Allara nodded absently.

"What will you do with your share?" she asked Bogdyr.

"First I'll get new armor. Customized for me," he responded.

"I thought you had armor," Allara said.

"I have chainmail. I'm going to get a full suit of plate armor. It's lighter, better, and more elegant. A fine horse or two. Maybe a dagger of Temple Steel. I can afford one now. And some random trinkets. The rest I'll save for a rainy day."

"That's all?" she asked.

"Yes!" Bogdyr looked at her like she was a little mad.

"How about buying some land? Maybe a merchant ship," Allara suggested.

"Land?" Bogdyr asked. "What would I do with land Alla?"

"Farm. Raise animals. Maybe make wine even. Like grandpa."

"Farm?" Bogdyr scoffed. "I don't want to be a farmer, Alla. I will have the rest of my life for that. Right now I wanna be a warrior. I signed up for twenty years."

"If you asked His Highness he could…"

"I know he can release me, Alla. But I don't want to. I like fighting and I like adventure. I'm not wasting away on a farm when I could be making corpses out of barbarians on the battlefield."

"But fighting is dangerous. They could just as easily kill you."

Bogdyr laughed. When he was done, he said, "farming isn't entirely safe either Alla. Farmers get kicked in the head by cows and horses all the time. Soldiering is no more dangerous than any other profession. You only get killed when you lose a battle. It's when you break formation and run that you get slaughtered. And I'm not going to do that. My brothers are not going to do that. No one is safe from death. It gets us all. Disease, old age, lightning strikes, murder. You can't just avoid danger by running away from it. There's only so far you can run. At least as a soldier, I might get to die a warrior's death. Perish in battle and be reborn a god. I'd rather have that than fall into a well. Nobody sings songs about men who die like that. I want the gods to stop what they're doing when I breathe my last and clap when my soul rises to join them. If I don't die in battle then I'll consider becoming a farmer. But I have twenty years to make that choice."

"I thought you didn't like the army," Allara countered feebly. "Armed construction workers you said."

"I don't enjoy the construction but someone has to build the fortifications. At the moment that is me. Everyone goes through it. Even The Thunderbolt dug ditches when he enlisted. But once I rise up the ranks that will be a thing of the past. In twenty years I could retire as a quarterman. Maybe even a thousandman. They knight you when you become a quarterman. The king makes you a lord upon discharge once you attain the rank of thousandman. That's a title I can pass on to my sons. Why should I give that up just to become some commoner farmer in the middle of nowhere?"

"So that's all you care about? Glory?" Allara knew she wasn't going to convince him but she had to try.

"Yes," he answered honestly. "I want glory. That takes some risk. Gumption. You want safety. You are as safe as you can ever be. You are safer right now than we have ever been at any point in our lives. But I don't see why you need to rope me into it. I have no interest in safety and obscurity. I want more. I want to make something of myself."

Allara couldn't refute his argument. She had all the safety and security she could ever want. And as much as she feared the man who had provided that safety, deep down she knew he would never harm her. But the terror was hard to banish. It may have faded but her stomach still clenched at the thought of him.

Stay or leave? She had to make a decision. She had thought Bogdyr would decide for her. But he wasn't interested in leaving the army any time soon. She had to decide all on her own.

She replayed snippets of her last conversation with The Thunderbolt in her head. It had to be the most unromantic romantic confession in history: I harbor certain affections for you, Allara Stefanus. If you do not feel the same way, as I suspect you do, it would be best if we don't see each other again.

If you choose to stay, you will remain my servant.

You will be expected to behave like one.

You will be treated as one.

If you displease me in any way, you will be punished as one.

Use my absence to reach a decision.

Then came Bogdyr's words:

You want safety.

You are as safe as you can ever be.

You are safer right now than we have ever been at any point in our lives.

I have no interest in safety and obscurity.

I want more.

The Thunderbolt's voice rang in her head again:

With that kind of money, you will never have to do anything you don't want to.

With that kind of money, you will never have to do anything you don't want to.

With that kind of money, you will never have to do anything you don't want to.