Moonlight cast the high desert in stark shadows, and Orrock did not sleep. He did not know whether to resist the natural excitement he felt in his belly at the prospect of combat, or to accept the impulse as being part of who Anyi had created him to be. He and Obos had debated endlessly this very moment, safely ensconced in the monastery walls. Now those debates were nigh meaningless. Tomorrow, almost surely, he would have to decide who and what he was. Whatever the answer, he would keep his word to Anyi and to the Fell. In that order.

“He seems to be asleep,” Mohani said, her voice oddly quiet.

“Yes?” Orrock said, unsure of her point.

“Brave little Fell.”

“Yes . . .” He could not argue that. The Fell was expecting death; Orrock saw it in his eyes and the set of his jaw, just as he had seen it in both enemies and his fellow Guar in combat. Yet he persisted. Orrock hadn’t known the Fell race to be so honorable.

Mohani glanced at Iona, who lay motionless and straight in the dirt, her eyes closed, her mouth offering her consistent, faint smile. “I do not know if wood witches sleep. Do they?”

“I believe they rest. They are among the most magical of beings, it is hard to know for sure what they require to live.”

Mohani shrugged and tilted her head back, staring at the stars. They shone encouragingly upon them, Orrock thought; like tiny fires in heaven sent by Anyi to guide them.

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Her head still back, Mohani said, “We die tomorrow.”

Orrock pulled a long scarf from his pack and twirled it around his right horn. He pulled the ends back and forth, polishing the ivory. “Not while I still stand.”

“If we do find the Charic’sada, they will number in the hundreds if not thousands. This is a fool’s mission.”

“Your mission is to birth another Agnise from the seed of a Guar,” Orrock said, switching to his other horn. “Why do you stay? This is not your concern.”

“Ha! You ask me this now?”

“You gave me no chance when you left me at the Offward. I must know if I can count on you when the arrows begin to fly.”

Mohani straightened her back and stared at the monk. Orrock went on polishing his horn until her bright eyes made him give her his attention.

“I knew you would rejoin us when we parted at the river,” she said.

“Did you.”

“I believed it. Yes. You are too much a Guar to have let us gone on alone.” She narrowed her eyes. “I do not want ‘another Agnise,’ monk. I want a child. My mission is not the taking of a Guar. My mission is the birth of a woman I will love till my days end. A good and strong girl who will bring pride to the Agnise, with power and wisdom.” She clenched a fist in emphasis. “And for that, I will take only the best Guar.”

She lowered the fist, her eyes unswerving from his. Mohani lifted her chin defiantly, challenging the monk to argue.

Orrock slowly folded the scarf and replaced it in his bag.

“After we have obtained his betrothed,” Orrock said, “and are far from the Charic and safe, I will submit, Agnise.”

He watched Mohani work her jaw for a moment, as if in preparation for a verbal assault.

It did not come. Instead the Agnise gave him one short, sharp nod before turning away and lying in the dirt.

Orrock sighed silently and kept watch through the night.