Lunch, if that was what it was, consisted of salted meat, dates, and bread, eaten cold. The brutes had to be chased away by Bal to keep them from snitching; there was little to browse from out here, and they would slowly drain their reserves of fat until they got to a hearth. The promise of good eating at their destination was the only thing that kept them obedient.

When they were all full, there was nothing to do but take a sparing drink from the skins—Ram needed less than the others, since he didn’t sweat—and huddle in the shade of the cliff, such as it was, until the afternoon was far advanced and they could ride again. Ram considered talking to Imbri some more, but she had withdrawn to the tent she shared with Shazru, and he wasn’t fool enough to go visiting her there now that Darun was awake. She was already surly, as Imbri had promised at the meeting, and grumbled about everything she saw.

But Shazru was also right; their second ride was easier than their first, and they made good speed. Imbri stopped more frequently than before, to triangulate, but her inductor decided more quickly each time. The three Karagenes also spent less time glowering at Ram, now that they were a day out from the pyre and he hadn’t made an aggressive move. They didn’t insist on having one man ride behind him anymore.

Shortly before sunset a dark, thick line appeared on the horizon, and Shazru called a halt for another inductor-check. He watched eagerly, and winced when the little stick pointed straight at the darkness. “Lord Piridur,” he called, “there is shroud ahead. I do not believe we can ride around it.”

“How did you deal with shroud on your trading runs?” Piridur said.

“Most of the time, we didn’t have to,” Imbri told him. “The Moonchildren keep a few lanes clear so they can reach the rookeries. This isn’t on anybody’s road to anywhere.”

“Shroud?” Ram said to Darun out of the corner of his mouth. Imbri had mentioned it before, but he hadn’t been interested enough to ask.

“It’s trouble,” she muttered back. “Big old patch of tall plants for reshki to hide in.”

“And you didn’t think of this?” Piridur demanded. “We could have gone by the main trade routes.”

“Which would have added ten days, and ample hazards of their own, at this time of the bloom,” Shazru replied. “If we met raiders en route, we could easily have disappeared altogether. There is always a lawless multitude prowling the trails for adventurous traders working out of season.”

Piridur swore under his breath, clutching his head with both hands. “Too late now. Is there another gate to aim for?”

“I just checked,” Imbri said. “There’s none close enough, the way I read it. Ram could guide us back to the pyre, but we’d be awful tight on time.”

“Reshki won’t be awake yet,” Darun said. “But they’ll be lively after sunset, if they’re in there. We might want to get a move on.”

“But is this growth thin enough to pass through before night falls?” Piridur asked.

“We have no way of answering that question,” Imbri said testily. “Probably not. The gate’s a long way off still. You want to wait for morning, we’ll be damned lucky to get to there before the white sun rises.”

“Riding through shroud by day—“

“Would wear out and frighten the brutes. The shade’s not that good, and they’ll know white day’s coming. They’d probably buck us and run.”

This time Piridur’s swearing was perfectly audible.

“I don’t understand,” Ram said. “If this is something you knew might happen, why aren’t you prepared for it?”

Imbri bristled, and looked ready to say something nasty, but Shazru spoke first. “There is no aspect of life in the desert which does not present hazards, Rammash. A field of shroud is merely an added complication. The risk is unlikely to be very high; reshki cannot sustain large numbers for long. But we will remain in danger for every moment we spend in the shroud.”

It didn’t sound like they had much choice. At least, the others didn’t; Ram was reasonably sure he could walk home from here if he needed, and arrive at Dul Karagi in good health. But if it actually came to that—“Bal, hand me a knife, would you?”

Ram took the proffered implement and made a shallow cut across the back of his arm; it glistened with blood, but within a second he felt the burst of heat, and when he wiped it clean there was no mark underneath. They still weren’t all that far from the pyre, and he’d been soaking up sunlight all day. “Piridur, do I have to worry about corruption?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’d imagine you’re fairly resistant.”

“You offering to take point?” Imbri asked.

“Maybe,” Ram said. If he didn’t, he’d probably get volunteered. “If Bal comes with me, how much warning can I get?” Back in Dul Misishi, Bal had felt the hostile miners coming at least a full minute before they appeared.

“A good amount. But reshki go for the rear; I was thinking we’d stick you back there. If you’re with Bal up front, whoever’s in back will be a prime target.”

“What if nobody’s in back?”

It was a very sensible plan. Everyone said so, once they understood it. Ram felt better to watch Darun clamber onto one of the spare brutes alone, and know she’d be safer. He imagined he’d even won some credit back with Piridur. But the plan also required him to leave Beshi with Darun, so he’d have a way to find them again, and stay on course in the meantime. Bal couldn’t operate Imbri’s inductor.

“You feel okay about this?” he asked Bal, as soon as they were out of earshot from the others. Bal, of course, only grunted indifferently. He hadn’t yet recovered enough of his humanity to feel afraid, if he ever did.

He’d put on a heavy layered coat that covered him from the top of his head to his knees, with thick leggings and tall boots, and reinforcement around the throat. Much better protection than the rags Ram had wrapped himself in for the nest raid. He looked down at the short sword he’d borrowed, and wished this expedition had packed a dulsphere or two. Piridur had refused to bring any more haranuu than necessary; he seemed to think all spirits were potential subversives. For all Ram knew, they might be.

The outline of the shroud grew clearer against the setting sun as they approached; from a uniform blur it sharpened into a series of jagged silhouettes. A bit like palm trees, but shorter and broader, with a thick undergrowth. Thick enough for plenty of reshki to hide in, he thought. He’d have to rely on Bal’s senses—assuming the resh, or whatever was in him, could smell other reshki, and wouldn’t simply take their side.

Too late for second thoughts; the sun was going down. All the same, he couldn’t help wondering, as the brutes crunched their way through the first knee-high growths: which part of him had decided to do this? Did he really care that much about Darun, or was this only Imbri’s ghost-of-intentions pulling his strings? She’d certainly let him go without a qualm, hadn’t even kissed him goodbye.

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Up close, the shroud didn’t look much like palms at all. The plants grew barely three feet tall before shooting out gnarled and wiry branches in all directions, then another tier a foot above that, and so on. Like pine trees, but with huge, flabby leaves in place of needles. Other plants grew on the ground beneath, in the shelter of those fat leaves: poison sweetweed, dreamcap mushrooms, and the ubiquitous catsmoss lichen. There’d be animals, too. Maybe rashas, maybe something else. Ram wasn’t feeling curious. He sniffed the air; nothing here smelled like the Urapu resh-nest. Of course, their brutes might have covered a lot up with their own stink.

Bal’s mount slowed down to browse as they started shoving low branches out of the way, and got a thwack on the rump with the flat of a blade. They weren’t here to be inconspicuous. Ram would have whipped his brute into a gallop, if he’d thought he could hold on. As it was, he had little to do but ride after Bal, trying not to think how much the crackling of the underbrush sounded like bones splitting open in slobbery jaws. Since conversation was out of the question, and there was nobody but Bal to hear him, he started singing hymns to himself. Not very loud, but if the God was in a credulous mood that night he might think Ram really meant it, and do him a favor or two.

He had no idea how these plants grew so big and thick away from the pyre, but he could certainly see why men would wipe them out when they could. They weren’t tall enough to provide good shade for even a dismounted man; you’d have to squat or lie flat. But they’d be perfect for reshki. There was a soft breeze, just enough to bob the branches ever so slightly. Between that and the noise they made, he was totally dependent on Bal’s danger sense to warn them if any of the little bastards got close.

The sun dipped under the horizon, and Bal and his brute faded into a slightly darker patch against the grey sky, ducking in and out of visibility against the leaves and branches. Ram strained his eyes to follow him; if they lost each other, they were both in trouble. The others were some ways behind them now, moving slowly and cautiously. He looked back, just for a moment, but saw nothing more than the gangling shadows of the monotonous shroud. There was something terribly lonesome about that long expanse of misshapen plants.

He came to the end of one hymn, and started another. He hadn’t felt fear at knifepoint, two days back; now he was jumping at every snapped twig, because he’d moved a few miles away from the pyre. It was almost degrading to sing to Haranduluz now; it felt like begging for his courage back. It had been a long time since he’d really stopped to think if the God was listening, or even there; for months, all the problems in his life had been caused by humans. Or so he’d assumed. Just how involved was the Lord of the Golden Sun in the affairs of his priests? If no living human could change or override the system, did that make it the work of a god? Imbri hadn’t ruled it out.

If you’re doing all this to me, Lord … He couldn’t finish the prayer, or the threat, or whatever it was. There wasn’t much he could say that would sway a deity. The sun could see him well enough. Haranduluz knew how he suffered. There was no use in groveling, or throwing a tantrum.

As the ride went on and no enemies appeared, he felt his terror recede into a watchful tension. Idly, he felt about, trying to see if he could spot reshki the same way he spotted spirits. Either he couldn’t, or there were no reshki to find; the shroud told his haranu nothing about its dangers. But—he sat up straighter on his brute, and checked again—he did see something a good deal more interesting.

He whistled to get Bal’s attention. “There’s a haranu up ahead. Karagene. I’m going for it, okay? Watch my back.” He spurred his brute forward even as he said it. But the strange haranu was starting to move as well, farther to their right. A spy of Shimrun’s, or something else? It wasn’t Beshi; he could recognize his sword, and it was still some ways behind them. His own spirit urged him on; something about it wasn’t right. He had to force himself to stay with Bal, and trust that he couldn’t lose their quarry. The spirit wasn’t moving very quickly, after all.

After fifteen minutes of riding, he saw it: a glint of golden light peeking through the shroud. Not very bright, but cheering all the same. He drew closer, and found two human figures making their way through the weeds, one of them carrying a dulsphere to light their way. As Ram crashed his way toward them, they doubled their pace, but it was plainly hopeless. They both limped, and without a brute they couldn’t make much headway through the snarl of branches. Ram and Bal soon cut them off, one on either side, and they slumped to the ground in surrender.

One was a man, the other a woman, and both were mostly naked and in poor health. That much was clear. Everything else about them was hidden under a thick coat of grime and the effects of long exposure to the white sun. Both were withered, white-haired and hunchbacked, but they might have been anywhere from twenty to sixty, living out here with only a dulsphere and plant cover for protection. Or they might be truly elderly, recent outcasts from the Dominion. But he doubted it. They’d been deep inside the shroud, far from a pyre; something told him they’d been here a very long time.

“Where did you get that?” he said. The man looked up, plainly bewildered. “Your sphere,” Ram tried, pointing. “Who gave that to you?” Both of them looked at the glowing relic in the man’s hand, then back at Ram, mystified.

There was a story here, Ram was sure, but he doubted he’d ever know it. “Friends of yours?” he asked Bal sardonically, neither expecting nor getting an answer. They might have been Jackals who took the treasure from a corpse, or runaway bondservants who stole it, or rich Karagenes who got separated from a caravan and went mad in the wild. One way or another, they plainly didn’t understand him.

And one way or another, they’d get little profit out of that sphere. He didn’t have to know how old they were to tell that they had little time left; there was a smell about them, not exactly corruption but not far from it either. Whatever they were living off—catsmoss and other trash, most likely—it wasn’t enough to keep them healthy. The white sun would finish them off in a bloom. It would be better to take the sphere himself, and let the reshki make a clean end of them—

The woman croaked something unintelligible, and they both shuffled backwards. Ram abruptly realized he was leaning over, reaching out a hand for the sphere. He pulled himself back upright, ignoring his spirit’s howls: why did they deserve it? They weren’t Karagene; no ensi had died for them. They were thieves, simple thieves, however they got it, and the En had urgent need for what they had stolen …

Ram looked in their faces again, and saw a kind of exhaustion he hadn’t known existed. Not the weariness of long exertion—though he saw plenty of that, too—but the exhaustion of humans reduced to the very lowest level of existence. The white sun had taken the strength out of them a long time ago; their dulsphere had only prolonged the decay. Endless tetrads in the wild had broken down and worn out everything they had, even their wits.

What, then, was the point of letting them live, asked the spirit? Why should they forsake a treasure Ram could surely use, and leave its brother in bondage, if the creatures were nearly dead anyway?

You’re not even real, he told it. Just a part of me that started arguing with itself. At least, he thought that was what Imbri had said.

The spirit pressed on, all the same: Ram had already wished he had a dulsphere once this evening. These beggars had been using it for protection from more than the white sun, surely—a resh wouldn’t want to come near pyre light. With a sphere, Ram and Bal could pass through the shroud in perfect safety. Or even go back, and get the others, protecting all of them at once.

Ram looked down at the drab pair. The man had taken the woman’s hand, subtly tugging her back to put his body between her and Ram. She might have been his mother, daughter, sister, or wife, but he loved her, and something was working behind that stupid face. I’m not going to rob the helpless. White day’s in two days; I might as well kill them myself.

Kill them, then! What would they lose? They were half-mad, barely more than animals. Would he rather they die, or Bal? Or Ram himself? Perhaps Darun? If Ram were lost in the shroud, Piridur might never find the master. Then Dul Karagi itself might die. What was a pair of withered imbeciles to that?

Ram suddenly wished he hadn’t hunted down the dulsphere, had never seen these two pathetic vagrants. The spirit was speaking good, practical sense. Still, he knew what he had to tell it. Piridur said the same thing about Shimrun. What’s a bunch of orphan boys, compared to pyre security?

The spirit had no reply, only a sullen sense of noncompliance.

Imbri wanted to know what you want. What kind of world you’re building. It doesn’t seem much better than Piridur’s.

Stubborn adherence to his father’s cantankerous notions of fairness would not suffice to run a pyre.

That’s the catch, isn’t it? You don’t want it fair, you just want a different bully in charge. Well, I’m the bully in charge here, I’m the En, and I say enough. The discussion is ended. He looked to Bal, and nodded; they turned their brutes away from the shroud-dwellers, and headed back the way they were going before. He didn’t bother looking back at the wretches. Darun and the others were catching up.

But what about their brother? Would Ram leave a Karagene haranu to languish in this horrible wilderness forever?

No, not forever. Dulspheres wear out eventually anyway. But those two will die soon enough, and the dulsphere will survive them. It will sit on the ground in a godforsaken patch of shroud, helping the plants grow just a little bit taller and straighter. Someone will find it eventually, someone else who needs help. They’ll find light, and protection, and a little bit of hope. There are hundreds of dulspheres out there, maybe thousands, and most of them get used to help acolytes stay up late doing paperwork. We can spare one or two to save lives.