Close to the morning, Kova awoke to voices. The scouts had found the eld road leading a lazy curve up to Fireshrine. A pale silver path, held up by supports. Vines and roots grew around it at a distance, nubs blackened. The road was clean though. They went. In the growing light, the lorgen had begun to keep their distance, and since they would not touch the eld road had scampered, keeping pace with the escort as they ascended.

By the time Kova saw the settlement afternoon was leaning on into evening, the canopies of the trees becoming reddish. Fireshrine was built where the eld road suddenly ended. B’renki spoke of once seeing its broken remainder deep within the gloam on her long patrols.

The settlement was a handful of shabbily-constructed huts, made from rootwood and whatever other scrap was around it looked like. At the end of the road a huge wooden effigy stood, staring out at the moonforest. The road was barricaded with a palisade. A hinged gate stood open. As they approached, a brown-haired vensari, tall and darkling, bearded yet gaunt, stepped out and hailed them.

“Travelers! Who goes there?”

They pulled up. Her father spoke. Normally the sunburst of Kuras would be used as greeting, but not at this eld-witched place.

“I am Yaharos, warrior of Setrana. We ride north to the Witch King’s War.”

“I am Ghael of Fireshrine. What is your business here?”

“We would sup and shelter tonight. No longer.”

Ghael regarded the escort. “Some of your warlings must needs shelter outside. You outnumber our whole lot.”

“Many thanks.”

Ghael turned away from them as they passed. They walked through the haphazard palisade, and within beheld Fireshrine. The huts were low and built of accumulated sticks of all sizes, the sticks were woven haphazard. The sticks forming the rooves were coated with resin that gave off a sharp orange sheen in the dipping light. It was a curious choice. Kovaleska was not used to living anywhere but in a gnarl of the startree.

There was a rinky inn adjacent to the shrine. They all pulled up, still mounted. Some of the riders looked around. Her father chose Teovask and Lethos and the three of them dismounted and entered the inn.

Presently they came out, along with the keeper. He eyed the group before turning back to the delegates.

“Twelve talons. No less. Paid in advance.”

“It is agreed.” Yaharos turned to the company. “We rest until morning.”

B’renki let out a whoop, and the talk turned jovial and excited at the foray ahead as Yaharos counted out the talons, everyone dismounting and packing their gear away. There was a cobbler who’d come out of his house across the way from the inn and he had a trough they could use to water their orsids. They haggled a little and settled on a fair price. Normally a littleling like Kova could be put to work watching the orsids, she’d done that before. She didn’t bother asking now.

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They all piled through the squat doorframe into the inn. There was a little bar with four stools and a big squarish table that filled out the room with eight chairs around it and a few more stuffed chairs in the corners. A large hearth crackled and snapped with flame.

The keeper set himself to serving frothing spicy cider from a cask behind the bar. He talked as he worked. His name was Kyne. He wore simple threadbare garments. He had a long brown beard streaked with gray. Only sparse hair on his head remained. Eventually they all had a glass or mug or bowl of cider poured. The company sat or stood. Kova was not afforded a chair to herself. She knelt on the floor beside the chair her father sat in. A small gourdcup of cider set neatly in front of her.

The cider tasted of berries and bloodcurrants. A delicious smell began to come from the hearth where the woman cooked.

“So. All you are Setra going to war, yes? But among you a littleling.” Kyne locked eyes with Kovaleska, peering above the table at him. “Why are you here?”

“Because—"

“It is not your concern,” Ryfkharnu cut in sternly.

—I think I am a dreamer. The words went unsaid.

“All right. All right.” The keeper held up his hands. “No offense meant, warlings. But your story doesn’t add up. All I’m saying.”

Ryfkha gave a mirthless smile. “I thank you, innkeep.”

Kyne seemed to truly take the bard in for the first time. Though he didn’t have the tuner hanging from him belt, his garments were not the natural weaves the Setra wore. The bard wore a wide-brimmed hat, a silken shirt with zigzagging green and yellow, dark trousers.

“Is that you old bard? Ryfkha?” His face breaking into memory. “Chrome hells! It’s been just about ten moonfalls hasn’t it?”

“So it is. How are you?”

“Look at me,” the keeper cackled, holding his arms apart. “I found the eldfaith. I run the inn here. It’s a nice life. Better than I deserved, heh. How about you old friend?”

“Well. Life is well,” Ryfkha’s voice boomed. “I have seen the far sides of Sen’tael. I have been far into Tarlanis, I stood on the rainbow sand of the Sea of Flame, and saw the fables of Blackbloom. I have been a thousand places you have never even dreamed about.”

“Well.” The keeper shrugged. “It’s all the same dream really. From here to there.”

The keeper’s wife removed a deep pan from the hearth and took it straight to the table, set it down with a thump, within were deep pocketed pastries with cooked moonfruit inside. Kova stood up and snatched one, nearly burned herself, but it cooled pretty quick. She took a bite. The dough was crumbly.

“Listen, keeper.” It was Yaharos. “It is best for Setrana if we never came here. You never saw us. Do you understand?”

“If it is compensation—” Teovask began.

“Spare me your money,” Kyne snapped. “Don’t you know we are all brothers? Have you learnt nothing of the eldfaith?”

They bickered on but Kova soon lost interest. Her head fuzzy from the cider. Listening to other parallel threads of conversation around her.

Nearby, Jhoir and B’renki, new warriors of the fourth stripe, talked of Essery. Kova leaned back on her elbows, sprawling out. She felt kinship with them. They had always been marked by change, and she had now joined them. B’renki because she was raised by aedra for a time, and always seemed strangeling and aloof, like she never truly understood their ways. Kova had been little, but she remembered when the aedra brought her to their village a hyrala ago. Jhoir had never looked like the rest of the tribe. His mother was said to be Esserian. Jhoir’s skin was milky bronze and he had black hair. They were both two moonfalls older than she.

By now many had supped to fullness or quietude, but the talking went on and on. Histories and personal narratives from the past. Stories that wandered off into the dark. Kova grew weary and absconded to one of the bedrooms. She heard Ryfkharnu plucking out a drunken melody, but it was no matter. Sleep rushed to her immediately. Sometime in the night her father came to sleep beside her, and things grew quiet and everlasting, but only for a little while.