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As the White rose and left the altar, Auraya concentrated on the magic around
her. There was no sign of the gods nothing that she could sense, anyway. All
she could sense was a stirring of magic where the walls met the floor of the
altar.
Auraya, Dyara said.
She looked at the older White. Yes?
Are you planning to learn to ride?
Ride? Auraya repeated, surprised. She thought of the Bearers the large white
reyner the other White rode. Her few attempts to ride ordinary reyner in the
past had been uncomfortable and embarrassing, and she couldn t imagine riding
the Bearers would be any easier. Well& no. I don t need to.
Dyara nodded. That s true. However, we had a Bearer bred for you so I can
only assume the gods intended you to ride one, despite your ability to fly.
It s possible they chose me long after the Bearer was bred, Auraya said
slowly. Before they knew they d be choosing someone who didn t know how to
ride. That may be the reason they gave me the ability to fly.
Dyara looked thoughtful. To compensate?
Yes.
They heard a laugh from Mairae. I think they might have over-compensated a
little.
Juran chuckled and smiled at Auraya. Just a bit, but for that we are
immensely grateful.
3
A t this time of year, in the dry and windy weather, objects in the distance
looked ghostly if they could be seen at all. As Reivan reached the Parade, the
Sanctuary at its end came into full view. Her stomach twisted and she stopped,
setting down her heavy bag with a sigh of relief.
The great complex of buildings covered the face of a hill at the edge of the
city of Glymma. First there was a wide staircase leading up to a façade of
arches belonging to a huge hall. Rising up behind this building were the faces
of other structures, each a little more hazed by the dusty air. Whether they
were joined together or separate buildings was hard to tell. From the front
the Sanctuary was a convoluted mix of walls, windows, balconies and towers.
At the farthest point a flame burned, dimmed by the dusty air. This was the
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Sanctuary flame, lit by the mortal the gods had first spoken to a hundred
years before. It had burned day and night since that day, maintained by the
most loyal of Servants.
How can I presume to think I deserve a place among them? she asked herself.
Because Imenja does, she answered. The night after the army had emerged from
the mines, Imenja had called Reivan to her during a meeting of the Voices and
their counsellors to discuss the journey ahead. Reivan had waited for Imenja
to give her an order, or ask a question, but neither came. It was only after
the meeting, while lying sleep-less and puzzled under the night sky, that she
had realized Imenja had simply wanted her there to observe.
Throughout the rest of the journey Imenja had made sure Reivan was always
close by. Sometimes she sought Reivan s opinion, other times she appeared to
want only conversation. During the latter moments it was easy for Reivan to
forget she was speaking to one of the gods Voices. When Imenja put aside her
demeanor of stern, powerful leader, she revealed a dry sense of humor and a
compassion for other people that Reivan found appealing.
I like her, Reivan thought. She respects me. I ve been putting up with the
Thinkers derision for years. They ve given me the most boring and menial of
the jobs that came our way, afraid that a mere woman would prove to be their
equal. They probably think keeping me poor will force me to marry someone,
have children and stop being a nuisance to them. I m sure Grauer sent me off
to map the mines just to get me out of his sight.
Now the former leader of the Thinkers was dead. Hitte, his replacement, hadn t
spoken a word to her since she had led the army out of the mines. She wasn t
sure if he was peeved at her for upstaging him by finding a way out or because
he d found out about Imenja s promise to make her a Servant of the Gods.
Probably both, she thought wryly. He can stew all he likes. So can the rest of
them. If they d treated me better, as if I was worth listening to, I would
have told them of the wind tunnel, not Imenja. We would have led the army out
as a team, and they d all have had credit for saving the day. She smiled.
Imenja would have seen the truth anyway. She knows I saved the army. She knows
I m worthy of serving the gods.
Shifting her bag to her other hand, Reivan started toward the Sanctuary.
Climbing the steps, she stopped to catch her breath beside one of the arches.
The Parade was unusually quiet for this time of the day.
She guessed that Glymma s citizens were at home, grieving for those who hadn t
returned. Memories of the army s arrival in the city the previous day replayed
in her mind. A crowd had gathered, but only a few subdued cheers had greeted
them.
The army had been far smaller than the one that had set off to war months
before. While the battle had claimed most, many slaves, soldiers and Servants
had died of thirst and exhaustion during the return across the Sennon desert.
Merchant caravans that had traded food and water before had been conspicuously
absent. The guides that the Sennon ambassador had sent for the first crossing
did not return, and only the Thinkers maps, thankfully not among those lost
with Grauer, had led them to water.
She had wondered if the people greeting the army would grow angry at the
Voices for leading their loved ones to war, and at the gods for allowing them
to be defeated. Any anger they felt must have been tempered by the sight of
the casket the four Voices had carried between them, supported by magic. They,
too, had suffered a loss.
Looking around, Reivan pictured how the homecoming must have looked from here.
The army had been arranged into formation: the highest rank the Dedicated
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