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accompanied by a pair of Marlo-Vayir perimeter riders, the three surveyed them: two men, two women, all in outlandish garb. One, a scar-faced fellow, medium height and broad through the chest and shoulders, the other fellow, tall, fair-haired, and striking.
    Cherry-Stripe muttered in amazement, “Is that Inda?”
    “Nooo,” Cama drew the word out, expressive of disgust. His breath clouded in the cold air. “Inda wouldn’t ride like an old sack of bran.”
    Buck smothered a crack of laughter, and they studied the party more closely, bypassing the short, solid woman with the chin-length, flyaway dark hair and a glittering ruby at one ear. The tall man wore one as well. The other woman was even more nondescript. No earring. The husky scar-faced fellow wore a long brown sailor braid down his back. Same outlandish attire—his long shirt-tunic was sashed with pirate purple, old and stained as it was. And he wore two rubies, one in each of the gold hoops in his ears. But at least—unlike the others—he knew how to sit a horse. He rode easily, his head bent as he listened to one of the others jabbering—and when he turned his thumb up, that gesture resonated down nine years of memory.
    “Inda?” Cherry-Stripe said in disbelief, and then howled, “Inda!”
    Who jerked his head up, hands snapping to the knives strapped to his forearms inside his loose sleeves. He peered up at the three silhouettes on the hill. The diffuse sunlight glared from behind them, but he could make out some details: two blonds and a black-haired young man with an eye patch.
    Inda’s heart drummed when he saw that eye patch. “Cama?” Then one of those blond men had to be—“Cherry-Stripe!”
    Signi flinched as the three on the hill uttered high, harsh cries like some predatory beast on the run. Their horses seemed to leap down the hill, raising a spectacular cloud of dust. The rising wind sent it swirling as the three circled Inda, laughing and shouting questions that no one could listen to because they all spoke at once.
    Then Cherry-Stripe yelled in a field-command voice, “Weather’s on the way! Come on, let’s ride for home!”
    Buck yipped again, taking the lead. Cama and Cherry-Stripe were after him like arrows from a bow. Inda started to follow, then kneed his horse to a prancing, snorting stop as he called over his shoulder, “Come on, Tau, Jeje. Signi?”
    Tau waved. “Ride on, we’ll catch up.”
    Inda sent an inquiring look to Signi, who understood at once that he was torn by concern for her and longing to be with the friends he had not seen since childhood. She lifted her hand toward them; he smiled, wheeled the horse, and was gone in a cloud of dust.
    Jeje cocked an eye at Tau. He lifted his chin. Jeje and he parted, and with some determined knee-nudging and tugs on the reins, got their horses to jounce forward to either side of the Venn dag.
     
     
     
    The storm Cherry-Stripe had seen on the horizon was sending sleet pounding against the windows as the party sat on mats in the Marlo-Vayirs’ dining room.
    Since their arrival they’d been barking questions at one another. The servants coming and going stared at the exotic dress of the newcomers. None of the old academy mates noticed. Jeje stayed by Signi, who never made an unnecessary movement at any time; she seemed smaller, almost invisible again.
    “I can’t hear anyone. Let’s ask questions in round,” Buck said. “Me first. Inda! D’you really command a pirate fleet?”
    Cherry-Stripe leaned over the table, ignoring his brother. “Barend said it really was you, scragging those soul-sucking pirates two winters back. How’d you come to fighting pirates?”
    “Didn’t Barend tell you?” Inda replied, turning from one to the other. “What’s happened to Noddy? Flash?” And to Buck, “We were building a fleet in the east, when—”
    “Flash is a great man now—Flash-Laef, no, what’s his real name?”
    “Tlennen.” Cama snickered. “Now Tlennen-Laef.