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Rederni.”
    Tier was good with people: Seraph had every confidence that the boy wouldn’t make them move on if she left Tier to talk to him.
    â€œHe said to put the cart in the far pen,” murmured Seraph to that end. “I’ll take it.”
    When she got back to Tier, the boy was gone, and Tier had his saddle and bridle on his shoulder.
    â€œThe boy’s gone to get some hay for Skew,” he said. “He’ll be in good care here. They don’t allow large animals on the streets—the streets are too steep anyway.”
    He didn’t lie about that. The cobblestone village road followed the contours of the mountain for almost a quarter of a mile, with houses on the uppermost side of the road, and then swung abruptly back on itself like a snake, climbing rapidly to a new level as it did so. The second layer of road still had houses on the uphill side, but, looking toward the river, Seraph could see the roofs of the houses they’d just passed.
    Stone benches lined the wide corner of the second bend of the zigzagging road, and an old man sat on one of them playing a wooden flute. Tier paused to listen, closing his eyes briefly. Seraph saw the old man look up and start a bit, but he kept playing. After a moment, Tier moved on, but his steps were slower.
    He stopped in front of a home marked by sheaves of wheat carved into the lintel over the doorway and by the smell of fresh-baked bread.
    â€œHome,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know what kind of welcome to expect. I haven’t heard from anyone here since I left to go to war—and I left in the middle of the night.”
    Seraph waited, but when he made no move to continue she said, “Did they love you?”
    He nodded without looking away from the door.
    â€œThen,” she said gently, “I expect that the men will blusterand the women will cry and scold—then they will feast and welcome you home.”
    He laughed then. “That sounds about right. I suppose it won’t change for putting it off longer.”
    He held the door open for her and followed her into a largish room that managed to be both homey and businesslike at the same time. Behind the counter that divided the room in half were tilted shelves displaying bread in a dozen forms and a burly red-headed man who looked nothing like Tier.
    â€œMay I help you, good sir?” asked the man.
    â€œBandor?” said Tier. “What are you doing here?”
    The big man stared at him, then paled a bit. He shook his head as if setting aside whatever it was that had bothered him. Then he smiled with genuine welcome. “As I live and breathe, it’s Tier come back from the dead.”
    Bandor stepped around the counter and enveloped Tier in a hearty embrace. “It’s been too long.”
    It was odd to see two men embracing—her own people were seldom touched in public outside of childhood. But Tier returned the bigger man’s hug with equal enthusiasm.
    â€œYou’re here for good, I hope,” said Bandor, taking a step back.
    â€œThat depends upon my father,” Tier replied soberly.
    Bandor shook his head and his mouth turned down. “Ah, there is much that has happened since you left. Draken died four years ago, Tier. Your sister and I had been married a few years earlier—I’d taken an apprenticeship here when you left.” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m telling this all topsy-turvy.”
    â€œDead,” said Tier, his whole body stilled.
    â€œBandor,” said a woman’s voice from behind a closed door. The door swung wide and a woman came out backwards, having bumped open the door with her hip. Her arms were occupied with a large basket of rolls. “Do you think I ought to do another four dozen rolls, or are the eight dozen we have enough?”
    The woman was taller than average, thin and lanky like Tier. And as she turned around, Seraph could see that she