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the battle, they’d probably have killed us.”
    Philo put a beringed hand to his chest. “Sints have mercy. It seems I may owe Lotte an apology—her squeaky wagon not only saved our lives, but rid the empire of a strong band of vagaries. I won’t live this one down anytime soon.”
    Fabian knocked on the carriage door, and Philo leaned out the window. “All set, Surveyor,” the guard said. “The bodies are out of the way and their weapons have been confiscated. I also took the liberty of searching them for other trinkets. Thought you might want to have a look.” Fabian held out his hands, which cupped a mound of jewelry and other accessories.
    Philo grinned, wiggling his fingers in joyous anticipation. “Fabian, you’re a dear.” He picked through the collection of cheap brass rings, braided leather necklaces, and pewter ear cuffs. Here and there, he found a gold or silver item, and at the bottom of the pile, he found what appeared to be a gold signet ring.
    “Nicked it, just there on the side, with my sword,” Fabian said. “Don’t worry. I washed off all the blood.”
    Examining it by lantern light, Philo harrumphed. “Something’s not right about this ring. Pretty, though. I don’t recognize this symbol. Do you?”
    Fabian shook his head.
    “Ah well, that just makes it more interesting. You lads do what you like with the rest.” He slipped the ring onto a pinky.
    “Bayan should get something,” Fabian replied.
    “Oh, of course. How crass of me. Bayan, you see anything you’d like to claim?”
    Bayan shook his head, uncomfortable with their casual looting. “I don’t want to wear anything that’s touched them.”
    Philo shrugged. “To each his own. If everyone’s ready, let’s fetch Lotte and find that lovely little town on the Marghebellen side of the wall. As much as I am fond of fine Bantayan cuisine, I like stopping on my return journeys for a bit of taste of home.”
    “A bit?” Lotte’s voice came out of the night. “You stuffed yourself so badly with sweetmeats last year that you were constipated for three days, you fat old bitch.”
    “ You fat old bitch!” Philo’s voice shrilled as he aimed a pudgy digit in the direction of his cook.
    “Oh listen, an echo,” Kipri said, hanging his lantern in a window.
    Lotte’s pleasant laughter rang down the hillside.
    The carriage resumed its northward journey, soon passing between the gateless pillars of the ancient imperial border wall. As they entered Marghebellen, Bayan had a sudden, disorienting thought.
    Despite his terror at the prospect of death and the rage with which he had combated the armed vagary, his magic hadn’t escaped him. Not once. Not even for a moment.

Marked by Fire
     

    “I don’t follow.” Qisuk thumped a burlap of freshly-harvested okra onto the scale that sat on the field table beside Savitu. “We’ve been smuggling these weapons in from Karkhedon for two years now; our arsenal is more than sufficient. Why are we risking our success by including him ?”
    Savitu jotted down the tare weight in a ledger and glared at his cousin. They were alone for the moment in the okra field’s mobile weighing hut, but the vegetable commune bustled with hundreds of other workers, and he, as the former heir of the Aklaa throne, was never far from someone’s notice, not even his own loyal Aklaa rebels. “Voice down, Qisuk. It’s nearly time for the manager’s rounds.” In a whisper, he added, “Marco is a fine fighter.”
    “We need warriors. All Marco knows is that delicate Karkhedonian dance-fighting.” Qisuk tossed the okra sack to one of the loyalists who worked on the commune, then hefted another onto the scale.
    “Then he can train with Hahliq and his men.”
    “You like the Waarden rat?” Mitlik joined them and offered a snack of apricots and warm goat milk from the back room. Qisuk picked up two apricots.
    “If we succeed, he will be in a position to aid us.” Savitu snatched an apricot from the plate