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the one to ask.”
    “I think,” called a cheerful voice from below, “that they will not mind at all, seeing as that building has the sign of Haras upon it.”
    Kiron looked down at Kaleth, who grinned up at him, teeth very white in the tanned skin of his face. His spotlessly white headcloth nearly matched them. Kaleth had been thriving out here, and anyone who was under the impression that someone serving as the literal spokesperson for the gods would be frail and ascetic would have a great shock when confronted with the lean, hard, athletic Kaleth. He was one of the few who had adopted the Tian custom of shaving the head out here in the heat, and generally appeared in public in headcloths, as Ari did. His appearance was a curious mixture of Tian and Altan dress, and Kiron was quite certain that this was a deliberate decision on his part.
    “You look like you’ve been up for ages,” Aket-ten called down.
    “I have. I’ve been inspecting,” he replied, his mild eyes sparkling. “The gods provide, you see. We’ll be getting another caravan of Altan refugees soon, and we’d have been a bit crowded without some help.”
    Another caravan of refugees? Well, if anyone would know, it would be Kaleth, god-touched, Winged One of the Far-Seeing Eye. If anyone had asked Kiron long ago what he thought a god-touched person would look like, he probably would not have described someone like Kaleth. Except when the gods spoke through him, there was nothing about him at first glance that was uncanny; he could have been one of Kiron’s wing. Stronger, browner, and more vigorous than he had been when he was merely Toreth’s scholarly twin, and with him, the heir to the Twin Thrones, the power of a Winged One sat lightly on him. But it was there—oh, yes—those with the eyes to see it knew very well that the gods had set their mark on him. It was in his eyes, the straightness of his back, and the very way he moved, as if always conscious of the lingering presence of something greater than himself at every moment.
    “While you were inspecting, I don’t suppose you came across a cache of enchanted, sleeping wenches, did you?” asked Gan wistfully. “They wouldn’t have to be princesses or anything of the sort, just old enough to have cut their child locks and young enough to still have all their teeth.” Kiron bit his lip to keep from laughing, though he knew that half of what Gan said was for effect. If anyone was to have taken a vote as to which of the Jousters was the best looking, Gan would have swept the tally boards, and while he certainly was (understandably) vain to a certain degree, and took full advantage of the effect of his beautiful body and features on women, he also enjoyed mocking himself and the teasing of his friends.
    Kaleth laughed. “Ah, poor Gan, you have certainly suffered more than any of us here, with no one to admire your handsome face except Heklatis!”
    Gan grimaced. “Believe me, I tell you in all sincerity that by now even that scrawny old Healer is beginning to have his charms!”
    Oset-re feigned alarm and edged away from him. The rest laughed, and Kaleth spread his hands wide. “Well, the gods have heeded your suffering. Cheer up! That problem will be taken care of before very long, I promise you!”
    Imperious Bethlan whined and shoved Menet-ka with her indigo-blue nose. She didn’t give a toss about new buildings or newcomers. She was hungry, and right now! Avatre wasn’t as demanding, but she made it known with little anxious bobbings of her head as Kiron glanced at her that she was uncomfortably empty herself.
    “I’ve already allotted the big building and its courts to you!” Kaleth told them. “It’s much more suited to the dragons than this makeshift arrangement anyway.”
    “We’ll come look when we get back!” Kiron promised, and turned to saddling Avatre so they could get out of there. As they leaped into the air, the pattern of the newly uncovered buildings came clear.