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bun cart offering the delicious meals and his mouth began to water. He shifted his satchel to his other shoulder and pulled his coin pouch free of the hidden pocket where he kept it inside his naraebul. He fumbled a pair of coppers out, slipped the pouch back underneath the short cloak, and strolled up to the cart. The proprietor passed him a large bun and took his coin with a smile, and Vambran was on his way, biting into the snack gingerly. His first mouthful rewarded him
    with spicy meat, mushrooms, and onions soaked in a tomato-and-peppers sauce. He closed his eyes in contentment, savoring the taste.
    It’s always the food I miss the most, the lieutenant mused, taking another bite.
    At the next corner, Vambran was forced to stop, for the crowds there had gotten a lot thicker, and he could see why. One of the many parades common to Spheres was passing by, led by a mitered Halanthi bedecked in his overly gaudy vestments. Even from that distance, Vambran could see the numerous gems and thread-of-gold sparkling all over the Waukeenar priest’s scarlet cloak, as well as the robes themselves. The lieutenant thought he recognized the. Halanthi, though he wasn’t certain. Not that seeing an unfamiliar face bedecked in Waukeenar vestments would have surprised him. The temple swelled with new priests almost every day, drawn to its resurgence since Waukeen had returned to Brightwater. In the two years since the Merchant’s Friend had reappeared, the temple’s ranks had nearly doubled.
    The priest waved and smiled at everyone as he strolled past, followed by a horde of musicians playing a lively dancing tune. They in turn were followed by a large oxen-drawn wagon, also brightly decorated, upon which sat a handful of Telchar and Coins, the,, most novice of priests in the temple. As they rumbled by, those young men and women alternated between smiling and waving at the crowds and tossing fist-sized spheres of glass up into the air that were filled with cheap pretties—small imperfect gems, a few coppers or silver coins, and perhaps a necklace of beads or two. The spheres shattered whenever they struck anything, though they had been magically altered so that the fragments of glass became as soft as parchment afterward. The crowds who’d gathered along the parade route laughed and ran, trying to scoop up the treasures where they landed, or even
    attempting to catch the delicate orbs as they fell from the night sky.
    A drunk man, amber foam flecking his thick beard, staggered past Vambran, his eyes twinkling in merriment, one cupped hand holding a combination of sphere fragments and coppers, the other a beaten tin belt cup half full of frothy beer. He wore three or four colored necklaces around his neck, and as he neared a woman standing next to the lieutenant, the man paused, smiled broadly, and attempted to pull one of the strands free, presumably to give to her. Unfortunately, he went for the necklace with the belt cup still in his hand and wound up tipping beer out onto the cobblestones. He stopped and stared forlornly down at the widening puddle as the lady laughed, then leaned in a gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before trotting off, disappearing into the crowds. The drunk man watched her vanish, then turned and gave Vambran a wink and a smile before staggering on his way.
    Vambran laughed, deciding that, for the moment at least, he was happy to be home. He hadn’t remembered it was Spheres until they were only a day out of Arrabar, but it was a good if unintentional welcome-back celebration, he decided, and he was glad for it. He turned to see if he could find a way through the crowds since the parade had passed and thought he heard someone calling his name. He stopped and peered around, uncertain if he’d imagined it.
    “Vambran!” the call came again, and that time, the lieutenant heard it clearly.
    He turned in the direction of the sound and was nearly knocked to the ground as a woman in a brightly colored dress