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ways that had nothing to do with the faint breeze that found its way through the birches, and little glimmers of light and color moved through them where no sunlight could reach; the
ler
of the plants and other things that had been cleared away were obviously still active, and struggling to respond to the disruption of their home.
    The road itself, though, seemed clear and untroubled. Sword pointed at it. “That goes all the way to Willowbank?”
    â€œIndeed it does,” said the man who had first told him he faced a road crew, glancing proudly back over his shoulder. “Oh, it’s not all as straight as that, as we had to route it around the bogs, but it’s a good road. And before that we cut a road from Rock Bridge to Willowbank, and from Broadpool to Rock Bridge.”
    â€œYou did?”
    â€œWe did. And if the other crews have done their jobs, you can now walk from here all the way to Winterhome without a guide, so long as you stay on the road and wear a few feathers.”
    That was more than Sword could comprehend all at once. “Winterhome?”
    â€œWinterhome. That’s where the Wizard Lord lives, after all.”
    Sword nodded. “Of course,” he agreed.
    He had heard that the current Wizard Lord had chosen Winterhome as his home. He had vaguely wondered why, since he knew the Wizard Lord was not a native of Winterhome, but he had not pursued the matter. After all, a Wizard Lord could live anywhere in Barokan that he chose; if the current one wanted to live at the foot of the Eastern Cliffs, in the town where the Uplanders wintered, that was his business, and none of Sword’s concern.
    But Winterhome had to be a hundred miles away. Could there really be a highway all the way there, through all that wilderness? He stared at the road.
    After a moment’s awkward silence, the apparent crew chief turned and called, “All right, now, we have work to do! We want this cut through to Mad Oak while it’s still light—with luck we’ll dance with the girls in the town’s pavilion tonight!”
    A murmur of agreement sounded. The men lifted their tools and resumed hacking at the underbrush, extending their road through the birch grove.
    Sword shifted his gaze from the road vanishing into the forest to the hands swinging machetes and hoes. He stared for a moment, then turned without another word and headed back to town.
    This was all strange and new, and he had no idea how to react to it, but it did not seem to call for hostility. The road crew was not breaking any laws, so far as he knew. It was not
customary
to disturb all those wild
ler,
but there was no formal stricture forbidding it. As long as the men stopped at the boundary shrine, and did nothing to upset the town’s own
ler,
there was no obvious reason to interfere.
    Besides, Sword had no real authority in Mad Oak; he wasn’t a priest. He would go back and let the rest of the town decide what to do.
    As he neared the boundary he could see a score of his townsfolk waiting for him just beyond the shrine—not just those who had been there before, but more. Elder and Younger Priestess had joined theparty, and looked unhappy; the sigils of office on their foreheads seemed to be pulsing and glowing red, rather than their usual pale and steady gold. Sword waved to them to indicate that all was well, but he was not actually sure that was true.
    â€œWhat’s happening?” Younger Priestess called. “The
ler
are upset!”
    â€œThey’re building a road,” Sword called back. “All the way to . . . to Willowbank.”
    The priestesses exchanged glances; then Elder called, “They’re doing
what?”
    â€œBuilding a road,” Sword repeated, though he was close enough to the border now that he no longer needed to shout. “They’re clearing a path through the wilderness, so we won’t need guides anymore.”
    â€œCan they
do
that? What