horse with its small cart was nearly brisk compared with the wart yaks. And for a night and a day it was a hopeful journey for us all. Tamhan was liked and admired by everyone, and I envied his easy way with people.
But unlike the Seekers—unlike myself—Tamhan had a family. One that had just enjoyed dinner with Viceroy Bhamet Senesh and had his ear. One that could check the records at the Hunter Gate, see that their son had left the city walls in the company of what they would consider river vermin, and force the viceroy to act.
So just after sunset on the second day I wasn’t surprised to hear the rolling drumbeat of approaching hooves. With my new senses I could tell that they were horses and not some other herd of animals. Our campfires were lit—we had six—and I had looked into the blaze of ours, and so my vision had to adjust to the darkness before I could see them. I asked Murr and Eep to stay out of sight, and they melted into the darkness. My eyes shifted more quickly than they usually would, owing no doubt to my kenning, and I spied the small company of city cavalry approaching. I knew before they reined in and spoke to us why they had come: they were there for Tamhan, and it made me sad. Not sad that he was cared for—it was perfect and wonderful and right that he should be—but that the rest of us were somehow less than he, unworthy of being saved because our parents were either dead or poor. The viceroy would feed and supply and risk these cavalrymen for Tamhan, the son of his crony, but not do anything to make sure the rest of us had food.
The cavalrymen sorted themselves into an arrowhead formation. A wedge, I guess, but with nothing filling the center. They had crossbows and looked like they were searching for an excuse to use them.
The leader, in the front of the wedge, barked out a query, staring directly at our fire: “Which one of you is Tamhan Khatri?” And I wanted to shout back at him, “You already know he’s the one with nice clothes!” but it wouldn’t have made my life any better, so I bit back my reply.
Tamhan volunteered that he was himself, and the mounted soldier said, “We’re here to escort you back to the city.”
Tamhan shrugged. “That’s kind of you, but I don’t wish to go back to the city.”
The soldier’s voice dripped with condescension as he explained, “It’s dangerous out here, son.”
“I assure you that I’m in no danger at all and I am here of my own free will. Everyone is, in fact.” He spread his hands to the seekers. “If any of you are here against your will and wish for the soldiers to take you back to Khul Bashab, please speak up now.”
There was absolute silence apart from the crackle of fires and the snorting of winded horses.
“The rest of these can get eaten if they want,” the soldier said, a captain if I was reading his shoulder markings correctly, “but I’ve been ordered by the viceroy to bring you back safely.”
“Fine. I’ll be heading back in a few days, and you can ride along if you want.”
“Your parents—and the viceroy—want you back now.”
“I don’t particularly care what they want. The plains are open for everyone to walk in.”
“That’s true except when it’s my job to bring you back. Discuss it with them.”
“Let them discuss it in a few days,” I said, breaking in. “Protect him if you must, and we’ll return with you when we’re finished. Everyone’s happy that way.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Abhinava Khose.”
“Oh, so you’re the one who started all this. Viceroy Senesh orders you back to the city for questioning.”
Snorting, I said, “About what? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’ve persuaded a lot of children to abandon their families, and that is worth questioning at least and sinister at worst.”
“Can you name any of their families besides Tamhan’s? No? I thought not. Many of them don’t have a family anymore. Madhep here has been on his own for three years, and it’s a rough life when you don’t have a father who can send out soldiers to look after you. They want to seek a kenning of their own free will, and I’m taking them there. You can come, too, if you want.”
“I’m not a gullible child. Your claims of a kenning are ridiculous, and you