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all in her shadow.”
    “Battle Queen Myrtilis?” he asked.
    “The very one. They say she was just in judgment, wise in lore, and beyond any man’s sword in the battle line. We honor her and live in her image.” Then she quirked her head, the sincerity hidden again. “I could have sworn there was a cloister up Tarramos way, on the Silk Road.”
    Tarn shrugged. “From the highest mountains, am I. No towns.”
    “And what do you kill with that cleaver, up in the highest mountains?”
    “Bad things,” he told her and grinned. He probably showed too many teeth for human manners, because Ia blinked and something in her expression shifted and went speculative. Then she shook herself and said, “Nearly at this fool’s warehouse. Help me with the unloading, and I’ll give you a sword trial, if you think you can handle the long road through the desert.”
    “I like long roads,” he said calmly and thought of the defensive little desert spirit again. How surprised it would be to find him ensconced in the very heart of its domain.

Chapter 4: Hiring
     
     
    H E PASSED Ia’s test with the sword, well enough to make her pant and swear as she held him off. When she lowered her sword, he nodded and stepped back, then bowed.
    “No need for company manners,” she rasped, wiping the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. “What’s your second weapon?”
    “Fire,” he said, calling a little wisp to dance across his fingertips.
    She snorted. “That might light a candle, strongman, but it won’t scare off a raiding party.”
    “No,” he agreed, and raised a circle of flame, head-high and a cubit thick, around the sparring ground.
    Ia let out a stream of curses that he memorized quickly. He always liked to have some soldiers’ cant at his command.
    “Put that out!” she finished, voice spiking.
    Tarn sighed. It felt warm and comfortable, like removing your helmet and shaking out your hair after battle. He was sick of keeping all that he was constrained and held in—
    He wasn’t expecting the bucket of water over his head.
    Snarling, he evaporated it into a cloud of steam and then, recalling himself, dragged his fires back in.
    Ia was still spitting fury, the bucket raised in her hands. Everyone else in the yard was looking toward him with either fascination or frightened eyes. What, had they never seen a spellsword raise a flame before?
    “Ianthe, dearest,” a weary voice said from the balcony above the yard. “Have you finally stumbled upon an affordable guild mage, and, if so, need I raise our insurance?”
    “This one’s no guild suckling,” Ia said, lowering her bucket. “We take him on, it’s for his sword.”
    “And what a frightfully nice sword it is,” the man on the balcony observed. He looked languid and pretty, but every fighter in the yard had fixed their attention on him. Tarn squinted up at him, taking in the embroidered silk robe and the long black hair, sleek and straight to his waist. He had fought beside a selkie prince just as pretty and elaborate, and Tarn had yet to meet anyone quite so vicious and committed when the fighting actually began. “I do hope it wasn’t looted. Customs officials can be so fussy about criminal records in employees.”
    “For my clan, it was forged,” Tarn said and lifted it in a salute. “Tarn Drake, out of Amel, seeking work in your employ.”
    “Not another of your silly reenactors, Ia darling. Will this one sulk when we find out he’s really a laundry clerk from the low quarter?”
    “Nah,” Ia said. “Proper mountain lad, this one, and he’s fair enough with that sword. Could take your challenge, I reckon.”
    “Oh, keep him, then, if it will amuse you. Find me three more less exotic specimens, and we’ll be ready for the road.”
    “Dawn departure, Sethan.”
    The vision in silk shuddered. “I don’t do dawn.”
    Ia grinned. “You don’t do road dust either, my pretty, and we’ll be stuck in traffic if we don’t get on the road early. Get