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The bulk of Water's End sheltered in a natural bowl. Cliffs rose to all sides, some over a hundred feet high, and the path sloped steep and narrow down a hand-carved pass in the ancient rock. Sentries dressed in eyecatching white perched high along the cliffs: steady on impossibly thin ledges, supported by sturdy rope and leather harnesses. Long metal braces lined the tops of the cliffs; by the look of it, the sentries could slide sideways several feet in either direction.

To Alyea, the engineering of those braces seemed as much a marvel as Oruen's solarium. How could they secure perfect metal rods into solid rock? Incredible. But this wasn't the time to ask about that.

“Are those teyanain?” Alyea asked Chac after a single swift, furtive glance upwards.
“No,” the old man said. “Their authority stops at the ridge we just crossed. Water's End has its own guards. Every desert lord tithes to support Water's End; some of them send their young men and women to train here as guards for a time. It's something of a coming-of-age ritual, serving time here as a guard.” He glanced up and sighed.
“Did you serve here?” Alyea asked, prompted by the wistfulness in the old man's expression.
“Yes,” Chac said, and pulled his horse to a halt. “Lead your horse down by hand.”
Alyea glanced back as she swung off her horse. Micru had already dismounted and stood ready, hand on bridle. “Do the guards get upset if you ride down?”
“No,” Chac said. “Trail's too tricky to ride.”
“What about caravans?”
“Different trail,” Chac said. “There's three north trails. One two-way trail for caravans; you have to pay to use that one, and it's a hefty fee. One free trail for walking out, one free trail for walking in.”
The rocky, sandy ground underfoot proved slippery and treacherous. Alyea placed her feet with care and tried to avoid having her horse step on her toes. That quickly turned out to be a lost cause as they slipped and scrambled their way down the narrow trail.
“Why . . . isn't . . . the trail . . . wider? Smoother?” Alyea panted halfway down. Sweat trickled down her face, funneling into her thin shirt; she'd look a proper mess when they reached bottom.
“Why should it be?” Chac said over his shoulder. He moved like a cat over the uneven ground, guiding his horse easily, and didn't seem the least bit out of breath. “Deep southerners don't want much to do with the northlands. This serves as a natural barrier to kings that get a mad notion of taking over the desert Families' lands. If anything gets past the teyanain, they won't make it past this.”
The idea of an invading army trying to make it down this slope brought a sour smile to Alyea's lips.
“What about the other trails?” she said, jerking her foot away just as a heavy hoof slammed down. Hard boots weren't helping; her feet felt bruised and she suspected at least one toe might be broken already. “Or ports?”
“The other trails both have their own tight spots, and you have to have a recognized guide to make it through,” Chac said. “The ports wouldn't be friendly to invasion attempts, either.” He fell silent, his attention on navigating a tricky turn.
They were nearly at the bottom of the trail. Water's End spread out before them, a patchwork of stone buildings, some two and three stories; tents, at the edges, and even, incredibly, lush patches of garden greenery. Alyea had been expecting something much cruder, from Chac's comment at the first way-stop.
“I thought you said Water's End wasn't much,” she said as they descended onto relatively level, wide ground again.
“Never said that,” the old man said. “Just said it was a larger version of the way-stops, and it is. Prettier, too.” He drew a deep breath and surveyed the area as the guards finished the descent and gathered behind them.
Alyea looked as well, and forgot her sweat, her disheveled appearance, the dirt and dust on her clothes, her aching feet.
The scent of desert rose and whitemusk flowers, feather-herbs and bitter onion, fresh baked bread and citrus fruits all clashed in her nose. With a shift of the faint breeze, those aromas faded into the dust, dirt, and sweat of a busy camp in hot weather. The smell of metal lent a tangy accent to the air, and nearly everyone seemed to be wearing a sword or dagger.
People wearing brightly patterned, lightweight fabrics filled the winding streets. Most wore their hair either intricately and tightly braided against their skulls or completely shaven. The predominant skin tone ranged from dark brown to black, a shade she'd rarely seen in Bright Bay; as Chac had said, the deep southerners wanted little to do with anything north of the Horn. Here and there she saw the bronze or burnt-almond skin tone and hawk-like face of an old, noble bloodline; crowds parted before those visages. The people moving out of the way didn't even seem to glance up first, as if they felt the presence before seeing it.
A cacophony of laughter and shouting and arguing filled the streets, punctuated by the erratic screams of caged desert birds. Now and again an asp-jacau howled or whined; there were more of those creatures here than Alyea had ever seen in one place, all neatly groomed and obediently trotting behind their masters. Some wore gold, silver, or gem-studded collars; a few had swirling patterns bleached or dyed into their fur.
Alyea blinked wind-flung dust from her eyes and looked at Chac, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. He stared at her, his expression thoughtful; when she met his gaze he nodded as if coming to a decision.
“This way,” he said.
The group wound through a seemingly erratic path, past tents, buildings, and gardens, finally halting again in the courtyard of what must surely be the largest building in Water's End. It stood three stories high, block upon huge limestone block set and firmly cemented together. The wide windows on the upper stories were flanked by heavy, metal shutters, currently open and fastened securely back to the sides of the building.
A nearby stable building, large enough to house fifty horses in comfort, boasted a fenced enclosure with thick grass and three thick-trunked oaks with huge, abundant foliage. Several horses dozed in the shade created by those giant leaves, their tails twitching idly.
Small statues of rearing horses, dancing children with jugs in hand, and howling asp-jacaus dotted the central area. Water poured from each statue into a stone trough, which ran for several feet before turning into an underground pipe.
“Incredible,” she breathed.
“Aerthraim engineering,” Chac said, sounding smug. “Wait until you see inside.”
Grooms trotted towards them, smiling cheerfully; one rattled off a question: “
Ka-s'eias, ahaki t'ass ekita? Pahaki t'ess?
”
“I'm sorry,” Alyea said, “I don't. . . . ”
“
T'ass, s'eias, essata; keyassa natoya su-s'a Peysimun
,” Chac said. “Let them take your horse, Alyea.”
Feeling suddenly lost, Alyea let the nearest groom lead her horse away. “What did they say?”
“They asked if we were staying at the enclave or just stabling the horses for a while,” Chac said. “I told them we were staying, and gave him your family name so they can bring the baggage to our rooms.”
“What's
ka-s'eias
?” Alyea said. “I haven't heard it that way before.
S'eias
is a mixed group of people; what does the
ka
make it?”
“It's unique to the deep southlands,” Chac said. “Means they're not sure of our exact status, but know we're not commoners and want to offer proper respect. 'Honored' is probably the closest translation. Now that they know you're a northern noble, you'll find everyone calling you
sus'a
: northern lady.”
“What are they going to call you?” Alyea asked, with a touch of mischief.
Chac's expression went remote. “Chacerly.”
“What, no term of respect?” Alyea teased, and immediately regretted it. Chac didn't even look at her. His expression changed from remote to stony.
“No,” he said curtly, and started towards the enclave building.
Alyea hesitated before following him. She couldn't imagine what the old man could have done to lose even the most basic term of courtesy before his name, especially in the deep south where respect counted for everything. Deiq's words came back to her:
the men you ride with aren't the ones to trust . . . they watch you with the care of men that serve two masters.
For the first time, Alyea wondered if she and Oruen were the ones Chacerly served.
Chac reached the door to the enclave and went inside without even looking behind to see if she followed. She put her suspicious thoughts aside for the moment and hurried to catch up.

Considerably nicer than the last way-stop, this room held a single bed and a lower cot for a servant to sleep on. Halla looked around the room, seeming uncertain, and sat on the cot with a lost expression.

“What's the matter?” Alyea asked, dropping her pack on her own bed and sitting next to it.
“I don't know where to go,” Halla said. “I've been asking and asking after my son along the trail, and nobody knows anything.”
Alyea thought about Chac's lessons on southern custom, sighed, and said, “Halla, I have to explain something to you.”
She sketched out the obligation concept as clearly as she could. The northern woman looked steadily more baffled.
“I have to pay for someone to tell me where my son is?” she demanded at last.
“Well, not with coin, and no. . . ” she forestalled the woman's gathering indignation. “Nothing to do with sex. You don't have to sell yourself. But you have to have something to give in order to get any information about your son.”
“So the people I asked could have been lying?” Halla looked perplexed. “Why would anyone lie to a mother looking for her son?”
“It's nothing personal,” Alyea said. “That's just the custom here. I'm having to learn it myself; Bright Bay isn't like that.”
Halla sat brooding, frown gathering deeper, and finally said, “No offense, my lady, but your southern world is madness.”
“Just different from your customs,” Alyea said. “That's all.”
“No,” Halla said, shaking her head. “Any place where people could lie to a mother seeking her son is completely mad.”
“They may not have lied,” Alyea said. “They honestly might not have known. Don't think the worst until you have to.”
“I have nothing to offer,” the northern woman said.
She looked so miserable Alyea couldn't help crossing to sit beside her. She put a hand on Halla's shoulder. “Chac told me there's an old saying: sooner or later, everything comes through Water's End. We'll find word of your son here. I'm sure of it. And don't forget, you have some status by being my servant. Don't be afraid to use my name; it might tip the balance.”
“But won't that put you in debt?” Halla asked dubiously.
“Maybe,” Alyea said lightly, “but I'm sure I can afford it. Go on, go ask around.” She gave the woman a few small coins. “Buy me one of those wonderful red silk tunics I've seen people wearing around here.”
Not that she wanted the tunic, but the errand would give Halla a reason to be out on the streets talking to vendors; the northern woman's nod held instant understanding. “It may take me some time,” Halla said, testing, and Alyea nodded.
“Take as much time as you like,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you, my lady,” Halla said with deep sincerity, and hurried out the door without a backwards glance.
Still smiling, Alyea crossed to the window and watched: the northern woman emerged into the street and headed for the market with eyes modestly lowered and a stride that held nothing but purpose. People moved out of her way, as they did for the desert lords, without really looking; then seemed oddly perplexed, glancing back over their shoulders at the northern woman.
Behind her, Chac coughed, alerting her to his presence; she halfturned and motioned for him to join her at the window.
“It's a busier place than I expected,” she said when he stood beside her.
“It's the heart of the southlands,” he said, frowning down at the street. He seemed less than pleased about something. “Where's your maid?”

“I sent her on an errand.”
“Alone? Are you mad?” He stared at her.
She shook her head, remembering how people had moved out of Halla's path. “She'll be fine, Chac.”
“This isn't Bright Bay, damn it,” he said, unaccountably upset, and went to the door. She heard him speaking with one of the guards in a low voice; he returned to her side a few moments later, his frown eased only slightly. “They'll find her. Don't
ever
send her out without an escort to protect her. Don't try walking alone, yourself, not here. It's not safe. You don't have the status for it just yet. Gods know I've been trying, but it's not taking hold.”
She turned her head to look at him. “What do you mean, you've been trying? What have you been doing?”
“While you've been chatting along the way with Deiq,” he said tartly, “I've been trying to arrange alliances to keep you safe on the road and get us to Scratha Fortress. So has Micru. It's not been going well at all. We haven't received a single invitation to visit any Family yet. That's bad, Alyea, that's very bad. Past Water's End, your only source of water and food is the fortresses. You don't just show up at the gates and bang on the door to say hello. You need an invitation. And we don't have one. Not one.”
“Why didn't you tell me this?” she demanded. “I could have—”
“You don't know
how
,” he cut her off. “If Deiq hadn't taken an interest in you, I would have introduced you round each dinner and maybe had better luck; but all they saw was you sitting with
him
, and they wanted no part of that. He's not trusted much, south to north, commoner or noble.”
“You could have said,” she complained.
“I
did
tell you to get rid of him,” Chac reminded her impatiently.
She grimaced, wondering if Deiq had understood the impact his attentions would have; if it had been calculated.
I can get you to Scratha Fortress safely
, he'd said, and promised help if she asked for it.
“Damn it,” she said aloud.
“Yes.” Chac seemed about to say something else, but then his attention drew sharply to the street again; she leaned, looking to see what had caught his eye.
Gria and her mother stumbled by below, wrists weighed down with heavy chains and cuffs. The guards in the party walked very close to the women, and Alyea could make out a dark bruise on the older woman's face. Sela seemed to be halfway between shock and apoplectic rage; her daughter's expression alternated between blank and frightened. The machago Ierie, cheerful and smug, sauntered down the street in front of the small procession.
Alyea felt her chest tighten at the sight. “It isn't fair. It isn't right. They believed him; that's their only crime.”
“I doubt it,” Chac said. “Do you really think a machago would make the long trip just for one pair of northern women? They upset someone powerful enough to pay a slave-trader to come all the way past the Horn and steal them away to a place they'd never escape.”
Alyea stared down at the street, hardly seeing the crowds now. The slave trader's party had passed out of sight now, around a corner.
“Deiq knew,” she said under her breath.
“What?” Chac's attention sharpened on her. He scowled.
“He said he knew what was going on with them,” Alyea said. “But he didn't tell me. I didn't ask,” she added to the fierce glare the old man directed at her.
“Good,” Chac said. “At least you did
that
right.” He rubbed his temples. “I have to go make some arrangements. I'll be back soon. Stay here; for the love of the gods,
don't
go out there until I've secured
something
for an alliance.” He walked out without looking back.
She sighed and went back to staring out the window.
Not long afterwards, a firm knock rattled the thin door behind her. She crossed the room and opened the door with her expressionless public face firmly in place, and held to it with all her might a moment later as machago Ierie grinned at her unpleasantly.
“Lady Alyea,” he said. “A present for you.”
Behind him, the two northern women glared at Alyea as if they held her responsible for the situation. Four guards loomed behind, their attention completely on the slaves, ready to grab them if they tried to bolt.
The bruise on Sela's face, at close range, looked very dark, and very large.
“A
present?
” she said sharply.
“From
nu-s'e
Deiq,” the man said. “He has purchased these women and wishes me to give them into your care.”
“When did this happen?” she demanded.
“My lady,” Ierie said, unruffled, “the hallway is not the best place to hold this discussion.”
“You certainly aren't entering my room!” she said before thinking.
He shrugged. “Do you accept this gift or not, Lady Alyea?”
It had been sensible, before, to stay out of the troubles of the northern women. It would be beyond madness, now, to refuse the gift; another kind of madness to accept. She'd made herself an easy target for whatever game Deiq had set up. He'd guessed her sympathy for the northern women, and now she owed him a debt beyond paying, whatever phrasing the machago used to hide it.
If this was a gift, she was an asp-jacau.
“Yes,” she said at last.
Smirking, Ierie produced a leather document case and handed it to her. “Your paperwork, my lady. You are now wholly responsible for these
mac'egas
; the mark on their bands is registered with the Water's End
hayrar
under your name. If they attempt to leave Water's End, by any road, while not in your presence, they will be stopped and returned to you.”
Alyea felt her stomach curdling from the intensity of Sela's stare.
Ierie stepped aside and motioned for the two women to advance. Alyea opened the door wider and moved out of the way as the northerns, prompted by an ungentle shove from the guards behind them, stumbled into her room.
“The cuffs,” Ierie said, “do not come off. They will be slaves, south to north, for the rest of their lives. I recommend you do not try to take them back into the northlands, but that is your choice entirely. Good day, my lady.”
He turned and sauntered away, his guards following.
“Gods,” Alyea said under her breath, and closed the door. She stood staring at the plain, scarred wood for a few breaths, gathering strength and sorting her thoughts, before turning to look at her new slaves.
“You tried to warn us,” Gria said miserably.
“How convenient,” her mother snapped. “And now you
own
us, do you? Let me tell you, I don't accept it! I want this cuff off and I intend to bring charges in front of King Oruen!” She brandished her arm at Alyea, as if intending to use the heavy metal cuff as a weapon.
“He said they don't come off,” Gria said.
“Nonsense. That was just to scare us. We'll be free of this mistake soon.” She fixed Alyea with a stern glare. “Won't we,
my lady
?”
Alyea drew a deep breath and sank into a chair. “No,” she said. “I'm afraid not.”