'Build our own,' Leesha said. 'The Hollow must keep expanding, and training Cutters in battle. Ahmann has named us tribesmen, and will not attack us if we do not attack him first.'

'Do you really believe that?' Rojer asked. 'I'll admit he's not what I expected, but do you trust him?'

Leesha nodded. 'Ahmann is many things, but he is honest. He has made no secret of his plans to conquer everyone who does not willingly join him in Sharak Ka, but that does not necessarily mean all must bow to him in the day.'

'And if it does?' Rojer asked.

'Then perhaps he will take my hand as a symbolic conquest,' Leesha said. 'It's not my first choice, but better than open war pitting neighbour against neighbour.'

'That may save the Hollow,' Rojer said, 'but Lakton is still on the gibbet. The city might hold up better than Fort Rizon did, but the hamlets are indefensible. The Krasians will begin swallowing them soon.'

'Agreed,' Leesha said. 'But there's not a lot we can do about that.'

'We can warn them,' Rojer said. 'And have them pass it on. Offer sanctuary and training in the Hollow now, while the roads are still passable.'

'And how are we supposed to do that?' Leesha asked.

Rojer smiled. 'Play your princess act. Demand a roof over your head every night as we pass through Lakton, and no more kicking out everyone else at the inns. I am going to debut my new song, and need an audience.'

'I do not think this is a good idea, mistress,' Kaval said. He was the ranking Sharum, his red veil hanging loose about his throat in the midday sun. They had stopped briefly for lunch, and to allow folk to stretch their legs. The drillmaster's tone was polite, but there was frustration under its veneer. He was not accustomed to explaining himself to women.

'I do not care what you think, Sharum,' Leesha said. 'I will not sleep on the roadside with rocks for pillows when there are perfectly good inns until two days out from the Hollow.'

Kaval frowned. 'We are no longer in the lands of Shar'Dama Ka. It is safer-'

'To camp on the road where bandits can come on us at night?' Leesha cut him off.

Kaval spat in the dust. 'The chin cowards will not dare come at us on the road at night. The alagai would slaughter them.'

'Bandits or demons, I don't care to spend the night out with either,' Leesha snapped.

'Mistress has shown no fear of alagai before,' Kaval pointed out. 'I would worry more about hidden spears in some unknown chin village.'

'What is this?' Amanvah asked, coming over to them.

Kaval immediately went to one knee. 'The mistress wishes to sleep in a chin village tonight, Dama'ting. I have told her this is unwise ...'

'She is correct, of course,' Amanvah said. 'I have no more desire to sleep in the naked night than she. If you're afraid of a few local chin,' she made a mockery of the word, 'then by all means, leave us at the inn and put a tent out in the woods to hide till dawn.'

Leesha bit back a smile as she watched Kaval bow deeper to hide the grinding of his teeth.

'We fear nothing, Dama'ting,' the drillmaster said. 'If this is your wish, we will commandeer-'

'You will do nothing of the sort,' Leesha interrupted. 'As you say, this is not the Deliverer's land. Our beds will be bought and paid for, not taken at spearpoint. We are not thieves.'

Leesha could swear she heard the grinding of teeth. Kaval's eyes flicked to Amanvah, waiting for her to countermand the order, but the girl was wisely silent. She had regained something of her former haughtiness, but they both remembered what happened the last time she crossed Leesha.

'Call the Sharum. All twenty-one, and have them sit there,' Leesha pointed to a small clearing. 'I will address them while they eat. I want no misconceptions about what is acceptable behaviour, both for the runners we send ahead and the bulk of the group when we reach town.'

She swept away, heading over to the cauldrons where the dal'ting prepared lunch for the caravan under Shamavah's watchful eye. Most would receive a heavy brown soup of beef stock and flour with potatoes and vegetables, along with a half loaf of bread. The Sharum ate better, with spits of lamb and couscous in addition to their soup, which had large chunks of meat. Leesha, her parents, Rojer, and his wives all ate better still, herb-encrusted roast pheasant and rack of lamb, their couscous spiced and thick with butter.

Leesha came over to Shamavah. 'I am addressing the Sharum over lunch. I will need you to translate for me.'

'Of course, mistress.' Shamavah bowed. 'It would be my great honour.'

Leesha pointed to the place where the warriors were already beginning to gather. 'See to it they are seated in a half-moon and given bowls.' Shamavah nodded and hurried off.

Leesha went to the woman preparing the Sharum's soup, taking the ladle from her and tasting it. 'Needs more spice,' she said, taking a few handfuls from the bowls of spice the cooks had laid out and tossing them into the soup. Along with a few herbs from her own apron.

She pretended to taste it again. 'Perfect.'

Rojer held the last note of the Song of Waning for a long time, eyes closed, feeling the hum of the wood in his hands. He cut the note hard, and Amanvah and Sikvah followed him easily.

'The hush before the roar,' Arrick used to call it that precious moment of silence between the last note of a brilliant performance and the applause of the crowd. With the heavy curtains pulled, even the myriad sounds of the caravan were muted.

Rojer felt his chest tighten, and suddenly realized he was holding his breath. There was no one to applaud, but he heard the sound anyway. He could say with no ego that as a trio, they exceeded anything he had ever done alone.

He let his breath out slowly, opening his eyes at the exact moment Amanvah and Sikvah opened theirs. Those beautiful eyes told him they, too, sensed the power of what they had wrought.

If you only knew, Rojer thought. Soon, my loves. Soon I will show you.

My loves. He had taken to calling them that, in his head if not aloud. He had meant it as a joke, calling women he barely knew 'love', but it had never been funny. There were times when it was passionate, and times, like last night and this morning, when it was bitter.

And there were times like right now, when the void left by the music's end filled with a love as true as he could ever imagine. He looked at his wives and what he felt at the sight of Leesha Paper paled in comparison.

'My master used to say there was no such thing as perfection in music,' Rojer said, 'but corespawn it if we aren't close.'

The original Song of Waning had seven verses, each with seven lines, each with seven syllables. Amanvah had said that this was because there were seven pillars of Heaven, seven lands on the Ala, and seven layers to Nie's abyss.

The translation made his previous crowning achievement, The Battle of Cutter's Hollow, seem a cheap ditty. The Song of Waning had power over human and coreling both, music that could take a demon through the full range of reaction and words that would tell the Laktonians all they needed to know.

The Painted Man had asked for more fiddle wizards like him, but Rojer had failed at that, even questioning whether the talent could be taught at all. He had begun to feel like he was standing still, peaked at eighteen winters. But now he had stumbled onto something new, and felt his power building once more. It was not what he or the Painted Man had been seeking. It was something stronger still.

Provided, of course, his wives would perform it with him, and the Krasians didn't realize what he was doing and have him killed.

Amanvah and Sikvah bowed. 'It is an honour to accompany you, husband,' Amanvah said. 'Everam speaks to you, as my father says.'

Everam. Rojer was getting sick of the name. There was no Creator, by that name or any other. 'Not much difference between Holy Men and Jongleurs, Rojer,' Arrick used to say in his cups. 'They spin the same old ale stories and tampweed tales over and over, bedazzling bumpkins and half-wits to help them forget the pain of life.'

Then he would laugh bitterly. 'Only they're better paid and respectable.'

An image flashed in Rojer's mind the evil red glow coming out from under the door to Amanvah's private chamber each night. Had she spent the entire night there?

Your Jiwah Ka consults the dice to help guide your path.

Rojer didn't pretend to understand the bone magic of the dama'ting, but Leesha had explained enough of it for him to grasp that there wasn't anything divine about it. Hadn't the science of the old world harnessed 'the lightning in the sky and the wind and the rain'? He didn't know what the dice were telling her, but it wasn't the word of the Creator, and he didn't like the idea of dancing to their bidding.

'Do your dice agree?' he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Sikvah inhaled sharply, but Amanvah had her mask in place, giving not a hint to her true feelings. The Jongleur in him railed against that. It was a common pastime in the guild hall to try to make other Jongleurs laugh or otherwise break character while practising their routines. Rojer considered himself a master at it.

He cocked his head at her. Will I spend the rest of my life trying to trick a real reaction from you?

'The alagai hora are never absolute, husband. They are a guide only.'

'And what do they tell you about me?' Rojer asked.

Sikvah hissed. 'It is forbidden to ask ...!'

'The Core with that!' Rojer asked. 'I won't dance to an imaginary tune.'

Amanvah turned to reach into a large velvet bag, the kind dama'ting kept their demon bones in. With the heavy curtains drawn, there was no natural light in the carriage, perfect for hora magic. He froze, wishing he'd kept a knife strapped to his wrist.

But Amanvah simply removed a wrapped package and handed it to him with a bow. 'The dice tell much and little about you, husband. Your power is undeniable, but your life's path is scattered with divergences. There are futures where hordes of alagai dance to your tune, and others where your gift is squandered. Greatness and failure.'

Rojer untied the bright cloth wrapping, discovering the small wooden box she had held early that morning. 'But when I asked them if I should marry you, they told me yes, and when I asked what marriage gift could help you to greatness, they guided me to this.'

Suddenly Rojer felt boorish. She had been spending all that time alone making him a marriage present? Creator, was he expected to provide presents as well? No one had told him that. He made a mental note to ask Shamavah the custom when they stopped for the night, and get her advice on a gift, if need be.

Amanvah bowed as deeply as he had ever seen, her head nearly touching the carpeted floor of the carriage. 'Please accept my apologies, for taking so long presenting it to you. I began the work two weeks ago, thinking I would have months to prepare. The dice did not predict that you would move to speaking our vows so quickly.'

Rojer ran the three fingertips of his right hand over the smooth surface of the box, feeling the wards that had been burned into the wood before it was lacquered. Some were wards of protection, but most he did not know. Rojer had never had any skill at warding.

What's inside? he wondered. What did the demon dice command her to make him? An image flashed in his mind of Enkido. If it's a pair of golden shackles, I am grabbing my bag of marvels and going straight out the door, moving carriage or no.

He opened the box and his eyes widened. Inside, on a bed of silk, was a fiddle's chinrest of polished rosewood with a moulded gold centre, affixed to a golden tail clamp. The piece was covered in wards, etched into the gold and cut sharply into the lacquer of the wood, filled with gold filigree. It was beautiful.

Like all modern instruments, Arrick and Jaycob's fiddles had chinrests, but the ancient instrument Rojer had taken from the Painted Man's treasure room did not, perhaps dating back to days before the innovation. A chinrest allowed the player to hold the fiddle in place with just his neck, freeing his hands for other things if necessary.

'The piece comes from Duke Edon's instrument maker, designed for the royal herald.' Rojer reached out reverently to touch the object as Amanvah spoke. 'It has taken me many nights to ward it and infuse it with hora.'

Rojer recoiled, snatching his hand back as if from a hot kettle. 'Hora? There's a demon bone in that?'

Amanvah laughed, a musical sound he heard all too infrequently. Is that real, Rojer wondered, or just part of the mask?

'It cannot harm you, husband. The evil will of Nie dies with the alagai, but their bones continue to carry the magic of Ala, made by Everam long before Nie created the abyss to pervert it.'

Rojer pursed his lips. 'Still ...'

'The bone is little more than a thin slice,' Amanvah said. 'Bound in wards and solid gold.'

'What does it do?' Rojer asked.

Amanvah smiled so widely Rojer could see it through her translucent veil, and even to his practised eye, it seemed truly genuine and sent a thrill through him.

'Try it,' Amanvah whispered, lifting his fiddle and handing it to him.

Rojer hesitated a moment, then shrugged and took the instrument, affixing the clamp to the tail piece where the resonance would be greatest. He turned the threaded barrels carefully to tighten it without damaging the wood, then set it beneath his chin, holding the instrument without the use of his hands. There was a slight tingle where it touched his chin, like a limb gone to pins and needles.

Rojer waited a moment. 'What's supposed to happen?'

Amanvah laughed again. 'Play!'

Rojer took the bow in his crippled hand and the frets in the other, playing a quick tune. He was shocked at the resonance. The instrument had become twice as loud. 'That's amazing.'

'And that is with most of the wards covered by your chin,' Amanvah said. 'Lift away and the sound will only grow.'

Rojer cocked an eyebrow at her, then went back to playing. At first, he kept the wood covered, and the instrument seemed little louder than normal. Slowly, he lifted his chin, revealing some of the wards, and the volume began to increase. He lifted more, and the sound doubled, and doubled again, rattling his teeth even as his wives moved to cover their ears. Finally, he had to stop from sheer pain, with much of the rest still covered.

'This will drown out your beautiful voices,' Rojer said.

Amanvah shook her head, lifting her veil to show a golden choker with a warded ball at its centre, resting in the hollow of her throat. Sikvah revealed a similar bit of jewellery at her own neck. 'We will match you, husband.'

Rojer shook his head, stunned. Perhaps bone magic and dice ent so bad after all.

'I don't know what to say,' he managed at last. 'This is the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me, but I haven't anything to give in return.'

Amanvah and Sikvah laughed. 'Have you already forgotten the song we just sang?' Amanvah said. 'It was your marriage gift before our holy father.' She laid a hand on his arm. 'We will sing it with you tonight for the chin.'

Rojer nodded, suddenly racked with guilt. They had no idea what the song would say to the Laktonians.

The village of Greenmeadow appeared deserted when their caravan arrived, fields empty of humans and livestock. The few fleeting glimpses of movement vanished quickly over hills and into the woods. They left the caravan on the Messenger road while the carriages headed into the village proper. Even then they saw no one.

'I do not like this,' Kaval said. Coliv said something to him in Krasian, and he grunted.

'What's that?' Leesha asked.

'He says the chin make only slightly less noise than thunder. They are all around us, watching from every window and around every street corner. I will dispatch him to scout our path ...'

'You won't,' Leesha said.

'He is a Krevakh Watcher,' Kaval said. 'I assure you, mistress, the greenlanders will never even know he is there.'

'I'm not worried about them,' Leesha said. 'I want him where I can see him. These people have reason for caution, but we aren't going to do anything to threaten them.'

A moment later the town square came into view, surrounded by homes and shopfronts. There were five men waiting on the inn steps, two with nocked hunting bows, and two more with long pitchforks.

Leesha called a halt and stepped out of her carriage. Immediately she was joined by Rojer, Gared, Wonda, Amanvah, Enkido, Shamavah, and Kaval. 'Let me do the talking,' Leesha said as they approached the inn.

'They do not appear interested in talking, mistress,' Kaval said, nodding to both sides, where she saw bowmen at every window around the town square.

'They will not shoot unless we give them cause,' Leesha said, wishing she was as confident as her words. She spread her pocketed apron so that all could see she was a Herb Gatherer. Rojer's patchwork cloak announced him as a Jongleur another point in their favour.

Rojer and Enkido placed themselves between the bows and Amanvah, with Gared in turn protecting Rojer. Leesha was similarly surrounded by Kaval and Wonda.

'Ay, the inn!' Rojer cried. 'We mean no harm, seeking only safe succour, for which we can pay. May we approach?'

'Leave your spears right there!' one of the men cried.

'I'll do no such-' Kaval began.