'What has changed, Rali?' he asked. 'Once, the Maranon Guard was your whole life. Being a soldier was your girlhood dream come true.'

I drank more wine. Then: 'I grew weary of taking young women out to die,' I said. 'I've ghosts enough for company as it is. I don't need more.'

'Then you're through with soldiering?' he asked. 'I'm not certain,' I said. 'But as long as Orissa is safe, I doubt I'll take up arms again.' 'So what is that you want?' he pressed.

Unaccountably, tears rose in my eyes. 'Just to be left alone,' I said, struggling not to weep.

Amalric came to me, and put his arms around me. 'They won't do that, Sister dear,' he said. 'It's your misfortune to be a hero who lived.'

I drove off the self-pity and wiped my eyes. 'It's also my misfortune,' I said, 'that soldiering is all I know.'

'That's not true,' my brother murmured. 'There's more to you than sword and shield. I've known that since I was a hero-worshipping boy pestering his sister to be always in her company.'

I looked at the mossy stone that was my mother's shrine. Searching for guidance, I suppose. But none came. There was no sudden shimmering of an image coming to life. No scent of a sandalwood ghost, or whispered warnings, or advice.

A gentle wind blew up, carrying the smell of the river. And with it came the memory of a hard ship's deck, crackling sails, leaping seas, the smell of salt, the feel of cold spray needling the flesh, and the horizon - teasing like a gossamer-veiled dancing girl - always retreating before your eyes.

'I have an expedition leaving in a month,' Amalric said.

And I thought: Yes!

'There's tales of rich trading opportunities,' he said, 'far to the south where no one has ever been before.'

And I thought: Yes ... yes!

'I won't lie to you that it won't be dangerous,' my brother said. 'There'll be cold and hunger and only a small chance of success. But mere will be adventure, Rali. New lands. New people. New hopes. These things I can can promise.' promise.'

And I thought: Please, yes.

'The expedition has need of an Evocator,' he said.

My heart dipped. 'But they'd never allow it,' I said. 'No woman has been an expedition Evocator in all the history of Orissa.'

Amalric said: 'Then it's time we started. After all, you're Rali Emilie Antero. And you can be anything you like. What do you say. Sister dear? Will you sail?'

And I said: 'Yes!'

So, there you have it, Scribe. The tale of a warrior some are fools enough to praise as a hero. You've got most of the journal bundled up now, and soon it'll be ready for the bookstalls.

I wonder what others will think when they read it? Sometimes I imagine a little girl turning the pages, curled up in her bed at night; reading by fire beads under the covers so her nurse won't catch her. I wonder what that little girl will think. Will she want to defy tradition and trade her dolls for a sword? If she does, is that what I desire? To be honest, I'm not certain. What would be best of all, I believe, is that she'd be her own woman; refuse to be anything but equal to any man in whatever life she chooses.

And perhaps, Scribe, when next that child hears a gull cry, she will think of me.