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.”
