He imagined the cries of men cut down on the battlefield, of women and children trapped behind the curtains of fire. He wondered if the northerners had granted Rani a pyre, or if they had set her corpse into the ground to rot. He muttered a prayer to Tarn, the god of death, in hope that Rani had already made it past the Heavenly Gates, that she already walked with her family, with Hal’s own father, Shanoranvilli, who had come to love the merchant girl like a daughter. Hal returned to the present bonfire with a slight start. He was wandering more and more frequently, following his thoughts down long paths, only to be jerked back to the army and the endless march north. Looking around to see if anyone had noticed, Hal saw Puladarati rein in his horse a few paces away and bow low in the saddle. Soot streaked the leonine councillor’s face, darkening his silver mane and beard. Tasuntimanu rode beside him, also reining in his mount, also making a bow toward his liege. Hal had grown accustomed to seeing the two councillors together; Tasuntimanu had become the older nobleman’s shadow.
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