The four Provosts Guards at the door of Rokat House were less willing to help. Their leader, whose sleeve bore a corporal's single yellow arrowhead badge, was not impressed by Sandry's rank. "It's not a fit sight for a lady," he said, his face expressionless.

Oama dismounted so she could speak quietly to the man, "Corporal, think about this." She was a straightfor ward young woman with bronze skin, a long, straight nose, and sharp brown eyes, who wore her black hair rolled and pinned tightly at the back of her head. Her skills as a Duke's Guard and part of the elite Personal Guard were considerable: Sandry had watched her and her partner, Kwaben, at combat practice and had been impressed. "You don't want to vex her," Oama continued. "Really."

The corporal shook his head. "Captain Qais would boot me for it, and he'd be right."

Now Kwaben dismounted to support his partner. He was over six feet tall, black as sable, and honed like an axe. His shaved head, combined with sharp cheekbones, lean cheeks, and wide-set eyes, made him look as sleek and deadly as a panther. He was as dangerous as he ap peared.

Sandry stayed on her mare. She would impress no one if she dismounted—the stubborn corporal was taller than she by a head. Instead she sorted through her magic until she found a particular cord. Shaped from her own power, it connected her to Duke Vedris.

"Uncle, " she said clearly, feeling her voice roll down that magical tie, "I want to be let in, please."

Everyone stared at her, even Kwaben and Oama. Onlookers in the crowd drew the gods-circle on their chests. The Provost's Guards were made of sterner stuff. Their hands stayed by their weapons.