The duke raised a hand, and all of his group halted. The fat man came forward until he stood just ten feet away and bowed low, his palms pressed together before his face. His guards also bowed, though not so low that they lost sight of the duke's protectors.

"Good morning, Rokat," the duke said. His velvety voice had gone very cold.

"May the gods be praised, your grace!" said the fat man, straightening. "It is a grand thing, to see you among your people once more." Now that he was closer, Sandry could tell that he wore a jeweled pin in the neat green folds of his turban and that his clothes were made of the finest silk that money could buy. His plump hands glit tered with rings, all gold and most sporting a gem. After living with a smith for four years, she could also tell the bodyguards' weapons were very good and bore signs of earnest use.

"It was unnecessary for you to leave your counting-house to give me these felicitations," the duke replied.

"But I had to express my joy," replied the man—Rokat, the duke had called him—as he bowed again. "Seeing you is reassurance that the peace and law of your realm will continue to be kept. Seeing you, those of us who shelter in this safe harbor know we need fear no withdrawal of protection."

"Is there any reason I would consider such a withdrawal?" inquired the duke, leaning on his saddle horn.

"Never, your grace," said the fat man. "Never. I hope to see you again soon. Congratulations on your restored health!"

He waddled back to Rokat House. One of his guards sprang forward to open the door; the other two closed in swiftly behind him, guarding his back. Only when the quartet had gone inside Rokat House did Sandry feel a relaxing among the soldiers around her.

"Let us continue," Duke Vedris announced. The guards who had flanked her and her uncle fell back into their normal formation, and they resumed their ride.