Trone in the mid-morning light seemed warmer and more hopeful than many of the other cities Ilyien had visited. It was all the wood architecture, he decided, which allowed the sun to glide through the place. Stone was more durable; stone was steadier. But polished stone also cast off the light and hurt the eyes. It was more work, Ilyien was certain, to have to rebuild all these wood structures every few decades or so -- but the sun slid almost playfully through the city because of it.

The slaves also found joy in the sight of the city as it nestled between the hills on the opposite side of the river. Some shouted; others laughed. Others just smiled, relieved to know that the end of their ordeal was nearly upon them. As Ilyien threw out his arm to signal the ferryman cross over and take payment for the first load of slaves, he glanced toward Aeotha.

More than once during the journey there and back again, she had proven herself worthy of the assignment. None of the slaves had returned undamaged, but none had died, either. What damage could be fixed by her magic and his alchemic recipe had been; the rest must be left to time and care. Ilyien fervently prayed that the masters of these slaves were kind to them.

"It may be best for you to go with the first of them," Ilyien suggested, as the ferry drew near.