The afternoon sun was blazing, heating the stone strata until they vibrated. The air was warm, sometimes lulled by cooler currents soaked with the pervasive scent of conifers, which rolled over the skin like welcome caresses. The trunks of the fir forest were literally dripping with amber resin, which flowed like syrup between the interstices of the rough bark. I was sweating under my shirt, but it was a healthy, pleasant wetness that the wind lapped at my skin. We had been climbing for more than three hours, Thurl in front, and Liras, one of his best warriors, behind. Somewhere up the slope, past the trees and needle beds, there was a large pasture clinging to the side of the mountain. There was fine grass and heaps of burnet, and the chamois would occasionally leave their steep perches to come and graze there.

We had taken a day's supply of bitter cheese, dried sheep's meat and crumbly bread made of pea flour, along with a large skin filled with water, and a smaller one decorated with black beads, in which wine from the previous autumn was lapping. The pasture where we were going was at the end of the valley that stretched from Su-Lanté towards the east, much further than the few walks I had already made on this side. Indeed, since I was always careful to return to the village before dark so that no one would suspect an escape attempt, I was careful never to venture too far. I didn't know if this precaution was necessary, but since I couldn't yet hope to clear up any misunderstanding with the cera warriors, I stuck to it without deviation.

Liras had traded his scythe and the heavy chain hauberk he usually wore for a light skin outfit and a pair of javelins. I could hear him huffing and puffing behind my back as he crushed bushes and dry branches, and I wondered if it was a good idea to have taken him along. Liras was a tall man in his prime, powerful and well-built, with a kindly, constantly surprised air that contrasted almost comically with the reputation he carried as a relentless fighter. Thurl trusted him completely. For this reason, Liras was part of his personal guard, the dozen or so warriors who rarely left the fortress and who, dressed in their heavy armor, were the last line of defense in the village. Thurl often told me that one cera warrior was worth ten brownian fighters. In the case of Liras, I wanted to believe him. However, he wasn't really good at moving through the forest, and I had the idea that all the game would have fled the pasture long before we arrived.

Eventually we left the shadow of the fragrant woods, Thurl still in the lead. Ahead, the meadow stretched for several miles of gentle slopes and declines, dotted with rocks and brush. Farther on, a succession of dislocated ridges marked where the fir trees and the difference in elevation resumed. As we turned our heads, we had an unobstructed view of the austere peak of Su-Lanté as well as of the green valley that we had to climb earlier in the day. As with each of my outings, I had savored every part of the trip. Since the snow had melted, I was beginning to enjoy the mountains more than I thought possible, and I was surprised to discover the variety of life that sprang up once the warm weather set in, plants and animals of all shapes and sizes. I had asked some of the village children to teach me how to identify the edible berries that I didn't already know and that the forests were full of. They allowed me to accompany them, in exchange for which I sometimes let them trick me by slipping some goat droppings in the middle of the fruits they handed me, which amused them a lot.

Shortly after the edge of the woods stood a large rocky outcrop overgrown with lichen. We set up our things there, then the old lufe walked away for a while to take the measure of the terrain. He had insisted on being alone since we left, preferring to walk ahead without anyone to keep him company. Presumably, it wasn't over. On the broken rocks of the meadow, the marmots were gathering. Thurl's movements soon triggered a concert of shrill cries. Standing on their short legs, the rodents swelled their huge jowls and made melodious warning calls in our direction. Liras liked to answer them, with his near-perfect imitations, which only accentuated their confusion about the invasion. Amused, I squinted my eyes to contemplate in turn the ridges and the sky, my mouth half-opened in a half-smile. Two great eagles circled lazily over the pasture. Further on, Thurl grunted with satisfaction while noticing the trail of the chamois. The burnet flowers dotted the landscape with thousands of bloody dots, red spots around which the noisy ballet of bumblebees and bees was orchestrated.

The lufe had brought with him a short bow and five broadhead arrows, whose black and white feathers had been fashioned from the plumage of an osprey. Among the Ceras, hunting was limited to warriors, most of whom preferred the javelin to the bow. Lufe Thurl was an exception to the rule and he was a keen shooter. Between the heavy footsteps of Liras and the din of the marmots, I couldn't imagine that the lufe could shoot any game that wasn't deaf. I was beginning to suspect that the hunting party had been a mere excuse to leave the fort.

During the afternoon, I chopped down a few poles with a hatchet, and cleared a bit of steel-ivy in the fir forest below in order to assemble a shelter for the night. For his part, Liras went back and forth in search of dead wood to burn, sweating profusely under the relentless sun, sometimes looking at me sideways without a word. During their expeditions, the Ceras avoided this kind of construction, if they could. Not wishing to leave much behind, they preferred to find a natural shelter from the worst of the weather and to trust the waterproof sleeping bags that accompanied them everywhere, in all seasons. Until the end of the afternoon Thurl wandered along the escarpments. From time to time I could see his silhouette standing out against the lighter grey of the worn concretions, jumping from rock to rock, not as lightly as he would probably have liked. His tracking was interspersed with pauses, and he often stooped to inspect a trail or some dung.

When the sun began to decline and I had finished covering the frame of the bivouac with boughs of conifers, then helped Liras to bring back a few armfuls of firewood, Thurl came back to us with a slow and measured step. His gait was uneasy, but from the sparkle in his squinted eyes I could tell that he was happy with the expedition and had missed this kind of outing. He studied my shelter critically before placing his bow and quiver next to his other belongings and then proceeded to make a small fire, dismissing my offers of assistance with irritated gestures. The crackling blaze started in a rocky, blackened hollow that looked as if it had contained others, and soon swelled into a lovely brazier. We sat down on the sleeping bags and ate a few pieces of meat. Thurl cut small slices of the cheese and handed them to Liras and to me. The wind freshened considerably, the blue sky gradually turned into a constellated wonder, and the dark mountain soon resounded with the hooting of owls and the petulance of night birds.

Liras finally got up to urinate and Thurl took the opportunity to open the wineskin. After taking a long swig from it, he handed it to me and I had a drink too. The wine was astringent but sweet, and stronger than I expected. I savored it in silence, then Thurl stirred the fire and looked at me. "How are things going for you, Fyss?" he asked me after a while. I moistened my lips and swallowed what wine I had left in my mouth. It was the first time Thurl had spoken to me all day. "Things are going well, lufe," I replied softly. "Your daughter is smart and hardworking, and it's pleasant to teach her." The lord nodded at my expected politeness. "You went to eat in the village. Other households will invite you, and you'll go again, I hope. This is a good thing." "Your people are generous to me," I said, and I meant it, though I also suspected that some of the invitations had been encouraged. "I sometimes forget that I'm a foreigner," I added after a moment. I didn't really mean that.

Thurl had a distant smile and his eyes returned to the embers. "Yet you're not used to the idea of staying here," said the lufe without looking at me. I sniffed, and poured some more wine down my throat. "I don't want to offend you," I said, in a voice more bitter than I intended. Thurl pinned me with a slightly sharp eye. "In the old days, when the Ceras and the Carmians were still the same people, it is said that wives were abducted by their husbands. This was the custom. At first they were forced, but they got used to it because it was their duty. I don't know if the women of yesterday were more miserable than those of today." I wrinkled my forehead. "Maybe you should ask the women, lufe," I replied in as neutral a tone as I could muster. "Maybe," Thurl said, and his mutilated hand readjusted the golden torc that never left his neck.

Liras came back from the woods and sat down on the side, legs crossed, looking up at the constellations. I took a deep breath. "I'm not a fool, lufe," I said, emboldened by the wine. "Let's talk straight as we've been doing since the start. I know very well that I'll die, if I try to leave, and I also understand your reasons for holding me back. It was a great kindness not to kill me, and I don't wish to appear ungrateful, but you cannot ask me to abandon my promises, nor the hope of ever changing your mind." The lord frowned and indicated that he wanted the wineskin with an impatient gesture. After drinking some more, he threw it in the direction of Liras, then threw some dry branches into the fire. His expression, at first perplexed, became more and more assertive until it reflected a palpable assurance. The rekindled flames danced on his glowing eyes. "You speak well, tespiné," he said at last, and his words vibrated with a curious emotion. "I always enjoy talking with you, and you're right. No one should have to give up hope."

Thurl paused and smoothed his beard. "My father used to take me here when I was a kid," he said in a tone of confidence. "I love this place because it hasn't changed since then, and I come here when I need to resolve important issues. The spirit that inhabits this place is calm. It likes thinkers. I walked with it today. I had my bow and my best arrows with me, but I didn't break its peace. It allows me to hear your words now for what they are. I feel it." I nodded slowly, to show Thurl that I was listening. "I also sometimes walk to clear my mind, lufe. Although I haven't often needed to go that far," I said lightly.

The lord grinned and let his gaze wander to the star-flecked sky. "I know our beliefs are not your own, and I often feel your restraint, but I also see that you do your best to respect our spirits. Thelis believes that your lack of knowledge about spirits is a welcome innocence. That you serve their purposes all the better." It was my turn to smile, though more sadly, because I was thinking of Narsilap. "The Rajjans believe the same thing. That men are the tools of the gods." I didn't continue any further, for then I would have had to talk about the Padekke, and I didn't wish to offend anyone. I didn't know what would happen if I confessed my disbelief to the Ceras, and I didn't want to find out.

"The morals of the men of Rajja are not known to me," Thurl replied somewhat curtly, as if to close a subject that didn't interest him. "It was Thelis who advised me to bring you here, and I see now that he was right. The omen you brought has not left my mind since the day my son told me about it. Be sure that it's also in the minds of my people. The rumor of your actions has been spread from valley to valley and from peak to peak. Méti finéri has burned again. The spirits let us know that one cycle is ending and another is beginning. My decision is made. I will leave in a few days and Dorl will precede me. We'll call for a great gathering of the lufes and their augurs. You were right to speak of hope, tespiné. There's little hope in mere survival, and that has long despaired me. But now I believe the signs are clear. The time has come for my people to unite again under the leadership of one man. It may be that when I return, I'll be king."

I hesitated after this tirade, not really knowing whether I should answer or not. The fact that the Ceras, Thurl first, would assign me a role in their mysticism made me downright uncomfortable. I tried to minimize it, mainly because I felt that it was a double-edged status, and I didn't want to have to assume it when the situation became less favourable. "I'm glad if my words helped you, lufe. I thought we were only coming to hunt and I didn't think about anything else. I wish you good luck in your endeavor." The lord looked satisfied and thanked me before claiming his wineskin. We drank again, one after the other. Above us, the waxing moon was like a thin, luminous gash, and the trills of the night birds echoed curiously in the immense, blowing space that opened up between the two sides of the valley. The shady stone of Su-Lanté showed no light, and it took a keen eye to make out the plumes of smoke that rose from it in places. Liras moved closer to the fire, because the cold was beginning to fall on the meadow.

"I have a request," I finally stated when the alcohol had sufficiently loosened the mood. "Ask away," Thurl replied in a thick voice, looking more curious than suspicious. I continued quickly, fearing to be interrupted:

"I would like to be allowed to train with your warriors. The last time I had steel in my hands, I was still a child. After five years of slavery, I must be getting rusty, but I have grown up too. I saw your men in action in the yard, and I liked it. I would like to get back in shape."

The lufe frowned and exchanged a few words with Liras. I noticed that the word "fight" had been said, but the rest eluded me completely. Thurl finally growled. "I grant you this favor, and I hope I never have to regret it. It goes without saying that this will take second place to teaching my daughter, and that you'll not hold anyone responsible for any injuries you may get. But I think it's a good idea. We may one day fight side by side in defense of my people. You might as well be able to do so." When Thurl had finished speaking, Liras leaned over and patted me on the shoulder with a complicit glance before addressing me with a thin smile and a handful of words. "He says he'll be glad to help you," the lord translated for me. "He also says that he won't spare you and that he looks forward to kicking your ass."

With good grace, I returned the smile and bowed my head in gratitude. On the other side of the fire, the great warrior stared at me with amusement. I think he wasn't taking me seriously, and to tell the truth, I understood him. I wasn't really an imposing figure. Although the triangle on my cheek gave me a vaguely savage look, I had the smooth, beardless face of a young man, and I was half as thick as Liras. The night wore on, lulled by the aroma of the wine and the murmur of the mountain, and we watched the fire until the moon was high. The next day we went back to Su-Lanté, and a few days later a procession of warriors accompanied Dorl eastward. The village was buzzing with an impatient and vigorous murmur. I had never found the peak so alive. Thurl had been right about hope. It seemed to me that every man, woman, and child in Su-Lanté had suffered a great thirst. When the rumor of renewal had broken out, everyone had rushed to the stones to lick up every drop.