The shaman stepped back toward the entrance and with one hand gestured to the door.
“Welcome, dear guests,” she said to the borman and the krynn, her tone smoothed once again into that glacial civility. “Please say your farewells and follow me.”
The storm resumed its breath. Air surged between the platform pillars, like water through stone teeth.
The borman stepped forward to follow. The krynn looked back at the ker.
“Go now,” the ker said. “Meet us here at sunrise.”
“The witch is not to come within sight of the gates again,” said Tirran.
“I understand,” the ker replied. “Is there a place where we may settle for the night?”
The guards gave no answer.
“There are caves,” it was the shaman who replied. “Twelve hundred steps westward, along the trail. You must have passed them. Look for an overhang, three meters above the path. It was once a guild outpost.”
The ker inclined his head.
“I will find you there at noon,” the krynn told him.
“Rest well,” the ker answered. Then he turned to the witch. “Go,” he said, quietly.
She stepped back, descending the stairs in silence. The orblight left her, and the storm took her, one gust at a time, until the last traces of her angered expression were just another blur in the night snows.
The ker followed, vanishing into the dark, after her.
The shaman turned again. She motioned once more, and led the borman and the krynn inside.
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