by their gypsy standards. Her own people foresaw her violent death when she
abandoned them to live four years in the Sanctuary garrison, matching
Walegrin’s temper with her own.
Then one night his father got drunk, and more violently jealous than usual. They
found Rezzel, what remained of her, with the animal carcasses outside the
charnel house. The S’danzo took back what they had cast out and, by dead of
night, returned to the garrison. Seven masked, knife-wielding S’danzo carved the
living flesh of his father, and sealed their curses with his blood. They’d found
two children, Walegrin and Rez-zei’s daughter, Illyra, hiding in the corner.
They’d marked them with blood and curses as well.
He’d run away before the sun rose on that night-and was still running. Now he
was running back to Sanctuary.
2
Walegrin patted his horse, ignoring the cloud of dust around them both.
Everything, everyone was covered with a fine layer of desert grit; only his hair
seemed unaffected, but then it had always been the color of parched straw. He’d
led his men safely across the desert to Sanctuary but weariness had settled upon
them like dust and though the end of their travels was in sight, they waited in
silence for Thrusher’s return.
Walegrin had not dared to enter the city himself. Tall, pale despite the desert
sun, his braided hair roughly confined by a bronze band, he was too memorable to
be an advance scout. He was an outlaw as well, wanted by the prince for
abandoning the garrison without warning. He had Kilite’s pardon, the scrolls