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Late at night a fight broke out beyond the compound's high walls.

Keshad sat up in darkness. At first he thought himself in the Hundred, in the city of Olossi, still bound as a debt slave to Master Feden. Then he smelled the rancid aroma of the harsh local oil used for cooking. He heard shouts, jabbering words he could not understand.

He wasn't in the Hundred. He was in the Sirniakan Empire.

He groped for the short sword he had stashed under the cot.

'Eh? Keshad?' A bleary voice murmured on the other side of the curtain.

'Quiet. There's trouble. '

The cloth rippled as Eliar wrestled with clothing, or his turban, or whatever the hells the Silvers were so cursed prudish about. Bracelets jangled. There came a curse, a rattle, and a thump as the cot tipped over.

'Where's the lamp?'

'Hush. ' Kesh wrapped his kilt around his waist, approached the door, and, leaning against it, pressed an ear to the crack. All quiet.

'Nothing to do with us,' he whispered. 'Yet. '

The cot scraped, being righted. 'The Sirniakan officials have locked us in the compound, won't let us trade, and hand over a scant portion of rice and millet once a day so we don't starve. One of their priests told you the emperor is dead, killed in battle by his cousin. They've locked down Sardia and are restricting all movement.

'Say it a bit louder, perhaps. That will help us, neh? If everyone figures out we're spies?'

'No need to constantly criticize me-'

Aui! No matter how much he disliked Eliar, he had to make this expedition work or he'd never get what he wanted. And to get what he wanted, he had to stay on Eliar's good side.

'I beg your pardon. It's hateful to be stuck in this cursed compound day and night. '

Eliar grunted in acknowledgment of the apology, which Kesh knew was gracelessly delivered. 'We've got to do something. ''

Kesh jiggered the latch and cracked the door. It was strange to deal with hinges instead of proper doors that slid, but in the empire things were done one way or not at all, and if you didn't like it, the priests would condemn you to the fire. In the courtyard, a lamp hanging from a bracket illuminated the storehouse gates, but the far walls with their set-back doors into other storerooms and sleeping cells remained hidden in shadows. Trumpets, shouting, and the clash of weapons swelled in the distance, well away from the restricted market district where foreign merchants were required to reside and carry out all their trade. A whiff of burning oil stung his nose as a flame flared behind him.

'Pinch that down, you fool!' he whispered. 'We don't want anyone to know we're awake. ' Nothing stirred in the courtyard. If anyone had seen that flare of light, they weren't acting on it. 'Listen, Eliar, you stay here. Make sure no one goes after our trade goods. I'm going to the gate to see what the guards will tell me. '