Saplings shot from the willow beads worn by the Yanjingyi mages. Rapidly the new trees grew. The mages tore off their strings of beads, but not fast enough to keep from being enveloped by fast-growing willows. The new trees followed their power to heal by uniting the mages’ arms with their bodies and forcing the humans’ two legs to become one. They wrapped the humans in their trunks.

Feeling that he had exacted a little vengeance for the dead who had lain in the gorge and the river, Briar ran down the steps down into the courtyard. He wanted to see what he could do if there were mages at the north gate.

By the time the stone tigers had returned to their poses as statues, Briar had calmed the new willow groves he’d made north and south of the temple. He had lost his chance to ride with the warriors to capture what remained of the enemy after the last soldiers had fled. No one wanted the escapees to reach General Jin Quan.

Since he couldn’t chase soldiers, Briar searched the grass around his new willows and collected the rest of the mages’ beads. The thought of someone with a little power stumbling across them gave him the chills. He also preferred the voices of the new willows to the noise of the villagers after the battle. They were boasting about the valor of Gyongxin warriors and their allies from the south. Briar didn’t want to listen. This war party had been tiny compared to what the emperor had to send, and it was magic that had won the day. Next time there might not be enough magic to turn the tide. The image of the imperial soldiers in their thousands was never far from his mind. Next time they might not have such an easy victory. Or any victory at all.

Rosethorn rode quickly as she left Briar. The sooner I go, she told herself, the sooner I return to them. Who knows what mischief they’ll get into without me to keep an eye on things?

She looked back after ten yards for a last glimpse of her boy, but a heavy fog had come from nowhere to hide the north bank of the Snow Serpent River. She faced south again and let her patient horse follow the trail. As they moved into the canyons of the Drimbakang Lho, she prayed to Mila of the Fields and Grain, the Green Man, god of growth that was orderly and chaotic, and even Briar’s own Lakik the Trickster to look after him and Evvy.

One thing she had found while carrying the Four Treasures was that her path was always clear. Since leaving the fort she had seen it as a shining pale ribbon along the main road, across the bridge, and now on the simple one-mule track. She only had to stay on it.

Her burden was company of a sort. It carried myriad voices to her. Most of them spoke languages she had never heard, even after all her years of life on the Pebbled Sea. Some bits of conversation came in tongues she knew quite well, speaking of trade, the governing of nations, the weather, the condition of crops, or the behavior of children. The voices held her attention so well that the horse would nudge her when he required rest, water, or the chance to crop grass.

She brought out one of Evvy’s glow stones for light once the sun had set, not for herself, but for her mount. Finally he dug in his hooves to let her know he had walked enough for the day. She made their camp in a stand of trees and rubbed the easygoing animal down, then covered him with a blanket against the mountain cold. She ate yak jerky and cheese for supper, though she wasn’t particularly hungry. Her own common sense, at least, was still working.

Best of all, she breathed easily. She might resent the detour to Gyongxe and the separation from both of her young people, but it was good to fill her lungs again.

The package wasn’t even that much of a burden in a physical sense. She felt its light pressure on her chest, but it wasn’t heavy. She slept on her side with the box still around her neck, one arm draped lightly over the Four Treasures.

She woke at dawn, fed her horse and herself, and continued her upward trek. The gleaming path turned away from the one-mule road onto a game trail some time after noon. Wild mountain goats and yaks politely moved aside to let them pass.

The trail led to a slender ledge over a deep gorge. On her side the cliff rose over a hundred feet into the air above her. “I hope you’re nimble,” Rosethorn told the horse. She gulped when she looked down. The gorge plunged far deeper than she had expected. A ribbon of blue-and-white water tumbled over rocks.

The horse calmly followed the trail around the curve on the ledge and onto wider ground again, deep into shadowed lands. The mountains rose higher, and the path rose with them. Rosethorn relaxed and returned to her dreaming state. That night it was cold enough that she built a fire.

The next day the trail took them down a thin canyon. It was so narrow that Rosethorn could touch both walls when she stretched out her arms. She could tell her mount did not like the close quarters.

“What can we do?” she asked him softly. Even so her voice echoed. “See the path? This is the way we have to go.”

“Few have the gods’ blessings to come here.” The deep male voice boomed between the stone walls. Rosethorn reined in, unsure of what was going on. “You are expected, bearer of the Living Circle’s Treasures. You have come to the Temple of the Sealed Eye. Ride on.”

After she caught her breath, she decided there was nothing else to do. She nudged her mount, clicking her tongue between her teeth. He snorted and tossed his head, but he did advance. The path descended as the canyon widened. Rosethorn could hear a waterfall.

A clearing opened before them. Soft grass grew around a wide pool. It was supplied from a waterfall that dropped thirty feet from a cliff. Three caves opened into the cliff face beside the waterfall.

“Leave your horse,” the voice ordered. “He will be cared for. Enter the temple — if you choose the correct entry.”