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the gods were clear on the duty owed by householders and temples toward indigent wanderers.
    â€œGreetings of the day to you, verea,” said the shopgirl, a pretty young thing in a shabby taloos that was frayed at the ends. She tried a smile, but it was as frayed as the fabric, barely holding together. She looked ready to duck away from the hard slap her father would give her if she didn’t close more sales this month than last month, even if it wasn’t her fault that so few travelers were out on Sardia’s main road, the principal route through this region to Toskala.
    â€œGreetings of the day to you,” said Marit. The girl’s cringing attitude disturbed her, so anger gave bite to her tone.
    â€œI’m sorry. How can I help you? I’m sure there’ssomething here you must need. What are you looking for?” Desperation made the girl’s voice breathy. She was trying too hard.
    Marit forced a kinder tone. “I need a brush. For grooming a horse. And something to pick stones out of its hooves. It’s a nice shop. You must get a lot of customers here, you’re in a good stopping point along the road.”
    â€œCustom used to be better,” admitted the girl, relaxing a little. She had a round face and a honey-colored complexion, smooth and unblemished. “Folk don’t travel anymore.”
    â€œWhy is that?”
    The girl glanced at the entryway. Wide strips of hanging cloth, stamped with the gold sigil of the merchants’ guild, were tied back to either side, so with the doors slid open, she could see straight down the road along which the posting town sprawled. The girl sucked in a sharp breath. Fear rose off her like steam. Marit turned.
    She should have noticed the cessation of street noise, followed by the ominous slap of feet. A pack of armed men strode down the street, breaking off in groups of two and three to climb onto the porches of shops and dive through the entrances without even the courtesy of taking off their sandals.
    The girl reached over the counter to tug on Marit’s sleeve. “We have to hide!” she whispered, but her thoughts screamed:
They’ll take me like they took Brother. Father won’t protect me this time.
“Quick, duck down over behind the chest there, they won’t look. Papa!” She opened the door to the back and vanished as she slid the door hard shut behind her.
    Shelves lined the shop front, but pickings were scarce: a pair of used brushes polished to look new; a single piece of stiff new harness, and several neatly looped lead lines recently oiled. A few other refurbished items also catered to travelers whose gear might have broken along the road. The chest had the bulky look of a piece left behindby a prosperous merchant fallen on hard times; not many people could afford the weight of such an oversized container.
    The door to the back snapped open.
    â€œCursed beggar!” A sweat-stained man slammed the door shut behind him. Marit realized she had let her cloak open, which revealed her ragged clothing still damp from the dawn’s shower. “Get out of the shop, or duck down behind that chest. I don’t want trouble from you! Beyond what I’ve already got!”
    She dropped down into the narrow gap between the chest and a set of lower shelves. The space was so small she had to turn her head to breathe, facing into the open shelving. A pile of brushes and combs had been shoved back here, pieces missing teeth or with wood cracking.
    A heavy stride hammered along the porch. A man’s voice raised in the shop next door.
    â€œYou promised me eight new halters, but here are only four. I’ll need coin to make up for the ones I’ll have to purchase elsewhere.”
    A murmured reply answered him. Marit could not hear the exact words, but terror drifted like a miasma. Beside her face, dust smeared the lowest shelf and its discarded goods, and dust stirred in an unsettled swirl of