“It’s been a while since you trained,” Balniss said.

“Yes, I’ll spar with the house guard.”

“Do you think that wise?”

“Who, then?”

Balniss grinned. “Me.”

“I didn’t know diviners kept up their martial skills.”

“I am a knight, brother. We, above all, are neck-deep in the war of assassins.”

“Still? I thought all that ended long ago.”

Balniss looked away. “If only you were right. There are diverse types of assassins, and each has its own war.”

“Like the Naukvyrae?”

“Yes, like them, but even they experience division, factions within factions. There is the Kithvrass, the honest edge. They go about killing the unworthy, doing what their matrons could not for the sake of the whole. They are the true justice of the goddess… or so they think.”

“And the others?”

“Some kill false diviners. Others kill false priestesses.”

Taul gasped. “Surely none of that happens now?”

“Now more than ever, but most of it is bluster. Nine in ten priestesses would be dead, otherwise. It’s mostly a political tool veiled in righteousness.”

“Ryldia…” Taul said without thinking.

“I don’t think she passed the trial,” Balniss said. “I’m sorry to say. Not that she isn’t a fine woman and a good matron. Most don’t attempt the trial, and their houses discourage it for fear of losing their head. I suspect Ryldia dipped-a-toe, as they say.”

He meant the pool of trials at the base of the temple spire. His sister had mentioned it when they were young, but only once. Those were secrets meant only for women.

“What can we do, brother?” Taul asked. “It’s like we’re in a mudslide with nothing to stop us.”

“No, just the bottom of the mountain. We’ll reach it someday.”

“And then what?”

“That is the question, Taul. Isn’t it? And then what? Most are afraid.”

“Are you?”

Balniss nodded. “Who wouldn’t be? All these hidden assassins. All these seething factions hiding in the shadows. All the whispers that will one day blossom into a roar which will shake the crater’s foundations….”

Taul stifled a laugh.

Balniss looked at him questioningly. His face was serious.

“It’s just that you sound like a valley prophet,” Taul said.

“They may be right. Have you ever considered it?”

“They pop up every season in every valley and then disappear.”

“Or perhaps they are silenced. Perhaps that’s why the goddess keeps making them spring up.”

Taul laughed aloud this time. Balniss looked hurt.

“I thought you weren’t into superstitions,” Taul said.

“I’m not. That’s the point. Things are happening, brother. You must do what you can to prepare. Arm yourself, secure your matron’s future, wrangle her relations, and then hunker down here. I fear what comes will be longer than the calamity through which we’ve been living.”

Balniss turned back to inspecting each device.

“Don’t touch any of these,” he said. “They aren’t useful for your purpose, and I fear you won't survive them.”

“That’s fine. I just want to follow him. I don’t want to make a deal without knowing more.”

“Wise,” Balniss said. He hunched over, burdened. Taul had never seen him this way. He’d always been so certain of everything. His elder in every way. But was he? Balniss had never worked in the orchards. Their matron had sent him early to Isilmyr for studies, and then the diviner’s cohort. Had that been his choice, or their matron mother’s decision? Did she know something?

His stomach turned, and he felt ill.

Balniss looked up then and smiled. “We’ll do what we can, neh? Wear the devices hidden,” he said. “In the time before, when knights wore only battle trousers, they hid their devices in their hair or under sashes and on thin ribbons bound to their bodies, and, of course, rings and bands on their wrists and ankles. I recall a story of a knight who spent a cycle studying his rival’s equipment and activities. He watched countless tournaments, battles, even private acts. All to learn from the shadows who his opponent really was, what he relied on. So, when the day came, he issued a challenge in the court for a crime over a cycle old. He did all that was necessary, all that one could expect.”

“Did he win?” Taul asked.

Balniss shook his head. “There was more to his target than he’d expected. But the lesson is important, Taul. This urchin can’t be more than a knight of Isilayne, can he? Surely not. And here you have magnificent tools from an era he can only dream of. The inheritance of your house. An ancient house with strength in its roots, neh? Don’t wear them too long, though. You’ll find the most recent wearers near the surface. The longer you wear them the deeper you’ll go, and powerful voices may rise to meet you. You don’t want that to happen. They will be terrifying to you.”

“Like in the womb… the deep roots?”

“You would know better than me on that matter. Hosmyr men trained differently in the old days. They had an ancient apprentice tablet for learning to fight with valley sorcery. Sensing heat, movement of the body, the flow of blood, breath, sap like in the trees.”

“What about the dagger?” Taul pointed to a foot long blade, edged on both sides with a fine tip. It was all black.

“No. It may make you do things you’ll later regret.”

“More than taking someone else’s child?”

Balniss frowned, almost angry. “The world is darker than you know. Come, let us go into the orchard and find a quiet space. I think you’ll find the trees will help your practice.”

Taul agreed. “Go up. I’ll put all this away.”

When he was alone, he took up a needle and spoke his name to it, and his great need. The thing tugged at him, as if draining strength and warmth from his arm, then it eased. A droning cry of anguish and rage welled in him as the needle heated uncomfortably.

House above all, it said to him. At any cost.