Four days beyond Reed End, the road stopped smelling of water.
Dust lay in the folds of the carrier covers. The streams ran deep in narrow cuts instead of spreading across every low place, and the vegetation grew low enough that Iven could see the wind moving over its tops. Their new dry-road drivers knew which slopes held firm and which pale surfaces were only a crust over loose grit.
They had covered another forty-odd kilometers, with the usual stops for animals, cooking and the midday heat. Reedglass was behind them now. The Gate remained far enough ahead to belong to the next pages of Elian’s route book.
At the fork above Blue Fold, Kesh stopped beside the right-hand cairn.
It was made from five pale stones, neatly stacked. A black arrow painted on the largest pointed downhill toward a narrow defile.
“That’s new,” the lead driver said.
“How new?” Tavin asked.
“Wasn’t here on the last trip. The left road went to the public halt.”
