Three days later, the sun was shining brightly as fat clouds drifted across the sky. It was cold – the air had a bite to it now that winter had finally arrived – but here in Bekala, that wasn’t so bad. They were just far enough south that the temperature rarely dropped below freezing.
Several dozen people had gathered near the pyramid’s front entrance, forming a series of crescent-shaped rows around the SlipGate. Most were Field Binders or soldiers who had stayed behind to protect the city. And they wore the local fashions – trousers and workshirts under heavy jackets, the occasional straw hat. But she did notice a few people in Leyrian uniforms.
Desa sat on a tiled roof a short distance away from the pyramid, her feet dangling over the ledge. Hunched over with her elbow on her thigh and
