“That’s the Towers of the Wound, the Lady’s shrine in Lukar.”
“Don’t look much,” observed Tyr.
“Well, that’s only proper. And in any case Na-veshtrazhdak, bless his memory, made a law that it mustn’t be ostentatious—showy, that is. Iathena’s only Arna’s consort, you see.”
This unsettled Tyr. His belief, such as it was, centred on the Lady of the Valleys, while giving Arna only a compulsory nod. A long discussion followed about the rights of a goddess in her own vales and what a consort was, anyway. This took some time and Tyr was never really satisfied, but at last the debate tailed off, for Valderthaan was drawing near.
The city came towards them like an immense ship. Its solid walls came down to the very shoreline of the island that carried it, making it appear it sat on the waters l
