Siona noticed him when he was still far away. Not that that was hard – there weren't many visitors to their farmstead, and from the shady verandah round the farmhouse, you could see all the way across the valley to where the dirt track crossed the ridge. That had been the whole point of building the homestead where it was. She had wanted one that faced south, to shield them from the fierce desert sun, but her man had pointed out how much better the current location would be. For a time it hadn't mattered. Peace had come to Roidan, with a far off Emperor who seemed just and strong. But in the last few months, rumor had it at the village that he was dead, killed in some distant war. Now the roads were full of brigands and hard-eyed soldiers. And worse, demons with the shape of Men, with no notion of how to behave.
Her brother came sometimes, bringing money, but even he came less often these days. Times were hard.
She went and drew from the chest the throwing knives that Mikel had shown her how to use. She had practised with them every day as he had instructed. She called her eldest boy, Fnain, and told him to get his bow and quiver, and then whistled up the dogs. The slaves Mothon and Harithon watched the visitor under hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun. She knew where their loyalties lay, not because of their affection for her, though she trusted both, but because bad as an outlaw might be for her, he would be worse by far for them.
She was not helpless, even in a land where women did not rule. Yet she was lonely. She hoped that the man she saw trudging wearily along the stony track was simply a pedlar. She longed for news from the outside world. Perhaps, the thought entered her head unbidden, raising treacherous hope, perhaps it was news from her husband, maybe even a letter.
She stood patiently, leaning against the verandah posts, her face concealing the tumult in her heart.