Free Between Worlds: the Collected Ile-Rien and Cineth Stories by Martha Wells

probably told no one where they were going or why. It shouldn’t
be too hard to discover at least some of their identities, if their families
have reported them missing. I’ll do some preliminary work on it, and give it to
you, to be passed on to the Shankir-Clare family.”
    It would give the magistrates another push in the
right direction. And Reynard would enjoy a chance to see Belina again and bid
her a more formal farewell. “This was a good day’s work.”
    “It was adequate,” Nicholas agreed. “Miss
Shankir-Clare was helpful.”
    “She was.” Reynard had been thinking it over while he
waited, and he said, “It would be good to have a woman available for this sort
of job. Fools like Idilane don’t expect it. Someone who has a public reputation
of some sort would be even better, less likely to be suspected.”
    “You’re considering asking Miss Shankir-Clare?”
Nicholas sounded dubious. “She has the nerve for it but she’s still a little
young--”
    “No, of course not.” Belina was too young. And more
importantly if her mother found out, the reaction would not be salubrious. “We
need someone who isn’t under the eye of a concerned family.” Thinking of
Nicholas’ theatrical infatuation, Reynard added, just to tease, “An actress,
for instance.”
    The look Nicholas gave him was unreadable. “That might
be possible.”
     

Holy Places
     
    The next four stories are set in Cineth, before the
events of the novel The Wizard Hunters , the first book of the Fall of
Ile-Rien trilogy. “Holy Places” is the story of how Giliead and Ilias first
met.
     
    Even at only eight seasons old, Ilias knew Cineth’s
god didn’t really eat children, no matter what his older brother had told him. Castor
was only two seasons older and Ilias knew he lied a lot, sometimes to try to
frighten Ilias and more often to make himself sound knowledgeable. So when
Castor pointed out the new Chosen Vessel at the market, Ilias wasn’t sure
whether to believe him or not.
    He was sitting on his heels, watching ants build a
nest in the dirt, bored by the adult haggling all around him. The afternoon sun
was warm and bright and the market tents were all pitched under the big trees
of the plaza. Men and women haggled over bags of grain, amphorae of wine and
olive oil, fleeces, goatskins. The further end of the market was where the
potters and metal-workers and other crafters spread their blankets to sell
pottery and dyed cloth, knives and trinkets of carved wood and copper and
polished stone jewelry. Ilias could smell the grilled meat someone was selling,
and knew there would also be cheese and fruit and flatbread with honey. He also
knew if he went for a closer look at any of it, his father would give him a
clout to the head. Normally this wouldn’t have stopped him; if Ilias minded
clouts to the head he would have never done anything worth doing. But a tension
in the air all through the day had told him that his father’s quiet temper had
already been pushed to the limit; pushing it further was not a good idea.
    He had noticed the family long before Castor pointed
them out because they were standing near the edge of the plaza, talking to some
of the merchants who bought crops. The woman was young, her tawny hair braided
with beads, and she wore a rich blue silk stole over her gown. The man with her
wasn’t wearing a sword, but then nobody but travelers carried serious weapons
to market. He was tall, olive-skinned, with red-brown hair, like the Syprians
who had always lived on the coast, and was dressed in worn leather boots
stamped with gold and a sun-faded green shirt over pants trimmed with leather. Though
his hair was more than touched with gray, he still wore it in a long queue past
his shoulders, and it tangled in his copper earrings. Ilias thought he must be
a warrior, to attract such a young wife. Even though she wasn’t as pretty as
Ilias’ mother, she looked wealthy, and could easily have bought