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Anthora was sitting on the cart beside him, her hand on his knee. His bones burned somewhat less, which he feared was her influence, but he did not demand that she withdraw. She had brought him a bottle of water, which he drank thirstily while Stost examined what remained of Lorith, and Tolly Jones and Seignur Veeoni examined what was left of the array.

His study complete, Stost came to the cart, and dropped into a crouch, which put his face at a more convenient height for discussion.

“The Sanderat were fierce and dedicated warriors,” Stost said, his big voice gentle. “Their purpose and their honor was to die in battle, their blades red with the blood of their enemies. If there should happen to be a blade sister with them at the end, a song was made, recalling the glories and the victories of the one departing.”

Stost took a breath.

“That is what I know, Light Keeper. She would have expected no other dignities, save that her name be remembered by her sisters, until they, too, fell in battle.”

Anthora’s fingers tightened on his knee.

“I was her sister,” Jen Sin said, slowly, “and I will recall her as long as I live.”

“I, too, will recall Lorith Light Keeper, who stood between the universe and the Great Enemy,” Catalinc Station said.

Jen Sin bowed his head.

“Yes.”

He looked up to meet Stost’s eyes.

“Thank you, Pathfinder.”

“It is my honor,” Stost assured him, and rose to his full towering height.

“The light keeper requires a ’doc,” Seignur Veeoni said, shockingly brisk. “He was in this room when the field gave up its energy, and has taken injury. I suggest the crisis healing unit aboard Bechimo as the nearest and most appropriate source of aid.”

“I agree,” Jen Sin said, and slid to his feet.

His knees buckled, his vision greyed; flames leapt, consuming him.

The last thing he heard was his cousin Anthora directing Stost to carry him.


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Framed