Marin didn’t mind doing the lion’s share of the work barricading the small office. If anything, she was enjoying being able to use skills that largely had no other use, such as bindings, wards, reforging mud into stone, and the mental exercise of imagining exactly how the place might be attacked.

Wilke seemed to be fine with letting her play, contenting himself with casting his senses out into the winds, hoping to catch any sign of intruders. The winds didn’t cooperate, staying mostly out of the north, but he didn’t mind pushing back against them.

Far better would have been to use the Vein to investigate from underground, but it ran from the northwest to the southeast, and shrank quickly not far from the office. With the Egrethore estate being northeast, it wouldn’t get them at all close. Nor was there any other solid vein of earth or water which could be used to scry in the area.

Evening came quicker than she expected. Still, Wilke kept an eye out, seeming more entertained than diligent. Marin had no doubts when she opened the door, quiet as she was, that he knew exactly where she was, and likely had been following the sounds of her footsteps as she went around, but she still cleared her throat to get his attention.

“Yes, Marin?” Wilke was perched atop the stone-brick column that supported the gate. The walls themselves were only about shoulder-tall, and so were topped by quartz spikes, each thin as a razor--not her work, more likely Nina’s. Torit, for his part, had maintained an enchantment on them that drew anything flying over the wall straight down onto the spikes. Marin had improved the enchantment, but she had to admit it was a very solid starting point.

The gate, however, was about twice the height of the walls, and the columns reached nearly to their top. As there was no concern of people simply leaping over them, they had no more than a decorative pair of brass spikes, which Wilke seemed to have simply knocked aside so that he could comfortably squat on top.

“I think that’s about all I can do.” She paused. “I admit I half-expected to have heard something from the Temple by now.”

“Yes.” Wilke kept staring out into the distance. “I was half-hoping trouble would come find us before we got a chance to leave, too. Maybe if we wait ‘till the morning?”

Marin huffed. Still, the idea of seeing her preparations put to use was appealing, in its own right. “You still haven’t given your report.”

“Nor even written it out.” Wilke sighed. “Yes, there is that. If I were to be killed before I got a chance to properly report on the enemy, I suppose the Order would be obliged to investigate a third time. We might as well save someone the headache.”

So he jumped down, and Marin replaced the brass spike on top with just a bit of magic. She was far from exhausted; there was simply nothing more she could do without digging for more clay or rock, or bringing materials that allowed more complex enchantments. She looked up at the gate and considered what she could do with better supplies, then shook her head and turned inside.

She sealed the lock on the gate, sealed the lock on the front door, and headed for the transit room.

Wilke was standing there, looking at the seal which marked the entrance to the Vein. It took Marin a moment to realize that it wasn’t introspection; there was a new glowing mark atop the seal, one she had not put there.

It was a mark used by the Order to block access to the network.

“That wasn’t me,” she said, feeling a bit dumbfounded.

“I… suspected it wasn’t.” Wilke knelt down next to it, looking at it closely. “And also, those marks have to be added from the other side, do they not? Is this another form of attack?”

“No, that seal should be secret knowledge kept by the Order. Do you suppose Torit was attacked?”

Wilke suddenly tensed, then let loose with a loud swear, loud enough that Marin stumbled back, her ears ringing. “What!” She shook her head. “Wilke!”

“We were supposed to keep him safe! Blast it all, if someone attacked him, I’ll tear them to pieces!” Wilke smashed a hand into the wall, then pounded it another few times, each time with less intensity than the last. “I don’t… want anyone else dying to these stupid… corrupt…”

Marin was surprised, honestly. Wilke hadn’t seemed the kind to get upset over a little death, not being a combat mage. But then, Torit had been kind, straightforward, and loyal. And whatever else he was, he was definitely not a combatant himself.

She let him settle for a couple minutes, finally suggesting, “Well, then I suppose we get to wait and see if trouble finds us, don’t we?”

Wilke soaked in that thought, then forced a bit of cheer. “Yes, you’re right! I might get a chance to let loose after all. So, first things first, I suppose some supper is in order. Ah… you didn’t, perchance, trap the kitchen, did you?”

“A bit.” In truth, most of the traps inside the building were only meant to signal her and inconvenience the attacker. If they spent time time and effort to bypass all of them, it would be a waste of their time; if not, she would know, even from the other side of Contel. “It won’t be more than a moment to unlock them.”

“What is the Seyonan staple? Beef?”

Marin snorted, as she pressed a hand on the kitchen door. “Too much enchantment in this country for growing livestock. Fish. Spiced fish, usually in a stew.”

“Oh! Yes, I remember. Here in Nase they get a lot of freshwater fish from the north mountains. I must have been thinking of Ooria.”

“They have goats, not cows.”

“Yes…?” Wilke watched her unseal the cold cupboard. “I thought most of the beef came from the south.”

“A lot of the best-known beef dishes started here, but all the meat is brought in from the north, and it’s quite expensive. The cheap foods are all fish, fruits, and nuts. Some mutton on the east coast.” She looked up and down the shelves. “It looks like Torit’s tastes are mostly in fruits and seeds. Some meat. The remains of some fish, but not enough for both of us. Rice. Plenty of flour.”

“We can make it work.” Wilke kept at his forced cheer, and ran through the few cooking dishes that the half-bird had kept. “Mutton or goat?”

“Goat.”

“And the seed-fruits, I’m sure.”

“Yes.”

“They go together well in a stew.” Wilke searched the cabinets, finally finding the small closet containing the well pump and drawing a pot of water. “We’ll do alright.”

Later, the two of them sat at the table, and Marin had to admit that Wilke’s cooking was good. It was no feast for kings, but if she’d been alone, she might not have tried to cook anything, except perhaps a loaf of bread, and that was not likely to turn out well.

“I’m sure that Torit is fine,” said Wilke out of nowhere. “The fact that they sealed it must mean he got through. Otherwise, why would they have acted so quickly?”

Marin, surprised at her own tiredness, struggled upright. “Yes, you’re right. They can’t really tell if someone dies in the Vein, can they?”

“No.” Wilke paused. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“So he got through, and someone will come--”

A noise from the transit room startled them both. A silence followed, then the unmistakable sound of someone coming through, and then another.

Wilke was on his feet, and before the door, long moments before it could have opened. Marin, trusting in her magic senses, put her hand to the wall to try to sense who was on the other side. It took her a moment, just long enough for the door to open in the next room.

Both of them let out a sigh of relief as Torit and another Order member stepped back into the main room.