Neither sentry moved for the better part of a minute, and that stillness said more to Rama than any amount of motion could have. Ordinary guards shifted their weight, scratched at insect bites, glanced up at the darkening sky the way tired men did at the end of a long watch. These two stood at the waystation's gate like posts driven into the earth, spears grounded, faces angled toward the road below as though they had been arranged there rather than posted.
"Same as the wall," Surya said, flexing the fingers of his crystalline arm. The faint cold light along its ridges had steadied into a slow pulse, in time with something Rama couldn't see or hear. "Contained, like I said. Whatever's making them stand like that isn't loose in there. It's held somewhere, and they're just the part of it that's been let out to guard the door."
