Tulia swayed up to him and sat down in his lap. This was not an illusion. Neither was both of them sliding down to the ground, their backs resting comfortably against the stone and their arms around each other.

Furthermore, it was not an illusion that Krythis's left hand was resting on a part of Tulia he did not usually touch where others might see. Was there anyone to see?

Desire warred with returning memory. Krythis realized he had not seen or heard the centaurs since Rynthala's brawl. Indeed, he had not heard of them. What had happened with them?

He was able to mumble the question so that Tulia understood his third attempt. She smiled sleepily.

"I gave them the staffs. But by then they felt at peace with the whole world, even without Sirbones's brandy. They did an exhibition bout with the staffs, then challenged all comers, then danced. People began throwing money. The dance went on.

"I think it ended with each centaur having a dwarf on his back, the dwarf with a kender on his shoulders, and something atop the kender, but I don't remember what."

"Not a gully dwarf," Krythis said. "I don't think they can balance well enough."

"You're a fine one to talk about balancing," Tulia said, nuzzling his neck.

"Speak for yourself," Krythis said, tightening his grip.

Tulia sighed happily, then whispered, "I asked Sirbones if he could give a truth potion to the guests."

"To find out if there was anyone-anyone playing games-behind that drunken fletcher?"

"Exactly so. He said he couldn't make enough for everybody, and it was unlawful to give it without their consent anyway. But he did sober up eight more guards, and the night band hadn't drunk, and there were dwarves and kender who'd sobered up by nightfall. Rynthala was going to keep watch too."

"On this, of all days?"

"Never heard the old tale, about how a girl who keeps watch on her coming-of-age night may have a vision of her future husband?"

"Never."

"Well, let me tell it you."

Except that Tulia became so occupied with nuzzling her husband's neck, and then returning his intimate touches, that the story never got told, or even decently begun, before they were both asleep in each other's embrace.

Haimya and Pirvan were making the evening rounds of their sentry posts when they encountered Eskaia and Hawkbrother.

It had been too far toward darkness by the time they stepped out of the cave, so the two bands (the united Free Riders and Pirvan's party) had made camp, close beside each other, but separate. This far within Gryphon lands and this close to their sacred cave, the sentries were meant less to guard against enemies than to keep loose-tongued fighters of either side from wandering about and breaking either their bones or the new peace.

Pirvan wondered how strong the peace was. If it had any strength at all, that, too, he owed to Tarothin. He had not yet thought of any reward sufficient for the Red Robe and doubted he would be able to, but knew honor demanded he at least try.

Knight's daughter and chief's son were standing on either side of a horse, she grooming the mane while he examined its hooves for lodged stones. They were a wholly decent distance apart, but Pirvan noticed that Hawkbrother now wore his hair in a single braid much like Eskaia's, and she wore a necklace of pale blue stones.

Neither was a courtship gift, as far as Pirvan knew, but each clan had its own customs.

I hope the Gryphons at least require the man to ask the woman's father for permission to court, Pirvan thought, or Tarothin's work may be wasted.

Then Pirvan nearly stumbled: he'd been casually contemplating the prospect of his daughter wed to a "barbarian."

Who has also sworn oaths, he reminded himself, that will ensure his treating Eskaia decently if she wishes to have him, or his taking her refusal decently if she does not.

"Ah, Father," Eskaia said. "I thought you had retired."

"Oh, it's not time for this old war-horse to be unsaddled yet," Pirvan said.

"No, and when he is, he'll be ridden even harder than before," Haimya said. Eskaia and Pirvan flushed; Hawkbrother turned away to hide what Pirvan suspected was a grin.

"I wanted to ask Tarothin what he meant by leaping into the cave," Hawkbrother said. "But Esk-your lady daughter-she persuaded me you should ask that question."

"Why should I ask Tarothin any such thing?" Pirvan said. He was confused almost to anger. If there was sense behind this question, it escaped him, and insulting the man who had saved them all needed much reason before he would even think of it.

"He did not realize what he was doing-" Hawkbrother began.

"Are you calling him a fool?" Pirvan almost shouted.

Haimya put a hand on his arm. He shook it off before realizing that perhaps he should not wake both camps and have them listen to this conversation.

"No," Eskaia said. "Father, could you listen to Hawkbrother?"

"I will listen to anyone who speaks sense, or even one who does not, although not for as long."

Hawkbrother's gift for storytelling came to the fore again. It seemed Tarothin had risked everyone's life, beginning with his own and going on to Redthorn. Skytoucher's binding spells were potent, her personal magic no less so, and in a rage, she had been known to unleash her powers even on friends. She had certainly been in a rage in the cave, and Redthorn had been taking his life in his hands subduing her.

Pirvan nodded slowly. "I will ask Tarothin if he knew what he faced, which I believe he did. I will also ask you to consider what might have come about had he not done as he had. I do not think even Skytoucher would have been pleased with war between the Gryphons and the knights, or her cave in ruins, or the Gryphons losing a chief and two of the chief's sons. To think otherwise is to call her a fool."

Hawkbrother shuddered in mock terror. "Gryphons have been staked out on anthills for lesser crimes. No, no, I will not call her a fool. Nor your friend, either. But if he knew what he faced-"

"Then great songs have been sung for lesser heroes," Eskaia said. "Perhaps you should make one."

"Eh," Hawkbrother said, finally looking as bemused as Pirvan. "I am not that fine a bard."

"I have heard some of your songs and would say otherwise," Eskaia said. She might have gone on if Haimya had not coughed.

"I will not speak to anyone save Pirvan, and not much to him until dawn," Haimya said. "Those who wish to chatter the night away, I leave to do so."

She put a hand on her husband's arm again, but with a subtle difference that made Pirvan welcome her touch, and drew him away from the younger folk.

In her festal attire, with a cloak borrowed from one of the men-at-arms, Rynthala walked the battlements of Belkuthas. The cloak was hardly large enough for her, but she had draped her own over her parents when she found them asleep in the outer ward. She had also made sure two guards watched them, and two more the outworks at all times.

She also watched over them when her rounds brought her past them. But most of the time she was staring out over the land to the east. It sloped downward, sharply at first, then more gently, before disappearing into virgin forest that stretched all the way to the plains.

Nothing was moving on the open ground save pinpoints of light and curls of smoke from the torches of farmers, foresters, and guests who lived close enough to chance the journey home at night rather than sleep on the floor in the citadel. She did not expect anything else to move. If an armed warrior did appear, she was more likely to give the alarm than to suspect him of being her future husband.

Still, the old wives would be happier if she kept the vigil, and probably her mother, as well. It was so easy to make people happy, or at least pleased and grateful; even between husband and wife. Although that was probably not true of all husbands and wives, it was true for Rynthala's parents-extraordinary folk, even among the half-elven.

She came to the northwest corner, and looked toward the forest that way, clinging to the steeper slopes of the mountains as they rose toward the sky. Nothing there, except a glint of light that might be some gnome or dwarf doing forge work too smoky for a cave.

She stood for a while, but saw nothing else, and continued her rounds.

More eyes than two studied the land around Zephros's camp. But they had no more luck in seeing danger than Rynthala had in seeing men.

It was not altogether their fault. Some of them were seasoned sell-swords, and one woman had the keenest night vision in the camp.

But kender are small to begin with, and deft at hiding. When they become desert-wise, it is as if they possess cloaks of invisibility.

Chapter 7.

The Gryphons and Pirvan's Solamnic band avoided warm friendships, but quickly knit all the bonds necessary for peace, and even alliance. No doubt it helped that Redthorn made it plain how his wrath would fall on any peace breakers among the Gryphons.

Redthorn was in fact so plainspoken in favor of peace, and Skytoucher and the chief's sons along with him, that Pirvan hardly needed to speak to his own people. He had been choosing them carefully for years; anyone who thought the homeland of "barbarians" began a day's ride from Tirabot Manor had long since departed his service.

However, for the sake of his own honor and that of the knights, he firmly addressed his company, and while so doing ignored the bored looks on a fair number of faces. Among the most bored were certain men-at-arms whom Pirvan and Haimya had seen "walking out" with warrior maidens of the Gryphons.

"It seems the fascination of the stranger afflicts both men and women," Pirvan grumbled as he and Haimya were undressing for bed that night.

"You think of Eskaia and Hawkbrother?"

"There are whole hours of the day when I do not think of them."

"Such moderation in a father!"

Pirvan threw a mock buffet at her head. She replied with a less mock twist of leg and ankle that brought them both down. Pirvan's head ended between Haimya's breasts.

"Of course, a man need not be a stranger to fascinate a woman," she murmured, and tightened her arms around him.

Unseen save by gryphons, the scouts of half a dozen clans of Free Riders, and two kender-Zephros's men marched across the desert toward the mountains.

They marched slowly, seldom moving beyond the next watering spot in the course of a day, and hardly ever traveling by night. This helped keep down straggling, and allowed deserters from Aurhinius's camp and the odd sell-sword who did not care whom he followed to join them.

There were enough desert-wise fighters in Zephros's ranks to keep most of their comrades from doing anything too stupid too often. Straggling also diminished as it became evident that someone followed the band. Stragglers who did not vanish as if into the air were most often found with their throats cut. Sometimes their deaths had been slower.

Strangest of all were those stragglers who were found alive, sun-parched to delirium, but otherwise unharmed save for being stripped of every item of usable gear.

The obvious suspects in such a case were kender, but kender, it was well-known, did not roam the desert. Therefore, suspicion implicated the whole gamut of Ansalon's folk, human and otherwise.

As the days went by, fear began to feed on that suspicion, and find it a nourishing diet.

The messenger from the Gryphons' scouts rode into camp as Pirvan and Threehands faced each other in a practice bout.

Pirvan had soon learned he could not have wisely challenged Threehands as he had Hawkbrother. The Gryphon chief's eldest son had won his name in his earliest fighting days, by wielding weapons with such speed that he seemed to have three hands. He had not lost any of that speed, and had gained skill.

The bout was not being fought to blood, but both fighters were so swift on the attack that accidents were inevitable. Both had slight wounds before the messenger rode up. Threehands tossed his towel to Pirvan and went to meet the man. As Pirvan finished wiping off sweat and sat down to let Eskaia bind the light wound in his thigh, Threehands returned.

"Bad news?" Pirvan asked.

Threehands looked even more sour, whether at the news or at being so easily read, then jerked his head.

"The Istarians are marching?" Eskaia asked. Threehands looked about to put this foreign woman in her place, when Hawkbrother strolled up. The chief's eldest son shot the youngest an eloquent look, then squatted. While Hawkbrother did his duty patching Threehands's wounded arm, all listened to the messenger.

The Istarians were indeed on the move, but not in great force. Less than five hundred fighting men, the scouts had reported, perhaps many less. Several clans were watching them, and a prisoner taken by scouts had, before dying, said that desert hobgoblins were also on their trail. Aurhinius was not with them; the prisoner had spoken of one High Captain Zephros.

At this, Pirvan's eyebrows rose so that all demanded to know what the name meant to him.

"A lapdog of the kingpriest, or rather of the old kingpriest's faction," Pirvan said. He explained Istar's intrigues as best he could to people who had never been within a week's ride of it.

"So he might be seeking glory for himself, not carrying out a plan of Chief Aurhinius?" Hawkbrother asked. His brother shot another look, but this time the younger replied with a bland smile and an observation: "Duty is done by your wound, Brother. Now we are at council, and I am of Redthorn's blood as much as you."

"I would not dispute that if I could, knowing how much time it would waste," Threehands said, which was the first display of wit Pirvan could recall from him. "Very well, we are at council. But I am chief over the council-"

"Chief along with my father," Eskaia said. This time it was Pirvan who flung a reproving look, and his daughter who replied with a smile as eloquent as any of her mother's.

Her message was Somebody must speak up for you, Father, if you are too honorable to do so yourself.

Pirvan briefly contemplated the custom among certain remote tribes, of marrying off daughters when they were no more than fifteen. Doubtless they still developed forward tongues in due time, but at least they exercised them on their husbands or sons, not their fathers.

"Very well, Brother Chief," Threehands said, and now he even ventured what might have been, without abusing language, called a smile. Pirvan suspected it was not so much new goodwill as the new prospect of a good fight. "What does your war wisdom suggest?"

Pirvan did not have his map with him, and in any case it was one of the knights' more complete and more secret ones. Memory would have to serve.

"They are either Aurhinius's vanguard, a feint to disguise his real line of march, or perhaps, as you say, glory-seekers not under his authority. In any case, they are too many to have roaming about unwatched."

Pirvan went on to explain that where any opponent should wait for Zephros depended on where he was going. There were several possible destinations, but all save one could either move or defend themselves.

"The last is the citadel at Belkuthas. It is half ruined, and the folk there have been at peace with their neighbors for twenty years or more. We were going to visit them before we returned north, to warn them to be on guard and arrange to place them under the knights' protection, if they wished."

"Belkuthas is not unknown among the Free Riders," Threehands said. "Nor unhonored," he added, "though any who wish the goodwill of the Silvanesti will not be too openly friends with Krythis and Tulia. Even if they need no defending, they will doubtless know much that others have not heard."

"Also, appearing as their friends will give the Gryphons a fine name among the dwarven folk and the other friends of Belkuthas," Hawkbrother said. "At times like these, one cannot have too many friends, or at least those who think well of one."

"Unlike brothers, whom the gods sometimes send in greater numbers than any sensible man could wish," Threehands said, but he could not quite fight down a smile as he said it. With that, nobody else could keep from laughing aloud.

Then the laughter died, as the council settled down to considering the best road to reach Belkuthas without losing sight of Zephros.

Mostly out of curiosity, Imsaffor Whistletrot and Horimpsot Elderdrake climbed the rocks beside the mouth of a certain pass. They were not likely to venture this way again, and some of the rock needles jutting from the upper portion of the cliff to the north had fascinating shapes that did not seem quite natural.

"I wonder if dwarves ever came out here," Elderdrake said. "I know they don't like heat, but maybe once this land was colder. They surely do like to play with rocks, and this cliff looks like somebody's been playing with it."

Both kender also felt better getting on high ground above Zephros's oncoming men. Neither was more a student of war than the average kender, which is to say they could give a junior captain in any regular host headaches and fits. However, old tales they had heard (or read, or maybe both; they had argued over that much of one night) said if you reached high ground ahead of an enemy, you could do more to him than he could do to you, or at least see him more clearly.

So, one night, they scurried ahead of Zephros's ambling column and were waiting for it at dawn, perched up among the pinnacles.

It had been a hard march and a harder climb. Both kender were sick of the desert and well loaded with items handled from stragglers. They might have had fewer possessions if they had met other kender, but as far as they could tell, they were the only ones in this desert. They refused to simply drop something that might prove useful before long.