Suddenly Skint straightened in his seat. "Here he comes. Let me do the talking," he said, the words so soft that Railing almost didn't hear.

A huge Troll was coming toward them, winding his way through the closely bunched tables as if unconcerned whether he avoided them or knocked them over. The occupants of the tables he passed were quick to move aside, either out of courtesy or to avoid being crushed; it was hard to tell which. Challa Nand wasn't just big. At three hundred pounds or more, and topping out at just under seven feet, he was huge. The bark-like skin and blunted features were a familiar sight, but it was the man's build that was more impressive. Railing was willing to bet that there wasn't an ounce of fat amid all that muscle. Challa Nand looked as if he could pick up any table in the room-occupants and all-and fling it out the door.

He reached them and sat down at the end of the bench next to Skint, who quickly made room for him. He dark gaze passed over all three men before settling on the Gnome Tracker. "What do you need of me?"

He spoke the Southland dialect that had become commonplace during the last century, his voice a deep rumble, harsh and jagged about the edges. Railing tried to stop staring at him and failed.

"We need a guide into the Charnals," Skint replied. He seemed calm enough sitting next to the Troll, who looked to be three times his size. "Into country not many know or dare to go."

"Where, exactly?"

"The ruins of Stridegate."

A rough chuckle. "Urda country. Why would you go there? Never mind, don't tell me that. I don't need to know. Stridegate. That's inside the Inkrim." He glanced at Railing and Farshaun. "Just the three of you?"

"We have a ship. A crew of Rovers. Two other passengers."

"A warship?"

"No, but she's well protected."

"She'll need to be. That's dangerous country even for men who know it, which I'm guessing you don't. Deep inside the Klu, which are deep inside the Charnals." He shook his massive head. "An old man, a skinny Gnome, and a boy. Are the rest any better suited to this than you?"

Without waiting for a response, he took Skint's tankard of ale and drained it. "You should get us another round, don't you think?"

Skint glared at him but complied. The Troll watched him go, then turned to Railing. "There's something about you-I sensed it right away-and it troubles me. I can't put my finger on it, though. You don't look very impressive, but there's something there, right enough. Where do you come from, boy? What's your name?"

Railing flushed at the assessment, his irritation at being addressed so bluntly almost getting the better of him. "Railing Ohmsford. From the village of Patch Run on the Rainbow Lake."

The Troll studied him. "Never heard of Patch Run, but your name is familiar. Why do I know it?"

Railing met his dark gaze without flinching but said nothing. Why should he tell this creature anything?

Skint returned with the tankards of ale. Challa Nand took all four from him, pushed one at Farshaun, one at the Gnome, and kept the other two for himself. Railing's face darkened further.

"You think me bold?" Challa Nand shrugged. "Let me tell you something, Railing Ohmsford. I am a big, strong man. You can see as much. I get what I want most of the time because of my size and strength. There's not much reason for me to worry. But every now and then, something or someone comes along who, for one reason or another, is my match. Early on, I didn't sense it the way I do now. I've learned to look for it, though. I've learned not to rely too strongly on size and strength, not to take it for granted that my physical gifts will see me through. Knowing your limitations is important in this world."

He drank from his tankard of ale. Then he pushed the second tankard toward Railing. "I sense those limitations now, with you. You have magic, don't you? Magic strong enough that you don't see any real need to be afraid of me. What form does it take?"

Railing hesitated, then reached out and accepted the tankard. "It's called a wishsong. I can use my voice to reshape and manipulate physical things. It runs in my family."

The Troll glanced at Skint for confirmation and got a nod in reply. "Ohmsford," he repeated, and suddenly his face changed. "Grianne Ohmsford?"

"My great-aunt."

He nodded slowly. "The Ilse Witch. What's going on here? Why are you making this journey?"

"You said you didn't need to know," Railing shot back.

"I didn't need to then. I do now. Your name changes everything. If you want my services, you'd better tell me the truth."

Railing and Skint exchanged glances. "Up to you," the Tracker said to him.

Railing thought about it a moment. If Skint thought they needed this man as their guide, there wasn't much choice. Certainly, the Troll looked able enough. Besides, if he were in the other's shoes, he would want to know, too.

But that didn't mean he needed to know everything.

So he told Challa Nand that they were searching for Grianne Ohmsford's remains-that when she left the Druid order she went into the Charnals, carrying with her a powerful talisman the Druids would pay well for if it were recovered and brought to them. He told it all with a straight face, trying to avoid embellishments, knowing that reticence would serve him better in persuading the Troll to their cause. He said nothing of the collapse of the Forbidding or the threat to the Four Lands from the creatures imprisoned within. He said nothing of his brother's imprisonment. He knew that if he did there would be no stopping, no place where he could cut it off without telling it all. A story based on the promise of money for services rendered would fly better with a man like this.

Except that when he was finished, Challa Nand just laughed, his booming voice causing heads everywhere to turn in surprise. "If even half of that is the truth, I'm a Spider Gnome's twin!" He shook his head. "But maybe in your place I wouldn't want to be too open about things, either. Not even to your guide-even though your guide could choose to abandon you somewhere you could never find your way out of if he became displeased." He paused meaningfully. "So where does that leave us, huh?" He looked at Skint. "What's my pay for this fool's errand?"

"A hundred gold pieces and anything you find along the way that catches your fancy save what we are looking for." The Tracker eyed him. "You get the gold now."

"A carrot on a stick? I like you, Skint, but I know you too well to trust you. Still, the offer is a good one, even not knowing what I am letting myself in for. So. We can fly in-get through the Charnals, the Klu, the Inkrim, and right up to Stridegate. It won't be easy and won't be safe, but you must know that already. There are Urdas and Gnome raiders. There are worse things, too-and if they bring down your ship, that's probably the end of us. Well, not necessarily for me, but almost certainly for you."

"You would abandon us if that happened?" Railing demanded.

The big Troll leaned forward. "I might if you fail to tell me the truth somewhere along the way. I'll risk myself up to a certain point, but not for people who don't trust me. Are we clear about this?"

Railing took a deep breath and nodded. "If I tell you the truth at some point, will you stick with us to the end?"

"If I decide the truth merits it? Yes. If not, I will ask you to set down and let me off and you will be on your own. Of course, you can ride the back of that particular current as long as you choose. You are master of your own fate in this business, Railing Ohmsford, scion of the Ilse Witch. Just know that I am big and strong but not stupid."

He brought his tankard to his lips and drained it. "We're done for now. Come back for me in the morning. Right here. Bring the gold. As soon as I've seen to its safety, we'll set out."

He set down the tankard and got to his feet. "I hope you know what you're getting yourselves into, but I doubt it." He gave a Railing a look. "You'd better be good at using that magic of yours." He stretched. "I'm off to bed."

He lumbered across the room and out the door. Railing, still feeling combative from the confrontation, was surprised to find that, in spite of everything, he rather liked Challa Nand.

Though it was hard to explain exactly why.

They were on their way back to the Quickening when the boy remembered the offer Skint had made. "Where did you get a hundred gold pieces?"

Skint's wizened face tightened further. "From him."

He pointed at Farshaun, who shrugged. "It's only coin, and coin can always be replaced. We can't replace Redden, though." He put a hand on Railing's shoulder. "He's worth it, isn't he? Your brother? He's worth more than that to me. You're family, after all, and we Rovers look out for one another."

Railing was momentarily speechless. A hundred pieces of gold was a lot of coin. "Thank you, Farshaun. I never even thought about having to pay."

The old man nodded. "Good thing I'm here, then." He glanced over at Skint. "That Troll had better be worth it, though."

The Gnome hunched his shoulders against the rain. "More than worth it. You'll see."

Railing kept silent. He was back to thinking about the secrets he was keeping and the deceptions and manipulations he had employed as a result. He felt ashamed of himself, that he could not make himself trust his closest friends. But not ashamed enough that he was persuaded to change his mind and tell them the truth.

Not when it might mean turning back.

They walked the rest of the way with their heads lowered and the rain sheeting down.