Wanderlust

Chapter 16

"Tasslehoff, you great doorknob!" thundered

Flint, clomping downstream along the snowy shoreline, dodging shrubs and boulders and potholes. "What are you doing on that floe? You're going the wrong way! Get off there and come back here right this minute!"

"I'd love to," yelled Tasslehoff over the sound of the rushing water, "but I'm not too clear on how to go about it." He skipped from side to side on the small slab of ice, peering over the edge, visually measuring the depth of the water and the distance to the shore as he floated down the river.

As they had followed the river up into the mountains, the landscape had turned gradually from the greening of spring back to the ice and snow of winter. Tasslehoff had gone down to the bank of the river to scoop up a quick drink of water, but the land under his feet had turned out to be snow-covered ice. He discovered that when, with a great creaking and groaning, it had broken away from the shore.

"It's too bad I don't have some of Selana's poly-waddle-polydoodle-you know, that potion I drank to become a bird. Then I could fly off this thing," Tas called to them conversationally. "Did I tell you about being a bug and turning into a mouse and falling from the web when that enormous, hairy spider was chasing me?" Tas rubbed his thigh at the memory.

"It's 'polymorph!' And you've told us only about a thousand times," huffed Flint, puffing with the exertion of trying not to slip in a snowbank while keeping apace with the floating slab of ice. "I mean it, Tasslehoff. Stop goofing around and get off that thing."

"Flint," called Tanis, springing lightly through calf-high snow after the dwarf, "I don't believe Tasslehoff is goofing around this time." Then, speaking quietly to Flint, he added, "He may not realize it either, since he's afraid of nothing, but he's in serious trouble."

"Great Reorx," snarled the old dwarf, stopping to cross his arms over his barrel chest, "we should just leave him there, for all the bother he's been to us."

Tanis came to a stop as well and jammed his hands on his hips. "Like when he got us out of jail?" he asked archly.

Flint scowled. "I was thinking of all the times he took the bracelet, which started this whole nightmare, but I concede he has been occasionally useful," he said, dipping his head. "Now, what are we going to do?"

They looked to the kender, whose slab of ice was temporarily caught up on a gathering of dead branches in the middle of the river.

"I don't know," said Tanis, scratching his head, "but we'd better think fast, because the river does get gradually wider farther downstream, and I seem to recall a small waterfall just about at the snow line."

Flint met Tanis's eyes with alarm.

The half-elf snapped his fingers. "I've got it! Find a long branch; we'll hold it out to him and tug him to shore." Gray head bobbing in agreement, the stout dwarf joined Tanis in the hasty search for a long, sturdy branch.

For his part, Tasslehoff was not exactly "goofing around," but he was not particularly unhappy with his state of affairs either. Drifting along on the bobbing, shifting ice reminded him of the times he'd gone door-riding, a much-beloved winter sport for the fearless race of kender. Back in his hometown of Kendermore, on the first day of any measurable snowfall, kender young and old would pry the doors off their homes and ride them, standing up, down snowy hillsides. More adventurous kender were fond of door-riding down snow-covered staircases, as many of the buildings in Kendermore were roofless or missing walls, allowing for good interior snow cover. The heartiest kender were even known to shoosh off multistory buildings with sloping roofs. This practice was discouraged because so many passers-by- not to mention the door riders-were knocked unconscious or injured and neighboring structures were inevitable damaged.

The memory of watching a childhood friend, topknot flapping behind him as he sailed off a building, wrung a sigh of nostalgia from Tasslehoff. He had not been home for door riding or anything else in years. And this floe, though vaguely similar, moved quite a bit slower than a waxed door on a steep incline.

"Tasslehoff, grab the branch and we'll pull you to shore," called Flint. Tas saw the dwarf crouched a little downstream on the left bank, extending a long, slender branch to him. Tanis stood behind the dwarf, ready to lend his muscle to the task.

"Hurry up before you float past me!" said Flint. "Besides, I can't hold this branch up forever!"

Tas crawled to the edge of the floe and extended his hand as far as he dared, but several feet still separated him from the limb. Straining, he stretched his fingers for the thin tip of the branch. The current drove his floe nearer. If he could only get his fingers on the tip… He turned his head to the side to extend his reach, watching out of the corner of his eye for his chance.

He felt smooth bark against his fingertips! Excited, Tas wrapped his hand around the branch and held on. Flint and Tanis cheered.

"Don't let go, Tas," said Flint, starting to pull the branch toward himself, hand over hand.

"I won't!"

Suddenly, the land under the dwarf's straining form gave way with a shuddering crack and broke loose from the shore. The unexpected jolt caused the dwarf to yank on the branch. Old and dried from a winter on the forest floor, the limb snapped into two unequal, jagged parts. Tas, unprepared for the sudden extra weight, dropped the branch into the stream, where it disappeared between the two floes. Flint managed to retain his grip, but unfortunately he was left with just a useless four-inch stub.

Pointing, Tanis cried out from shore, "Flint, the falls!"

Floating helplessly downstream with the kender now, the dwarf looked ahead of Tas at the approaching falls. He could hear water crashing below. "It's no use!" he cried, throwing down his broken branch in disgust. No good ever came from water, he thought bitterly.

Tanis cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered above the noise of the pounding water to both dwarf and kender standing on the ice. "Flint, Tasslehoff, lie on your stomachs and hold on to the edges of the ice!" The half-elf knew it was only a slim chance to keep them from getting dashed on the rocks, but slim was better than none.

"What?" cried Tas, turning a pointed ear toward Tanis on the snowy shore.

"I said-Oh, see here!" Tanis threw himself on his stomach and splayed his arms out to demonstrate.

The falls were just ten feet away.

Flint was already down on the ice when Tasslehoff suddenly got the message. He flopped onto his stomach, arms and legs spread-eagled, when he saw something hovering behind Tanis's head. He squinted in puzzlement. Flame? Enormous gouts of flame! Why was Tanis on fire?

Then Tasslehoff saw something that even he had a hard time accepting: three short, humanoid creatures wearing plain tunics, trousers, and boots, each sporting wings of flame on his back. Tas blinked twice and looked again. They were still there.

"Hey!" the kender cried excitedly, jumping to his feet and hopping up and down on the floe as he pointed. "Tanis, Flint, look behind you! There's a-yow!"

Tasslehoff's words were literally cut off as he bit his tongue in painful surprise. Powerful, small hands caught him up by the armpits and lifted him off the floe, just as it crested the brink of the waterfall. Looking down past his dangling feet, the kender watched the slab of ice smash into shards on the rocks below, then disappear in the churning water. He felt himself lifted higher and higher, until he rose above the treetops. His narrow escape from death was nearly forgotten in his exuberance over flying.

Finally Tasslehoff looked up. There he saw a pinched little face with almond-shaped eyes beneath coppery, curly hair and delicately pointed ears. Tas's eyes traveled in rapt fascination to the fluttering, crackling wings of flame over the fellow's narrow, fine-boned shoulders.

"What are you?" Tasslehoff asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Are those really wings, or just fire? I don't suppose if you were on fire you'd have the time to go around rescuing people from ice floes, would you?

"I was once on fire," he continued. "Actually, my little sister lit my shoe on fire. It didn't help me to fly, though I must say I ran mighty fast to get it put out. But that's not the same thing at all, is it?" Tasslehoff waited for a response from the ruddy-complected creature, but it said nothing. His face was a mask of concentration as he flew with his burden toward some unknown destination.

"Can't speak the Common tongue, eh?" Tas concluded. "That's OK. Not every race is intelligent enough to master it. I'm not sure how we'll communicate, though. Say, I speak a bit of Troglodyte-I'm nearly fluent," the kender said proudly, "though I'm sure I couldn't read a word of it." He frowned. "Actually, I don't believe Troglodyte can be written down."

The creature's expression grew more pinched than before. "I speak and read six languages, as do all phaethons," he said stiffly at last, "though the clicks and whistles that pass for language among the pathetic race of troglodytes isn't one of them." With that, the phaethon snapped his mouth firmly shut.

"Where are we going?" Tas asked innocently. He noticed that not far away another winged creature carried Tanis above the treetops, and below them, two were lugging the hefty dwarf, who seemed to be struggling- rather foolishly, in Tasslehoff's opinion-against their grip. Tasslehoff's phaethon would not be goaded or offended into revealing any more information.

Flying under someone else's power certainly isn't as convenient as flying yourself, thought Tas, comparing this trip to the ones he had taken as a bird. His vision was less sharp as a kender than it had been as a sparrow, though he was more familiar with the operation of this equipment. One thing was sure-almost anything could see better than a fly.

They were heading higher into the mountains, up toward where the snow was deep and the trees were sparse. An icy breeze whistled past Tas's ears, making him think of a frost giant's breath. It mingled with the sound of fanned flames, like cloth snapping in a strong wind.

Tasslehoff's armpits were beginning to ache and chafe from the friction of his weight in the phaethon's hands. He twisted slightly to relieve the pressure, but the winged creature only tightened his grip more painfully and frowned down at the kender.

After what seemed like forever to the impatient kender, they approached the mountainside. Tasslehoff expected them to cruise up, decelerate, and land in a clearing, but the phaethon showed no sign of slowing his descent. He raced toward the craggy mountainside at a speed even the fearless kender found daunting. Where could they possibly land? There was nothing but sharp crags of rock here, as far as Tas could see. Did the phaethon mean to smash him against the rocks? Tas discounted that possibility because the creature could have dropped him long ago, or left him on the ice for that matter. Finally Tas could contain himself no longer.

"Look out, you son of a goatsucker bird! You're going to slam us right into the rock!"

At the very last second, the phaethon swooped up and over the craggy mountain peak. Cresting the far side, they were greeted with a panorama like none Tasslehoff had ever seen. Spread before them, poking through tufts of white and gray clouds, were hundreds of spires of orange-brown rock. Tas looked down and saw a lush, green valley far below, neatly farmed in rows, winding past the bases of the towers of stone. Vegetation climbed the sides of the towers, reaching to within one hundred feet of the tops of each. There, each natural minaret flared out abruptly into a hollow onion shape, with openings-windows and doors, Tas presumed-carved into the round surfaces.

Tas's phaethon soared past quite a number of spires until he reached one that was larger than most. It was set in a noticeable kink in a cliff of the surrounding mountains. Slowing the beating of his wings, the phaethon hovered, carefully negotiating an arched doorway with his awkward cargo. Finally angling his wings, the phaethon lowered Tas until his feet touched ground inside the doorway. The phaethon followed.

"Wow! What a ride! This is incredible! Do you live up here? Are those really clouds, or just fog? How far is it to the ground?" Without waiting for answers, Tas immediately began inspecting his surroundings.

He stood in a small antechamber in the shape of a half-circle. The walls were entirely covered with simple text carvings and bas-relief images of what Tas interpreted as wingless phaethons working at various tasks: planting, tilling, toting water, harvesting crops, and a complete range of village crafts.

Two doorways pierced the flat side of the antechamber; both doors were propped open. One led to a large, open room with a fireplace set into the rounded outside wall; a low fire burned on the hearth and stone crocks and wooden chairs and stools were set before it. To the left was a bank of short cupboards that followed the curve of the wall. The second doorway led to a smaller chamber where several fluffy, feather pallets were laid out symmetrically on the floor.

Tasslehoff stepped into the room with the fireplace. The walls of that room were also covered with carvings, but these were violent scenes of phaethons borne on their flaming wings and battling hideous creatures, the likes of which Tas had never seen or heard described.

"Wait here," said the phaethon. He stepped through the outer doorway and into emptiness, disappearing from Tas's view. The kender leaped to one of the small windows and watched, amazed again, as flames in the form of wings burst from the plummeting phaethon's back and it soared away in a heart-stopping dive. Tas watched until the winged man disappeared in the clouds among the spires.

Wait here. Where can I go? the kender thought ironically. Outside was nothing but air and clouds. The only way to reach the ground was to jump, and that would be messy. Elbows propped on the sill, he gazed across the green valley-or what he could see of it through the drifting vapor-hundreds, maybe even thousands, of feet below.

Behind him, Tas suddenly heard the hiss of flames licking at air, followed by soft footsteps. Wheeling about, he saw that four unfamiliar phaethons had joined him. One was a female in loose pantaloons and tunic, a colorful sash wound round her waist. Apparently she was the mother of the young girl with long, curly red hair who stood behind her. The girl peeked around her mother's leg shyly at Tas. The third phaethon, obviously the father, was an adult male, standing in front of the others in a protective stance. He was dressed like the one who had carried Tas here, but he looked older; his skin was ruddier and more wind-burned and weathered. He held a stout staff in both hands and wore a heavy knife at his belt.

The fourth phaethon, if in fact that is what it was, looked to be the oldest of them all by far. He paid little heed to the others or to Tasslehoff, but instead seated himself serenely before the low-burning hearth. Like the other phaethons Tas had seen, this one's hair was short and wavy, but it was pure white, not red. His heavily lined face was the color of copper and his eyes were jet black with no discernible pupils.

"What are you?" the father asked bluntly.

"I'm a kender, of course." Tas stepped forward eagerly and extended his hand. 'Tasslehoff Burrfoot, at your service. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. For instance, I've never heard of phaethons before." He peered at them all closely. "You look quite a bit like short half-elves. Is that how you think of yourselves, or do you prefer to think of half-elves as tall phaethons?" Suddenly Tas remembered something.

"Speaking of half-elves, where are my friends? Aren't they coming?" He ran to the window again and peered out. "Gosh, I got so caught up in flying over the mountains that I forgot all about them. Some of your people grabbed them from the stream in the nick of time, too- thank you, by the way." He giggled. "It took two of them to carry Flint."

"Your friends are safe," said the middle-aged male. "We, too, have some questions." At that, the mother stepped up to the hearth and swung out a small pot that had been heating over the fire. She filled a clay mug with steaming liquid from the pot and handed it to her mate, who in turn offered it to Tasslehoff.

"Drink this."

Tas sniffed the concoction, wrinkled up his nose, and bobbed his head. "I am a bit thirsty, thank you, but I'd prefer something cold if you have it."

The father thrust the mug into Tas's hand and pushed it to the kender's lips. "Drink it." The white-haired phaethon turned his head to peer at Tasslehoff with his black eyes.

"If you insist," Tas replied hastily. "Something warm might be good. What is it? Poison?" As usual, the kender was more fascinated than frightened by the thought of some warm venom working its way through his veins. Would his tongue turn purple and his eyes bulge out? Would he drop dead right away, or linger, begging for one last-

"It is tea," the phaethon cut into his machinations. "It will help you to answer our questions truthfully."

"Good heavens," said Tas, relieved despite himself. "You needn't drug me to get me to speak the truth. I'm happy to tell you whatever you'd like to know."

The phaethon frowned. "Just the same, we'd prefer you drink the tea. It will not harm you-" He clenched his quarterstaff-"nor will anyone here, unless you have something to hide."

"Hide? Not me," said Tas. "Why, once-I'm drinking," he said quickly, as the tip of the quarterstaff brushed his throat. Tasslehoff took the warm clay mug in his hands and drew a long pull of the steaming, pale green liquid into his mouth. Tas's eyebrows lifted in surprise. The truth tea was not nearly as hot as the steam suggested, and it tasted the way he imagined grass would if left to simmer for hours at a time-strong, bitter, yet refreshing.

"Who are you, and where are you from?"

Out of curiosity, Tas decided to test the tea by telling a lie. "My real name is Lipsmacker Droolbucket-that other one is an alias." The phaethons stared, stone-faced. "I'm the crown prince of Solamnia." Still no reaction, either from the phaethons or the tea.

He shook his head. "I've gotta tell you, I don't think this 'truth tea' stuff works very well," Tas confided. "I just told some real whoppers and nothing came of it-I didn't gag, and my nose didn't even grow long, like in the story." He decided to come clean, to avoid confusion.

"I'm not Lipsmacker Droolbucket," he confessed. "I really am Tasslehoff Burrfoot. And I'm no relation to the royal family of Solamnia, if there is one." Having told the truth, the kender felt strangely better, though he wasn't sure why.

His expression still blank, the male phaethon pointed to one of the chairs before the hearth and indicated Tas should sit in it, which he did gratefully. It seemed to the kender that these phaethons had a tendency to stare a bit too much, and it made him feel on the spot, which was usually something he enjoyed. This time, however, he was squirming uncomfortably.

The male phaethon pulled a chair up before Tas and looked squarely into the kender's eyes before speaking. "I would like to know why you are here."

"Actually, I'd like to know that myself," Tas responded. "You guys brought me here-how about filling me in?" He looked expectantly from face to face, but no one seemed disposed to offer any explanations. The little girl phaethon giggled, and the mother silenced her with a stern glance.

"I will ask that question again," said the man. "Why did you come to the mountains?"

Tasslehoff flashed a smile of understanding. "Oh, you don't mean 'here' here, you mean 'heeeere' here. It's sort of complicated, and I really should be getting back to my friends fairly soon, so I'll try to make this as short as possible.

"My friends and I-that's Tanis and Flint and Selana, only Selana isn't with us, 'cause she's up here somewhere looking for a bald wizard with a bracelet-but back to this bracelet Flint made. We need it for Selana's brother, only the wizard took it, as I said, and he's going to feed Rostrevor's soul to Hiddukel-I can't imagine what that would taste like. Anyway, the wizard got the bracelet from this zombie, only he wasn't a zombie at that point, just a guy named Delbridge who wasn't very honest- 'thief would describe him pretty well-and he'd gotten it from Gaesil, who seemed like a decent enough type, only I wouldn't want to be stranded way up here in one of these needle houses with his wife. She sounds like quite a shrew. And he'd gotten it from me, because I'd ended up with it after we left the Inn of the Last Home. Flint needs it back to give to Selana so she can give it to Semunel, who needs it because he can't see the future." Tasslehoff drew a breath. "There, I think that about covers it." He smacked his lips and looked around. "Do you have any more of that tea?"

"No!" the male phaethon said quickly. Both of the adult phaethons bent close to the white-haired one and conversed in low tones. Tas heard very little, and what he did pick up was in a language he could not understand.

"You're funny," the little girl said to Tas, tugging at her tunic and smiling demurely.

"Why, thank you," Tas said, a bit puzzled. He did not recall telling any jokes. But then, who knew what made phaethons laugh?

He nodded his head toward the three adults. "What are they talking about?"

The young girl shrugged. "They're deciding if you'll be allowed to live or not." Leaning in closer, she whispered, "Intruders usually aren't, but I think you have a better-than-average chance."

Tasslehoff swallowed slowly, watching their heated exchange. The white-haired phaethon seemed disturbed and shook his head after every comment made by the other two. They appeared to be trying to persuade him of something. Finally, the younger male slapped his fist into his palm, his expression firm. The elder shook his head one last time and looked out a window, as if absolving himself. The younger man turned away and stepped up to Tas, his expression as stoic as ever.

He placed a hand on his chest. "I am Nanda Lokir, potentate of our settlement. This-" He indicated the white-haired one-"is Hoto Lokir-Ulth, my greatgrandfather, in your language. My mate and adviser, Cele Lokir, and our daughter, Zeo."

Tas took the introductions as a good sign.

"You are a very fortunate kender. It is our custom, after interrogation, to eliminate deceitful intruders to our valley. We are a peaceful race, but we value honesty and privacy above all else. You seem to have little regard for the absoluteness of truth and this weighs heavily against you in Hoto's eyes, but we all believe that you and your friends may perform an important service for us. I have sent for them to join us."

Nanda walked to the hearth. "Perhaps you are hungry?"

Tas nodded vigorously. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten. Before reaching Tantallon? Running through the market with Selana? Nanda's mate, Cele, opened a small pantry to the left of the hearth. From it she withdrew a wooden cutting board, on it a round loaf of golden-crusted bread. She handed Nanda a large bowl of stew of some sort. He placed it among the coals for warming. From another cupboard she took a crock of freshly churned, creamy-white butter. Slicing the bread, dotted with whole chunks of chewy grain, she lathered on the spread and handed a piece to the wide-eyed kender.

"This is wonderful!" he mumbled between rich mouthfuls. "But living way up here, where do you get the churned butter, or even the cow for the milk?"

"We sleep and cook in our steeplehomes," Cele explained, "but we work the valley below. We do not wish to mingle with other cultures, so we are completely self-sufficient and produce no items for trade. We raise grains, fruits, and vegetables, herd sheep and goats, and keep rabbits and chickens, though Zeo continually tries to turn them into pets." Cele smiled fondly at the little girl, stroking her long, curly hair.

Nanda pulled the bowl of heated stew from the hearth and dished up a plateful, rich with orange carrots, green baby peas, whole pearl onions, and petite chunks of tender meat in a rich brown gravy.

Tasslehoff was in heaven. He considered himself a true connoisseur of food, being quite a good cook himself. The kender closed his eyes after each delicious spoonful, savoring the blending of flavors with just the right amount of fresh herbs.

"I might have known we'd find him eating," growled a familiar, deep voice. Tas opened his eyes and saw Flint and Tanis standing in the doorway, three more phaethons nearby. The dwarf's harsh words were contradicted by the obvious look of relief in his eyes. He was tugging his clothing back into place after his recent air trip.

"I'm glad to see you're OK, Tas," said Tanis, looking hesitantly from Tasslehoff to the phaethons standing near him. Nanda nodded to the flyers and they called forth their wings and flew from the doorway.

"You're free to move about. Come, join your friend at table," said Nanda, waving Tanis and Flint into the hearth room from the small antechamber. Smiling, Tanis squeezed the kender's shoulder, and Flint, frowning, gave his upper arm a soft punch.

"I am Nanda Lokir," said the leader of the phaethons, holding out his right arm to Tanis. The half-elf thrust out his hand, but the potentate slid his own hand past it to grasp the half-elf's forearm in an unusual variation on a handshake. Tanis quickly caught on and clasped the phaethon's arm in return.

'Tanis Half-Elven," he said, nodding his head toward the dwarf. "Flint Fireforge." Flint extended his hand, and Nanda introduced his family. The elder hung back, ignoring their offered hands and barely acknowledging their presence. Tas intercepted an uneasy glance between Flint and Tanis.

"They usually kill trespassers," the kender explained in a low voice behind his hand, "but they're making an exception in our case. Nanda wants us to help him somehow, and I get the impression the old fellow isn't pleased with the setup."

The half-elf addressed Nanda. "We're most grateful to you for rescuing us from the river," he began, "but could you please tell us why we're being held?"

"And without our weapons?" added Flint. Tas noticed for the first time that his hoopak and dagger had been spirited away; Tanis's bow and Flint's axe were missing as well.

Arms crossed, Nanda nodded. "All will be revealed in good time. First, eat. You are weak with hunger."

Though uneasy, the famished half-elf and dwarf couldn't deny the truth of that. They grabbed the plates Cele held out and ate while the phaethons watched. They washed the rich food down with a dark, full-bodied ale, as smooth as milk.

"Excellent ale, surpassed only by dwarf spirits," said Flint, pushing himself back from his empty plate with a belch that ruffled his mustache and sent crumbs flying. Thanking Cele, the trio from Solace looked at Nanda expectantly.

"We are a privacy-loving race," began the head of the family and the settlement. "It is phaethon law to kidnap and administer a truth draft to one of a group of trespassers and glean from him the group's origin, destination, and mission. If we do not approve of the answers, or if we detect any untruths, we are inclined to eliminate the intruders.

"However, under truth tea, the kender revealed a story so dizzyingly tangled that we knew it could not be a fabrication. Further, he made no mention of our valley, but instead said you were looking for a young woman and a wizard." Nanda paused for effect. "We know where both of them are and believe the young woman to be in great danger."

"You've seen them?" asked Tanis, leaning forward anxiously.

"Hoto has," said Nanda, looking at his copper-skinned grandfather, who remained aloof from the group. "First, I must explain something to you.

"Great-grandfather Hoto is verda, an elder. For reasons even we do not understand, some phaethons do not die of old age. Instead, around their ninetieth year-our life expectancy-some are overcome by a desire to fly toward the sun. They climb and climb ever higher, until either exhaustion or lack of oxygen or both causes them to lose consciousness. As they plummet back toward Krynn, a marvelous transformation takes place. Regaining their senses, still thousands of feet above ground, they discover that they have metamorphosed into verda. They have grown taller, their hair is snow white, their flaming wingspan, agility, and endurance are greatly increased while their need for food, water, and sleep are diminished. Barring accidents, they often live to be three hundred years old.

"Solitary by nature and living apart from the settlement, verda serve as sentries. The reason I tell you this is that, once a month for a number of years, Greatgrandfather Hoto has seen the bald-pated wizard fly into the mountains. His destination is just beyond the boundary of our valley. Hoto has long been certain his purpose here involves evil doings.

"Yesterday, knowing that the time was approaching for the wizard's arrival, Hoto watched and waited. As dusk descended, he was startled to see a very large, unusual fish swimming upstream in the same river from which you were rescued. As Hoto watched, the fish must have cut itself seriously, as it began to trail great whorls of blood. Even more startling, before his eyes the fish transformed into a ghostly pale, fair-haired young woman and climbed from the stream onto land!"

"That's Selana!" cried Tas.

"This Selana had a severe gash in her side," continued Nanda, "and she wore little but rags, which were wet and freezing in the cold air. Hoto quickly set out to rescue her, but she was very far away. Before he could reach her, something even more mysterious happened. Out of nowhere a creature appeared. Hoto claims this beast looked like a minotaur, but it was not truly a beast. It was a monstrous creation made of living white stone. This thing scooped up the woman and carried her away into the face of the mountain, at the place where the wizard comes each month."

"This is perfect," Tas declared. "We've got Balcombe, the bracelet, and Selana all together in one place. Even Rostrevor, the squire, is there, I'm sure of it. We can rescue everyone at once."

For the first time, Hoto addressed the group. He did not move, but continued sitting on his stool and staring into the fire. "Anyone you plan to save must be rescued today."

Tanis turned to Nanda with raised eyebrows. The half-elf was completely unfamiliar with phaethon social patterns, but their hierarchy was obviously rigid. The last thing he wanted was to offend the people who could be their best allies. Nanda understood Tanis's silent plea and addressed him. "You may speak, Tanis Half-Elven, but be truthful in everything you say."

"Considering Hoto's statement," Tanis began, "I propose that we attack Balcombe's hideout tonight. We have had little success fighting this man before, but if we surprise him, we may be able to beat him."

"Tonight will be too late. This evening may be too late. Now is the only time." The elder phaethon's voice held no rancor, no sarcasm or criticism. With the exception of the Speaker of the Sun, Tanis had never heard anyone state a fact with such simple conviction.

Tanis did not want to offend the eider phaethon by questioning this information, but his memory of the battle against Balcombe beneath Tantallon Castle was still vivid. The thought of rushing into another fight without time to plan or prepare frightened him.

Again, Nanda sensed Tanis's uneasiness. "You may question Hoto if you wish. Remember, however, that this freedom is almost never allowed to strangers. Remember, too, that his truthfulness is unassailable. If Hoto says it is so, then it is so. You may ask him to clarify."

Those restrictions seemed to make questions superfluous, Tanis thought, but at least some further information could be gleaned. "Why is speed so important?" he asked.

"Last night, the moon Nuitari entered high sanction. This man always performs his rituals during Nuitari's high sanction. Tonight, Nuitari and Lunitari are aligned, making this a time of powerful magic. Such a combination will not recur for another thirty-three days. I have watched this man for years and know his patterns. He will perform his ritual tonight.

"After the ritual, there will be no one left to rescue."

Tasslehoff could hold his tongue no longer. "He's absolutely right. I don't know why anyone is balking. I heard Balcombe talk about how delighted he was to be able to offer up Rostrevor's soul, and he's just the son of a knight. Think what he must be planning now that he's caught a real princess! I vote that we get going right now."

Tanis shook his head. "No one brought it to a vote, Tas. I think our hosts will make this decision for us."

Nanda looked each squarely in the eyes in turn. "The woman, Selana, has no special value to us. We would protect her if we could, as Hoto tried to do, but she is not our real concern.

"The wizard, Balcombe, on the other hand, is a potential problem. We know he uses the mountains to hide his evil activity from people in Tantallon. By itself this does not concern us, either, because his actions, whatever they are, have brought no harm to our territory. We know from experience that eventually this will change. Even if he abandons this region and never returns, his empty lair will attract monsters that will try to prey on us. It is best that we remove him before he brings additional trouble.

"If this seems harsh to you, simply know that it is our way. By such means we have protected ourselves against the outside world for thousands of years, and we will continue doing so as long as we must. For the moment, your interests and ours coincide and we can work together. Your weapons have been brought up. Make yourselves ready and we will leave at once."

Tanis, Tas, and Flint turned around and saw that phaethons who had entered the room during Nanda's speech carried the trio's weapons. Flint picked up his long-handled, double-headed axe and heavy fighting knife and thrust both through his belt. Tanis tossed his quiver of arrows over one shoulder, slung the long strap supporting his short sword scabbard over the other shoulder, and picked up his bow, rubbing the oiled leather grip and the smooth wooden curves. Tas snatched up his hoopak and dagger and stuffed several slices and chunks of Cele's delicious bread into his pouches. In moments, all were ready.

Nanda instructed Tanis, Tas, and Flint to step to the door. One phaethon stepped up behind each and wrapped his arms around his passenger. Then, before anyone had time to protest or panic, all three phaethons leaned forward and pushed themselves and their living cargo off the platform. Air whistled past Tas's ears and locks of his own hair flapped in his face as he plummeted toward the ground, then heard the distinctive whoosh of the phaethon's wings igniting and felt his weight pressing against the flyer's arms as they leveled off. As much as Tasslehoff wanted to rescue Selana, he hoped Balcombe's lair was a long way off.