wings, Kyrr's blood boiled with rage.
It was all that Dawnfire could do to keep her under control and quiet.
The bondbird wanted blood, she wanted it now, and she wasn't going to accept less.
'Kill!' she shrilled in Dawnfire's mind. 'Kill them all!' Dawnfire gritted mental teeth, and held to her tenuous control as they penetrated the last of the branches and broke out into the clear air beneath the forest canopy. If I lose her now, I lose her for all time. I'll never be able to control her in a rage again-There were two men with the unconscious gryphons; she saw that in a moment. One, the one with the crossbow, was standing guard over the unconscious male who lay in a pathetic and boneless heap at his feet.
The other was beside the female, who was, at least, semiconscious.
He was unarmed, dressed in close-fitting leather-and he was without a doubt a mage, one of the Others, who had manipulated himself into a form that was scarcely more than half human.
And he was doing something to the female gryphon.
Dawnfire barely had time to take that all in; at that moment, the female gryphon sent up a shriek of heartrending agony. The scream goaded Kyrr into a rage that tore her loose from Dawnfire's control.
Not that it mattered, because Dawnfire herself was so angered that she released control to Kyrr, to give her all the edge she needed.
Screaming outrage, they dove together in a full-scale attack, claws extended and aimed for the mage's eyes.
He looked up-And his eyes were all Dawnfire could see-just before something slammed into her, and darkness swallowed her. His eyes-his slitted eyes...And his hate-filled, sharp-toothed smile...Chapterr Sixteen
ELSPETH
Elspeth swore silently as she caught a familiar profile out of the corner of her eye. Skif was following her again.
The turbaned merchant implored her to examine the clever workmanship of the leather pouch she was holding, conveying grief that his profit margin had already been slashed to nothing. Elspeth lingered over her purchase, haggling a few more coppers off the price of the belt-pouch, as she watched Skif ghosting around the edge of the crowd, keeping an eye on her. He was very good; it was unlikely that anyone around her realized that he was shadowing her. In a bazaar full of foreigners of all shapes, sizes and costumes, neither of them stood out from the crowd.
Trade season was at its height, and the crowds of small traders, mercs, and the occasional pleasure traveler filled the aisles between the tent-booths.
It was not the easiest thing to spot Skif as he skillfully used the crowds to cover his movements, but he had trained her, and she knew his moves better than anyone else could.
It was just a good thing that she was conscientious enough to keep her own watch out for other followers. He could easily be distracting her enough to put her at hazard.
The scent of fine leather rose from the pouch in her hands as she pretended to examine it further. The merchant swore she was impoverishing him.
This was getting annoying. No, it had gotten annoying already. She had begun to lose her patience with him.
Twice now, she had gotten close to someone who had hinted he might know a Shin'a'in or two-and twice, it had come to nothing. The Clansmen were proving incredibly elusive.
'Alas, you should have been here in the spring,' said the folk in the fabric bazaar. 'They are only here in the spring. But I have some fine Shin'a'in rugs, and you couldn't get a better bargain on them from a Clansman herself...'oh, you should wait until the fall,' said the horse traders. 'They never come here except in the fall. Now, I have some outstanding Shin'a'in saddle mares...
'Well, they were just here,' said the shepherds, in a dialect so thick she could scarcely make out what they were saying. 'Tale'sedrin, you say? That's the blonds, no? Ah, you just missed them; here last week, they were, buying up them new long-haired goats.' Here last week, here last season, not here yet-the herders were the closest she had gotten; at least they knew that Kero's Clan had a number of blond members, legacy of Kero's grandmother Kethry.
But the Shin'a'in were proving horribly hard to find. It seemed that no matter where she went, they had either been and gone, or they had not yet appeared.
'Cakes yesterday, cakes tomorrow, but never cakes today,' she muttered to herself, keeping one eye on Skif
