'Can you blame them?' she asked reasonably.
'About the sword, no,' he replied. Then, to Wintermoon, 'You Tayledras don't trust Nyara or the blade, do you? The rest of the Clan wants you to go along and make sure she isn't out there trying to set up some more trouble for you.' Wintermoon nodded. 'Quite. I beg pardon, but that is only the truth of the matter. But, Skif-I do wish to help you, for yourself. You are not schooled in tracking, you have said as much yourself. Think of it this way,' he grinned. 'I have no wish for your friend Els-peth to be sending me out in an ice-storm to find you!'
'oh, I'm not that bad,' he replied with a rueful smile. 'I've had some field training. But it was all in Valdemar- there were Herald waystations all over.'
'And you cannot track or trail,' Wintermoon repeated. He turned to Cymry. 'Lady, you cannot track or trail, either. Nor can you see as well at night as my Corwith and K'Tathi can. Nor do you know our territory.' Cymry bowed her head in agreement.
'And Skif, I would like to help you, for I know that you feel very much for the Changechild.' His face sobered. 'I do not know if the Changechild is near as dangerous as the Council think she might be. I think she deserves to have someone looking for her that will give her that benefit. I think it is a good thing for her to have someone besides Yourself that will do that. You are a Wingbrother-but an Outlander as well. I am k'sheyna.' Skif was well aware of what the Tayledras meant; just as his own word would hold more weight in Valdemar than Wintermoon's, no matter how many oaths the latter swore, so Wintermoon's held more weight here. If there were any doubt as to Nyara's allegiances, Wintermoon's opinion might well be the deciding factor.
And it would be a very good thing to have company out there in the wilderness...
'Take his offer,' Cymry urged. 'He's a good man; he could become a good friend.'
'All right, Wintermoon,' Skif said decisively.' I would be very, very glad to have you help me. Cymry wants you along, and I never argue with her.'
'Never?' she snorted.
'Well-I never argue with you when you're right.'
'Good,' Wintermoon rose to his feet, then held up his wrist again.
For the second time, a white shape dove past Skif's ear; this time the owl came in from the side, then swooped up and alighted on Wintermoon's gauntlet with grace and silence. 'This is Corwith,' he said, transferring the owl to his other shoulder. 'We three will be most happy to give you our help. Then I shall see you in the morning?'
'Make that when we wake up,' Skif amended. 'It's already morning.
Wintermoon squinted at the west, where the moon was going down.
'So it is. Well, the night is my chosen time of departure, when I am given a choice. That will be good. There will be fewer eyes that will see us leave. Zhaihelleva, Wingbrother. May your dreams bring you peace and good omens.'
'And yours-friend.' On impulse, Skif offered his hand; Wintermoon took it after a moment, clasping first his hand, then his wrist.
As Wintermoon vanished into the darkness under the trees, and Skif turned to climb up into the ekele that had been given him, Cymry reached over and nuzzled his shoulder. 'That was well done,' she said warmly. 'I like him. I think we might have accomplished more than we realized.'
'I think you're right,' he answered, yawning. 'I've got a good feeling about this.' So good a feeling, that for the first time since Nyara disappeared, he fell asleep immediately, instead of lying awake and staring at the darkness.
And for the first time, it was a calm sleep, untroubled by dreams of silken skin and crying, cat-pupiled eyes.
*Chapter Four - Skif and Cymry
Skif tied the final knots on his packs, expecting at any moment to have a hertasi pop its head over the edge of the treehouse with a summons from Wintermoon. It was difficult to tell time here, where the position of the sun was obscured by the towering trees and where the temperature seldom varied by much, but he thought he'd awakened about noon.
There had been cheese, fruit, and fresh bread waiting in the outer room of his little treehouse along with all of his belongings and Cymry's tack, brought from the gryphon's lair. By hertasi or one of the scouts, he presumed; they were the only ones who knew where his possessions were, besides, of course, the gryphons. He and Elspeth had stayed with the gryphons since they had first arrived here in k'sheyna territory; they were kindhearted creatures, but certainly not pack animals; he'd assumed he would have to go fetch all of the gear himself. This was yet another instance of Tayledras thoughtfulness; or at least, of hertasi thoughtfulness. He was even more surprised and delighted to discover that every bit of his clothing had been cleaned and neatly folded before being put in the pack, and all but one of his hidden knives and garrottes from said clothing laid out neatly by the pack.
Old habits die hard.
He descended long enough to clean himself up at a hot spring set up as a kind of bathhouse-and to thank the first hertasi he saw for having his things brought. He found the lizard first. He was a little ashamed that he couldn't tell the difference between individual lizard-creatures; surely there was a way, and it seemed doltish not to know it. He covered it as best he could by asking the diminutive creature to pass on his thanks to the others. The hertasi didn't seem to mind. In fact, it thanked him, and showed him where to go to bathe and find provisions for his journey.
Back in the treehouse, he launched into packing feverishly. The strange provisions he'd gotten from a hidden kitchen area-learning only then where all the food for the celebration had come from-weighed much less than the dried fruit and beef and travelers' bread that the Valdemaran forces, Heralds and Guards alike, carried into the field. just so that they were marginally edible. Marginal was all he asked for. they can't taste any worse than the clay tablets they expect Karsite troops to eat. Starch for shirts or old glue would taste better. That much he was certain of; some folks would rather eat their saddles than the Karsite field rations.
'I trust you are ready?' Wintermoon called up from below, startling him. He went to the balcony, and looked
