Elvenborn

Keman peered at it. 'What does it say?' he asked, dubiously. He couldn't begin to guess what an Elvenlord would choose to engrave on a piece of—something that looked like nothing

more than a bit of shelf, but probably wasn't. It could be any­thing. A bit of a poem ? 'Touch this who dares ? '

Kyrtian chuckled. 'It says, 'Keep this edge up.' Not what you expected, is it?' But his eyes were afire with excitement. 'Ke-man, this is—must be—a piece of one of the artifacts from the Crossing! We've found the Great Portal!'

'We have?' Keman replied with surprise. He shook water off his hood with a gesture of impatience. 'I didn't know we were looking for it. I thought we were looking for your father.'

'My father was looking for the Great Portal, and I'm sure he found it—but something must have happened and he couldn't get back to us.' The Elvenlord's expression suddenly darkened. Kyrtian didn't say what he thought the 'something' was, and Keman decided that he wasn't going to ask. 'How recent was that rock-fall?'

'There have been several, I think.' Now Keman was on firmer ground; if there was one thing that a dragon knew, it was rocks and caves. 'I managed to get this bit out from under the bottom layer, but it looks to me as if there was one large fall quite some time ago, and several since then. There's still an opening big enough for a person to squeeze inside, but the opening used to be—well—big enough for my mother, much less me! I didn't find anything like—well, bones,' he added hastily, realizing only then that he might well be describing the place where Kyrtian's father had died. His addition didn't reas­sure Kyrtian in the least; Kyrtian's expression darkened further.

Kyrtian handed the artifact to Shana, who examined it curi­ously, but paid more attention to the Elvenlord than to the piece of metal. It suddenly seemed very quiet, in their little camp un­der the trees. Quiet enough to hear water dripping everywhere, to hear the far off calls of bell-birds. His face shadowed now, all excitement gone, the Elvenlord stared off into the trees for a moment. 'How far is this? Can we get there soon?'

'Two days, I think, over the trails,' Keman told him, after a moment to try and gauge distances. 'I could fly you there, one at a time—'

But both Shana and Kyrtian shook their heads. 'I don't want

to divide the party,' Kyrtian said first. 'And Lashana, I know that you can use magic to bring us there, but —'

'But I'll fall on my nose afterwards,' Shana said bluntly. 'And if you need me, I won't be able to do anything. No, over­land it is.' She sighed, then smiled, and tried to make light of the situation. 'Ah well. I haven't gotten nearly enough hard ex­ercise lately, and you do have horses to help. Keman and I will be the only ones who have to walk—'

Keman burst into laughter, as she hit her head with the heel of her palm.

'I don't think you'll be walking, Shana,' Keman told her. 'If you'll just give me a chance to 'change' into something more suitable—'

Kyrtian got the hint immediately. It was only a moment of work—as Kyrtian hastily averted his eyes—and an 'extra' horse stared at Shana mockingly.

'What color would you like, foster-sister?' he asked shaping the mouth and larynx a bit off the horse-form, so he could talk properly. 'Roan? Bay? Black?' With each suggestion, he changed his color to match. 'How about a nice buckskin? Or spots? Stripes? Checks?' The changes flashed across his hide in bewildering succession.

'Ew!' Shana wrinkled her nose at the last. 'Brown. Please. Brown will do very nicely.'

'Not even alicorn-white with pretty blue eyes?' he teased, fading out the checks into a uniform brown. And, for good mea­sure, making the hair much better at shedding water. By this point he had concluded that he should have taken to the guise of a horse a lot sooner—no need for rain-capes and, in fact, the rain felt rather good! It certainly kept the biting flies away.

Their exchange had lightened Kyrtian's mood a little, but it was very clear as he gave his men their new orders to move out that he was tense. Keman didn't have to ask why; it had been clear when he'd told them of his missing father that he didn't expect to find his parent alive. After the initial burst of excite­ment faded, how could you possibly look forward to finding a body—or what was left of one?

He hurried them all into packing up the camp; it was inter-

esting to Keman that even under the press of urgency, Kyrtian's people worked efficiently and without fumbling. In far less time than Keman would have thought possible given his expe­rience even with the Iron People, everything was packed prop­erly, stowed on the horses, and they were ready to leave.

The others looked to Kyrtian for orders; he gestured to Ke­man, who obviously was the only one who knew where they were going, and Keman and Shana took the lead. Kyrtian rode behind them, and everyone in his party gave him a respectful distance. With a stony expression, and his mouth set in a grim line, it was pretty clear that he didn't want to talk to anyone, and it seemed best to leave him alone.

It was a very, very quiet ride. None of the men wanted to break the silence, and even Shana didn't talk. The rain started up again shortly after they took to the trail, obscuring the dis­tance behind a veil of grey, but Keman wasn't worried. Dragons couldn't get lost; he knew where he was, exactly in relationship to where their goal was. The only thing standing between them and that rock-covered cave entrance was the trifling matter of several leagues.

It would have been funny, if it hadn't been so important that Triana keep the presence of her party secret, not only from Ael-markin, but from Kyrtian as well. As it was, when everyone else suddenly packed up for no apparent reason and began to move, Triana's group had to scramble to clean out their camp and move deeper into the forest.

It was a near thing. Kyrtian's party didn't ride in on top of where Triana's camp had been, but they came closer than Tri­ana liked, and Aelmarkin's bunch did just blunder on through. If his foresters had been half as good as Triana's slaves, they'd have spotted the signs of recent occupation for certain.

But after that, it was a simple enough matter to trail behind Aelmarkin. He was leaving a trail as broad as a highway and making no effort to hide it—but interestingly enough, Kyrtian wasn't going to any effort to conceal his trail either.

He must have found something. That was the only possible explanation. Triana wished she knew what it was.

Only when they pushed on past dark was she certain that it couldn't be Wizards—because Kyrtian kindled mage-lights and sent them up above their heads to illuminate the trail. Her own scouts reported it—and when her group was on the top of a hill, she could often catch a glimpse of the lights flitting among the branches of a valley below, like impossibly huge fireflies in the distance.

He wouldn't have betrayed his presence this way if he thought he'd found signs of the Wizards he was supposed to be looking for. At least, she didn't think he would.

The trouble was, he could use lights, but neither she nor Ael-markin dared.

That had her gritting her teeth in frustration, until it occurred to her that there was one thing, at least, that she could do. She could make mage-lights of a different sort. Not powerful enough to light their path, but tiny things that would mark where Kyrtian's horses, and Aelmarkin's, had gone by follow­ing the scent in the air. If the others saw them, they'd either as­sume they were ordinary fireflies or were some bizarre creature native to these forests.

It took her the better part of an hour to get the magic right, but in the end it was worth it; the trick was to set the spell to seek 'horse,' but with the specific exclusions of the horses she and her group rode—otherwise, all the little motes did was cluster around her. So even if they were stumbling down the path in the darkness now, they had something to follow. What a miserable experience, though—wet, cold, the endless