summer air, imitating the combat on the field…
'Aha! Not bad for a skinny whelp using a wooden sword.'
Kitiara was shaken from her daydream by the sound of a voice and a soft thud behind her. She whirled around to confront a tawny-haired man with glittering dark eyes. He wore brown leggings and a close-fitting tunic. One hand held a shiny red apple and the other rested easily on the handle of his sword. He looked like he knew how to use it.
'Where did you come from?' she demanded, humiliated at her wooden weapon and angry at being caught off guard.
'When preparing for battle, never forget to look up to the gods for a blessing, and while your eyes are thus occupied, to check for enemies hidden in the trees. It's an old Solamnic saying. I'm surprised such a stouthearted warrior as yourself isn't familiar with it,' said the stranger with mock seriousness. At that he sat down, crossed his legs, and took a hungry bite out of his apple. He flashed her a teasing smile.
In no mood to be ridiculed, however mildly, Kitiara flushed with annoyance before pointing her sword in his direction. 'Then, if you are trained in Solamnic traditions, you must know you cannot refuse my challenge to a match without seriously compromising your honor.'
'That would presume I have some honor left to be compromised,' he said indifferently, taking another eager bite.
With a precocity remarkable for a child of eight, Kitiara stepped up and deftly knocked the stranger's apple from his hand by slapping the flat of her sword against his knuckles. His smile vanished, replaced by stern, pursed lips. He stood up to face her.
'I am sorry that you are so disrespectful of your elders,' he said ruefully. 'Someone has neglected to teach you your manners. I shall endeavor to fill the void.'
He moved toward her, but Kit scuttled to the left, her sword point outstretched, keeping him at bay. He circled around, a look on his face every bit as resolute as Kitiara's. Though only slightly more than half his size, she was determined to run him through, wooden sword or not.
The stranger dropped his shoulder and made suddenly as if to reach for his sheathed weapon, at which point Kitiara lunged toward him. Unexpectedly, he dropped to the ground and rolled directly toward her, grabbing her by her ankles before she could make a move with her sword. In another instant he had vaulted to a standing position and hoisted her, kicking and screaming, over his shoulders. Her wooden blade fell to the ground.
Carrying her easily, the stranger walked to a stand of trees and gave her a tremendous heave skyward. Much to her astonishment Kitiara found herself tossed like a leaf high up into the air. She landed in the twisted branches of an apple tree, high above the ground. It took a few moments before she got her breath back. Then she looked down to see the stranger peering up at her with an implacable expression.
'Pick out a nice juicy one, if you please,' the stranger said.
Td sooner die!' she shouted back defiantly.
In a movement so quick that it seemed a blur, the stranger unleashed his sword and thrust it upward, toward Kitiara. Even with his height and long reach, the sword just barely reached her, its tip scraping her bottomside. She scurried to escape its touch, but these were mere apple trees, not mighty vallenwoods, and there were no sturdy branches above her offering an escape route.
Coiling as tightly as she could, Kitiara retreated against the tree trunk. The stranger merely reached a couple of inches higher and flicked his sword point, ripping her leggings.
'Tch tch,' he said. 'Pants need mending.'
She set her chin and determined to say nothing. He stretched a little higher, and she felt the sword point flick again.
'Ouch!'
'First blood,' said the stranger merrily. Then his tone altered. 'Don't tempt me, little one. Krynn is lousy with children, orphans especially. One less would be a blessing.'
A brief, tense silence ensued. There was a rustling of branches, and Kitiara dropped to the ground, holding a ripe apple. Her eyes averted, she held it out to the stranger, who stuck his sword in the ground triumphantly and reached to grab the fruit.
Before he knew it her teeth had sunk into his wrist.
'Ouch!' he yelled and, with a furious oath, cuffed Kit across the face, knocking her roughly to the ground.
She got up very slowly. Rubbing the side of her face, Kitiara looked down at the ground and fought back her tears. She wouldn't cry in front of a stranger.
As for the stranger, he too was nursing his wound, rubbing his wrist with a betrayed air. He looked up and caught Kitiara's eye. To the girl's dismay, the situation suddenly became hilarious. The stranger's face broke into an engaging grin, and rich, throaty laughter began to pour from his mouth.
Kit couldn't help but notice that this curious fellow had an altogether different, more congenial look about him when he smiled. He was like her father in that respect: one way when fighting, another way when at peace. However, she didn't feel the slightest compulsion to laugh with him. She was still smarting with resentment.
With some effort the stranger brought his laughter under control. 'Say, at first I thought you were a boy or I wouldn't have hit you. You fight like one. Some day, perhaps, you'll fight like a man.'
That was no compliment to her. But when the stranger proffered his hand in the Solamnic clasp, she smiled tentatively despite herself. She gripped his hand firmly in response.
He laughed again, sat down, and took a bite out of the apple Kitiara had picked. From a fold in his cloak, he produced another apple and offered it to her with a mischievous smirk.
She frowned in irritation.
'Oh, don't let it bother you,' said the stranger soothingly. 'What's your name, half-pint?'
With a show of reluctance she took the apple. 'Kitiara Uth Matar,' she said proudly.
Was it her imagination, or did some recognition flicker across the stranger's face? Some emotion had registered, some inscrutable reaction.
'Any relation to Gregor Uth Matar?' he asked, keeping a smile on his face.
'Do you know him?' She leaned forward excitedly.
'No, no,' he said hastily, shifting his tone. 'Heard of him, of course. Heard of him.' He seemed to look at Kit differently, more intently, appraising her face. 'I'd like to meet a man of such stature-if he happened to be in these parts.'
All at once, Kitiara was blinking back tears. 'My father doesn't live in Solace anymore,' she said stoically after a few moments. 'He left home not long after we returned from a battle with some barbarians. That was over a year ago.'
Kitiara would never forget that unhappy morning. For once, her father had not been there, smiling at her, when she woke up. There had been no true warning of his departure; he hadn't been getting along with Rosamun, but that was nothing new. And the note he left hardly offered an adequate explanation:
He had left behind his favorite horse and ridden off on a freshly bartered one. Kitiara had crumpled the paper and cried intermittently for days, even weeks. Now she wished she still had the note, if only as a memento.
Nobody in Solace could say for sure which way Gregor had gone, on which road in which direction.
'Have you heard news of him?' she asked the stranger eagerly.
'Hmmm. I seem to remember hearing something about some escapades in the North,' he replied vaguely, preoccupied now with standing up and slipping his sword into its scabbard.
'His family hails from the North,' Kit said, keenly interested.
'Or maybe it was in the wilds of Khur to the east. I'm not certain.'
'Oh.' Kit's voice fell.
'A man like that would never stay in one place for long,' he continued.
'What do you mean?' Kit asked a little defensively, ' 'a man like that'?'
Looking up, he saw the apprehension that animated Kitiara's face. 'I have to be on my way, little one. If I run into your father, can I give him a message?' he inquired, not unkindly.
