his in both hands, sipping eagerly. The warm broth was like nothing Caramon had ever tasted before-rich, flavorful, and instantly nourishing. He could feel it course through his body, refreshing him and sating his hunger.
The kyrie leader's face hardened with bitter memories as he continued his chronicle. 'Gradually we gathered here,' Sun Feather related, 'most of us on the island of Mithas, other clans scattered on nearby islands. Although we can still take long, soaring flights, we no longer cross the oceans. Without the Northstone, we are stranded in this part of the world. We live here'-he gestured broadly-'as best as we are able, as peaceably as we are allowed.'
Caramon had countless questions he wanted to ask. He sputtered out two: 'What do you want with me? Why did you rescue me from the dungeon in Atossa?'
Cloudreaver answered before Sun Feather could. 'I saw you and your friend nearly drowning in the Blood Sea. I did what I could to alleviate your plight.'
Caramon's eyes widened. 'So that was you!' he exclaimed. 'You dropped some kind of bread to us.'
'It was my own ration,' said the kyrie mildly.
Impulsively Caramon reached across and clasped the kyrie's hands. 'You saved our lives,' the Majere twin said warmly. 'Then you risked your own to help me escape from prison.' The young warrior spoke passionately, his words heartfelt. 'I owe you more than I could ever hope to repay.'
Cloudreaver looked a little uneasy at Caramon's effusive display of emotion. Sun Feather beamed. 'Cloudreaver is my son,' said the kyrie elder proudly. As Caramon gazed at the bird-man who had gone to such lengths to rescue him, Cloudreaver lowered his eyes. All the earlier traces of arrogance had vanished.
'I have two sons,' added Sun Feather. 'My firstborn…'
His voice faltered. 'My firstborn. Morning Sky, is the one who was… with you… being held prisoner in Atossa.' He bent his head sorrowfully.
Caramon didn't know what to say. Finally he had learned who the broken man was. Bowing his head, he was overcome with emotion at the realization that the man was Sun Feather's firstborn. Morning Sky. Did Sun Feather know how close his son was to death? How Morning Sky had been tortured and abused by the minotaurs? Did Sun Feather know how brave and resolute his son was? How, even in his brief conversations with Caramon, he had shown no fear of his fate?
Silence settled over the room, then was broken by the plaintive weeping of one of the females.
'We know how the minotaurs are treating Morning Sky,' said Sun Feather softly. 'We know that he has been tortured to the point of death. We have little hope of ever seeing him free, among us, again.'
It was as if the leader of the kyrie had read Caramon's mind. Noticing the warrior's questioning glance. Sun Feather pointed to his head, and Caramon remembered what the broken man had said about telepathy.
'But why couldn't you have freed your son instead of me?' asked Caramon earnestly.
'My son is chained constantly,' replied Sun Feather in an even voice, 'except when he is permitted to eat. Otherwise he would kill himself. The minotaurs know that about kyrie, even if they know little else about our kind. It is a disgrace for a kyrie to be captured alive.'
Caramon drank from his cup of broth. It didn't seem right. He was free, while Morning Sky was being tortured and beaten in prison. 'Maybe,' the human warrior ventured, 'if we were to storm the dungeon…'
'It would be suicide for all involved,' put in Three Far-Eyes, speaking for the first time. The old one's face was somber. 'We are a courageous people, but we are not foolhardy.'
'What about the tunnel?'
Cloudreaver scoffed. 'The tunnel is tight and narrow. It would take hours to squeeze even a small attack force into the prison through the tunnel, and there would be no fast way out. We would have a dozen guards to contend with, as well as the chains and bars of my brother's cell. We have thought about all of this. We have discussed it, argued about it, and come up with nothing.'
The kyrie frowned, a shadow darkening his face. 'No, there is no way out for my brother. He is doomed.'
From the other kyrie came murmured assent. Caramon sat silent for a long time. 'Why do they torture him?' the young human from Solace wondered aloud.
'We have pitted ourselves against the minotaurs for hundreds upon hundreds of years,' answered Sun Feather. 'Over time, we have gathered in these and other mountain enclaves, living far away from the minotaur cities. Although we roam the valleys, foraging food and hunting small animals, we always retreat here. While the bull-men are adept in land battle or at sea, they are oafs when it comes to exploring the mountains. They cannot climb the high peaks to drive us out. To them, we are an alien presence in the midst of their homeland. To us, they are a scourge upon the earth. As they are determined to hunt and destroy us, so too are we sworn to kill them whenever they cross our path.
'In recent months,' Sun Feather continued, 'minotaur contingents have penetrated our territory and become more intrepid in locating our aeries. The bull-men have successfully raided some of our smaller outlying settlements, vanquishing our warriors, butchering scores of our women and young. It is said that, in some instances, they have been aided by scaly flying creatures who scouted the terrain in advance and carried weapons and supplies.'
'Dragons?' It was Caramon's turn to scoff. 'Everyone knows there are no dragons in Ansalon. That is nighttime talk for children, for fables.'
'Not dragons,' Cloudreaver cut in vehemently. 'Flying creatures of a type that has not existed before this time.'
Caramon looked skeptical.
'Of course we have no proof,' said Sun Feather. 'There are no surviving eyewitnesses. The minotaurs kill every kyrie and burn everything, leaving only scorched earth. They rarely take prisoners.' He paused, allowed himself a sip of hot liquid, and continued, choosing his words carefully and controlling his emotions. 'My son, Morning Sky, is one of the exceptions. He was captured at an outpost that he commanded. They realized he is of high rank, possibly noble lineage. From him, they demanded information about our number, our customs and rituals, the whereabouts of our sanctuaries.'
This soliloquy seemed to have exhausted Sun Feather, whose face sagged and shoulders drooped. He put down his cup of broth, then clasped his hands together and nodded to Cloudreaver.
'They have not tortured any information out of him,' spat Cloudreaver, 'nor will they get any, no matter how devious their cruelty. Morning Sky will expel his final breath without telling them so much as his name.'
Caramon looked into Cloudreaver's pebble-black eyes, grim and fatalistic, like his brother's, the broken man's. Sun Feather reached over and touched his son on the wrist. The older female kyrie came over and whispered something in Sun Feather's ear. The elder kyrie nodded.
'And what about you, my son?' asked Three Far-Eyes gently, breaking the silence. 'What is your name? What is your story?'
Caramon told them, leaving nothing out. The trip to Southern Ergoth, the magic storm, the capture of Tasslehoff, his and Sturm's trial at sea, their imprisonment. Although the kyrie were exceedingly interested in the role the minotaurs played in Caramon's curious saga, they could add little to the mystery of why the minotaur kingdom would be so preoccupied by a single kender, much less the herb, jalopwort.
'Except,' pointed out Three Far-Eyes, 'do not forget one thing. Jalopwort is common on Mithas and Karthay, but quite rare, if not altogether absent, from other parts of the world. And like other things on Mithas, the minotaurs define it as their own, sacred, with certain ritualistic uses.'
Sun Feather nodded sagely.
Time passed. Now the young female kyrie-her face strikingly beautiful, her red hair flecked with gold-brought out cups and bowls, setting them before Caramon and the others.
Following the example of the kyrie, Caramon dipped his fingers into a basin of cool water, then washed and dried his hands. From the serving bowls, he chose an assortment of nuts, berries, and greens. The older female appeared behind his shoulder and ladled several small cubes of raw red meat onto his plate.
After some minutes, during which they all ate hungrily, Cloudreaver spoke. 'A sentinel stays in the tunnel at all times,' the young kyrie said, returning to the topic of his brother. 'He watches over Morning Sky, hoping against hope for some change in his circumstances.
'We speak to him only a little, always furtively. It would not be wise to take chances. When Morning Sky is able, he speaks to us. Even if the minotaur guards overhear a few words, they do not understand our native
