"No!" the male phaethon said quickly. Both of the adult phaethons bent close to the white-haired one and conversed in low tones. Tas heard very little, and what he did pick up was in a language he could not understand.
"You're funny," the little girl said to Tas, tugging at her tunic and smiling demurely.
"Why, thank you," Tas said, a bit puzzled. He did not recall telling any jokes. But then, who knew what made phaethons laugh?
He nodded his head toward the three adults. "What are they talking about?"
The young girl shrugged. "They're deciding if you'll be allowed to live or not." Leaning in closer, she whispered, "Intruders usually aren't, but I think you have a better-than-average chance."
Tasslehoff swallowed slowly, watching their heated exchange. The white-haired phaethon seemed disturbed and shook his head after every comment made by the other two. They appeared to be trying to persuade him of something. Finally, the younger male slapped his fist into his palm, his expression firm. The elder shook his head one last time and looked out a window, as if absolving himself. The younger man turned away and stepped up to Tas, his expression as stoic as ever.
He placed a hand on his chest. "I am Nanda Lokir, potentate of our settlement. This—" He indicated the white-haired one—"is Hoto Lokir-Ulth, my greatgrandfather, in your language. My mate and adviser, Cele Lokir, and our daughter, Zeo."
Tas took the introductions as a good sign.
"You are a very fortunate kender. It is our custom, after interrogation, to eliminate deceitful intruders to our valley. We are a peaceful race, but we value honesty and privacy above all else. You seem to have little regard for the absoluteness of truth and this weighs heavily against you in Hoto's eyes, but we all believe that you and your friends may perform an important service for us. I have sent for them to join us."
Nanda walked to the hearth. "Perhaps you are hungry?"
Tas nodded vigorously. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten. Before reaching Tantallon? Running through the market with Selana? Nanda's mate, Cele, opened a small pantry to the left of the hearth. From it she withdrew a wooden cutting board, on it a round loaf of golden-crusted bread. She handed Nanda a large bowl of stew of some sort. He placed it among the coals for warming. From another cupboard she took a crock of freshly churned, creamy-white butter. Slicing the bread, dotted with whole chunks of chewy grain, she lathered on the spread and handed a piece to the wide-eyed kender.
"This is wonderful!" he mumbled between rich mouthfuls. "But living way up here, where do you get the churned butter, or even the cow for the milk?"
"We sleep and cook in our steeplehomes," Cele explained, "but we work the valley below. We do not wish to mingle with other cultures, so we are completely self-sufficient and produce no items for trade. We raise grains, fruits, and vegetables, herd sheep and goats, and keep rabbits and chickens, though Zeo continually tries to turn them into pets." Cele smiled fondly at the little girl, stroking her long, curly hair.
Nanda pulled the bowl of heated stew from the hearth and dished up a plateful, rich with orange carrots, green baby peas, whole pearl onions, and petite chunks of tender meat in a rich brown gravy.
Tasslehoff was in heaven. He considered himself a true connoisseur of food, being quite a good cook himself. The kender closed his eyes after each delicious spoonful, savoring the blending of flavors with just the right amount of fresh herbs.
"I might have known we'd find him eating," growled a familiar, deep voice. Tas opened his eyes and saw Flint and Tanis standing in the doorway, three more phaethons nearby. The dwarf's harsh words were contradicted by the obvious look of relief in his eyes. He was tugging his clothing back into place after his recent air trip.
"I'm glad to see you're OK, Tas," said Tanis, looking hesitantly from Tasslehoff to the phaethons standing near him. Nanda nodded to the flyers and they called forth their wings and flew from the doorway.
"You're free to move about. Come, join your friend at table," said Nanda, waving Tanis and Flint into the hearth room from the small antechamber. Smiling, Tanis squeezed the kender's shoulder, and Flint, frowning, gave his upper arm a soft punch.
"I am Nanda Lokir," said the leader of the phaethons, holding out his right arm to Tanis. The half-elf thrust out his hand, but the potentate slid his own hand past it to grasp the half-elf's forearm in an unusual variation on a handshake. Tanis quickly caught on and clasped the phaethon's arm in return.
'Tanis Half-Elven," he said, nodding his head toward the dwarf. "Flint Fireforge." Flint extended his hand, and Nanda introduced his family. The elder hung back, ignoring their offered hands and barely acknowledging their presence. Tas intercepted an uneasy glance between Flint and Tanis.
"They usually kill trespassers," the kender explained in a low voice behind his hand, "but they're making an exception in our case. Nanda wants us to help him somehow, and I get the impression the old fellow isn't pleased with the setup."
The half-elf addressed Nanda. "We're most grateful to you for rescuing us from the river," he began, "but
