"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 language, so they think it is delirium. That is how we were able to tell Morning Sky about the two humans who had been captured and brought to the prison. After talking it over with him, we decided to risk liberating you."
"Why?" asked Caramon thoughtfully.
"For one thing, I saw how you behaved toward my brother," answered Cloudreaver.
"You saw me?"
"I was in the tunnel. That close to my brother, I could see through his eyes, through the walls of stone. My heart beats with the same rhythm as his. My head shares his thoughts.
I listened to your words and saw and believed you to be a good and compassionate human."
Caramon was silent. He was thinking about his own brother, Raistlin. Wasn't it that way between him and Raist? That they could see with each other's eyes sometimes? That their hearts also beat as one?
"We do not have much experience with humans," interjected Sun Feather diplomatically. "I myself have never before been face-to-face with one in my three hundred years of life on this earth."
"Three hundred years!" exclaimed Caramon. The young warrior knew that dwarves and elves were long-lived, but already Sun Feather had lived more than three times the span that Caramon would in his time.
"Yes," admitted Sun Feather, chuckling. "I am old and past my prime. When I am gone, it will be up to Cloudreaver—"
"Father!" cried Cloudreaver, bringing up his arm and making an angry gesture.
The female kyrie looked upset. Three Far-Eyes dropped his glance. Sun Feather looked chastened.
"Cloudreaver is right," the leader of the kyrie said in a low voice. "It is not right to speak of Morning Sky as if he is already dead. Morning Sky is the firstborn and blood heir to the leadership. But—" His voice broke.
Three Far-Eyes hastened to change the subject. "Most of the humans we know of," said Three Far-Eyes softly, "are brigands or slaves. But our legends tell us that humans can be intelligent and sensitive and loyal. Besides, we felt that it was worth the risk
