The small creature gazed up. "It's not a staff, it's my hoopak. It's a weapon. And I can't lend it, but you can make me an offer anyway. My, what a huge hood! I can't even see in there. Are you human? You're certainly tall. Twice as tall as me. More than that, even. What do you-"

The kender reached up in an attempt to pull back Tarscenian's hood. The small creature's voice trailed off in a squeak a moment later as Tarscenian grasped his wrist in an iron grip. "Ouch! You're hurting…"

Tarscenian leaned over. "My back pains me, small one," he said loudly. "I need to lean upon your shoulders." Tarscenian bent closer and whispered, "Would you like to see something marvelous, kender?"

Curious, the creature stopped struggling. "What?" His brown eyes attempted to probe the depths of Tarscenian's hood.

Tarscenian spoke so softly that the kender had to strain to catch his words. "The high priest's ring is enchanted. The being who holds it can see things that ordinary mor shy;tals cannot."

"See what things?" the kender whispered.

'Into people's dwellings. Through walls, if you desire. If you stole . .. rather, if you 'borrowed' the ring, you could watch people, unseen. For example, you could view them as they empty their pockets at night. Think of the treasures you could behold!"

The kender's face glowed. "How exciting!"

"What is your name?"

"Kifflewit Burrthistle."

"Come with me, Kifflewit. And be still." They made their way around the periphery of the torchlight, Tarscen shy;ian leaning heavily on the kender. As they sidestepped blankets of trade goods, Tarscenian kept a strong grip on Kifflewit's right wrist, but he couldn't be certain the small creature wasn't filling his pockets with his other hand. Nevertheless, Tarscenian moved on, behind a goblin, around a pair of arguing dwarves, over a rivulet of scummy water, until he reached the young white centaur.

"Sir?" the centaur said. "Thou needest something?" He was a Crystalmir centaur, Tarscenian could see-leaner than Abanasinian centaurs, with an angular face and tilted violet eyes that appeared otherworldly beneath his shock of silver-white hair. No great intelligence shone in those eyes, but they were gentle. His face and torso were deeply tanned and muscular.

Tarscenian kept the kender behind him and made his voice tremble as much as his walk. "Please, noble crea shy;ture, have you alms for an old soul? I have had no food since yesterday. I am quite weak."

Tarscenian tilted his head. He peeked out from beneath the fabric of the voluminous hood. The centaur already had opened a pouch at its waist-the point at which the human torso became horse withers-and was holding out a coin.

"Here, old man," the centaur said. "Thou needest this more than I. I can sleep anywhere, and I am surely young and strong enough to forage for my meals."

"Bless you, noble creature."

"The name is Phytos, old sir. And thou art welcome." The centaur's voice lost its gentleness. "Just thou keepest that embezzling kender away from me."

Tarscenian nodded and moved on, again leaning on Kifflewit Burrthistle, who was beginning to wobble beneath the weight. None of the guards paid them any attention; in these times, one more limping beggar was nothing of note. And High Priest Dahos had ensnared the bystanders' attention by haranguing the unfortunate Throtl woman.

"Your holy offering contained nothing but a bit of gran shy;ite, hag!" the high priest shouted. "Is this evidence of your devotion-to hold back from the religion that sustains you? This, you think, will gain you everlasting life? A worthless offering? Perhaps an extended visit with the slave traders would improve your generosity. Perhaps the materbill…"

The woman, pale with fear, was stammering, "B-but I p-paid a g-g-great amount… t-to your own agent… it c-could n-not have b-been worthless … I Hooked ins-"

"Alms!" Tarscenian shouted, interrupting. "Alms! Alms for the poor!" He lurched toward Dahos, and blankets suddenly were gathered up, sleeping places vacated. The crowd edged away.

Dahos stared at the old, bent figure leaning on-of all things-a perspiring kender. "You dare interrupt me, old man?"

Tarscenian invested his voice with all the misery he could muster. "Holy man of Solace, I am destitute! Have you something for an old, crippled man, a devout Seeker all these many years? I have need of you, brother of the new faith! I reach out to you!" He stretched forth a hand.

Dahos looked at the quivering limb with undisguised distaste. "Have you tithed? Have you provided the church with its due portion of your money all these years, old man? And have you proof of this? Only then may we consider your case."

"But how could I tithe when I never had money, my lord?" Tarscenian maintained a plaintive tone, though he felt a bolt of anger surge through his body.

Dahos sneered. "The truly devout find a way. Now leave me and find yourself employment. Your laziness deprives the church and angers the gods."

With great difficulty, Tarscenian controlled his desire to slide his sword from beneath his cloak and rearrange the man's entrails. "Your blessing, at least," he whined instead. "To protect me on my way, Your Worship." He knelt, dragging Kifflewit down with him. Dahos unwill shy;ingly proffered his ring. Tarscenian kissed the air over the death's-head, murmured something appropriately pious, then motioned Kifflewit Burrthistle forward. "Look, my little friend," he whispered. "The magical ring."

Kifflewit reached forth, pointed ears atwitch and brown eyes glistening. At that moment, Dahos jerked his hand back. "Seekers give no blessings to kender!" he roared. "What blasphemy do you ask of me, old man?" The high priest launched a foot into Kifflewit Burrthistle's face, knocking the air from the kender as he fell over backward. Dahos shouted for the guards.

Tarscenian rose to his full height and tossed two temple guards behind him like discarded rags. "Leave the kender be, coward!" he yelled. His hood fell back from his face as he drew his sword, and in a mere moment, temple guards and goblins were swarming toward Tarscenian and Kiffle-wit Burrthistle-with more on the way.

The kender protested noisily despite the blood that oozed from the corner of his mouth. Kifflewit swung his hoopak and slammed one of the goblins flat in the mid-section. The toothy creature, barely taller than a kender but thrice its weight, went down heavily.

"Guards! The man from the courtyard!" Dahos bel shy;lowed. "Guards!" He turned to scream commands at the handful of refugees who remained standing about. "I order the faithful to assist in this man's capture. Failure constitutes blasphemy!"

The Throtl woman was first to throw in her lot with the guards. Another dozen people soon gathered in a threat shy;ening knot. Tarscenian, sword in hand, stood within the thickening circle of enemies with the furiously cursing, hoopak-swinging kender at his back.

Clearly, Kifflewit was having a marvelous time. Kender knew no fear.

There was no sign of Mynx. There was also, Tarscenian saw with satisfaction, no sign of the high priest's ring on his left hand. Dahos, however, was so preoccupied with capturing them that he had noticed nothing amiss.

Suddenly a rope dropped out of a tree, dangling above Tarscenian. A whistle pierced through the tumult. "Burr-thistle! Up here!" It was a woman's voice. In an eyeblink, the nimble kender was up the rope and out of sight.

Tarscenian parried a thrust from the nearest guard and wound his left hand around the rope. He was not as agile as the kender, and fumbled his attempt to pull himself up. His attackers were on the verge of overwhelming him.

Then Tarscenian's feet left the ground. And not through his own doing.

He glanced upward. Far above him in the shadows, he dimly perceived a woman pulling at the rope, which she'd wisely slipped over a vallenwood branch before let shy;ting it drop down.