Tarscenian paused at a fork in the path. Mynx skidded to a stop. "What is it?" she hissed.

Tarscenian pointed to the left. "They're coming from that way. And the other way, too. And from behind us as well." He bounded off the path into the underbrush, bur shy;rowing beneath thick ferns. He hoped she had the sense to follow and hide herself.

The three groups of guards almost collided where the paths met. The air filled with oaths as each contingent accused the other of missing the quarry. Finally an authoritative voice cut through the rest. "They could be hiding anywhere around here." The leader ordered the guards-two dozen or so, as near as Tarscenian could guess-to fan out. "Beat the underbrush," the leader ordered.

"Who are we looking for?"

"Whoever killed the bugbear, you idiot."

"Fine, but who's that?"

The captain answered with curses. Tarscenian heard him muttering as he and his partners began to wade through the ferns and bracken. It would be only a matter of moments before one of the guards stumbled over Tarscenian or Mynx. They'd have to make a stand.

The guards were nearing, and Tarscenian was gather shy;ing himself to leap up and confront them when a whistling sound brought him up short. He'd heard that sound somewhere. A hoopak?

"Hey, you hopeless pack of overdecorated ninnies!" The voice was high-pitched and sarcastic. "Did you lose something?"

"It's the kender!" one of the guards cried. "Forget the kender," the captain shouted. "We're look shy;ing for whoever killed …"

"… the bugbear!" Kifflewit interrupted. "That's me. Up here."

Tarscenian raised his head slowly until only a few inches of ferns covered him. He looked up.

There was Kifflewit, leaning far over the edge of a walkway, brown topknot bobbing, waving gaily to the guards. His hand held a familiar-looking dagger, the one the woman from Throtl had wanted to sell. No doubt the kender had "found" it during their adventure in the refugee market earlier in the evening. Tarscenian heard a muffled snort off to his left, and realized Mynx had spied the kender, too.

The captain ordered his men to ignore Kifflewit's taunts. "No kender could kill a bugbear," he scoffed.

"Except this kender had a magic dagger," Kifflewit rejoined. "It was terrific! I didn't even have to hold on to it. It knew the bugbear wanted to hurt me, so it flew across the clearing, smack into the creature! Then it flew right back to me! Isn't that splendid? Want to see it?"

"It's possible," a guard ventured. "We found no weapon."

Kifflewit giggled, leaning even farther over the walk shy;way. "You overpaid losers!" he taunted. "What? Did Hederick get you at a group discount? Cheaper by the dozen? Or do you pay him, so you can pretend you have a job?"

The men began to grumble. This same kender had caused them a bundle of trouble earlier in the night. He'd gotten away before, purely by luck. He dared to ridicule them now?

"Come down here, kender," the captain commanded.

"Ah, no," Kifflewit said, snickering. "I do believe I have an appointment elsewhere. I can't wait to tell my friends how one little kender outwitted two dozen Seeker guards. My, what a good story that will be! Bye-bye, ladies! Don't muss your petticoats during your search!" He waved again happily and scooted off down the walkway.

"Ladies?" the captain exploded.

In an instant, the guards went howling after the kender. Moments later, Tarscenian and Mynx were alone amid the silent ferns. The old man rose stiffly to his feet and found Mynx already upright. "That kender," she said, shaking her head. "I owe him one."

"He's a tough little rascal," Tarscenian concluded softly. "Maybe you and Gaveley ought to recruit him."

Mynx took Tarscenian's hand. "Come on," she said. "We still have a way to go."

Tarscenian started to protest, then found himself pulled down the path. Although the night's activities had left him virtually exhausted, he did his best to keep up with the agile thief.

At long last Mynx stopped. She swung under the low-hanging branches of a thick pine tree and disappeared. Tarscenian dropped to his knees and followed, cursing when a pine needle drove into his shin like a porcupine quill.

There was no sign of the thief.

Then a hand grasped his in the dark. Tarscenian pitched into nothingness, dropped a short distance, and landed with a bone-jarring thump on packed earth. "What in-" he complained. "Now what?"

"I have to say, physical grace is not one of your talents, Tarscenian."

He bit off his reply.

"Follow me, old man."

"Where-?"

"Don't ask questions." A strong hand grasped his again. "Crawl."

He did as Mynx ordered. He was in a tunnel, that much was certain. Every few moments his back grazed a rock or root overhead. Then suddenly he sensed that the space had opened up around him. Mynx whispered, "You may be able to get to your feet now. But be careful."

He could stand up-as long as he bent at the waist. But after creeping along on his hands and knees for so long, half-standing didn't feel half-bad. Mynx hurried him along the tunnel, which curved every few paces. "Who dug this tunnel?" he muttered. "A bunch of drunken dwarves?"

"Not a bad guess," Mynx whispered, chuckling. "It was abandoned when I found it. I cleaned it out and shored it up."

"Where are-?"

Mynx pulled him forward and placed his hand on the rung of a ladder. He could tell by the air that they weren't exactly underground anymore, but where were they? Tarscenian took a deep breath. "Wood?"

His fingers grazed something rough and crumbly. He broke off a piece and sniffed. "Oak?" he murmured. He stood cautiously and began to climb. The ladder curved to the right as it led upward. "We're inside a tree?"

"Of course. This is Solace, remember?" Mynx mut shy;tered, climbing ahead of him in the dark. "Or near enough."

She had halted and seemed to be fumbling with something. A moment later a trapdoor swung open before them. Enough moonlight seeped through a lone curtained window that Tarscenian could make out a chair with a skirt and shirt flung across the back, a mat shy;tress, and a small table with a lantern, three dirty plates, and a half-dozen tiny ceramic vials strewn on it. The furniture occupied most of the floor space in the tiny hollowed-out tree-home.

Mynx kicked her sandals off, nudging them under the table. "Sit," she ordered, removing the clothing from the chair and dropping it on the floor. "I'll be right back. Don't light the lantern." She ducked under a curtain in a second doorway.

Tarscenian ignored the proffered chair and stepped across rough-hewn floorboards littered with pine needles. He peeped through the curtained window. Mynx's minuscule home perched in the branches of a burr oak. Thick pines dotted the landscape. Whether he and Mynx were south, north, or east of Solace, he could not have said. By the Old Gods, I need some rest, he thought.

"May I help you?"

Startled, Tarscenian let the curtain drop and faced the lilting new voice. A blond woman stood in the doorway. She wore chain mail leggings, patched leather armor, and knee-high boots with steel cladding up the front. A tight helm framed her face; the visor was up. He saw ashen hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes, full lips.

"Excuse me," he stammered. "Mynx brought me . . ." He paused. "Rather …" He stopped again. He realized he'd rather be facing the bugbear again than be in this situation. "It's not what you …"

"Mynx?" the woman asked. "Who is Mynx?" She regarded him with a bewildered look. "And what are you doing in my house?"

What trick had Mynx played on him? Obviously she'd abandoned him, but what was her objective? The blond woman wore warrior's garb-was he being held pris shy;oner, then? Never trust a thief, he thought.

He drew his sword.