Then the apparition clenched its fists and slumped for shy;ward. Both it and the mist above the fallen vallenwood dissipated.

"Phytos, what was that?" Salomar repeated.

Phytos shook his head.

"Its face was elven," Feelding said softly, "and it wore a robe. A mage? But what was a wizard doing in a … ?" She fell silent. The three exchanged uneasy looks before she spoke again. "Friends, I am newly frightened."

The others said nothing, but all three pivoted on swift hooves, then broke into a canter. They headed north, toward Erolydon.

Kifflewit Burrthistle stood in the shadows of a vallen-wood, across from the gate of Erolydon, and pondered what to do. He wasn't exactly in the good graces of the temple guards anymore. He'd led them in a delightful chase all around Solace for an hour last night before tiring of the game and losing them with ease.

Tarscenian had spoken so feelingly of the Diamond Dragon. Kifflewit just had to see it. Just one look, he promised himself, and then he would put it back where he'd found it. Honest.

Unless, of course, where he'd found it wasn't handy or safe anymore. In some cases such an artifact would be safer with someone who would guard it zealously. Some shy;one like Kifflewit Burrthistle.

But how to get into the temple? He was still musing about the problem and absentmindedly running his fin shy;gers through his brown topknot when three centaurs can shy;tered up to the gate. His brown eyes narrowed. He tipped his head and pricked up his ears.

"We are here to see Hederick," Phytos called firmly to the guard. "I am Phytos, chieftain of the Fyr-Kenti cen shy;taurs, and these are my ministers. Thou wilt admit us and announce our presence to the High Theocrat directly."

The guard didn't move. "Hederick's holding his witches' court. He's busy. And I never heard of no Fyr-Kenti nothin', anyway."

" "Us our home glade, north of here," Feelding put in.

"No one but humans passes through these gates," the guard snapped. "Temple Erolydon is a holy place."

"We have news that Hederick must hear," Salomar added.

"What news could a trio of ponies have for the High Theocrat of Solace? Although, truly, I could find good use for the female, there." The guard motioned lewdly at Feelding, who, like most centaurs, saw no more point in clothing her human torso than in donning garments for her horselike body. The centaurs wore only the wide bands that held their quivers of arrows and leather bags that contained goods from the Solace markets.

The guard gestured at Feelding again and roared with coarse laughter. Two compatriots, who'd remained by the gate, joined in.

Phytos, Salomar, and Feelding took a quiet step toward the gate at the same instant, slipped arrows in their bows, and raised their weapons. Mirth dropped from the guards like a cloak. One guard drew his sword. The two nearer the gate hoisted spears.

A crowd of pilgrims waiting near the gate drew back, blocking Kifflewit Burrthistle's view. The kender crept from his hiding place behind the tree, slunk unnoticed through the pilgrims, and poked his head around the voluminous skirts of a traveler.

High Priest Dahos had arrived at the gate, Kifflewit saw. Hederick's lieutenant gestured the centaurs away. "Heathen creatures!" he cried. "You don't belong here, centaurs. Get back to your forest meadows with your pagan offspring and your primitive, bestial rites, lest you find yourself on trial for heresy!"

"We have important information for the High Theo-crat," Phytos said obdurately. "News he will require if he hopes to avoid a war."

The guards laughed, but Dahos gave the centaurs his attention. The high priest appeared unfazed by gazing directly into a centaur arrow. "Perhaps His Worship would be interested," the brown-robed priest said calculatingly. "Give me your news, and I will give it to him when he is through passing sentence this afternoon."

"We will present our news in person," Phytos said. "We wish to see him now. Call High Theocrat Hederick from this court of his."

Dahos refused.

Phytos, Feelding, and Salomar released their arrows at the same time. They'd gauged their aim to miss the three guards-but just barely. Each man leaped aside, swore and clapped a hand to an ear, an arm, or the side of his neck. They started toward the centaurs.

Dahos held them back. He gazed blandly at the cen shy;taurs as though he was unimpressed by their little stunt. Then, to the guards' disgust, he bowed slightly, said, "Come with me," and strode back through the gate. He drew an incense-holder from his pocket; incense would cleanse the air, lessen the sacrilege of allowing nonhu-mans into Erolydon. He stopped once to speak to a yel shy;low-robed novitiate, who rushed ahead of him to spread the word.

Kifflewit saw his chance at that moment. He darted through the confused crowd and leaped into the leather pouch on Phytos's back. None too soon, either; the cen shy;taur had already launched into movement.

The kender squatted among three thick carafes of wine, as many rounds of milk-white cheese, and a handful of smooth stones. He searched along the seam of the pack until he found a loose stitch and used his fingers to widen the seam until he had a passable view of his surround shy;ings.

The hole also admitted some much-needed fresh air; the cheese was of the fragrant sort. "Smells like old boots," the kender muttered. He wondered if Phytos would notice if he jettisoned a couple of cheese rounds, and decided the centaur probably would.

Kifflewit had heard about Erolydon's splendors, of course, but seeing the temple up close and in person was a different experience. Although he'd viewed all this in his mind's eye countless times, now he actually saw the black shy;ened vallenwood trunk, which they passed in the court shy;yard, and the double wall that allowed spectators to observe the daily executions. He saw, too, the scratched portal through which the materbill entered.

And then they were inside Erolydon itself. Kifflewit blinked. The tapestries! The jeweled statues! Precious gems were inlaid into the marble floor. Crystals sus shy;pended at the doors caught the light and fractured it into a dozen colors, and the visitors' movements sent the prisms whirling. Rainbows darted into every corner. And the colors! The kender's jaw dropped in amazement, and he gasped-taking in a lungful of cheesy air.

Kifflewit stifled a cough, then put his eye back to the hole.

More tapestries. They stretched from floor to ceiling, about the height of four tall men, and each depicted high points in Seeker history. A muscular-looking god leered at a seductive-looking goddess. A fearsome goddess beamed fire from her eyes as she pointed an accusing finger at a quivering soul. An emaciated god stood in a mountain of coins and jewels, valuables dropping from his outspread fingers. An innocent-looking goddess, deer and wildlife surrounding her, stared adoringly at the emaciated god and stretched her hand toward the man's steel coins.

"How terrific!" Kifflewit whispered. If Tarscenian was right, the Diamond Dragon would be even greater a sight than all this. Perhaps he'd take a closer look at these things on his way out, though.

Thick incense from Dahos's holder found its way into the pack and mingled unpleasantly with the odor of the cheese. That, combined with the centaur's swaying stride, gave rise to a distinct feeling of queasiness on the part of the kender. He swallowed and gulped to sip fresh air through the inadequate hole in the pouch. All he took in was a belt of smoke redolent with gardenias and valley lily. He cautiously lifted the top of the pack to see if there was any opportunity for escape.

They had passed through double doors and entered a long, tilted hallway, illuminated by torches set in sconces on the walls, and were picking their way downward.