Bahzell had also stopped, and his ears cocked in question as the newcomer walked up to them.

"And a good morning to you, too," the Horse Stealer said politely, then tilted his head to one side. "I'm hoping you'll forgive the asking, but should I be knowing you?"

"Not yet," the mage said, still smiling. "My name is Kresko. I'm the senior master of the Belhadan Mage Academy."

"Are you now?" Bahzell murmured, and his eyes narrowed. There had been a time when "mage" and "wizard" meant the same thing, but that had been long ago. These days, a mere suspicion of wizardry was enough to get a man lynched places—understandably, given what the dark wizards had done in Kontovar—but magi were as trusted as wizards were feared. Unlike a wizard, a mage's skills and talents were those of the mind, and he could draw only upon his own strength, or that of other magi linked in mutual support, not upon the enormous power wizards routinely sought to manipulate. But the true reason they were trusted was the Oath of the Magi, the code which bound them to use their talents only to help and never to harm... and made them mortal foes of any black wizard.

"Yes," Kresko said, answering the Horse Stealer's question. "Mistress Zarantha told us you and Lord Brandark would be arriving today and asked us to greet you, but I'm afraid her precognition wasn't equal to telling us the precise time of your arrival, and I missed you at the docks."

Vaijon stood mutely to one side, listening, and fresh confusion flickered through him. Master Kresko was one of the most important people in Belhadan—or, for that matter, in the entire province of Fradonia—but he seemed totally unaware of it as he smiled at both hradani and extended his right hand to clasp forearms with Bahzell.

"We of the academies owe both of you an enormous debt," he said more seriously. "Zarantha is still new to her talents. When they reach full maturity, she'll be one of the most powerful magi we've seen in generations, and she and Duke Jashân have already begun construction of their own academy. But if the two of you hadn't saved her life—"

Bahzell made a small, uncomfortable gesture, and Kresko stopped what he'd been saying. He gazed quizzically at the two hradani for a moment, then shrugged.

"She warned us about you, you know," he said, and let his smile grow a little broader as Bahzell and Brandark exchanged glances. "She said you wouldn't let us thank you properly, and I see she was right," he went on. "But that was only part of why I hunted you down this morning. The main reason was to deliver three messages."

"And what messages might those be?" Bahzell asked with a touch of wariness, and Kresko chuckled.

"Nothing too sinister," he assured the Horse Stealer. "First, Duke Jashân asked me to remind you and Brandark that you're now sept to Jashân, and he knows from Zarantha that you lost most of your gear to the Purple Lords. Accordingly, he's used the mage relays to establish a line of credit in his name with House Harkanath's local factors, and he expects you to draw upon it. And Zarantha said to tell both of you that she doesn't want to hear any nonsense about refusing the offer. She says she told you her father would reward you for helping her get home, and all your new relatives will be mightily insulted if you make a liar out of her."

He paused with an expectant air, and the two hradani looked at one another once more. Then Brandark grinned.

"She did tell us that, Bahzell," he said. "Neither of us believed her, but she did say it."

"Aye, and I'd not like to see what she might be doing if she took to feeling 'mightily insulted,' " Bahzell agreed wryly, and flicked his ears at Kresko. "All right, Master Kresko. It's pleased I'd be if you'd tell Lady Zarantha we're glad to accept the Duke's kindness."

"Good. Now, for the second message. Wencit also asked us to thank the two of you for your assistance. He, ah, said you might not be the smartest pair he ever met, but that your other virtues make up for it." Both hradani snorted, and Kresko smiled. But then his smile faded, and his voice turned more serious. "He also said to tell you he'd be seeing you again, and that he would count it an honor if you called upon him for assistance when the time comes."

" 'The time comes'?" Bahzell rumbled. He reached up to scratch the tip of one ear and frowned. "And did he happen to be saying just what 'time' he's after talking about?"

"I'm afraid not." Kresko shrugged wryly. "You know how Wencit is. It's like pulling teeth to get him to tell you anything . I think it's part of his 'mysterious, all-knowing wizard' act."

"Aye, isn't it just?" Bahzell muttered. He frowned down at the cobblestones, clearly thinking hard, and Vaijon swallowed. It had been bad enough to hear Master Kresko throwing around the name of a duke, even a foreign one, who claimed hradani as members of his own family, but this was worse. There was only one person to whom Kresko could be referring: Wencit of R?m. But that was ridiculous! What in Tomanāk's name did a pair of hradani barbarians have to do with the last and greatest white wizard of them all?

"Well," Bahzell said finally, "he's a right pain in the arse with his acts and games, but he's a knack for turning up when things look worst, too. If he's after contacting you again, I'd be pleased if you'd tell him I'm still thinking he's one as knows too much for my peace of mind, but I'll not turn him down if he wants to help."

"He'll be delighted, I'm sure," Kresko said dryly. "But that brings me to my third message. When Duke Jashân had us contact House Harkanath to establish credit for you and Bahzell, their factor sent word to Dwarvenhame, and Kilthandahknarthas sent back a message of his own."

"Ah?" Brandark smiled. "And what did the old thief have to say?" he asked.

Repeated shocks, Vaijon observed, seemed to be stunting his ability to feel surprise. Kilthandahknarthas dihna'Harkanath was the head of Clan Harkanath of the Silver Cavern dwarves and of the vast trading house of the same name. There might be three wealthier individuals in the entire Empire of the Axe; there couldn't possibly be four, and hearing a rag-clad hradani call him an "old thief" should have stunned him speechless. Now it seemed almost minor, and he waited for Master Kresko's response.

"He said to tell the two of you you were still idiots to leave him in Riverside, but that his offer still stands. And if either of you need a reference with merchants here in Belhadan—or, knowing you, with the Guard—you should mention his name and his factor will post bail for you. At a slight interest rate, of course."

"Aye, he would be saying that." Bahzell chuckled.

"Yes, he would," Brandark agreed, "and while you're doing whatever a champion of Tomanāk does in the middle of the winter, I think I'll just take him up on his offer."

"You will, hey?" Bahzell cocked his ears quizzically, and Brandark shrugged.

"I actually learned a little something on Wind Dancer . I'd like to learn more, and I imagine old Kilthan has pretty good contacts here in Belhadan. Maybe they can vouch for me and give me an introduction to one of the shipyards."

"I wasn't after noticing a lot of activity in those yards," Bahzell pointed out, and Brandark shrugged again.

"No, but there's bound to be something going on, and even if they're not actually building or rigging anything, there have to be brains I can pick."

"And you the lad who's never learned to swim," Bahzell marveled with a grin.

"No, I haven't," Brandark replied with dignity. "And if it's all the same to you, I think I'll wait to learn until I don't have to melt the water to practice in, thank you. But there's no reason I shouldn't get started on the rest of my education, now is there?"

"Not a reason in the world," Bahzell agreed cheerfully, and smiled at Kresko. "Our thanks for your messages, Master Kresko. It's a pleasing thing to be finding so warm a welcome here."

"No warmer than you deserve," Kresko said.

"That's as may be, but it makes it no less pleasing. And truth to tell, I'm minded to learn a mite more about magi while we're here. Would it be overimposing to be inviting myself to visit your academy?"

"Of course not! You'd both be welcome any time. Just give us a little warning. There's always a class of new magi, and their shielding and control aren't all they might be during training, so we need to warn their mentors if nonmagi are coming on campus, but we'll be delighted to see you."

"Thank you," Bahzell murmured, and Brandark nodded in agreement.

"In that case, I'll be on my way," Kresko said cheerfully. "I've got several more errands to run this morning. I'm delighted to have finally met you both, and I look forward to seeing you again Friday when I drop by for my regular chess game with Sir Charrow." He clasped forearms with both hradani once more, nodded briskly to Vaijon and set off about his business.

Vaijon stared after him for several long seconds, then looked back at the hradani. Brandark grinned impudently at him, ears weaving gently back and forth, but Bahzell met his eyes with that same wry, oddly compassionate expression, and Vaijon closed his eyes while he tried to digest the violence Master Kresko had done to his worldview in such a tiny handful of minutes. Master magi, dukes, dwarvish merchant princes, and white wizards couldn't possibly have anything to do with hradani. But they did. And quite a lot, to judge by the tone of the messages Master Kresko had delivered. And that meant—

He shook himself. Just for the moment, he decided, he wouldn't think about all that it might mean. There would be time enough for that later... assuming he could get these two to the chapter house without the Lord Mayor and the entire City Council stopping by to announce that they were old friends, as well.