A great cheer went up, and the mob quickly scrambled down the rocky path toward the beach. Scowarr marveled at the effect he'd had on these elves. He almost- but not quite-hoped that he would die this day so that he would never have to face his ordinary life again when the praise and honor stopped. He lingered behind as his followers hurried away.

"You did well," said Tanis gratefully when they were alone. "You have my thanks."

Little Shoulders bowed his head in acknowledgment. "It was my pleasure to help you. But there's just one thing."

"Yes?"

"You must tell me what's going on," Scowarr pleaded. "Why wouldn't you let anyone in the shack?"

Tanis was about to tell him when a figure crossed in front of the doorway behind them, blocking the light. Scowarr squinted to see who stood there as Tanis turned to look, too.

"I'm glad I saved your lives," Kishpa said weakly from the doorway, the light streaming out into the night from behind him. "I seem to have made the right choice."

A beautiful woman appeared next to Kishpa, the light throwing mysterious shadows across her magnificent face, partially hidden by her cloud of black curls. She held one of the mage's arms to keep him from teetering on his unsteady legs. Scowarr was delighted to have found Kishpa, but he was overwhelmed by Brandella. "Who is she?" he whispered to Tanis. "A woman who will not be forgotten," the half-elf replied. "Huh?" "Never mind." Then, aloud to the mage, Tanis said, "I assured Reehsha and Brandella that you would recover."

The wizard narrowed his eyes. "So they said. Did you know, or were you merely guessing?"

"Does it matter, as long as I was right?"

"Perhaps it does," Kishpa said thoughtfully. "But there is no time now to ponder the question. Come in, both of you, and tell me what is going on in Ankatavaka. I must know everything."

Tanis and Scowarr started for the door, but a shouted warning from the direction of the village caught their attention. They all turned to see what the trouble was. The mob that had followed Scowarr had apparently flushed one of the human soldiers out of hiding and was pursuing him. Kishpa, like the half-elf, could make out that much with elvensight, although they both doubted that Scowarr and Brandella could catch much detail. Tanis saw that the soldier was big, his long legs giving him a loping stride.

Tanis tried to focus on the man's face. The distance and the darkness, however, proved to be too great. Yet the human was the right size, and he had been spotted near the beach. It might be him, Tanis thought. It might be my father. Without another thought, the half-elf bolted in the direction of the human.

Brandella would have to wait. Old Kishpa would have to wait. Everything would have to wait until Tanis kept the promise that he had made to Yeblidod-and to himself.

"Where are you going?" shouted Scowarr.

Tanis didn't answer.

The others at Reehsha's shack shrugged and headed into the cabin. All, that is, except Brandella, who lingered in the night air watching Tanis recede into the darkness.

While Reehsha went to tend his boat and Scowarr slept huddled on the floor, Mertwig paced, trying to decide how to ask Kishpa for help. He wanted to give his wife a beautiful, delicate glass ball that the famous Pikla- ker had created. Unfortunately, the price was far beyond his means. But if Kishpa would merely vouch for him, the artist would be honor-bound to let him buy it.

Mertwig was a proud dwarf. Asking favors did not come easily. Finally, though, he managed to ask, "How long have you known me, Kishpa?"

Kishpa, resting on the wooden bench by the door, his red robes pulled around him against the cabin's chill, raised an eyebrow. "My whole life," conceded the mage. "You know that. Why do you ask me such a question?"

Mertwig drew a breath, made a decision, and plunged on. "Because I need you to speak on my behalf."

'To whom7" the mage asked warily.

'To Piklaker." The dwarf tried to look resolved, but his weak chin failed him. It wobbled with his nervousness.

"I heard you were eyeing his wares," said the wizard dubiously. "You really shouldn't-"

"No lectures!" interrupted the dwarf with sudden temper. "I simply want you to tell the artist that I'm good for the price of a certain glass trinket." He spun away from the mage, crossing his short arms before his chest. 'There, I said it."

'That 'trinket,' " the mage said sarcastically, "is worth more than what you earn in a year."

Mertwig turned back. "So what? It has value. I can always sell it later if I can't pay for it. Besides, I'm not asking you to buy it for me, I'm just asking you to tell Piklaker that you vouch for me." His voice took on a pleading tone. "If you do that, old friend, he'll let me have it." Mertwig saw Kishpa glance at Brandella, looking for her guidance. She nodded. Mertwig knew that Brandella didn't consider it her business, or Kishpa's, to decide what was right or wrong. The mage's duty, the weaver would feel, wasn't to judge his friends but to give them what he could and let them make their own choices; if Mertwig wanted to put himself into debt for his wife, then that was his decision. As long as he wasn't asking Kishpa to foot the bill, she would see no harm in what Mertwig was suggesting, the dwarf knew. But Kishpa would likely have a different view, Mertwig worried. He wished he'd never embarked on this conversation.

Kishpa frowned at Brandella's reaction.

"I don't know…" he said slowly. 'This is a matter of honor. If I vouch for you and you can't pay, it will make me look like a fool to Piklaker-to the whole village. Don't you see that? Don't you see that you're asking me to risk my own reputation? I would do it if you needed food, a roof over your head-something serious. But you want to buy a foolish, useless bauble."

Mertwig stamped his foot, then looked over to where his wife still slept. "Don't tell me about foolish and useless," the dwarf countered heatedly, keeping his voice to a hissing whisper. "What about your collection of ridiculous spells? How much have they cost you?"

Kishpa's face showed his fatigue, and the long sleeve of his red robe shook as he drew his hand across his eyes, tangling his shock of black hair. Obviously, he didn't wish to argue. He simply sighed and tactlessly replied, 'The difference is, I didn't buy anything I couldn't afford."

The two, facing what could be death in battle on the morrow, stared across a widening chasm in their longtime friendship. Mertwig barely held his temper. "I'm telling you, I have to get that glass ball for Yebbie, especially after what she's been through tonight. She deserves it! Besides," he added plaintively, "I told everyone I was going to get it."

Kishpa appeared to be battling between his head and his heart. His gaze didn't meet Mertwig's. "I… I wish I could help you."

"By the gods, if anything goes wrong, I'm the one who's going to look like a fool! Not you!" said the dwarf, his voice suddenly stone cold. "Just tell Piklaker that I'm good for the debt. I'm not going to beg."

Rising wearily from the bench to put his arm around Mertwig's shoulder, the mage tried to break the tension. Kishpa's red robes seemed almost garish against the earth tones of Mertwig's stained clothes. "Please. You're making too much of this," the wizard said, his pained face a sudden portent of the old man he would become. "There's no reason for you to get angry with me. We simply have a different way of looking at things. I can cast a spell for you and create the-"

"No," the dwarf said petulantly, throwing Kishpa's arm off his shoulder. "I said / would buy the glass ball for her. That glass ball. I promised her. I keep my promises. Will you help me or not7"