Wynn glared at Chap, but he remained silent. What was wrong with him? He had made her a promise. She turned back to Leesil.

"We have already learned that you and Magiere were created by opposing sides," Wynn said, "for a conflict yet to come, though the sides of that conflict are somewhat ignorant of each other. And the Fay seem to want neither of you involved. The an'Croan ancestors saw Leesil as a future savior, and Chap believes Magiere is to lead an army for the long-forgotten enemy that Most Aged Father fears. Both of you have rejected these paths, but now… with these things…"

Wynn looked down at the items and lingered upon the ruddy-colored circlet.

"Perhaps these old peoples, Chein'as and Seyilf, do not care how or why either of you were made. They either offer their help… or are asking you for help."

"Help with what?" Leesil snapped. "Enough already! We'll find this orb thing, keep it from Welstiel… and then we're done!"

Magiere stretched out a hand to Leesil, and he rose to join her on the bunk.

Wynn shook her head in resignation. She had no wish to upset them nor to make them think she wished either to succumb to a purpose others thought they should serve. She only wished she had been in that cavern to understand more of what happened.

"You had better start explaining," she growled at Chap.

No.

Wynn's stomach rolled, more at his denial than at his voice in her head.

I can only clarify what Magiere and Leesil can tell you. That is my word to Sgaile.

His rebuke stung, for Chap had made a promise to her. And now, that meant nothing compared to his word to an anmaglahk?

Wynn could not even spit out a retort, so she snatched up the circlet- or tried to. She nearly toppled off her knees at its weight, and then slammed it down before Chap's nose. He flinched.

"What is this thorhk for?" Wynn demanded.

Leesil wrinkled his brow at the strange term.

I do not know, Chap answered. Sgaile did not recognize it either.

"What about the chein'as?" Wynn pressed. "And do not tell me that you did not delve its memories… I know you!"

"Enough!" Magiere warned. "And where did you get the name for the hoop? A torc?"

Wynn ignored her.

Chap fidgeted on the floor, reluctant to look at the object. Wynn's ire waned at the suffering in his eyes. He shuddered.

I saw the gift-bearer's memory of a loss, when one of its own… one that meant something to it… was taken by Ubad.

Wynn repeated Chap's words for the others, and Magiere sat upright with widened eyes.

"That… fiend came to the chasm?" she whispered sharply. "How? We barely survived a short time on the plateau."

Leesil tried to pull her back but she resisted. Chap recounted all that he had seen in the forlorn being's memory as Wynn reiterated for the others.

I could not tell the gift-bearer that Ubad is already dead.

Chap's blue crystalline eyes strayed to the hiltless dagger-as did Magiere's-then he laid his head down, gazing at the thorhk.

It seemed the blade given to Magiere had been some plea for justice, but the thorhk brought Wynn only doubts and questions.

"Let me know," she grumbled at Chap, "if there is anything more you can tell… that might help."

Chap lifted his head, and his doggish brows wrinkled in an echo of Magiere's perpetual scowl.

Wynn put a hand on his head. He bucked it sharply off with his snout, but then lapped his long tongue between her small fingers.

"Wynn," Magiere said, "how do you know what to call that thing?"

"Thorhk?" she answered hesitantly. "It is an old Dwarvish term for a circlet shaped somewhat like your open-ended loop. They are made of semi-flexible braided metal, and often worn by a Thanae-an elite dwarven warrior, sometimes in service to one of their high lords."

A knock sounded. Wynn climbed to her feet, stepping over Leesil's shimmering new blades, and opened the cabin door.

Osha stood outside with a tray of food, and the aroma of roasted fish and herb-garnished potatoes surrounded Wynn.

"Thank you, Osha. Will you join us?"

He would not meet her eyes and merely handed over the tray.

"Whatever is wrong?" she asked.

Osha turned away, heading back for the hatch stairs. Wynn stared after him.

Six days alone with him and she had finally begun to think they were friends. Now he would not eat or speak with her? It seemed that no matter how much they learned of each other, as elf, an'Croan, or anmaglahk, Osha might always be a stranger.

Wynn closed the door with her elbow and turned as Magiere slid to the floor, leaning her head against Leesil's leg. Sadness welled inside Wynn-or was it loneliness?

She reached back in her memory, seeking a moment of intimate comfort. All she recalled were evenings sitting close to Chane over a parchment, drinking mint tea, his strong hands tight around his cup. During the battle in Toret's house, he had abandoned the fight and thrown her over his shoulder to flee. She had fought and kicked him, until she realized his true intention was to remove her from harm's way.

Chap was watching her sternly.

Wynn flinched, hoping he had not been wandering in her memories. But when she settled beside him, handing out small wooden plates, her stomach rolled once more.

And I think of Lily.

She reached out to softly stroke his back.

Magiere took the plate Wynn offered, and another knock sounded at the cabin door. She waved Wynn back down as the sage started to rise and went to the door herself.

The last face she wanted to see outside was Sgaile's.

He averted his eyes and clutched at a long and narrow paper-wrapped bundle. He also held a seamless wooden tube about the length of his forearm. The narrow container looked much like the wood of the rain barrels in elven homes-one perfect piece, except for the unadorned pewter cap.

"May I enter?" he asked.

Magiere almost slammed the door in his face. Six days with Sgaile, most of it blindfolded, left her with little patience, but she stepped back. He entered with a respectful nod and crouched near the pile of gifts.

"Before our ship left Ghoivne Ajhajhe," he said, "Brot'an'duive gave me things for you, Leshil."

Both Leesil and Chap narrowed their eyes at the master anmaglahk's name.

"I did not understand their purpose," Sgaile went on, setting down the wooden tube, "until I saw what the Chein'as gave to you."

He tore open the paper bundle, exposing a matched set of long padded bars of leather.

Magiere was mildly curious. Before she could ask, Sgaile picked up one silvery winged punching blade in the pile and then rolled one bar of padding over. Its backside was split cleanly down the center between its edge stitching.

Sgaile spread the slit with his thumb and carefully slid the back of the blade's wing into it. There was a narrow ledge of metal along the wing's back that Magiere hadn't noticed before, and it slid smoothly into the leather. The padded bar settled perfectly along the back of the wing.

Magiere remembered the day Leesil had bolted across the border at Soladran.

He'd viciously assaulted Darmouth's forces hunting down peasants who fled for safety. When he returned to the city, a blow from a sword had smashed one of his blade's wings into his forearm, leaving him black and blue for days.

But with the padding, and those half-hoop braces sprouting midpoint from the wings, these new blades would be far more stable and sure on Leesil's forearms. Still, she knew he wouldn't touch them.

Magiere had no doubt who'd designed and requested those blades from the Chein'as. And who better to improve on Leesil's original blades than someone who'd been killing all his long life?

Brot'an was up to something-again.