One sign of intelligence was having a great curiosity, and Sunbright's was piqued. Warily, he rose and pushed out of the dark, cedar-fragrant trees. Chandler started when the groundling with the scowling, scarred face and long, shining sword that reflected yellow flames emerged from the shadows.

"Your kind give nothing for free." Sunbright kept his voice flat, neither friendly nor hostile. "What's the price of your supplies?"

"I wish you to do me a favor. I need information and want you to fetch it."

"That's vague enough. Why not dig up this information yourself?"

"I can't." Chandler flapped his useless arm. "I can't travel like this, and I have duties at my master's castle. And it's dangerous on the roads these days. I need a runner who's capable and trustworthy. The raven mentioned you."

"How is it that you can speak to the raven?" Actually, Sunbright wasn't sure why he could himself. Either it was part of the totem magic, or else the raven conversed with every stranger it met.

"I'm a mage," came the simple answer. "Not much of one, just a hedge wizard. I can do simple healings and conjurings. That's why I'm a steward. Talking to animals comes in handy in my position."

That sounded like an unknown joke to Sunbright. All of it sounded queer, but then it was a queer world.

"What have you brought?"

Hiding a smile, knowing his fish was hooked, Chandler squatted with a grunt and, one-handed, untied the bundle. "Useful stuff such as warriors need. No trash." Indeed, the contents sparkled in the firelight and set Sunbright's mouth watering. A steel knife, iron arrowheads, copper rivets, thick needles, a waterskin on a leather strap, a new red shirt, a gray wool blanket, fishhooks, a razor, two candles, flint strikers, a blacksmith-forged file, a handful of silver and copper coins, and squares of rations in waxed paper: jerked meat, dried fruit, lard.

Sunbright would have attacked an army of orcs for even a small portion of such treasure. Still, he fought to stay wary and composed. "What's the information and when do you need it?"

Chandler sighed, held his bad right wrist in his left hand, then sat on a nearby rock. "Do you mind? I tire easily with this wound. To answer your question, I don't know yet. I'm waiting for news from the south before I seek news in the east, if that makes sense. My master wishes to know where best to market his excess crops. If I spend days questioning runners, I might make him a profit of two silver crowns per bushel." Another sigh. "Will you do it? You don't have any other plans, do you?"

Other than simply to survive? the young man thought. No. But work for a wizard? Sunbright tried to think why not, and came up blank. Although mages were uncommon among his people-shamans who could cure ills and find game were of more use in his harsh land than muttering wizards with crocks and stinkpots-they were not considered evil, only different. Sunbright himself had "wizardly" powers, or would have if he continued to seek them and practice. And wild dreams, lately, that might be visions.

Piling up arguments, Chandler went on, "For place, I wish you to trend east, whence come these rumors. You've been moving east, the raven says, albeit slowly, due to the snows and your needing to hunt."

Sunbright frowned. Talk of ravens blabbing his whereabouts sounded like more manipulation, such as he'd suffered from last fall. Now here came a stranger knowing much about him and offering strange pacts in return for remarkable gifts. Of course, Sunbright could merely slay this hedgehopper and take the gifts, as many in his tribe might do, but he wouldn't. Somehow the mage knew this and, oddly, that made Sunbright trust him. And too, the lonely barbarian found it pleasant just to talk to another human being.

And they were wonderful gifts.

"Very well. Leave those and tell me where to go."

Chandler stood up, smiling, but did not offer to shake hands. "Splendid. Why don't you salt away all these goodies and take your time, but hie to Auger-bend on the River Ost. Thirteen leagues due east you'll strike the river, then turn south. My master's fief is not far from there. Check at the inn-there's only one-and I'll send word when I know more. Is that satisfactory? Good. I'll see you there."

And Chandler strode from the camp without a backward glance, to be swallowed up by the forest.

Sunbright watched him go, frowning more at himself than the stranger. If the castle was thirteen leagues distant, he wondered, four days' travel for a healthy man, how had a tired and wounded mage come here?

Clucking his tongue, Sunbright turned to the glittering loot. He'd reaped a fine bounty, but suspected he'd gotten a bad bargain.

"Beg pardon, sir, but there's someone come."

A page, a girl not yet ten and dressed in the requisite black-and-white uniform, had rapped on the doorframe. Her blue eyes were big as she surveyed the forbidden workshop of Master Candlemas. Though she had to admit, it didn't look any more special than the crofter's workshop where he made barrels and horse furniture. Except for scores of beautiful, glittering objects scattered about, it looked rather drab.

So did Master Candlemas, as well as tired and pouchy-eyed. The wizard had instinctively slammed shut a wide, fat book at the knock. Reddish wheat was scattered over the worktable, and chaff clung to his clothes and beard. Now he snapped, "What? Company? Who?"

"The honored delegates of the Beneficent Traders' Guild of Dalekeva, master," she recited.

"What?" Candlemas seemed hard of hearing this morning. "A bunch of chintzy traders? How did they come to the castle? Did they fly?"

"No, milord. They came by the magic portal."

Candlemas grimaced. What did that mean? Who'd authorized a bunch of uppity moneygrubbers to penetrate the castle magically? Was this some convoluted purse-snatching deal of Lady Polaris's? Or some rival's trick? Or a plea for the gods knew what? Candlemas stood thinking and staring so long the girl began to fidget. Finally he decided, "I guess I'll have to see them. Seat them in the reception hall. I'll come." For the first time, he really noticed the girl, a sweet child with a black bowl haircut. Candlemas smiled tiredly. While he bore hearty lust for women both ripe and seasoned, he had a genuine affection for children, especially small, antsy girls. "What is your name, child? Were you born here in the castle?"

"I'm Ysgarda, sir." A small curtsey. "Yes. My father keeps the dovecotes."

"That's good," Candlemas sighed. "Tell him I admire him."

The fuddled girl departed, and Candlemas walked the length of the workshop. Beside a far table stood an upright mirror framed in polished wood. Both were dusty, the mirror blearily showing a short fat man with a shepherd's smock and mangled arm. With more sighs, Candlemas flipped through a small book until he found a portrait of a young nobleman with a pinched mouth and nose and splendid clothes. "Can't impress groundlings looking like a privy-mucker, I suppose. Let's see… Quantol's Changer."

A short while later, a nobleman with pinched mouth and nose and splendid clothes swept into the reception hall. It was the richest room in the highflying castle, the walls hung in doubles and triples of tapestries, the floors thick with handwoven rugs, the furniture carved and gilt, the statues and bowls and crystal sparkling on a dozen small tables worth a king's ransom. It was a room meant to impress visitors, as were the magically augmented half-giant guards in black-and-white armor and tabards who guarded the doors with pikes whose edges crackled with electricity.

From the nobleman's pinched mouth came, "I am Candlemas, High Steward of Castle Delia, home to Lady Polaris, Noble of the Neth, High-born and Beloved of the Gods. What will you have?"