Sunbright wrung out his shirt, scattering curious minnows in the rippling water. He thought it over, knew the party would have directions and such, so asked only, "Then what?"

"Eh?" Chandler, really Candlemas, was startled by the barbarian's cutting to the heart of the matter. The groundling was not slow-witted. If he survived the journey and audience with the One King, which was unlikely, Candlemas hoped to send him for Lady Polaris's benighted book. "Uh, find out all you can about this One King and come back. Would I were one of those cloud-living wizards who can see down into the world at a snap of the fingers, but alas."

Shrugging on his shirt and lacing his jerkin, Sunbright squinted. "I thought your master, the lord of the castle, wanted information about local grain prices. What's a foreign ruler got to do with that?"

Chandler almost smiled. The barbarian wasn't that bright, and lying was a wizard's specialty. "Oh, quite a bit. People hoard food in times of trouble, so prices go up. If armies attack from the east, there'll be a greater demand there than locally. So it might profit to freight the grain down the river, for instance."

"I see." The barbarian didn't, really. His people lived by barter. Chandler's coins in his pouch were the first he'd ever owned, and he couldn't comprehend their value. How could disks of metal be worth a set price when everything was negotiable? Nor did he believe all Chandler wanted was information, but then wizards were supposed to be devious and mysterious. And dangerous, so it wouldn't do to rile this one with too many questions. It would be best to keep on his good side.

He shrugged as he whipped his hair through its topknot. "Very well. What will I be paid when I return?"

That, Chandler thought, was not a worry. So he lied, "A twentieth part of the profits, perhaps? Or a flat fee? Or would you prefer some magical item?"

The words gave Sunbright pause. Seeing his piqued interest, Chandler pulled from a belt pouch a small corked vial. "I thought you'd welcome that idea. Give me your sword." Sunbright slapped his hand on the pommel so fast the wizard backstepped. "Uh, wait. This will make your weapon more potent! I'll just pour it on the blade, and then the sword can wound enchanted beings!"

The barbarian glared from under blond brows. "You'll spoil the temper."

What a moron, thought Chandler, as if he'd reforge the blade here by a riverside. "Look, may I demonstrate? Just ease the blade out a hair. Watch."

Fooling a peasant would be easy. Laying his left thumb on the sharp edge, Chandler pushed hard enough to dent the skin. "See there? I'm only a hedge wizard, but I've enough power to shield myself from harm." He pulled the cork and tipped the clear fluid onto the edge, then reapplied his thumb. Instantly, the razor edge split the skin. A tiny trickle of blood stained the steel. "See?"

Despite himself, Sunbright was impressed. Trying to hide his eagerness, he drew the sword and held it while Chandler poured the liquid from the vial all along the blade. The potion ran like water and dripped off. "Do I rub it in or let it dry?"

"Oh, just wipe it off. One touch is enough, as I showed you. Now your blade is enchanted and can rend the flesh of any magical creature: harpies, liches, bugbears, anything."

"And I'll receive more enchantments when I return?" Carefully, Sunbright dried Harvester with a rag, then slowly slid it home in the sheath. "That's a promising reward. Thank you. I'll do my best to get your information on the One King."

"Please do." Chandler raised his left hand in farewell, his right hanging at his side.

Sunbright turned toward the party of traders, then suddenly whirled. "Oh, I almost forgot. You must know everyone here. Where lives a girl named Ruellana?"

Chandler frowned. He didn't know any of these peasants, but was supposed to command them. To stall, he asked, "Ruellana? There are so many young women here. How does she appear?"

"Curves like a walrus tusk. Green eyes, red hair." Lust dripped in his voice.

Red hair? A warning flag rose in the wizard's mind. Was Sysquemalyn sticking her oar into his machinations? "Uh, I'm not sure. I'll ask around, and see she's available when you return."

Thwarted, Sunbright frowned, but nodded curtly and, without another word, turned to go.

Chandler, or Candlemas, was glad to see him leave. The enchanting, of course, was a trick. He'd simply shielded his thumb from the first cut, relaxed it for the second. The "magic potion" had been river water this morning. Humans were easy to fool, and barbarians more so than most, it seemed. Still, the groundling was a fast learner, He wouldn't be tractable forever.

Right away, Sunbright saw problems.

The party milling by the ferry head didn't look or sound right. Travelers would normally be busy, preoccupied, a little nervous, giddy at the thought of adventure. This group milled like cattle in a slaughter pen: cursing each other and the packhorses, bickering with the bodyguards, screaming orders at locals fetching supplies, weeping openly and crying to the gods for protection. Many wore gaudy long robes, impossible for walking any distance, and slippers on their feet instead of shoes or boots. But these were lowlanders, the barbarian told himself, and so were soft in the arm, rump, and head.

He began to walk toward the dwarf, who was quietly organizing things, but a woman intercepted him with a glare as hard as glacier ice. "What do you want?"

The warrior lifted his chin. "I want nothing. I'm to join your party."

"You're not!"

Sunbright blinked, nonplussed by her rudeness-and the exotic looks of a half-elf. Her face was as pale as milk, with high arching brows and pointed ears, her hair jet black, drawn straight back into a braid intertwined with silver wire and rawhide. She wore a shirt of silk rife with white embroidery, boiled and molded leather armor of a glistening emerald green and breeches of the same color, with a wide black belt and boots. She looked like a brilliant banded lizard from the southlands that Sunbright had once seen at a market stall. An ornate sword with a basket hilt, very slim, jingled at her belt with a matching dagger, and on her back was a black bow as slender as a fox's rib.

She was beautiful but unfriendly, so Sunbright simply went around her. He hailed the dwarf. "I am Sunbright, Raven Clan of the Rengarth. I'm to join the party."

"Dorlas, son of Drigor. Welcome." They shook hands, the dwarf's like a sun-warmed rock. With a sigh, he pointed a craggy finger at a trader who'd dropped a bundle and then collapsed weeping atop it. "Cease your blubbering, Fendril! We've been over this. Consign your soul to the gods and get your sorry arse into motion!"

Sunbright gestured at the party. "Why are they so reluctant to depart?"

"Because it's a cock-up, that's why. Because they're idiots. Because I'm cursed," the dwarf rumbled. He wasn't that small, as the legends told, but came almost to the barbarian's breastbone, though he was twice as wide with arms like the rope hawsers restraining the ferry. His beard was strawberry-blond and braided, his hair the same under a simple steel helmet painted with a compass on the top. He wore all rough-out leather and a steel cuirass besides, easily toted a pack almost as big as himself and a fluted warhammer that Sunbright would have swung to kill an ox.

The half-elf interrupted. "This barbarian is not joining our party!"

The two males looked at her, querying. Green-gray eyes flashing, she snapped, "Barbarians can't be trusted! They're savages, not much risen above orcs! They've no sense of honor or decency, but pillage and rape and raid without mercy! And they're dirty and infested!"