Dorlas clawed sweat out of his eyes. He'd lost his round helmet, and his short red braids flopped around his head, adorned with bright scarlet from a scalp wound. He grabbed wildly at his back quiver, found no more quarrels, and slung his crossbow back there. Straightening his pack, he rasped low, "To the city. To Dalekeva. It's the only safety. The Neth must abide by their own rules, even if we've killed members of their party."

"Why not hide in the woods until dark?"

"Because," hissed Greenwillow, "the mounts have magic to sniff-"

A sizzle erased her words. Lightning charred leaves over their head, leaving a hole through which flashed gold and gems. At another pass, fire outlined the hole, set fire to dead leaves and branches underfoot.

The three were far off by then, running flat out.

The deadly game of hide-and-seek lasted the afternoon, and threatened to haunt Sunbright's dreams for life. It was one thing to attack an enemy in the field, to clash and crash and live or die. It took another kind of courage to keep a cool head and calm stomach while hunted from tree to tree like a rabbit dodging a wolf. One of the three remaining defenders would circle a tree, glance, dive, see fire or frost or lightning strike. Then another would pop up, distract the fliers, and the first could hop up or crawl headlong.

There was at least no trouble with direction, for they descended into the valley, bounding in great leaps down shallow and steep slopes. Then the forest ended, and they lurked under the trees, soaked with sweat, gasping and rasping too badly even to curse.

Ahead lay the city, and sanctuary. But it was a mile across open country: orchards, plowed fields, and a rutting, curving road lined with stone walls. A mile to the gates.

"I don't see much for it," croaked the dwarf. "We run, is all."

Neither Greenwillow nor Sunbright commented on the dwarf's stumpy legs. The elf asked the barbarian, "Can you run?"

"My other name is Steelshanks. Fastest runner in my tribe. You?"

A snot- and blood-bubbly sniff answered. "Together, or spread out?"

"Together," replied the males.

"Singly, we'll be picked off. Together, we can at least slash back," added Dorlas.

"Wait-or go now?"

The tree they stood under exploded into flame. All three ran, catty-corner across a field for the road. The fields were thigh-deep in crops or else fresh-plowed for winter, too difficult to run through. The orchards offered scant cover, for the branches were thin and wiry, and too low to scoot under. So it was the hard-packed road, stone walls and ruts and all.

They struck the road and headed for the gates. Attacks came immediately. Sunbright listened, looked, and yelled, "Down!"

A flier hissed overhead; fire spilled and ignited grass by the stone barrier. The rider had overshot, but would fire sooner the next time.

On they pelted, gulping air, an eighth of a mile, a quarter. A half. Twice, they had to scatter and dive. Once Sunbright had his hair catch fire and Greenwillow beat it out. Once she screamed as lightning scorched her sheathed sword and stung her hip.

Then, as they'd expected all along, Dorlas, lagging behind, suffered. The dwarf had finally thrown off his pack, and there was no blast of warning this time.

The two in front heard a keen of rising air, then a shrill hunting cry, and a grunt. Whirling, they saw Dorlas had turned to face his enemy-and his death.

The lance had punctured his guts on the left side.

The bloody point, bowed by his weight, pointed almost straight down. Above, the male bird rider strained to withdraw the point, or lift the dwarf. But the dying Dorlas was too heavy to lift, and he had a death grip on the shaft of the lance piercing him. The female dragon rider, seeing her companion in difficulty, wheeled and swooped to strip the dwarf from the lance.

"Dorlas!" shrilled Greenwillow.

"Go!" grunted the dwarf. "Go! Do not help, unless you want my death curse upon you!"

The elf burst into tears, crying in her own language, but Sunbright grabbed her hand. "Don't waste his sacrifice!"

Spinning, he yanked her toward the castle.

Later, they learned why they'd made it the last quarter mile. Dorlas, they were told, had hung on to the lance. The rider, reluctant to lose his only weapon, clung too. And so he, not the dwarf, died first. For leaning low, he saw Dorlas jerk himself upward, driving the shaft deeper through his own body. And with his free hand, the dwarf swung his war-hammer and crushed the wolf mask and skull of the bird rider, so man and mount and dwarf crashed in the road, the golden wreck a monument to a brave fighter.

Panting, near death themselves, Sunbright and Greenwillow blundered flat out for the gates, which swung open to admit them. The cityfolk, the guards and populace, dared not rush out to their aid lest they bring the wrath of the Neth onto their home. But they hurled words of encouragement to the runners-and bets to one another-as the two pounded for the gate.

Then the walls were stretching above their darkened vision. "Drop your sword!" yelled Greenwillow.

She put on a burst of speed.

"Never!" gargled Sunbright. He thought he heard a keen of wind behind him, but he couldn't turn or he'd fall, and he had no strength left to fight.

But he did draw his sword. And as Greenwillow sprinted into the tiny slot between the massive yellow gates, and a rising keen sounded behind him, the barbarian flung his sword after her. The rider might kill him, but she would not win his sword for a trophy.

Then the keening whisked overhead and sheared away, for he was too close to the gates for the skyrider to spear, and Sunbright stumbled through the gates into a sea of helping hands.

But even they couldn't hold him upright. His legs caved in, and he dropped. He heard Greenwillow ask about Dorlas. He himself croaked, "Where's my sword?"

Then the crowd of citizens and guards ducked as the mechanical dragon flashed over the wall and their heads. A hysterical laugh shrilled, and words were flung down: "Well run! Until next time!"

Then the hunter was gone, a golden dragonfly glittering in the setting sun.

If Sunbright and Greenwillow expected a heroes' welcome, they were soon disappointed. The citizenry might cheer them on and the guards applaud their gallant fight, but before they'd even gotten their breath back, they were bracketed by eight palace guards and marched through the streets to be taken before the city council.

"You'd think we were criminals!" groused Greenwillow. She mopped at her nose and, finding crusted blood, asked the captain of the guards if she might wash at a fountain. When the man refused, she shoved through the phalanx and stepped to a fountain anyway.

The guards, helmeted with steel and hung with yellow-and-blue tabards decorated with a painted sunfish, the city colors and emblem, fidgeted while idlers who'd trailed them watched.

"Hurry, if you please," the captain urged.

The pair ignored them as they drank quarts of water, scrubbed their faces, combed their hair, and knocked the worst of the grime off their clothing. Sunbright discovered the back of his calves were blistered and weeping from scorching, and there was a crease alongside his neck he couldn't account for. Greenwillow continued to grumble, but Sunbright said philosophically, "No matter what they do to us, it can't be worse than what those Netherese hunters planned."

The half-elf snorted and resettled her tackle. "You've a lot to learn about city politics, country boy."

The two were "escorted" toward the center of the yellow-stone city. Greenwillow stumped along grumpily, obviously rehearsing some blistering speech. Sunbright sauntered, tired but glad to be alive, eager to see the strange sights of this southern burg. The houses were three or four stories tall, square and sheer, with thick walls of yellow stone or painted plaster picked out with blue and red. The streets were straight and regular, flagged with lumpy cobblestones that were hard on the soles.