"I think so." Jilian looked around. "Oh, rust! Look at the mess I've made."

Silicia came from hiding to gaze in wonder at the sword in Jilian's hand. "I don't think you need any more practice. I believe you've mastered the skill, don't you?"

"I suppose so, but look what we've done to your nice room! Oh, Silicia,

I am sorry."

Silicia walked around the room, pursing her lips as she surveyed the damage. "It's not so bad, really. I never liked that candlestand, you know. And that awful tapestry! Honestly, I have thought about making a pair of framed needleworks out of it…" She came to look at the sword again. "By the lusters, I never realized how much fun a person might have with one of these. I wonder if some of the ladies might like to jrganize a class."

Jilian nodded. "I believe I will borrow this, if you're sure Stonecut won't mind."

"Not in the slightest. It's as much mine as his, anyway. Now, you take it, and the dagger, too, and you have a nice time with them. We could rent a hall," she continued with her own thoughts, "and practice to music. Some of the girls could certainly use the exercise…"

After her visit with Silicia Orebrand, Jilian went to see the trader,

Rogar Goldbuckle.

"You are going where?" he squinted at her in disbelief.

"Outside," she repeated. "I want to find Chane Feldstone and bring him home. He may be lost and starving, or something."

"You?" the trader still couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'You can't go traveling around out there. Don't you know what could happen to you?"

"I plan to take a sword," she said, to put his concerns to rest. "I'm remarkably good with a sword. But what I wondered was… well, since you have dealings with people outside, maybe you could tell me who to talk to out there, to help find him."

"Don't talk to anybody outside!" Goldbuckle snapped. "Don't trust anybody or anything out there! Rust and corruption, girl, you have no idea

– "

"I have a map," she said. "But it will only show me where he was last seen. He may not be there any more, so I might need to ask about him." A new thought occurred to her. "I don't suppose you have any trading parties going northward, do you? I might just go along with them, as far as the wilderness. That's where I'll start looking."

Goldbuckle eased himself back to a bench and sat down with a thump. The girl before him was as lovely a young dwarf-maiden as he had ever seen, and he had always thought of her as very practical and sensible, the times she had come to shop his bazaar or to deliver purchase orders for her father. But now…

"I don't have any parties going that way," he said weakly. "Nobody goes to that wilderness. There hasn't been a trade route through there since before the Cataclysm, and even then it was chancy. Of course, that crazy

Wingover has been up that way. He wagered he'd go to Pax Tharkas and back, if I'd give him a commission. Plan of a fool. But, of course, he is a fool, to begin with."

"Wingover? What an odd name." Jilian pursed pretty lips. "Maybe that's who I should talk to. Where can I find him?"

"Well, not anywhere in Thorbardin, certainly. He'd never be allowed within twenty miles of the gate."

"Why on Krynn not? What did he do?"

'You don't understand, girl," Goldbuckle shook his head. "Wingover isn't a dwarf. He's… well. I've traded with him a bit and learned to trust him. But he's… well. He's a human."

Jilian stared at him, amazed. 'What would you trade from humans? I mean,

I know there used to be some trade, but aren't humans -?"

"Unreliable, yes. As a rule. Also unstable and generally unpleasant. Of course, one can make some allowances, considering how short-lived they usually are… Girl, have you ever seen a human?"

"Of course not. I've never been outside of Thorbardin. But I've heard about them. Chane has seen several, when he's gone out to carry reports or messages for you, and he talks about them. He even saw an elf once."

"Yes, I know," Goldbuckle sighed. "All sorts show up at barter camps, but such places are no place for a girl like you. I swear! Why, I shudder to think of -"

"Chane is out there, somewhere. And he's visited these barter camps before, at your employ, after all."

"That's different! Chane can take care of himself. You -"

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk about. He may need the money he earned from you. If you'll give it to me, I'll give it to him… when I find him."

For miles, the black path would and curved through dense forest. Then, past one final, long curve, it broke out of the forest and extended arrow-straight across a mounded plain where little vegetation grew only mosses and spindly, scattered shrubs. The light of the moons Lunitari and

Solinari – the first nearly overhead, the second just above the crags of

Westwall bathed the scene in eerie red and white highlights beneath a spangled sky. "More ruins," Chestal Thicketsway declared, pointing about.

"There might have been a city here once. Maybe the Cataclysm -" "Much older than that," Glenshadow the Wanderer said. "Oh, far older than that.

Ages old. The legends say it was a city in the Age of Dreams."

"Legends say?" Chane Feldstone growled. 'You're a wizard. Don't you know?"

"Not without a powerful spell for time-seeing," the winter voice rasped.

"And I'll cast no spells in this place. Strange things happen to magic here."

Near them, somewhere close, something seemed to agree… something that lamented the fact.

"It's said there was a city in this valley," the wizard continued. "And in the city was a king, who captured and held in bond the source of all magic. The king's name was Gargath."

"How could he capture the source of magic?" Chess asked, excitedly. "Do you suppose it is still here?"

"No. Only the place where it was once held, and the device that held it.

A god-wrought thing called Spellbinder. It still has power, though. Power enough to confuse and bind even the highest orders of spell."

"Misery," something voiceless seemed to say.

"Is that what's wrong with my spell?" Chess asked, looking around. "He's bound?"

The wizard nodded. "Most likely."

"He certainly doesn't seem to be very happy about it," the kender noted.

"He?" the dwarf grumped, "What do spells know? They aren't people." He looked up at the wizard. "How much farther do we have to go?"

"Not far," Glenshadow said. "Are you tired so soon?"

"Of course I'm not tired! But I have things to do and I don't see how all this is -"

"It is," Glenshadow assured him. 'You want to find the helm, as you dreamed. This is how you must begin."

The dwarf scowled. 'What does this have to do with you, though I It's my dream. What makes it important to you?"

"It might be important to a great many people," the wizard sighed. "In ominous times, significances take on new meanings. I have my own reasons for helping you fulfill your destiny, Chane Feldstone… if you can fulfill it."

"If it's important to you, then why don't you just go and find the helm, and let me get back to Thorbardin? I'm not fond of having no roof over my head."

"Of course you aren't. You're a mountain dwarf. But it's your dream,

Chane Feldstone. Not mine."

"Corrosion," the dwarf muttered. "It's like trying to get a sensible answer from that kender. What do you mean 'ominous times?' "

"There have been omens. Some have interpreted them, and some believe them. Some think that devastation is about to fall on these lands. Some say it has already begun. Invasion. War. The worst of imaginings."

Chane stopped, staring up at the man. "When?"

"Soon," the wizard said. "Some say within five years. Some say within the year."