"What is this?" Hakk demanded in brutal tones. In his clenched fingers, he held the pitted keystone of the rift's magical seal.

"It's it's nothing. Just a rock." Preoccupied with the knife, Martine was caught off guard. She flinched inwardly at her halting reply, which sounded unconvincing even to her. She could only hope gnolls were no better at judging her emotions than she was at judging theirs.

Toss it aside, she mentally urged the gnoll: Just forget about it

Hakk glared with curled lips at the simple rock, and for a moment, Martine held hopes she was right.

"Krote, why does the human come here to gather rocks?" The shaman behind her sucked the air in between his fangs, clearly without an answer. Finally, he said, "Maybe she is like the little ones, the dwarves. They put much value on stones dug out of the earth."

"Since the human rame here to get this rock, what you say must be true. I will keep it" With those words Hakk tossed the stone among the furs of his dais.

Martine winced. Krote had clearly guessed wrong, but too well nonetheless.

"It's just a-a souvenir," Martine stumbled over the term and at last resorted to Sembian. "I mean, something to remember things by, Chieftain Elk-Slayer. The rock is worthless. I mean, do I look like a miner?" Stepping forward with mock helplessness, the ranger hoped, perhaps futilely, that she might persuade the chieftain by playing up her own ignorance. In the dogman's eyes, after all, she was only a human and a female at that

Hakk had let one ear loll as he cocked his head to listen. Before the gnoll could say a word, however, Krote spoke in suspicious tones.

"Brokka said the human had great magical powers, Hakk… that she shattered the tall ice." Across the fire pit, the chieftain grunted understanding as he eyed Martine sharply. "I keep this rock." Crestfallen, Martine realized she'd overplayed her hand and underestimated the gnolls, Krote in particular. The gaunt shaman didn't know why the Harper wanted the stone, but he had correctly read her desire to keep it. Don't show disappointment, she chided herself. Don't let on they're right.

"My power has no need for stones, Word-Maker." Her words were a softly spoken boast, but one which she voiced with confidence, for it was the truth. All she really needed was her sword, and then Krote and Hakk would discover just how fierce an opponent she was.

Krate's hard stare told her the gnoll had heard and understood her words. She noticed he kept one paw close to the dagger at his belt. She smiled slightly, just enough to show her pleasure at unnerving him.

"Take my mate out, Word-Maker. She has no more kaamak. Take her back to your lodge and learn her secrets," Hakk grunted from across the fire pit where he had remained oblivious to the exchange. Stifling a bored yawn, the chieftain scratched at the fleas that infested his golden furred hide and clambered lazily back onto his platform.

Prodding her in the back, Krote hustled Martine back into the cold daylight A pair of female gnolls butchering a rabbit in the bloodstained snow eyed Martine eagerly, their knives flashing too suggestively for her taste.

"What is the significance of the stone?" the shaman demanded as he pushed the woman past the smoldering remains of a fire.

"It's just a souvenir." Martine gamely tried to stick to her story. The shaman wanted answers, and she wasn't about to supply them. So long as that remained true, he would keep her alive, Martine figured.

'hat's a Be."

"It's my good-luck charm," she said with cheerful defiance.

"Another lie," the shaman shot back in a tone that showed no glimmer of humor.

"True enough," she countered wearily. "If it had been lucky, I wouldn't be here."

"What is the rock?" This time the question was more a snarl, and Martine knew she'd better sound convincing. The only problem was she was too tired and afraid to think of something clever.

"I don't know," she lied again. "I was paid to deliver it." Krote furrowed his bony brow as he considered her claim. "Still another lie," he finally said accusingly. "The Burnt Fur are the only people around here. You did not come to trade with us. The rock and Brokka's story about lights on the tall ice these two are connected."

Martine didn't bother trying to deny his conclusion. From the way the Word-Maker had countered every tale, it was clear she was too shaken by exhaustion to lie convincingly. In desperation, the ranger chose to remain silent and let herself be led across the clearing.

Krote asked no more questions, and for a moment, Martine hoped that he had relented. Then, just as they reached the small lodge that was her cell, the shaman stopped abruptly. With a swift move, he wrapped his rough fingers around Martine's neck. She floundered in his strong grasp, suddenly choking.

"Human woman," the gnoll snarled in methodically grim words, "if you do not speak the truth by tonight, I will stake you outside naked. Then you will talk or freeze."

Twisting in his grasp, the ranger finally sucked in a breath of frigid air. "You would heal me, then kill me?" she challenged. "No, Krote. You want me alive. I'm no good to you dead."

Krote dropped his hand with a laugh. "I like you, humanYou have much-umm-anger, strong feeling, for a female. That is good. In our tribe, females must be ready to fight to claim mates. The kits you bear Hakk will be strong and clever." Laughter mingled with wheezing chuckles accompanied his claim. The tall shaman stooped to pull open the lodge's door curtain.

Martine paled. Unschooled in gnoll ways, she still couldn't miss the irony in Krote's thin voice. The thought of bearing the spawn of a monster like Hakk shook her body to the core.

Still chuckling, Krote shoved her through the doorway of the lodge. Stumbling into the darkness, she let herself collapse weakly on the furs. Faintly she could hear the birch scroll, her letter to Jazrac, crackle beneath the layers of her fur bed and remembered the knife Hakk had given to Krote. Rolling over, she saw the gleam of the ivory handle jutting from the edge of Krote's crossbelts.

Desperate plans raced through her mind. The thin shaman was clearly not a fighter, but right now the ranger doubted she had the strength to best a kitten. Guile was her only chance, if she could just think clearly.

"Who are you?" Krote demanded, interrupting her thoughts.

"I told you Martine of Sembia."

The shaman thrust a stick into the fire's coals, just enough to make the end smolder, and Martine sensed the interrogation was about to begin in earnest.

"Why are you here?" The gnoll jabbed at the coals.

The truth, to a point, seemed her, best response. "I crashed nearby."

Krote raised one ear, though whether in interest or skepticism, Martine did not know. "Tell Krote about it."

"A storm brought down my hippogriff." Once again she had to resort to Sembian, not knowing the gnoll term for hippogriff.

'Me storm on the tall ice?"

Martine guessed he meant the rift's geyser, which from the base of the glacier must have looked like a roiling thunderhead. She nodded.

Krote pulled the stick from the fire and blew on the ember at its end until it glowed orange-red. "You are a spy for the little ones, right?"

"Little ones?" Martine slid back, trying to keep as much distance between herself and the gnoll as possible.

Krote smiled, his black lips pulled back to show yellow, cracked fangs and pinkish gums. "The little people in the south valley. They sent you here to spy on us."

"No," she said, emphasizing it with a shake of her head. "I didn't even know you lived here!"

With a snort, the gnoll thrust the stick back into the fire, making Martine wonder just how sincere his threat had been. "My people have rived here since Arka, the chieftain before Hakk Elk-Slayer. Now the little people steal our hunting grounds."