Maldred grinned and lowered his voice. "Yours was the riskier venture in town. The rest of us robbed closed businesses. Besides, it added a little excitement in our lives. No harm done to us. And we've fine horses to show for it." He took a long look at Dhamon and sniffed. "You need some new clothes, my friend. Rikali pretty well shredded those, and they… stink. All of us could do with some new outfits. I doubt the smoke will leave these."

The miles fell away as the sun clawed its way into a slate blue sky, pushing the temperature higher. To the north Rikali spotted a small copse of trees and tall green grass, a virtual oasis for Khur. At first she truly thought it a mirage, blinking furiously, believing it would disappear, but then she spied a raven suspended above a tall tree. It climbed upward into the sun, where she lost track of it for a moment, then it dropped, banked, and dove into the canopy and vanished. She urged her exhausted horse in that direction, releasing the reins of the other, which continued to follow her. As the first shadows touched her, she slipped from her horse's back, complaining about her sore back and stiff legs and her smoky clothes and Dhamon's medicinal stench. She led the animal through the dozen trees that grew here and along the small stream that lazily wended its way along the base of the Kalkhist foothills. "Blessed shade," she said as she stretched, lifted Fetch to set him on the ground, and watched the horses drink.

"I could use a little rest," Dhamon confessed to Maldred.

"No argument." The large man looked over his shoulder. "At least not for the moment." He slid from the saddle and led his horse to the bank. "Probably feeds a tributary of the Thon-Thalas River," he said, gesturing with his head at the water. The famed river wound its way through part of Khur and into the Silvanesti Forest, where it eventually joined up with the Thon-Rishas, which meandered deep into the swamp on the other side of the Kalkhists.

"The stream's half of what it would normally be," Dhamon noted, pointing at the dry bank where part of the ground was cracked and patterned like shingles. "But at least the summer hasn't dried it up completely."

Maldred shook his head, the sweat flying from his face and hair. He took off his boots and lowered his thick toes in the water. Then he bent and filled two skins and clipped them on his belt. He passed a third skin to Dhamon. "For when you really need it," he said. "It's all I have, so take care."

"Thanks."

"Was your friend," Rikali said, interrupting their conversation. She had her hands on her hips and her head was cocked to one side, as if she was lecturing a naughty child. "Was. Was. Was your friend."

Dhamon pursed his lips and tethered his mount to a low branch that overhung the bank. He wondered what she was talking about, but knew he didn't have to ask- she'd explain sooner or later.

"The Solamnic. I was thinking about her as we were ridin', hair as red as them flames. I'd say she was your friend. Them rigid types don't forgive thefts and murder. She'll be your enemy now."

"I didn't kill anyone in that town." Dhamon patted the horse, running his fingers through its tangled mane. "I might have, but I didn't," he added.

She shrugged and made sure he was watching her, choreographed a graceful display of slipping off her cloak and then squirming out of her tunic, dropping them and her small satchel on the bank to reveal her petite, pale form. She slowly waded into the stream and began bathing, making it a point to tend to her face first and remove the kohl that had run from her eyes. "Dwarves died in that town, Dhamon Grimwulf," she said, cupping her hands to catch the water and throwing it over her hair. "And maybe some Knights who aren't Solamnics. Doesn't really matter how many or by whose hand. Dead is dead. And you were there in the middle of it." She tucked her hair behind gently pointed ears that attested to her half-elf heritage, then she splashed water at him and wriggled her nose. "I tell you, you stink!"

"Aye," Dhamon said softly, as he arranged his boots and new sword on the bank, peeled off what was left of his trousers and joined her in the river. "I certainly do." The water swirled around his calves and then thighs. He waded in as deep as the stream bed allowed, until the water came up to his waist. There were scars on his body amid the scratches that Rikali had administered. They were older and thick, and most had faded so they were difficult to discern.

The half-elf traced some of the scratches. Her nails were long, clawlike, and they were covered with a thick black lacquer that stood out starkly against her parchment-hued skin.

"These will heal, lover," she said huskily, fingers fluttering over her handiwork. "And they were your idea." She kissed one of the longer scratches on his chest, her pale face and white hair contrasting markedly with his sun-bronzed skin.

"Everything heals, Riki," he said softly.

Maldred was inspecting the four horses, announcing that two of them were especially fine and would bring a good price if they decided to sell them. Fetch followed him, pretending to study the big man's ways with animals and apologizing profusely for accidentally setting the fire in the stable.

"You stink, too," Maldred said, looking down and wrinkling his hawkish nose.

Fetch furiously shook his hooded head, backing away from the stream. But Maldred scooped him up with one hand and plucked away his smoky robe with the other. The hoopak and a small belt pouch fell free. Beneath the scorched fabric was a creature.

It was less than three feet tall and had the form of a man, but more resembled a cross between a rat and a lizard, with a rusty brown hide that was a mix of scales and skin. His stunted, dog-shaped snout had a smattering of reddish whiskers growing haphazardly from the bottom jaw that nearly matched the color of his long, pointed, batlike ears that hinted at his goblin ancestry. A kobold, Fetch was a poor cousin to the ancient and more powerful goblin race that often employed his kind as footsoldiers and lackeys throughout Khur and other desolate parts of Krynn. He had beady eyes set beneath a pair of short, curved white horns, and they glowed red like hot embers. "Please, Maldred," Fetch implored in his thin, scratchy voice. His ratlike tail whipped about nervously. "You know I don't like water. I can't swim and I…"

Maldred laughed loud and deep and pitched the kobold into the stream. "See that he washes behind his ears, will you Rikali?" With that, the big man settled himself beneath a tree, his hands resting on the sack and backpack Dhamon had stuffed. Within moments he was asleep.

"That Knight," Rikali persisted after she had finished washing Dhamon's back. Her voice was soft so she wouldn't wake Maldred and Fetch who, like a dog, now was curled in a ball between the big man's feet. "Do you think she'll follow us? She looked so… angry."

"Jealous?"

The half-elf shook her head, water flying in an arc from her waist-length hair. "Me, jealous? Hardly, lover."

"You're always jealous, Riki. Besides, Fiona is with Rig-has been for about as long as I've known her. Last I heard, they were to be married this fall, on her birthday."

"You know her first name…"

"I said we were friends. Rig was the dark man with her." Dhamon had turned his back to the elf, was studying something in the water. He spread his legs and bent over slightly, letting his hands sink quietly beneath the surface.

"Is he a Solamnic Knight, too?"

"Hardly! Shhh."

"Hardly," she tittered. She watched him carefully with an appraising eye, then she grinned as he tried futilely to catch a fish that dove between his legs. Droplets arced away from him as he smacked the water and quietly cursed.

Quick as lightning, she drove her slender arm into the stream, then pulled it up to reveal a trout speared on her fingernails. She flicked the fish high onto the bank. "You used to be a Knight, Dhamon Grimwulf. Or so you claim."