Caramon hadn't spotted the cave before, perhaps because the hide that draped the entrance was the color of sandstone and blended in with the canyon wall. Some of the other kyrie followed, including Cloudreaver, another elder whose face was dotted with sun spots, and two females, one young, another older, both dressed in leather skirts and vests decorated with quills and beads.

The entrance opened onto a spacious cave that vaulted upward into a high dome. Dried grass and twigs covered the floor of the tamped-down earth. A central fire pit, filled with heated rocks, gave off warmth. Weapons and cooking utensils hung from pegs in the walls. Animal furs, more than sufficient to ward off the desert night cold, were stacked near the threshold.

Sun Feather took aside the two females and gave them some instructions in a language that Caramon could not decipher.

Cloudreaver bade Caramon sit near the fire pit. The other elder, whom Cloudreaver introduced as Three Far-Eyes, sat opposite their visitor. Cloudreaver took a place next to Three Far-Eyes.

Sun Feather sat down next to Caramon, moving gingerly. He picked up a stick and prodded the ground with it. It took Caramon a moment to realize he was outlining a rough map. "Centuries ago the kyrie inhabited many of the islands of Ansalon," Sun Feather told Caramon. "We migrated around the world, never content to stay in one place. Our long flights over the oceans were made possible by a magical device called the Northstone. Because we grew to depend on the Northstone, we lost many of our natural instincts, including the ability to navigate. Then we lost the Northstone, and it fell into the possession of our dire enemies, the minotaurs."

The female kyrie hovered in the background, apparently busy with preparations for a meal. Now the older one circled behind the three male kyrie and Caramon, distributing stone mugs of a pale, flecked liquid. Caramon cupped his in both hands, sipping eagerly. The warm broth was like nothing Caramon had ever tasted before-rich, flavorful, and instantly nourishing. He could feel it course through his body, refreshing him and sating his hunger.

The kyrie leader's face hardened with bitter memories as he continued his chronicle. "Gradually we gathered here," Sun Feather related, "most of us on the island of Mithas, other clans scattered on nearby islands. Although we can still take long, soaring flights, we no longer cross the oceans. Without the Northstone, we are stranded in this part of the world. We live here"-he gestured broadly-"as best as we are able, as peaceably as we are allowed."

Caramon had countless questions he wanted to ask. He sputtered out two: "What do you want with me? Why did you rescue me from the dungeon in Atossa?"

Cloudreaver answered before Sun Feather could. "I saw you and your friend nearly drowning in the Blood Sea. I did what I could to alleviate your plight."

Caramon's eyes widened. "So that was you!" he exclaimed. "You dropped some kind of bread to us."

"It was my own ration," said the kyrie mildly.

Impulsively Caramon reached across and clasped the kyrie's hands. "You saved our lives," the Majere twin said warmly. "Then you risked your own to help me escape from prison." The young warrior spoke passionately, his words heartfelt. "I owe you more than I could ever hope to repay."

Cloudreaver looked a little uneasy at Caramon's effusive display of emotion. Sun Feather beamed. "Cloudreaver is my son," said the kyrie elder proudly. As Caramon gazed at the bird-man who had gone to such lengths to rescue him, Cloudreaver lowered his eyes. All the earlier traces of arrogance had vanished.

"I have two sons," added Sun Feather. "My firstborn…"

His voice faltered. "My firstborn. Morning Sky, is the one who was… with you… being held prisoner in Atossa." He bent his head sorrowfully.

Caramon didn't know what to say. Finally he had learned who the broken man was. Bowing his head, he was overcome with emotion at the realization that the man was Sun Feather's firstborn. Morning Sky. Did Sun Feather know how close his son was to death? How Morning Sky had been tortured and abused by the minotaurs? Did Sun Feather know how brave and resolute his son was? How, even in his brief conversations with Caramon, he had shown no fear of his fate?

Silence settled over the room, then was broken by the plaintive weeping of one of the females.

"We know how the minotaurs are treating Morning Sky," said Sun Feather softly. "We know that he has been tortured to the point of death. We have little hope of ever seeing him free, among us, again."

It was as if the leader of the kyrie had read Caramon's mind. Noticing the warrior's questioning glance. Sun Feather pointed to his head, and Caramon remembered what the broken man had said about telepathy.

"But why couldn't you have freed your son instead of me?" asked Caramon earnestly.

"My son is chained constantly," replied Sun Feather in an even voice, "except when he is permitted to eat. Otherwise he would kill himself. The minotaurs know that about kyrie, even if they know little else about our kind. It is a disgrace for a kyrie to be captured alive."

Caramon drank from his cup of broth. It didn't seem right. He was free, while Morning Sky was being tortured and beaten in prison. "Maybe," the human warrior ventured, "if we were to storm the dungeon…"

"It would be suicide for all involved," put in Three Far-Eyes, speaking for the first time. The old one's face was somber. "We are a courageous people, but we are not foolhardy."

"What about the tunnel?"

Cloudreaver scoffed. "The tunnel is tight and narrow. It would take hours to squeeze even a small attack force into the prison through the tunnel, and there would be no fast way out. We would have a dozen guards to contend with, as well as the chains and bars of my brother's cell. We have thought about all of this. We have discussed it, argued about it, and come up with nothing."

The kyrie frowned, a shadow darkening his face. "No, there is no way out for my brother. He is doomed."

From the other kyrie came murmured assent. Caramon sat silent for a long time. "Why do they torture him?" the young human from Solace wondered aloud.

"We have pitted ourselves against the minotaurs for hundreds upon hundreds of years," answered Sun Feather. "Over time, we have gathered in these and other mountain enclaves, living far away from the minotaur cities. Although we roam the valleys, foraging food and hunting small animals, we always retreat here. While the bull-men are adept in land battle or at sea, they are oafs when it comes to exploring the mountains. They cannot climb the high peaks to drive us out. To them, we are an alien presence in the midst of their homeland. To us, they are a scourge upon the earth. As they are determined to hunt and destroy us, so too are we sworn to kill them whenever they cross our path.

"In recent months," Sun Feather continued, "minotaur contingents have penetrated our territory and become more intrepid in locating our aeries. The bull-men have successfully raided some of our smaller outlying settlements, vanquishing our warriors, butchering scores of our women and young. It is said that, in some instances, they have been aided by scaly flying creatures who scouted the terrain in advance and carried weapons and supplies."

"Dragons?" It was Caramon's turn to scoff. "Everyone knows there are no dragons in Ansalon. That is nighttime talk for children, for fables."

"Not dragons," Cloudreaver cut in vehemently. "Flying creatures of a type that has not existed before this time."

Caramon looked skeptical.

"Of course we have no proof," said Sun Feather. "There are no surviving eyewitnesses. The minotaurs kill every kyrie and burn everything, leaving only scorched earth. They rarely take prisoners." He paused, allowed himself a sip of hot liquid, and continued, choosing his words carefully and controlling his emotions. "My son, Morning Sky, is one of the exceptions. He was captured at an outpost that he commanded. They realized he is of high rank, possibly noble lineage. From him, they demanded information about our number, our customs and rituals, the whereabouts of our sanctuaries."