The voice at her back was good-natured, teasing. Kit looked over her shoulder to see Aureleen, well-turned out as usual, wearing a flowing petal-colored gown. Her figure had blossomed over the last year, and she was no longer a mere girl, but practically a young lady. As different as their natures were, Kit was always glad to see her friend.

"Hello, Master Majere," Aureleen said, smiling prettily at Gilon.

Kit watched as her stepfather rose a little awkwardly, obviously charmed as well as discomfited.

"Er, would you like to join us?" Gilon asked. "Can I get you a bowl of stew?"

"Oh, no. I really don't have much of an appetite," Aureleen said, shaking her strawberry blond curls. "I don't know where Kitiara puts all that food she eats."

"The same place you 'put' those fried doughwheels you buy at the baker's every day," Kit muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Aureleen to hear. The two girls burst out laughing, joined in a minute by Gilon, who didn't quite comprehend the joke, but was enjoying the high spirits.

Kit had already finished off her goat stew. Now she stood.

"Aureleen and I are going to go off and find some, er, jugglers," Kit said to Gilon abruptly. A look of conspiracy crossed her friend's face. "I'll meet you at the crossroads outside the festival in four hours, to go back and get Raist. OK?"

Gilon, chewing a mouthful of stew, could only nod good-naturedly and wave them away.

"Mmmm, jugglers. Ah, yes, now where could those exciting fellows be?" Aureleen teased, smiling over her shoulder at Gilon as the two girls strolled off, arm and arm.

They hadn't gone far, sauntering through the crowd and laughing, when another familiar voice brought them up short.

"Aureleen! We were supposed to meet at the dressmaker's booth an hour ago." Aureleen's mother, hands on her hips, stood in front of the two friends. Unlike Aureleen, she was a homely woman with brown wavy hair and a downturned mouth. While her daughter wore finery, she usually dressed in plain household smocks.

Kitiara thought, as she often did when she encountered Aureleen's mother, that her best friend must have gotten her looks from her father's side of the family. He was a hard worker with a handsome, craggy face and an omnipresent twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, hello, Kitiara."

Kit recognized the edge of coolness in the greeting. Aureleen's mother had never fully approved of her daughter's friendship with Kit, offspring of "that irresponsible warrior and his poor, crazy wife-before he left her."

Aureleen shrugged and winked at Kit almost imperceptibly, before turning to placate her mother. Grasping the older woman by the elbow, she began steering her through the festival-goers toward the dressmaker's booth. "I was coming to meet you, Mother, when Kit and I ran into Minna. You know what a talker she is, but you did teach me never to be rude to adults. Anyway…"

As they moved out of Kit's hearing, Aureleen turned and gave Kit an apologetic little wave.

Now she was truly alone for the day. Well, good. Kit had little enough solitude.

On her own, Kit drifted away from the noise and crowds of the festival toward the commons adjacent to the fairgrounds, where the hundreds of itinerant visitors traveling to Solace for the event pitched camp. The grassy area was dotted with tents, lean-tos, boarded wagons, bedrolls, and hammocks. People congregated in groups, talking and laughing loudly, sharing drinks and food-peddlers and merchants, wandering minstrels, honest as well as dishonest tradesmen, illusionists, hucksters and the occasional warrior whose only allegiance was to the highest purse.

Kit moved away from a gaunt cleric who was standing on a tree stump and declaiming loudly to anyone who would listen about the power and omnipotence of the new gods. Few were listening to him, and Kitiara always gave clerics a wide berth.

She walked aimlessly around the perimeter of the commons, searching people's faces and clothing for clues as to where they came from and where they were going.

The people here were more interesting to Kit than the wares and amusements of the festival. She realized she was in a part of the campground where more drink was imbibed than food eaten, and fairgoers had to be careful of their purse and their person-or risk finding themselves with a cracked skull and empty pockets. But Kit already had empty pockets and was confident she could take care of herself in a tight situation. At the very least, she could run.

Kitiara was about to turn around when the sound of a harsh laugh and muffled argument caught her attention. To her right, between two storage tents, Kit saw four persons huddled together, talking heatedly. Some sixth sense told her to sneak closer and eavesdrop on their conversation.

Creeping forward, Kit made her way inside one of the tents until only a thin sheet of canvas separated her from the group. Through a tear she could see there were four men, mercenaries by the looks of their clothing and weapons. One of them, whom she could only glimpse from the side, seemed distinctly familiar.

"I say we don't kill him. We kidnap him and later ransom him back. That way we can double the payoff."

"No! Forget the ransom. We're not supposed to kill him and we're not supposed to kidnap him. I tell you, the payroll will be plenty/Plenty for all of us, and no complications, nothing to regret."

The first voice was a whiny one. The second-Kit knew she had heard that voice before, but where? She shifted her position, but couldn't get a good look at any of their faces, which were turned in a narrow circle toward each other. And she could only catch some of the words because the men spoke in low voices.

"How far is this spot?" asked a third man, his voice deep and mellifluous.

"About six days to the north," replied the familiar voice. "I have the directions, but we have to keep off the roads. I figure six days, at least, which will give us time to set the trap. According to our informant-"

A guffaw of laughter from the whiny one made everyone pause.

"According to our informant, Gwathmey's son has to make the delivery himself, on time and according to contract. So there will be no deviation in the schedule or the route."

"I still say, if we ask for ransom, we'll double-" began the whiny voice.

"Forget it, Radisson," said the deep-voiced conspirator with some authority. "Ursa is right. We do it his way."

Kit's heart leapt. Of course! It was the rogue she had met that long-ago day when Rosamun gave birth to the twins-

Ursa Il Kinth. What was he up to?

Obviously the third voice had cast the deciding vote.

"Then it's agreed," Kit heard Ursa say. "We will gather at midnight three days hence, out beyond the oak tree grove on the north side of town. We will ride an hour or two by moonlight, until we are safe beyond the town and farms. After that, we can make camp."

Another pause followed, then Ursa concluded, "Now break up, keep away from each other, and until then, stay out of trouble."

After some grumbling from the whiny-voiced one, Radisson, the group split up. Kit crouched behind a crate, giving them some time to scatter. Then she dashed outside the tent and glanced around frantically. The others had melted into the crowds and campsites, but she was lucky enough to catch sight of Ursa's broad back and tall shape some distance away.

Racing after him, Kit trailed Ursa for several minutes as he weaved through campsites without speaking to anyone. She had to be sure Ursa was alone. At last, when she was sure, she caught up to him and fell into step.

After thirty paces or so, Ursa finally noticed the little female figure in the green tunic and brown leggings walking alongside him. Nodding curtly in her direction, Ursa quickened his pace. Because of his long legs, Kit had to jog to keep up. After a minute they had reached the far south fringe of the commons, where there was a makeshift stable. Few other people gathered in that area.