Ursa, meanwhile, had set Kit down and upended her pack, emptying its modest contents on the ground. Finding nothing of interest there, he replaced the belongings and handed Kit's bag to his tall, stooped cohort with the sad face, who clutched it stolidly. That one had not said a word.

Then Ursa began to push Kitiara toward the campsite. When she resisted, he grabbed the rope around her wrists and tugged harshly, so that her shoulder blades were twisted. She practically tripped over her own feet as she was dragged backward, but she did not protest. Kitiara wouldn't yield that satisfaction.

The other three followed, the looks on their faces as different as their personalities: El-Navar, curious, even amused; Radisson, cold and suspicious; the sad-faced one, dismayed. When Ursa reached the campsite, he gave Kit a shove that dumped her unceremoniously to the ground. She rolled over in the dirt and struggled to a sitting position against a stump. Glancing around, Kit took in the cut branches holding up the blanket-shapes in front of the fire. Stupid, that night age-old trick! Her eyes gleamed with fury, as much at herself as at her captors.

Ursa sat down on a nearby rock. Radisson and the tall morose one followed suit, a little farther away, their eyes narrowed on Kit.

"Her horse is a mile back, I daresay," said Ursa.

His tone had leveled, become more matter-of-fact, but showed no hint of warmth. He reached over to stir the embers of the fire, whistling thoughtfully to himself. Almost imperceptibly his eyes scanned the treetops.

"I'm quite sure she's alone," he said after completing his survey.

The other two were obviously waiting for Ursa or El-Navar to make a decision as to Kitiara's fate. But Ursa said nothing more and El-Navar, standing near the fire to warm his hands, now showed little interest in the matter. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to act.

"What do we do with her?" whined Radisson, fed up after a few minutes of this.

"She doesn't know anything," said Ursa emphatically.

"Why was she following us then?" questioned Radisson.

The wind picked up, scattering leaves in a circle at the edge of the campfire. Somewhere, far away, a creature howled. Kit could tell that the four men were spooked, particularly Radisson, whose eyes darted around inside their sockets.

Ursa put his hands in his pockets to warm them, continuing to whistle his strange little tune, not answering. He seemed to pay no attention to Radisson, but his eyes met Kitiara's. He was scowling.

"Any half-brain could follow you," snorted Kitiara contemptuously. "A woolly mammoth travels less conspicuously. You leave a mess and obvious clues everywhere. You have no respect for the forest."

Radisson's face tightened up. His hands fingered the knife at his waist nervously. In a surprising movement he stood and crossed to her, then backhanded Kit across the face so swiftly that she felt the blow even before she realized it was coming. Immediately her mouth puffed up and started to bleed. Kit struggled against her bonds, clenching her teeth to keep from crying out.

"Watch your lip," said the weaselly one.

The Karnuthian seemed to think that was the funniest thing of all, and he bent over laughing. But when he straightened up, his face was somber. El-Navar took a handkerchief out of his pocket and with surprising gentleness wiped the blood from her mouth and chin. Ursa's eyes followed him closely.

'There, there, Radisson," said El-Navar heartily. "No need to be so manly. She's not much more than a girl after all, not more than twelve I figure."

"Thirteen," said Kitiara sulkily. "Almost fourteen."

"A rather pretty thirteen at that, I'd say," added the Karnuthian. He grabbed Kit a little roughly by the chin and tilted her face upward. Ursa and Radisson were quiet, and there was a sudden air of tension among the group

"Let's have the truth, girl," El-Navar continued more sternly. "What is your name? Why were you following us?"

"Kitiara Uth Matar," said Kit stonily. "You could have asked him if you wanted to know," she added, indicating Ursa.

"You know her?" asked the Karnuthian, turning to Ursa, surprised.

"I met her once," said Ursa in pointedly neutral tones, "when she was just a child…"

Kitiara looked spitefully at him.

"She recognized me in Solace and came up to me. I gave her the brush off."

"She knows our faces, El-Navar," said Radisson weakly. "What else does she know?"

"She doesn't know anything," repeated Ursa harshly. "I say we let her go. What could she say against us?"

El-Navar said nothing. Whether he or Ursa was in charge, Kitiara couldn't tell. Radisson, however, was clearly waiting for one of the two to make up his mind.

Alone among them, the tall, sad-faced one was paying little attention to the problem. Slouched on the ground, he had taken out a dog-eared book and seemed to be studying it intently by the firelight, his lips moving soundlessly. A trail of drool fell steadily from his mouth, wetting the pages. The others, no doubt used to his eccentricities, paid him no heed.

El-Navar bent down on his knees so that he was peering into Kit's eyes. "How about it, Kitiara?" he asked. "Why were you following us?"

His tone had softened, but his eyes glittered with a diamond-hard light. The gold hoop swayed as he leaned forward.

"I wanted to join up," she said vaguely.

"What?" asked Radisson brusquely. Ursa's face was impassive.

"Join up. I wanted to join up," Kit repeated, this time more strongly.

El-Navar let go of her chin and stood up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. This seemed to break the tension, and, in spite of himself, Ursa managed a tentative smile. The sad-faced reader, slouched over his book, continued to ignore them. Only Radisson looked confused and irritated.

"What are we then, some kind of volunteer fire brigade?" asked El-Navar.

"No." Kitiara hesitated. "I wanted to help take care of Gwathmey's son," she ventured boldly.

The smiles vanished. Even the reader heard this and looked up anxiously. Ursa stood and drew El-Navar aside, speaking to him in a whisper. Radisson glared at Kit. El-Navar looked over his shoulder, then nodded in agreement to something that Ursa had said. He broke from Ursa, who sat back down.

"How much do you know?" asked El-Navar tersely.

"Too much! Now we've got to kill her!" exclaimed Radisson.

"Try it!" Kit dared. Again, with startling swiftness, Radisson lunged toward her, but El-Navar was quicker this time and blocked his movement, shoving the smaller man aside. Radisson looked daggers at him, but there was nothing he could do against the bigger man whose charismatic presence-if not his actual size-commanded respect.

"Don't be so hasty, Radisson," admonished El-Navar. 'Think with your head. This girl is no match for you, even though she is your equal in other respects. A ringer in size, for example, which might have its value."

Although Kit didn't understand why, something that El-Navar said, something about his tone of voice, sent a message to Radisson. Instead of getting angrier, the weaselly one paced over near where Kit sat. He gazed at her, his expression altered and thoughtful.

El-Navar also circled Kit, studying her. "I say we take her along," he declared after long moments had passed. "Let her… as she says, 'join up.' "

Ursa looked at Kitiara and back at El-Navar. Although his face was a tightly controlled mask, he shrugged to indicate his indifference. Still unsmiling, he stared at Kit with his dark, mercurial eyes.

"Maybe," said Radisson stubbornly.

"Look at her," El-Navar said to Radisson. "She's just about your size, isn't she? And she has pluck. It would minimize the risk to us and put you where you're needed most."

After a long hesitation, Radisson shrugged a reluctant agreement. Kit noticed that nobody bothered to consult the fourth member of the party-Droopface, as she had begun to think of him.