"Is that a good horse you're riding? Can you ride fast, Kitiara?" asked El-Navar.

"Fast enough!" she said excitedly.

He cut her bonds. "Then you're one of us," he declared, clapping her on her shoulder.

Kitiara rubbed her wrists ruefully and looked at the four faces staring at her. Although she didn't feel entirely confident, she forced a smile.

"Well…" said the weaselly man.

"C'mon, Radisson!" boomed El-Navar. "Don't be a jackass. Shake hands with our new partner!"

They continued riding northeast all the next day and the day after that.

Except for Radisson, who maintained his wary demeanor toward her, the others appeared to accept Kit. However, where they were going and exactly what they were going to do remained a mystery. At least Kit could extract no further details, no matter how hard she tried. "Be patient," said El-Navar whenever she brought up the subject. "All in good time."

El-Navar was most enigmatic. Like the people Gregor had once told Kit about, by day he seemed one person, by night another. When the sun was out, El-Navar disappeared into his cowl; indeed he seemed to disappear from the group. He became sleepy-eyed, almost somnambulant, with little of the extroverted personality that he displayed after dark. He kept up with the other riders, but rode slumped over, saying very little.

Under the sun, Ursa was definitely the leader. But after a long day's ride, after making camp and eating supper, Ursa

was usually so tired that one feared he would not make his watch. At just around that time, the Karnuthian grew exuberant and full of energy. There was obviously some understanding between Ursa and El-Navar, and neither sought the upper hand.

The tall, sad-faced one continued to say very little to anyone. His responsibilities included the horses and the meals, cooking the small game they managed to trap or shoot along the way. Kit had asked him his name and been told. It was Cleverdon, a name she had a hard time remembering in connection with such a strange character. So Kit called him "Droopface." The others were so amused by this that the nickname stuck.

Much to Kit's annoyance, Ursa continued to treat her coldly. She decided to be grand about it and tried to bolster their friendship by riding alongside him and drawing him out. On the first day she could barely get him to nod in her direction.

On the second, she had better luck. Ursa smiled when she rode up. Surprised and pleased, Kit decided to ask him about Gregor, who was much on her mind these days, or rather, nights.

"Ursa, that day we first met you said you had heard of my father. Have you heard of him since?"

Ursa looked away. "No," he said shortly when he glanced back in her direction.

"I remember you told me that Gregor was in the north, the last you heard," she persisted. "Was that anywhere near where we're going? Do you think there's any chance our paths will cross?"

Despite her best efforts to remain in control of her emotions, Kit knew she sounded plaintive.

"Kitiara, that was a long time ago and very far from where we are bound. Let me give you some advice. If Gregor Uth Matar chose to go so far away, either he doesn't want to be found by you-" here Ursa paused "-or he is dead."

"Dead! Why do you say that?" But Kit's queries only reached Ursa's back as he galloped off to scout what lay ahead.

North by east they rode until they were high in the Eastwall Mountains, surrounded on all sides by rocks and slopes. On the third night they stopped early. Kit picked up a distinct air of anticipation as the others sharpened weapons and checked their equipment. The horses also received special care; Radisson made sure they were amply fed and watered.

Droopface made a haricot stew that they all gulped down hungrily. Afterward, he retreated some distance from the others and read his favorite book, slobbering over the pages until he fell asleep the way he always did, sitting upright. Radisson wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down on the ground near the fire. Ursa and El-Navar were studying a piece of parchment-obviously a map-taken from one of El-Navar's pockets, and carrying on a low debate.

After some time, El-Navar came over to where Kit was sitting. "Let's get to work. I'm going to cut your hair." He took his short, double-edged blade out and ran it over a rock, watching her.

"Why?" she asked in surprise, raising her hand protectively to her head. "Isn't it short enough?"

Kitiara heard Ursa grunt with amusement as he turned to his bedroll. It was the first characteristic laugh out of him in several days, albeit at her expense.

"It has to be shorter yet," explained El-Navar, "and I need to collect some for tomorrow. Tomorrow's the day the… plan goes into action, and you are going to have to look more like a certain man."

"Gwathmey's son?"

El-Navar didn't answer, but Kit let him come closer and comb her hair.

"Ah," rhapsodized El-Navar. "You have beautiful hair, Kitiara. Black as midnight. Pity we must chop some of it off." He began to cut at it, pulling off small bunches and placing them in a tin bowl. "But it's necessary."

El-Navar seemed surprisingly practiced at the task, cutting delicately, particularly at the nape of her neck. Kit shuddered involuntarily as he placed his strong hand on her neck to bend her head forward, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. He worked in silence for a long while.

Kitiara was lulled by his touch, which was as gentle as it was assured.

"What is Droopface always reading?" Kitiara asked.

"Oh," said El-Navar as he worked. "It's some book he picked up in a market somewhere. Magic tricks and potions. I can't read for beans myself. He thinks he's studying to be a mage. He has managed to teach himself a couple of simple spells that do come in handy. I expect we'll see some of his expertise tomorrow."

El-Navar was meticulous. He worked for a time on her bangs, shortening almost up to her hairline. And as he worked he stared right into Kit's eyes. She was startled to realize his eyes weren't as hard and metallic as they first appeared. She could see through them, to their essence, which was lush and sensuous. His breath was hot and aromatic, suggestive of faraway lands.

"But," continued El-Navar, "Droopface has no real affinity for magic. It is all stunts and illusions. If you ask me, magic is a plague sweeping Krynn, and there are too many people trying their hand at spellcasting who ought to be doing something else with their lives."

"Tell me this," asked Kitiara, changing the subject, "who is Gwathmey's son, and why are we so interested in him?"

The Karnuthian laughed lustily, baring his white teeth, shaking his curly snake hair and sending the gold hoop into a frenzy of motion. "You don't give up, Kitiara," he said, taking a few final snips of her hair, "but you will know everything soon enough. Not yet. Not tonight…" His voice was a rich, soothing purr.

The sky was tranquil. The other three men appeared to have fallen asleep. Clouds hid Lunitari, though Kit could still tell that the red moon was full.

"Done!" The Karnuthian stood up, reached into his pack, and pulled out a piece of cut glass which he proffered to Kitiara.

She examined herself and found a curiously new face with a wide expanse of skin at the forehead and temples, framed by sideburns and a neatly trimmed cap of black hair. The effect did make her look for all the world like a young gentleman.

El-Navar placed select tufts of hair into a small pouch. "We will finish off the mustache in the morning," he said.

"Mustache?"