In her heart, Kitiara wanted to continue traveling and resume her search for her father. But years had passed since she had received any even vague indication of his whereabouts-somewhere in the North. Where would she begin to look?

Late one night, unable to fall asleep, Kitiara came upon La Cava and Lurie together on deck. She perked up when she saw them. She had been meaning to trap the ship's enigmatic captain into a conversation. There was a certain subject she wanted to pursue.

Now, she marched right up to them. As La Cava tried to move away, Kit boldly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. A slight smile played on the captain's lips. He nodded some signal to Lurie, who moved away from them but remained on deck, idly gazing out at the sea. La Cava himself stepped back from Kit and relaxed his stance, letting her know that she had his attention, for the moment.

"What is on your mind, Miss Kitiara?" asked La Cava in that elegant but mildly ironic way he had of addressing her.

"Captain," she said directly, "the day we met-"

"Yes?" La Cava raised an eyebrow.

"I had the distinct impression that you had heard of my father. Gregor Uth Matar."

"I said otherwise."

"You said otherwise, but as I say, I had a distinct impression."

Her chin was set determinedly, and her eyes blazed. Yes, the more she had pondered it, the more she felt that La Cava knew something about her father. His face had betrayed something, but perhaps he hadn't wanted to mention anything in front of Patric.

La Cava reached into his pocket and withdrew a pipe. From his other pocket he took out a pouch of tobacco and deftly tamped it into the pipe's bowl. Putting the pouch away, he brought out a stone and flint and struck it sharply. In the flare of light, Kit could see what she knew was behind La Cava's cavalier facade, a ferocious personality reined in by age and wisdom.

La Cava turned and leaned against the railing, drawing smoke from his pipe. He, too, looked out across the sea- the mirror image of Lurie, down the railing several paces. Sailing men often find comfort or inspiration by leaning against a ship's railing and staring at the sea.

Kitiara took this as an invitation. She drew closer to La Cava and leaned against the railing too. Only Kit was looking up at La Cava, not out at the sea.

"I had a distinct impression," she repeated for the third time.

"You are most persistent, Kitiara," said La Cava, turning his head slightly to look at her. His tone had softened and had dropped some of its formal politeness. "Stubborn, really. You are determined to get something out of life, but you have no idea what it is you want. Stubbornness is a quality I admire, but I think it is important to know what you want."

"My father…"

"Forget about your father for a minute, girl," declared La Cava a little sharply. "What is it you want? What is it you want?"

"What do you mean?" asked Kitiara, puzzled.

'You are not going to marry Patric," said La Cava a little scornfully. 'You're too smart and strong for that fellow. He could never tame you. I could tame you, but I'm too old to be interested and too smart to try. I would rather live in peace, have my little ship and my tobacco. I am not looking for anything more. My time of adventure is done.

"But what about you, Kitiara? What are you looking for?"

Now it was Kitiara's turn to glance away. Down the deck she knew that Lurie must be listening and overhearing some of La Cava's words. She liked Lurie. Even so, she was flushed with embarrassment because La Cava's words had pierced her.

After a long silence, she spoke softly. "I don't know." When La Cava said nothing, another long silence ensued. "I want to be… recognized. I want to be more than just an ordinary girl from Solace. I want to travel and do things and fight important battles. I want to be… someone. No, that is not right. I want to be myself, Kitiara Uth Matar, and become rich and powerful. Rich and powerful."

La Cava took a long draw from his pipe. "You well may," he said evenly.

"About my father," she persisted.

La Cava sighed deeply and turned to face her so that she could read his eyes. "Your father," he repeated. "Your father is famous in some parts of Krynn, unknown in others."

Kit waited for him to continue, and it seemed that he did so with some effort. "I have never met him nor seen him, nor do I know anyone who has. But I have been everywhere that a ship may go, and I have heard of Gregor Uth Matar and his exploits, and-" here he paused "-of his fate."

Kitiara's breath caught in her throat. "What of him?"

"It is not a happy story, and I do not make a habit of recounting gossip or folklore. It very well may be untrue."

"Tell me anyway," she insisted.

Another deep sigh, and the ship's captain turned his face back to the sea. "Up north there is a region called Whitsett that has been in a perpetual state of war, dating back almost a century. Some call it a civil war, others a blood feud between two rival families, both of them wealthy and privileged and able to sustain great losses. Your father, Gregor Uth Matar, has a certain reputation for master tactics, and some time ago he gathered under his command a mercenary band of one thousand raiders who were utterly ruthless."

"Go on."

"It is said that your father brought his army to Whitsett and offered their services to either of the two rival families. Indeed, his raiders were auctioned off to the highest bidder. I do not know anything of the two sides of the conflict, but the story is told that one of the lords deliberately underbid, so that Gregor and his men were pledged to his family's longtime archenemy. Then this lord made a secret pact with a small faction of Gregor's men, offering them twice that amount to doublecross their leader."

"Treachery!" exclaimed Kitiara.

"Aye, treachery from men whom he had treated fairly," said La Cava. "But his was a business built on money, not loyalty. Of course, I repeat, this is only what I heard. I myself cannot vouch for what is true. You hear a lot of things on your travels, and stories like this get made up as well as embroidered-"

"What happened?" demanded Kitiara. "What happened to my father?"

"From what I hear," said La Cava, more softly, "Gregor kept his part of the bargain, encircled the army he had been paid to defeat, and vanquished them easily. His client's army marched in to sign the surrender, and he was lulled into complacency. At a certain signal, the traitors in Gregor's raiders rose up, slew the chief rival and his generals, as well as…"

"Yes?" demanded Kitiara.

"As well as Gregor and those few of his devoted retinue."

Kitiara could hardly breathe. Her throat constricted and tears welled up in her eyes, but she would not permit those tears to flow. She had to grab the ship's railing for support. She could see nothing, feel nothing, think of nothing but Gregor. Her father. Dead. Betrayed.

"Traitors," she spat. "Traitors."

"Aye," said La Cava sadly. "If true."

"Then that is where I will go!" she cried. "I will go to Whitsett."

"If you must," said La Cava. "But according to the story that I heard, the traitors divvied up their riches and disbanded, dispersed to the far points of Krynn. No two of them together. No one of them heard of, since-"

"I'll find them," insisted Kitiara, her voice strangled. "I'll hunt every last dog of them down, if it takes me a lifetime."

"If you must," said La Cava resignedly. He turned to go, touching Kitiara warmly on the shoulder. "If you must." She was oblivious to him now.

When, a moment later, she looked up, La Cava was gone and Lurie was standing there, his neck bent characteristically, a sympathetic look on his birdlike face. Kitiara could say nothing for a long time, just stood next to him as minutes passed. Her emotions boiled. Despite her furious bravado, she now was more confused than ever as to where she should go, what she should do. Her father, dead. Betrayed.