Flint gestured at the hutch. "In there. Take your pick. How did Ailea appear when you left her, lass?"

The child already had the cupboard open and was rummaging through its contents with a greedy hand. Her reply floated back to the dwarf. "Excited. She kept saying, 'Now it all makes sense. The scar. The "T." The air. Now I understand.' And she practically pushed me out her door." The childlike tones were injured.

Flint looked bewildered as he gazed from Miral to the back of the child's head as she poked through the toys.

"The scar. The T.'" Flint mused. "The air?"

"I know of no elves with a T-shaped scar," the mage said, pushing aside the bag of salted quith-pa. "Except perhaps Tyresian."

Flint sat up excitedly. "That's it! Tyresian's arms are scarred from years of weaponry practice. Ailea must have found a way to link him with Lord Xenoth's slaying." He pushed himself off the bench and made for the door. "Come on, we have to hurry," he shouted to Miral, adding to the little girl, "Take what you want!"

The mage was behind him as he dashed to the street, pushing through the celebrants as they once more jammed the streets, having left Porthios at the Grove.

The child stayed happily behind in Flint's shop, up to her elbows in toys.

Ailea paced her house impatiently, occasionally pausing to pound one small fist into the palm of her other hand-a masculine movement somewhat unusual in an elven woman, but she was rocking with excitement.

"That's got to be it!" she whispered to herself. "Of course!" She wheeled at the fireplace and turned back toward the front door. Once more, she crossed to the door and peered out into the street. "Where are they?" she grumbled. "Has Fionia found them yet? I hope that child didn't get lost…"

She heard a click at the back of the dwelling and closed the front door. "Flint? Tanthalas?" she called, her face almost feline in expression. She hurried back through the entry room, past the fireplace, and paused in the doorway to the kitchen. "Who…?"

The figure turned, and Eld Ailea froze. In all her centuries, she had never known more terror. Her hands sweaty, her breath short, she stepped back blindly, knocking over a square table. Three baby portraits and one of Flint's rocking-bird toys crashed to the floor.

The figure followed her into the entry room, and she opened her mouth to scream.

But the sound never emerged. She crumpled to the floor in silence.

And then the figure was gone.

When Tanis walked away from the procession, he picked the most deserted lanes he could find-which wasn't difficult because most of Qualinost's residents were following Porthios and the Speaker to the Grove. He stalked for half an hour, until the call of a vendor reminded him that he'd promised to meet Flint back at the shop.

He arrived at the dwelling shortly, and found only one occupant-a blond elf child, playing happily with several dozen wooden toys on the floor of the shop. She introduced herself as Fionia, pointed out Eld Ailea's message, which had fallen to the bench, and announced that the dwarf had given her all these toys.

Tanis read the note and was out the door, running, before the girl had finished speaking.

Later, he would remember little of the dash from Flint's shop to Eld Ailea's house; it was a blur of singing, dancing, and chattering Qualinesti. Once he spotted Flint Fireforge standing alone on a street corner, looking around as if he'd lost someone, but when the next opening in the throng occurred, the dwarf had vanished. The half-elf pressed on.

The front door of the midwife's rose and gray dwelling was unlocked, but that was not unusual. Few Qualinesti locked their doors; there was too little crime in Qualinost for an elf to become fearful. Tanis knocked, tentatively at first, then harder as he failed to hear the midwife's usual reply of "Coming, coming, coming." He called up to the second-level window, but there was no answer.

A neighbor poked her head out of her front door and gave the half-elf an odd look as he pounded at the door. "Ailea must be home," the elven woman called. "I saw her at the window not five minutes ago."

Finally Tanis pulled the door open and stepped inside. Even before his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he knew something was wrong. He'd expected an excited midwife bustling out of a back room to tell him she'd solved Xenoth's slaying.

Instead, he smelled death. The door banged shut behind him.

The elderly midwife lay on her back before the fireplace, in a pool of her own blood. Her round eyes-those human eyes she had never been ashamed of-stared sightlessly at the beamed ceiling. Dozens of miniature paintings lay scattered around the room. Tanis could see that she had been able to move after the fatal blow was struck; a wide stain of blood stretched from the front door to the rug before the fireplace. One sleeve was pushed up past her elbow, and her lilac-colored skirt had been lifted slightly, revealing a slender calf and knee. Ailea's other hand held a portrait of two elven children.

Tanis didn't even have the breath to cry out. He found himself on his knees beside the elf's tiny body, mindless of the crimson liquid that soaked his leggings, his moccasins. Ailea's purple skirt was streaked with blood. He found himself fruitlessly trying to wipe it off, succeeding only in smearing it even more. He touched her face, hoping to feel her breath on his hand. But the elf's flesh, while still warm, had taken on the heaviness of death.

His fingers were covered with red. He rocked back to his heels, heart contracting in sorrow and rage.

Suddenly, he realized that someone had been pounding on the front door for some time. And at that moment, the door crashed open behind him. Tanis swiveled to face the newcomer.

"Great Reorx!" Flint cried out, then, "Ailea!"

Halfway to Ailea's house, Flint had stepped into the sea of elves and lost sight of Miral. But figuring that a mage who was eye-level with other elves had a better chance of penetrating the throng than a four-foot hill dwarf did, Flint had plunged on without looking for him.

Miral caught up with the dwarf on the doorstep of Ailea's house, as Flint knocked for the first time. The mage looked winded.

Flint ignored him. Instead, he began pounding at the door. Finally, he swung it open, saw Tanis's tear-streaked face look up at him, and cried out at the sight behind the half-elf.

… Then Flint had looked up to see the words scrawled in blood on the mantlepiece, words already turning brown as the fluid dried.

"Ailea," the message read, "I'm sorry."

"Understand the judgment that I must make," the Speaker said later from the rostrum in the Tower of the Sun. Hundreds of elves, attracted by the upcoming Kentommen, packed the entryway, though only nobles were allowed within the central chamber itself when the Speaker was holding court. There was a constant murmur of conversation in the background.

"Not since the Kinslayer Wars, Tanthalas, has the blood of an elf been spilled by an elf," Solostaran said, "and not only will we grieve the passing of a long-time faithful servant of this court, we will mourn the loss of the peace that this city has cherished for so long.

"But before we can mourn, he who has wrought this shadow must abide by its darkness. Thus you stand before me, Tanthalas Half-Elven. You have been accused of the murder of Eld Ailea, midwife."

Litanas muttered from his new position to the right of the rostrum, "He probably killed Lord Xenoth as well."