"And what are Harpers, Mistress Martine?" Sumalo asked for the benefit of the entire counciL

Now it was Martine's turn to be dumbfounded. It had never occurred to her that the Vani didn't know about the Harpers. In her world, everybody had at least some inkling of the Harpers and their code. A peasant might have a false

impression, but at least he had heard of them. These gnomes hadn't a clue.

Martine wondered how to explain without making it sound sinister or arrogant. She had little time to ponder her answer. Taking a deep breath, she gave it her best try. "We I mean, the Harpers have been around for several hundred years-"

"I have been around for several hundred years, and you do not look like you've been here as long as I," interrupted one of the oldest of the group before her. Those around him chortled and snickered while the old gnome thumped his cane at his own joke.

Martine flushed. "I mean the group has been around that long, not me. We try to keep peace."

"You were sent here to rule us?" big-nosed Ojakangas asked, his voice filled with confusion.

"No… no, that's not it at all." The ranger threw up her hands as a gesture of her good intentions.

"You were sent to deal with the gnolls? Is that why you've come?" Jouka asked before she could continue.

"No, you misunderstand," Martine said hurriedly as she turned to face Jouka. "As I explained, I was sent here to close the rift. I didn't even know about the gnolls. The gnolls aren't a threat to peace in the land."

Once more Jouka stood from his seat, his face grim behind his black beard. 'Me gnolls attack us. Is that not a threat to peace?"

"Your peace, yes, but…"The ranger fidgeted, feeling miserably awkward before the council.

"Because your lands are not threatened, you mean, human," Jouka said sarcastically.

Oh, gods, this isn't going right, Martine moaned inwardly. Valiantly she tried once again to explain.

"It's not your lands or my lands. It's just that they're, well, gnolls. Even if they were attacking the Dalelands, it wouldn't be a Harper concern. People have to stand on their own. Harpers can't do everything for everyone. There aren't that many of us." Martine felt exposed in the center of the floor, painfully conscious of her hands as she twisted the speaker's rod. There was a reason she had chosen to be a ranger, born to the woods, and not an outgoing bard like many other Harpers.

Jouka wouldn't relent. "So now that you have stirred up the gnolls, Harper, it's not your problem," he accused, his face almost sliding into a sneer: "We did not ask you come here, Harper. The Vani do not want to be pawns in your intrigues. We choose to live here to be far from big folk like you."

A chorus of approval ran through the chamber. Jouka's words had tapped a vein of outrage that ran through the younger Vani. Seizing the moment, he turned to face his fellows.

"The Harper says it is our problem! Very well, then I say we must fight the gnolls. We must drive them out of our valley!" the woodsman insisted. His eager audience, their unwrinkled faces gleaming with eagerness to prove themselves in battle, began to clap rhythmically in agreement

The primitive swell threatened to overwhelm any possible debate. Finally Sumalo was forced to clamber from his high seat and reclaim the speaker's rod from Martine.

"Silence! Silence, everyone!" Sumalo banged his ash rod on the wooden floor, his iron charms bouncing with each beat Thump-jingle, thump-jingle. The beat repeated several times until the unruly younger gnomes in the upper tiers finally calmed down. "I hold the speaker's wand, and we are still in the council chamber," the priest chastised, his wrinkled face soured by the outburst

"Vani, think of your wives, children, loved ones!" Sumalo boomed, his voice strong now. Rod in hand, he stalked a circuit round the council floor, his eyes fixed on the

raucous upper tier. "War is not an easy thing. It is not like hunting a deer or even fighting a badger when it breaks into the warren. There are many gnolls, and they, too, are ready to fight: They will not run away simply because we kill a few"

The elder paused, stroking his white beard while scanning the council chamber. He set the speaker's rod before him like a staff; forestalling any interruptions. Finally he began again. "Our warren is strong and the winter is our friend. We should not give up our best strength. We can wait here. These dog-men will be weak and frozen before the spring comes. Let them freeze while we stay warm:" Older voices echoed their approval.

The logic was sound, Martine knew. The warren was the Vani's best asset, an underground fortress the gnolls would find hard to break. Studying the faces of the council, however, it didn't look as if the priest's argument was carrying. Jouka's call for glory and action was irresistible to many. Compared to it, Sumalo's counsel of patience and cunning seemed weak and cowardly.

The debate continued, and Martine resisted every urge to leap forward with her advice even when the most outlandish claims were made. It was clear to her that the Vani were not a warrior people. Many of them, particularly the younger ones, had no concept of what a full-scale war against the gnolls would be like. Comparing the two camps, Vani and Burnt Fur, the ranger could tell the gnomes were outmatched in savagery, let alone sheer numbers. However, having already been dismissed by Jouka's faction, Martine knew her words would carry little weight

At last the speaker's rod passed to Jouka. With its authority in his hands, the council fell silent, waiting to hear what he would say. Seated, with his head bowed, the young warrior spoke in a calm, slightly nasal voice. He framed his words with surprising coolness, not delivering the tirade be a Harper concern. People have to stand on their own. Harpers can't do everything for everyone. There aren't that many of us." Martine felt exposed in the center of the floor, painfully conscious of her hands as she twisted the speaker's rod. There was a reason she had chosen to be a ranger, born to the woods, and not an outgoing bard like many other Harpers.

Jouka wouldn't relent. "So now that you have stirred up the gnolls, Harper, it's not your problem," he accused, his face almost sliding into a sneer: "We did not ask you come here, Harper. The Vani do not want to be pawns in your intrigues. We choose to live here to be far from big folk like you."

A chorus of approval ran through the chamber. Jouka's words had tapped a vein of outrage that ran through the younger Vani. Seizing the moment, he turned to face his fellows.

"The Harper says it is our problem! Very well, then I say we must fight the gnolls. We must drive them out of our valley!" the woodsman insisted. His eager audience, their unwrinkled faces gleaming with eagerness to prove themselves in battle, began to clap rhythmically in agreement

The primitive swell threatened to overwhelm any possible debate. Finally Sumalo was forced to clamber from his high seat and reclaim the speaker's rod from Martine.

"Silence! Silence, everyone!" Sumalo banged his ash rod on the wooden floor, his iron charms bouncing with each beat Thump-jingle, thump-jingle. The beat repeated several times until the unruly younger gnomes in the upper tiers finally calmed down. "I hold the speaker's wand, and we are still in the council chamber," the priest chastised, his wrinkled face soured by the outburst

"Vani, think of your wives, children, loved ones!" Sumalo boomed, his voice strong now. Rod in hand, he stalked a circuit round the council floor, his eyes fixed on the

raucous upper tier. "War is not an easy thing. It is not like hunting a deer or even fighting a badger when it breaks into the warren. There are many gnolls, and they, too, are ready to fight: They will not run away simply because we kill a few"