She shook her head furiously, as if to deny him any understanding.

"I'm not a warrior," the man continued with a touch of sorrow in his voice. "I'm not even a war wizard. I've spent my years reading scrolls and making magical artifacts, like the stones you used. I don't fight. So when something needs doing, I make whatever device is called for and then I send someone like you to take the risk."

"You… you do that, and then you have the nerve to come up here and lecture me about what a true Harper should do?" Impulsively Martine stepped forward and slapped Jazrac hard across the face. Even as she did it, she cringed in horror at the realization of what she'd done. "Oh, gods," she breathed. Lingering respect mingled with the knowledge the wizard could still break her career.

A little of the imperious fire returned to the wizard as he sat up straight on the edge of the bed. "And I was right, too. You know it." His pride faded as the energy to hold it drained from him. He was no longer Jazrac, her mentor, or jazrac, the Harper, but just Jazrac, drained and flawed. Inside, Martine's anger cooled along with her old fearful respect.

"As I said before, Jouka wants your hide." The ranger's voice was no longer angry but cold and flat. "A lot of gnomes died in that ambush."

"I know. I just don't know what to do."

In silence, each sought an answer. Finally Martine held out her hand. "Do you still have the stone? Give it to me." His eyes furrowed in puzzled suspicion, Jazrac hesitated. Then, pulling a leather sack from under the bed, he produced the keystone and laid it in her hand. The rock appeared no different from before. It was still pitted and veined with its own internal fires.

The woman went to the door. "Stay here till I come for you.

Outside, the ranger hurried down the halls, hoping she could remember the way. At last she arrived in the cold, dirt floored section that contained the animal pens. As she knelt beside a cage, she noticed Hakk's doll, still lying in the dirt where'd she thrown it. Carefully she brushed it off and pushed it back through the bars.

"Word-Maker?"

"I hear you, human," echoed the shaman's hollow voice from the other side.

"Do your people want war with the Vani?" she asked. "Ask the new chieftain of the Burnt Fur," Krote replied bitterly.

"The pit fiends take Vreesar! I mean your tribe… would they make peace?"

"The pack has no quarrel with the little people." Martine heard a scuffling in the straw, and then the dog-man slid into the light.

"If I give you the chance, can you convince your peopleyour pack-to make peace?" Martine squatted down to look Krote in the eyes.

"What do you want, female?" the gnoll growled. "Will you?"

'Me price is my freedom," the shaman insisted. "Only if they agree," Martine countered. "Well?"

Krote licked his chops. "I will try. They may not listen to me."

"Good enough. Now slide to the back again." Despite the gnoll's promise, the Harper didn't trust him completely. As Krote crouched at the pen's far wall, Martine cut the ropes that bound the door shut. Once the door opened, she signaled him out and then followed the stooped gnoll through the halls.

The pair retraced her path through the windowless corridors to the room where Jazrac waited. Krote bared his fangs at the gnomish women they passed along the way, taking delight in the way they shrank in terror against the passage walls.

"Jazrac, I need you," Martine called from outside the door. "Now," she added when the wizard did not respond immediately.

The door clattered open and the Harper wizard came out, tidying his disheveled clothing in a weak attempt to regain some smattering of his dignity. He paused, hands hovering over his doublet, when he saw Krote. "What's he doing here?"

"I've got an idea," was all Martine said. She was still angry with the wizard, uncomfortable even talking to him. Most of all, though, she couldn't abide the thought that he might criticize what she intended to do. "You said Harpers should fix things. Well, I'm going to fix something." She motioned Krote and Jazrac down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Jazrac asked as he fell in beside her.

"To the council chamber. I'm guessing that's where Sumalo and the others are-making plans."

When they approached the council halt, the somber tone of voices inside confirmed Martine's guess. On entering the outer chamber, where the dance had been held, the three passed through a silent crowd. Wives of council members and some older gnomish children were clustered near the council doors, trying to catch every word of what was said inside. Around them orbited the smaller children, who didn't really understand what had happened but sensed its importance from the reaction of their elders.

Now the Harper herself could hear the grim litany that echoed from inside.

"Burl?"

"He's hurt but he made it back." "And Heikko?"

"I think he fell at the gnolls' camp." "That makes seventeen." "Ojakangas?"

"He's helping to guard the south gate."

Martine pushed into the edge of the crowd blocking the door, with Krote and Jazrac following. A ripple of alarm spread through the crowd, and the gnomes parted like water before them. The women eyed Krote with fear, but their expressions changed to hostile scowls when they saw Jazrac. Stories of his role in the massacre were no doubt among the whispers that they passed from ear to ear.

The commotion at the door alerted those inside of their arrival. The hall, always before well filled with elders, was half empty, particularly the upper tiers. Those who were present sat near Sumalo's chair, where the priest was carefully making notes on a birchbark scroll. All work stopped the instant Martine guided Krote into the hall.

"What are they doing here?" Jouka demanded of Sumalo, as if the priest had something to do with Martine's arrival. The priest set his quill aside. "Harpers, you were not summoned here," he said sternly, "and you are not welcome. It's because of you and your plots that I must add these names to the record of the dead." The whitebeards

around the priest loudly grumbled their agreement

"It's because of him!" Jouka cried accusingly, spying Jazrac- The gnome hopped down from the bench and stood with hands on hips. "Where were you during the battle, wizard? Where was your magic? My brother and friends died because of-"

"Elder Sumalo, I ask permission to speak," Martine asked, trying to prevent the meeting from becoming a shouting match.

"-because of you, you craven-"

"Elder Sumalo, please!" Martine persisted.

Thump! The speaker's rod banged on the hollow bench. "Jouka Tunkelo! Hold for a moment!" The force of Sumalo's words silenced the gnome, though he remained rooted to the spot, glaring at Jazrac.

"Martine of Sembia, what do you have to say to us?" Martine prodded Krote, and the gnoll moved stiffly to one side. The shaman's lips curled with a slight trace of a fanged smile as he listened to the squabbling among his enemies.

"I have a plan to stop the fighting and get Vreesar out of the valley," the woman began as she stepped into the center of the hall.

"What is it, human?" Jouka sneered. "Are you and the brave wizard there going to kill this fiend yourselves?" Martine turned stiffly to face the belligerent gnome. "No… I'm going to give him this." From her pocket, she pulled out jazrac's stone and held it up for the gnomes to see. "This is the stone Vreesar wanted."

"Martine, you can't!" Jazrac blurted in alarm as he stepped forward to try and reclaim the stone.

The ranger snatched her hand back. "I can and will, jazrac. Harpers have a duty to solve problems, not let others do it for them."

"But that thing will reopen the gate! What happens to these people then?

Sumalo and the others shifted uneasily when they heard this news.