Chapter Four

"What am I doing?" Kirah heard Guerrand mumble. Yes, what on Krynn was Guerrand doing, she wondered from her hiding place behind a haystack in the stable. It was all very mysterious. Why was Guerrand, who didn't even like horses, saddling one in the middle of the night?

Guerrand had seemed unusually distant this afternoon. Though they weren't exactly speaking, she'd watched him through the tunnels, seen that he'd gone to the village that afternoon to retrieve a trinket for his bride. Hoping that there was still a chance she could talk him into running away, she'd hidden in the tunnel outside his room earlier. She'd been trying to screw up the courage to go in and make peace with him, when he had launched into a very mysterious sequence of activities.

First, he donned his leather and mail armor, then, apparently changing his mind, took it off again, very thoughtfully. Next he pulled on a baggy tunic and trousers and a pair of stiff, high boots. Dressed, he recited some quick prayers to Habbakuk, took his sword and dagger down from the wall, and slipped out the door.

Intrigued, Kirah had followed him, creeping around in darkened corners, slipping silently down the staircase after him. The keep was dimly lit, everyone else asleep, or at least retired for the night. She'd been more than a little surprised to find that the stable was his destination. Now Kirah settled back to watch her brother struggle the headstall of a bridle over the horse's head and set the bit in its mouth.

"I must be crazy," Guerrand growled to himself, "but what else can I do?" With a soul-felt grunt, he tossed the saddle over the roan's back. Once the saddle was cinched in place, he hung a small, round shield from the pommel and buckled on his swordbelt and dagger.

The sword looked as proper on Guerrand as a third arm, mused Kirah. Her brother was no knight, despite his best efforts and Cormac's insistence. Where in the Abyss was he going in the middle of the night with weapons? Worse still, how was she to follow with him on horseback? Kirah was puzzling through that while Guerrand put the finishing touches on his gear and then swung lightly up onto the horse.

Suddenly Guerrand fell still in the saddle. His eyes misted over and closed gently. Grasping his right eyelashes between thumb and forefinger, he gave a tug. Guerrand pulled from his pouch a sticky wad of gum into which he pressed the eyelashes. The young girl's heart constricted. She alone in Castle DiThon, save Zagarus the sea gull, recognized when Guerrand was about to cast a spell. She had no idea what it would be, but if the spell took him away from the stables, she might never know.

Watching her brother closely, guessing when he'd progressed too far to halt the spell, Kirah silently sprang from her place behind the bales and launched herself onto the rump of the startled horse. Guerrand and the horse beneath them both disappeared from her sight, though she could feel them. Looking for her own arms, she realized she couldn't see herself, either!

"What-who's there?" squealed a startled Guerrand.

Before Kirah could respond, she became disoriented and nearly toppled from the horse. Her spindly young arms flailed and finally latched around Guerrand's waist.

"Kirah?" he demanded. "In the name of Habbakuk, what are you doing here?"

For once in her young life, Kirah didn't know how to answer. She'd never heard Guerrand sound so angry. "I-I'm sorry, Rand. I didn't mean to startle you," she said as meekly as she was capable. "I was worried about you and was simply trying to find out what you 're doing."

"Don't use that innocent, little-lost-girl tone on me," Guerrand snarled. "You have no idea what you may have done by interrupting me."

"Then why don't you just tell me. Where are you going? Why the invisibility spell?"

"I should dump you off here," Guerrand muttered, ignoring her questions. He shifted in the saddle. "In fact I think I'll do just that. It would serve you right."

"If you do, I'll tell the entire keep you turned yourself invisible and ran off into the night!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Guerrand gasped. He thought it unlikely Kirah would betray him, and yet she was willful enough to suggest the blackmail. Guerrand twisted around painfully to look in the direction of her voice, though he couldn't see her, either. "Someone should have spanked you years ago, Kirah."

"They tried. It didn't help." Kirah's voice had regained its normal lilt, edged with smugness. "So, are you going to tell me what you're up to or not?"

Frustration burned behind his eyes. He'd slipped away without telling Zagarus of his plans, because he knew the bird would somehow let them slip to Kirah. And here he still had to deal with his wayward sister. He loved Kirah too well to just dump her, unprotected, in the dark and run, though he was annoyed enough with her to do just that. She deserved worse. The snoopy little scamp deserved to be dipped in honey and tied to a tree. She had no idea how she was wasting precious time and fouling up his plans. Yet, she could be reasoned with. Perhaps if she knew what she was ruining, she'd see the wisdom of returning quietly.

"Please, Kirah, don't ask any more questions," he pleaded softly. "For once, just do as I ask and go home."

"You're up to something strange, Guerrand DiThon, and I intend to know what it is." Kirah locked her spindly arms more tightly around his waist.

Guerrand laughed, despite himself. "I wish I could stay angry with you. You give me ample opportunity." He fell serious. "I want to get away from the castle before anyone else overhears us. I'll tell you then." With that, Guerrand spurred his roan out of the stable and into the moonlit night, holding fast to the reins.

Kirah clutched her brother's waist and snuggled her face into the soft fabric of the tunic on his back. She was delighted with herself, thrilled with the adventure of the moment. Solinari was nearly full, but hidden behind thin clouds that glowed a ghostly blue-black where the bright orb tried to shine through them. The crashing sea and the horse's hooves created a thrilling rhythm as they galloped away from the darkened castle and across the damp, earthy moor.

Guerrand abruptly pulled the horse to a dead stop and without preamble announced, "I'm going to find the men who killed Quinn."

Kirah gasped. "How?"

Guerrand reached into the cuff of his gauntlet and a small fragment of mirror simply appeared before him, as if suspended in air.

"What's that?" she breathed.

"Someone in the village gave me this mirror. It can reveal the location of Quinn's slayers," he explained vaguely.

"Someone?" she repeated with a squeal. "Who in Thonvil would have anything magical, let alone a mirror that knows the whereabouts of Quinn's killers? That just doesn't make sense, Rand."

Guerrand sighed heavily. Obviously Kirah wasn't going to let him off easily. "He was a mage, a stranger here, but he seemed genuine. His spells were incredible-" Guerrand quieted abruptly. Belize had warned him to tell no one of their discussion about leaving for the Tower of High Sorcery. For Kirah's sake, he would mention nothing of that. Besides, he knew it would only get her talking again about running away.

"So what was a mage doing in Thonvil? And why did he give this mirror to you instead of Cormac?"

"I suspect that he tried, but you know Cormac and magic." Guerrand found himself thinking again about the argument between Belize and Cormac, about the timing. They hadn't learned yet of Quinn's death. Belize and Cormac couldn't have been speaking about that, then. Kirah's chatter pulled him away from his musings.

"How do you know the mirror can do what he says? Maybe this mage is just trying to get you into trouble by sending you on a merry chase."