"A cateran enforcer," hissed Atalla, scrambling up beside Gerrard. "They're the meanest mercenaries the Mercadians have. I'm getting out of here. You should too. Your folk are all free."

"Thanks ki-Atalla. I owe you one." Gerrard cupped his hands and shouted, "Scatter!"

Only too happily, most of the crew obliged. Only Karn remained, dancing with his giant, and Tahngarth, who strode up beside Gerrard.

"It has four arms, so I thought we should as well," the minotaur said.

Gerrard smiled grimly as the thing came on. "You could never resist a fight."

"Not when I have a good striva." Tahngarth lifted the curved blade overhead just as the cateran reached them.

It hurled itself hungrily atop the pair.

Tahngarth thrust the striva into the beast's belly. Metal clanged uselessly on the creature's hide. The blade that had severed iron could not penetrate that skin.

Gerrard meanwhile rammed his trident into the thing's fangs. It bit down, severing the prongs and swallowing them.

This was going badly.

In one clawed hand, the beast clutched Gerrard's head, and in the other, Tahngarth's. Its grip was implacably strong. Barbed arms entrapped them. There was no escape. Fangy jaws ratcheted wide. The beast shoved Gerrard's head toward its gullet as though his skull were a melon. It sank its teeth past the tough exterior and into red pulp and reared back. Its mouth was full of crimson chunks and seeds Seeds?

Squee hauled back the other half of the melon he had rammed in the thing's mouth. He shoved the ruined fruit in the cateran's eyes.

Enraged, the blinded beast dropped Gerrard and Tahngarth to rake pulp from its face. It roared, melon spewing in a red shower from its jaws.

"Squee!" Gerrard shouted, startled, "I thought I told you to scatter-"

"-I'm glad, for once, he didn't listen," Tahngarth panted, crouching to receive the beast's next attack.

The cateran scraped the last seeds from his face and lunged again.

"Squee shoulda listened," the little goblin shrieked as the thing launched at him. He closed his eyes, cringing back from death. Any moment, fangs and claws and barbs would descend and rip him to pieces. There would be nothing left of Squee but hunks of meat, which the merchants would probably skewer and cook and sell… Yes, once this beast fell on him, he'd be done for. That would be the end of the story for Squee. A short life, over too soon… he rather wished the beast would get on with the killing part. The suspense was getting monotonous.

Squee opened his eyes to see something altogether unexpected. The cateran had stopped midlunge and fallen to its scabby knees. It looked up beseechingly at Squee. The goblin's incredulity was mirrored on the faces of Gerrard and Tahngarth.

Through jagged fangs, the cateran pleaded, "Forgive me, Master."

Squee looked over his shoulder to see who the beast addressed.

"He's talking to you, Squee," Gerrard hissed nervously.

Squee splayed a hand on his chest and mouthed, "To… Squee?"

Gerrard only nodded.

"I did not realize a Kyren sponsored these… worthies. I did not realize these were your friends."

Squee considered, folding arms over his chest and frowning disapprovingly. "Well, dey are! How 'bout dat!"

"I was only following orders," the beast buzzed out, still kowtowing. "Of course, my master was not Kyren. Your rank exceeds his. What are your orders, Master?"

Gerrard nodded encouragement to the goblin, his eyebrows lifted. "Yes, Master Squee. What are your orders?"

Tahngarth released a groan. "Your orders… Master?"

A broad smile on his face, Squee took a deep breath. "Yes. Orders. Master Squee's orders…"

"Yes…"

"Dance with dat giant," Squee said. "Karn's bushed. We're gonna go get something ta drink."

"Yes, Master."

There was no difficulty sneaking away after that. Even the reinforcement troops that arrived seemed to see nothing except the dance stylings of the cateran and the giant.

For a day and a night, Weatherlight's crew hid out in the great city of Mercadia. All had procured Mercadian clothes, the better to blend with the crowd. Only Karn remained in his native garb of silver-though he kept to the back alleys, Squee running interference for him. As a Kyren-that is, a goblinSquee had special rights and privileges in the city, though Gerrard still did not understand why. In time, Squee secured discreet lodgings for him and the other bridge crew members.

The streets outside buzzed with talk of the foreign warriors who had marched into the city, defeated five hundredno, a thousand-of the city guards, fought off twenty giants, and killed a whole band of cateran enforcers. Tavern talk made them outlaw heroes, striking out against oppression. Garrison talk made them simply outlaws, but their names were mentioned only in tremulous whispers.

"Legendary Gerrard, giant killer!"

The legend of Gerrard and his band reached a fevered pitch by next afternoon. It was time to enact his plan.

Gerrard and Takara climbed the white limestone stairs of the Magistrate's Tower-the opulent building at the center of Mercadia. In this city of trade, Gerrard had heard that any citizen who had a worthwhile bargain could approach the chief magistrate. Of course, if the deal was found wanting, the citizen would probably not be found again at all. Gerrard and Takara would take that chance. The outlaws had in mind an impressive bargain.

They climbed the tower steps, which wound around the outside of the structure without a rail to guide them. Gerrard felt increasingly dizzy as the streets of Mercadia opened out below. Beyond the edge of the city, he could see forever. Far away, probably fifty miles distant, was a blurred line of yellow.

Gerrard called Takara's attention to it. "What is that?"

"The Outer Sea, I imagine," she said.

They passed a number of landings with doors into the tower. A steady stream of people were also climbing up and down the stairs, passing in and out of the various openings. None paid the slightest attention to Gerrard and Takara. Surprisingly, there was little wind. Sweat beaded on both humans' faces as they climbed.

At last, at the very top of the tower, when only the endless sky beckoned above them, the stairs bent inward in a large landing. Its rail was inlaid with dark marble and polished stones in elaborate patterns. The side of the tower was pierced by a tall wooden door framed in elaborately wrought metal.

"This is it. The audience chamber."

Gerrard pushed hard. The door swung back to reveal a dark, narrow opening. Gerrard and Takara passed through. They traveled down a short hallway hung with tapestries and decorated with mosaics, and entered a large circular chamber.

The ceiling was an open skylight through which the bright morning sun shone. A circle of pillars lined the edges of the room. In the very center was a small platform. On it rested a chair, carved of ivory, where sat the Chief Magistrate of Mercadia.

He was short and fat, with dimpled cheeks and thinning blond hair plastered against his scalp. His robes were yellow, trimmed with scarlet. They clung closely to the rolls of fat that cascaded from his chin to his waist. Indeed, Gerrard could never remember having seen so fat a man. His flesh seemed to drip from his body, and his six chins quivered and shook. His fingers were thick and stubby, and Gerrard noticed with a flash of surprise that the nails were manifestly dirty. His mouth was a round, pursed splash of red, and his face was liberally coated with rouge and powder. A foul smell arose from him, as if he had not bathed in several weeks. It melded with the thick scent of incense that pervaded the chamber. About the magistrate's stout shoulders hung a heavy gold chain. Each of its links was a tiny casket. He rested his pudgy hands on his stomach and watched through small, piggish eyes as the visitors entered.