He jumped as two Forest men swept a sheet of woven bark past his head. Our sura was being reclaimed as we spoke. We moved to one side and left them to it.

“Rusia says that Ravin will be able to hide them from any pursuit,” I said suddenly. “How about we test that?”

Usara looked blank for a moment. “How?”

“We let them go off, let them get a few chimes ahead, then see if we can track them.” I was hard put to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“They’re going to have far more woodcraft—” began the mage.

“We grew up spending half the year tracking fur animals through thicker woods than this,” interrupted ’Gren, scornfully.

I could see the wizard was still looking doubtful and that Sorgrad was thinking the same as me. “We will try our best, you know. We won’t just lose them because we want it to be true!” Usara tried to look surprised but his fair color betrayed him with a blush of red.

“You’ll be trying to scry for them, won’t you?” Sorgrad was looking amused at something I was missing. “Artifice can hide from elemental magic, can’t it?”

Usara looked at him sharply. “It has seemed so.”

“Then put your money where your mouth is, mage,” Sorgrad said softly. “You wanted a test, let’s make one.”

I could see Usara was still looking for some trick or deception. “You’ve got to trust us sometime,” I pointed out. “You got close enough to Orial to be able to scry for her, didn’t you?”

Usara threw up his hands. “Very well. Let’s see where this takes us.”

I didn’t trust myself to talk to him for a while so busied myself helping the Folk dismantle their camp. ’Gren slipped away to bid some tactful farewells and I saw Sorgrad in seemingly casual conversation with Frue.

“Did you make our thank you?” I asked when he returned to my side. I wiped some sweat from my face with a rope-scorched hand.

He nodded. “Frue’s going to share out our cut of the meat and he said to tell you he was grateful for the new songs, or rather the ancient ones.”

We stood and waited in the middle of the trampled glade and watched as the Folk melted into the forest, leaving us and our donkey and a pile of baggage. I felt a pang I didn’t want to examine too closely. I wanted them to be my kin, but then again I didn’t. And wanting wouldn’t make it so, in any case. I didn’t belong here, any more than I belonged in Vanam. So it was up to me to make my own place, wasn’t it? With Ryshad, and that meant showing these skeptical wizards that I had found something worth solid coin. My spirits rose as I realized the song various voices were raising as the Folk moved away was a tale of Seris evading pursuit by Mazir. That was in my book and it had the jalquezan in every second verse.

“How about a hand or so of runes, to pass the time while we wait?” I took the bones from my pocket and sat down. By the time I’d taken all Usara’s small coin off him and what remained of Sorgrad’s loot from the raiders, the sun had slipped down to skirt the edge of the treetops.

“Now Livak’s got everything she wanted, how about we try to follow those Folk,” suggested Sorgrad with a grin.

“I’m game!” ’Gren sprang to his feet and began quartering the edges of the glade.

“We know they went in that direction,” pointed out Usara apologetically.

’Gren ignored him. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it properly,” Sorgrad said firmly.

“I’ve some tracking skills of my own,” I told the wizard. “You come last with the donkey so as not to foul the ground.”

“Right, we have hoof prints plain enough here,” called ’Gren. “Let’s see how far they go.”

The trail was plain enough and the brothers followed it with close attention. We moved steadily and silently, the two of them a way ahead, bending over scuffmarks, noting crashed flowers, bent twigs. I checked the sun and worked out we were bearing north and west. We’d be reaching the river soon, I judged. Usara walked behind me, idly plucking leaves from bushes and offering them to the donkey who mumbled them before letting the pieces fall to the damp earth.

’Gren and Sorgrad slowed and stopped, conferring in low voices. Separating, they cast about like hounds after a scent and after a while came back to Usara and me.

“Lost them,” said ’Gren baldly. “The trail’s been getting fainter and fainter and now it’s given out altogether.”

“Doesn’t that happen anyway, if someone is being careful to avoid pursuit?” asked Usara, choosing his words with care.

Sorgrad stepped forward and pressed his boot into a mossy patch. “On stony ground, on hard mud, maybe even on thick litter, if you’re very careful. Not on this terrain.”

“And we can track mice over a scree, if we put our minds to it,” added ’Gren with a hint of menace.

We looked at the deep imprint of Sorgrad’s foot and then at the soft, unmarked ground all around. “They were singing ‘The ballad of Mazir’s Search,’ ” I pointed out to the mage. “I can find that in the book, if you want to read it.”

Usara nodded. “Very well. Then let’s see if my magic can do any better than your woodcraft.”

I held my tongue and ’Gren and Sorgrad exchanged an amused glance. Usara dripped green magelight from one negligent hand and the boot print in the moss filled with water. Usara knelt, bending closer with a faint frown. ’Gren, uninterested, pulled up grass for the donkey, stroking its velvety nose. I watched Sorgrad, whose expression was a singular mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Birdsong fluted around and about as the creatures of the woods went about their business, unbothered by our arcane concerns.

I restrained my impatience with a firm hand. Usara had to come to this conclusion on his own, unhurried and unprompted, or he’d never acknowledge it wasn’t his own. I shoved my hands in my breeches pockets and fingered my rune bones. Sorgrad winked at me when I looked away, in case my gaze scorched the back of the mage’s neck. I stifled a laugh.

“I can’t scry them.” Usara sounded genuinely astounded. “I can find absolutely no trace!”

I bit my tongue.

“What else could explain that, other than Artifice?” asked Sorgrad in a neutral tone.

“At this distance, over this time, given the time we’ve spent with them—” Usara rubbed a thoughtful hand over his mouth. “You know, I really can’t think of anything.”

The arrogance that had these wizards thinking they could never be wrong was a coin with two sides, wasn’t it? I released my breath slowly. “So now you believe me?”

“I think you’ve an argument worth further consideration,” the mage admitted.

“So, what do we do now?” ’Gren had wandered back to us. He grinned. “You’re prepared to admit these Folk have some Artifice, but now we’ve gone and lost them. Do we go looking for another gang of them?”

“I’ll grant the Folk look to have real Artifice but there’s still no clear lore or anything we could put to immediate use,” frowned Usara.

“What about the song book?” I objected.

“Sing me something, make it work,” challenged Usara. “Do you believe it wholeheartedly enough to harness the aetheric influence? Show me how to explain it to Planir, to the scholars studying with Guinalle. Show me how to use it against the Elietimm!”

“Sheltya could,” suggested ’Gren obligingly.

“What?” Usara and I spoke as one, rounding on the Mountain Man who smiled cheerfully.

“That’s why you wanted to go into the uplands, isn’t it? To ask Sheltya’s help?” ’Gren looked at his brother, faint puzzlement wrinkling his brow.

“What is it you haven’t told us?” demanded Usara.

I stepped between him and Sorgrad. The only person who was going to take that tone with him was me. “Who or what is Sheltya? I’ve never heard the word before.”

Sorgrad’s face was a blank parchment, nothing to be read. “They hold the sagas and the histories of the mountains. If any Anyatimm know of aetheric magic, it’ll be Sheltya. Those Solurans straightening Halice’s leg after her breaking her thigh, even when it was half a year healed, that’s the kind of thing Sheltya are said to do.”