The Dom-shu looked sunburned and weary. Beside her was a man of middle years, wearing a dusty, faded crimson robe. His hands were bound in front of him, with Kiya holding a rope attached to his bonds. Behind them stretched a long, straggling column comprising a couple hundred armed humans and a substantial sprinkling of kender. The procession was indeed headed by two brawny, sweat-slicked men bearing on their shoulders an elaborate sedan chair of cedar and gold. A tiny figure sat in the chair. As the runner had said, the figure appeared to be carved from dark hardwood, weathered by long exposure to sun, wind, and rain. It was draped in shiny purple cloth.

Kiya hailed Tylocost. “By the gods, I never thought I’d be glad to see your face again!” she said.

“And you smell as delightfully as I remember,” the elf retorted. “What is this menagerie, woman?”

“What Husband requested. This is the army of Hylo-and may Corij have mercy on us all!”

She jerked the rope and brought her prisoner forward.

“This fellow claims to be Helbin, chief of the Red Robe wizards in Daltigoth, but will say no more about his business. He’s certainly a wizard all right, so watch him.”

“I demand to be taken to Lord Tolandruth,” Helbin said irritably.

Ignoring the wizard for now, Tylocost asked Kiya, “What is that peculiar fetish at the head of your army? It’s hideous!”

Kiya looked blank. “Fetish?” The truth dawned on her, and she threw back her head and laughed. “Come. I’ll introduce you!”

When they drew nearer, they could hear a faint rasping coming from the figure.

“It’s alive!” Zala exclaimed.

“Very.” Kiya rapped a fist against the chair rail. “Your Majesty! You have visitors!”

The wizened doll opened one eye. “Hmm? Is it noon already?”

“May I present Queen Casberry of Hylo,” Kiya said. “Your Majesty, this is the famous general from Silvanost, Janissiron Tylocostathan, known as Tylocost.”

Casberry leaned forward, staring hard at the elf. “Whew!” she exclaimed. “How did you survive such a beating? What a face they left you with!”

Her bluntness made Zala blink. The elf replied genially, “Bold words indeed from a carved totem.” He bowed in the best courtly Silvanesti fashion. “Your Majesty is a tribute to her embalmer.” It was clear these two were not going to get along.

Kiya explained they had gone first to Juramona, but learned Tol had moved on. They had been following the track of Tylocost’s column, knowing it would lead them to Tol eventually.

Queen Casberry wanted breakfast. The little group made their way to the center of the former nomad camp, where Tylocost’s men had kindled a cookfire. Kiya, still leading the sullen Helbin, asked Zala about Tol. The half-elf reported she hadn’t seen him for some days now.

“That must have been quite a fight at Juramona,” Kiya said.

Zala’s memory echoed with screams, and the remembered scent of blood caused her to shudder. To her surprise, the stoical Dom-shu woman gave her back a consoling pat.

“Things happen around Husband. They always have.” Rubbing her hands together, Kiya added, “I’m starving! How about you, wizard?”

The three of them joined the others at the cookfire, where the Ergothians were dishing up boiled bacon and bean porridge left behind by the defeated nomads.

After breakfast, the balance of the day was spent repairing the stockade and sorting through the arms they’d discovered. Once the presence of treasure was discovered by Gasberry and her troops, the number of kender in camp began to decline rapidly. The treasure piles also underwent a reduction. Despite Tylocost’s alert guards, the gemstones and trinkets weren’t safe, and entire kegs vanished. By sundown, the Royal Loyal Militia was down to half its original strength.

Gathered again at the cookfire for supper, Kiya demanded that Casberry stop her people from stealing.

“Kender don’t steal,” Casberry said quite seriously. “That’s a great lie spread about my people wherever they go.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Tylocost said dryly.

In addition to a purple silk gown and a short leather vest dyed brilliant scarlet, the queen now wore a golden circlet. It was the first badge of office Kiya had seen her wear, and she wondered which pile of Ergothian loot had yielded the delicate crown.

While the others debated the reputation of kender, Zala slipped away. She wandered through the covered piles of booty, with no particular goal in mind, and came upon Helbin. Kiya had picketed him, very like a horse, away from the campfire, so the mysterious wizard couldn’t overhear their plans for the coming days. Two spearmen had been left to guard him, but they stood at a wary distance. The wizard sat on an overturned keg, his hands bound, seemingly lost in gloomy thoughts.

Noticing her, Helbin rose. Zala mumbled an apology for disturbing him and backed away.

“Please, don’t go. You’re not unknown to me. You’re called Zala, yes?” She kept going, and he called desperately, “We have something in common. Release me and I’ll tell you what it is.”

She laughed. “That ruse is older than both of us!”

Zala was about to vanish around a pile of loot when Helbin blurted, “You and I owe allegiance to the same master! Or, I should say, the same mistress? The Lady of the Books.”

She hesitated. Pressing his advantage, the wizard said, “I know you are Zala Half-Elven. It was I who searched the hunting fraternity for a skilled female tracker and found your name. I recommended you to her in the first place.”

“What was my charge?”

“To find Lord Tolandruth and bring him back to Daltigoth.”

That was not good enough, and Zala told him so. That information was common knowledge now, among the Juramona Militia.

“I also know your human father is held hostage to your success. He’s a prisoner in Caergoth.”

The mention of her father sent anger flooding through Zala. She drew her sword. The wizard recoiled as she put the sword tip under his chin and demanded to know what he was up to.

“We’re on the same side!” Helbin insisted. “Set me free! I cannot work bound up like this. Dire things may happen if I am not free!”

“If you’re such a high sorcerer, why don’t you hex the cords from your hands?”

Helbin grimaced. “I am not a sorcerer. I am a wizard of the Red Robes.” Such distinctions obviously mattered little to her, so he added, “I need to move my hands in order to perform conjurations-”

She dropped the point of her sword to his chest. “Is my father safe?” she asked, voice husky with fear.

“He lives. He’s held by the governor of Caergoth, Lord Wornoth.”

“What is your purpose here? Speak true, or I’ll cut your throat!”

“Our lady has sworn me to silence. I may speak only to Lord Tolandruth!”

He seemed genuinely distressed, but that meant nothing. City folk were like that, Zala knew. They lied as easily as they breathed.

“If you kill me, all we have fought for will be lost!” Helbin announced.

“And what exactly are ‘we’ fighting for?”

Zala flinched hard at the unexpected voice behind her. Her sword point pierced Helbin’s silk robe, and he yelped.

Tol had just emerged from behind a pile of treasure. Arrayed behind him were Kiya, Tylocost, Queen Casberry, and a sextet of warriors.

“So, Master Helbin,” Tol said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”