The captain ordered his men to ignore Kifflewit's taunts. "No kender could kill a bugbear," he scoffed.
"Except this kender had a magic dagger," Kifflewit rejoined. "It was terrific! I didn't even have to hold on to it. It knew the bugbear wanted to hurt me, so it flew across the clearing, smack into the creature! Then it flew right back to me! Isn't that splendid? Want to see it?"
"It's possible," a guard ventured. "We found no weapon."
Kifflewit giggled, leaning even farther over the walk shy;way. "You overpaid losers!" he taunted. "What? Did Hederick get you at a group discount? Cheaper by the dozen? Or do you pay him, so you can pretend you have a job?"
The men began to grumble. This same kender had caused them a bundle of trouble earlier in the night. He'd gotten away before, purely by luck. He dared to ridicule them now?
"Come down here, kender," the captain commanded.
"Ah, no," Kifflewit said, snickering. "I do believe I have an appointment elsewhere. I can't wait to tell my friends how one little kender outwitted two dozen Seeker guards. My, what a good story that will be! Bye-bye, ladies! Don't muss your petticoats during your search!" He waved again happily and scooted off down the walkway.
"Ladies?" the captain exploded.
In an instant, the guards went howling after the kender. Moments later, Tarscenian and Mynx were alone amid the silent ferns. The old man rose stiffly to his feet and found Mynx already upright. "That kender," she said, shaking her head. "I owe him one."
"He's a tough little rascal," Tarscenian concluded softly. "Maybe you and Gaveley ought to recruit him."
Mynx took Tarscenian's hand. "Come on," she said. "We still have a way to go."
Tarscenian started to protest, then found himself pulled down the path. Although the night's activities had left him virtually exhausted, he did his best to keep up with the agile thief.
At long last Mynx stopped. She swung under the low-hanging branches of a thick pine tree and disappeared. Tarscenian dropped to his knees and followed, cursing when a pine needle drove into his shin like a porcupine quill.
There was no sign of the thief.
Then a hand grasped his in the dark. Tarscenian pitched into nothingness, dropped a short distance, and landed with a bone-jarring thump on packed earth. "What in-" he complained. "Now what?"
"I have to say, physical grace is not one of your talents, Tarscenian."
He bit off his reply.
"Follow me, old man."
"Where-?"
"Don't ask questions." A strong hand grasped his again. "Crawl."
He did as Mynx ordered. He was in a tunnel, that much was certain. Every few moments his back grazed a rock or root overhead. Then suddenly he sensed that the space had opened up around him. Mynx whispered, "You may be able to get to your feet now. But be careful."
He could stand up-as long as he bent at the waist. But after creeping along on his hands and knees for so long, half-standing didn't feel half-bad. Mynx hurried him along the tunnel, which curved every few paces. "Who dug this tunnel?" he muttered. "A bunch of drunken dwarves?"
"Not a bad guess," Mynx whispered, chuckling. "It was abandoned when I found it. I cleaned it out and shored it up."
"Where are-?"
Mynx pulled him forward and placed his hand on the rung of a ladder. He could tell by the air that they weren't exactly underground anymore, but where were they? Tarscenian took a deep breath. "Wood?"
His fingers grazed something rough and crumbly. He broke off a piece and sniffed. "Oak?" he murmured. He stood cautiously and began to climb. The ladder curved to the right as it led upward. "We're inside a tree?"
"Of course. This is Solace, remember?" Mynx mut shy;tered, climbing ahead of him in the dark. "Or near enough."
She had halted and seemed to be fumbling with something. A moment later a trapdoor swung open before them. Enough moonlight seeped through a lone curtained window that Tarscenian could make out a chair with a skirt and shirt flung across the back, a mat shy;tress, and a small table with a lantern, three dirty plates, and a half-dozen tiny ceramic vials strewn on it. The furniture occupied most of the floor space in the tiny hollowed-out tree-home.
Mynx kicked her sandals off, nudging them under the table. "Sit," she ordered, removing the clothing from the chair and dropping it on the floor. "I'll be right back. Don't light the lantern." She ducked under a curtain in a second doorway.
Tarscenian ignored the proffered chair and stepped across rough-hewn floorboards littered with pine needles. He peeped through the curtained window. Mynx's minuscule home perched in the branches of a burr oak. Thick pines dotted the landscape. Whether he and Mynx were south, north, or east of Solace, he could not have said. By the Old Gods, I need some rest, he thought.
"May I help you?"
Startled, Tarscenian let the curtain drop and faced the lilting new voice. A blond woman stood in the doorway. She wore chain mail leggings, patched leather armor, and knee-high boots with steel cladding up the front. A tight helm framed her face; the visor was up. He saw ashen hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes, full lips.
"Excuse me," he stammered. "Mynx brought me. ." He paused. "Rather …" He stopped again. He realized he'd rather be facing the bugbear again than be in this situation. "It's not what you …"
"Mynx?" the woman asked. "Who is Mynx?" She regarded him with a bewildered look. "And what are you doing in my house?"
What trick had Mynx played on him? Obviously she'd abandoned him, but what was her objective? The blond woman wore warrior's garb-was he being held pris shy;oner, then? Never trust a thief, he thought.
He drew his sword.
The woman laughed, pulling off her helmet. Straight blond hair spilled to her shoulders. "Whoever you are, I'm glad you're here," she said merrily. "It's been an age since I've had a man here." She ran her fingers through her ashen hair and smiled.
That gesture.
"Mynx!" Tarscenian shouted. "May the Old Gods damn you to fourteen kinds of Abyss!"
Mynx chuckled. The chuckle became snorts, then helpless guffaws. She dropped into the chair, eyes streaming with tears, while the old man raged.
"Put your sword away, Tarscenian," she finally man shy;aged to say between chortles. "You might decapitate me, and what good would I be to you then?"
He regained control with difficulty. "I see now how you maintained such a tight friendship with a kender," he snapped.
The laughter died away, Tarscenian instantly regret shy;ting his words. But after Mynx wiped away the last tears, she assumed a businesslike tone. "You're under a death sentence," she told him. "You need a disguise, and if I'm going to spend any time with you, so do I. Obviously, this one will do for me, but you …"
She plucked a wooden box from under the table, opening it. Inside Tarscenian found more vials of the type that littered the table, plus a straight-edge razor, a brush, a chunk of brown soap, and dozens of items Tarscenian couldn't identify. She stood and motioned Tarscenian into the chair.
His joints cried out as he sat down despite his better judgment. "What do you propose?" he snapped. "How do you plan to hide a six-foot-tall bald man with a beard?"
She smiled at his mulish tone. "First of all, the beard has to go."
He tried to jump to his feet, but Mynx's hands were firm on his shoulders. "Never!" he shouted. "I've had this beard for fifty …"
"Then it's high time for a change. Besides," she added with a wicked grin, "where else will we get the hair for your wig? Now sit still."
"Pushy as a … as a bugbear," he muttered. "You remind me of Ancilla at times."
"Who?"