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"Gently," Sarasper's rasping voice reproved him, as if Craer were a disobedient but indulged dog. "Gently!" Treated like an unwelcome wyrm? Be then an unwelcome wyrm.

Craer growled like one of the yipping perfumed and beribboned lap-dogs the Baroness Rildra so doted on, of ankle-shredding acquaintance three baronial castles back. At least he'd had the satisfaction of shaking one persistent boot-gnawing creature out a window into the moat below, under the carefully unseeing gazes of two smirking guards. What attraction even silly baronesses saw in such-

"Anything amiss, Swiftfingers?" Hawkril murmured.

Craer snorted. "An army could be tramping along beside us, hewing down trees to clear a road for their passage, and I'd hear them not." He peered ahead all the harder, as if his eyes were torches that could sear through ever-dancing leaves.

"Pray silence for the eminent Overduke Delnbone," Sarasper intoned. "Trees, attend! Winds, bow down!"

A wordless but decidedly rude sound was Craer's only reply. They were at least another day's ride away from the next baron-where once again Embra would work Dwaerindim-seeking magic from the privacy of whatever chambers they were given, whilst Hawkril stood watchful guard over her, Craer made oh-so-clever talk with stewards and guardcaptains and seneschals, and Sarasper used his spells to ward away the harm of all poisons and venoms offered to the Four in their food and flagons.

So far, they'd failed to find the missing Dwaer-and survived two poisonings, choosing to smilingly ignore the attempts to slay rather than confront their hosts.

"We're not managing much more than to make ourselves more widely disliked and offer ourselves as ready targets, are we?" Sarasper's voice came suddenly out of the breeze nigh Craer's left ear.

"Now, don't forget the chance to see Aglirta's beautiful countryside," Hawkril rumbled. "I've been a target in worse places."

"Far too much of Aglirta's beautiful countryside, I'd say," Craer grunted.

"So we spent an extra day riding the back lanes, lost and testy-tempered. A wandering that befell when one Craer Delnbone was scouting our way, if you must remind us," Embra told the backs of her fingernails idly.

Sarasper chuckled. "Aye, some blundering heroes we are."

"Nay, my good fellow Lord of Flowfoam, we were blundering heroes- now we're pushy Overdukes," Craer told the old healer triumphantly. "Try to remember that, and the necessary pomposity will Row Jar more smoothly."

Something hummed past his cheek then, so closely that it burned. Craer's horse reared with a startled sound that was almost a shriek, and the smallest of the Overdukes kicked clear of his stirrups with an alacrity that seemed suddenly far more necessary than any pomposity.

The long-anticipated arrows came leaping out of the trees in a hissing storm, flaring with enchanted fire and slowing noticeably as they reached Embra's waiting shielding spell.

"Brigands again!" Craer snarled, clawing at reins as he snatched out a dagger and tried to see exactly where the shafts were coming from and how many bows must be sending them forth. "Clear the rats from one forest, and they scurry to another!"

Embra's shielding flared into a visible glow around them as she called on her Dwaer for more strength. The arrows seeking them now hung in her spell glow by the dozens, sliding very slowly on through the air. Craer struck one aside with the edge of his dagger, freeing it from the magic-it shot away to crack and shiver among roadside stones in an instant-and ducked around the wicked point of another…

"A dozen?" he called, peering into the trees as he wrestled his snorting gray under control.

"More this side," Hawkril replied calmly. "A score, at least."

"Brigands whelm in armies these days, it seems," Sarasper grunted. "Do we try to outride them?"

As if their unseen attackers had been listening, grim-faced men in leathers sprang from the trees, leaping out from between dark trunks and twisted shrubs to block the road before the