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“The guard did see him leave,” explained Bardon as he crouched to examine some marks in the dirt beside a large bush.

“Nobody told me,” complained Ahnek.

“Obviously.” Bardon gestured for the boy to come closer. “Look at this. Someone with big feet covered with a soft material such as well-worked leather stood here for a long time.”

Oval imprints overlaid each other in the scuffed dirt.

Ahnek let out a low whistle. “Someone was watching us?”

“Probably.”

“Why didn’t the guard raise an alarm when Bromptotterpindosset left?”

“It was one of the major dragons, and she saw nothing unusual with one of the men leaving the camp for a few minutes.”

“Those guards sure don’t like it when Sitti and I go out.”

“They probably assume you’re up to mischief.”

“Well, it was Bromptotterpindosset who was up to mischief, wasn’t it?”

“We don’t know that.” Bardon stood and followed the indistinct tracks as they moved from one bush to the next.

“Do you think whoever was standing here watching clobbered Bromptotterpindosset on the head and hauled him off?”

“Problem is we don’t know if these tracks are coming or going.” Bardon stopped and put his hands on his hips. He surveyed the terrain around them. “The shape doesn’t indicate front or back of the foot, and the ground is too hard to show the indentation of the heel when it hit the dirt first.”

“Do you think it was a high race or a low race watching us?”

“Low.”

“Bisonbeck, grawlig, or ropma?”

“Grawlig.”

“Those that tried to carry off N’Rae or some others?”

“No way of telling.”

Ahnek scratched his head. “I can see why someone would want to carry N’Rae off but not that tumanhofer.”

“Ahnek.” Bardon’s voice held a note of warning.

“Mistress Seeno calls him ‘that tumanhofer’ all the time.”

“Mistress Seeno is not a callow lad, who—”

“Uh-oh.” Ahnek had stopped in his tracks and stood staring down a steep slope into a patch of bushes.

A scrap of the tumanhofer’s shirt snagged by a thorn, broken branches, signs of a struggle in the trampled grass, and small, dark splotches of drying red blood on a rock told an interesting story.

Bardon tucked his lower lip under his upper teeth and whistled, loud, sharp, and clear. Those searching for clues came running.

“It would seem,” said Bardon as they waited for the others to gather, “that whoever was standing there watching clobbered Bromptotterpindosset on the head and hauled him off.”

Ahnek gave a satisfied nod. “See? I told you.”

Regidor arrived first and surveyed the scene. “Grawligs,” he said. “Six of them.” He looked back to the camp. “By going down into this little depression, our mapmaker took himself out of the line of vision of the guard.” He paced a few feet with his eyes on the ground. “It’ll be an easy trail. I’ll fly ahead and see if I can learn anything.”

“I thought you were going to get rid of him anyway,” said Ahnek. “I thought he was a hindrance to our quest because he didn’t truly follow Wulder.”

Bardon and Regidor stared at the boy. Ahnek clamped his mouth shut and became very still, as if he could turn into a mere shadow and not be noticed.

“That’s very interesting,” said Regidor.

“Where did you come up with that information?” asked Bardon.

Ahnek swallowed. “Sittiponder.”

Bardon narrowed his eyes at the boy. “And where did Sittiponder learn of this?”

“His voices.”

“Hmm?” Bardon looked at Regidor.

The meech dragon shrugged.

Holt ran up, followed closely by the others coming from various directions. “What did you find?”

Before they could answer, he spotted the site of the abduction. “Oh.” He studied it for a moment. “Looks like he wasn’t hurt too badly.”

As the search party crowded closer to see, they shoved Ahnek next to Bardon’s leg.

Holt shook his head and half laughed. “If they knocked him on the head, old Bromp won’t hardly have felt it.”

Ahnek nudged Bardon at the words “old Bromp.” The squire glared at the lad’s impertinent grin. The boy tried to control the muscles that lifted the corners of his mouth but