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beastmen.”
    “If there is, and they mention it, you’ll find it.” As they paced over the valley floor, Rod remembered his son. “Where’s Magnus?”
    Gwen’s eyes flashed, and her chin came up. “Rather, ask why I have come here.”
    “I did wonder, but not too much—I was just glad to have you. Why? What did Brom do?”
    “He came to our home and told me that I could no longer sit idly by, playing at housewifery. As though
    ‘twere play!”
    Rod winced, remembering how the dust flew at home—he couldn’t even be a little messy anymore—and the rotten (for her) mood Gwen was in by the end of each day. “Well, he can say that—he’s got a troop of elves to keep his quarters tidy. But he is right, dear—we need your talents in the field just now. The cave’ll have to gather dust.”
    Gwen shuddered. “Well, mayhap; ‘tis after all folks’ lives we speak of, and we will not be home for some time, I think. Magnus, however, cannot wait; I must needs spend at least the half of my waking time with him, unless ’tis a day of battle.”
    “Yeah, I know.” Rod winced at a twinge of conscience. “But where is the boy?”
    “Brom found a half-dozen elfin beldams to watch over him. I took him to their grotto, and I could see they knew something of children, so I left him with them.”
    “Not altogether willingly, I gather.”
    “Oh, I will never feel easy with my babe out of my sight!” Gwen cried. “Yet it must be, and I know I am foolish to worry.”
    “Yes, you probably are.” Rod squeezed her hand. “I’m sure any nursemaids Brom finds for you will be very capable.” Gwen couldn’t know just how sure—Brom had made Rod swear never to tell her that Brom was her father. He felt a little shy about it, being a dwarf. But he did care for Magnus like one of his own—which the child was, of course. No, any baby-sitter Brom picked would be extremely reliable.
    “Even if they are elves.”
    “Especially if they are elves.” Gwen skewered him with a glance. “Who else could keep thy son bound, Warlock?”
    “Only another warlock, or witch.” Rod grinned into her glare. “Witch.”
    “Well, that is true.” Her gaze softened. “Though the most of them are too young; and the ones who are Page 22
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    aged enough are sour old spinsters and hermits, living midst the wild mountains. No, I do trust Brom’s elves.”
    “After all, who else would he get?” Rod spread his hands. “He is the King of the Elves, after all.”
    “Aye.” Gwen smiled, amused. “If Their Majesties only knew their Privy Councillor’s true nature—and office!”
    “They’d kick him out of the household and try to sign a treaty with him. No, I think the current setup’s much more efficient.”
    “Aye, with Brom ever at Tuan’s elbow.”
    “And Magnus with the elves, and you with me.” Rod sighed. “My son, the changeling! Besides, you can keep checking on him, can’t you?”
    “Oh, I do at all odd moments, I assure you!” Gwen stopped and stood stock-still, her eyes losing focus. Then she relaxed and began walking again, with a nod. “Aye, he is well.”
    “Helps to be a mind reader, doesn’t it?” Rod grinned. “Which is, of course, one of the reasons why I like having you along on this trip.” He stopped at Brom’s tent, nodded to the sentries, and lifted the tent flap. “After you, dear.”
    Inside, two servants stood near a long table, holding trays laden with food. A handful of peasants sat at the board, chewing huge mouthfuls and washing them down with ale. A dusty man sat at one end of the table, eating with equal gusto but in smaller bites—a knight out of armor, to judge by his clothes. At the other end of the table sat a man less than three feet high, with shoulders almost as wide as he was tall, arms and legs thicker with muscle than Rod’s, and a huge head with shaggy black hair and beard. His head snapped up as Rod