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remained in the Starlands. Rigel had ignored that dire prediction, except to ask that he be given one week’s advance warning. If the mage foresaw that the halfling would enjoy a longer lifespan if exiled to Alathfar, he might have rationalized the kidnapping as a kindness.
    But now it appeared that there might be starborn living in this subdomain, and that did not fit any of those theories. Anyone, even mudlings, could use amulets, but if the fire had been extinguished by extempore magic rather than an amulet, then the visitors were about to be confronted by at least one angry elfin mage. Rigel did not truly expect violence, which was not the starfolk’s way, but even if he were wrong, there would be no time for their adversary to generate extempore magic in a fight. It would be decided by amulets, and his were the best the royal collection could provide.
    Halflings were another matter. If Hadar or other members of the Family were lurking in there after all, then Rigel Halfling would die, and he couldn’t even guess what that pack of sadistic half-human brutes would do to Avior. She was doing amazingly well just by staying sane, for her unexpected introversion to the Starlands had been even more jarring than his own. Everyone had limits, though, and there might be more shocks just ahead.
    Izar he could trust to withstand almost anything, because Izar trusted him completely and would follow his lead. Feeling the starling edge closer to him, he put a hand on his shoulder.
    “Izar, we need you to protect us. Please stay between me and Avior, all right?”
    “I thought you were the bodyguard?” Avior said harshly.
    “I’m starborn,” Izar said loftily, “and he’s just a halfling. Starborn never dare hurt one another, because then they die too. That’s the guilt curse.”
    “And it doesn’t apply to halflings,” Rigel added. “You and I are fair game.”
    They reached the steps and the main door swung open of its own accord, spilling golden light that seemed singularly unwelcoming. They all stopped.
    “What happens now?” Avior asked.
    “Heads we go home to Canopus and the queen,” Rigel said. “Tails, we go home to Canopus and the queen.” He wondered how many other sides the coin had.
    They mounted the steps, crossed the veranda, and went through a doorway wide enough to take them in line abreast. They entered a very large room that, like so much of the Starlands, was clearly based on a terrestrial model. In this case, the theme was an old-world hunting lodge. Logs blazed heatlessly in a massive stone fireplace. Under a high open-beam ceiling, stuffed animal heads stared down glassily at overstuffed leather furniture and skins on the floor. It was at once cozy and imposing, barbaric and homey. Rigel had no trouble imagining it filled with talk and laughter, scores of noble guests in dinner jackets and crinolines discussing the day’s hunt as servants offered them glasses of champagne and Viennese waltz music tinkled from the concert grand piano that seemed so small over in the corner.
    Their hostess stood in the center of the room, with fists clenched and chin raised in anger. He wondered what Avior would make of the first adult starborn she had seen. Her name was Shaula. She was as thin as a fashion model, and looked to be two meters tall to the tips of her ears. Her ears, wrists, fingers, and ankles glittered with jewelry, but her only garment was the usual brief loincloth of shimmery, half-translucent moon cloth. She had no navel, but very definitely did have nipples and admirably high breasts. Her skullcap of short fur was the same blazing blue as her eyes.
    Rigel and Izar stopped in their tracks. Avior took one more pace, then backed into line with them. She ran her fingers through her Afro, an unconscious gesture she used often. Izar pulled free of Rigel’s hand and stepped forward so he had room to spread his arms as he bowed, clearly on his best behavior.
    “May the stars shine on you forever,