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would attend to that soon.
    “Talk to me, Galvin.” Wynter was determined. “Tell me what happened.” The centaur was patient, accustomed to slowly extracting information from his druid friend.
    “It was my fault,” Galvin said, glancing at the tent. He was relieved that their small band’s other member, a politician from Aglarond, remained asleep. There would be time enough in the morning to discuss the situation and send the council member back to Glarondar, where Aglarond’s chief officials were gathered.
    “And … ?” Wynter coaxed, laying a large, callused hand on Galvin’s head.
    “The spy was a gnoll. I pushed him too hard … made him mad.”
    “And…?”
    “And he attacked me, but not until I was able to get some information from him.”
    “Are you all right?” The centaur refused to let the issue drop.
    Galvin grimaced; he never lied to the centaur, who was the closest friend he would admit having. He usually just avoided Wynter’s questions when they became too personal. However, this time he knew the centaur was going to bulldog him. He relented.
    “It’s a deep wound, but I’ll live,” Galvin finally replied, keeping his voice down so the council member wouldn’t hear them. “And I’ll learn not to be so careless this close to Thay.” He drew his cloak over his injured shoulder, turned to face the centaur, then felt himself growing faint. He sat quickly and crossed his legs. “I’ll get some rest, then I’ll find some healing herbs. I’ll be fine.”
    “Fine. At least tell me what you learned.” The centaur’s face still showed concern, and Galvin offered him a weak smile to put him at ease.
    “It seems a Red Wizard called Maligor, who is somewhere in Amruthar, wants to expand his holdings. Red Wizards are always looking for ways to become more powerful. But there’s something about this that catches my interest.”
    “I remember the name Maligor,” Wynter interrupted. “He had just become a zulkir when I left Thay.” The centaur scratched his head, then indicated the tent. “Maybe the Aglarond council member is right. If a zulkir’s involved in this, maybe Aglarond is in jeopardy. Did you find out if Aglarond is Maligor’s target?”
    “The gnoll didn’t know.”
    “Didn’t know? Well, Galvin. Give me your best guess. What do you think is up?”
    The druid leaned against his pack for support. “I’ll have to go to Thay to find out.”
    “We, you mean.” Wynter shook his head and grinned, showing a row of even, white teeth. “The Red Wizards of Thay are one of your demons, my friend. I think you’re looking for an excuse to poke around inside that evil country.”
    The druid started to argue, but the centaur cut him off.
    “I was born there, and I have no love for the country nor the wizards’ malevolent politics.” Wynter flicked his tail for emphasis. “You’ll need me as a guide.”
    “I’m going, too.” The tent flap parted. Despite the temperate climate, the young woman had a blanket pulled about her. Foolish civilized modesty, Galvin thought.
    She was slight, little more than five feet tall, and slender and graceful like an elf. Yet Brenna Graycloak was a human, with earth-brown eyes, rounded cheekbones, and a nose that turned faintly upward at the end. In the moonlight, her skin looked pale, the complexion of a scholar who locked herself in libraries all day. Her dark red hair hung to her waist, blue ribbons intertwining with the curls and smelling altogether of lilacs. Galvin found her distracting and out of place.
    “I need to know what’s happening in Thay,” she continued, glancing at the druid. “If there’s a Red Wizard planning war, I’m going to find out about it.”
    For long minutes, Brenna lectured the Harpers, detailing her council’s responsibility to protect the people of Aglarond and her own duty to discover Thay’s current military plans. She tossed her hair back, crossed her arms beneath the blanket, and eyed them