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would need for battle or magic: great shields; wicked swords; powerful bows; helms and clothing; and quite a few artifacts Jasper didn’t recognize.
    “You brought Lily here,” said Jasper to Nimlinn as he paced along a wall, his fingertips skimming over a mural depicting the destruction of an enormous tree. “What did she take?”
    “She took a riding cloak and helmet, some of those plates to protect the lower parts of her front and back legs, a pair of boots”—here Jasper laughed—“a small wooden ball, and a single slim ring.”
    “Little light on the weaponry there, sis,” he said dryly.
    “I had to make her take the cloak and boots.”
    “Boots? Lily? She must not have seen them. There’s so much stuff in here.”
    Jasper skidded to a halt in front a mural depicting an immense pitched battle taking place at the foot of the tower Fangdelve.
    “Whoa, what’s this?”
    In the painting, the valley floor all around the tower was covered by a pall of dust. Fighting in this dust were the shapes of Rinn and giant beetles the size of small cars. Squinting, Jasper could just make out the human riders on many of the Rinn’s backs. A sizable army of men present, holding pikes, swords, and shields—Dragondain shields. The sky above was thick with fire-breathing dragonflies and winged dragons.
    Jasper ran his finger over the black smoke billowing from the top of Fangdelve. “So how many times has”—Jasper paused to get the pronunciation just right—“Rengtiscura taken Fangdelve?”
    “To my knowledge, twice.”
    “Was it common for Dragondain to fight beside Rinn?”
    “As I’ve told you, other than myths and your uncle’s tales, we have no real proof of Dragondain ever fighting alongside Rinn.
    Jasper spread his arms wide and gestured at the stone slabs. “But Your Majesty, these are fallen Dragondain . . . and lunamancers. Obviously, they fought and died here on Barreth. And in a battle of great distinction, earning them this tomb. This mural is the only one showing Dragondain. This must be their tale.”
    Nimlinn nodded. “A reasonable assumption, young cub. But how do you know for certain that these are your fabled Dragondain?”
    Jasper picked up a shield and held it up for Nimlinn to see. “A winged dragon being ridden by a man or woman, this is the emblem of the Dragondain. But there’s more.” Jasper dashed back to the painting and pointed to a small banner flying above the battle. “They’re fighting . . . beside Rinnjinn.”
    Nimlinn’s eyes narrowed. Snerliff dropped the bag of fur he was stuffing and padded over to the painting until his nose and whiskers were nearly touching the paint, then wheeled around to face Nimlinn.
    “It’s Rinnjinn’s standard!”
    “Jasper,” began Nimlinn, “Rinnjinn was not a real Rinn.”
    “That’s right. He was more than Rinn. He was . . .”
    “The one who made us,” finished Nimlinn.
    And with that, Jasper finally confirmed the answer to a question Ebb had always managed to avoid answering. Jasper had guessed right, and he smiled victoriously.
    Nimlinn sensed she’d given something away. But it wasn’t like she’d told him anything he couldn’t have discovered during a day’s study at the scrolls in the Royal Library. Or even, for that matter, from a well-versed Rinn bard at any tavern in Sea Denn. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d need to keep on her pads around this young cub, lest something truly important slip.
    “Enough talk of paintings and Dragondain and Rinnjinn—what will you take from this room?”
    Jasper quickly finished his tour of the tomb, taking in everything, cataloging his choices. He was surprised at how many of the armaments he knew by name. Jasper was tall for his age and strongly built. Even so, all of the armor here was too large or made for a woman.
    After a time, Nimlinn snorted. “Don’t tell me you can’t find anything either.”
    “Quite the contrary,” murmured Jasper. In the theater of