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“There are factions in this court, and a struggle taking place, for Ailell is old now. Gorlaes would like me gone, for many reasons, and failing that, would take joy in discrediting me before the King.”
    “So if Dave is missing . . . ?” Kevin murmured.
    “Exactly. I think only Metran knows I went for five—and I never promised him so many, in any case. Dave will be found, I promise you that. Can I ask you to keep his presence a secret for this time?”
    Jennifer Lowell had moved to the open window while the others talked. A hot night, and very dry. Below and to her left, she could make out the lights of a town, lying almost directly adjacent to the walled enclosure of what she assumed to be Paras Derval. There were fields in front of her, and beyond them rose the thick, close trees of a forest. There was no breeze. She looked upward, apprehensive, and was desperately relieved to find she knew the stars. For though the slender hand on the window ledge was steady, and the cool green eyes gave little away, she had been badly thrown by Dave’s disappearance and the sudden dagger.
    In a life shaped of careful decisions, the only impulsive act of significance had been the beginning of her relationship with Kevin Laine one night two years ago. Now, improbably, she found herself in a place where only the fact that she could see the Summer Triangle overhead gave her any kind of security. She shook her head and, not lacking in a sense of irony, smiled very slightly to herself.
    Paul Schafer was speaking, answering the mage. “It seems,” he said softly—they were all speaking quietly—“that if you brought us here, then we’re already a part of your group, or we’ll be seen that way anyhow. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
    Kevin was nodding, and then Kim. Jennifer turned from the window. “I won’t say anything,” she said. “But please find Dave soon, because I really am going to be very frightened if you don’t.”
    “Company!” Matt growled from the doorway.
    “Ailell? Already? It can’t be,” said Loren.
    Matt listened for a moment longer. “No . . . not the King. I think . . .” and his dark, bearded face twisted into its version of a smile. “Listen for yourself,” the Dwarf said.
    A second later Kevin heard it, too: the unsteady caroling of someone coming down the hallway towards them, someone far gone in drink:
    Those who rode that night with Revor
    Did a deed to last forever . . .
    The Weaver cut from brighter cloth
    Those who rode through Daniloth!
    “You fat buffoon!” another voice snarled, rather more controlled. “Shut up or you’ll have him disinherited for bringing you in here.” The sardonic laughter of a third person could be heard, as the footsteps made their tenuous way up the corridor.
    “Song,” the aggrieved troubadour said, “is a gift to men from the immortal gods.”
    “Not the way you sing, Tegid,” his critic snapped. Loren was suppressing a smile, Kim saw. Kevin snorted with laughter.
    “Shipyard lout,” the one called Tegid retorted, not quietly. “You betray your ignorance. Those who were there will never forget my singing that night in the Great Hall at Seresh. I had them weeping, I had—”
    “I
was
there, you clown! I was sitting beside you. And I’ve still got stains on my green doublet from when they started throwing fruit at you.”
    “Poltroons! What can you expect in Seresh? But the battle after, the brave fight in that same hall! Even though wounded, I rallied our—”
    “Wounded?” Hilarity and exasperation vied for mastery in the other speaker’s voice. “A tomato in the eye is hardly—”
    “Hold it, Coll.” The third man spoke for the first tune. And in the room Loren and Matt exchanged a glance. “There’s a guard just ahead,” the light, controlling voice went on. “I’ll deal with him. Wait for a minute after I go in, then take Tegid to the last room on the left. And keep him quiet, or by the river blood of Lisen, I
will
be