Wistala tried to guess which one was the thane. There was a tall powerful man all the way over to the left side in the group of five. He kept looking at the others.

She couldn’t tell if they were arrayed for war, for they wore cloaks against the chill. The two in front had short horse-bows, and all wore helms of silver color—no sign of spears or lances.

The men slowed, walking their horses up, the front two falling in a little closer to the others. One dropped back a little, as well. He was shorter than the others, perhaps some kind of servant to the warriors.

Rainfall bowed from his tied-on seat. “Thane Hammar. How nice toto meet you on a chilly morning. Your countenance always warms me.”

Astonishingly, the one farthest to the rear spoke. “Greetings! Rainfall of Mossbell. I won’t say I was surprised, for I rode looking for you. Your thane recognizes you.”

Rainfall bowed again.

Wistala examined him more closely. He was a youth, as far as she could judge men, perhaps Forstrel’s age, but more slightly framed. Tiny wisps of facial hair at either side of his mouth made his upper lip look as though it had sprouted wings, and his cheeks were spotted. His red horse, though bigger than the ones the others rode, didn’t bring him close to their head-height, and his helm, shinier than the others’, swept up to a forward point like a hawk’s beak, though it seemed overlarge and heavy for so small a head, for its brim came down almost to the bridge of his nose. He kept looking at Wistala from beneath it.

“News!” Hammar said. “I’m sorry to hear of your injury. I had no idea it was so severe, and word has just reached me. I wish to provide comfort.”

“As usual, the thane is all kindness,” Rainfall said. “But there is no need for you to exert yourself in my behalf, or add to your cares. I am managing.”

“I’ll not be dissuaded. Your burdens must be lightened. Especially now that your granddaughter is happily returned to you—”

“Bearing your progeny,” Rainfall said in a sterner tone.

“Please! Pay no attention to rumor,” Hammar said. “The brat might be anyman’s. I’ve heard it was my stableboy. Or possibly one of the gamekeepers.”

Wistala suddenly hated this half-grown bit of tailventing. Like Rainfall’s history lectures or talks on leverage, nothing cleared and settled her mind like seeing, smelling, and hearing.

“I’m shocked to see a girl not yet sixteen so insulted, in so many despicable ways,” Rainfall said.

“Watch your tongue, elf,” the tall man on the left said. “Notch!” He turned his head toward the thane. “I don’t like the look of that creature in front of the mule. It seems ready to jump.”

The two riders with bows put arrows to their strings, but did not draw.

“Wistala, stay still,” Rainfall said.

She tried to keep her tail from moving, but it seemed possessed of a mind of its own.

“The road seems an uncouth place to trade words,” Rainfall said. “Perhaps you can return to Mossbell with us and we may talk over breakfast, once weapons are properly hung up.”

“Goat-milk yogurt is not to my taste,” Hammar said. “I bear a warrant which must be answered in court. You shall appear before Judge Kal to answer. You’re no longer fit to be the master of an imperial estate.”

“Our opinions are alike, then,” Rainfall said.

The thane’s eyes widened. “You are wise to acknowledge your limitations.”

“Advice that might be taken as well as given. Our opinions are alike, but I’ve made my own arrangements. I’ve sold Mossbell.”

The red spots on the thane’s face suddenly seemed darker against his skin. “To whom?”

“Nuum Wistala, who you see before you.”

“No! Nuum? This . . . creature?” Hammar said.

“The creature before you is a titled Hypatian,” Wistala said.

“It speaks,” one of the men with the bows said.

“She’s an Agent of the Librarians at Thellasa,” Rainfall said. “And my legal adopted daughter. Daughter, mind you, which takes precedence over granddaughter, should I meet with some unfortunate accident on this highway. The bill of sale is recorded.”

“Ho! You are undone!” Hammar said. “This creature attacked Galahall not three months ago, intent on arson and assassination. I’ll have you hanged for treason next to her hide!”

“Please! Pay no attention to rumor,” Rainfall said in a rather squeaky tone that mimicked Hammar’s. “I heard a two-headed, feathered lizard attacked Galahall. She has but one, and as for feathers, it’s plain to see she bears none.”

“Kill that creature!” Hammar shrieked.

“Pull and loose!” the tall man ordered.

Wistala hugged the road as the archers fired. The sharp strikes hurt, but the arrows bounded off down the road. The men couldn’t have chosen a worse angle to fire upon dragonscale.

Stog screamed piteously, as though mortally wounded, though no arrows came anywhere near him.

She loosed her bladder, and the horses, already unnerved by Stog’s bellows, began to dance at the smell. She shot forward, still piddling, a road-hugging green javelin moving straight for the thane. The thane’s big red horse reared, its front hooves awhirl, and Hammar, perhaps overbalanced by the enormous helm on too slight a body, went backwards out of his seat.

Wistala pounced upon him, pinned his arms with her sii and left one saa pressed against his belly, ready to pierce and gut.

Hammar screamed, almost as loudly as Stog.

“Anyone draws a blade, and I open him,” Wistala said to the men, who were fighting to control their horses.

“Hold, hold everyone!” Rainfall shouted in his deep and commanding tone. Then in beast-tongue: “Quiet, Stog.”

Stog left off his bellows.

“Murder will only make things worse,” Rainfall said. “Hammar, you would spill blood on a road like some common brigand? You bring shame on your title. Let him up, Wistala.”

Wistala, hot anger still in her veins, replied: “Let me at least bite off a finger or two as a reminder not to—”

Hammar squeaked like a rabbit.

“Oh, very well,” she said, releasing him. Rainfall knew the best course of action in this odd little world the hominids called civilization.

Hammar wiped his nose as he rose. “Mark! You think you’re so clever, elf. There are those who know how to deal with dragons. I’ve an acquaintance—”

“Killing a Hypatian Citizen of any line is murder, good thane. Come, let us forget this ever happened. I won’t have Lada’s child growing up fatherless. I will write to you.”

“You are a famous correspondent,” Hammar said, resettling the helm on his head. The tall man retrieved the thane’s horse. “Some might use the word informer. Know! I will write you, and if you do not agree to my terms, you’ll find yourself in court again and again until you turn to wood like your forefathers. Then I’ll have you made into chamberpot-coals.”

His men chuckled. Rainfall came forward with Stog, and they parted. One put hand to hilt, but the thane barked at him and Rainfall passed through.

Wistala watched them until they were out of bowshot, then hurried to catch up with the mule.

Chapter 18

They returned to Mossbell to find the household under frosted

enchantment. The house looked beautiful beyond words to Wistala, with the greenery silvered. From the ferns clinging to the wide chimney to the grass from the fountain to the wall along the road—a little despoiled by goat tracks—the house looked fairy-dusted in the early dawn light.

The new owner of Mossbell and her steward left Stog to wander on the lawn.

But the enchantment ended as soon as Wistala carried Rainfall into the house.

“Sir, you’ve returned,” Widow Lessup said. “We’re agog here. The thane! His Honor came looking for you in the night.”

“We saw him on the road. I’m sorry I was out—he didn’t threaten anyone, I hope?”

“Oh, no, sir! It’s—Lada’s room, you must go up to her. She ran out to him, barefoot as a nymph. I’m not sure what was said, but she came back into the house in tears. She’s barred her door somehow, and I’m afraid for her. I sent Forstrel for Mod Feeney. I was afraid she’d hurt herself!”

Wistala bore him upstairs. Lada was still in her room, sobbing, with two of the Lessup girls outside, tapping on her door and trying to bring her a morning infusion.

“Anja, tell my granddaughter that I saw the thane on the road. I’d like to see her in my library. And if she doesn’t want that infusion, I will be happy to have it. Tala?”

“The library?”

“Yes.”

Wistala brought him up to the top floor—the skylight admitted the diffuse morning light through a melting frost pattern. He moved from her back into his desk chair.

Rainfall sighed. “I’ve not used them, but my legs feel terribly tired.”

Anja brought in the infusion, and Rainfall drank it gratefully. “I’m forgetting you, my noble steed. Anja, can you—?”