Rornagar Breakblade liked to walk rearguard and was good at it; he spun around without the slightest delay, knowing what Gaerond wanted.

Yet no matter how keen and suspicious Rornagar’s eye, he had turned too late and beheld nothing but leaves and rocks and trees.

Gaerond’s sharp gesture brought them all to a silent, hard-listening halt, but there were no rustlings to tell where Thal had gone. The forest was suddenly empty of cheerful little lads.

“Well?” Malkym asked at last, as the Bloodshields stared at each other … and dusk came down.

“Light the lamps,” Gaerond ordered shortly. “We go on.”

They did that and were well down the path among the trees, Rornagar having turned to stare suspiciously-but vainly-into the forest twice.

Gaerond’s fingers were busy at his peace-strings without his eyes ever leaving the path ahead and the forest around. He could see where the way went, right into a low cavemouth ahead. A twinkle of light was escaping from the chamber, through holes in a door made of a patched and tattered hanging deer hide that had seen better days.

He stopped well outside it and waved to his fellows to join him as quietly as possible. As they gathered nigh-silently around him, each gave him the ramming-hilts-home gesture that told him they were ready for battle.

Gaerond nodded approvingly and looked to Rorn, who shook his head to silently say there’d been no sign of their young guide. Hmm, gone without coin, too; what but wager he’d been the wizard himself, in shift-shape?

With a shrug and smile, Gaerond called pleasantly, “Elminster? Elminster the wizard? Peaceful hired fellows here to confer with you!”

“Come ahead,” an old man’s voice quavered in reply. “Peaceful fellows are always welcome.” Then it turned stern or rather pettish. “See that ye stay that way.”

The Bloodshields traded smirks and came ahead.