The dwarf in front began to nod and smile all the wider, and he opened his mouth to speak.

"Oh, wrong answer," came a voice from above-a human voice and not the grumbling chant of a powrie. Harkin and the dwarves turned, their gazes flying up, up to the high boughs of a wide oak tree.

And there he sat on a limb, a smallish man dressed head to toe in a black outfit of some exotic fabric. He wore a mask black as night that covered more than half his face, with holes cut out for the eyes.

"If it was just a business deal-a good one-then perhaps I could have wandered along on my way without interfering," the mysterious man said. "But since you insist…"

As he finished he shoved off the branch and came flying down at the coach.

"By the gods!" Harkin cried, and he fell back, throwing his arm up in front of him, expecting the man to go crashing through the coach.

The powrie behind Harkin shrieked but instead of retreating, lifted up a heavy battle-axe.

The dwarf roared and swung trying to bat the man in black out of the air. But amazingly, the axe whipped below the descending man, as if he had somehow slowed his fall. And he didn't crash through the coach roof-as he should have after falling from so high-but rather touched down firmly on it right behind the swinging blade. He fell as he hit, absorbing the impact with a forward roll following the swing of the axe, and he came up tangled with the dwarf-at least as far as the dwarf was concerned. For the man's balance as he rolled fast to his feet remained perfect, and as he leaped down from the coach his hands caught the dwarf so that the dwarf had no choice but to go flying away with him.

Again the man landed in perfect and easy balance, as the powrie crashed down hard beside him, sprawling on the ground, its axe flying away.