“North for a bit, then,” the winded traveler was saying. “We’ll turn south beyond the hills. There’s time for a short detour, isn’t there, Maria?’

The woman’s doubt was palpable. She hunched in her cloak, dark eyes tired now, not flashing.

Moonhawk stepped around the rock that sheltered them, the magician trailing.

“Go due north,” she said, voice deep with Foretelling. “At the end of seven day’s walking you will come to a town by a wide river. The name of the town is Caleitha. When your daughter is born, take her to Circle there. They will Know her.”

She sagged suddenly and felt Lute’s hand beneath her elbow as she smiled. “The Goddess Herself intervened for you, sister. Be joyful.”

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING, Moonhawk fed twigs to a fire while Lute grumbled over the state of his property.

“Is your bag really worth so much?”

“So much?” He stared at her in disbelief. “My dear Master, may he rest in the arms of the Goddess forever, taught that a magician’s receptacle is his life.” He stood, bag in hand. “It’s his prop.” A sharp shake and legs appeared. Lute set it firmly on the ground.

“Hi s means of living.” Bright scarves dazzled in the firelight.

“His safe.” Coins glittered and clinked.

“His watchman.” A moment of that hideous noise that had started the escape!

“His lightning. “A quick flash of pyrotechnic light danced about his hands.

“And his restaurant.” A tin arced across the fire and she caught it, laughing.

“Hardly fresh milk!”

“Fresher than we had elsewise,” he retorted, and came to sit near her, letting the bag stand, “where do you go now?”

“Where the Goddess sends me.”

He nodded and moved his long hands. A wooden top spun in one palm. He played with it, dancing it over his fingers, vanishing it from the right hand to appear in the left. Moonhawk laughed in wonder.