Shkai'ra's bootheels skidded on rock, she looked down to see herself on the edge of the stone-and the Ri reacted to the flash of the only fear she had. With a scream, it leaped for her. She dove forward and rolled in the snow, saber free. But the Ri plunged straight into the water and struck out for the shore, blowing and shaking its head, still skreeling and coughing water.

She watched it long enough to see it shake itself on the bank and run for distant plains.

Plains, she thought. It was enough to make one as homesick as Megan.

"Oh," Shkai'ra said. It had taken some time to free the Ri.

'Oh, sheepshit, I've forgotten Megan." She wheeled and trotted back to the fair-market, the crowd giving her plenty of room.

Across the fair, Inu and Sova stood at the outer ring of the dance circle, the girl craning to peer over the shoulders of those in front of her, who were shouting their bets to each other over the music.

"Sova! Where's Megan got herself to?" Shkai'ra growled, frowning and looking around.

The Thane girl squeaked at the unexpected voice, pointed into the circle where two dancers still competed with themusicians. "There, khyd-hird."

"What!"

"She said something about that arrogant doglord needing to be taught another lesson before he got too cocky. Then she asked me for a leg up and I thought she wanted to see, but she jumped and when I lifted, she somersaulted into the ring and gave them her own beat by stamping. I couldn't get through and say she shouldn't, khyd-hird, I didn't know-"

"All right!" Shkai'ra began elbowing her way through the crowd.

-pounding beat of the drum in her head, Megan wheeled stamped, wheeled away. The flute began a series of trilling runs, and she leaped to begin the furious pattern of small steps that went with them, raising her hands over her head, looking at Shyll's astonished face. He was circling opposite, hands on hips, the stamp-jump-stamp forcing the flutist to meld into Water-Flowing-on-Ice not to break the rythmn.

How many times had she faced him in the circle, dancing? At first it had been because she couldn't bear that anyone was better than she at the challenge, so like cniffta, the knife-game; then, because he was good to dance with. He laughed while he danced, harvest-wheat hair flying, teeth white between full lips.

She brought her hands down with a snap and began clicking her fingers as her feet changed the pattern again, just slightly. She narrowed her eyes in amusement at him and vaguely heard the bets change again, her mind on the steps and the music-don't slip in the snow.

His jaw had dropped when she had leaped into the ring, a flare of incredulous joy even her dulled sense could not miss, and he had almost faltered in his dance.

She felt a smile well up in her, just dancing with him, keeping him on his toes; home and safer than anywhere in the world-once H...

She cut the thought at its root and just looked at Shyll, a grinbeginning to tug at her mouth's corners, then launched into the flying kicks of Ri-on-the-Spring-Plain, pulling Shyll, the drummer, the flutist, and the balika player all with her.

"Megan!" He managed that much.

"It's me. Still... with... breath... for talking!" She felt her face split in a grin as she moved faster and faster, changing place once, then again in broad stag-leaps, weaving the strains of the balika into her spins, carrying them all wilder and wilder in a dance for spring, not winter.

Shyll, calling Inu off her for the first time; holding Rilla, limp and wet and unconscious after she had been knocked overboard in a rising storm; Shyll, grinning at her, holding up the keys to the treasure chamber, or with his face blackened, fending a raft away from the rocks in the dark; Shyll always Shyll.

She saw his eyes widen when she smiled, then he grinned back and began the clapping counterpoint to which she began the squatting kicks, dancer following dancer following musician following dancer until it was unclear who directed whom.

Spinning around her, he tried to seize control and she pulled back, then startled him by countering with the first steps of the courting dance of the Aenir, the music a frantic czardas. That dance would end with her leap into his catch, and three years before such close proximity to a male, any male, would have set her off in a scrambling, clawing terror to escape. She could almost see him thinking, why is she doing this insanity? For a second she wondered as well, why this dance? Some of the crowd picked up the flute's descant to the balika's melody, whistling, and someone began a bet that Shyll wouldn't meet her challenge.

The drum thudded, feet stamped, leap-he caught her neatly and she arced back with arms spread wide, head bent forward to look down into his face as the last note shrilled from the flute.

They stopped as if sculpted out of snow. Megan felt his arms around her legs and lower back, supporting her. He was panting and as she looked at him, eyes locked as if they had never seen each other before, a drop of sweat fell firom her nose. Helaughed and set her down amidst a shower of coins from the winners of bets; she pulled away, setting up old barriers.

"Megan," he said. "You could never do anything quiet if blatant would do."

Herd-God, she's back. The refrain had hummed in his head ever since they had read the message in the Kettle Belly's cabin.

You're grinning like a fool, he told himself. Stop acting like Inu after a bitch in heat. "You're finally back."

Chapter Sixteen.

AENIR'SFORD.

ELEVENTH IRON CYCLE, SEVENTH DAY.

Megan slid free of Shyll's arms, stood with her hands on his shoulders. "I knew you'd be here when I came back. You and Rilla. I had to know it."

Shyll squeezed his hands on her shoulders in turn, a little self-consciously; it was more contact than she would have tolerated from anyone, two years ago. Two years, he thought, studying her. Great Dog, admit it, however much he'd told himself she was coming back, somebody was dead in your mind, they were frozen. Like one of those shrines the Benaiat set up, along the river, with an image of the Bear, in His incarnation as the Cub. Never changing, memories handled by the fingers of the mind again and again until they were polished like old silver, bright and thin.

But this was a real thing, a small, solid person looking up at him with a new smile. New lines beside the eyes, and as much of a tan as the pale Zak skin would take; he could feel the delicate touch of the steel claws, and that was a change as well, she had only had them a few months before she-was kidnapped, not left-and had always been cutting things, even scratching people with them. Her stance had changed, it was always graceful, but now there was less of the tension he remembered, more of a relaxed watchfulness.

"I missed you, Shyll," she said softly. "All my... friends, that Idid not know I had until I was away from them. I never said the things I should; there was always another task, or another day, there would be time... and suddenly there was no time at all, and I did not know if I would ever be able to say them. That was when I regretted my closed mouth. It is good to see you again, my friend."

He raised both his eyebrows at her and his smile was still a bit shaky. She had indeed changed. She, she doesn't need so much, in silence. She always needed me before, however much she wouldn't admit it. It felt like his stomach was sinking. What if she's changed too much to need me at all? She was trembling and there was sudden pain in her eyes. He risked catching her elbow to steady her.

The dance-ring children started sweeping up the coins. Shyll shook himself mentally, like Inu throwing water out of his coat.

Time enough to worry later. He didn't want anything to spoil this. He grinned in his old way. "Rilla's over in-"

"Megan!" A tall, red-haired barbarian stamped into the circle, followed by a Thanish girl. Aeniri? he thought. No. Too thin-face and hooknosed. Less happy-go-lucky, whatever she is- horse-nomad, at least, with a face like a Ryadn. Something about the way she moved reminded him of the fluid craziness of the Ri-keepers. Inu followed them both and sat down, sprawlingly. The red-haired woman steadied Megan from the other side; she was nearly as tall as he, long-boned. There was a harsh clicking accent in the voice that growled: "Of all the stupid things to do, dancing! 'I'll be careful,' you said. You really want to lose your power, don't-"

"Excuse me, " Shyll cut her off. What gave this stranger a right to talk to Megan like that? She turned her attention away from the Zak, whose reaction was getting worse. Grey eyes, now with a spark of green in them, met his cold green ones. The teRyadn stood perfectly still, ready to move; he could see the stranger's eyes narrow at the tone, rake him from head to foot in a single appraising glance that read his body and its skills, altered to wary respect.Megan pulled away from Shkai'ra and straightened. "Shyll, I'd like you to meet Shkai'ra Mek Kermak's-kin..." She hesitated, strangely reluctant to continue. "My akribhan. Her apprentice, Sova. Shkai'ra, Shyll teRyadn, Inuqhan." Her mouth twitched.

They look like strange dogs meeting in the street; all bristles.

Shyll bowed, polish and wariness, never letting his eyes leave the barbarian woman. He was thinking, She's dangerous, when what Megan said sank in. Akribhan. Akribhan? Megan's taken a lover? The icy, sinking feeling caught at his guts again. She hates men. I hoped I could... She's taken a lover.

He crossed his wrists. "Greetings."

Now, why does he give off those who-are-you feelings?

Shkai'ra wondered. Aloud, bowing, formal, "My horse is yours, my lance, my bow, comrade of my comrade." With a grin: "Though I feel as if I know you already, Megan's said so much of you, these last two years. You're certainly as pretty as she described! And we've been hearing about the hurts you've dealt Habiku."

For a barbarian, she's glib enough. He glanced at Inu who was sitting behind her, tongue lolling, head to one side. He certainly doesn't mind her. He relaxed a bit. We'll see. "Well, the dog-buggering bastard doesn't stop asking for it." He smiled at Megan. "Shall we go somewhere warm? Rilla was bargaining with the blacksmith, she's going to meet me at the inn..."

The dance-circle coin-child handed Megan and Shyll their share of the donations. "Thank you. It's a good inn, where they don't mind my dog-The Great Bitch." He grinned at Shkai'ra and Sova. "Horrible beer, good wine and," he winked at Megan, "ahem, friendly waitresses." Pretend, he thought to himself.

Pretend you're the still the womanizing rogue, he thought bitterly. No wonder she never noticed, with you chasing everyone else.

Both he and Shkai'ra steadied Megan as her knees wobbled. "I would like to sit down," she said. "Powerstrain, a few days ago. It was necessary.""What did you do, move a mountain? You look pale as a sheet of paper." A flitterkitten landed on Shkai'ra's head, mewing.

"A little overstrain," Megan said, grinning at Shkai'ra's expression, a sudden rolling of the eyes upward and a nervous shying, like a horse when a fly landed on it. "I'm all right."

"Sure, dancing like that, dragging in lungfuls of freezing air.

Of all the stupid things..." Shyll began indignantly. She cut him off, laughing.

"You sound like Shkai'ra. All right. All right. Rilla, lunch, a hot-buttered rum..."

Sova was looking at him, wide-eyed. "Are, are you Shyll the pirate? The Captain told me about you; you must have slain just hundreds of enemies," she said, as they stepped from the cobbles and slush of the street to the split-log boardwalk.

"No, I'm Shyll teRyadn the privateer; my dear," he said with a sweeping bow, amused despite himself at the obvious admiration. "I've met plenty of pirates-" usually over a spear.

I've mostly killed honest sailors and near-honest mercenaries who worked for a cruel and wicked enemy, because they had to earn their bread, he thought. Some of them about your age.

"And killing enemies..." he shrugged. "Needs must."

She looked up at him. "You didn't like it, did you?" She glanced from side to side, ahead at Megan and Shkai'ra, dropped her voice. "I was in a fight just last week, and they were horrible, and I still didn't like it." Her face suddenly looked peaked and old for a moment. "It... it was dark, and I was so frightened, and I cut him and he yelled ..."

Shyll patted her on the shoulder, and Inu thrust his nose into the girl's ear from the other side, whining comfortingly. This is definitely not your usual Thane-girl, he thought. Strange things have been happening here. "I puked my insides out, after my first real fight," he said. "Even though I didn't know I'd struck until there was leisure to look at my spearpoint. It speaks well for you."The Great Bitch was large for an Aeniri inn; built of gaudily carved and painted timbers, patches of dead grass and flower stalks from the high-peaked sod roof still showing through the snow, built around three sides of a cobbled court. They entered through an antechamber full of mud-scrapers and cloaks on hooks and carelessly piled overboots of leather and felt. The fair had brought customers in plenty, mostly country-Aenir, farmers and stockbreeders and the wagon-dwelling herders who lived on the dry steppe further east.

Rilla had reserved a corner table; she was attracting resentful looks from crowded spots about, but there was a courtyard window by her elbow. The purpose of that was plain when Inu's head stretched through; he whuffled contentedly and rested a foot of his massive muzzle on the table. Brown dog-eyes rolled as a plate of roast beef swimming in its red juices went by, but the greathound contented himself with a well-mannered sigh and licking of the chops. Most of the crew of the Zingas Vryka were seated on the lower-priced benches along the walls, looking a little out of place in their patched, quilted wadmal and wool.

Megan's cousin gave the others of her party a startled glance as she rose to meet them. Then puzzlement vanished in a long, slow smile of pure happiness.

"Cousin," she said quietly. They touched their right hands, palm to palm, then leaned close to exchange the ritual kiss on the forehead. Megan broke the solemnity with a sudden grab and hug; the others could see Rilla's eyes go wide with surprise as she hesitated for a second and then returned the embrace.

The older woman broke away and swung to face her party, one arm still about her kinswoman's shoulders, laughing and wincing at the same time, "Shkai'ra, my cousin Rilla Shadows'Shade-my fathers sister's daughter. My apprentice in the old days, and from what I hear. Captain in her own right these past two years. "

She turned her head and spoke softly into Rilla's ear. "I've missed you every day, Rilla. Proud I am that you've done so well, and before I thought you were ready for independent command."

"Rilla," she continued, "This enormous, menacing barbarianwench is Shkai'ra Mek Kermak's-kin, shchi akribhan."

Rilla could not quite conceal a start of surprise, well-covered as Shkai'ra bowed and repeated her formal greetings.

"I don't know why everyone insists on calling me a barbarian," the Kommanza said aggrievedly as they seated themselves. "We Kommanz may not huddle in cities, but we have stone castles and villages and forms, and some of the wise shamans and great chiefs can even read."

Megan patted her hand. "It may be the scalping and blood-drinking and the notches in your swordbelt," she said; her eyes were sparkling as she turned to the others. "This is your crew, Rilla?"

"Some of them," she replied, and nodded to a table nearby.

"Those are my deck officers." Steins and cups were raised to her, and then her subordinates left the kindred to their reunion. "I've got the Vryka pulled up in a small village half a day upstream; the Aenir aren't listening to charges of piracy but it would be poor payment for this hospitality to flaunt my flag in a town with a F'talezonian consul."

Megan tilted her head. "Smart woman." My little cousin looks like she's been through the wars. She has, I suppose.

"Hot rum for you, kh'eeredo," Shkai'ra broke in. "Piatr says the alcohol will actually help you."

Megan sighed. "Dah. Dah."

Rilla sat down and winced. "Anything wrong?"

"Just a twinge. The Moryavska, there, we freed their folk. The half-breed son-of-two-brothers is dealing in slaves and dust."

Megan took up a stein. "I'm not surprised." She tapped her claws on the wood. "I've had my fits over the H'rokatzk already.

I'm too tried to get angry." There were distant horncalls from the direction of the harbor. Shyll tilted his head. A fire, it sounds like," he said. "Good thing they've got lots of arms to manpumps."

Rilla signalled the pot-boy. "Hot rum, here. We have a lot to catch up on, kin-mine. I heard about the curse and I want to see this cage."

"We have to get back after the meal. The cytokensha is going to come to my ship to look after a pet; Shkai'ra's cat, Ten-Knife-Foot, meanest tomcat I've ever had leave rats in my bed."

"... something interesting I found in one of our warehouses here in the city. I didn't exactly steal them," Rilla was saying as they walked down to the harbor. "No one said anything when I went in to look at the books and I found a couple of letters that had been written between Habiku and the two remaining Oligarchs of Thanelandt."

"You have them?" Megan asked, walking with care. The rum and food were making her sleepy again; she would have been irritated at it, if the energy had been there.

Sleepy! she thought. I just woke up from sleeping three days!

A hand in Shkai'ra's, the other arm linked through Rilla's. Shyll walking a little ahead, and she saw him laugh and take Sova about the waist, lift her to sit sideways on Inu. The Thane girl wobbled and crowed with delight; Inu laid back his ears with the anything-is-allowed-to-puppies air of martyrdom she knew so well. The cold air made her blink, and even the crowd-noise was friendly. Rilla... Rilla had done well. Megan had appointed her to the Sleeping Dragon's second ship-well, the first one, really, when they could get something better than the original wallowing, century-old tub. Appointed her, expecting to be there, with advice, with help; expecting to be able to show her how to profit by mistakes.

"That's a motley-looking crew you've got," she said to her cousin. "But sound, very sound; not many well-disciplined enough to keep their manners in a good tavern.""Shyll was better than having another right arm. Another two arms, legs, head."

The teRyadn looked back. "Who has a swollen head?" he asked. Breath puffed, and white teeth gleamed against the olive skin.

"Ah." Megan closed her eyes. "I've wished, for so long ..."

Shkai'ra's hand squeezed hers and she returned the pressure.

"What can Habiku do against us now?"

They were a street or two away from the harbor and thick black smoke was still billowing into the sky; the crowd was heavier, landsmen pushing closer with curiosity, river sailors with stark fear. Another series of horn-blasts came from the harbor, relayed by watchers in the log observation tower.

Megan frowned; that was the signal for turning out the harbor watch, armed. It was repeated, and again with increasing urgency. The usual Aenir sloppiness.

They were slowed by the crowd, but Inu's bulk and nudging with his nose gave them a small path.

"Those papers would be useful before a F'talezonian court,"

Megan said, beginning to crane her head for a look forward, stopping when the pain shot home. "Unless the Thane-lords have grown more popular since I left." She frowned. "He has to be dealing with someone high in the DragonsNest to have usurped the kin-laws and taken control of the House. We need to aim high enough to bypass whoever it is."

"One of the barons perhaps?" Rilla mused. "We don't necessarily want to risk approaching the DragonLord."

"He's been getting that, uhm, difficult, hummm... ? I rather thought he might; six generations, from bad to mad, that family.

We were better off under the Republic."

"You're not the only ClawPrince to think that way, but the Brotherhoo-" Rilla began."Oh, sheepshit," Shkai'ra interrupted. Being tall even among Aeniri, she could see the harbor better than the two Zak. The tone of her voice was careful, but Megan felt a sudden lurch, and a stab of cold fire through her aching head.