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arrangements. Don’t worry, Tyr. Maybe a nice long rest is just what you need to stop having these dreams.”
    Tiercel stared at him for a long moment, his blue eyes burning feverishly. Harrier had always thought of his friend as being so much younger than he was—in more than the near-year that separated them in age—but just now he looked so much older.
    “You don’t really believe me, do you?” Tiercel asked sadly. “About the visions?”
    Harrier really didn’t. It was just too impossible. And he hated to hurt Tiercel’s feelings, especially now. Still, he owed his friend the truth.
    “I don’t know what to believe,” Harrier answered with a heavysigh. “But I know that you believe it and that’s good enough for me. Besides, you are sick, and the Healers aren’t helping, and you were fooling with magic. So you should see a Wildmage.”
    Tiercel snorted with laughter despite himself. “You make more sense than anyone else I’ve talked to! You’re a good friend, Harrier Gillain.”
    “Nobody else would be crazy enough to put up with you,” Harrier answered matter-of-factly.

    THE next fortnight was a busy one. To Tiercel’s surprise, both their sets of parents willingly gave permission for the vacation trip, a moonturn’s jaunt up to Sentarshadeen and back. Tiercel was pretty sure that his parents hoped that the country air and change of scene would put an end to his mysterious “problems,” but that hardly explained how Harrier got permission to go wandering off for an entire moonturn just when he was supposed to start working at the Port full time.
    Harrier wouldn’t explain, either. He just looked cheerful and mysterious and stubborn, and said his Da didn’t need him underfoot that badly. Of course Harrier hadn’t told his parents the real reason he was going—to find a Wildmage because Tiercel had been dabbling in magic—and neither had Tiercel. If this didn’t work out, though, he supposed he was going to have to.
    So Tiercel really hoped it did.
    There were a great many preparations to make for a journey of that length. Of course there would be inns all along the way—the Delfier Highway was broad and well-traveled, and they could be sure of finding somewhere to stay at every stop—but they were taking bedrolls and cooking equipment just in case, and they needed proper clothing for the journey, and supplies.
    And, apparently, mules.
    Harrier took care of most of that. When cargo came into the Port, it had to go somewhere, and as often as not it was on to one of the other Nine Cities by muletrain or cargo wagon. While Harrier wasn’t a Cargomaster himself, nor even a Cargomaster’s Apprentice, he certainly knew where to go to get advice on planning a journey. All Tiercel had to do was get his own items together and show up on his own doorstep at the designated time.
    Early.
    Harrier had warned Tiercel the night before that he’d be on his doorstep four chimes after First Dawn Bells. Henmon—who, as far as Tiercel had ever determined, never slept anyway—roused him from his nice warm bed when First Dawn Bells was still ringing, and he stumbled through his morning preparations half-asleep. Fortunately, the previous night had been one without the dream.
    To his great surprise, his mother and father were awake to see him off. His mother hugged and kissed him good-bye, and—to his slight embarrassment—his father did the same, though Tiercel felt he was really a bit old for that. Just as he was about to go out the door, his father pressed a pouch into his hand. He could feel the shapes of coins in it: small demi-suns, the larger silver unicorns, and to his shock, even something that must be an actual Golden Sun. An enormous amount of money!
    “But—You know—” he stammered. He’d already arranged for the funds for his journey, and the coins were tucked safely away in his belt.
    “I know,” his father said, smiling. “But things do come up on the road, you know, Tiercel. And