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definite satisfaction. So he was not the only one to believe Beltran was completely hopeless in military matters.
    He said, “Have you a sentry bird?”
    Master Gareth pointed. He said, gently, but in definite reproof, “I was riding on campaign before you were begotten, sir. If you will tell me what information is needed…”
    Bard felt the sting of the reproof. He said stiffly, “I am young, sir, but not untried in campaign. I have spent most of my time with the sword, and am not accustomed to the proper courtesy in dealing with wizardry. I need to know where the clingfire caravan rides to the south, so that we can take them by surprise, and before they have a chance to destroy what they have.”
    Master Gareth set his mouth. He said, “Clingfire, is it? I’d be glad to see all that stuff dumped into the sea. At least it will not be used to set siege to Asturias this year, then. Melora!” he called, and the older leronis came toward him. He had thought her, from her thick body, to be an older woman; now he saw that she was young, but heavy-bodied, her face round and moon-shaped, with pale, vague eyes. Her hair, brilliantly fire red, was twisted into an untidy him.
    “Bring the bird to me—”
    Bard watched with amazement—an amazement not new to him, but one that never failed—as the
    woman deftly unhooded the great bird riding on a block on her saddle. He had had occasion to handle sentry birds; by comparison, even the fiercest of hunting hawks were gentle as a child’s cage-bird. The long snakelike neck writhed around and the bird screamed at Bard, a high snarling cry, but when
    Melora stroked its feathers it quieted, giving a chirp which seemed almost plaintive, eager for
    caressess. Gareth took the bird, while Bard cringed inwardly at the proximity of those fierce, undipped talons near his eyes; but Master Gareth handled it as Carlina would have held one of her tiny singing birds.
    “There, my beauty…” he said, stroking the bird lovingly. “Go and see what they are doing…”
    He flung the bird into the air; it winged away on long, strong pinions, wheeling overhead and
    disappearing into the clouds. Melora slumped in her saddle, her vague eyes closed, and Gareth said in an undertone, “There is no need for you to stay here, sir. I’ll stay in rapport with her and see all she sees through the eyes of the bird. I’ll come and make my report to you when we ride on again.”
    “How long will it take?”
    “How should I know, sir?”
    Again, Bard felt the sense of a reproof from the old campaigner. Was this, he wondered, why King Ardrin had given him this command, to show him all the little things he should know, in addition to fighting… including the courtesy one should show to a skilled laranzu . Well, he would learn.
    Master Gareth said, “When the bird has seen all it needs to see, and is on its way back to us, then we can ride on. It will find us wherever we are; but Melora cannot ride and stay in rapport with her bird.
    She would fall from her donkey, and she is no skilled rider at the best of times.”
    Bard frowned, wondering why they had sent a woman with the troops who could scarcely sit a donkey, let alone a horse!
    Master Gareth said, “Because, sir, she is the most skilled at rapport with sentry bird of any leronis in Asturias; that is a woman’s art, and I am not myself so skilled. I can share rapport with the birds enough to handle them without being pecked to death, but Melora can fly with them and see all they see, and interpret it to me. And now, sir, if you will forgive me, I must not talk any more, I must follow Melora.” His face shut down, his eyes rolled up into his head, and Bard, looking at the whites of his eyes, felt a shudder of dismay. The man was not there ; some essential part of himself was off with Melora and the sentry bird…
    Suddenly he was glad that Geremy had not come with them. It was bad enough to see this stranger go away into some eerie realm where he