====>> The Morning -- The Sky <<====

< We could land closer to the city H'tor > Haroc said as they descended
towards the small lake several miles to the East of Whitbarrow.

< I need to run this morning dear heart > the dark-haired man replied
gently. < I need to run and to think and to enter Whitbarrow without
attracting undue attention. >

< Then we should have come at night > Haroc said. < I could have put
down a hundred yards away and you could have walked. I do not like being
so far away from you when you are in such a place. >

< Recent events have shown I am no safer at Norwall than anywhere else.
Last night I made an enemy at the Warren. The person who killed L'gan
knows who exposed the conspiracy. I am a marked man. >

< That is nothing unusual > the dragon pointed out wryly. < You never
told me who killed the little dragonrider. >

< I am not sure > H'tor admitted. < But I have my suspicions. >

<You have acted on less before. You have killed on less before -- and
been proven right in the aftermath. >

< I cannot risk it this time. >

< Because of the WarrenLady? >

H'tor didn't reply until after they'd landed and he'd slid from the
dragon's back. He quickly removed the light saddle Haroc wore and after
setting it aside began to strip off his own armor. Before he finished he
answered the dragon's question.

< Yes dear heart, because of the WarrenLady. >

< So because of her you will hesitate, and in hesitating, you will fail
her > the dragon's eyes were unblinking as he studied the naked man pile
his armor on top of the saddle. < When that has happened H'tor, and it
will, do we return to the life we lived before Keldarra? Of hunting
rouges and wilders until we are finally outmatched and left broken and
dying in some far-off waste? >

< Probably > H'tor said, dressing quickly. <However, in this case, I
believe the WarrenLady is perfectly safe. > He paused, as if a new
thought had suddenly taken him somewhere unpleasant. < Even so, I think
she would stand a better chance of survival if she never had a younger
sister. >

< What is that supposed to mean? > Haroc asked with a snort.

< Nothing important Haroc > H'tor said as he began to stretch. < Just
politics. Why don't you take a swim? Find yourself a few dozen trophy -
sized trout and enjoy your day? >

< Chasing fish around a lake? I always burn more energy than I ever gain
from eating them! >

H'tor thought about that as he worked through his pre-run exercises. He
had done a full stretch earlier and only had to remind his body of what
was possible. When he finished up he began to run, not jog, run towards
the distant city. < Isn't that the whole point of chasing them H'tor?
Don't they taste better after you have worked so hard to win them? I'll
be back before nightfall. >

The dragon watched the man's long, sure stride carry him away and out of
sight before he turned back to the lake. A moment later he started
towards the cool surface.

====>> Whitbarrow <<====

H'tor had been wandering the streets for almost an hour in a seemingly
random fashion. He'd started his tour in some of the wealthiest
neighborhoods he could find and gain access. From there he'd slowly
descended down the ladder of wealth and power to where he now walked
through filth-strewn alleyways.

In all he was satisfied that he wasn't being followed. Unless he was
dealing with an organization so diverse it could field an operative at a
moment's notice that would not look out of place in any one of the many
levels of the caste-conscious landbound. His innumerable switchbacks and
ambush stations had yielded no one who hadn't been an innocent
bystander.

Ignoring the beggars who grasped at his clothing but never managed to
grab hold he started back towards the mercantile district.

After ten more minutes of walking he stepped through the door of the
little shop backed up by the enormous warehouse.

The shopkeeper was serving a customer, a wealthy customer judging by his
elegant clothing, his ornate jewelry and his pair of matching bodyguards
who looked at H'tor suspiciously and gripped the pommels of their
swords.

H'tor did his best to look harmless and failed miserably. All he could
do was turn his back to them and their charge and study various dainty
objects of art that didn't interest him at all.

After the fop and his pit bulls had left H'tor turned to meet the mild,
intelligent gaze of the shopkeeper.

"I'm told by people who know that you are a man who appreciates natural
crystals." H'tor said pleasently.

The shopkeeper smiled and nodded as if his suspicions had been proven
correct. "I can always find a market for natural crystal young man," he
said. His voice was high and accented. "If they are the right color and
the right cut."

"The color is blood-red," H'tor said, watching the man.

"And the cut?"

"Straight to the heart," H'tor said, his deep voice soft.

"Excellent," the man crossed to the back of the shop and tapped at the
door there. After a moment a man a few years younger than H'tor opened
the door and stepped out.

"We expected you several days ago, Dragonider. Will you join me for
lunch? My youngest son will watch the shop."

"Thank you for the invitation. I am pleased to join you." H'tor started
across the shop to where the two men stood. "As to my delay in making
contact, I don't believe it should interfere with our schedule ... and
I've been busy."

The man smiled and nodded pleasently before disappearing through the
door. H'tor followed him, shutting the door behind them both.

The shopkeeper's youngest son smiled pleasently and watched the main
entrance, waiting patiently for the next customer.

***************

I said to him one day: 'Doctor, don't your conscience ever trouble you?'
'No,' he replied, with that peculiar cough of his, 'I coughed that up
with my lungs long ago.'

Doc Holliday -- John M. Myers