Seren murmured her agreement and returned to the airship. She did not see Eraina on the deck, so she went to her cabin. She grabbed a leather satchel filled with extra clothing and, assuming the worst, tucked her belt of assorted thieves’ tools inside as well. She slung the bag over her shoulder and turned to see Tristam standing in the hall.
“Seren, take this,” he said, in a worried voice. He held out a silver bracelet studded with dark green gems. “Its enchantment is similar to Dalan’s hat, so you’ll be able to understand the halflings a little, even if you can’t talk to them.”
“Thank you,” she said, slipping the bracelet over her wrist. She gave him a confident smile and walked past him.
“Seren,” Tristam called out.
She looked back. His expression was distracted, looking at the ground rather than directly at her. “Be careful,” he said. “Marth has found us twice now with no warning.”
“If he finds us again, I’ll be ready,” she said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Tristam said. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that he keeps finding us so quickly?”
“Couldn’t he be tracking us like you tracked me?” she asked.
“That sort of magic only works at close range,” he answered. “It doesn’t explain why he keeps finding us half a continent away.”
Seren caught the darker meaning behind Tristam’s words. Marth’s attacks had not been the result of magic or coincidence.
“You think there’s a spy,” Seren said softly. “Why do you trust me?”
He looked at her earnestly. “Why shouldn’t I?” he asked.
Seren was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t used to people trusting her. Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
“You be careful too, Tristam,” she said.
He blinked at her in silent surprise.
Seren climbed back up on deck to find Pherris still unconscious. Zed had limped off the ship to speak to Dalan. Eraina stood on the deck alone, near the door of Dalan’s cabin.
“Eraina,” Seren began.
“I heard,” the paladin said, walking down the gangplank. “I’m coming.”
Seren followed her to the threehorn, wondering how she had missed the paladin on her way below deck. Dalan was already mounted in the center of the threehorn’s back. He peered about in obvious discomfort but offered no complaint. One of the halflings watched Dalan carefully, obviously waiting for the fat human to fall out of the saddle. The gigantic dinosaur stamped one foot in boredom but otherwise looked unconcerned as another halfling helped Eraina climb onto the creature’s complex harness. A third hunter offered Seren a hand as well, and she took her place just above the creature’s right hind leg.
The halfling pointed out a leather loop between her knees and instructed her how to strap herself in using gestures and babbling in his native tongue. In her head, Seren heard another voice superimposed over his words, produced by the bracelet Tristam had given her.
“Hold on there and keep the belt over your left leg secure,” the voice said. “If you need to get off quickly, give the slack end a tug. Just don’t do that when we’re running or you’ll fall and bust open your cabbage.”
Seren had to cough to cover up her laugh. She wondered whether the “cabbage” was a translating error or just part of the odd halfling sense of humor. Chances were roughly equal that it was either.
With their passengers secured, Koranth gave a sharp cry to his men. The threehorn rumbled into movement, and the clawfoot dinosaurs fell into a trot. While the creature she rode moved with a stolid, powerful inertia, the clawfoots loped along with birdlike grace. Their ease of movement suggested that they were capable of far greater speed. Gerith’s glidewing swooped into the sky ahead.
For more than an hour they traveled across the plains. The skies were clear and the land was flat and open. Seren was grateful for that. At least if Moon came after them now, they would see the airship coming. As the sun began to set, a small village of brightly painted conical tents and covered wagons came into view. A pair of clawfoot riders rode out to escort them. These creatures were larger than the others, equipped with impressive white leather armor studded with metal spikes. A quartet of glidewings now circled overhead, each bearing another rider.
“How do we know these halflings are not in league with the men who shot us down?” Eraina asked Dalan, eyeing the halflings with caution.
“Because we are alive,” Dalan said, as if that were obvious.
“Perhaps they intend to capture us,” Eraina countered.
“An interesting hypothesis,” Dalan admitted. “I would argue that even captured we’re better off alive than dead, as death offers little opportunity for escape. Now allow me to ignite your paranoia with my own suggestion-how do we really know these halflings don’t speak our language?”
Dalan looked back at her with a smirk. One of the halfling drivers glanced at them with an innocent smile and returned to steering the threehorn.
As they made their way through the camp, a small crowd gathered to watch them pass. Men and women, old and young, all emerged from their tents and wagons to see the strangers. Children no taller than a foot peered out shyly from behind their parents. A dozen dogs with low, stocky bodies and fluffy coats danced around them in a barking frenzy. They were led to a large tent at the center of the camp, where they dismounted.
“So now we bargain for their aid?” Eraina asked.
“Already done,” Dalan said. “The chief empowered Koranth to bargain on our behalf, so we resolved it back at the ship.”
One of Koranth’s men was shouting at a group of laborers lounging around a cart heaped high with lumber and tools. At their command, the massive threehorn pulling the cart lumbered off the way they had come.
“So what are we doing here, then?” Seren asked.
“A halfling chief doesn’t leave bargaining to underlings,” Gerith said. “Nothing is official till the chief approves. It’d be against tradition.”
“But the workers already left,” Eraina said, pointing at the departing wagons.
“The halflings rarely let tradition impede efficiency,” Dalan said. “One of many things I admire about them. In any case, I still have much to discuss with the chieftain.”
Koranth looked at them cautiously as they gathered before the tent, eyes resting on Eraina’s spear. “Leave the weapons outside,” he said to Dalan. “Even that one.” He looked directly at Omax.
Omax looked down at the halfling impassively. If he took insult, he gave no sign.
Dalan smiled. “Seren, Eraina, please leave your weapons out here while we meet with the chief,” he said. “Omax, it may be best if you remained to guard our possessions, just in case.”
The warforged nodded, accepting Eraina’s spear and sword and Seren’s dagger in grim silence. Koranth removed his boots and set them beside the entrance, glaring and not moving aside so they could enter until they did the same. The interior of the tent was carpeted with thick, soft fur. Six chairs of woven wicker padded with felt stood in a circle. A small table stood before each chair, each featuring several plates of food and a small pitcher of wine.
In the chair directly opposite the entrance sat a halfling who could only be the chief. He was an older halfling a long, white moustache and white hair tied into thick braids. His clothing was outrageous, consisting of a motley suit of green and gray silk, several sparkling beaded necklaces, and a peaked yellow hat capped with a long green plume. A suit of spiked leather armor hung on a stand beside his chair. It was dyed the same riotous color scheme as the chief’s outfit.
“Chieftain Rossa,” Koranth said in the halfling language. “I present to you Dalan d’Cannith and his associates: Gerith Snowshale, Seren Morisse, and Eraina d’Deneith.”
“Greetings, travelers, and welcome,” Rossa said, speaking in the Common tongue. He gestured dramatically at the chairs. “I offer you all the hospitality the Ghost Talon tribe has to offer. Sit, eat, and let us talk of friendship.”