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feeling its way and the local communities were not about to surrender too many of their precious rights to it, but there was no doubt that the town of Concinnity, home of the Hall of Balance, was becoming a center of power. One of the more important prerogatives the Hall of Balance had recently assumed was the right to recognize and legitimize newly established Great Houses.
    Physically, Quintel resembled the symbol of his proud House. His features were sharply aquiline, not unlike the bird of prey called a fallon. His body was lean and oddly slender. Ridge was aware that women often found Quintel fascinating, although everyone within his small circle of trusted employees knew he was not interested in females. He wasn't interested in men, either. In the years Ridge had worked for Quintel he had never known the House lord to demonstrate any real sensuality. Quintets passions were reserved for his studies.
    Quintel was the most learned man Ridge had ever met. His intellectual curiosity was wide ranging. He had developed a private library that was the envy of the University of the Spectrum and had, on several occasions, entertained masters who taught various
    subjects at the university. Such invitations were always eagerly accepted.
    Quintel's personal interests might be centered on intellectual matters, but he also had a business empire to run. The company of other learned men might interest him, but he had a practical need for a man who could be trusted to handle the dirty side of things. Operating trade routes demanded a certain amount of muscle. Ridge could not even remember when people had begun calling him Quintel's Fire Whip.
    Ridge walked across the room to a carved stone table and helped himself to another glass of warm red ale he was sharing with his employer. "All right, so you have hitherto unsuspected talents in the field of matchmaking. She isn't what I expected when you told me about her two days ago."
    "You thought I would arrange for one of the professional trade wives to accompany you to the mountains?"
    "It seemed logical."

    Quintel shook his silvered head. "No, Ridge. Not logical at all. I want nothing to go wrong on this investigative journey of yours, and that includes the actual trade for the Sand. Your main task is to find out what has kept the last three trade masters and their parties from getting into the Healers' valley, but I also want a fresh supply of Sand. For that you need a woman, and my instincts tell me that this time you will need a woman with some share of the Healing Talent, someone the Healers are likely to accept. Even before the trade masters and their caravans began returning empty-handed, the High Healers of Variance were becoming increasingly difficult. Women, no matter how talented, have a way of making unnecessary difficulties." Quintel grimaced wryly. "The Healers had begun cutting back on the routine orders from their various medicinal concoctions and they were refusing to trade the usual amounts of Sand. The trade masters in charge told me it was because the Healers weren't getting along with the trade wives who had been contracted for the journeys. They claimed they didn't find them acceptable." Quintel's fine mouth curved downward in another disgusted grimace. "The Healers of Variance said the wives in question were neither real wives nor women with any share of the Healing Talent. They didn't want to deal with them. Then I started getting reports of some sort of barrier across the pass. After that no one who set out for the Heights of Variance was able to get through."
    "Even if I am successful, I won't be able to bring back much Sand, let alone any of the Healers' potions.
    I'll only have room for what I and the woman can carry in our saddlebags. I can't take any pack creets with me, Quintel. It would slow me down too much."
    Quintel nodded, taking a sip of his ale from the elegantly chased goblet he was holding in one hand. "I only need a single shipment, just enough to