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little slope’s almost flat ground compared to some mountain faces I’ve climbed. Look over the edge again.”
    Aleytys opened her eyes. The ground below looked farther away each time she glanced that way. “Blessed Madar!”
    The black eyes narrowed in shrewd appraisal. “No problem at all, not if you’ve got any spring left in your legs, Leyta.”
    â€œOh, fine.” Scrambling to her feet she met Gwynnor’s puzzled gaze. Flicking a hand at the cliff, she said, “You sure this is necessary?”
    He dropped the coil of rope and held out the waterskin. “Drink.”
    She lifted the bag and caught the last stale drops on her dry tongue. She slapped the stopper home and handed the limp skin back to him. “You make your point.”
    He nodded briefly and picked up the rope. “Do you know the climbing knots?”
    Gwynnor had watched the starwoman look toward the distant western horizon, eyes unfocused, face slack. Talking to her spirits again, he thought, and felt a tightness in his chest.
    â€œI’m afraid of her,” he whispered, the soft words hidden in the soughing of the wind.
    As he handed the rope to her, her body straightened, altered its posture slightly with a new way of holding her head. Eyebrows lowered over the narrowed green-blue eyes, mouth hardened, her voice was deeper than usual when she spoke. “The knots?”
    He watched as her fingers moved with sure knowledge, making a knot that held firm but could be jerked loose in an emergency. The knot was done with enough mastery to reassure him. “Good. Who goes first?”
    â€œI do.” The words were sharp, clipped, with a weight of authority unlike her usual friendly, offhand style. It was as if another personality inhabited the familiar flesh. Gwynnor felt a squeezing of his stomach as he contemplated that terrifying idea. Then the starwoman spoke again. “You climbed this spot before?”
    â€œNo.”
    She stepped briskly to the cliff edge. “Then we go over here. Follow that crack down to there.” She pointed to a place where the stone broke into a deeply weathered washboard. “How friable is this rock?”
    â€œYour eyes seem as good as mine.” He shrugged.
    She nodded briskly. “I see.” Knotting the rope around her waist she waited for Gwynnor to follow her example. “Don’t kick rocks on my head.” She grinned at his indignant exclamation. “Let’s go!”
    Aleytys stamped her feet briskly, putting her body back on like a pair of too-tight boots. Looking back at the stony slope, she wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
    Gwynnor wound the rope between hand and elbow while the straightening twist sent the free end leaping about. “You came down fast.”
    â€œSooner off the rock, the better.” She sniffed at the soup of smells slopping about her on the edge of the forest. “What a stink.”
    The soil under her boots was heavy and black, damp enough so that she sank inches into it. There was a waiting quality in the heavy humid air that hung so still and quiet around her. Not a sound, no insect noises, no birdsong, not even a rustle of leaves. Only the scent, strong enough to start her head aching. She scuffed her feet in the soggy earth, reluctant to get mud on her clothing. The waiting silence tugged at her nerves, reminding her that she needed to make her peace with the elementals of this world. “Is there some water around here?”
    The tip of Gwynnor’s longish nose twitched fitfully as he watched her. “I saw a shine of water that way,” he pointed.
    The rusty sun sparked orange glints from the narrow stream. Aleytys leaned against a tree and pulled her boots off. The scent from the tree was almost overpowering, cloyingly sweet with dusty undertones, though where dust would come from in this saturated atmosphere Aleytys couldn’t begin to guess. She glanced at the silent