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still kicking when his contemporaries have had the self-respect to die off.” Now that he looked, Aliven could see hollows above the horse’s eyes that told a different story than the sinewy hindquarters and alert stance.
    Tier bowed to her, a low, sweeping bow that was court-polished. “The both of you are too stubborn to give in to time any more than you’d give in to anyone else. Brewydd, this is Aliven Smith. Aliven, this is our Lark, Brewydd.” With his face carefully turned so that only Aliven could see, Tier mouthed the word healer and winked.
    â€œLehr, get me off this poor creature’s back before we both fall down dead and are no use to anyone.” The old woman hadn’t acknowledged the introduction with so much as a glance.
    Tier’s son—for the old woman had called him by the same name as Tier had called his son—reached up and held her steady as she swung one leg over the horse’s spotted rump with surprising grace. When she had both legs on one side, he caught her at waist and shoulder and set her gently on her feet.
    She looked at Aliven for the first time and smiled gently.“Don’t let this mob worry you, my lad,” she said, taking the smith’s arm. “They just want to see the mistwight.”
    It took Aliven a moment to realize that he was the “lad” she referred to. No one had called him “lad” since his da died some fifteen years ago.
    The old woman’s words, for no reason that Aliven could discern, seemed to be the signal for the whole party of Travelers to hop off their horses and take them away to tie up somewhere.
    â€œI’m going to quit sending you out on your own, Tier,” said one of the younger women, handing off her horse to Tier’s dark-haired son. She wasn’t very tall, but carried with her an aura of power that made her seem larger than she was. If Travelers aged as regular folk did, she was younger than Tier. Only the fine lines around her eyes aged her at all.
    Tier laughed and approached her with a quick stride that showed no sign of limp. He put his hands on her waist and swung her around once.
    When he set her down, she continued, every bit as self-possessed as she’d been before Tier had assaulted her dignity. “I let you go hunting, and you got yourself kidnaped. I let you out to play with your boy-soldiers and, if not for Lark’s help, you’d have been crippled. You left to get grain, and you find a mistwight who has taken up eating people instead of frogs and fish.”
    â€œIt was either let me out to do some trading or suffer that some poor clansman be talked to death,” Tier teased, then gave her a quick, smacking kiss in the middle of her forehead.
    Beyond Tier’s shoulder, Aliven saw a few of the Travelers lose their cool self-possession enough to smile.
    â€œ Solsenti bastard,” said the woman without affection, staring at Tier as if he were something found in a midden.
    â€œNot at all,” he assured her. “My parents were married. Brave man, my father, just like his son.”
    She tried to hide it, but Aliven saw the corners of her mouth try to turn up.
    â€œWhere’s Gura?” he asked, glancing around.
    â€œWe left him behind,” she said. “The mistwight would make short work of any dog, no matter how big or ferocious. He was not happy with us when we left.”
    â€œI’d bet not,” Tier said dryly. “Seraph, this is Aliven Smith, whose child was killed by the beast. Aliven, this is my wife, Seraph, Raven of the Clan of Isolde the Silent—though we’re traveling with the Librarian’s Clan at present.”
    To the smith’s discomfort, Tier’s wife stepped forward and touched his face, making him conscious of the grime of the past few days that covered his skin.
    â€œWe will deal with the mistwight,” she said, “that it trouble you and yours no more.”
    There was such