Cimorene blinked. Alianora was right. Lichens covered the weathered gray rocks that rose above the valley, and small plants grew in cracks and crevices that showed no sign of the touch of dragon fire.

“That’s odd,” Cimorene commented.

“Why?” Alianora asked.

“Those mountains aren’t tall enough to keep dragons from flying over, and they’re right in the middle of the dragons’ territory. So why haven’t the dragons been here? They usually keep a close eye on everything that belongs to them.”

“Maybe they have been here, but they never found anything to breathe fire at,” Alianora said.

“Well, I’m going to ask Kazul about it when I get back,” Cimorene said as she waded into the grass. “Why don’t you take that side, and I’ll look over here? We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“First you’d better show me what I’m looking for,” Alianora said apologetically. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell feverfew from carrots if there was a dragon chasing me and my life depended on it.”

Cimorene nodded, and they started off. They had not gone far when she saw a patch of the white button shaped flowers she was looking for. “Here,” she said, showing them to Alianora. “This is feverfew. The younger plants are the best, the ones that haven’t blossomed yet.”

Alianora studied the leaves and flowers with care. “I think I’ll recognize it now.”

They cut some of the plants, leaving those that were blooming.

“You find the next patch,” Cimorene said as they started off again.

“Let’s try over there,” Alianora said, pointing.

They found several more patches of feverfew, and gradually their baskets began to fill. “I think this should be enough,” Cimorene said at last. “Unless you think—”

“Cimorene!” Alianora hissed, clutching at Cim­orene’s arm. “There’s someone behind that bush!”

Cimorene turned. A dark line snaked through the grass where something large had bent and broken the plants in passing. “You’re right,” she said, and started forward.

Alianora hung back, still holding Cimorene’s arm. “You’re not going to go look, are you?”

“How else are we going to find out who it is?” Cim­orene asked reasonably. She shook off Alianora’s hand. Quietly, she walked over to the clump of bushes and peered around it. Alianora followed with evident reluctance.

A man in blue and brown silk robes was crouched on the other side of the bush with his back toward Cim­orene. He was stuffing saw-edged purple leaves into a small linen bag the size of Cimorene’s hand. His hair was brown, and on the ground beside him lay a long, polished staff.

“Antorell?” Cimorene said in surprise.