Shea looked carefully at the broad, reassuring face, the easy smile that seemed to come so naturally, and he instinctively distrusted the man. These two were more than travelers passing through this country who had seen his plight and had come to his aid out of love for their fellowman. They had stalked that Gnome encampment with skill and cunning, and when discovered, destroyed the entire Gnome patrol with ruthless efficiency. As dangerous as the Rock Troll appeared, Shea was certain that Panamon Creel was twice as deadly.

“You are most certainly better informed on the matter than I,” admitted Shea, choosing his words carefully. “Being from the Southland, and having traveled little outside of its borders, I am unfamiliar with all life in this region of the world. I owe you both my life, and my thanks go to Keltset as well.”

The dashing stranger smiled happily at the expression of gratitude, obviously pleased at the unexpected compliment.

“No thanks are necessary; I told you that,” he replied. “Come over here and sit with me for a moment while we wait for Keltset to finish his task. We must talk more about what brought you to this part of the country. It’s very dangerous in these parts, you know, especially traveling alone.”

He led the way over to the nearest tree where he sat down wearily, resting his back against the slender trunk. He still held the pouch with the Elfstones in his one good hand, and Shea did not feel that he should bring that subject up just yet. Hopefully, the stranger would ask if they belonged to him, and he could recover them and be on his way to Paranor. The others in the company would be looking for him by now, either along the eastern edge of the Dragon’s Teeth or farther up near Paranor.

“Why is Keltset searching those Gnomes?” the youth asked after a moment’s silence.

“Well, there might be some indication of where they are from, where they were going. They might have some food, which we could use right now. Who knows, they might even have something valuable…?”

He trailed off sharply and looked questioningly at Shea, one hand balancing the leather pouch with the Elfstones before the Valeman’s eyes, holding it like bait before the hunted animal. Shea swallowed hard and hesitated, realizing suddenly the man had sensed all along that the stones belonged to him. He had to do something quickly, or he would give himself away.

“They belong to me. The pouch and the stones are mine.”

“Are they now?” Panamon Creel grinned wolfishly at the youth… “I don’t see your name on the pouch. How did you come by them?”

“They were given to me by my father,” Shea lied quickly. “I’ve had them for years. I carry them everywhere-a sort of good-luck piece. When the Gnomes captured me, they searched me and took the pouch and the stones away. But they are mine.”

The scarlet-clad rescuer smiled faintly and opened the pouch, pouring the stones into his open palm, holding the pouch with the wicked-looking pike. He hefted them and held them up to the light, admiring their brilliant blue glow. Then he turned back to Shea, raising his eyebrows quizzically.