had called Eaglenest. Nearby, beyond scattered fallen columns and tumbled
stones, rotted planking marked a well. Down in that well languished two leathern
bags. Saddlebags. Hanse knew they were there, for he had put them there, in a
way, though it had not been his intent.
He hoped they were there, for they contained a great deal of silver coins, and a
few that were gold.
They were the ransom of the Rankan symbol of power, the staff called Savankh,
which a thief called Shadowspawn had stolen from the palace of the Prince
Governor. The P-G knew they were there, but had agreed that they would remain
Hanse’s property. Hanse had, after all, uncovered a spy and a plot and saved
Prince Kadakithis’s face, if not his life.
But for a horse and a dead man named Bourne, Hanse would have had all that
gleaming fortune in his possession, rather than “banked” down in the earth, atop
a hill, in a narrow well that was like to have been the death of him!
He was to go to Eaglebeak, then. To dine in dark and deserted aerie: Eaglenest!
So he quietly told Moonflower. For aye, once again he betook himself to her in
quest of information and advice. (Mignureal was not about when he approached,
and neither he nor Moonflower was sorry.)
He sat before her now in his nondescript tunic the color of a field mouse, his
feet in dusty buskins, knees up. And only three blades showing on him. He sat on
the ground and she on her stool. The fact that she overflowed all around was
disguised by her voluminous skirts; Moonflower wore red and green and ochre