What the devil is Chocho?' Will whispered. Horace's grin broadened. 'You are. It's what the men call you,' he said. Then he added, 'It's a term of great respect.' Behind them, Halt nodded confirmation. 'Great respect,' he agreed.

As he poured carefully, Arrow's head turned toward the sound. The horse made a low grumbling noise in his throat. "Hold your horses," he said. The he laughed. It seemed absurd to say tat to a horse.

Halt! How are you? What have you been doing? Where's Abelard? How's Crowley? What's this all about?" "I'm glad to see you rate my horse more important than our Corps Commandant," Halt said, one eyebrow rising in the expression that Will knew so well. Early in their relationship, he had thought it was an expression of displeasure. He had learned years ago that it was, for Halt, the equivalent of a smile.

Yet each country had items that the other needed. The Arridi had reserves of red gold and iron in their deserts that the Toscans required to finance and equip their large armies. Even more important, Toscans had become inordinately fond of kafay, the rich coffee grown by the Arridi.

If they invent a four legged chicken," Will said, "Horace will think he's gone to Heaven.

He'd just have to lie there and die, watched over by strange stars who didn't know him, didn't care for him. It was very sad, really.

I thought told you to watch where you put your feet," he said accusingly. Erak shrugged. I did," he replied ruefully. "But while I was busy watching the ground, I hit that branch with my head. Broke it clean in two." Halt raised his eyebrows. "I assume you're not talking about your head," he muttered. Erak frowned at the suggestion. Of course not," he replied. More's the pity," Halt told him.