Garit is one. I would trust my life to Garit. It was he who taught the children to ride, who trained their first ponies—he has been like a brother to us. * The sky was the color of copper, the sun gone behind the mountains, when Seastrider and Windcaller winged up between streaks of cloud. Below, on the island, Marshy and the otters were crowded together, waving. The five dragonlings had settled obediently among the rocks. Take care, they thought. Take care. Soon Nightpool was only a speck below on the burnished sea. Ahead shone the lights of Ratnisbon. Colewolf and Camery were already there, in the Palace of Ratnisbon, making battle plans with Ebis the Black. Camery carried the lyre now. Teb would not take it into Aquervell, so near the dark leaders. If they failed in this rescue, Quazelzeg must not have the Lyre of Bayzun. But they would not fail. The unliving would not keep the bard children. As they winged above Ratnisbon Palace, an image touched them of Camery and Colewolf standing before Ebis’s hearthfire beside his tall, broad figure.
