y  laden wagon  from turn-
  ing over. Kitiara and Sturm rushed in and steadied the sides.
    "Let it roll down," Kitiara said. "Let go."
    ъainspot  and  Bellcrank  stepped  back,  but   ъoperig  did
  not. The  cart bounded  down the  side of  the ditch  with the
  humans  running  alongside  and  ъoperig   bouncing  painfully
  against the push-pole.
        "What's the matter with you?" Bellcrank said, when the
  cart halted. "Why didn't you let go?"
    "I-I can't," ъoperig  complained. "My  hands are  stuck!" He

  wallowed  to  his  feet.  Dust  poured  from  his   pockets  and
  cuffs.  His  stubby fingers  were firmly  attached to  the push-
  pole. ъainspot tried prying his  colleague's fingers  free. "Ow,
  ow!" ъoperig yelled. "You're tearing my fingers off!"
    "Don't be such a crybaby," said Sighter.
    "Cutwood, did you put glue on this end of the pole?"
  asked ъainspot.
    "Absolutely  not!  By  gears,  I would  never do  that without
  telling  him  first."  Cutwood's invocation  of the  sacred word
  'gears' proved that he was telling the truth.
    "Hmm." Kitiara drummed her fingers on the cart wheel.
  "Maybe it's more of this crazy Lunitari magic."
    "You mean I'll be stuck to this cart forever?"
    "Don't be distressed, master. I can saw this pole off," Fitter
  said. He patted his boss on the back consolingly.
    "ъot,"  said Bellcrank.  "If Master  Brightblade will  lend me
  his knife, I'll scrape your fingers off in no time."
    ъoperig blanched. "You will not!"
    "Then we can saw very carefully around your fingers."
    "No one's going  to cut  or saw  anything," Kitiara  said. "If
  this stickiness is related  to my  strength or  Sturm's visions,
  then  you  ought to  give some  thought to  how it  works before
  you start hacking away on a fellow's fingers."
    "Quite  so,"  said  Sighter.  "Now,  could  it  be  more  than
  coincidence that we  acquire abilities  connected to  our life's
  work  I  ъainspot  makes  rain, Lady  Kitiara grows  mightier as
  a  warrior  -  and  ъoperig,  master  of  cords and  knots finds
  himself  bound by  his own  hands. It's  as though  some subtle,
  yet powerful, force were enhancing our natural attributes."
    "ъoperig  can  probably free  himself if  he wishes  to," said
  Kitiara. "Just as ъainspot can wish for his rain."
    "All  I  wanted  to do  was keep  my grip  when we  slipped in
  the ditch," ъoperig said glumly.
    He screwed his eyes tightly shut and wished hard.
    "Harder! Concentrate!" urged Sighter. Cutwood whipped
  out  his  magnifying  glass  and  peered  intently  at ъoperig's
  stuck  hands.  Slowly,  with  faint  sucking  sounds,  his hands
  peeled off the cart pole.
    "Ow,  ow!"   ъoperig  whimpered,   waving  his   hands  about.
  "That stings!"

    The  cart  was  shoved  to the  top of  the gully  rim. The
 gnomes  passed  a  water  bottle around.  Fitter handed  it to
 Kitiara, who had  a short  swig before  offering it  to Sturm.
 He held it a long time, staring at the  ground and  not drink-
 ing.
   "Now what?" she said, taking the bottle back.
   "This  magic  worries  me.  Couldn't  we refuse  it somehow,
 give it back?"
   She  pushed  the  plug  back  into  the bottle.  "Why should
 we? We ought to get used to it, learn to control  the effect."
 Kitiara flexed a hand into a fist. She could feel the strength
 within her, like the  warmth of  sweet wine  in her  veins. It
 was intoxicating,  that taste  of power.  She looked  Sturm in
 the eye.  "If we  return to  Krynn penniless,  weaponless, and
 armorless, I hope our powers remain."
   "It isn't right," he said stubbornly.
   "ъight?  This  is the  only right  that matters!"  The water
 bottle exploded when she crushed it in her fingers.
   Little Fitter stooped to get the  glazed shards.  "You broke
 the bottle, lady," he said. "Did you cut yourself?"
   She  showed  him  her  undamaged  hand.  "A  lot  of  things
 may  get  broken  around  here before  I'm through,"  she said
 angrily.
   By  the hour  Krynn had  set on  the northeast  horizon, the
 explorers  were  more  than halfway  back to  the Cloudmaster.
 There  was  nothing  ahead  but  flat  ground, rocks,  and red
 dust.  They  trod  on,  the  humans  apart  and   silent,  the
 gnomes once more chattering.
   The  pilot  of  the  flying ship  walked slower  and slower,
 until finally he stopped.
   "Move  along, lad,"  said Sighter,  pushing Wingover  in the
 back. "Don't want to get left behind, do you?"
   "It's gone," announced Wingover.
   "What's gone?"
   "The ship. The Cloudmaster."
   "You're  plain  daft.  We're  a good  eight miles  away, how
 could you see from here?"
   "I don't know, but I can see the spot clearly," said
 Wingover. He squinted into the distance. "There's a big rut,
 some skid marks,  and a  few broken  crates lying  around, but

 the ship is gone."
   Sturm and Kitiara converged on the far-seeing gnome.
 "Are you sure, Wingover?" said Sturm.
   "It's gone," the gnome insisted.
   Sighter  and  the  other  gnomes  were  loudly  skeptical, but
 Sturm  ordered  them  to  quicken  their  pace. The  miles rolled
 aside,  and  still  Wingover  said  the  flying ship  was missing
 from its landing place. He described in  precise detail  the jet-
 sam  left  at  the scene,  and his  certainty infected  the party
 with  apprehension.  With  barely  a  mile  left  to  go, Kitiara
 could  stand  it  no  longer. She  broke into  a run  and quickly
 left the rest behind.
   Sturm  and  the  gnomes  plodded   on.  Kitiara   came  jogging
 back.  "Wingover's   right,"  she   said.  "The   Cloudmaster  is
 gone."   The   gnomes   immediately   surrounded   Wingover   and
 started poking his  face and  pulling at  his eyelids.  The gnome
 pilot  slapped at  the intruding  fingers, while  his colleagues,
 completely  forgetting  the  news Kitiara  had brought,  tried to
 discover the cause of his remarkable eyesight.
   "It's the Lunitari magic," Wingover said. "Leave me
 alone!"
   "Could  Stutts  and  company  have  repaired  the  ship  them-
 selves and flown away?" Sturm asked.
 Kitiara loosened her fur collar to let the cool air in. "There
 are tracks all over - little circular imprints - I think the ship
 was carried off."
   "Carried off?" said Fitter in awe.
   "Do you know how much that ship weighs?" said Sighter.
   She put out her chin and replied, "I don't care if  it's heavi-
 er  than  Mt.   Nevermind.  Somebody   or  something   picked  it
 up and carried it away."
   Sturm  said,  "Then  'they'  are  very  strong, or  very numer-
 ous."
   "Or both," said Kitiara grimly.

                       Chapter 13

                   The Walking Trees

       The sun shone over the fiels of stones where
 the  Cloudmaster  had  first  met Lunitari.  The exploration
 party ringed the site, gazing helplessly at the empty furrow
 in the ground. As Wingover had seen  from eight  miles away,
 the  flying ship  and the  three gnomes  who remained  on it
 were  gone.  The  landing  wheels that  had broken  off when
 they struck the moon  were the  only part  of the  ship left
 behind.  Aside  from  the  wheels,  there  were   two  empty
 crates, some bean sacks, and the remnants of a campfire.
 "Who could have done this?" Bellcrank asked.
 Cutwood  crawled  about  with  his  lens,  studying  tracks.
 Sturm kicked  through the  pitiful remains  of the  camp and
 said, "At least there's no sign of bloodshed."
 "Sixty," Cutwood  proclaimed. He  had dirt  on his  nose and

 in his beard. "At least sixty people were here.  They must've
 carried  the  Cloudmaster  away  on  their  shoulders, 'cause
 there are no marks of the hull being dragged."
   "I don't believe it," said Sighter. "Sixty  humans couldn't
 carry the Cloudmaster away on their shoulders."
   "Even  if  they  were  as  strong  as Lady  Kitiara?" asked
 ъoperig. That gave them all pause.
   Kitiara  squatted  by  the trail  of footprints.  "No human
 feet  made  these,"  she  said.  "The impressions  are round,
 almost  like  the  hooves  of unshod  horses." She  noted how
 closely spaced they were,  too. "The  clumsy fools  must have
 been treading on each others' heels! We'll  have to  go after
 them. Track them down and get the ship back."
   "No  question  about  it," said  Sturm. Kitiara  fished the
 whetstone out  of her  belt pouch  and sat  down to  hone the
 edges of her sword. Sturm gathered the gnomes together.
   "We're  going  after  your  colleagues," he  announced. The
 gnomes set up  a cheer.  Sturm waved  for quiet.  "Because we
 don't know how  much of  a head  start they  had, we  have to
 move as fast as possible. That means,"  he saw  the anticipa-
 tion in their faces, "each of  you can  take along  only what
 you can carry."
   That  threw  the gnomes  into a  tumult of  preparation and
 counter-preparation.  Before  Sturm's  eyes,  they  tore  the
 Four-Gnome-Power  Exploratory  Cart   to  pieces   and  began
 assembling   Single-Gnome   Exploration   Packs,    made   of
 wooden  slats  and strips  of canvas  and blanket  cloth. The
 packs strapped on like knapsacks, but  they towered  twice as
 high as the gnomes stood. This called for  all kinds  of sup-
 porting  straps  and cords  and counter-load  balancing. Soon
 each  gnome  staggered  under  a  complex  tent  of  wood and
 cloth, but  in the  end they  didn't leave  one bit  of their
 beloved equipment behind.
   Sturm  looked  them  over  and  groaned  inwardly.  At this
 rate, they would never find the  Cloudmaster, never  get back
 to Krynn, and never find his father. He wanted to rail at the
 little men,  but he  knew it  would do  no good.  Gnomes pro-
 ceed  at  their  own  rate,  awkwardly  and  haphazardly, but
 they do proceed.
   Sighter waddled past, scribbling his notes under a creak-

 ing  canopy  of  canvas. "I'm  starting a  new log,"  he said,
 swaying  from  side to  side. The top  of his  exploration pack
 just  missed  Sturm's nose.  'This is  no longer  the Lunitari
 Exploratory  March."  He  walked  on.  Wingover  puffed  along
 behind him.
   "Now  we  are  the  Lunitari  Flying  Ship  ъescue Mission,"
 Wingover said.
   The trail was wide  and plain,  and as  far as  anyone could
 tell, no effort had been made to hide it. Either those who had
 captured the flying  ship were  not very  smart, or  else they
 thought  Stutts,  Birdcall, and  Flash were  the only  crew on
 board.
   Kitiara  and  Wingover  moved  out  ahead  of the  rest. She
 tested his long-distance vision by  having the  gnome describe
 arrangements  of rocks  from as  far away  as six  miles. Poor
 Wingover got a terrific headache, and his  short legs  were no
 match for Kitiara's long, powerful stride". She shouldered his
 exploratory  pack (its  straps were  strained to  the bursting
 point) and  lifted him  by the  coat collar.  Tucking Wingover
 under her arm, Kitiara  took to  sprinting far  ahead, relying
 on  the  gnome's far-seeing  to keep  them from  getting lost.
 The trail carried on in an unswerving line due west.
   Sturm   plodded   along   with   the   overburdened  gnomes.
 They  marched on  both sides  of the  trail, arguing  over the
 reasons for Wingover's  gift of  far-seeing. Sturm  shaded his
 eyes  from the  sun and  looked at  the footprints.  They were
 strikingly  regular  circular  depressions  in  five  distinct
 columns.  He  said  to  Bellcrank,  "Don't  these  prints seem
 strange to you?"
   "Undoubtedly,  yes,  Master  Brightblade,  as we've  seen no
 animal  life  since  arriving  on the  red moon,"  replied the
 gnome.
   "Exactly!  Have  you  noticed  how  very  precise  the foot-
 prints are? All of them are perfectly aligned."
   "I don't follow."
   "Even  a gaited  horse will  have a  little jog,  a sideways
 motion now and then that distinguishes its track."
   "A  machine!"  Bellcrank  exclaimed.   "Master  Brightblade,
 you've  done  it! "Bellcrank  grasped  ъoperig by  his lapels.
 "Don't  you  see,  what  else  could  pick up  the Cloudmaster

 and carry it off but another machine!"
   "By ъeorx, I hadn't thought of that," said  ъoperig. Fitter
 rattled to ъainspot and told him Bellcrank's theory. The idea
 then  leaped  the  trail  to where  Cutwood and  Sighter were
 walking. Sighter pooh-poohed the notion.
   "That doesn't  solve a  thing!" he  said. "Where  there's a
 machine, there has to be a machine-maker, yes?"
   Bellcrank opened his mouth  to vent  his opinion,  but just
 then  Kitiara  and Wingover  came running  at them.  The war-
 rior woman carried the  gnome under  her arm  like a  loaf of
 bread.  Wingover's  head  bounced and  jiggled each  time her
 heels  struck  the  ground. In  another situation,  the image
 might have been comic.
   Kitiara braced to a halt in front of Sturm. "There's a vil-
 lage up ahead," she said. She wasn't even out of breath.
   "Village? What sort of village?" asked ъoperig.
   "A  village  village,"  said  Wingover  from  under Kitiara's
 arm. "There's some kind of keep in the center of the place."
   "Does the trail lead to this village?" asked Sturm.
   Kitiara shook her head. "It veers off to the  north, avoid-
 ing it completely."
   "We  ought to  inspect this  village," Cutwood  called from
 thirty yards away. Sturm and the others  looked at  each oth-
 er, then at Cutwood.
   "Can  you  hear  what  we're  saying?"  said Wingover  in a
 bare whisper.
   "Well  certainly! Do  you think  I'm deaf?"  Cutwood yelled
 back. Sighter tapped him on the shoulder.
   "I can't hear  them," he  said. He  grabbed Cutwood  by the
 ears and turned his head from side to side, peering  into the
 carpenter's ears. "Everything looks  normal," he  said. "Does
 my voice sound loud to you?"
   "It does when you yell from an inch away!"
   Sighter  took  Cutwood  by  the  hand  to where  the others
 stood.  "It's  happened  again,"  he  reported.  "Cutwood can
 hear  normal  conversation  from  thirty  yards  away,  maybe
 more."
   "ъeally? This calls for some tests," said ъainspot. He low-
 ered his pack to the ground and tried to  disentangle himself
 from the cords and straps.

    "Never  mind!"  Kitiara  said.  "What do  we do  about the
 village'?"
    "How close will we  have to  pass if  we follow  the trail?"
 Sturm queried.
    "Spitting distance."
    He squinted into the  sky. "Half  the day's  gone. If  we start
 now, we can be past the village before  nightfall and  not lose
 the trail." Sighter grumbled about the  human's lack  of scien-
 tific  curiosity,  but  no  gnome  seriously  considered  going
 against Sturm's plan.
   Sturm  formed  the  party  single  file  and  sternly  admon-
 ished the gnomes  to keep  quiet. "I  feel trouble  coming," he
 said.  "A  keep  means  a  lord  of  some  kind,  and  probably
 armed retainers. If," he added, "if this world is anything like
 Krynn."
   Looking straight ahead, Kit said, "Are you afraid?"
   "Afraid,  no.  Concerned,  yes.  Our  stay  here  has never
 been  more  precarious.  A  pitched  battle could  destroy us
 even if we win."
   "That's the difference between us, Sturm.  You fight  to pre-
 serve order and honor; I fight for myself. If trouble  is brew-
 ing, the only thing to do is come out on top."
   -No matter what happens to the rest of us?"
   He scored a touch.  Kitiara's eyes  flashed. "I  have never
 changed sides in a battle,  nor betrayed  a friend!  The little
 men  need  our  protection,  and  I'll  shed  my last  drops of
 blood defending them. You've no right to imply otherwise!"
   Sturm  walked  on  silently  for  a  moment, then  said, "I'm
 sorry, Kit. It's becoming harder for  me to  know your  mind. I
 think  this magical  strength you've  gained has  affected your
 outlook."
   "My mind, you mean."
   "Trust you to say it the most brutal way."
   "Life is brutal, and so are facts."
   At the rear of the column, Cutwood could hear every-
 thing, and he said, "I think they're mad at each other."
   "Shows   how   much  you   know,"  Sighter   replied.  "Human
 males  and  females  always  act  strangely toward  each other.
 They never want their true feelings to show."
   "Why is that?"

    "Because   they   don't   want   to  seem   vulnerable.  Humans
  have a lot of this attitude called 'pride,' which is sort of like
  the  satisfaction  you  get  when  your  machine   performs  cor-
  rectly.  Pride makes  them act  contrary to  the way  they really
  feel."
    "That's silly!"
    Sighter  shrugged  under  his  towering  pack  and  almost fell
  down.  "Unh!  By  ъeorx!  Of  course  it's  silly, and  these two
  humans  have  especially  bad  cases  of  pride, which  means the
  fiercer they act and  the louder  they yell,  the more  they care
  about each other."
    Cutwood  was  dazzled  by  his  colleague's   understanding  of
  human   behavior.   "Where   did   you   learn   so   much  about
  humans?" he said.
    "I  listen   and  learn,"   said  Sighter,   very  ungnomishly.
  Though  he didn't  yet realize  it, that  was the  change wrought
  in  Sighter  by  the  magic  of  Lunitari.  From   an  intuitive,
  impetuous   gnome,   he   had   become  a   logical,  thoughtful,
  deductive  gnome,  a  creature  that  had  never  before existed.

 * * * * *

    The  field  of  stones was  largely barren  of plants,  even by
  day,  so  the first  sign the  marchers had  that they  were near
  the  village   was  when   stands  of   scarlet-capped  mushrooms
  seven  feet  tall  appeared,  growing  in  neat rows  between two
  low  stone  walls.  ъoperig  picked  a section  of wall  apart to
  study;  it  was  simply  made  of  loose  rocks  stacked  conven-
  iently together. "Very primitive," was his disdainful verdict.
    The   mushroom  orchard   served  to   screen  them   from  the
  village  itself.  Sturm,  Kitiara,  Wingover,  and  Cutwood crept
  through  the  rows  of  fungus to  the very  edge of  the settle-
  ment.
    By  Krynnish  standards,  it  wasn't much  of a  village. There
  weren't  any houses  at all,  just a  series of  concentric stone
  walls about waist high, plus  a few  cribs filled  with harvested
  food.  The  only  full-scale  structure  was  the keep,  a squat,
  single-story,  windowless  block  in  the  center of  the village
  walls.  A lone  pole stuck  up from  the keep,  and a  dirty gray
  banner hung limply from it.

     "Not exactly the golden halls of Silvanost, is it?" said Kiti-
  ara.  To  the gnomes,  she said,  "Can you  hear or  see anything
  stirring  down  there?"  Wingover   could  see   nothing  moving.
  Cutwood squinted one eye shut and listened hard.
     "I  hear  footsteps,"  he  said  uncertainly,  "pretty  faint.
  Someone's walking around inside the keep."
    "Fine. Let's bypass this place," said Sturm.
    The other gnomes waited patiently on the other side,
  chattering in whispers. When Wingover, Cutwood, and the
  humans returned, they shouldered their lofty  packs and
  formed a single file again.
    "The  village  looks  deserted,"  Sturm  said. "So  we're going
  past it. Be quiet anyway."
    The  trail  of  the  Cloudmaster  bent  away  from  the village
  just  beyond  the  walls  of  the   mushroom  orchard.   As  they
  rounded  the  tall  red  stalks,  Kitiara,  who was  leading, saw
  that the path was lined on either side by tall, leafless trees.
    "Odd," she said. "Those weren't there before."
    "Did  they  grow  up  suddenly, like  the other  plants?" asked
  ъoperig. Kitiara shook her head and drew her sw