When they reached the edge of the trees, Red-Beard saw that “clearing” was a gross understatement. The meadow beyond the trees extended for miles, and the stream they’d seen on the beach the previous day seemed to wander aimlessly through that meadow. The grass was very tall, and there was a sizeable herd of bison out there grazing in the gentle light of the morning sun.

“That answers that question, doesn’t it?” Longbow said. “It looks to me like there might be about five times as much land for farming as the women of your tribe will need right here.”

“At least five times,” Red-Beard agreed. “Those bison might be a bit of a problem, but we should be able to come up with a way to keep them out of the gardens.” He looked around with a certain satisfaction. “We might as well go on back to Lattash, friend Longbow. I don’t think we’ll find any place that’s better than this one.”

“Except for the wind,” Longbow added.

“The tribe can learn to live with the wind, I think. Good fishing, good hunting, and good farmland are the important things. This is the place.”

“You never know, friend Red-Beard. Perfection might lie just a few miles farther ahead.”

“I’m not really in the mood for perfection right now, friend Longbow. This place is good enough for me.”

“Spoilsport,” Longbow accused mildly.

It was about midmorning when they put Red-Beard’s canoe back in the choppy water of the bay, and the wind, which had slowed them on the previous day, was behind them now, so they made very good time.

Red-Beard felt a certain satisfaction. The constant wind and the thick brush along the riverbank were drawbacks certainly, but the advantages of the location far outweighed them. The one thing that might help Chief White-Braid get over his sorrow was the lack of any serious mountains in the general vicinity. From what Red-Beard had seen, there was nothing that could really be called a mountain anywhere near the beach. There were rounded hills, but hills usually don’t catch on fire, and their gentle slopes wouldn’t encourage the spring floods which were such a nuisance in Lattash. All in all, it was a very good location, and if he could persuade his uncle that the tribe should move here, Chief White-Braid might set his sorrow aside and start making decisions again. That was Red-Beard’s main concern right now. Just the thought of being forced to accept the tedious responsibilities of chieftainship made him go cold all over. He enjoyed his freedom far too much to find much pleasure in the possibility of leadership.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the harbor of Lattash, and Longbow looked back over his shoulder from his place in the bow of the canoe. “As long as we’re here anyway, let’s swing south a ways. I think we might want to have a word with Narasan.”

“We might as well, I guess,” Red-Beard agreed, veering his canoe toward the anchored Trogite fleet.

The sun was low over the western horizon, and it was turning the sky a rosy pink when they reached Commander Narasan’s wide-beamed ship. The young Trogite Keselo was standing at the rail with a worried sort of expression on his face. Keselo was very bright, Red-Beard had noticed, but he always seemed to take everything much too seriously. “Is there some sort of problem?” he called down to them as Red-Beard pulled his canoe in alongside the Trogite ship.

“Oh, nothing really all that serious,” Red-Beard replied, trying to sound casual. “The fire mountains are still belching, the village of Lattash is doomed, and it hasn’t rained for ten days. Aside from that, everything seems to be all right.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that, Red-Beard,” Keselo said with a pained expression.

“I think we should talk with your commander, Keselo,” Longbow said. “We seem to have a problem, and he might be able to come up with a solution.”

“More trouble up there in the ravine?” Keselo asked in a tense tone of voice.

“Everything’s fine up there,” Red-Beard replied. “Our problem’s quite a bit closer—right out here in the bay, actually.”

“Sorgan Hook-Beak and the other Maags haven’t been paid yet,” Longbow explained, “and they’re not really very happy about it. We’re sort of hoping that your commander can come up with a way to pacify them.”

“Have you considered beer?” Keselo asked with a faint smile. “Lots and lots of beer.”

“Interesting notion,” Red-Beard said, “but eventually they’d sober up, and trying to argue with a Maag who has a screaming headache wouldn’t be all that much fun, I’m afraid.”

“It was just a thought,” the young Trogite said. “Come on board, gentlemen. I’ll take you back to the commander’s quarters.”

Red-Beard led the way up the ladder to the broad deck of the Trogite ship with Longbow close behind, and they followed Keselo on back toward the stern of the ship.

“Yes?” Narasan replied when Keselo politely rapped on the door. Red-Beard had noticed during the war up in the ravine that the Trogites had a tedious sort of formality about them and that very few of them had anything even remotely resembling a sense of humor.

“You have visitors, Commander,” Keselo reported.

Narasan opened the door to his rather spacious quarters. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted Red-Beard and Longbow. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Perhaps,” Longbow replied. “You and Sorgan Hook-Beak get along with each other fairly well, don’t you?”

“He doesn’t automatically reach for his sword every time he sees me,” Narasan replied. “Is he giving you trouble of some kind?”

“He’s been spending a lot of his time complaining lately,” Red-Beard said. “Zelana left here without giving him the gold she promised him, and he doesn’t like that one little bit.”

“He’s mentioned that to me a time or twelve, too,” Narasan replied with a slight smile. “Actually, it’s just about the only thing he ever discusses. He seems to believe that Lady Zelana’s trying to cheat him out of the gold she’s supposed to pay him.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Longbow declared firmly.

“Where is she, then?”

“We don’t really know for sure,” Red-Beard admitted. “I’m just guessing here, but I don’t think she fully understood what’s involved in a war. The killing part of war seems to have disturbed her quite a bit. ‘Kill’ is just a word. Seeing it happen was probably more than she was prepared for.”