"Evasive fellow, aren't you? said Verossa, tossing her hair back as she caught up. "Well, just so long as you're not a Soulcaster. Or a Spellmind. Or a Spellthief. Or whatever they're called."

She flexed her fingers absently, letting the sun reflect from the brass knuckle-studs and the black leather clasping the back and palm of her hand.

"Back in my last company, they used to say I had a Spellthief's hands," she said in a low voice. "But I had to get rid of them during the retreat from Barnflaed. The ranger's wolves had to eat something. I think it would be for the best if we let the grand Dame address us first. Don't want to look forward. Or uncouth."