"Who am I?" The stranger snorted indignantly. He knelt on the limb, spotlighted by a beam of sunlight breaking through the overhead branches. He was Dogonian, a coyote of medium height, but more heavily built than most of his kind. A beer gut was restrained beneath a simple rope belt; he was obviously holding it in, but the tree limb had shuddered dangerously when the coyote had landed upon it. His garb was gaudy, but tattered and worn, and he had a sword shoved into the rope belt. Too poor even for a scabbard, Legmender thought. A thief.

"Who am I?" the coyote repeated. He sneered and rose to strut clumsily along the tree limb. "You've never heard of Arnhald the Highwayman?"

"Yes," said Kit. "He's an Alsatian. He operates in the southern provinces of Dogonia."

"Er, right." said the coyote, taken aback. "Well, uh... how about Roger the Ironjaw?"

"He's a Doberman. Used to run a band of thieves that harassed the village of Barkbark. He's imprisoned now in Baron cla di Moonhunter's dungeon."

The coyote’s ears flattened against his head. His eyes narrowed and he shaded them with one hand against the morning sun as he peered suspiciously down at her. "Mannix the Cunning?"

"Dead. Fell prey to his own cunning when a scheme of his backfired. Something about a getaway disguise working too well and he was slain by a jealous husband who had mistaken him for someone else."

"Fanghelm the Cruel?"

"Found religion and runs an orphanage now."

"Manfred the Mighty?"

"Retired."

The coyote ground his teeth in exasperation as he glared down at the vixen. "Okay," he admitted resignedly. "I'm Ernie. And I am a highwayman."

Kit Suni flicked open her fan and feigned disinterest. "Never heard of you," she said with an indifferent shrug.