Battle-Light
                         Prologue
             22, Age of Arcadia, Late Winter
    Somebody was watching him.
    The feeling came without warning, drifting into his 
head like mist, as insubstantial as the shadows that 
played about his fire.
    Echelli Durillo slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes 
scanning the forest that still stood wrapped in the bleak 
bareness of failing winter. One hand crept toward the 
shining dirks he wore at his side, while his other 
clenched into a fist, so hard that he felt his nails 
driving into his palm. He dipped his head slightly, his
gaze still fixed with unwavering steadiness on the 
motionless trees. He had the feeling that the eyes were 
watching from there.
    He sat like that for long moments, but nothing 
happened. If anything, the forest simply grew darker and 
more silent, bundling itself in a wall of loneliness that 
even Echelli's suspicious mind could not penetrate. That, 
however, didn't stop those unseen eyes from penetrating.
    The forester rose lithely to his feet, his eyes the 
hard, cool blackness of obsidian. Patrolling in a circle 
around the campfire, his eyes surreptitiously searched the 
traps he had set around the perimeter of the clearing. 
None- not the deadly firewater trap nor his rope snare- 
had been sprung. With such formidable protection- as well 
as the defense offered by his expertly handled steel- he 
hardly had anything to fear. Perhaps the mysterious 
watcher knew or suspected that. At any rate, there was no 
movement, no effort either to reveal or conceal. There was 
nothing there.
    That was precisely what bothered the curalli.
    He moved fully into the firelight, accepting the sting 
of smoke, and whistled softly. "I know you're out there," 
he whispered, both hands now stroking his weapons. "If 
you're so clever as to watch me and still avoid my traps, 
walk into the light. I do not promise not to attack-" his 
fingers tightened still further on the smooth metal hilts 
of the blades "-but neither will I admire your 
intelligence less."
    The forest continued to be silent, except for the 
distant call of a nightingale, and gradually Echelli 
relaxed. He dipped his head, waved one hand disgustedly at 
the trees, and returned to the soft patch of sandy ground 
by the fire. Slowly, still a bit tense, he closed his eyes 
and began to reach for slumber. He had been traveling hard 
all day, and it was a welcome relief to drown his mind in 
the black tides of sleep.
    However, he was still alert enough to leap awake when 
a hand touched his shoulder. At once he came to his feet, 
snarling, his weapons already in his hands, his eyes 
seeking the shadowy, almost translucent figure who hovered 
behind the fire.
    A voice spoke, filled with soft amusement. "It appears
you are no less tense than ever before, my friend." At the 
sound of the words, Echelli's hands involuntarily released 
the dirks. They sent up a soft puff of sand as they hit 
the ground.
    The voice altered the amusement into a teasing tone. 
"My, my, you remember me? You've been so busy these last 
twenty years that I was sure you had forgotten."
    The voice didn't get any further, because the curalli 
sprang over the fire in a great bound and grasped the 
figure tightly in his arms, spinning around as he did so. 
He felt a pair of arms encircle him warmly in return, and 
a soft head rested on his shoulder. Still hardly daring to 
hope, he stepped nearer the fire and let his eyes adjust 
to regular sight, thinking fiercely that his nightsight 
was fooling him.
    It was not. Hair that was the color of the flames 
caught and held the light. The head lifted, and eyes 
peered up at him, blinking as if forcing back tears. 
"Hello," whispered the newcomer. Once again, his own eyes 
were captured and held by that gaze- a gaze as lustrous
and golden as the dawn. Involuntarily, his arms tightened 
still more.
    "Kleianthe," he whispered, his own voice sounding 
hoarse with tears he refused to shed.
    The land Elwen sorceress released him and stepped back 
a few paces, her own face losing enough of its joy to look 
serious. "Though perhaps you never realized it, I always 
knew I would come back someday, Echelli. Partly this is 
for the joy of reunion." She smiled wistfully, her dawn- 
marked eyes gleaming a little too brightly. "I wish I 
could stay, but I have to warn you- and, if the warning 
came from anybody else, you would not believe it."
    Echelli felt his heart sink, though that was hard, 
considering the indescribable elation that was flooding 
him. "So, you're not here merely to cheer me up with your 
beautiful company?"
    Kleianthe looked at the ground, seeming sheepish at 
the faint note of hurt in his voice. "Sadly, Eche, no. I 
came to warn you." Her eyes flew back up to his face, 
glowing with their old determination. "There's going to be
a profound change in your life soon, and I think you'll be 
able to adapt to it. I believe in you." The warmth in her 
words almost made up for the fact that she would soon be 
leaving again. Almost. "I think you've been traveling 
alone too much."
    Echelli raised an eyebrow in unfeigned surprise. 
"Kleianthe, it could hardly be any different. Keren has a 
family and responsibilities, including his duties as a 
member of the Council of Arcadia. His children aren't yet 
old enough to venture out, and besides, I'm not sure their 
mother would approve of that. She doesn't want to 
encourage the wanderer streak in her children. You're 
gone-" his voice faltered momentarily "-and I haven't seen 
or heard anything about Chen or Herran in twenty years.
Who else is there to wander with?"
    Kleianthe stared at him thoughtfully, her hair 
mimicking the more orange hues of the fire. "You do have a 
problem, but surely you could stay home if you wanted to? 
Tame your rogue side?"
    Echelli responded with a snort. "As if that would ever 
work. I'm simply not the type of settled person Keren and 
his family want me to be. Besides, what else do I have to 
do with my life, other than adventure and teach Keren's 
children what they want to know?" His shoulders lifted in 
a rippling shrug. "I'm doing what I want to do, and that's 
that. What are you trying to warn me about- that I'll gain 
a companion?" He began to laugh, but gradually quieted 
when the enchantress merely stared at him. Disturbed, he 
turned his raven head away.
    "Yes." Kleianthe spoke with total seriousness. "You 
could try to reject this person, though I'm not sure 
they'll stand for that. But I know you, Echelli. Admit it. 
You're lonely."
    The forester finally nodded in reluctant agreement. "I
am, though I don't see what that has to do with anything."
    Kleianthe ignored his obstinate sarcasm as she stepped 
forward to take his hands in hers. "Promise me that you'll 
never forget me."
    The shadowed Elwen grinned half-heartedly. "That would 
not be easy, Klei. I think about you every day and wish I 
could summon you here. There is no one I would rather 
travel with. I have all the friends I need or want."
    The radiant warmth that enveloped the girl's body 
wrapped him close, and he shut his eyes to savor that 
feeling. When he opened them again, she had vanished once 
more, like the thought she was. Sighing, he stalked toward 
the fire, half-wondering if he had dreamed or hallucinated 
the whole episode. But then a familiar scent reached his 
nostrils, and a faint smile tugged at his ebony lips. The 
enchantress had left her telltale golden flowers behind, 
the blooms that served her as footprints. He knelt by one 
of the delicate plants and rubbed its fragile, silky 
petals between his fingers, his dark eyes distant.
    A crash came from the forest behind him.
    His mood shattered, Echelli lifted his head in a 
combination of irritation and alarm, sending his mentality 
out in search of an intruder. The only thing he found was 
the rapidly failing mind of a moose, no doubt killed by 
some forest predator. The beast's try to escape had 
probably prompted the crash. Once again, the fighter 
shrugged and paced lithely to his bed. 
    Abruptly an idea formed, and he smiled slowly. If 
indeed the killer of the moose had been the same creature 
who was watching him, food ought to lure it in. He reached 
into his pack, brought out a piece of smoked venison, and 
laid it carefully on the clay plate he had been using 
earlier. Beside this he set a small clay cup of water, 
pushing both a safe distance from him. Then he waited.
    However, the rigors of travel and the mixed emotions 
of his reunion with Kleianthe were not so easily overcome, 
and sleep claimed him with a thunderclap's explosion.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Light streaming down through the scanty branches of 
the trees awoke him. Yawning, he let his eyes drift open 
and to the food at his side. If no creature had touched 
it, he would eat it for breakfast.
    What he saw astonished him. The grass around the clay 
utensils was blackened and rotted, the sand bruised like 
an Elwen's skin. An unhealthy odor emanated from what was 
left of the venison, a small chunk that Echelli knew was 
unchewable. The water was gone, save for a few drops, but 
those drops were brackish, and, when Echelli cautiously 
tasted them, salty. He spat out the moisture almost 
immediately and looked desperately in several directions.
    It was then he noticed that his traps had all been 
sprung. The rope snare had been hacked through, the mass 
of strings that secured the firewater vat removed. The 
chimes that should have warned him of an intruder's
approach were gone. The almost invisible string that would 
have brought somebody tumbling headlong into the fire was 
a tiny litter of pieces on the ground.
    Echelli sniffed the air, trying to detect the scent of 
magic. That could have explained why he slept so soundly 
while someone ate and destroyed right under his nose. But 
there was nothing. Evidently the intruder had simply been 
a practiced thief, perhaps even a highly trained assassin. 
But if the latter was true, why had he been left alive?
    He cautiously shifted the plate, frowning as his 
finger encountered a jagged edge in the smooth circle. 
"There shouldn't be a chip missing," he said aloud. "This 
was whole last night."
    He felt the eyes watching him again at the same moment 
as he saw the writing. The broken-off piece of clay lay 
beside it, its tip covered with dirt. Even as Echelli 
touched it, it crumbled into soft dust, apparently 
overused. His eyes narrowed as he read the message, 
mouthing the words aloud.
    "Thank you for the lovely meal; such generosity on the
part of a stranger is not expected, certainly not by me. 
Do not worry, for I will not harm you. The destruction of 
your property only occurred because I could hardly enter 
your camp otherwise. This has certainly been a most 
interesting experience. Farewell."
    The curalli let his breath out slowly. Perhaps, he 
thought, a skelkin had written this- one of the sleek, 
panther-like creatures who carried an aura of death about 
them but were always polite. He looked about for 
pawprints, but, when he found the spoor, that theory 
vanished with the swiftness of the western wind.
    Visible in the sand were the light, delicate marks of 
an Elwen.




                        Chapter 1
                   Challenge and Change
             22, Age of Arcadia, Early Spring
    "Thrust left, and you'll block me. Thrust right, and 
you won't." The careful, measured words were followed by 
the clashing ring of steel, and Echelli smiled in triumph. 
"You see? You're getting better all the time."
    "Thank you," replied his opponent, stepping backwards 
slightly to catch his breath. "Who couldn't, with you as 
an instructor?"
    Echelli laughed as his dirks shifted from his hands 
into their sheaths. "Silver tongue," he said 
affectionately. "Can this really be the same person who 
told me yesterday that I was getting too old to train 
youngsters like you?"
    Esain Deerfriend ran one hand through the raven curls 
that clung, sweat-soaked, to his forehead. The handsome
young half-Elwen was in the spring of his life, having 
reached nineteen, an age of vitality for both his races, 
and he looked it, with his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. 
"Uncle Echelli, you gave me a reason to protest yesterday. 
You only instructed me on how to twist my wrists; you 
didn't fight me to a standstill!"
    The mixed-breed shrugged. "All of fighting is 
important, particularly the parts that don't seem 
important at first," he answered in didactic tones, using 
the same infuriating patience that he displayed whenever 
his adopted nephew grew hot-tempered. "When you earn that, 
you will have truly mastered your skills and the weapon 
you want to use."
    The half-Elwen, usually calm and on his dignity, 
looked upset now. From the rising tide of red in his 
cheeks, Echelli knew that he considered the slightly 
scolding words a dire reprimand. But the teacher 
continued, determined to press the point home. He could do 
nothing else if he were to retain the young swordsman's 
respect. "If you learn nothing else from me, remember how
to keep flexibility in your hands." He turned away with a 
swirl of his sable cloak, and continued walking toward the 
small cottage where Keren and his family lived.
    He expected the charge at his back and wheeled to meet 
it, both dirks in his hands once more as if they had never 
left. Esain's face was twisted with anger, an emotion so 
uncommon to him that Echelli almost laughed as he blocked 
his student's first swing and brought his guard low with 
the second. One swift kick to the stomach laid the young 
man on the ground, gasping and coughing as he tried to 
recover his breath. Echelli glided forward to stare down 
at him. "I suppose that's a demonstration of how old I'm 
getting?"
    Esain lay still even after he caught his breath fully,
his dark eyes returning Echelli's sharp gaze with a 
steadily faltering smugness. At last, he looked away, 
putting one hand on his stomach. "I knew I shouldn't have 
done that," he said softly, and Echelli knew that he was 
probably reprimanding himself seriously inside.
    The mixed-blood smiled gently and reached down with a 
silver-white hand to help tug Esain to his feet. "It's all 
right; I really shouldn't have overreacted that way. Did I 
hurt you?"
    Esain shook his head, but there was still doubt and 
awe in his eyes as he regarded the slightly taller 
curalli. "I'll never make another comment like that 
again," he vowed fervently. "Nobody would after seeing the 
way you move."
    Echelli, as was his usual course of action, ignored 
the compliment and resumed loping toward the cottage. 
Keren should be returning soon from his duties with the 
Council of Arcadia, and the mixed-blood wanted to be there 
to greet him, since he almost invariably teleported into 
the house. Besides, the sun was rising high once more into
the brilliant green sky, and the afternoon was growing too 
hot for the sun-sensitive curalli.
    Echelli did tilt his head back once to study that sky, 
ignoring the fact that he had to squint against the sting, 
wanting only to let that brilliant sea-shade recall 
memories of twenty years ago, a time before Esain was 
born. He had spent the whole spring of that year wresting 
his land away from Rowan by performing tasks for the 
city's Council and in general fighting many different 
enemies. Though those memories were generally painful, he 
felt a sense of peace whenever he thought about Kleianthe.
    The wooden door of the cottage swung open before they 
got there, and Mercilla Deerfriend, Keren's youngest child 
and second daughter, appeared. Her waist-length silver 
hair swung behind her, its neat curls indicating that it 
had been combed, for a change. Her eyes sparkled the color 
of a summer sky as she launched herself at Echelli. The 
mixed-blood barely managed to raise his arms in time to 
catch her, and then she was clinging to his neck and 
chattering like a squirrel. "Uncle Echelli, I'm so glad
you're back! Where did you go this time?"
    The curalli returned her hug, then gently set the 
eight-year-old down. "Kemiebeyst," he answered absently, 
naming the province to the south of the Tableland as he 
rummaged through one of the many pouches hanging from his 
belt. "To be more precise, I went to Eveningborders 
Mountain." He glanced up at Esain's gasp, cocking one 
eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
    The older half-Elwen appeared to be choking. "The 
evening dragons actually deigned to pay attention to 
anyone but themselves?"
    "Of course." Echelli frowned slightly at the disbelief 
in his student's voice, wondering if Esain was prejudiced 
against the great serpents for some reason. "Every group
of intelligent beings became much less prejudiced after 
the Sublimation." He deliberately mentioned the great, 
bloody battle that had ended the Age of the Swan, knowing 
that it was one of Esain's favorite subjects. 
    Sure enough, the young half-Elwen's face grew dreamy, 
and one hand strayed to the hilt of his sheathed 
broadsword. "I wish I had lived during those days," he 
murmured, his voice wistful. "Those were days of heroism." 
Echelli snorted, but otherwise kept silent and continued 
to search his pouch as the youth elaborated. "Then, 
perhaps, even half-Elwens would have been accepted for 
what they were and not for what they appeared to be."
    Echelli shook his head, turned a deaf ear to the rest 
of the monologue, and finally found the present he had 
brought back for Mercilla. A tiny arm band, perfectly 
crafted to fit a child's upper arm, lay in the center of 
his hand, stunning him anew with its smooth, hard 
coolness. The ornament had been made from the dusky purple 
scale of an evening dragon. With a solemn expression on 
his face, he handed it to the prancing young half-Elwen.
    Mercilla gasped in delight and promptly slid the 
decoration onto her arm, running her fingers over the 
ridged edge of the scale. "Thank you, Uncle Echelli," she 
breathed. Beaming himself, the mixed-blood pulled a knife 
from his boot, its hilt set with a large emerald, and 
tossed it to Esain. The young half-Elwen also gave him a 
look of gratitude as profound as his sister's.
    "Where do you manage to find presents for us?" he 
asked helplessly, shaking his head as he peered into the 
reflective facets of the emerald. "This is just what I 
wanted."
    Echelli contented himself with smiling mysteriously. 
He was about to add an equally cryptic answer when he 
abruptly threw his head up, his eyes wide in stunned joy. 
Swiftly he hastened forward, sniffing again to make sure 
the scent his nostrils had identified was indeed the one 
he had awaited.
    Before he could get to the door of the house, it swung 
open, pushed from inside, and Keren Deerfriend stepped out 
into the sunlight, running one hand through his silver
hair. His black-gold eyes looked weary, as did his 
features, but they opened as wide as Echelli's at the 
sight of his friend, and his arms opened wide. The pair 
hadn't seen each other for nearly a year; Echelli's 
travels had kept him away longer than usual.
    As had... other things.
    The mixed-blood took a few long, bounding, typically 
Elwen steps, and embraced the land Elwen tightly. His 
words came out choked with the emotion that he so rarely 
permitted himself to show. "Stars, Keren, it's been 
forever!"
    "It can seem like that," said his friend, warmly 
returning the hug. He drew back, and Echelli saw that his 
weariness had been replaced by joy. though the tight lines
on his face still lingered. "I'm really glad that you're 
back, Echelli," continued his friend. He lowered his 
voice, for his children were nearing. "Esain's been 
fractious lately. He contends that he's old enough to 
venture out on his own. You can imagine what Esme thinks 
of that."
    The crossblood turned his head to glance at his 
student almost pityingly. "It's to be expected, Keren. 
Esain's half-human; he won't be contented to stay home all 
his life." He did not speak this with degradation of the 
human species in mind, but with the intention of proving 
fundamental differences between the two races that made up 
Esain's character. "He has the Elwen wanderlust at an 
early age, that's all."
    Keren nodded, his eyes still fastened to his son's 
distinctly human features. "I suppose it seems strange to 
me simply because he's always been so calm and even- 
tempered. I thought you might be willing to take him with 
you on your next escapade- provided that it isn't very 
far, and that Esme agrees."
    Echelli's eyes brightened. It was even as Kleianthe 
had said- he was gaining a new traveling companion. "I 
would be delighted," he replied sincerely. "I have been 
lonely lately. Give me a day or so to put my home in 
order, and then I can start. I was thinking of going just 
a short distance, anyway." He discreetly avoided 
mentioning his destination, but the immediate suspicious 
look in his friend's eyes told him that Keren had noticed 
the omission. With a sigh, he spoke his intention. "To 
Rowan."
    Keren lifted his hands, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, 
Echelli, but I don't want my son exposed to that place- 
even if we do have kin that live within its walls." His 
silvery voice was bitter, and Echelli nodded reluctant 
understanding. The land Elwen continued with relief in his 
eyes. "Actually, I had thought that what happened eleven 
years ago might have curbed his wanderlust."
    Echelli gulped back disgust. He had been partially 
responsible for Esain's first adventure. Finding a cure 
for his wanderwolf bite had prompted Keren and him to
travel to Rowan, and Esain had trailed them, like the 
typical stubborn child he had always been. This had 
resulted in a series of escapades- Echelli and Esain had 
been captured by Keren's old enemy, Sodiest, to coerce the 
land Elwen into traveling to Cytheria. Esain had very 
nearly been killed by the evil mage's torture, and both 
Echelli and his father had assumed that would stifle his 
longing for adventure.
    Apparently, no such thing had happened. Echelli 
permitted himself a small chuckle as he admired Esain's 
independence, and switched the subject. "All right then, I 
have another idea. There is a most annoying colony of 
sodkrats near my home. I have been meaning to do something 
about them for years, but I never got around to it. How do
you think Esain would feel about killing poisonous 
snakes?"
    Keren relaxed with a smile, though there remained a 
bit of apprehension about his eyes and mouth. "I'll talk 
to Esme- privately. Please don't tell Esain. It will only 
crush his high hopes if his mother disagrees."
    The curalli nodded and moved to Esain, pointedly 
tapping the half-Elwen's hip with his elbow. "After you 
greet your father, would you like another match?"
    The swordsman stared at him for a moment, then nodded, 
pleased. "Very well. Thank you very much." He moved 
forward to clasp wrists with his father, joined by a 
prancing Mercilla. Echelli moved off into the middle of 
the field that contained the house to wait.
    Three minutes later, Esain returned, and the two began 
another sparring session. Seeming more cheerful than 
before, the young swordsman matched him blow for blow, 
responding gamely to a slight increase in tempo. He didn't 
even complain about Echelli's usual monologue. The curalli 
wondered if he had heard Keren and the mixed-blood
discussing the possibility of his adventure, but did not 
question him.
    After about half an hour, Keren and Esme, his wife, 
emerged from the cottage. The human woman's huge dark eyes 
looked sadder than before, shimmering with a veil of tears 
as she stared at her son, but her chin was held high as 
she called his name. Startled, Esain swung around.
    "My son, you're to go with Echelli- if you wish- to 
help him destroy a nest of sodkrats." Her tone was 
pleading- her eyes clearly begged him to decline the 
invitation.
    Esain, however, clearly had no intention of doing so. 
He turned to stare at Echelli in stunned joy, his lips 
parting slightly. "You'll really let me do it? Really?"
    "On my honor," said the curalli coolly, wondering why 
the boy was so excited. After all, he would be going only 
about sixty miles from home.
    That didn't seem to matter to the thrilled young 
swordsman. His dark eyes thanked all three of the adults 
as he slipped away, whistling. Echelli saw Esme bury her
head in her hands, and he glided swiftly toward her, pity 
filling his heart. "I'll take good care of him, Esme."
    "I know that." But there was still a haunted look in 
the now-lifted dark eyes. "Every time I think that Keren 
might not come back again, or you, I get this same 
feeling. Why do I have to expose my son to the same 
danger?"
    Echelli could say nothing except to repeat his 
promise. "He'll be safe. Don't you know I would die before 
letting any harm come to him?" His voice was fierce. He 
had never totally forgiven himself for not being able to 
stop the boy's torture in the pits of Sodiest's castle.
    "Yes, I know." Esme gazed up at him trustingly for a 
few minutes, then reached out to squeeze his hand. "It's
silly of me to worry, really. I know of no more capable 
fighter than you. When will you come back for him?"
    Echelli pursed his lips. "Give me- two days. I'll be 
here on the third morning."
    "Fair enough." The human pressed his hand again and 
turned inside, her husband following. Keren managed to 
call out one last greeting before the door shut. The 
curalli stood a moment, staring longingly at the cabin, 
and then shook himself as he turned and raced toward the 
forest. What was wrong with him anyway? Since when did he 
desire company?
----------------------------------------------------------
    The mixed-blood arrived at the small, neat wooden home 
he and Kleianthe had constructed an hour later. Built of 
oak and black hylea wood, it was well able to survive the 
elements. Indeed, the year he had been gone had changed 
the house little. He walked to the door and passed one 
hand over its handle, then tapped the steel three times in 
three separate places. He heard a distinct click as the 
deadly trap on the door's lock, as well as the lock
itself, relaxed, and passed inside.
    He had only one room, with a single moss-packed bed 
that he had built himself, smoothing and shaping it with a 
combination of muscle and magic. A small table, surrounded 
by a few chairs, stood in another corner, and large 
windows facing in all directions let in generous portions 
of sunlight. No curalli could ever feel completely at ease 
in a windowless dwelling, with no avenue of escape. 
Echelli sneezed at the dust and cobwebs, then sighed and 
reached for a tiny, grass-bristled broom standing in the 
corner. He might as well make housecleaning his first 
chore.
    For the next four hours, he swept dust out the door, 
evicted reluctant spiders, and set a snare outside that 
would most likely catch his dinner. Finally, he went to 
the center of the floor and removed a loose circular 
section of wood that covered the stone-lined hole he used 
as a firepit. Almost absently, he went outside to gather 
the twigs necessary for starting a small blaze.
    The sun was westering, and it was becoming, gradually,
one of the most beautiful parts of an early spring day. 
Because the seasons had so recently turned, it would be 
dark soon- a fact Echelli welcomed- and already dusky 
colors were wrapping the world in nightshade. He threw 
back his head to breathe the fresh air.
    With shattering suddenness, the feeling that he was 
being watched returned, destroying his pleasure in the 
beauty. Snarling, he turned, tossed his bundle of tinder 
into the cabin, and strode out again into the center of 
the clearing, placing his hands on his hips and surveying 
the scarlet and golden sky. "I don't know what you want," 
he growled softly, "but I know what I want. Leave me 
alone, whoever you are. Leave me alone to live in peace."
    A soft chuckle answered him, and a slender form
stirred in the shadows at the edge of the forest, moving 
closer as he watched. However, the familiarity of the 
scent prevented him from attacking, as did the sound of 
the voice. "Echelli, if that is your wish, you can hardly 
want to take Esain to kill sodkrats."
    "I meant about living alone, Keren," answered the 
shadowed Elwen irritably, his curious eyes on his friend's 
face. "I do not reject company; I simply want to spend 
most of my time alone. Speaking of which, why are you 
here?"
    The silver-haired land Elwen sighed, running a hand 
through and tangling his shining curls. "The company of my 
family is wonderful, but so is that of my friends. And, at 
the moment, I feel inclined to seek a place of more 
restful solitude. Fairree, Lolain, and Mercilla are all 
begging us to be allowed to come with Esain. When we try 
to explain why they're too young, they don't understand." 
He smiled slightly. "I thought, with time just to talk 
with you a little while, and to make sure you're still 
willing to have Esain visit-"
    "Of course," murmured the curalli soothingly, 
understanding perfectly his friend's need for 
companionship. "I was just about to check my snare and see 
if it has caught anything for vespermeal. Will you join 
me?"
    Grateful, Keren accepted with a nod, and fell in 
beside Echelli as the forester glided toward the pit snare 
and looked down into it. Inside, sure enough, was a wild 
turkey, flapping its unwieldy wings uselessly. Even if it 
had been able to fly high enough, the sides of the pit 
were too cramped for the wings' full spread. Upon seeing 
the faces peering down at it, the turkey, a young male, 
fanned out its magnificent tail feathers and gobbled 
warningly. It was paying so much attention to them that it 
never noticed Echelli's dirk stooping toward it like a 
hunting hawk, slashing into its throat expertly and taking 
its life in a blur of red. When the bird lay still, 
Echelli descended the pit agilely, scooped it and his 
weapon up, and returned to the surface. He tossed their 
meal to Keren, then floated a thick enough covering of
leaves and dirt over the pit so that most animals could 
walk across it. No use leaving the pit open to snare food 
when he wouldn't even be here for the next few days.
    He took the turkey back and darted a glance at Keren, 
noting with amusement that the land Elwen's face was 
slightly pale. "What's the matter, Ker? Not used to seeing 
blood anymore?" he asked in a slightly taunting manner. He 
knew that Keren had taken to cultivating food and using 
the money he earned as a Council member to buy already 
dead meat.
    The land Elwen shivered violently, but his voice was 
equally light. "Ever since the Sodiest episode, Echelli, 
blood has not been a favorite thing of mine."
    The curalli nodded his understanding, kicked open the
door of his cottage, and tumbled both turkey and kindling 
into the firepit. Gazing at it irritably, he loosed a 
short blast of flame with his magic. The twigs lit at 
once, and there came the scent of roasting meat. Echelli 
let it go for perhaps three minutes, then pulled the 
nicely browned meat from the flames and handed half of it 
to Keren. The fire had been hot enough to annihilate the 
feathers and dry most of the blood from the meat. Echelli 
himself munched delicately on a wing as he watched his 
friend, thinking privately that Keren looked as if he had 
aged three years rather than just one. "Was there 
something else you wanted to see me about?" he asked 
finally, gently prodding. 
    "Yes." Keren placed the untouched meat on the floor 
and leaned forward. "Echelli, tales of you came back 
before you did this time. I heard that you were in 
Eveningborders and very nearly got yourself killed. What 
were you doing there?"
    "The usual," Echelli answered through a mouthful of 
hot fat. "Exploring."
    Keren reached across the flames to grip the curalli's 
wrist, his eyes shining with tears. "Echelli, losing 
Cuthri very nearly did drive me mad. If I were to lose my 
family or you, I would probably be dead within a few days. 
Can you guarantee that you and Esain will be safe?"
    Echelli swallowed the last part of the wing and stared 
at his friend. What had come over him? "I can promise that 
I will do all I can to protect us, but no adventure is 
ever totally without danger."
    Keren waved a hand, as if dismissing his last 
statement. "That I know. But, Echelli, I do think you 
would be better off if you took somebody along on your 
longer trips. There's safety in numbers."
    The curalli shifted impatiently. What was this concern 
over his safety lately? "Keren, if I really needed another 
friend, a traveling companion, I think I would have found 
one by now. I can understand your concern-" That was a 
lie. "-but I fight alone and wander alone. I don't desire 
another companion. Really."
    The land Elwen nodded reluctantly, then changed the
subject. "There is one question that I wanted to ask you- 
on Mercilla's behalf." His scarlet lips quirked, and 
Echelli inwardly groaned, wondering what the inquisitive 
young crossblood had come up with now. "As far as my 
youngest daughter is concerned," Keren continued, "you're 
her real uncle, as much as if you were my brother." A 
quick squeeze on the fighter's wrist showed that this was 
only a difference of blood. "And she wants to know when 
you are going to get married. She'd like some cousins to 
play with." For a moment, Keren looked embarrassed. "I'm 
afraid the only children she ever gets to see are those 
that pass along the Northern Sweep Trade Route. That's 
partly my fault, isolating my family the way I have."
    Echelli could feel the incredulous expression settling
across his face. "I'm sorry to disappoint Mercilla," he 
said sincerely, trying to keep his laughter down. "But I 
don't ever plan on getting married or raising a family. 
I'm too restless. You told her that, I'm sure."
    Keren looked uncomfortably the other way, and Echelli 
could feel his dark eyes narrow. "You told her that," he 
repeated slowly. "Didn't you?" He let a rising note of 
menace appear in his voice.
    The land Elwen's tanned cheeks were positively flaming 
now. "Well, no, actually I didn't. In fact, I told her 
that you might be getting married soon."
    "Keren!"
    His friend looked at him with pleading eyes. "Please, 
Echelli, there was nothing I could do! She seemed so 
eager, so excited about the possibility of having cousins. 
How can you say no to a child like that?"
    "It's hard, I know, but there was no reason to lie to 
her! Can you imagine how difficult it will be for her when 
she finally comes to terms with the truth? She might go on 
hoping for years, and she would be let down by both of
us."
    "Not necessarily." There was an excited flush on 
Keren's cheeks. "There's one simple solution to this. All 
you have to do is seek out a wife. Then Mercilla would 
never have to know, and your wanderings wouldn't be lonely 
anymore- no more than your home life would."
    Echelli laughed aloud now, but the sound had nothing 
of humor in it. "Keren, even you didn't 'seek out' a wife; 
you found her by chance, and I'm very happy for you. Love 
is not something that can be forced, or tamed either, for 
that matter. I'm not going to make finding that emotion a 
primary part of my life."
    "But you are lonely, aren't you?" Keren hadn't missed 
his silent admission. "Wouldn't you like somebody who 
could come with you, since I cannot? I think it's a wonder 
that you're content to live and travel alone, and you 
never even talk about your adventures. Wouldn't it be nice 
to have someone to share them with?"
    "Nice, yes. Natural, no." Echelli gently but firmly 
unclasped his wrist from Keren's. "I'm sorry, my friend,
but you'll have to go back and inform Mercilla- as well as 
anybody else who heard this- that I have no intention of 
settling down, even with a home to return to. I was born 
for the road."
    Keren rose, that infuriating smile on his lips. "I 
won't take back what I said, Eche, because there's a 
chance you'll change your mind." Echelli spat a 
particularly vile oath, one that only caused Keren's grin 
to widen. "You may say that you'll never marry, my friend, 
but never is an awfully long span of time, even for an 
Elwen. Remember always that I believe in you." He sat down 
again and was silent until he had finished his turkey, 
despite Echelli's growls, protests, and half-hearted 
threats. The pair knew each other too well to let such a
silly argument permanently dampen their relationship, and 
both knew it. After a few moments, Echelli too returned to 
his meal. When Keren stood up to leave, Echelli rose with 
him and led him out into the rapidly descending night.
    The sky had taken on its dark jade shade as the sun 
slipped below the earth, and the stars were blossoming 
like so many shining flowers in a deep green field. 
Echelli's dark voice soared upward in a simple, wordless 
tune, the joy that would come so rarely swelling his heart 
to bursting now. He felt tears slipping down his cheeks, 
but for once was not ashamed of them. He heard Keren join 
him, and the pair did not cease until their melodic voices 
grew hoarse. By then, most of the stars, both silver and 
black, had come out, and they could respectfully cease 
praising their creators. However, they stood silent for a 
long time, their eyes fastened on the heavenly spectacle, 
before Keren gently touched Echelli's shoulder. "My family 
will probably expect me home by now."
    The curalli nodded, turning his dark-sensitive eyes to 
his friend. In the comforting blackness, Keren's aura
showed up clearly, highlighting his form and features as 
if he stood in brilliant daylight. "I'll come the day 
after tomorrow for Esain. Be careful as you're going back; 
the forest is full of dangers after dark. I could come-"
    Keren shook his head almost immediately, his features 
weary beyond belief. "No, Echelli, but thank you. I need 
some time to be alone, to think." He flashed the shadowed 
Elwen a grin. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. 
Besides, I think you should stay home, get some rest, and 
think about finding a companion!"
    "Will you quit harping on that!"
    Keren's only answer was a soft chuckle and a 
whispered, "Starspeed," as he slipped into the forest. 
Echelli was too wrapped up in a bad mood to give him an 
equally gracious farewell. 
    "Likewise," he muttered, heading for his cabin. The 
night was beautiful, but already the scent of rain filled 
the air, coming from the north. Curalli hated getting wet, 
and Echelli wanted shelter as soon as possible.
    A few minutes after he had closed the door behind him
and locked it, the downpour started, rain lashing through 
the open windows. Echelli hastily ran to bolt the wooden 
shutters, flinching away every time he stepped into a 
puddle. When his house was at last secure, dry- and dark- 
he curled up on his bed and closed his eyes, summoning 
sleep. Gradually his breathing became more regular, and he 
drifted into a quiet slumber.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He awoke screaming.
    The forester sat straight up in bed, his heart 
pounding and his hands flying to his sheathed dirks. He 
knew that somebody- something- was in the room with him. 
The chill of death, and the strange scent, made that 
unmistakable.
    A covert glance at the door showed that it was 
swinging open on its hinges, letting in gusts of wind and 
rain. Shivering violently, more from the aftermath of the 
nightmare than from the cold, Echelli hurried out of bed 
to shut and lock it.
    It took him a moment to realize what he had done. If 
the intruder had come in by the door- and all the windows 
seemed secure- it was trapped in the same room with him.
    Echelli glanced around, his eyes probing for some 
sight of a strange aura. Nothing answered his seeking 
eyes, and the rain that had entered the cottage had served 
to obscure the elusive scent. He began a slow, cautious 
stalk forward, searching carefully in all corners. But 
there was nothing there. Perhaps the intruder had darted 
out the door while he was closing it. That was possible. 
Certainly he could hear nothing. He relaxed and returned 
to his bed.
    A hand caught his ankle.
    Snarling, more in anger than in shock, Echelli kicked 
out toward where his captor's face should be. However, he
heard a slight shifting, and realized grimly that the 
intruder had expected what he was going to do. That spoke 
of someone who knew that he fought well.
    They knew too much, in Echelli's opinion. 
    A second hand joined the first, reaching for his other 
ankle, but this time he was ready; the arms had extended 
beyond the bed, so that their aura was now separate, and 
he could see them. A swift lash of his foot sent three 
fingers crunching backward, and a musical voice first 
hissed, then began to swear at him in a singing language 
he could not understand. At least, he thought, panting as 
he dodged another grab, that proves this mysterious 
personage is Elwen.
    For the first time, he managed to look down at the 
hand curled so firmly around his ankle. The first thing 
that he noticed was that it had six fingers, but his 
attention was quickly drawn to its color.
    Ebony black.
    Swearing himself now, Echelli dropped and rolled, 
wanting to make his opponent come out from under the bed
but not wanting to be too near when it happened. An angry 
darkness Elwen was not something he wanted to face.
    A slender shape reared up from its concealment, 
releasing its hold, and darted toward the door. It was so 
muffled in shining black leather that he could not make 
out its features, not even enough to tell if it was 
feminine or masculine. He started to rise and give chase,
but the mysterious person turned, hissing with such malice 
that he fell back. By the time he recovered his wits, he- 
or she- was gone. Echelli ran into the rain-soaked 
clearing, but already there was no sign of his enemy. One 
thing remained to bother him, however.
    The Elwen that had hissed at him had had no fangs.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Instead of spending the next day resting and 
reacquainting himself with the forest, as he had promised 
inwardly to do, Echelli decided to try and track down the 
strange Elwen who had nearly subdued him the night before. 
If it was indeed the same one that had invaded his camp 
only two weeks before, he was determined to find it and 
ask it what it thought it was doing there.
    He was forced to call the trespasser it, because even 
a careful re-checking of the cottage had not allowed him 
to determine whether his attacker had been male or female, 
or even their motive for surprising him. The only thing he 
found was a scrap of black leather that shone in the light 
of the now-rising sun, and even the scent on that had been 
diluted by rain. He slipped it into a pocket and glided 
into the forest, searching patiently for the spoor of his 
prey.
    He found neither footprints nor scent and quickly 
decided he- or she- must have climbed a tree. Scrambling 
atop a slender black hylea that stood nearby, he froze in 
place as his eye caught sight of a broken twig. His lips
stretched into a smile. Yes, they had indeed come this 
way!
    The scent, though still unfamiliar and strangely 
elusive, remained clear after that as the forester tracked 
the mysterious intruder through the boughs. When he had 
traveled a full two hours, he saw a metallic glitter on 
the ground. Chuckling, he vaulted toward it, his fingers 
clutching a smooth handle of bone. The dagger was made of 
a metal so black it hurt to imagine light sliding into it. 
Echelli quit trying that after a few moments and began to 
turn the weapon over and over in his palms, searching for 
any clue that would tell him who- or what, for that 
matter- the intruder was.
    His nimble fingers found a small sign carved near the 
hilt, and he lifted it close to his eyes, tracing the 
unfamiliar alphabet. One symbol was clear; in the 
Universal alphabet was one large C, surrounded by tiny, 
also Universal, letters that spelled the word blood. 
Echelli dropped the weapon with a snort of disgust and 
rubbed his palms on one dark legging, eying the dagger. He
almost expected to see it turn on him.
    He was about to go back to the trail, warily, aware
now that his strange antagonist was a bloodthirsty
fighter, when he heard a sibilant hiss from above. He
looked up swiftly, his eyes searching the dark majesty of
bare branches, reminding himself prudently that it might
only be a snake. But his heart rose in triumph. A shadowy 
black form crouched against an oak's trunk, flashing teeth 
at him that were only slightly paler than the figure's 
black leather clothing.
    Echelli discreetly sniffed, trying to catch the scent 
of black roses. He was almost convinced now that his foe 
was a curalli. But again, only the unfamiliar stench of 
blood, death, and rotting leaves reached him. He frowned
upwards in perplexity. "What manner of creature are you?" 
He received only a hiss in return. "Can you even talk?"
    The figure's head lifted in evident indignation, but 
still he- she?- did not speak. Echelli nodded slowly, 
reluctant admiration growing in him. His foe was too 
cautious and wise to speak, to give him an audible clue 
which might enable him to recognize them later. He 
stooped, never taking his eyes off his enemy, and lifted 
the black dagger from the leaves. "Is this weapon yours?"
    The eyes, hidden inside the leather hood so that he 
could not see their color, brightened. One hand reached 
forward, and Echelli watched it intently, trying to 
determine if the revelation of the night before had been 
no more than a hallucination.
    No, it hadn't been, he realized with a sigh. The skin 
on that slender hand was the color of a starless night. 
Strange, though, that a darkness Elwen did not have 
fangs...
    He recovered his wits as the Elwen tapped the branch 
impatiently, pointing a finger at the dagger. Echelli
smirked and dropped the blade into a tunic pocket, which 
he then teasingly folded a flap of his cloak over. "No, I 
think I'll keep this, a gift in return for your intrusion 
last night."
    There came a long, angry hiss, and Echelli thought his 
enemy might leap down upon him. But no, the ebony-clothed 
form suddenly sprang forward, landing cloaked in another 
tree's budding leaves. Another breath, another blink, and 
it was gone.
    Echelli swallowed hard. The movements he had just seen 
were graceful and practiced, made with almost careless 
ease. Whatever else this Elwen was, he was a capable 
fighter. He had picked up enough evidence to decide that 
his opponent was indeed masculine, and he wasn't looking 
forward to challenging him, as eventually must happen if 
this pursuit continued. 
    But, in spite of his dread, the curalli could feel his 
heart beating faster and his skin tingling. Admit it, he 
scolded himself silently. You would like a battle with 
this fighter.
    Too much of late, the curalli's life had been mundane, 
without anything to test himself against. It had always 
been his intention to force his fighting skill to the 
highest level it could reach, but how could he do that if 
nothing forced him to?
    He left off his chase and returned to the clearing, 
bounding with quick, floating motions, as at home in the 
forest as a tree or a natural predator. His dark eyes 
flared with soft appreciation when he returned to the 
soft, sunlit grassy expanse of his home. He had chosen 
where he wanted to live well. He made for his home.
    After a few steps, there came again the disconcerting 
feeling of eyes on him, measuring his every move.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The third sunrise saw Echelli on his way to Keren's 
home, stepping expertly into the fading patches of 
darkness and enjoying their coolness before the early 
spring warmth banished them. Reluctantly, he would 
continue on, only to stop again in a few minutes and soak 
up the darkness of another pool.
    An hour later, he broke into the open field that 
encompassed the limits of the Deerfriend children's lives, 
paused to seek out Esain's scent, and trailed him to the 
herb garden behind the house. The young half-Elwen, 
sweating only slightly from exertion, chopped 
energetically at a small sapling, being careful never to 
actually cut off a branch. He ducked and dodged as if 
facing a real but invisible enemy, bringing an unexpected 
smile of pride to the curalli's countenance. He had 
trained him well.
    Coughing back the unnecessary emotion also helped to 
gain Esain's attention. Keren's son whirled, sword at the 
ready, but his eyes brightened at the sight of his 
teacher. "Is it time?" he asked, breathing a little faster
as he stepped forward and cocked his head to one side. A 
slight breeze, meandering through the garden, caught some 
strands of his black hair and flipped them upward, causing 
them to flap gently above the lobeless ears. Absently, 
Esain tucked them behind his hearing organs, his eyes 
waiting for Echelli's answer.
    The curalli inclined his head, then turned and 
whistled loudly. After a few minutes, the back door opened 
and Keren and Esme came out, arm in arm. They were 
followed by Mercilla, her blue eyes caught somewhere 
between excitement and a pout. She pranced over to 
Echelli, bare feet hardly making any sound on the soft 
dirt. "Uncle Echelli, take me too! Please!" She smiled up 
at him, the smile that was hers alone among the Deerfriend 
family. Keren's sons and older daughter, Fairree, relied 
on their stubbornness to get what they wanted, but 
Mercilla used her emotion.
    Echelli smiled gently down and would have spoken, but 
Esme intervened. "I'm sorry, Eche," she said to the 
curalli. Then she beckoned Mercilla to her with one hand.
Head hanging and lip quivering, the little girl obeyed.
    Keren glanced at Echelli and touched his mind 
telepathically as his wife spoke to her sullen daughter. 
^Now do you see why Mercilla's so hard to refuse? That 
smile, those eyes...!^
    ^Beautiful,^ Echelli agreed mentally, and then smiled. 
^She must have gotten it from her mother's side of the 
family.^ He grinned with pure deviltry as the land Elwen's 
black-gold eyes narrowed, knowing that Keren couldn't do 
anything about it. He broke the link and turned away when 
Esain's hand brushed his arm.
    "Can we leave now, Uncle?" The young swordsman was 
practically prancing in place, hands locked tight on the 
hilt of his weapon.
    Echelli motioned to the youth's parents. "Don't you 
want to say good-bye first?"
    Esain looked sheepish, but only for a moment. Then he 
turned and embraced his mother tightly, standing half a 
head taller than she did, even though she was on a higher 
step. "I promise I'll be careful, mother."
    Esme hugged him in return, kissing his cheek and then 
turning frightened dark eyes toward Echelli. The forester 
nodded reassuringly and patted his shining dirks. Her eyes 
gleamed with relief, and she was able to finish the 
farewell without too many tears.
    Keren hugged his son stoically, but those expressive 
eyes showed his pain. With the direct, land Elwen link to 
his feelings, he must have been feeling torment, Echelli 
knew. He turned his head away politely as their private 
parting concluded, then wheeled about in startlement when 
a hand brushed his arm. Keren held his shoulders tightly. 
"For gods' sake, Echelli, take care of yourself." His 
voice was rough, and a few tears slipped down his cheeks. 
Uncomfortable with the display of emotion, the curalli
returned his embrace stiffly, then stepped away and 
motioned to Esain. The fighter rose from his crouch where 
he had been saying good-bye to his little sister, nodded 
and waved to his parents, and moved beside Echelli across 
the field.
    "Did you already bid farewell to Fairree and Lolain?" 
Echelli asked his student. Esain nodded, turning his eyes 
forward. "Well, then." The curalli drew in his breath. 
"You're off on your first- voluntary- adventure."
    Again the black eyes gleamed with a deceptive 
gentleness, and one hand went down to the now-sheathed 
sword. "I am, and, if I'm lucky, my parents will let me go 
off on others."
    Echelli was tempted to say, "Don't count on it," but 
he held his tongue as he guided his charge through the 
forest, weaving almost automatically around the dangers- 
the lair of a boar, a nest of vipers, a patch of depli, 
the killing blue flower. The wilderness of Arcadia was as 
deadly as it was beautiful, and Echelli was determined to 
pound that point home in Esain's adventurous skull. He
himself was not sure if the half-Elwen was ready to fend 
on his own.
    Esain, however wide-eyed with wonder he was, did 
listen attentively to Echelli's instructions and warnings, 
and they reached to the cottage without incident. Echelli 
offered his young guest something to eat, but Esain 
declined, the gleam returning to his eyes. Echelli sighed. 
Obviously, his friend's son would never be satisfied until 
he had an "adventure."
    "Come," the forester said briefly, turning down a 
rutted trail that deer had made coming in and out of the 
clearing. He walked silently, flinching at the sounds 
Esain made as he pushed branches out of the way and 
stumbled on sticks. But he gritted his teeth, reminded
himself that this was the youngster's first true venture 
into forestland, and continued on.
    Soon the vegetation at the sides of the path began to 
rot and wither, and Echelli knew they were getting close. 
The sodkrat poison seeped into the water supply around 
their nest, another reason Echelli had meant to remove 
them years ago. He raised a hand, waited until Esain 
stopped moving, and then spoke mentally.
    ^Keep your eyes on the ground and don't try to show 
off. Snakes may not be able to hear, but they are very 
sensitive to vibrations. If a sodkrat comes to the 
surface, chop it in two and don't try anything else. If 
you only wound it, strike at its mouth to get the fangs. 
Then it won't be able to do damage even if it does bite.^
    ^Agreed.^ Esain's voice was a bit too excited for 
Echelli's liking, but it was rather too late to turn back 
now. Slowly, the fighters separated and stepped into the 
wide patch of dirt covered with wilted plants that was the 
sodkrat nest. They stepped slowly and carefully, their 
eyes on the ground.
    A blunt head emerged from just under the sand at 
Echelli's feet, the snake coiling and thrusting its fangs 
toward the curalli's leg. The forester's dirks were the 
swifter, however, cleaving the body right behind the 
purple-marked white head. With a dying hiss, the snake 
sank its fangs uselessly into the dirt and lay still.
    There came the telltale sound of scrabbling, and two 
serpents shot up under each of Esain's feet. The curalli 
turned anxiously to help, but the half-Elwen was already 
at work, his sword singing a high, clean note as he 
brought it down on all four scaled necks. A quartet of 
heads rolled on the ground, and Esain stepped back, 
panting and grinning at a stunned Echelli. "I think you 
trained me better than you knew," he said softly, black 
eyes gleaming with battle-ardor.
    Echelli had no time to reply, for other snakes were 
erupting from the sand like so many tiny volcanoes and 
slithering toward them, hissing a high, sibilant warning. 
Blades flew, soon stained with sluggish red blood. In ten 
minutes, at least a hundred sodkrats lay still in death or
dragged their useless bodies about, biting at the dirt and 
each other.
    No more serpents were coming to the surface, so 
Echelli knelt and began to dig with his dirks. It seemed 
that every other movement was met with the coiling strike 
of a swift, slim body, but he dispatched his foe each 
time. Esain knelt and helped him after a few moments, 
until they had a large hole dug. Echelli drew a breath as 
he saw a natural cavity appear below them, roofed over by 
a thin layer of dirt; then he struck downwards.
    The nest erupted, showing the glossy hides of freshly- 
laid eggs- and the hopelessly tangled mass of snakes lying 
in wait.
    Again Echelli, as he cut snakes in two and blocked the
fangs of still more, admired Esain's coolness. Though his 
eyes retained their sparkle and his cheeks their flush of 
excitement, he chopped the sodkrats apart quietly and 
methodically, seemingly having no impulse to show off. 
That, Echelli noted with profound, silent relief, was more 
than he had dared to hope for. He returned to his own task 
until the last guardian serpent collapsed, motionless, 
onto the tangle. He then began to spear the animals with 
his dirks and lift them out of the way. No sense taking 
chances when one might still be alive. Esain watched him 
for a moment, then copied his movements. Soon the eggs lay 
fully unearthed.
    Echelli drew in a breath and silently asked the stars 
for strength and luck. Here was the dangerous part. He 
reached down, stabbed his right dirk into a tough, 
leathery shell, and pushed firmly until he saw the tip of 
his weapon come out the other side. When he freed the 
blade, he held up the dripping egg for Esain to examine. 
"If you don't cleave the shell, there's a chance the young 
snake inside will yet live to hatch."
    "I understand." But there was a wary, unhappy 
expression coating the half-Elwen's face. "Is it right to 
take innocent life, Uncle? To kill these unborn sodkrats 
without ever letting them loose?"
    Echelli raised one eyebrow. "Esain, would you call the 
grown serpents we killed innocent?"
    "No."
    "Exactly my point. The moment it hatches, a sodkrat 
has the full poison of an adult and is capable of killing 
a battle-wise Elwen." He paused to savor his companion's 
stunned expression. "Since that is true, how can you 
possibly feel any pity for them?'
    Esain's answer was to stick his sword through another 
egg. Echelli smiled and returned to his task, carefully 
removing the eggs that were hardest first. Those could 
have hatched right on top of their steel.
    Finally, Echelli scrambled to his feet, joined by 
Esain. The half-Elwen was holding a last egg, his swordtip 
resting on its smooth surface. "Thank you for this, 
Uncle." His words were formal, but were belied by the glow
in his eyes. "It has been a simple adventure, but more 
exciting than the things I usually get to do." He mumbled 
this last under his breath, twisting his blade savagely 
into the shell he held as if to emphasize his point.
    The forester pretended to wince. "Now, now, Esain. 
Your parents only want's what best for you, that I'm sure 
of. I will say one thing, though: I promised to protect 
you, but you hardly looked as if you needed anyone to 
watch over you."
    The half-Elwen beamed at the compliment, pulling his 
sword out of his target. "Thank you. Perhaps you could 
tell them-"
    Too late, Echelli saw the growing crack in the egg, 
the twist of a slim, writhing body emerging from the
ruined shell. Crying out in horror, he reached forward 
with a dirk as the tiny sodkrat coiled itself around 
Esain's wrist. It seemed to Echelli that he had never 
before moved so swiftly.
    And even that was not fast enough. Fangs sank into the 
half-Elwen's soft flesh. Esain dropped to one knee with a 
ringing yelp of pain. The reptile unwound itself and 
dropped to the ground, darting toward the thicker shadows 
of the forest, but this time the flying dirk was quicker. 
It collapsed, head severed, simply a smaller corpse amid 
the tangled pile of its brethren.
    The forester reached Esain's side and touched the 
wound, which was swelling and turning viaquia purple. 
Keren's son was already swaying like a tree in the wind, 
his face so pale that he could have compared favorably to 
ice. His lips were moving, mouthing soundless words, but 
the other muscles of his face seemed frozen. There was a 
trapped look of indescribable agony in the black eyes, 
just before he collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.
    Echelli felt like screaming himself with panic and had
to fight to bring his emotions under control. The first 
thing to do was to get Esain back to his home- and 
quickly. Echelli knew that a mental summons to Keren could 
accomplish that, and he did not hesitate.
    ^Keren!^ His wail was almost audible. ^Esain's been 
hurt! We're in a clearing about five miles north of my 
home. You'll recognize it by the rotted vegetation along 
the path. Hurry!^
    He heard Keren's reply, and was somewhat comforted by 
the fact that it was as frantic as his own. ^I come.^
    Turning, the curalli knelt by his charge and listened 
intently, almost weeping in relief when he heard the 
strong, steady heartbeat. Slowed by the youthful and 
healthy condition of the body it had attacked, the venom 
had not yet reached his vital organs. The curalli brushed 
back his adopted nephew's hair, wishing there was 
something he could do.
    He felt a slight vibration, as if in an earthquake, 
but he knew that this did not come from the earth beneath 
him. The only shaking was in his own body, compounded from
fear and something other than fear. There was a waiting 
tingle in his body, something that waited for a command to 
use it. He could use his magic to heal Esain.
    The forester swallowed hard. As it always did when he 
contemplated wielding his magic, a dark wall of terror 
rose in front of him, stark and insurmountable. He had 
come to accept his magic, but he had never lost his fear 
of it. He tried now, resting a hand on Esain's forehead, 
to call it up for the first time in twenty years.
    It would not come.
    With a sob of helpless frustration, the curalli buried 
his head in his hands. More than anything, he hated being 
backed into a corner and deprived of every option. But, 
unless he overcame his phobia, that was exactly where he
would stay. Sucking in a breath, he stretched out a 
shaking hand.
    It froze in midair as if encased in ice, and he could 
feel all the muscles in his arm cramp until he dropped the 
limb uselessly back to his side. His fists clenched, and 
he let loose a horrible wail, a sound that might have come 
from the throat of a hunting wanderwolf. There was nothing 
he could do!
    Five minutes later, there were footsteps on the path, 
and Keren bounded into the clearing. He barely took note 
of Echelli's tear-streaked face; instead, he knelt and 
scooped Esain into his arms. His words were clipped, and 
his eyes did not shift from his son's pain-twisted face. 
"Follow as soon as you can. I want to hear exactly how 
this happened." He looked up, his eyes going glazed for a 
moment, and then vanished. Echelli knew he had teleported 
home, the same method he had used to reach the clearing so 
quickly. He rarely used that method of travel except to 
cover long distances. Echelli smiled bleakly, wishing he 
had remembered to cling to the land Elwen's arm, and then
sped down the path.
    He used punishing speed to reach his friend's home, 
pushing himself beyond the normal curalli limit of eighty 
miles an hour. He barely noticed the raw feeling in his 
throat or the burning cries of his lungs. There was only 
one thought in his mind, and that was to return as swiftly 
as possible. He ignored the dangers, but he was such a 
fleet, shadowy thing- here one moment, gone the next- that 
nothing could respond to him or try to harm him.
    Or so he thought.
    At a bend in the path, he caught a glimpse of a figure 
cloaked in black leather out of the corner of his eye, and 
instinctively knew that it was his mysterious foe. He 
altered his flight as a dagger zipped at him, but never 
ceased running. He heard a snarl of surprise, and then the 
slender Elwen dropped in front of him.
    The curalli took a slash on his unguarded arm from a 
small knife before he backhanded his foe across the face, 
so hard that the other Elwen tumbled into the bushes. 
Never once pausing to look back, the curalli sped silently
on, his brow stained with sweat. 
    Twenty minutes later he broke into the field that held 
Keren's home, breathing so hard that, for a moment, he had 
little time to do anything else. One leg refused to 
support him, but he transferred his weight to the other 
and trotted forward, seeking the scents of his friends.
    He found Esain laid on his back in the herb garden. 
Keren and Esme bending over him. Tears slipped down both 
their faces, but that didn't stop Esme from stroking her 
son's face and soothing its twisted lines with her magic, 
or Keren from expending emotional healing powers on the 
half-Elwen. The fragrant green-gray liquid that the land 
Elwen used to cure wounds and sickness was drawing the 
poison out of Esain's blood slowly but surely. Both were
bent over, concentrating on their task, but Keren glanced 
up as Echelli's shadow fell across him. His black-gold 
eyes met the curalli's, and Echelli backed away a step at 
the pure hostility in that gaze. In the deathly cold voice 
of one speaking to a traitor, Keren commanded, "Tell me 
what happened."
    Echelli drew a shivering breath and spoke in fierce, 
quiet words. The only thing he left out was his inability 
to heal Esain, but the dark expression in the land Elwen's 
gaze showed that Keren had guessed his omission. His 
friend said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
    The curalli abruptly wheeled and cried out, hands 
flying to his head, as Keren smashed through his 
heartscreening barriers. Methodically, the land Elwen went 
through Echelli's exposed thoughts and feelings, 
apparently finding the one he wanted. The fighter 
attempted to pick up the pieces, but by sheer brutality,   
Keren forced him to yield his inner self. At last, the 
almost alien touch withdrew, and the forester looked away 
from the anger in the pureblood's eyes. His dark voice was
only a mumble as he attempted to speak a feeble defense. 
"I could do nothing, and I certainly did not cause his 
injury."
    He looked back in time to see Keren's snarl, the 
sharply slashing motion of the white-skinned hand, and he 
recoiled, bowing his head. At the same moment, Esme spoke, 
her voice as weary as though she had not slept for many 
nights. "Esain will live, but many days and nights will 
pass before the pain totally ceases."
    At once her husband rose to his feet and stalked 
toward Echelli. The fighter eyed him warily, but even his 
realization of Keren's anger could not have prepared him 
for what happened next. 
    Hands, made strong by anxiety and fury, grabbed his 
shoulders and slammed him against the wooden wall of the 
cottage. Echelli looked up, to be met by a stinging slap 
across his cheek. He flinched, one hand going to the 
rising welt on his face, and he started to speak, but 
Keren was having none of it.
    "You promised to keep our son safe, and you nearly
destroyed him!" The hysterical scream overrode both Esme's 
soft words and Echelli's protest. "You've never broken a 
promise in your life! Worse yet, you had the means to heal 
him and you dared not to, for the sake of some silly 
fear!" His grip tightened, nearly crushing Echelli's 
shoulder bones. "How could you do this to us- to me? I 
thought I had your friendship!"
    Echelli knew that Keren had been driven to this point 
because of parental concern, but knowing the reason didn't 
make it any easier for him to take the words. His own 
temper flared. "I did everything in my power to keep him 
safe!" he roared back. "It was a mischance-"
    His voice cut off, because Keren's left hand was now 
choking him. Echelli kicked feebly, trying to free
himself; normally, he was stronger than his friend. But 
the wild expression in Keren's eyes demonstratively proved 
that he was no longer normal. "Mischance, my eye, Echelli! 
The point is that you promised. Esme and I believed that 
he would be in no danger when with you; we trusted you." 
His hand fell away from Echelli's throat, but did not 
release the curalli's shoulders. "I would say you have 
gained too little trust in your life to throw any away!"
    Echelli exploded. Enough was enough. A frenzy of fear 
and anger surged down into his core. Like a trapped forest 
animal, he was cornered and would strike back.
    A keening sound, unbelievably high, began to issue 
from no source. It caused no pain to Echelli, but Keren 
fell to his knees with a cry, clasping his hands over his 
ears. Tears trickled down Esme's face, even though the 
sound quickly went beyond the hearing range of a human. 
Echelli, also, should have been bucking in agony, but he 
stood still and unharmed, staring down in shock as his 
helpless friend rolled on the ground, sobbing and adding 
his own keen to the noise. Distantly, as if in a dream,
Echelli heard glass windows crack, and Esme cry out in 
dismay. A few moments later, the wail stopped. Shaken, 
Echelli stared down at his hands, sniffing the smell about 
them.
    Rage rose inside. Damn you! he thought viciously at 
his magic, casting it back into whatever exiled dormancy 
it had roused itself from. Why do you never come when I 
truly need you?
    He knelt beside Keren, who was slowly sitting up as 
the ringing in his ears evidently subsided. Echelli had a 
faint hope for reconciliation, but it died at the 
expression in Keren's eyes. The most terrible look anyone 
had ever given the curalli- a look compounded of betrayal, 
mistrust, shock, and fear- swept across the forester's 
face, radiating from the gaze of a friend. Keren spoke one 
word. "Go."
    Blind with terror and tears, Echelli scrambled to his 
feet and backed away a step, trying to rationalize the 
near-hatred in Keren's glance. "Ker, please-"
    All emotions faded from the black-gold diamonds except
one- naked horror, a fear so great that Echelli shook. 
Keren was afraid not only for himself, but for his wife, 
his children, his home, everything that Echelli had been 
part of for so long. Again his bleeding lips parted. "Go."
    The curalli knew a dismissal when he heard one, and 
did not pause to say farewell. Such courteousness was   
not accepted or expected from a traitor. He bolted into 
the trees and toward his own home, caring not for the 
aching of his knife-wound and his bruises. When he reached 
the clearing, he scooped up his pack, shoved food, 
clothes, and necessities into it, and took to his heels 
again. Away, into the mockingly brilliant sunlight.
    North.




                        Chapter 2
               When Friends Become Enemies
    For at least two days and probably more, Echelli 
Durillo continued north toward Cytheria. Time ceased to 
have any meaning for him. He ate when he was hungry, slept 
when his body demanded rest, tended his wounds whenever 
they needed tending to. Otherwise there was only the 
running and the quiet joy that filled him whenever he was 
in a forest. 
    He let his thoughts drift away deliberately, because 
thinking would bring back the memory of the pain. 
Actually, the hurt was always there, hovering like an old 
wound, but so far he'd been successful in ignoring it. 
He'd traversed the northeastern part of the Tableland and 
was nearing the Acrad River, which he would most likely 
have to swim. That he didn't mind, however. His life 
continued without challenge, without change, and a
slightly unusual experience would be a welcome one.
    When he finally bothered to take note of the days and 
nights, he found that it was the fifth night since he had 
left Keren's home, and he was camping in a patch of forest 
just a few miles east of the river. Its thunderous song 
was clearly audible, but he had heard it before and was 
not disturbed by it. He roused himself from his crouch by 
the fire with a small shake and glided toward the edge of 
the forest. He could smell the busy scents of rabbits and 
other small forest life, and his mouth was watering.
    Abruptly, a food scent that was much nearer attracted 
his attention, and his eyes narrowed as he followed its 
trail. Skinned and cooked, a haunch of venison lay near 
the trunk of an oak tree, so far ignored by rodents or 
insects. The grass about it was blackened, and the by now 
familiar scent of rotting leaves lingered about it.
    Echelli stared up indecisively into the branches, 
which were only just starting to put out pale green buds. 
"I've seen a lot of things in my life that don't make 
sense," he whispered, "but this takes first place. First
you were my enemy; now why are you trying to help me?"
    The wind and the frightened leap of a startled hare 
were his only answers. With a sigh, he scooped the meat 
into his arms and took it back to the fire, cutting it 
apart with his dirk and eating unconcernedly. He could 
smell no poison or magic on the meat; besides, his foe 
struck him as clever enough to realize that no curalli 
would be fooled by such things. However, the feast soon 
made him thirsty, and it was when he found a wooden bucket 
of water sitting under the same tree that he began to grow 
suspicious. "Is it my imagination," he called, this time 
loudly, "or are you helping me?"
    For an instant he caught a glimpse of a black figure 
out of the corner of his eye, and wheeled swiftly toward
it. But this stranger was evidently a master of 
disappearances; as always, there was no sign of where he 
had been. Echelli trotted the rim of the clearing, just to 
be sure, but no track or scent could be found to prove 
that he had seen anything. Shaking his head, he tugged the 
bucket back to his fire and drank, then rose and went 
about methodically setting his traps. In all honesty, they 
would not keep the black one out, but they might provide a 
deterant to any curalli. Shadowed Elwens had been growing 
bolder in the twenty-two years since the Sublimation, 
especially since the land Elwens had been honor-bound to 
help their cousins overcome human ravages. Echelli desired 
no encounters with his people.
    Moodily, he lay on his back after the setting of the 
chimes, firewater, and pitfall traps, and watched the 
star-crowded sky. There was nothing he wished to think 
about, most especially not his argument with Keren. Still, 
he had to occupy himself somehow.
    Softly, he began to sing, ignoring entirely the fact 
that he had already praised the stars and that far-
carrying elwensong might point him out for an enemy. In a
wordless tune of molten beauty, he let the music out,
singing whatever notes appeared in his mind. He closed his
eyes finally, although the song could not give him sleep,
and curled up tightly, continuing to croon faintly. He was 
still doing so when something prompted him to open his
eyes and stare toward the edge of the clearing.
    Watching him from the shadow of a tree, highlighted by 
his aura but also still cloaked in the black leather 
garments, was the strange Elwen. Echelli cocked his head, 
lowered his music to a hum, and let it fade into silence. 
He was about to ask a question when the odd figure 
gestured in obvious impatience.
    Echelli's eyebrows rose, but he answered the unspoken 
request with a burst of full-fledged song. This time the 
notes were not without purpose; he poured his emotions 
into them, letting them become the salty tears that he so 
hated to express visibly, the bitter anger and 
bewilderment that was still trapped inside him. He felt 
the tension drain from his muscles and his eyelids droop 
as he did so. But, long past the point where his throat 
should have gone dry, he sang, and the intruder listened 
like a timid deer. Though he could not see his features, 
Echelli somehow knew that they contained a look of 
understanding, if not sympathy.
    Abruptly the figure hissed, whirled, and disappeared
into the trees. Echelli, his song fading into stillness, 
discovered the reason a moment later. Footsteps were 
coming toward the clearing over dried leaves from last 
autumn's fall, and the walker was making no effort to hide 
his sounds.
    Hissing slightly himself, the curalli rose to his feet
and slipped beyond the chimes, moving with such grace and
ease that not a single one rang. He leaned against the oak 
that had sheltered the stranger's gifts and melded with 
it, seeking understanding. Lifting branches infused with 
his spirit and thought, he sent pulses of energy to every 
tree nearby, asking for information. In response, boughs 
creaked and budding leaves rustled, and he felt the 
message speed away to seek an answer, as silent and 
invisible as wind. He stood enjoying the feeling of being 
a tree, his limbs dancing slightly in time to the tune of 
the wind, until the reply returned. So great was his 
startlement that he removed himself from the meld quicker 
than was usual, and had to fight the urge to think as a 
tree would, before he could determine his course of action 
as an Elwen.
    First things first. He glided to the edge of his 
campsite first, unhooked one chime so that there was a 
noticeable opening, and then climbed a midnight elm. The 
black roses growing on its branches and the darkness its 
leaves shed would effectively mask the scent and sight of 
him. This done, he settled himself comfortably and waited.
    His quarry came into sight a few minutes later, 
dressed in buckskin leggings and a sea-green tunic, He 
carried a sword and dagger in the sheaths at his sides, 
and a bow and arrow were slung over his back. He paused to 
the side of the midnight elm, staring at the campfire, and 
then looked about and backed away a step. As with any 
forest creature, Echelli could smell fear, and his muscles 
tightened in response, the instincts of battle welling in 
him. He had to work hard to ignore them. That course of 
action would hardly be acceptable now.
    On the other hand...
    The forester dropped free of his branch but stayed 
within the midnight elm's shadow, landing without a sound, 
though the forest floor was covered with dry leaves. 
Hesitating for just a moment, he reached out and tapped 
the tracker on the shoulder.
    Keren Deerfriend wheeled about, his black-gold eyes 
not losing one bit of their apprehension at the sight of 
the battle-ready fighter. However, he did try to conceal 
it masterfully, stretching out a hand and clasping 
Echelli's wrist. "Well met," he said cordially, but his 
politeness could not disguise the icy tone hovering about 
his words, or the fear behind his gaze.
    Echelli nodded, waited patiently until Keren's hand 
let go, and then preceded him into the clearing to stretch 
out lazily beside his campfire. Keren remained standing, 
the golden flecks in his eyes glowing like small suns 
against the background of a starless night. Echelli 
pillowed his head on a pile of fallen leaves and stared up 
at him fixedly.
    "Echelli, I don't know what to say," the land Elwen 
managed at last. He looked down, an uncomfortable flush 
staining his cheeks. "I know that I owe you an apology, 
but I'm still so angry." Indeed, the eyes that flashed at 
the forester had lost nothing of their fire. "Why do you 
never act predictably? Why did you get so furious that you 
loosed your magic on me? I thought Kleianthe had taught 
you to control your temper."
    Echelli firmly held his still-smoldering rage down. 
"That was hardly a normal circumstance, Keren." Despite 
his calm tone of voice, the words hissed like snakes. "I 
honestly don't know why I released my magic, but it is 
faintly linked, as yours is, to emotion. In moments of 
overpowering anger or sorrow, my control slips, and it 
defends me as it sees fit."
    "Speaking of magic," Keren said slowly. He held out 
his hands, and a small arc of lightning leaped from thumb 
to thumb. "Is yours as powerful as mine is?"
    Echelli drew back a bit, folding his arms and cocking 
his head. "I don't understand you, Keren." He spoke 
truthfully. "I can sympathize with your anger over Esain- 
I've had similar anger when someone dear to me is hurt. Or 
hurts me," he added pointedly. He had the satisfaction of 
seeing the land Elwen flinch before he continued.
    "But, while I can forgive that, I cannot forgive your 
insane accusations. You act as if I had deliberately left 
that sodkrat alive to hurt Esain!" The forester could feel 
his eyes sparkling as wildly as the fire. "And then you 
had the brashness to call my fears silly, when you 
yourself have feared your own magic. Do you think of it as 
any wonder that I grew angry?"
    "That provides no reason for you to use your magic the 
way you did. Esme's ears were bleeding by the time you 
stopped, and Mercilla may well have suffered hearing 
damage; the windows of our house are ruined. Is that the 
only way you know how to use a gift, Echelli- as you do 
your fighting skills- to destroy? Can you think of nothing 
more than defending yourself and suppressing the good side 
of everything so that you can wallow in self-pity? I would 
never have used my emotion on you as you did on me."
    Echelli came to his feet like a sodkrat uncoiling. 
"Don't lie to me, Keren Deerfriend." His voice was low 
with the menace that had ended so many lives over two 
thousand years. "You would have used your magic if you 
felt trapped, defenseless, threatened? Wouldn't you?"
    Keren's cheeks were flaming once more as he looked at 
the ground. "Yes," he whispered. "I would have." But still 
the stubbornness in his eyes shone like a beacon. 
"However, I have never used them against a friend."
    Echelli gazed at him steadily. "Not willingly, of 
course," he purred in a lazy drawl. He watched as his 
friend's expression grew darker, knowing that Keren's 
memory was drifting back to a time eleven years ago when 
Sodiest had compelled him to use his destructive power 
against Echelli. The mixed-blood dipped his head slightly, 
letting a grin play on his lips. "I'm not the only one in 
this glade that could be evil if I wanted to."
    Keren cursed. "You outcast. Your view of the world is 
as twisted as your blood."
    Echelli turned his head; those words might as well 
have been a hailstone hitting him. He felt a shiver creep 
up his back, but it was not from the relative coolness of 
the evening. "Are you being controlled by magic, Ker?" he 
asked carefully. "That doesn't sound like you."
    "Nothing controls me but my heart." Keren's eyes were 
positively smoldering as he stepped challengingly forward. 
"You wanted something to test yourself against. Here I 
am."
    Echelli was, by now, positively shaking in the icy 
grip of fear. "Keren. I don't understand. We've had 
arguments before, had differences. Why-"
    He was forced to dodge to the side as a bolt of 
lightning hit the tree near where he had been standing. 
Every forester's instinct in his body flinched at the 
silent, mourning scream the burning oak gave, but he 
doubted Keren, caught up in an abyss of rage, noticed it. 
"Because you were always different," the land Elwen 
snarled, as Echelli skipped over a dart of fire that 
glowed like a shooting star. "You could refuse to take 
responsibility but still get away with it. You could make 
me angry and somehow avoid that rage. You could control 
your emotions when I couldn't. You could make remarks that 
turned people into your enemies, and yet walk without 
fear. You could have taken or left our relationship; I 
couldn't have. The whole core of this, Echelli, comes from 
the fact that I need you!"
    Well, thought the stunned shadowed Elwen as he faced 
his livid friend across the flames, now I do understand. 
Keren had been afraid of anyone needing him too much; it 
was why he had delayed and almost forsworn marriage. 
Apparently he also disliked the opposite extreme- not 
dependency, but a deep need of one person's friendship. 
His independence was galling him about it, and his hot 
temper had apparently exploded when he realized that 
Echelli had taken him at his word and left. It suggested 
that the curalli could walk away from any friendship 
without a glance back; now Keren was attempting to force 
him to say that he did indeed need the land Elwen in 
return.
    Echelli opened his mouth to speak, but then shut his 
eyes, burying his head in his hands. The horrible truth 
was that he could have lived without friendship, though 
relationships had of course made his life incomparably 
richer. But he was always a complete individual; he did 
not mesh, not even with Keren, as much as the land Elwen 
meshed with his family. The bottom line was that Keren was 
jealous of Echelli's (questionable) freedom, and was doing 
something about it.
    The curalli was brought back to the present with a 
jolt when he realized that Keren's dragonmetal blade and 
magical knife, Starsheen, were glimmering in his hands. 
"Draw your weapons," warned the land Elwen.
    Echelli drew a deep breath, trying to force away the 
anxiety, anger, and fear. Now was the time to prove that 
he was adamant about this. "No," he said quietly. "I won't 
fight a friend."
    "You have before," Keren reminded him. "You were 
compelled to defend yourself against me when I was 
soulbound." The silver in his cheeks grew higher. "You 
handled yourself well, I have to admit." He scraped his 
blades together as if in anticipation. "Come on, let's see 
that skill you haven't displayed in my presence for almost 
two years."
    "I wonder," said Echelli with deathly calm, not making 
any move to draw his dirks. "I wonder why you're forcing 
this. I wonder why you seem to have forgotten what 
happened the last time we fought." He tilted his head to 
look straight into Keren's eager eyes. "I wonder where the 
Keren Deerfriend who would rather die than wound a friend 
went."
    The taunt worked; the land Elwen recoiled, lifting his 
weapons with a little whimper of pain. His words were flat 
now, but they still could not disguise the hurt. "Echelli, 
you're not the only one who pushes yourself to be the best 
you can be. I do that as much as you do- not just in 
emotional magic, but in fighting as well. You have no 
objection to training my son. Would you not resume 
training me as well?"
    Confused by this sudden change of tactics, Echelli 
eyed the silver-haired pureblood warily. Instinctively, 
his muscles tensed, his legs shifting under him into a 
posture more appropriate for a leap. "Ker, just explain 
this fully, and I'll-"
    The land Elwen rushed, sword flying high, dagger 
flying low. The hurt and fury in his eyes had mixed anew 
into a shadow of that terrible look Keren had given the 
forester earlier. Echelli knew that this was no play; 
Keren rarely toyed with anyone. This time his friend- or 
rather, the stranger who had taken his friend's place- 
meant business.
    Echelli leaped out of the way, silent and graceful as 
a shadow, just before Keren's reaching sword would have 
speared him in the belly. He watched as the dragonmetal 
blade sank to its hilt in the tree he had been standing 
under. At any other time the sight would have amused him, 
but not now. He was too busy fighting both his inner pain 
and the nearly undeniable call of his fighter's instincts. 
More than once, his hands twitched toward his dirks, and 
he had to dig his nails into his palms to keep them still.
    Keren wrenched the sword free and turned toward him, 
this time leading with Starsheen. Echelli ducked and 
reached up, trying to catch the land Elwen's wrist so that 
he could disarm him. But his friend knew him too well, and 
lifted a foot, kicking him in the belly, before he could 
complete the maneuver.
    That powerful hit flung Echelli backward several feet 
and knocked the breath out of him. He needed only a moment 
to persuade his lungs to function once more, but that 
might have been a moment too long. Keren was on him almost 
instantly, moving with breathtaking grace and speed, his 
blades curving to either side of the curalli's throat. 
Echelli felt the cold steel and dragonmetal come to rest a 
few moments later. 
    The silvery voice that spoke was smug, filled with the 
obvious warmth of triumph. "Surrender."
    Something revolted in Echelli then, his warrior's mind 
resisting that one word. No longer able to stop himself, 
giving way to his instincts, Echelli drew his dirks and 
thrust them straight up, scoring hits on Keren's wrists 
and driving him backward in one fluid motion. He rose to 
his feet, his weapons silver-stained, his face suffused 
with the hot blood of rage. "Leave me alone!" he cried at 
his friend, in a voice that was more animal than Elwen. 
"Or I'll do it for you!"
    Keren appeared shocked, staring down at the neat, 
precise holes in the lower part of his palms. The eyes he 
raised were more uncertain than before, but still 
stubborn. "I may not be able to defeat you," he called 
back, "or even hold you to a stalemate. But I know your 
tricks, and it will take a long time for you to disarm me 
or drive me away without wounding me further."
    Echelli snarled, the sound coming from the depths of 
his throat and making the land Elwen pause momentarily. 
Echelli knew why. That was a common noise on the streets 
of Shadows, a sickening, brutal sound of triumph, or an 
unmistakable warning. But Echelli had never before uttered 
that sound under the light of the sun, just as he had 
never used the words he spoke next. "If you know my 
tricks, I'll just have to find some you don't know, now 
won't I?" He crouched low and then sprang, landing 
directly in front of Keren.
    Their battle was short and furious. Echelli unleashed 
the full depth of his fighting experience, even deceptive 
and dirty tricks he had learned from Vaqua Shiningskin but 
never used. One dirk dipped into the dust of the clearing, 
lifting to scatter sand in Keren's eyes, and a soft-booted 
foot kicked him in the face. In less than three minutes, 
Echelli had disarmed Keren and forced him to a kneeling 
position. The only marks the land Elwen bore were the 
holes on his wrists and a bloody nose. The curalli snarled 
once more, this time in triumph, and turned away, both 
sickened and filled with wicked glee. Uncomfortably, he 
tried to calm the curalli part of him, the part that had 
enjoyed this battle, but he found it impossible, and 
finally gave it up with a sigh.
    He glanced back once, to see Keren retrieving his 
weapons and climbing to his feet. The land Elwen's face 
was at once bitter and curiously elated. That warned 
Echelli, but even the superb shadowed Elwen fighter could
not have expected what was coming next.
    A flash of light as brilliant as a score of desert 
suns filled the clearing. Echelli shrieked as his eyes 
caught its full brunt, knowing that a similar light had 
blinded Keren's sister Lomona. He attempted to bring up 
his weapons as he heard the almost inaudible charge, but 
his head was too filled with stinging pain; he could not 
concentrate on anything else. Thus, he was not surprised 
when his dirks were torn from his hands and he fell 
heavily to the ground. He heard Keren draw back Starsheen- 
he knew by the smell of magic and steel- and whispered, 
"Unfortunately, Echelli, I'm afraid I'll have to use this, 
if it is the only thing that will compel you to return." 
He heard the arm swish forward.
    The next sound that reached him was a startled shout. 
He heard the sound of Keren struggling with someone, then 
the land Elwen's howl of pain and the clatter of Starsheen 
to the earth. Desperately, he pawed at his burning eyes, 
irritably wishing he could see.
    He felt the magic break loose in him again, and this 
time he was helpless- he could not have resisted it if he 
wanted to. Slowly the yellow afterimage began to fade, 
until it showed Keren clutching his shoulder, his face 
pale. A long sword cut dripped silver blood, running from 
his arm and up through his tattered tunic, to his 
collarbone. It looked both deep and nasty. However, the 
land Elwen scrambled to his feet and stalked forward, 
reaching down to grasp Starsheen. Echelli, his eyes still 
tingling and his reluctance to fight rising anew, 
hesitated.
    It turned out to be a good thing he did. 
    Suddenly there was a shadow between him and Keren, a 
shadow that quickly took solid form. One leather-cloaked 
hand gripped a bloodied sword, while the other rested on 
the ground as the figure knelt, looking up at the land 
Elwen and hissing, steadily, without a break for breath. 
Echelli smelled blood and rotting leaves, and looked down 
incredulously at his sudden protector. The Elwen paid him 
no mind, simply continuing to hiss.
    Keren, his eyes on the stranger's sword, breathed, "I 
didn't know you had a friend, Echelli."
    "Until this moment, neither did I," the shadowed Elwen 
replied through numb lips. He reached out, tentatively, to 
tap the odd ally's shoulder. "Why did you first harm me 
and then try to help me?"
    The face turned slightly toward him, still so muffled 
that he could make out nothing of the features. However, 
as it had earlier that night while he was singing, 
knowledge of the intruder's expression came to him. It was
a fiercely loyal, fiercely protective look.
    Keren was already backing off, his eyes full of fear. 
"Whatever he is, Echelli, he's too much for me. I'll be 
leaving now." However, the black-gold gaze was still full 
of malevolence. "Don't think this is settled yet. I'll 
come back when your guard gives up and goes away."