Elwenspirit
                         Prologue
              10, Age of Arcadia, Late Fall
    Slowly my eyelids parted. I realized that I was lying 
down, and I rose to a sitting position, startled, running 
my fingers through my hair in a futile attempt to calm the 
spring mass of tangles.
    I had fallen asleep, though I hadn't meant to. My 
youngest child, Lolain, had been sick more than once in 
this night already, and I had intended to stay awake and 
listen for his desperate cry, the cry that would signal 
the beginning of another spasm. I would have stayed at his 
bedside, but even at two years, displaying typical pride, 
he'd cried and only stopped when I was out of the room. 
Though a half-Elwen, he seemed to have inherited more 
Elwen than human characteristics.
    I cast a loving glance at my wife, Esme, who was 
asleep. Somehow I had managed to talk her out of staying 
up with Lolain even though she considered it her 
responsibility as his mother. I finished the argument by 
sharply reminding her that I was his father. That got her 
to sleep.
    I heard a wail, and I sprang for the door.
----------------------------------------------------------
    After racing through the short hallway that connected 
our room with the childrens', I burst through the wooden 
entrance to find Lolain crying, body shaking. Tears 
glistened on his cheeks in the golden moonlight that 
poured through the window near his bedside.
    I knelt beside him, taking his small body into my 
grip. At once he woke and flung surprisingly strong, 
two-year-old arms around my neck. He clung so tightly that 
I was forced to hold my breath. At last, he relaxed a 
little, though he was still crying.
    "What's the matter?" I asked softly, brushing his damp 
silver hair back from his forehead. "A nightmare?"
    He shuddered and buried his head in my chest. I held 
him close, soothing him both physically and 
telepathically. His small mind ran in circles like a 
frightened animal, but I finally managed to calm him. His 
sobs ceased, and when he raised his dark eyes to my face 
again, only a few unshed tears trickled out of their 
corners. I kissed him softly on the forehead. "Do you want 
to tell me what it was about?" I asked gently.
    Lolain stopped in the middle of shaking his head, 
hesitated, then nodded. "All right," he said in a melodic 
voice that would put the voices of some full Elwens I knew 
to shame. "I was standing in a big room, and looking out a 
window. You and Mother were outside, and you were crying. 
The sky was green, and I could see the stars coming out. 
You dropped a piece of paper on the ground, and Mother 
screamed. Then everything turned black."
    I know, although I could not see myself doing it, that 
I turned pale. As Lolain put his head on my chest again, 
and snuggled into my arms, silently asking for a hug, I 
obliged him, but my mind was elsewhere.
    I hadn't known precognition was inheritable.
    "There's more," Lolain said suddenly, looking up at me 
again, his black eyes, one round and one diamond-shaped, 
shining with the incredibly serious intensity children put 
on everything. "I felt scared- so scared that I wanted to 
scream. And I felt like somebody was-" He fumbled for a 
word. At two years old, he displayed a remarkable 
knowledge of the world around him, but some things were 
nonetheless beyond the limits of his vocabulary.
    "Hurt?" I asked. He shook his head. "Upset? Gone?"
    "Yes, gone!" exclaimed Lolain. Then he frowned, his 
chubby cheeks turning downward. "But- more than gone." 
Suddenly he began to sob again.
    "Shhh, shhh. It's all right." I rocked him for about 
fifteen minutes until he fell asleep, then gently tucked 
him back in. His silver-haired head fell back with a sigh, 
and I listened to the light, quick rhythm of his 
breathing, wishing I could be half as relaxed.
----------------------------------------------------------
    When I returned to the room I shared with Esme, sleep 
proved impossible. I lay staring at the patterns the 
golden moonlight made on the ceiling, trying to reason 
through the jumble of emotions inside me.
    I was able to live with my precognition, mostly 
because I had grown indifferent to it, and did not feel 
that I could abolish it. But, my curse being transmitted 
to my children-
    I tried to cut off the thought, but it was like trying 
to ignore a nest of stinging hornets living in your back. 
Constantly it plagued me, and I rolled over, tossing until 
I heard Esme moan in her sleep. At once I relaxed, but, 
although my body was now still, my mind whirred along as 
busily as ever.
    I might have lain awake for hours, but then, with the 
suddenness of an assassin's blow, sleep bound me.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Torches flickered on the wet stone walls of the round 
room I stood in. I looked around, driven by panic and cold 
anxiety. Where were they?
    Then I heard somebody scream from behind a wooden door 
in the wall I was facing. I flung myself against the door, 
drawing my sword as I did so. At once a blinding light 
flashed, and a clear-toned alarm sounded- a warning to the 
occupant of the castle, I was sure.
    Then the floor began to tilt.
    I sprang grimly for the rafters that arched across the 
ceiling high overhead, but the sight of two figures 
chained to the wall made me pause. There they were!
----------------------------------------------------------
    I woke trembling, in sunbeams that had taken the place 
of the moonlight. For a long time I lay, a slow sense of 
horror growing in me although I could no longer remember 
the vision.
    I shuddered convulsively, trying to shake the 
penetrating chill. Surely nothing like- whatever my 
precognition had warned me of- could happen.
    "Keren! Breakfast!"
    At Esme's cheerful call, I willed myself to my feet. I 
deliberately stared out the window at the fields lying 
green in the autumn sunlight and subdued the feeling of 
pain and terror. 
    I have a wonderful family and a wonderful life, I 
thought, straightening the wrinkles in my blue tunic. 
Finally, I know what I'm doing with my life. I haven't had 
a vision in almost ten years. Why should I be bothered by 
this one?
    "Father, are you getting up?" demanded a small voice 
that chimed with silver sunlight. I turned with a smile to 
see Lolain leaning against the doorway, looking much 
better. His child's smile filled the room with brighter 
light than Uunul, and his skipping pace as he came forward 
for a hug was delight itself. "Mother wants to know if you 
are going to help with breakfast this morning or not."
    I laughed. "I will. I promised." I swept him into my 
arms, and he squealed with delight as I tossed him in the 
air. "Meanwhile, where's your brother and sister?"
    "Still sleeping." Lolain's sweet voice held a faint 
note of cheerful disdain, the closest I'd ever heard him 
come to contempt. "I jumped on Fairree's head, but she 
just rolled over and went back to sleep."
    I laughed a second time, knowing how stubborn my 
daughter was. Then I hugged Lolain again and put him down. 
"Why don't you wake them up again, while I go out and pick 
the herbs for breakfast."
    My son dashed off down the hall, his progress followed 
by several crashes. I sighed, rolled my eyes heavenward, 
and drifted down the hall toward the door that opened into 
our garden.
    On the way I passed the metal hooks on the wall that 
gripped my dragonmetal sword, more often resting there 
than being used. It had been long since I needed it, and I 
kept it more as a memento of my past than as a weapon.
    Just below it was another series of hooks, these 
holding Starsheen, the knife that Silvira, the Queen of 
Terling, had given me. I retained this, too, as a memory- 
a bittersweet memory of the wolkani who had oathbound me, 
and then died at the hands of a human I had once called 
friend.
    I swung open the wooden door, breathing in the fresh 
scent of autumn herbs blooming in our tiny garden. I set 
to work collecting the ones Esme would need for our usual 
breakfast stew.
    As I again entered the cottage, I could have sworn 
Starsheen vibrated on its hooks, straining toward me, and 
I felt a faint call- from it?- in my mind.
    But, I ignored that warning too.




                        Chapter 1
                        Wondering
             11, Age of Arcadia, Early Spring
    I crept silently around the house, flattening myself 
against the wooden wall. Motionless, I hesitated. I should 
be able to hear the one I was tracking, and yet-
    Nothing.
    "Oh, well, I guess I give up," I said in a loud voice, 
turning to walk away. That proved the ruse I needed, for 
my keen ears picked up a quickly stifled giggle.
    I whirled around the corner of the house, surprising a 
muffled shriek out of the young half-Elwen hiding there. 
She sprang up, and started to race away.
    I paralleled her, acted as though I was losing ground, 
and began to fall behind. Fairree laughed, her 
many-colored hair streaming in the flash of her nearly 
Elwen speed, and glanced back at me, her eyes twinkling. 
"You're so old you can't keep up!" she shouted mockingly.
    Her mistake.
    I waited until she was far enough ahead that it would 
seem like she was escaping, then put on my cheetah-speed, 
accelerating after her sop fast that everything except my 
target became a blur.
    Needless to say, my daughter couldn't stop a gasp of 
shock as I swung her into my arms and held her tightly. 
She moved her legs as though still running, then collapsed 
against me, laughing. Her eyes twinkled up at me. "You can 
really run fast, Daddy."
    Once again I marveled over Fairree's wild beauty. Her 
eyes had the black background of both Esme's and mine, but 
while mine were gold-flecked and my wife's pure black, 
hers held gold, green, blue, and silver patterns. If she 
looked directly at you, you even caught a hint of lavender 
in her colorful gaze.
    Her hair was no less spectacular. A cascade of 
darkness fell to her waist, plaited with locks of blond 
and silver strands. Here and there, hints of strawberry 
and white showed through the general star-sprinkled night.
    I was distracted from my thoughts as Fairree said, 
innocently, "I don't suppose you mind me borrowing your 
knife, do you?"
    "What?" I looked down, to see my daughter's hands 
clutching Starsheen. I put her down and reached out my 
hand firmly. "Give it here."
    "No," she said stubbornly, her strange-colored eyes 
flaring. Then she began to run again. Rolling my eyes at 
the behavior of children, I reached out with my 
telekinesis.
    "Hey!" objected the six-year-old as the knife floated 
out of her hands. She made a grab for it but missed as the 
weapon flew safely back to my grasp.
    I absently slipped the knife into my boot, and then 
sighed. I hate having to scold my children, and Fairree 
took it the worst of the three. But I did not approve of 
her having a weapon at such a young age. "Fairree, you 
know I told you not to touch that."
    She gave me one of the soulful looks that seem to go 
along with being a parent. "Would it help if I said I was 
sorry?"
    "Yes." I waited. My daughter simply looked at the 
ground, at the sky, east, west, north, south, everywhere 
but at me.
    "You told us not to lie," she finally said softly. 
"And it would be a lie if I said I was sorry, because I'm 
not."
    I almost exploded, but I seized hold of my temper and 
forced it down. Ruefully, I grinned. Heredity might not 
express itself in her hair or eye color, but she had my 
strong will and love of defiance.
    For the first time I realized how my parents must have 
felt whenever they tried to discipline me. Thinking back 
on my own childhood experiences, I decided it would be 
more effective to show Fairree than to tell her. I knelt 
down to her eye level- since I was about twice as tall as 
she was- and pulled back the sleeve of my tunic, seeking 
the one scar I wanted on my arm, which carried the marks 
of numerous clashes. I found it, and said softly, 
"Fairree, this is what knives can do."
    My daughter stared wide-eyed at the long, deep scar 
that writhed like a silver snake across the back of my 
hand and all the way up  to my elbow. She put out a finger 
and touched it delicately, shuddering. I could practically 
see her mind conjuring up images of deadly weapons, far 
more than I could have ever lectured her about. "How did 
that happen?" she asked in a small voice. "A knife?"
    I nodded grimly, shielding the scar under my blue 
tunic again. I had been attacked nearly three hundred 
years ago by a crazed priest of Tirosina, the Goddess of 
Evil Music. I'd made the mistake of telling them my name, 
which they hadn't reacted favorably to. Over a million 
years ago, an ancestor of mine had cut off three of the 
goddess's fingers, and she's borne a grudge for the 
Deerfriend family ever since.
    I could see that my lesson had been effective. Fairree 
cast a troubled glance at Starsheen, whose hilt was just 
barely visible above my boot-top. "Don't worry." Her 
melodic voice was subdued. "I won't touch a knife ever 
again."
    I smiled, and slipped my arm around her shoulders. My 
daughter had expressed more of an interest for music than 
for weapons, anyway, and I wanted to encourage that 
tendency.
    Fairree abruptly squealed and slipped out of my arms, 
running toward the edge of the field that held our home.
    "What's the matter?" I called after her.
    She was again running so fast that I just barely heard 
her answer. "Uncle Echelli!"
    I smiled, following at a pace that matched my 
daughter's. My friend, who lived in a small house close by 
when he was not wandering, was not really Fairree's uncle, 
of course, but sometimes he spoiled my children more than 
I did.
    When I got near the edge of the field, I saw the 
curalli, swinging Fairree into his arms. I could see the 
pouches at his belt bulging- no doubt with small "gifts" 
he had acquired during his latest spree. He looked up as I 
neared, and set Fairree down to clasp my arm with his 
silver-skinned hand. "Good to see you again, Keren," he 
said warmly, his darkly melodic voice purring with 
delight.
    I returned his grip, thinking how wonderful it was 
that Echelli had managed to acquire permission from Rowan, 
whose outlying lands these actually were, to live here. It 
was wonderful for our friendship.
    For my children, as well.
    "Where'd you go, Uncle Echelli?" Fairree was 
practically dancing in place, her face tilted upward, an 
unspoken hope shining through her beautiful eyes.
    "Someplace where they make these," replied my friend, 
digging into a leather pouch that hung near his left hip. 
He pulled out a tiny, oddly-shaped package wrapped in 
silver hide and handed it to her.
    Eagerly Fairree stripped off the hide, gasping with 
delight when she encountered a tiny golden model of a 
harp. "Thank you, Uncle Echelli!" she squealed.
    I caught my friend's dark eye, and shook my head in 
exasperation. Several times I had protested his generous 
gifts- something my three children never did, of course- 
but he had replied firmly that he earned more money than 
he knew what to do with in his adventuring, and using it 
to buy presents for his adopted nephews and niece was a 
lot better than some things he could do with it.
    I had to agree with his last statement, and I knew, by 
the delight suffusing his silver face as he watched 
Fairree stroke her harp and sing harmoniously along with 
it, that he considered himself well-paid by just one 
expression of gratitude.
    When Fairree had finished an uncommonly good rendition 
of the "Starlight Song", which she loved for its haunting 
tune, she flung herself at Echelli again and squeezed him 
until his breath was nearly gone. "Thank you, thank you, 
thank you!" she said, so rapidly that she was panting for 
breath when she was done.
    Echelli directed a pointed gaze at me. I simply 
shrugged.
    "You're back!" Lolain flung himself out of the house 
and raced across the grass toward my friend, jumping up 
for a hug. He was followed at a slower pace by Esme, and 
by Esain, my eldest child. Esain, as always, carried 
himself with a dignity astonishing for his eight years- a 
dignity that might have provoked laughter until you met 
his cool, composed dark gaze. He always acted more like an 
adult than a child should, cultivating patience and 
calmness.
    Still, even Esain grinned when he saw Echelli standing 
there, and ran to meet him. A moment later, he was 
exclaiming loudly over the gift of a wooden sword the 
curalli had brought him, and Lolain was doing the same 
with a small cloak that played tinkling music when the 
wearer moved.
    Esme came up behind our children, her dark eyes 
meeting mine in an expression of amused resignation. The 
toys would keep our rambunctious youngsters out of 
trouble, but really, Echelli shouldn't have spent so much.
    "I'm gone for a month, and this is the greeting I 
get?" said the curalli wryly, the twist of his ebony lips 
and the flare of delight in his dark eyes signaling his 
truly pleased feelings. Then he couldn't stop himself, and 
flung his arms around me in a tight hug. "Good to be 
back," he whispered, and I could have sworn I felt a few 
rare tears touch my shoulder.
    "Good to have you back," I replied just as warmly, 
returning his hold.
    Echelli shook Esme's hand and complimented her on 
"looking more beautiful every month." My wife accepted the 
remark with regal grace, before slipping her arm around my 
shoulders and teasing me, "He just paid me a compliment. 
Shouldn't you do the same?"
    "Okay," I said easily. "You're looking more beautiful 
every minute." This bantering was a game that had been 
played out every visit since Echelli had started bringing 
home gifts for our children.
    Satisfied, Esme leaned against me with a soft sigh of 
contentment, watching our sons and daughter through 
half-closed lids, making sure that no arguments erupted.
    "How is your business going?" Echelli asked me. Then 
his uncommonly polite voice faltered as his pure deviltry 
asserted itself. "And your fame? How's it growing?" The 
shadowed Elwen thought it highly funny that I made every 
attempt I could to discredit my reputation short of 
actually performing immoral acts, and yet, I often had to 
leave home because people wanted help from me. I had tried 
to start an occupation, assisting people and guarding 
caravans on the Northern Sweep Trade Route, which passed 
near our home. But the business was sporadic at best.
    "Very funny," I growled at him, doing nothing to 
reduce the huge grin on his face. Then I sighed. "I've 
killed two dragons in the last month," I admitted slowly, 
"and removed traps from the Wolfwoods a dozen times. This 
is the first full week I've been able to spend at home for 
nearly a year."
    Echelli nodded, his dark eyes sympathetic. He knew how 
much I hated my reputation, and how often I was asked to 
prove it anyway. Then he turned to Esme, and inquired 
politely, "And how has the teaching been going?"
    "All right," said Esme, gently brushing night-dark 
hair back from her face with a slender, dove-white hand. 
"I have several very promising pupils- humans all- who 
don't care that their race is held in contempt and closely 
watched. They want to learn magic, and they're excelling 
at it."
    My wife had started a small school near our house to 
train magically talented people, many of whom would 
otherwise be ignored, suppressed, or killed. Widely 
regarded as a heroine after the Sublimation, Esme had 
students who came from miles around to learn under her. 
Consequently, one of the very first skills she taught them 
was teleportation, which wasn't that hard if you 
concentrated, and that way her pupils didn't have to walk 
for miles. They each paid her a wirtha a day, which was 
all she would accept, but even that permitted us to live 
comfortably.
    "For a while we had racial problems with the only mist 
Elwen in the class," Esme continued. "The others are 
afraid of him, and with good reason- he's the strongest 
potential mage I've ever seen. But I settled that by 
reminding them that we live in the Age of Arcadia now. 
Racial prejudice is outlawed in schools- magic schools, at 
least. That calmed them, and now the class is progressing 
nicely."
    Echelli nodded, but I had the impression he was only 
making a pretense of listening, as though he had some 
problem on his mind. I caught him giving a troubled glance 
my way, and wondered what was going on, since he obviously 
wanted to talk to me about something.
    At last Esme offered, over the increasingly loud music 
of Fairree's harp and Lolain's cloak, and the swish-thwack 
of Esain's sword, "You look hungry, Echelli. I still have 
some herbs left from breakfast. I could make a small pot 
of stew, if you want."
    The curalli gave a strained smile, and for the first 
time I saw the hunger clearly written on his face. "That 
would be nice. I haven't had a hot meal in weeks."
    Esme immediately shooed my friend toward a bench set 
in some deep shade, and started into the house to warm the 
stew. Though she had perceived his desire for food, she 
hadn't caught the hidden connotations of his words, and, 
from the look on the shadowed Elwen's face, he hadn't 
meant her to. 
    If Echelli hadn't eaten cooked food, that meant he 
hadn't lit a fire. Supremely confident, he usually did. 
Any predator that thought it had found easy prey in 
someone foolish enough to make a light soon thought again. 
Echelli well deserved the deadly reputation his dirks had 
earned for him.
    So what could be so terrible that he would eat cold 
rations for a month?
    I shook myself out of my thoughts as Esme announced 
once more that she would prepare stew. Knowing how using 
her magic to heat up the herbs exhausted her- she didn't 
like fire, and her magical efforts to make it were an 
endless toil- I started after her. My emotion could heat 
it up easily enough.
    But Echelli's telepathic comment stopped me as though 
he had bound me in a net. ^Don't, Keren. Stay. I have to 
talk to you.^ He caught my arm, and the desperate look on 
his face made my protest die on my lips.
    "Would you mind if I stayed to talk to Echelli?" I 
asked Esme as casually as I could.
    The human was no fool. She gave me a sharp look, but 
then shook her head. "No, I wouldn't mind at all." She 
glided toward the cottage, stopping to break up a dispute 
between Fairree and Lolain over whose toy played the 
sweeter music, and left Echelli and I alone.
    I directed a piercing look at my oldest living friend. 
"What's the matter?" I asked him, a growing feeling of 
dread prompting me to clutch the sides of the bench until 
I heard wood splintering beneath my hands.
    "This." Echelli's voice was soft as he raised his hand 
toward a silver bandage on his face, a wrapping so 
skillfully painted to match the color of his face that I 
hadn't noticed it before. Now his slender fingers trembled 
as he unwrapped it.
    I gave a strangled cry at the nastiness of the wound 
under the soft silver cloth. Deep, jagged, and obviously 
infected despite the careful washing and treatment it had 
received, it cut almost to the glowing silver-black of 
Echelli's cheekbone. White blood pumped in a slow, 
sluggish mess from the injury, which smelled so foul that 
I choked as its odor reached my nostrils. It smelled like 
a combination of spoiled eggs and vomit.
    "What happened?" I asked softly when I could talk 
again.
    "Look at it, Keren." Echelli's voice held a tight note 
of controlled panic, something so out of place in him that 
I reacted with near-fear myself. I leaned closer, sucking 
in a breath of clean air first, and only then did I notice 
the jagged edges of the wound.
    Teeth marks.
    "They look like a wolf's," I whispered in confusion. 
Under the oath I had sworn in Terling, no wolf would 
attack any friend of mine. Repercussions for violating the 
promise were serious indeed.
    "I know," said the curalli softly, and he closed his 
dark eyes. Tears welled from beneath the silver lids. 
"They are." He stared at me, and there was such terror in 
his expression that I reached out to touch his shoulder in 
silent support.
    "What kind of wolf?" I asked, though, seeing his 
horror, I instinctively knew it could be only one kind.
    My friend's normally strong tone shook as he whispered 
the dreaded answer, the answer that normally meant doom 
for the victim.
    "Wanderwolf."
    I sucked in my breath through my teeth. Once bitten by 
a wanderwolf, the bite never heals. It implants a 
wanderlust deeply into the blood of its victim, making him 
or her wander all over the continent. If they try to 
resist the wandering, or even take a companion, the 
unhealed wound torments them with unimaginable physical 
pain until they start their solitary travels.
    The very fact that Echelli had been able to come back 
told me that the wanderlust had not yet stricken him. If 
an antidote could be applied within several months, he 
would be all right.
    But the only antidote known for the bites of the 
dreadful creatures was the boiled leaves of hyleas that 
only grew in one place.
    Rowan.
    I doubted the mighty land Elwen city would be willing- 
or even able- to let a curalli partake of the miraculous 
cure. They wouldn't let me help my friend either, since I 
had been exiled for attempted murder.
    Echelli moaned suddenly, writhing under my arm. I saw 
his wound flare with unnatural brightness. The flow of 
blood increased until his dark tunic was smeared with it.
    Unable to bear his agony, which I could feel with a 
light touch on his mind, I reacted instinctively. I placed 
my hand on his cheek, and let my love and pity flow out of 
my fingers in a healing colored liquid.
    The curalli relaxed almost immediately, his pain 
fading to a level that only made him whimper. He looked up 
at me, his face flushed with such gratitude that I looked 
away in embarrassment. "Thank you," he whispered.
    "And here you are-" Esme stopped when she saw the 
festering wound, and stared at it for a long moment. Then 
she sat the bowl of stew on the wooden bench with a 
clatter, and rather firmly gripped Echelli's cheek in her 
hands. Closing her eyes, she summoned a shimmering blue 
radiance that raced down her arms and engulfed the blood 
pouring from the wound.
    I heard her stifle a yelp as her magic was thrown back 
at her by the power of the injury. Her hands actually 
started to disintegrate, before I caught them in my own 
and willed emotion into them.
    At once they returned to normal. Esme opened her eyes 
with a shuddering breath, then fell into my arms. 
"Thanks," she murmured, weak with relief. Feeling 
exhausted myself, I held her tightly.
    "By the way," said Echelli, eating the stew so fast I 
could practically see it burning his throat wall, "the 
wanderwolf was wearing this." He reached under his sable 
cloak, pulled out a red metal medallion hanging from a 
silver chain, and handed it to me.
    I stared at the ornament for just a moment, then 
curled my fingers around it. Even though the metal was 
clearly steel under the red paint, I could feel the steel 
crumpling in my strong grip.
    That's how angry I was.
    "What's the matter?" asked Esme, hearing the screech 
of twisting metal.
    I opened my hand, looking at the now barely 
distinguishable symbol on the medal. A leaping deer 
beneath a rowan tree.
    I sent a wave of emotion roaring out across the miles, 
mentally, almost hoping to touch my worst enemy's mind. I 
wanted so dearly to kill him that I could barely stop my 
fists from clenching again.
    Esme understood, and she laid a hand on my arm, her 
eyes gentle. "Let Sodiest go, Keren," she whispered 
softly.
    "Would that I could," I muttered. "But he sent the 
wanderwolf after Echelli." I glanced fearfully at my 
friend's wound again, almost trying to convince myself it 
wasn't there. "I don't like my friends hurt!"
    "I know." Esme kissed me gently. "But, right now, you 
should concentrate on trying to heal Echelli, not how it 
happened."
    Echelli and I exchanged a fleeting, sober glance. We 
knew two things that Esme did not: Sodiest's personality, 
and the lengths an Elwen will go to for revenge. No human 
could imagine the evil emotionlessness that lurked where 
my foster brother's heart had been, or the flame that will 
drive one of Elwenkind to avenge hurts.
    Both of us knew Sodiest would try again.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The only thing I could think of to try and get the 
hylea leaves for Echelli involved a nighttime sneak into 
Rowan. That plan Esme immediately denounced as too 
dangerous.
    "Why?" I asked in exasperation. We were standing in 
the planning room, a large, round space in the center of 
the cottage, where our family gathered for discussions. It 
also served as a playing area of sorts for our children. 
They were there now, since we never shut them out of 
things that would affect their lives as well as ours, but 
they didn't appear to know what was going on. After 
reassuring themselves that Uncle Echelli was not going to 
die, Fairree and Lolain busied themselves with the new 
toys that my friend had brought them. 
    Esain, on the other hand, sat quite still, his dark 
eyes always on one or the other of us, his head tilted in 
such a wise-looking attitude that I wondered how much of 
this affair was really beyond his comprehension.
    "The first time you violated your exile, you only did 
so because you thought you had nothing to lose," replied 
my wife. "And because there was no other way. This time, 
not only do I think you could come up with a better plan, 
but you have a family. If you're killed-" She fixed her 
eyes on me in stern, silent warning.
    I sighed, but kept my thoughts to myself. Although I 
loved my life and wouldn't have traded it for anything, 
there were times when I regretted my marriage. I didn't 
feel like a nice person when I thought it, but I could 
wish that people needed me less.
    Esme was right, however. My heart had gotten me into 
this position, and my heart was not going to free me. I 
had responsibilities I could not forsake.
    But neither would I abandon the friend whom I had 
known for almost two thousand years.
    "I have to get the leaves for Echelli somehow," I 
growled, thudding a foot against the table. "Echelli can't 
go in himself; the land Elwens would recognize his scent 
in an instant." I cast a concerned gaze at my friend.
    Esme followed my glance, frowning slightly as she saw 
that the bandage on Echelli's cheek had once more been 
soaked through by his white blood. He slumped on a small 
wooden stool he himself had brought us from Lillomar, his 
eyes shut. He was trying hard to subdue his pain, but it 
was shown in his contorted, tortured posture.
    "He isn't going anywhere in that condition," Esme said 
sternly. Echelli heard her, and opened his dark eyes in 
token protest.
    "You don't need to fuss over me," he proclaimed, 
starting to sit up- and immediately sliding to the floor.
    "Oh, don't I?" My wife assisted Echelli back onto the 
stool, and gently applied a little more pressure to his 
badly infected bite. "I agree with Keren, you can't go to 
Rowan. But you need help, and Keren is not going either." 
She glared me into silence when I started to rise in 
objection.
    There came a moment of silence as we tried to figure 
out what to do. For some reason, I happened to look over 
at Esain.
    My son sat with his dark eyes half-closed, his dark 
hair swished forward so that it covered his lobeless ears. 
He had the air of one thinking deeply. Suddenly he opened 
his eyes once more, a bright smile on his lips as he 
started to say something.
    But he was interrupted.
    Although the room was in the center of the cottage, 
one side- the wall behind Esain- extended far to the 
outside, far enough so that a window, pouring in light, 
could be placed there. It was at that window that a 
silhouette abruptly appeared.
    I caught a blurred glimpse of a rounded, 
forward-jutting skull, then the glass in the window 
smashed. A hand shot through, grasped the sill, and 
started to pull the creature outside into the room. 
    No, not a hand. A furry, hand-shaped paw.
    My eldest son tumbled to the side with a startled 
scream as the creature jumped into the room. It walked on 
two legs, but was hunched over, as though it were much 
more used to moving on all fours. It was covered with 
silver-white fur, fur marked with patterns that resembled 
the letter W. The feet that supported it were definitely 
paws, and a bushy tail blew behind it. Gold-flecked blue 
eyes met and held mine. The long canine muzzle parted in a 
merciless grin, revealing teeth as long as and sharper 
than cleavers. The wanderwolf hurled itself towards 
Fairree, who was nearest.
    No! Not my daughter!
    I jumped on top of the beast, wrestling it to the 
ground. At the same time, I yelled to Esme, "Get the 
children out of here!"
    She obeyed instinctively, scooping up the wailing 
Fairree and tugging Lolain and Esain behind her, leaving 
Echelli and I to deal with the wanderwolf.
    I could hear the evil thing whimpering in fear. I felt 
a fleeting instant of regret that I was being compelled to 
violate my oath this way, but the wanderwolf had done it 
first.
    I didn't dare try to draw Starsheen. Since it had been 
given to me by the Wolf Queen, I doubted it would harm a 
wolf. I ignored its buzzing vibrations, trying to kill the 
wanderwolf and avoid its teeth.
    Echelli was moving behind me, hissing with pure 
hatred. I heard his dirks hiss free of their sheaths. 
"I'll handle this one, Keren," he whispered.
    I would have granted my friend his fight, but rage was 
uppermost in me. This wretched creature had tried to 
attack my children! My hands found its throat, and began 
squeezing.
    Frightened, but not daring to snap at me since my 
blood was silver and would kill it, the wanderwolf raised 
its claws to disembowel me instead. I avoided the raking 
slash, tumbling off the prone furred body, but still 
maintaining my hold on its throat. Then I felt my hand 
pulled free of its choke.
    I tried to resist the force that was compelling my 
hand to move downward towards Starsheen, but it was of no 
use. The knife called me, and I obeyed. The next thing I 
knew, it was in my hand.
    To my surprise, it dove eagerly for my enemy, cleaving 
his neck. The wanderwolf gave a choking gasp, and the 
supernatural light began to leave the blue eyes. I felt 
the body collapse against me.
    I shook myself free of the burning gout of black blood 
that rushed from his pierced jugular vein, rubbing my 
hands on my leggings. I turned to find Echelli staring at 
me with a mixture of admiration and horror.
    "Sorry," I said, "but he-" My voice died as Echelli 
pointed toward my hand.
    It had been so light I hadn't noticed it, but now 
there was no doubt. 
    I bore a wanderwolf bite.




                        Chapter 2
                        The Letter
    I stared at the slick spot of silver on the back of my 
left hand, stared at the jagged edges, and felt the pain. 
I gave a despairing glance at the dead wanderwolf.
    I mastered my tears, and looked up at Echelli. I have 
never heard my voice so grim as I proclaimed, "Now Esme 
can't object to my going to get that antidote."
----------------------------------------------------------
    I was wrong. Esme did object, loudly and vehemently. 
She said she would still love me even if I did go 
wandering, but she wanted me alive.
    I saw that she didn't understand the ramifications of 
a wanderwolf bite, so I took a short time to explain it to 
her. If you were bitten on the face, arm, leg, or almost 
any part of your body except your hand, you were taken by 
wanderlust. But a bite on the hand had different 
consequences.
    The victim became a wanderwolf, too.
    Nobody knew why this was, but it was the truth. I 
couldn't just be a wanderer- I would be a different 
creature altogether without the hylea leaves.
    Esme cried, but she understood.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The next day I made ready to go to Rowan, taking only 
a small sack full of food, rope, and water. It seemed 
strange at first to wear a sword on my hip again, but that 
feeling quickly faded.
    It was too familiar.
    My children usually understood and accepted my comings 
and goings, but this time, even carefree Fairree sensed 
something different. They asked me over and over where I 
was going.
    Unwilling and unable to tell them the truth- mostly 
because they regarded Rowan as other children regard the 
underside of their beds- I put them off as gently as I 
could.
    The first visit came from Fairree, who bounced into my 
room unexpectedly as I was lacing on my boots. In two 
skips she was in my arms, and demanding stubbornly to know 
what was going on.
    "I'm sick," I told her carefully, fervently praying 
that she would not use what she had of an Elwen's 
lie-detecting ability. "I have to go and get better."
    My daughter gave me a skeptical glance. "Is Uncle 
Echelli sick, too?" she demanded.
    "In a way." The lies grated on my tongue, but it was 
painfully obvious that the truth would not do.
    "Well, I hope you get better, then." She gave me a 
hug, which I returned. She seemed not to notice how 
carefully I held her, not letting my hands touch her skin.
    Those hands were already lined with silver fur.
    Next Lolain came in to see me. His normally cheerful, 
four- year-old face was perturbed. "Daddy?' he said 
hesitantly.
    "Yes?" I picked him up, not liking the look he wore- a 
mixture of terror, confusion, and futile hoping that 
everything would be all right.
    "You are coming back, aren't you?" He clung to me with 
strength inspired by fear.
    "Of course." I nestled my face into his silver hair. 
"Why did you think I wasn't?"
    Lolain frowned. "He told me," he said in tones of both 
evident, hesitant belief, and deep disgust, "that you 
wouldn't be coming back."
    "Who's this person?"
    "Somebody I see in my dreams. He's ugly. He tells me 
things. He says that you're going to die. He says that the 
other things I see aren't true."
    My mind flashed back to Lolain's precognitive vision 
six months ago. If I hadn't been sure he'd inherited my 
ability to see the future...
    "What does he look like?" I asked casually.
    "Ugly," Lolain repeated with the stubbornness of a 
child. "He's Elwen, not human. His voice is nice, but the 
things he says aren't. He says that you'll die, and Mother 
will, too." 
    Checking an inward sigh, thinking that I could not 
really have expected a young child to remember painful 
dreams, I hugged him and set him down. I heard my youngest 
bounce out of the room, adding a last bit of description 
in his lilting voice.
    "He had purple hair."
    I closed my eyes and sat for a few minutes in tense 
silence. Then I opened my eyes again, and whispered, "You 
leave my son alone, Sodiest. Get out of his life."
    "You really don't think you'll come back, do you?"
    I recognized Esain's voice, and I turned slowly. My 
eldest child leaned against the doorway, his dark eyes, as 
always, calm and thoughtful.
    Those eyes were human-round, and in other ways Esain 
bore the strongest resemblance to his mother of our three 
children. He was controlled, composed, gentle. I had only 
seen him anger a few times, and almost never at his 
siblings.
    However, in him Elwen mental traits were dominant. He 
was independent, preferring to spend time alone, 
disdaining the noisy companionship of his brother and 
sister. He was as stubborn as I was, and when he grew 
furious, I had seen him use emotional power in a way that 
astounded me.
    Esain broke into my thoughts with a gentle, "Are you 
going to answer me or not?" When I shook my head, meaning 
I didn't hope for survival, he intensified his scrutiny.
    "I didn't think so," he said softly when perhaps two 
minutes had passed. He walked closer to me, but hung back. 
He did not take the delight in hugs that his siblings did, 
and even though I could see, by the expression in his dark 
eyes, that he was worried, he would not ask for tactile 
reassurance.
    I smiled my understanding, then started as something 
half-forgotten popped into my mind. "You looked, right 
before the wanderwolf attacked, as if you'd thought of 
something," I said. "What was it?"
    "I thought of a plan that would work as long as it was 
only Uncle Echelli that was wounded," said Esain. "But now 
that you're sick, too, it won't."
    "What do you mean?" I tried unobtrusively to slide my 
bandaged hand behind my back. "Nothing happened."
    Esain shot forward in a swift motion, pulling my hand 
upward. He leveled an accusing black stare at me. The 
reprimand in his stare was so much like his mother's that 
I turned my head the other way.
    "What do you want to leave, Father?" Something in his 
tone brought my embarrassed look back to his. And I saw 
there the love for me that he did not often permit himself 
to show. My heart melted.
    "I don't want to, Esain," I replied gently. "But I 
have to. A bite from a wanderwolf will make me turn into 
one if I don't get help." I could bear the change, I 
thought, but not the pain in my son's eyes. "I have no 
choice but to sneak into Rowan," I continued.
    "Then maybe we could still use my plan," said the 
young half-Elwen, flopping on my bed. I caught a growing 
spark of determination in his eyes, which never wavered 
from my face.
    "What is it?" I asked, a bit suspiciously. I'd seen 
that look before, mostly in the eyes of Elwen children, 
and it usually meant that its wearer had decided to be 
stubborn.
    "You know how good Mother is at illusion," Esain said 
confidently. "She's told me before about the time you 
rescued Adas, Sarn, and Sandy from the nemlaes dressed in 
her illusion. I was thinking she could put her magic on 
me, to give me an appearance of being a full Elwen. I'd go 
to Rowan, posing as a child whose family has been 
destroyed. You know how eagerly Elwens adopt children. 
They won't question me. Then I can snag some hylea leaves 
and make my escape."
    I was shaking my head by the time my rambunctious, 
adventure-eager child had finished speaking. "Absolutely 
not," I said firmly. "I won't let you do it. It's far too 
dangerous."
    Esain's expression did not waver. "I want to do it," 
he insisted, his voice stubbornly soft. "I've never done 
anything like it before. It would be an adventure."
    "It wouldn't work," I said, using the soft tone I'd 
used to cool my stubborn children before. "Elwens can 
detect lies. Remember?"
    From Esain's crestfallen expression, it was clear he 
had not. He looked down, tugging gently at a lobeless ear. 
"I was thinking it would be exciting," he murmured. "An 
adventure. Almost like... a Wanderfree."
    My eyes opened wide, and I stared at him. That was the 
first clue I had that my eldest child thought of himself 
as more Elwen than human. 
    Not knowing whether or not to encourage that 
worldview, I let it go for the moment. "I'm sure you could 
have carried it out," I said gently, and I was telling the 
truth. "But-" I hesitated. When I was young, I had hated 
being called a child. With Esain's evident Elwen 
mentality, I doubted he would like it much either.
    "Anyway," I continued hastily, hoping he wouldn't 
notice my slip, "I think you could have pulled it off, but 
you wouldn't be able to get there. There's too many 
dangers of the road you know nothing about."
    My son hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. I wanted to 
hug him, I was so proud of him. He had understood his lack 
of options, and accepted the inevitable with a maturity 
that surpassed some adults I knew. Slowly he stood up, 
then, with a startling suddenness, tossed his arms around 
me. "I love you," he whispered.
    Completely shocked, I could only whisper it back 
before he slipped from the room. I noted absently that he 
took care to avoid sound, and, with only a little effort, 
kept his gait melodic, like an Elwen's.
    I was impressed by his acceptance of staying behind, 
and that pride blinded me to his cunning. 
    If I had only understood how deeply he considered 
himself an Elwen, I would have known that he gave in too 
easily. I would have been more alert.
    Perhaps this whole mess would never have happened.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Two minutes later, I strode out of the house into the 
brisk coolness of the early spring night. I sniffed the 
air, feeling my heart lift as I noticed the first stars 
blazing on the horizon.
    I sang to the stars softly, half-consciously. Esme and 
I had agreed to raise our youngsters freely, not 
encouraging them to give in to the calls of either 
heritage. They, and they alone, would choose which race 
they allied themselves with- or whether they allied 
themselves at all. Some half-Elwens chose their own 
crossbreed race as the focus of their loyalty.
    I thought that elwensong might influence my children, 
and so I rarely sang around them. When I did, they still 
seemed too young to pay much attention, and that reassured 
me.
    Now I wondered if elwensong might have played a factor 
in Esain's already obvious choice. I hoped not. I truly 
wanted him to be free to make his own decisions.
    Echelli's voice startled me out of my contemplations.
    "I'm coming with you."
    I turned, my tongue already forming the routine words 
of protest. Then I saw his dark determination, punctuated 
by occasional winces from the pain of his wound. I sighed, 
and wisely shut up.
    "I got you into this, I'm getting you out," insisted 
the curalli. Even though I didn't speak, some doubt and 
objection must have remained in my eyes, because he added, 
"And you know I'm stronger than you are, so don't try 
tying me up." He grinned, and made a half-hearted joke. 
"I'd get out anyway."
    I nodded in resignation, then turned again as the door 
of the cottage opened. Esme, wearing a ground-length gown 
of flowing white, escorted our children outside.
    I caught my wife's eye, read her ill-concealed, 
desperate worry, and smiled reassuringly. "We'll be all 
right," I told her.
    Esme folded her arms, raised her eyebrows, and began 
tapping one foot on the ground, which was thick with lush 
grass. "What's this we business?" she asked archly.
    "Echelli and I," I translated, feeling a sudden urge 
to be devilish. "There's a pronoun called we that 
expresses it more succinctly."
    Esme groaned, rolled her eyes heavenward, then, in a 
movement so quick and fluid it surprised me, stepped 
closer and put her hand on my arm. As they had done once 
so long ago, her quasi-hypnotic dark eyes caught and held 
me. "Come back safe," she said softly.
    I nodded, gave her a quick kiss, then turned to the 
children.
    Fairree was cheerful, no doubt harboring no fears 
after my explanation of a strange illness. "Bye, Daddy," 
she chirped, planting a quick peck on my cheek.
    Lolain looked less assured, but he clasped my hand and 
pulled himself into my arms for a hug without a marked 
absence of his self-confidence. "Bye," he echoed his 
sister, leaning his head sleepily against my chest.
    I held him until he squirmed to get down and bid 
farewell to his adopted uncle.
    Esain looked highly nervous about something, and I 
wished that I could heart-read his plans. But my eldest 
child had inherited my capacity to heartscreen, and he 
studiously avoided eye contact as he endured a hug.
    "Good-bye." His voice, a strained formality, should 
have told me what was going on. But even then I was too 
blind to see it.
    "Farewell." I resisted the impulse to give him one 
more hug, shouldered my pack, and started to turn away.
    "Keren."
    As I turned back at the sound of Esme's voice, she 
flung herself into my arms, giving me a long, hard kiss. I 
returned it, then slipped away, turning my head from 
Echelli's smirk and staring out across the field.
    "Well, let's get this over with."
----------------------------------------------------------
    Throughout the night, we trotted at the steady Elwen 
pace that makes the miles fall behind as if the walker 
were gifted with wings. We swept north, our noses and eyes 
telling us that this was the right way. The scent of land 
Elwens thickly covered the trail.
    Though Echelli did not speak of it, I suspected, by 
his winces, that he was in constant pain from his 
wanderwolf bite. I myself was feeling the throb of agony 
from the back of my hand, and the irritating tickle of 
growing fur heightened my determination to complete this 
short quest all the more.
    When the sun rose in a splash of glorious dawn, we 
were already at Rowan's outskirts. We avoided the farms 
and tended woodlands that lay for miles in every 
direction, heading straight for the hills overlooking the 
city. Even with the lessening of racial prejudice in 
Arcadia, my people were still not likely to welcome one of 
their traditional enemies to their mightiest city.
    I would have preferred a nighttime entry into the 
city, but perhaps it was better this way. Another land 
Elwen would hardly be stared at in this center of land 
Elwen population.
    There was the little matter of being recognized...
    I subdued the thought, knowing that Echelli's eyes 
were on me. My friend had ever been able to pierce the 
barriers of my heartscreening, and, if I allowed that 
worry to remain in my mind, he would surely pick up on it.
    At last, we stopped in a small tract of usually 
vacated woods not far from the green valley. I signaled to 
the curalli to remain behind, coming out cautiously to the 
center of the open patch of meadow that sloped down to the 
valley.
    I caught my breath, my throat tightening as I saw the 
sparkle of Uunul's light on the countless silver 
buildings. At such times, seeing the city where I had been 
reared, an inexhaustible pride in my race raised its head. 
Rowan was arguably the most beautiful center of 
civilization in Arcadia.
    I crept back to Echelli, and reported my findings. 
"Two guards at the Swan Gate. They look bored; I don't 
think they'll be much trouble. If I don't come back by 
noon-"
    "I come and find you," said Echelli stubbornly.
    "No," I hissed, mentally cursing myself for allowing 
him to come along. "You'd be stared at- and perhaps 
recognized."
    "And you won't?" asked Echelli in a withering tone.
    "There's always the chance," I said grimly. "But I've 
got to try." To accentuate the point, I pulled my tunic 
sleeve back from my left hand. It was long-nailed now, and 
silver fur was appearing in long patches.
    "Please, let me do this!" Echelli pleaded, gripping my 
arm. "This whole mess is my fault anyway."
    "No, it isn't, and no, I won't," I told him softly. 
"I'm the only one who has half a chance."
    "All right." Echelli caught my dark eyes with his, and 
we indulged in a long moment of mental sharing. Our 
telepathic link, which could transmit emotions as well as 
messages, tightened until I could have sworn I was being 
physically held. Then the shadowed Elwen broke the 
connection and looked away, eyes averted.
    "May the black stars sing your praises, and the 
darkness guide and guard you," I said warmly, rising to my 
feet. "I'll see you soon."
    Echelli smiled unexpectedly, not an easy thing to do, 
considering the visible throbbing of his wound. "I think 
Esme said it better." His eyes grew warmer. "Come back 
safe, Keren."
    "I promise," I said softly, and I knew I would keep my 
word.
----------------------------------------------------------
    I loped down the hill casually, as though I belonged 
there- and, in a way, I did. Just as casually, I strolled 
up to the gate, my last fears vanishing when I saw that 
the guards were barely checking the tree-shaped pendants 
that proved the wearer was a citizen of Rowan. As long as 
the person asking admittance was a land Elwen, they were 
waved through. I even saw the Elwens allowing a few 
half-Elwens and dawn Elwens through. It appeared that, as 
long as the traveler could prove he or she was of a race 
not dangerous to the inhabitants of Rowan, they had 
nothing to worry about.
    I listened hesitantly, though, when I heard that the 
guards asked the names of the travelers. I certainly 
couldn't give them my real one, and they would be able to 
detect a lie.
    Just as I was starting to worry, I heard a melodic 
voice at my side say, "Excuse me. Do I know you?"
    I turned toward the speaker, a young male land Elwen 
with brilliant silver hair and pale orange eyes. He was 
regarding me without hostility, merely curiosity.
    I shook my head automatically. "I don't think so," I 
replied. And yet, I found myself sensing something 
familiar about him. There was resemblance in his features, 
a striking similarity to someone I had once known.
    "You look as if you need help," observed my young 
inquirer, directing his glance at my hand. Glancing down, 
I saw that it had slipped free of my tunic, and the silver 
fur lining it was plainly visible.
    "Yes." I decided to be honest with him. "I was bitten 
by a wanderwolf, and I need the antidote."
    "Why are you waiting in line?" A flicker of curious 
suspicion entered his face. "Why didn't you go directly to 
the Council? They would have helped you."
    Just as he said in an excited whisper, "Oh, of course! 
I recognize you now!" I figured out his resemblance.
    He looked like my sister Kalupa.
    I took a step backward, both awed by and suspicious of 
the uncanny resemblance. This couldn't really be my 
nephew- could it?
    The young land Elwen, whoever who he was, did 
recognize me, though. "You're Keren Deerfriend!" he said 
clearly, not bothering to keep his voice low. I saw a few 
heads in the line start to turn.
    "Shhh!" I gripped his arm, relaxing my grasp when I 
heard him utter a squeak of pain. I had forgotten for a 
moment that my nails were really full-fledged claws. "I'm 
exiled," I hissed in his ear. "I can't come back here- 
openly, I mean. So I can't let anybody else know who I 
am." Casting a swift glance around, I saw the curious 
stares subsiding. I sighed in relief, and let go of his 
arm. "What's your name?" I added then, holding my breath, 
wanting to believe with all my heart, but hardly daring 
to.
    "Kerenny Deerfriend," the young land Elwen replied, 
never taking his eyes from my face. "So it really is you." 
He paused a moment, then added softly, "Uncle."
    I managed a smile in spite of the stabbing pain that 
abruptly raced up my spine. It seemed like the poison in 
my blood was attempting to change the curvature of my 
backbone into that of an animal's. I snarled and fought 
against it, and after a few moments the anguish retired.
    "What's the matter?" Kerenny's voice was concerned. 
Then he frowned. "Your ears are getting more pointed," he 
said softly.
    I nodded, closing my eyes, forbearing to mention that 
I could feel, with incredible disgust and remarkable 
acuteness, the hair growing inside of them.
    "We've got to get you help right away," said my nephew 
briskly. "And I know just how to do it."
    "Thank you for the offer," I replied, thinking 
immediately of Esain. Although probably a hundred years 
older than my son, Kerenny had his spirit. "But I can't 
let you go into danger like that."
    "You may not have much choice," he said. "Look."
     Glancing up warily, I saw that we were nearing the 
gates. Only three people remained ahead of us, all land 
Elwens who would most certainly be waved through rapidly. 
I frowned, turning back to my nephew. "I see what you 
mean. But how-?"
    "Just leave it up to me." Kerenny winked confidently 
and strode forward. I drifted slowly behind, hoping the 
guards wouldn't notice my condition.
    It was like hoping they wouldn't notice if spring 
changed suddenly into autumn. Something alerted them while 
they were waving through the last person in front of us- 
my scent, perhaps, a strange mixture of land Elwen and 
wanderwolf- and they looked up, their eyes and faces 
reflecting shock and pity.
    I reveled in the free expression of emotions. It 
seemed true that Rowan had indeed changed after the 
Sublimation. Emotions were once again free, and the older 
ones were teaching a younger generation how to express 
something that, in themselves, was never given a chance to 
blossom.
    "Kerenny Deerfriend," said the youngster confidently, 
lifting his tree-shaped pendant free of his tunic as more 
proof. 
    The guards nodded, one of them motioning him to pass. 
The other fixed his stare on me. "Who's this?" he asked, 
pityingly but firmly. I knew how many people came to Rowan 
every year seeking the miraculous cure.
    I almost opened my mouth, but Kerenny hurried ahead of 
me. "He's my companion," he interjected hastily. 
    "His name?" the guard asked. One positioned a quill 
over a piece of hide to write my name down.
    "Ker," Kerenny replied. I looked at my companion in 
admiration. Such an explanation- not the direct truth but 
a tact avoidance of lying- never would have occurred to 
me.
    "His last name?" The guard had written the diminutive 
of my name, and now looked ready to write again.
    "He never told me," replied Kerenny, which was quite 
true. I hadn't told him; he had figured it out. "He was 
bitten by a wanderwolf, you see, and..." He let his voice 
trail off, raising his eyebrows in unspoken enhancement. 
Fortunately, his trick worked, with the guards' 
imaginations filling in the rest. 
    "Oh, of course." The guard's blue eyes were so full of 
pity that I worked hard to keep a hold on my laughter. He 
pressed the mechanism that opened the golden wings of the 
swan-shaped Gate, allowing free passage through. "I hope 
you're able to remedy your condition," he called after me, 
as I slid down the ramp of the wing into the city, my 
younger companion following with a swagger of 
understandable pride.
    I waited to burst out laughing until we were out of 
earshot from the gate. "That was brilliant!" I told 
Kerenny, wondering again how he could be Kalupa's son. She 
had been emotional toward the end, but never one for 
humor.
    My nephew must have heart-read me, because he smiled. 
"You're right," he said, skipping agilely across the 
silver cobbles. "Mother doesn't laugh all that much. I get 
it from my father, I think."
    "Who is he?' I asked curiously, wondering just who my 
sister had married.
    "An outlaw," replied Kerenny. "Or at least he was as 
long as emotion was prohibited. His name's Tolomora 
Thunderbright."
    I recognized the name. He'd been exiled seventy years 
after my birth, because of his stubborn defiance of the 
law. I hadn't known that he'd survived.
    At first, still preoccupied with thinking about the 
cleverness of Kerenny's trick, I paid no attention to our 
direction. But when my nephew turned north up Aril Street, 
and set a purposeful pace forward, I began to worry.
    "Where are we going?" I asked, running to catch up 
with him.
    "Home," he replied, determination etched in every line 
of his face, never breaking his stride.
    I stopped dead. "I'll be recognized, and you'll be 
punished," I told him softly.
    "I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Kerenny 
promised. "Besides, where else could you get hylea leaves? 
If you tried to get them from anywhere else, it would be 
seen as stealing. From the Deerfriend yard, you could get 
them without anyone raising a hubbub."
    "Except my family," I remarked sourly.
    "The only one you'd have to worry about is Aunt 
Lomona," he told me eagerly. "Grandfather moved out a long 
time ago, and Mother misses you. She used to tell me 
stories about you when I was a child. She'd be thrilled to 
see you again."
    I nodded, relaxing just a little. Lomona had been the 
one who had raised the alarm the last time I had come into 
Rowan.
    At last, we neared the huge leaping sculpture of the 
silver stag, where I had spent almost half my life. I 
sighed now, looking at it. It really looked no different, 
and for a moment I stepped back into my childhood- 
bittersweet at best, what with Sodiest and the strife 
between my family and I, but filled with some times of 
sweetness and light.
    A shattering pain in my back shook me from my pleasant 
reverie. I hissed in pain, trying to conceal the agony of 
fur pushing through my skin. It didn't work.
    Kerenny rushed to the gate, twisted the antlers of the 
appropriate buck carved on it, and waited impatiently as 
it swung open. Then he hustled me through, heading 
straight for the hylea standing beneath what had been my 
bedroom when I lived. He pulled several handfuls of new 
green leaves from it, turned around, and looked toward the 
stables. An iron pot came floating at his bidding, and 
scooped up water from the small pond nearby, inspired by 
his telekinesis. He dropped the leaves in the pot quickly, 
then spread his hands wide, extending his fingers. He 
closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
    A flash of flame rushed into the grass, which caught 
fire with startling suddenness. Kerenny set the pot to 
hover over it, meanwhile looking at me anxiously.
    I was engaged in inner battle between myself and a new 
persona that seemed like a wolf's. Memories that were not 
my own filled me- I seemed to remember eating deer raw and 
running on all fours over grassy plains.
    I don't know how long I fought to push the wanderwolf 
instincts away, but it was too long. I felt my will start 
to give.
    Then a foul-smelling soup was poured down my throat. I 
coughed and choked, both from its thickness and the 
noxious odor. But I clearly felt a boiled hylea leaf pass 
my lips.
    At once the wanderwolf part of me wailed and crumbled. 
I blinked open my eyes, feeling the fur shrinking into my 
back again and the hair on my hands subsiding. I took a 
strange pleasure in feeling my nails and ears return to 
normal length and shape. With a last throb of pain from 
the wound, the change faded completely. I looked up at 
Kerenny, searching for his mind in telepathy, wanting him 
to feel just how grateful I was.
    My nephew's smile was huge as he helped me sit up. 
"Will you need any more of this?" he asked, gesturing at 
the pot of thick soup.
    I nodded, wrinkling my nose as the rank odor of boiled 
hylea hit it once again. "My friend was bitten, too. Not 
hard, but he needs the antidote."
    "All right. Take it then." At Kerenny's gesture, the 
pot floated toward me. I grasped the iron handle 
gratefully.
    "Thank you so much," I whispered.
    "You're welcome." He clasped my hand, staring into my 
eyes with his rowan-berry ones. "Come back for a visit 
sometime," he pleaded. "This house is so empty with just 
me, my parents, and my aunt."
    "I'll see what I can do," I promised. I walked up to 
the gate, searched my mind for the right hart, found it, 
and opened the portal. I stepped through, pausing to wave 
to my nephew.
----------------------------------------------------------
    I was feeling smug and confident as I trotted up the 
streets toward the gate. I had met nobody from my family 
who would be interested in reporting me, and I was sure I 
could get out of Rowan before any trouble arrived.
    I'd forgotten that there might be people besides my 
own family who would recognize me. Open now, Rowan 
entertained people from across Arcadia, and some of them 
might be a few of my many enemies.
    I spotted him before he recognized me, coming up the 
same lane I was taking. He wore a soft green tunic and 
black leggings, and walked with a swinging, carelessly 
confident stride. A palpable aura hung and snapped about 
him. He walked as if used to riding something that was 
flying through the air, and he wore a small medallion 
around his neck and a slender sword strapped to his side.
    "Moons above," I hissed in horror. I recognized him 
right away, because of his proud manner. He was a brinna, 
or lightning Elwen. 
    He was Herlkuy, captain of the Lightning Leaper, the 
ship that I had rescued Esme from. He had kept my wife as 
an indentured servant, treating her badly because of the 
anti-human sentiments of his people. I'd fought him to 
free her, winning with my emotion. But he'd sworn to get 
even, and it looked like he would get his chance.
    I started to step backward, thinking I might slink 
around the corner of the lane, which I had just rounded. 
But, bad luck of all bad lucks, Herlkuy looked up.
    For a moment, there was a look only of confusion in 
his oddly colored eyes, which were neither gray, nor 
green, nor blue, but somewhere in between. But, just as I 
began to breathe more easily, he took a deep sniff, and a 
look of shock flitted across his features. That faded, 
though, to be replaced by an evil grin. One hand shot for 
his sword, the other going to the small medallion he wore 
around his neck.
    I didn't give him the chance to draw steel on me. In 
two leaps, I was close to him. Carefully I set down the 
pot of stew, then brought my arm down with all the force I 
could muster on his nose.
    The movement, one of the quickest I had ever executed, 
was over before the brinna knew it. He staggered backward, 
his hands already staining with his silver blood, and I 
seized the hylea leaf stew and plunged past him.
    I heard him setting up a cry behind me, and I glanced 
back, noting grimly the slender shapes gliding out of the 
shadows at the call of the leader. Some of them bent to 
apply healingbloom to his nose, while others, following 
his pointing finger, sped after me.
    I clapped one hand over the pot so that it wouldn't 
spill its contents, and redoubled my speed. The Swan Gate 
was drawing steadily closer, and I knew the brinnae 
weren't as fast as my people. I felt certain I could 
escape them.
    They had advantages other than speed, though, and they 
began to use these at once.
    I heard a crackle of energy in the air overhead, and 
some instinct prompted me to drop to my knees, covering my 
head. I heard something slam into the street behind me, 
and a tingle of electricity made the hair stand up on the 
back of my neck.
    I just barely managed to roll free from another bolt 
of lightning, before scrambling to my feet and racing 
along at full speed. I heard something catch fire behind 
me, the flames roaring into the clear green air. I also 
heard an angry shriek, and the pounding footsteps behind 
me abruptly slowed. Glancing back, I saw a land Elwen 
woman angrily yelling at the sheepish lightning Elwens, 
while a hylea tree flamed behind her.
    Guessing that would stop them for a while, and wanting 
to look a bit more normal, I relaxed my pace. I even 
mustered the courage to wave to one of my pursuers.
    When I reached the Swan Gate, the guards let me 
through immediately. They recognized me- and the smell of 
boiled hylea- and they asked at once if I'd found the 
cure. I gave them a cursory nod and loped toward the 
meadow, and the forest behind.
    The first thing I heard was Echelli's voice saying 
dryly, "Look who I caught."
    It took a moment for my eyes to focus as I stepped 
from the green light into the cool dark shade of the 
woodland tract. But when I saw who my friend held pinned 
by the arms, I stifled a groan.
    "You were to stay at home!" I hissed at Esain.
    My son, his adult self-possession gone for the moment, 
bowed his dark-haired head sheepishly. I noticed he wore 
the wooden sword Echelli had brought him- honed to a fine 
edge- and mottled green and brown tunic and leggings. 
Whatever his other faults, he knew how to blend into a 
forest background.
    I shook my head to free myself from the distracting 
thoughts. It was discipline I was concerned with now.
    I never hit my children, and as far as it is possible, 
I never yell at them either. But Esain was going to get 
the scolding of his life.
    He knew it, too. After a moment of head-hanging, he 
looked up, composing his features into a cool, stoic mask. 
"I know what I did was wrong," he said, his dark eyes 
boring into me. "But I just wanted some excitement. An 
adventure."
    Echelli and I exchanged glances, then I knelt so that 
I was looking into my son's eyes. I knew I wore a warning 
rather than an angry expression, and this had the desired 
effect of making his stoicism crumble into uncertainty. 
"You're not going to tell Mother, are you?" he pleaded. 
"She wouldn't understand."
    "Oh, yes, she would," I muttered under my breath.
    Esain heard me, however. His face brightened. I think 
he would have tugged on my hand if Echelli had not still 
held his arms pinned behind his back. "She will? Then 
let's tell her!"
    "She'd understand that you disobeyed after I 
distinctly told you it was too dangerous," I told Esain, 
making his head droop again. "She didn't even like me 
going. She must be frantic about you. Didn't you even 
consider that?"
    Esain, still without meeting my eyes, shook his head 
slowly, before looking up with a crestfallen expression in 
his gaze. "I suppose she'll be angry?" he asked, melodic 
voice small.
    "It doesn't matter if she's not," I told him. "Because 
I am angry, and you're going to be punished."
    Esain turned to his adopted uncle for support, but 
Echelli's gaze was equally stern. "I was not informed that 
you had asked to go," Echelli said, sparing a bit of his 
rebuke in my direction. "But, if I had, I would have 
agreed with your father."
    Esain made one last try. "Why is it dangerous?" he 
asked. "Nothing threatened you on the way here."
    "Partly because of our reputation," I said, not 
bothering to keep the disgust out of my voice. "And also 
because any creature that can see in the dark at all knows 
we're Elwens." I had long ago explained to my children the 
deadly reputation my kind had acquired for themselves 
through billions of years. I had done that to prevent them 
from exploiting it.
    "And because I'm a half-Elwen and a child, I have no 
chance, is that it?" My son's voice was so bitter that I 
stared into his eyes, before signaling Echelli to release 
him. I hugged him, and for once he didn't seem reluctant 
to let me do so.
    "No, of course not," I said softly. "You have every 
chance in the world-"
    "If you don't get killed at too young an age," 
finished Echelli. When I gave him a dirty look, he merely 
shrugged his shoulders, a wry smile wreathing his dark 
lips.
    "But there was no danger," Esain repeated in his small 
stubborn voice. "And I wanted to see some. I wanted to 
fight some-"
    "You may get the chance I was just talking about," I 
said grimly, his words reminding me of the pursuing 
brinnae. I stood up, drawing my cloak close about me and 
staring toward Rowan. I did not believe Herlkuy would have 
given up so easily.
    "What's wrong?" asked Esain, his stubborn expression 
becoming alert and lively. His face filled with interest.
    "I met an old enemy," I said to both him and Echelli, 
but I put a subtle emphasis on "enemy" that made Echelli 
unobtrusively draw his dirks free of their sheaths. "His 
name's Herlkuy, and he's a lightning Elwen."
    "A brinna?" Esain could barely stay still. So much 
excitement was flooding his face that he hopped up and 
down in place.
    I heard Echelli groan, and I met his worried dark eyes 
with a grim nod. Then I turned my eyes back toward my 
delighted son. "This is why I didn't want you to come 
along," I told him.
    "I can fight!" protested the young half-Elwen, pulling 
his wooden sword from the crude leather sheath that went 
with it. Then he stopped, wrinkling his nose. "What's that 
smell?"
    "Oh, the hylea!" I ran quickly out of the trees, 
scooped up the rank-smelling stew, which I had temporarily 
forgotten, and brought it back inside the woodland. 
Echelli was holding his cheek, and seemed to be holding 
his breath, both from the smell of his injury, and from 
the odor of the boiled leaves. I gave him a quick, 
apologetic smile, then started to lift the pot toward his 
lips.
    A blue hole appeared in the air a short distance away. 
Pale cerulean light flooded the clearing as we stared at 
the portal in amazement. From this jagged-edged tear 
hopped nearly twenty brinnae.
    I tried again to give the pot to Echelli, but the 
curalli shook his head, bounding forward. "I'll take it 
once we defeat these fools!" he shouted, his dirks already 
whirring into a blur as the battle-fury consumed him. 
    I shrugged in helpless agreement, then hung the pot by 
its handle from a tree-branch and drew my sword. I spotted 
Esain trying to engage a brinna with his wooden toy, and I 
unceremoniously took his place, blocking the brinna's 
strike with all the speed I could muster. The lightning 
Elwen laughed contemptuously. "Your child?" he asked me in 
Aril, his accent brisk and snapping, like the electric 
aura that surrounded him. "I shall enjoy tickling him with 
my blade when you are no more."
    I made a sweep with my sword toward the brinna's 
unguarded left arm, and, when he moved to block me, I used 
my principal weapon.
    He shouldn't have made that comment about Esain, I 
thought.
    My rage agreed.
    A flash and a roar, and the brinna staggered backward, 
screaming helplessly as he clawed at his eyes. Elwens can 
fight blinded, but the sudden transition to darkness had 
been too much for this one.
    I leapt after me, kicking him to the ground and 
leaping over him without waiting to see if I had killed 
him or not. I snapped a kick into the laughing mouth of 
another brinna, downed a third with a flash of flame, and 
stalked a fourth with movements designed to convey the 
terror of coming death. When he was down, I looked around 
eagerly for a fifth victim. 
     Echelli was facing five, his movements, fast and 
graceful as always, showing off his true mastery of the 
gleaming steel he wielded. Four other brinna lay dead on 
the grass, all with torn bellies and slashed throats. But 
I saw another pair creeping up behind Echelli.
    The curalli, I saw, heard them, and he started to 
turn. But there was a brilliant flare of light from his 
wound, and he screamed as his body convulsed with pain. 
His flying dirks took two of the five fighting him down 
before he collapsed. Those remaining fell over him.
    No!
    I dashed forward knowing I was too far away, but still 
praying I'd get there in time. I sent flame sweeping over 
them, but, although two brinnae screamed and fell, the 
others turned toward me with a vengeance. I fought them 
wildly, furiously, seeing the remaining six brinnae going 
toward Echelli and knowing there was nothing I could do.
    Then I saw a stream of acid rise from near Echelli's 
body to hit one of the brinnae in the face. As I stared in 
shock, forgetting my attackers for the moment, I saw more 
acid rush from near the curalli's unconscious body, this 
time joined by fire.
    My heart swelled with pride. Esain may not know how to 
use a sword, I thought with affection, but his emotions 
are something else again!
    The three lightning Elwens in front of me looked 
uncertain for the first time in this fight, glancing back 
at the lit portal longingly. One even took a step 
backwards. I started to follow.
    Then Herlkuy glided from the light, calling something 
sharply in lightning Elwen. His people scattered from me 
gratefully, and the brinna captain and I locked eyes.
    "I loathe you," the captain told me, his voice thick 
with hatred.
    I attempted to strangle my own hatred, shaking my head 
and giving up finally. I hated this monster, for what he 
had done to my wife in the past, and for what his people 
had done to my friend and child now. I drew Starsheen and 
crouched low.
    The muscles in Herlkuy's legs tensed, but I read the 
truth, for they were still too loose. He couldn't jump in 
any direction with that little push. I knew he would try 
something else under the guise of preparing to leap, and a 
slight movement of his slender fingers told me what.
    Lightning snapped and crackled toward me, and I 
avoided it with a deft glide. It hit the grass where I had 
been standing and set it ablaze. "Can't you do any better 
than tossing your little lightnings around?" I asked with 
contempt as we squared off again.
    Herlkuy's grin looked more like a grimace. His 
oddly-colored eyes snapped as he drew his slender sword. 
"Fight you," he replied, electric blue teeth glimmering. 
He came at me in a rush.
    Reflexes sent me into the air, executing a twirl as he 
charged under me. I came down behind him, tapping him on 
the shoulder. 
    As he whirled, roaring with rage, he made a wild, 
unguarded thrust toward me. I thrust past the strike, 
Starsheen taking him in the heart.
    Herlkuy's eyes dimmed slowly. I pulled my weapon free, 
staring at his body almost in pity as it crumpled toward 
the grass. I had expected the fight to last longer, but 
his own emotion had gotten in the way of that objective.
    Suddenly I heard the spit of electricity, and Esain's 
voice scream, "Daddy!" 
    I whirled, my heart in my throat. I saw Esain stagger, 
spin, and fall to the grass, his forehead scorched and 
black hair singed. Two of the remaining brinnae rushed 
forward to stop me, while the sole one left bound Echelli 
in what looked like strong chain.
    Frantic, I battered at the two lightning Elwens. But 
they were older than me, and they seemed to have fought as 
a concerted team for thousands of years. When I finally 
slashed one across the throat, it was too late.
    I heard the clink of chain, and saw the brinna 
dragging my friend and my son through the portal. Esain 
struggled helplessly, screaming, "Daddy, Daddy!"
    I drove Starsheen through the chest of my last 
attacker and raced towards the portal. The brinna holding 
the captives just laughed in my face as the blue-glowing 
doorway closed.
    I clawed ineffectually at the empty air for a time, 
then fell face forward and lay motionless on the grass. 
    I remembered no more. Grief and self-loathing took me 
in an endless, dizzying spiral, and the world passed away.
----------------------------------------------------------
    When I woke up, it was to the accompaniment of a 
groan.
    Slowly, I parted my eyelids, finding that I was 
shaking with pain, terror, and rage even before I fully 
returned to consciousness. I sat up, smoothing out my 
hair, forcing myself to be calm, to keep my emotions 
subdued. I knew that to release my emotions now was to 
slip over the edge.
    I can honestly say I can recognize my emotions, and I 
knew right then that I was dangerously close to losing my 
mind.
    I forced away the budding insanity, then opened my 
eyes wider as the moan that had shaken me from my swoon 
was repeated. Looking over, I saw the brinna I had downed 
early in the fight- the one who had made the comment about 
Esain- struggling to rise. He couldn't; his eyes were 
still blind, and, by the look of his charred legs, he had 
gotten caught in a backlash of my flame. He crumbled to 
the ground, crying aloud, "Somebody, please, help me!" 
    I stalked toward him, mustering all of my silence, and 
then seized him by the back of his neck. As I had 
intended, he yelped in surprise and struggled. I tugged 
him up, rage giving me the strength to support him as his 
burned flesh could not. "Be quiet!" I hissed in his 
lobeless ear.
    His voice faded to a subdued murmur and then trailed 
off. His vacant blue eyes locked on my face, he seeming to 
sense me although he could not see me. He waited in 
silence for a moment.
    I think my swift slap caught him off guard. He tried 
to duck it, but my firm hold gave him no chance. He 
whimpered, and, after three slaps, I let him be.
    "Who took them?" I kept my voice a whisper, but the 
brinna paled at its tone nonetheless. However, he 
swallowed, smiled brightly, and tried to pretend he wasn't 
afraid.
    "We were successful, then, in our mission?" His words 
gripped my heart with ice. "The master-"
    "Who is this master?" I asked him, fighting to keep my 
voice from shaking with rage. I failed utterly.
    The brinna opened his mouth, but stopped. "I cannot," 
he said helplessly.
    He smelled my knife moving toward his heart as clearly 
as I did.
    "All right, all right," he cried, panting. "His name 
is-"
    And then, with the suddenness of a hawk snatching its 
prey, his life was snatched from him. His body went limp 
in my grip, and I could hear his heart give up.
    Slowly I dropped the body to the ground, staring 
around the clearing. I had known who did it, but I didn't 
know what to do, where to go- any of that.
    And now there was no one who could tell me.
    Finally, I hung my head and let the tears come.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Even though I did not feel like singing the Starlight 
Song for the brinnae who had worked so hard to capture my 
son and friend- especially not for Herlkuy- I felt like I 
had to. Really, it wasn't these poor wretches' fault.
    I knew whose fault it was. 
    In a voice thick with tears, barely seeing through 
eyes that shimmered with water, I sent my voice skyward, 
pleading with the stars to accept even the spirits of 
these Elwens who were capable of such evil. To my 
satisfaction, I was more than halfway through the second 
verse before the silver auras cloaked the brinna bodies, 
and they burst into flames.
    I scouted about the clearing, finding Echelli's dirks 
on the ground where he had fallen. Beside them rested a 
small brown object. I nearly sobbed again as I looked at 
it.
    Esain's wooden sword.
    I strapped all three weapons reverently to my own 
swordbelt, then scooped up the pot of boiled hylea from 
its hanging place on the branch. My stomach felt cold as I 
recalled that Echelli hadn't taken this potion.
    I was more than ever determined to find and bring them 
back.
    One hand over the pot so that it didn't spill, I faded 
into the coming darkness.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Hours later, three minutes after the sun had risen, I 
staggered to the edge of the grassy field that held my own 
home. One thought, never far from my mind during the 
nighttime run, returned with pounding insistency.
    How was I going to tell Esme?
    I accepted the fact that this mess was my fault and I 
would shoulder the blame, but that didn't make the truth 
any easier.
    At last I mustered the nerve to walk up and open the 
cottage door. Something flew at me, and I barely had time 
to set down the pot of hylea before Fairree bounced into 
my arms.
    But instead of her usual cheerful greeting, she asked 
anxiously, "Where's Esain? And Uncle Echelli?"
    My heart broke at the worry in her childish voice, a 
worry no child should ever have to feel. Holding my 
daughter tightly, I whispered, "They're gone, honey."
    "Where?"
    Before I could answer, Esme rounded the corner and 
stopped, staring at me. She looked at the field as though 
expecting to see our son and Echelli coming across it. 
Then she looked back at me again, the unspoken question 
clear in her huge dark eyes.
    I slowly shook my head, then closed my eyes and waited 
for the shriek and the blame.
    Instead I felt a pair of slender arms wrap around my 
waist, and Esme whispered, "Thank the stars that you, at 
least, are safe."
    My heart shattered, and I put Fairree down gently so 
that I wouldn't drip on her clothes with my tears.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "He must have taken them for a reason." My wife's 
face, pale as the long white gown she wore, was 
nonetheless filled with conviction as she laid her chin on 
the wooden tabletop.
    I nodded wearily, stretching my arms. He must have 
taken them for a purpose, I thought. But unlike Esme, who 
had never known Sodiest, let alone grown up with him, I 
could imagine what the reason might be.
    We were sitting in the planning room, the children for 
once banished from it. I felt a cool breeze on my back 
from the broken window where the wanderwolf had come. If I 
glanced in that direction, I still saw the dark stain of 
the beast's blood on the earthen floor.
    I didn't look over there often. It reminded me too 
much of how this whole nightmare had started.
    "Do you suppose he'll send a message telling you what 
to do?" Esme asked. 
    I hesitated, considering, then nodded. "Probably. I 
don't know anything about where they were taken, or what 
he wants from me. And since we find each others' minds 
repulsive, he won't try to contact me telepathically. That 
only leaves a messenger."
    Sometimes talking about something makes it happen. 
    Out of nowhere something flew in the broken window, 
chattering hysterically. It alighted on my shoulder, and 
nipped my ear with needle-sharp teeth.
    Turning my head toward it, I saw that it was a 
panbira, one of the incredibly swift, teleporting 
messenger birds who could find any location on the planet.
    Well, perhaps "bird" was a misnomer. The creature 
certainly had the wings, body, tail, and clawed feet of an 
avian, possibly a golden eagle. But the head above the 
shoulders was the sleek black head of a panther. This part 
now stared at me with emerald eyes and narrowed them. It 
bared tiny fangs again, and spat as cats will.
    "Okay, okay." I reached for the message strapped to 
its leg. The panbira abruptly flew out of my reach, 
alighted on the windowsill, and looked back at me.
    "It wants me to go outside," I observed. The panbira, 
which was intelligent enough to understand speech, if not 
reply, hissed at me with ears flattened.
    "Okay, okay. I'm coming." I went through the planning 
room door, down a short corridor, and out through the 
front. Esme, after a moment's hesitation, followed.
    The panbira was already waiting for us when we got 
there. It sat on a tree branch and proclaimed its contempt 
of me to the world at large.
    "It doesn't matter," I hissed back at the bird. I 
extended my hand again. "Give me the message." Obediently 
this time, the panbira spread its wings and flew to hover 
over my hand. It used it other foot to cut through the 
vine strings binding the piece of hide to its legs, seized 
the message in all eight talons before it could fall, and 
then carefully laid it in my hand. Whatever their dislike 
of the message-receiver, panbiras always took the duty of 
delivering their letter very seriously. This one flew back 
to its branch to watch me when it was done.
    I slowly unfolded the hide, making it crinkle. I could 
see the message, written on it in goldu, the liquid most 
often used for communication.
    But I was not eager to read it.
    At last, shaking off any ridiculous fears that the 
letter might explode in my face, I opened it completely. 
It ran:

    Keren,
         (Shall we dispense with the 'dear'?)
         I have them. I have them and if you truly love 
them you will come to me. Your son and your friend (what 
pitiful specimens they both are, no better than 
contaminated Elwens)! Here is the offer I make you: You 
come to me, deliver yourself up to me. In return, I let 
Echelli and Esain go free.
    After this, my old friend, our score will be settled. 
Believe me on that. Indeed it will be settled, because-
    But why concern yourself with particulars? It will be 
settled, and that is all you need to know. And believe. 
Even if you don't believe me now, you will soon.
    You will have no choice.
    I will send another panbira with the instructions. I 
expect you before Bluedance. I depend on it.
    And so do Echelli and Esain.
    Sincerely, (and, believe me, I am in dead earnest),

    Sodiest.




                        Chapter 3
                       Setting Out
    "Keren, you can't do this."
    "Esme, we've been over this before." I avoided my 
wife's eyes as I packed my rucksack, filling it with food, 
a coil of rope, and some extra clothes. "I'm going, and 
that's that."
    "But I'll lose you." My wife's moan was so pain-filled 
that I shook. But I kept my face set. I had decided what 
to do, and I would stand by that choice.
    "Keren." A slender hand gripped me firmly by the 
shoulder. "Look at me."
    Unwillingly, I turned and gazed deeply into Esme's 
eyes. The love I saw there nearly shattered my resolve. 
But nearly doesn't count.
    "Esme, I have to do this!" I stared at her, and I felt 
my face organizing itself into my best stubborn 
expression. "I owe it to them both. Where would my loyalty 
be if I didn't answer the summons?"
    "You don't even know that he has them!" my wife 
screamed.
    "I know." I turned away, continuing to sling 
necessities into my sack. "There was no lie in those 
words."
    "And you choose to simply walk into his clutches and 
let him end your life?" So much rage shook in Esme's voice 
that I wheeled to stare at her in astonishment. Her hands 
were clenched into fists, her eyes snapping with dark 
anger. The gaze on me never wavered, and for a moment I 
was abashed.
    But just for a moment. Then I turned back to my 
preparations, speaking over my shoulder to her. "It's my 
life. I can choose how I end it." Before she could reply, 
I turned to look into her eyes. "Esme, please," I said 
softly. "I know you love me, and I love you in return. But 
please don't give me that lecture again about how other 
people need me. They don't. And, if they do-" I gave a 
small shrug. "Esain and Echelli's need is most keen now."
    "Other people do need you, Keren." Esme's voice was 
fury-filled. Never had I seen her so angry. "And you can't 
desert them and ignore them just because of a letter from 
your worst enemy."
    "Esme-" I trailed off, shaking my head. Why waste my 
breath? I was never going to convince her, and it was 
useless to try. I shouldered my pack, and strode out of 
the room, my head bowed. Esme followed, still heaping 
blame on my head. I winced when she accused me of losing 
Echelli and Esain, but she was right, after all.
    This nightmare was my fault, and I was going to fix 
it.
    When we got outside, I reached into my pocket and 
unfolded the map another panbira had brought me the day 
before. It showed Sodiest's fortress in Cytheria, in the 
fertile Rivadan Valley, near the River Lightplay. To get 
there, I would have to cross the Acrad River and the 
Coldor Mountains, a small stretch of the Frigid Waste, and 
most of the Valley.
    I didn't care.
    "Keren-" Esme's voice, which now held only sadness, 
drew my gaze to her for perhaps the fifth time. 
Wordlessly, she held out her arms. I took her into mine, 
and kissed her thick dark hair.
    I would miss her so much, but Sodiest had called me 
with the one trumpet I could not refuse.