Then he knew. “Oh, no, oh, no,” he whispered over and
over, bracing himself as she came slowly back to her feet.
This child was a Shadowen!
“Give it to me!” she repeated, her voice demanding. “Let
me come into you and taste it!”
She came toward him, a spindly little thing, a bit of nothing,
if her face had not betrayed her. She reached for him and he
kicked out at her desperately. She smiled wickedly and stepped
back.
“You are mine,” she said softly. “The Gnomes have given
you to me. I will have your magic, boy. Give yourself to me.
See what I can feel like!”
She came at him like a cat at its prey, avoiding his kick,
fastening herself to him with a howl. He could feel her moving
almost immediately-not the child herself, but something within
the child. He forced himself to look down and could see the
faintest whisper of a dark outline shimmering within the child’s
body, trying to move into his own. He could feel its presence,
like a chill on a summer’s day, like fly’s feet against his skin.
The Shadowen was touching, seeking. He threw back his
head, clenched his jaw, made his body as rigid as iron, and
fought it. The thing, the Shadowen, was trying to come into
him. It was trying to merge with him. Oh, Shades! He must not
let it! He must not!
Then, unexpectedly, he cried out, releasing the magic of the
wishsong in a howl of mingled rage and anguish. It took no
form, for he had already determined that even his most fright-
ening images were of no use against these creatures. It came of
its own volition, breaking free from some dark comer of his
being to take on a shape he did not recognize. It was a dark,
unrecognizable thing, and it whipped about him like webbing
from a spider about its prey. The Shadowen hissed and tore itself
away, spitting and clawing at the air. It dropped again into a
crouch, the child’s body contorted and shivering from some-
thing unseen. Par’s cry died into silence at the sight of it, and
he sagged back weakly against the cave wall.
“Stay back from me!” he warned, gasping for breath. “Don’t
touch me again!”
He didn’t know what he had done or how he had done it, but
the Shadowen hunched down against the firelight and glared at
him in defeat. The hint of the being within the child’s body
shimmered briefly and was gone. The glint of red in the eyes
disappeared. The child rose slowly and straightened, a child in
truth once more, frail and lost. Dark eyes studied him for long
moments and she said faintly once more, “Hug me.”
Then she called into the gathering darkness without, and the
Spider Gnomes reappeared, several dozen strong, bowing and
scraping to the child as they entered. She spoke to them in their
own language while they knelt before her, and Par remembered
how superstitious these creatures were, believing in gods and
spirits of all sorts. And now they were in the thrall of a Shad-
owen. He wanted to scream.
The Spider Gnomes came for him, loosened the bonds that
secured him, seized his arms and legs, and pulled him forward.
The child blocked their way. “Hug me?” She looked almost
forlorn.
He shook his head, trying to break free of the dozens of hands
that held him. He was dragged outside in the twilight haze where
the smoke of the fires and the mist of the lowlands mingled and
swirled like dreams in sleep. He was stopped at the bluff’s edge,
staring down into a pit of emptiness.
The child was beside him, her voice soft, insidious. “Olden
Moor,” she whispered. “Werebeasts live there. Do you know
Werebeasts, Elf-boy?” He stiffened. “They shall have you now
if you do not hug me. Feed on you despite your magic.”
He broke free then, flinging his captors from him. The
Shadowen hissed and shrank away, and the Spider Gnomes scat-
tered. He lunged, trying to break through, but they blocked his
way and bore him back. He whirled, buffeted first this way, then