to hang on.
“Tuck in your legs!” the Owl shouted in warning. “Tighten
your grip!”
Downriver they swept, the shoreline passing in a blur of
jagged trees and scrub, rugged lava fields, and mist and haze.
The volcano disappeared behind them, screened away by a bend
in the river and the beginnings of the valley into which it poured.
Wren felt things jab and poke at her, slam up against her and
spin away, and whip past as if yanked by an invisible rope. Her
hands and fingers began to ache with the strain of holding on to
the rope stays, and her body was chilled numb by the icy moun-
tain waters. The river’s rush drowned out the roar of the vol-
cano, but she could still feel it shudder beneath her, waking
up, recoiling with sickness, and splitting apart with convulsions.
Cliffs appeared in front of them, rising like impassable walls.
Then they were in their midst, the rock miraculously dividing
to let the Rowen tumble through a narrow defile. For a few
minutes the rapids were so severe that it seemed they must
break apart on the rocks. Then they were clear again, the chan-
nel broadening out once more, the cliffs receding into the dis-
tance. They spun through a series of wide, sluggish riffs and
emerged in a lake that stretched away into the green haze of a
jungle.
The river slowed and quieted. The raft quit spinning and
began to float lazily toward the center of the lake. Mist hung
thick upon its gleaming surface, screening the shoreline to either
side, transforming it into a deep green mask of silence. From
somewhere distant, Killeshan’s angry rumble sounded.
At the center of the raft, Stresa lifted his head tentatively
and looked about. The Splinterscat’s sharp eyes shifted quickly
to find Wren. “Ssspppttt! We must get away from here!” he
urged. “This is not a good-ssspp-place to be! Over there is
Eden’s Murk!”
“What are you muttering about, Scat?” Gavilan growled ir-
ritably.
Ellenroh shifted her grip on the Ruhk Staff where it lay
across the raft. “Owl, do you know where we are?”
Aurin Striate shook his head. “But if the Splinterscat says it
is unsafe . .
The waters behind him erupted thunderously, and a huge,
crusted black head reared into view. It rose into the brume
slowly, almost languorously, balanced atop a thick, sinuous body
of scales and bumps that rippled and flexed against the half-light.
Tendrils trailed from its jaws like feelers twisting to find food.
Teeth bared as its greenish mouth widened, crooked and double
rowed. It coiled until it towered over them, no more than fifty
feet away, and then it hissed like a snake that has been stepped
Upon.
“A serpent!” Eowen cried softly.
The Elven Hunters were already moving, hastily changing
Positions so that they were bunched between the monster and
their charges. Weapons drawn, they began to scull the raft to-
ward the opposite shore. It was a futile attempt. The serpent
swam soundlessly in pursuit, expending almost no effort to over-
take them, dipping its head threateningly, jaws agape. Wren
worked next to Garth to help push the raft ahead, but the
riverbank seemed a long way off. At the center of the raft,
Stresa’s spines stuck out in all directions, and his head disap-
peared.
The serpent hit them with its tail when they were still a
hundred yards from shore, swinging it up into them from un-
derneath, lifting the raft and the nine who clung to it clear of
the water, spinning them into the air. They flew for a short
distance and landed with a whump that knocked the breath from
their bodies. Grips loosened, and people and packs tumbled
away. Eowen splashed frantically, went under, and was pulled
back to the surface by Garth. The raft had begun to come apart
from the force of the landing, ties loosening, logs splitting. The
Owl yelled at them to kick, and they did, frantically, furiously,
for there was nothing else they could do.
The serpent came at them again, sliding out of the Rowen
with a huffing that sprayed water everywhere. Its cry was a