was gone along with everything else. She grieved silently for
him, unable to help herself, more attached to him than she
should have been, than she should have allowed herself to be-
come. She clutched Faun tightly and wondered at herself, feel-
ing oddly drawn away from who and what she had once been,
a stranger to everything, no longer so self-assured by her train-
ing, so confident in her skills, so certain that she was a Rover
first and always and that nothing else mattered.
More often than she cared to admit, her fingers stole beneath
her tunic to find the Elfstones. Eden’s Murk was immense and
implacable, and it threatened to erode her courage and her
strength. The Elfstones reassured her; the Elven magic was
power. She hated herself for feeling so, for needing to rely on
them. A single day out of Arborlon, and already she had begun
to despair. And she was not alone. She could see the uneasiness
in all of their eyes, even Garth’s. Morrowindl did something to
you that transcended reason, that buried rational thought in a
mountain of fear and doubt. It was in the air, in the earth, in
the life about them, a kind of madness that whispered insidious
warnings and stole life with casual disregard. She again tried to
picture the island as it had once been and again failed to do so.
She could not see past what it was, what it had become.
What the Elves and their magic had made it.
And she thought once more of the secrets they were hid-
ing-Ellenroh, the Owl, Gavilan, all of them. Stresa had known.
Stresa would have told her. Now it would have to be someone
else.
She touched Eowen on the shoulder at one point and asked
in a whisper, “Are you able to see anything of what is to happen
to us? Do you have use of the sight?”
But the pale, emerald-eyed woman only smiled sadly and
replied, “No, Wren, the sight is clouded by the magic that runs
through the core of the island. Arborlon gave me shelter to see.
Here there is only madness. Perhaps if I am able to get beyond
the cliffs to where the sun’s light and the sea’s smell reach . .
She trailed off.
Then darkness descended in a slow setting of gray veils, one
after another, that gradually screened away the light. They had
been walking since midmorning and still there was no sign of
Blackledge, no hint of the swamp’s end. The Owl began to look
for a place where they could spend the night, cautioning them
to be especially careful now as shadows dappled the land and
played tricks with their eyes. The day’s silence gradually gave
way to a rising tide of night sounds, a mix rough-edged and
sharp, rising out of the darker patches to echo through the
gloom. Bits and pieces of foliage began to glow with a silver
phosphorescence, and flying insects glimmered and faded as they
skipped across the mire.
Aurin Striate’s lank form knifed steadily ahead, bent against
the encroaching dark. Wren saw Ellenroh slip past Triss mo-
mentarily, leaning forward to say something to the Owl. The
company was crossing a stretch of weeds grown waist high, and
the fading light glimmered dully off the surface of the swamp
to their left.
Abruptly the water geysered as something huge surfaced to
snare unsuspecting prey, jaws closing with a snap as it sank again
from sight. Everyone jumped, and for an instant all were dis-
tracted. Wren saw the Owl turn halfway back, warning with his
hands. She saw something else, something half hidden in the
gloom ahead. There was a flicker of movement.
A second later, she heard a familiar hissing sound.
Garth couldn’t have heard it, of course, yet something
warned him of the danger, and he launched himself atop Wren
and Eowen both and threw them to the ground. Behind them,
Dal dropped instinctively. Ahead, the Owl wrapped himself
about Ellenroh Elessedil, shoving her back into Triss and Gavi-
Ian. There was a ripping, thrusting sound as a hail of needles
sliced through the grasses and leaves. Wren heard a surprised