as a people, for the righting of so many wrongs and the cor-
recting of so many mistakes-in this she might find the purpose
of her life.
It was a sobering thought, and she mulled it through as the
ascent of Blackledge wore on, lost within herself as she consid-
ered what an undertaking of such magnitude would require. She
Was strong enough, she felt; there was little she could not ac-
complish if she chose. She had resolve and a sense of right and
wrong that had served her well. She was conscious of the fact
that she owed a debt-to her mother, who had sacrificed every-
thing so that her child would have a chance to grow up safely;
to her grandmother, who had entrusted her with the future of
a city and its people; to those who had already given their lives
to help preserve her own; and to those who were prepared to
do so, who trusted and believed in her.
But even that was not enough by itself to persuade her.
There must be something more, she knew-something that tran-
scended expectations and conscience, something more funda-
mental still. It was the existence of need. She already knew, deep
within herself, that genocide was abhorrent and that she must
find some other solution to the dilemma of the future of the
Elves and their magic. But if they lived, if she was successful in
restoring them to the Westland, what would become of them
then if she was to walk away? Who would lead them in the fight
that lay ahead? Who would guide and counsel them? Could she
leave the matter to chance, or even to the dictates of the High
Council? The need of the Elven people was great, and she did
not think she could ignore it even if it meant changing her own
life entirely.
Even so, she remained uncertain. She was torn by the con-
flict within herself, a war between choices that refused to be
characterized as simply right or wrong. She knew as well that
none of the choices might be hers to make, for while leadership
had been bestowed upon her by Ellenroh, ultimately it was the
Elves who would accept or reject it. And why should they
choose to follow her? A Rover, an outsider, a girl barely grown-
she had much to answer for.
Her reasonings fell apart about her like scraps of paper
tumbled by the wind, a collapse of distant plans in the face of
present needs. She looked about her at the rock and scrub, at
the screen of Vog, and at the dark, bent forms of those who
traveled with her. Staying alive was all she could afford to worry
about for now.
The trek continued until it was nearing midday, and then
Stresa brought them to an uncertain halt. Wren pushed forward
from behind Garth to discover what was happening. The Splin-
terscat stood at the mouth of a cavern that burrowed ahead into
the rock. To the right, the trail they followed continued sharply
up the slope of the cliff face and disappeared into a tangle of
vegetation.
“See, Wren of the Elves,” the Splinterscat said softly, bright
eyes fixing on her. “We have a choice now. Phhfft! The trail
winds ahead to the summit, but it is slow and difficult from
here-sssppptt-not clear at all. The tunnel opens into a series
of lava tubes formed by the pphhhtt fire of the volcano years
ago. I have traveled them. They, too, lead to the summit.”
Wren knelt. “Which is your choice?”
“RwwIl. There are dangers both ways.”
“There are dangers everywhere.” She dismissed his demurral.
About her, the haze swirled and twisted against the island’s thick
growth, as if seeking its own way. “We rely on you to lead us,
Stresa,” she reminded him. “Choose.”
The Splinterscat hissed his discontent. “The tunnels, then.
Phhfftt!” The bulky body swung about and back again. The
spikes lifted and fell. “We need light.”
While Triss went off in search of suitable torch wood, the
remainder of the company rummaged through backpacks and
pockets for rags and tinder. Gavilan had the latter, Eowen the