become one of them, the thought flashed through her mind, the
corner of her life’s need turned and become a certainty she
would not question again. Just let it be quick!
The fire pillared over her, rising up against the black, searing
the curtain of the vog. The Drakuls flung themselves into the
flames, desperately trying to reach her, moths bereft of reason.
They died in sudden bursts of light, incinerated as quick as
thought. Wren watched them come at her, reach for her, be-
come entangled in the fire and disappear. Her eyes snapped
open seeking the Elfstones. She found them in the cup of her
open hand, white with magic, as brilliant as small suns.
Yet she did not burn. The fire raged about her, swallowed
her attackers, and left her untouched.
Oh, yes’
Now the exhilaration began, the sense of power that the
magic always gave her. She felt invincible, indestructible. The
fire could not hurt her, would not-and she must have known
as much. She flung her hands out, carrying the fire away from
her in a sweep, into the maelstrom of Drakuls that circled about
her. They were engulfed and consumed, shrieking in despair.
For you, Eowen’ She watched them perish and felt nothing beyond
the joy that use of the magic gave her, the Drakuls reduced to
things of no consequence, as insignificant to her as dust. She
embraced the magic’s power and let it carry her beyond reason,
beyond thought.
Use it, she told herself. Nothing else matters.
For an instant, she was lost completely. Forgotten were Triss
and Garth, the need to escape Morrowindi and return to the
Four Lands, the truths she had learned and planned to tell, the
history of who and what she was, and the lives that had been
given into her trust, everything. Forgotten was any purpose be-
yond the wielding of the Elfstones.
Then some small, ragged corner of her conscience reclaimed
her once again, a whisper of sanity that reached past the mix of
fear and exhaustion and despair that threatened to turn deter-
mination to madness. She saw Triss and Garth and Stresa as
they fought the Drakuls turning now on them, back to back as
the circle closed. She heard their cries to her and heard the
voice within herself that echoed in reply. She sensed the island
of self on which she had retreated beginning to sink into the
fire.
Down came the hand with the Elfstones, the pillar of flames
dying to a flare of light that curled about her hand, brought
under control once more. She saw the darkness and the mist
again, the ragged slopes of the ravine, the lava rock, jagged and
black. She smelled the night, the ash and fire and heat. She
wheeled toward the Drakuls and hissed at them as a snake might.
They backed away in fear. She moved toward her friends, and
the attackers that ringed them fell away. She carried death in
her hand, certain annihilation for things who understood all too
well what annihilation meant. They shimmered about her, losing
substance. She stalked into their midst, unafraid, swinging the
light of her magic this way and that, threatening, menacing, alive
with deadly promise. The Drakuls did not challenge; in an in-
stant they faded and were gone.
She came then to where Garth and Triss stood crouched,
weapons in hand, uncertainty in their eyes. She stopped before
Stresa, who stared up at her as if she were a thing beyond
comprehension. She closed her fingers tight about the Elfstones,
and the fire winked out.
“Help me walk from the ravine,” she whispered, so weary
she was in danger of collapse, knowing she could not, realizing
that the Drakuls still watched.
Triss had his arm about her instantly. “Lady, we thought
you lost,” he said as he turned her gently about.
“I was,” she answered, her smile tight.
Slowly, a step at a time, eyes sweeping the island night, they
began to climb.
IT TOOK THEM UNTIL MIDNIGHT to get clear of the Harrow. The
Drakuls had drawn Wren deep into their lair, far from the path-
way she had thought to follow, turning her about so completely
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