nine who had set out from beneath Killeshan’s shadow to bear
Arborlon and the Elves from their volcanic grave to life anew
within the forests of the Westland. Three, Wren emphasized
through her anguish, for Gavilan was lost to them as surely as
her own innocence.
How could she have been so stupid?
Triss shifted abruptly, breaking his bonds. He walked away,
bent down to examine the earth, stood again, and shook his
head. “What could have done this? There must be tracks . .
He trailed off.
Wren and Garth exchanged glances. Triss still didn’t under-
stand. “It was Gavilan,” she said softly.
“Gavilan?” The Captain of the Home Guard turned. He
stared at her blankly.
“Gavilan Elessedil,” she repeated, speaking his full name,
hoping that the saying of it would make what had happened real
for her. Against her shoulder, Faun still shivered. “He’s killed
Dal and taken the Ruhk Staff.”
Triss did not move. “No,” he said at once. “Lady Wren, that
could not happen. You are wrong. Gavilan is an Elf, and no Elf
would harm another. Besides, he is a prince of the Elessedil
blood! He is sworn to serve his people!”
Wren shook her head in despair. She should have seen it
coming. She should have read it in his eyes, his voice, his chang-
ing behavior. It was there, and she had simply refused to rec-
ognize it. “Stresa,” she called.
The Splinterscat lumbered up from out of the dark, spines
prickling belligerently. “Hsssttt! I warned you about him!”
“Thank you for reminding me. Just tell me what the signs
say. Your eyes are sharpest, your nose better able to measure.
Read them for me, please.”
Her words were gentle and filled with pain. The Splinterscat
saw and edged quietly away. They watched as he began to skirt
the clearing, sniffing, scanning, pausing frequently, then con-
tinuing on.
“He could not have done this,” Triss murmured anew, the
words hard-edged with disbelief. Wren did not reply. She
looked away at nothing. The Harrow was a gray screen be-
hind them, the In Ju a black hole ahead. Killeshan was a distant
rumble. Morrowindl hunched over them like an animal with a
bone.
Then Stresa was back. “Nothing-phhhfft-has passed
through the place we stand in the last few hours except us.
Sssttt. Our tracks come out from the Harrow, go in, then come
out again-over there. Just us-no monsters, no intruders, noth-
ing.” He paused. “There.” He swiveled in the opposite direction.
“A newer set of tracks depart, west, toward the In Ju. His scent.
I’m sorry, Wren Elessedil.”
She nodded, her own last vestige of hope shredded. She
looked pointedly at Triss.
“Why?” he asked, a worn and defeated whisper.
Because he was terrified, she thought. Because he was a
creature of order and comfort, of walls and safe havens, and
this was all too much for him, too overwhelming. Because he
thought them all dead and was afraid that he would die too
if he didn’t run. Or because he was greedy and desperate
and wanted the power of the Ruhk Staff and its magic for him-
self.
“I don’t know,” she said wearily.
,,
Ut a . . .
“What difference does it make?” she interrupted, more angry
than she should have been, regretting her harshness immedi-
ately. She took a deep breath. “What matters is that he has taken
the Ruhk Staff and the Loden, and we have to get them back.
We have to find him. Quickly.”
She turned. “Stresa?”
“No,” the Splinterscat said at once. “Hssstt. It is too danger-
ous to track at night. Stay here until daybreak.”
She shook her head deliberately. “We don’t have that much
time.”
“Rrrwwll Wren Elessedil. We had best find it then, if we
want to stay alive!” Stresa’s rough voice deepened to a growl.
“Only a fool would venture down off the Blackledge and into
the In Ju at night.”
Wren felt her anger building. She did not care to be chal-
lenged just now. She could not permit it. “I have the Elfstones,
Stresa!” she snapped. “The Elven magic will protect us!”
“The Elven magic you-hssstt-are so anxious not to use?”