herself as she rushed to help him, a vain attempt. She saw the
fire’s glow spread across them all like blood. She saw the Elf-
stones come to life, flaring with white light, with ancient power,
filling the night with their brilliance, lancing out and striking
the Shadowen, burning it as it struggled to break free
She tried to rise and fell back. Garth caught her in his arms,
having risen somehow to his knees, and eased her to the ground.
He held her for a moment, cradled her as he might a child, and
she let him, her face buried against his body. Then she pushed
gently away, taking slow, deep breaths to steady herself. She
rose and moved over to their cloaks, retrieved them and
brought them back to where Garth waited. They wrapped
themselves against the night’s chill and sat staring at each other
wordlessly.
Finally Wren lifted her hands and began to sign. Did you
know about the Elfstones? she asked.
Garth’s gaze was steady. No.
Not that they were real, not what they could do, nothing?
No.
She studied his face for a moment without moving. Then
she reached into her tunic and drew out the leather bag that
hung about her neck. She had slipped the Elfstones back inside
when she had gone to help Garth. She wondered if they had
transformed again, if they had returned to being the painted
rocks they once were. She even wondered if she had somehow
been mistaken in what she had seen. She turned the bag upside
down and shook it over her hand.
Three bright blue stones tumbled free, painted rocks no
longer, but glittering Elfstones-the Elfstones that had been given
to Shea Ohmsford by Allanon over five hundred years ago and
had belonged to the Ohmsford family ever since. She stared at
them, entranced by their beauty, awed that she should be hold-
ing them. She shivered at the memory of their power.
“Garth,” she whispered. She placed the Elfstones in her lap.
Her fingers moved. “You must know something. You must. I
was given into your care, Garth. The Elfstones were with me
even then. Tell me. Where did they really come from?”
You already know. Your parents gave them to you.
My parents. She felt a welling up of pain and frustration.
“Tell me about them. Everything. There are secrets, Garth.
There have always been secrets. I have to know now. Tell me.”
Garth’s dark face was frozen as he hesitated, then signed to
her that her mother had been a Rover and that her father had
been an Ohmsford. They brought her to the Rovers when she
was a baby. He was told that the last thing they did before
leaving was to place the leather bag with its painted rocks about
her neck.
“You did not see my mother. Or my father?”
Garth shook his head. He was away when they came and
when he returned they were gone. They never came back. Wren
was taken to Shady Vale to be raised by Jaralan and Mirianna
Ohmsford. When she was five, the Rovers took her back again.
That was the agreement the Ohmsfords had made. It was what
her parents had insisted upon.
“But why?” Wren interrupted, bewildered.
Garth didn’t know. He had never even been told who had
made the bargain on behalf of the Rovers. She was given into
his care by one of the family elders, a man who had died shortly
after. No one had ever explained why he was to train her as he
did-only what was to be done. She was to be quicker, stronger,
smarter, and better able to survive than any of them. Garth was
to make her that way.
Wren sat back in frustration. She already knew everything
that Garth was telling her. He had told it all to her before. Her
jaw tightened angrily. There must be something more, some-
thing that would give her some insight into where she had come
from and why she was carrying the Elfstones.
“Garth,” she tried again, insistent now. “What is it that you
haven’t told me? Something about my mother? I dreamed of
her, you know. I saw her face. Tell me what you are hiding!”