lean body, a stretching of several limbs. There was a flash of
claws and a hideous insectlike face with an odd, sucking maw.
Then it curled up again and went still.
In Wren’s hand, the Elfstones had begun to burn.
She took a last despairing look at Gavilan, then motioned to
the others and backed out of the trees. Wordlessly they retraced
their steps across the flats until they had gained the cover of the
acacia, where they knelt in a tight circle.
Wren searched their eyes. “How can we get to the Staff?”
she asked quietly. The image of Gavilan was fixed in her mind,
and she could barely think past it.
Garth’s hands lifted to sign. One of us will have to go down into
the ravine.
“But the Wisteron will hear. Those bones will sound like
eggshells when they’re stepped on.” She put Faun down next to
her. The dark eyes stared upward intently into her own.
“Could we lower someone down?” Triss asked.
“Phhhfft! Not without making some sound or movement,”
Stresa snapped. “The Wisteron isn’t-ssstttt-asleep. ft only pre-
tends. It will know!”
“We could wait until it does sleep, then,” Triss pursued. “Or
wait until it hunts, until it leaves to check its nets.”
“I don’t know that we have enough time for that. . .” Wren
began.
“Hssstt! It doesn’t matter if there is enough time or not!”
Stresa interjected heatedly. “If it goes to hunt or to check its
nets, it will catch our scent! It will know we are here!”
“Calm down,” Wren soothed. She watched the spiky crea-
ture back off a step, its cat face furrowed.
“There has to be a way,” Triss whispered. “All we need is a
minute or two to get down there and out again. Perhaps a di-
version would work.”
“Perhaps,” Wren agreed, trying unsuccessfully to think of
one.
Faun was chittering softly at Stresa, who replied irritably.
“Yes, Squeak, the Staff! What do you think? Phfftt! Now be
quiet so I can think!”
Use the Elfstones, Garth signed abruptly.
Wren took a deep breath. “As a diversion?” They were
where she had known they must come all along. “All right.
But I don’t want us to separate. We’ll never find each other
again.”
Garth shook his head. Not as a diversion. As a weapon.
She stared.
Kill it before it can kill us. One quick strike.
Triss saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “What is Garth sug-
gesting?” he demanded.
One quick strike. Garth was right, of course. They weren’t
going to get the Ruhk Staff back without a fight; it was ridicu-
lous to suppose otherwise. Why not take advantage of the ele-
ment of surprise? Strike at the Wisteron before it could strike
at them. Kill it or at least disable it before it had a chance to
hurt them.
Wren took a deep breath. She could do it if she had to, of
course. She had already made up her mind to that. The problem
was that she was not at all certain the magic of the Elfstones
was sufficient to overcome something as large and predatory as
the Wisteron. And the magic depended directly on her. If she
lacked sufficient strength, if the Wisteron proved too strong,
she would have doomed them all.
On the other hand, what choice did she have? There was
no better way to reach the Staff.
She reached down absently to stroke Faun and couldn’t find
her. “Faun?” Her eyes broke from Garth’s, her mind still pre-
occupied with the problem at hand. Orps darted away as she
shifted. Water pooled in the depressions left by her boots.
Through the cover of the trees in which they knelt, across
the mud flats, she caught sight of the Tree Squeak entering the
ravine.
Faun!
Stresa spotted her as well. The Splinterscat whirled, spines
jutting forth. “Foolish ssstttt Squeak! It heard you, Wren of the
Elves! It asked what you wished. I paid no attention-phfftt-
but…”
“The Staff?” Wren lurched to her feet, horror clouding her
eyes. “You mean she’s gone for the Staff?”
She was moving instantly then, racing from the trees onto
the flats, running as silently as she could. She had forgotten that