closing over hers, almost as if to absolve her of responsibility.
She would always feel them there, she thought. She would al-
ways see what had been in his eyes.
They started out again soon after, crossing the charred bat-
tleground of the night gone past to the fresh green landscape of
the day that lay ahead, passing toward the last of the country
that separated them from the beach. The tremors underfoot
were constant still, and the fires of the lava rivers were burning
closer, streaming down the mountainside above. Things fled
about them in all directions, and even the demons did not pause
to attack. Everything raced to escape the burning heat, driven
by Killeshan’s fury toward the shores of the Blue Divide. Mor-
rowindl was turning slowly into a cauldron of fire, eating away
at itself from the center out. Cracks were beginning to appear
everywhere, vast fissures that opened into blackness, that hissed
and spit with steam and heat. The world that had flourished in
the wake of the Elven magic’s use was disappearing, and within
days only the rocks and the ashes of the dead would remain. A
new world was evolving about the little company as it fled, and
when it was complete nothing of the old would be left upon it.
They passed down into the meadows of tall grasses that
bounded the final stretches of old growth bordering the shore-
line. The grasses had already begun to curl and die, smoked and
steamed by heat and gases, the life seared out of them. Scrub
brush broke apart beneath their boots, dried and lifeless. Fires
burned in hot spots all about, and to their right, across a deep
ravine, a thin ribbon of red fire worked its way relentlessly
through a patchwork of wildflowers toward a stand of acacia
that waited in helpless, frozen anticipation. Clouds of black soot
roiled down out of the heights of the In Ju, where the jungle
burned slowly to the waterline, the swamp beneath already be-
ginning to boil. Rock and ash showered down from somewhere
beyond their vision like hail out of clouds, thrown by the vol-
cano’s continuing explosions. The wind shifted and it grew
harder to see. It was midday, and the sky was as raw and gray
and hazy as autumn twilight.
Wren’s head felt light and substanceless, a part of the air she
breathed. Her bones were loose within her body, and the fire
of the Elfstones’ magic still flared and sparked like embers cool-
ing. She searched the land about her and could not seem to
focus. Everything drifted in the manner of clouds.
“Stresa, how much farther?” she asked.
“A ways,” the Splinterscat growled without turning. “Phhfftt.
Keep walking, Wren of the Elves.”
She did, knowing that her strength was failing and wonder-
ing absently if it was from so much use of the magic or from
exhaustion. She felt Triss move close, one arm coming about
her shoulders.
“Lean on me,” he whispered, and took her weight against his
own.
The meadows passed away with the sweep of the sun west,
and they reached the old growth. Already it was aflame to the
south, the topmost branches burning, smoke billowing. They
pushed through rapidly, skidding and slipping on moss and leaves
and loose rock. The trees were silent and empty, the pillars of
a hall roofed in low-hanging clouds and mist. Growls and snarls
rose up out of the haze, distant, but all about.
The trek wore on. Once something huge moved in the shad-
ows off to one side, and Stresa wheeled to face it, spines lifting.
But nothing appeared, and after a moment they moved on. The
sound of water crashing against rocks sounded ahead, the rise
and fall of the ocean. Wren found herself smiling, clasping the
Ruhk Staff tight against her breast. There was still a chance for
them, she thought wearily. There was still hope that they might
escape.
Then finally, as daylight faded behind them and sunset
brightened into silver and red ahead, they broke clear of the
trees and found themselves staring out from a high bluff over
the vast expanse of the Blue Divide. Smoke and ash clouded the