with me, for as long as you are able. I will not hold you-not
even you, Triss. I do not charge you in any way. I ask that you
decide freely.”
No one spoke. There was uncertainty in their eyes, a hint
of confusion. Faun edged forward and pulled at her leg anx-
iously.
“No, little one,” she said. She beckoned to the others. “Walk
with me.”
They moved across the Carolan-the girl, the Elf, the Wing
Rider, his Roc, and the two creatures from Morrowindl-trailing
their shadows in the dust behind them. Birdsong rose from the
trees and cliff rocks as darkness fell, and the Rill Song churned
steadily below.
When they reached the cliff edge, she turned, then stepped
away several paces so that the others were behind her. She was
facing back across the bluff toward the forest, back into the
closing night. Above the trees, stars were coming out, bright
pinpoints against the deepening black. Her hands tightened on
the Ruhk Staff. She had anticipated this moment for days, and
now that it was here she found herself neither anxious nor ex-
cited, but only weary. Once, she had wondered if she would be
able to invoke the Loden’s magic when it was time-what she
would decide, how she would feel. She had wondered without
cause, she thought. She felt no hesitation now. Perhaps she had
always known. Or perhaps all the wondering had simply re-
solved itself somewhere along the way. It didn’t matter, in any
case. She was at peace with herself. She even knew how the
magic worked, though her grandmother had never explained.
Because it hadn’t been necessary? Because it was instinctive?
Wren wasn’t sure. It was enough that the magic was hers to call
upon and that she had determined at last to do so.
She breathed the warm air as if drawing in the fading light.
She listened to the sound of her heart.
Then che jammed the Ruhk Staff into the earth, twisting it
in her hands, grinding it into the soil. Earth magic, Eowen had
told her. All of the Elven magic was earth magic, its power
drawn from the elements within. What came from there must
necessarily be returned.
Her eyes fixed on the gleaming facets of the Loden. The
world around her went still and breathless.
Her hands loosened their grip on the Staff, her fingers light
and feathery on the gnarled, polished wood, a lover’s caress.
She need only call for them, she knew. Just think it, nothing
more. Just will it. Just open your mind to the fact of their exis-
tence, to their life within the confines of the Stone. Don’t debate
it, don’t question it. Summon them. Bring them back. Ask for
them.
Yes.
I do.
The Loden flared brightly, a fountain of white light against
the darkness, springing forth like fire, then building with blind-
ing intensity. Wren felt the Ruhk Staff tremble in her hands and
begin to heat. She tightened her grip on it, her eyes squinting
against the brightness, then lowering into shadow. The light rose
and began to spread. There was shape and movement within.
And suddenly there was wind, a wind that seemed to come from
nowhere, whipping across the bluff, sweeping up the light and
carrying it across the barren expanse to the trees and rocks and
back again, spreading it from end to end. The wind roared, yet
lacked strength and impact as it raced past, all sound and bright-
ness as it swallowed the light.
Wren tried to glance back at her companions to make cer-
tain they were safe, that the magic had not harmed them, but
she could not seem to turn her head. Her hands were clutched
tight about the Ruhk Staff now, and she was joined to it, en-
meshed in the workings of the magic, given over to that alone.
The light filled the bluff plain, building on itself, rising up
until the trees and cliffs that bracketed it had disappeared en-
tirely, until the skies had folded into it and everything was col-
ored silver. There was a wrenching sound, a rending of earth
and rock, and a settling of something heavy. Through the slits