The big Rover was on his feet at once. Together they faced out
across the Divide, watching the black thing take shape. It was a
Roc, they realized after a few seconds more, winging its way
toward the fire like a moth drawn by the flames. It swept across
the bluff and wheeled back again, its outline barely visible in
the faint light. It flew over them twice, turning each time, cross-
ing and recrossing as if studying what lay below. Wren and
Garth watched wordlessly, unable to do anything else.
Finally, the Roc plummeted toward them, its massive body
whistling overhead, so close it might have snatched them up
with its great claws if it had wished. Wren and Garth flattened
themselves against the rocks protectively and stared as the bird
settled comfortably down at the edge of the cliffs, a giant, black-
bodied creature with a head as scarlet as fire and wings greater
than those on the bird that Wren had barely escaped days ear-
lier.
Wren and Garth climbed back to their feet and brushed
themselves off.
There was a man seated astride the Roc, held in place by
straps from a leather harness. They watched as the man released
the straps and slid smoothly to the ground. He stood next to
the bird and studied them momentarily, then started forward.
He was small and bent, wearing a tunic, pants, boots, and gloves
made of leather. He walked with an oddly rolling gait, as if not
altogether comfortable with the task. His features were Elven,
narrow and sharp, and his face was deeply lined. He wore no
beard, and his brown hair was short cropped and peppered with
gray. Fierce black eyes blinked at them with alarming rapidity.
He came to a stop when he was a dozen feet away.
“Did you light that fire?” he demanded. His voice was high-
pitched and rough about the edges.
“Yes,” Wren answered him.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I was told to.”
“Were you now? By whom, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I don’t mind at all. I was told to light it by the Addershag.”
The eyes blinked twice as fast. “By the what?”
“An old woman, a seer I spoke with in Grimpen Ward. She
is called the Addershag.”
The little man grunted. “Grimpen Ward. Ugh! No one in
his right mind goes there.” His mouth tightened. “Well, why did
this Addershag tell you to light the fire, eh?”
Wren sighed impatiently. She had waited three days for
someone to come and she was anxious to discover if this gnarled
little fellow was the person she had been expecting or not. “Let
me ask you something first,” she replied. “Do you have a name?”
The frown deepened. “I might. Why don’t you tell me yours
first?”
Wren put her hands on her hips challengingly. “My name is
Wren Ohmsford. This is my friend Garth. We’re Rovers.”
“Hah, is that so now? Rovers, are you?” The little man
chuckled as if enjoying some private joke. “Got a bit of Elf in
you, too, it looks.”
“Got a bit in you as well,” she replied. “What’s your name?”
“Tiger Ty,” the other said. “At least, that’s what everyone
calls me. All right now, Miss Wren. We’ve introduced ourselves
and said hello. What are you doing out here, Addershag and
what-all notwithstanding? Why’d you light that fire?”
Wren smiled. “Maybe to bring you and your bird, if you’re
the one who can take us to the Elves.”
Tiger Ty grunted and spit. “That bird is a Roc, Miss Wren.
He’s called Spirit. Best of them all, he is. And there aren’t any
Elves. Everyone knows that.”
Wren nodded. “Not everyone. Some think there are Elves.
I’ve been sent to see if that’s so. Can you and Spirit help?”
There was a long silence as Tiger Ty scrunched his face into
a dozen different expressions. “Big fellow, your friend Garth,
isn’t he? I see you telling him what we’re saying with your
hands. Bet he hears better than we do, push come to shove.”
He paused. “Who are you, Miss Wren, that you would care to
know whether there are Elves or not?”
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