teron comes.”
Wisteron? Wren glanced again at Garth, signing to indicate
what Stresa had said. Garth made a brief response.
Wren turned back. “How do we know you won’t hurt us?”
she asked the Splinterscat.
“Harrrwl. If you are not from Morrowindl and you have
come this far, then you are more dangerous than I,” he an-
swered, coming as close as he probably could to laughing.
“Hurry, now. Use your long knives to cut the webbing. The
edge of the blade only; keep the flat turned away.” The strange
creature paused, and for the first time she saw a hint of desper-
ation in its eyes. “There isn’t much time. If you help me-
hrroww-perhaps I can help you in return.”
Wren signed to Garth, and they moved over to where
the Splinterscat was bound, careful to avoid triggering any of the
snares still in place. Working quickly, they sliced through the
strands entangling the creature and then backed away. Stresa
stepped over the fallen webbing gingerly and eased past them
to where the ground was firm. He spread his quills and shook
himself violently. Both Wren and Garth flinched at the sudden
movement, but no quills flew at them. The Splinterscat was
merely shaking loose the last of the webbing clinging to his
body. He began preening himself, then stopped when he re-
membered they were watching.
“Thank you,” he said in his low, rough voice. “If you had
not freed me, I would have died. Grrwwll. The Wisteron would
have eaten me.”
“The Wisteron?” Wren asked.
The Splinterscat laid back its quills, ignoring the question.
“You should already be dead yourself,” he declared. The cat face
furrowed once more. “Pffftt!” he spit. “You are either very lucky
or you have the protection of magic. Which is it?”
Wren took a moment to respond. “You promised to answer
my questions, Stresa. Tell me of the Elves.”
The Splinterscat bunched itself up and sat down. He was
bigger than he had looked in the snare, more the size of a dog
than the cat or porcupine he looked. “The Elves,” he said, the
growl creeping back into his voice, “live inland, high on the
slopes of Killeshan in the city of Arborlon-hrrowggh-where
the demons have them trapped.”
“Demons?” Wren asked, immediately thinking of those that
had been shut away within the Forbidding by the Ellcrys. They
had already broken free once in the time of Wil Ohmsford. Had
they done so again? “What do these demons look like?” she
pressed.
“Sssssttt! Like lots of different things. What difference does
it make? The point is, the Elves made them and now they can’t
get rid of them. Pfft! Too bad for the Elves. The magic of the
Keel fails now. It won’t be long before everything goes.”
The Splinterscat waited while Wren wrestled with this latest
news. There was still too much she didn’t understand. “The
Elves made the demons?” she repeated in confusion.
“Years ago. When they didn’t know any better.”
“But . . . made them from what?”
Stresa’s tongue licked out, a dark violet against its brown
face. “Why did you come here grrwll? Why are you looking
for the Elves?”
Wren felt Garth’s cautionary hand on her shoulder. She
turned and saw him gesture off into the jungle.
“Hcsttt, yes, I hear it, too,” Stresa announced, rising hur-
riedly. “The Wisteron. It begins to hunt, to check its snares for
food. We have to get away from here quickly. Once it discovers
I’ve escaped, it will come looking for me.” The Splinterscat shook
out its quills. “Hhgggh. Since you don’t appear to know your
way, you had better follow me.”
He started off abruptly. Wren hurried to catch up, Garth
trailing. “Wait a moment! What sort of creature is this Wis-
teron?” she asked.
“Better for you if you never find out,” Stresa replied enigmati-
cally, and all of his quills stood on end. “This swamp is called the
In Ju. The Wisteron makes its home here. The In Ju stretches all
the way to Blackledge-and that is a long way off. Phffaghh.”
He shambled away, moving far more quickly than Wren
would have expected. “I still don’t understand how you know so