she was not about to abandon him.
“There has to be another . . .” she started to say.
And suddenly there was a shriek and a wave of multilimbed
things came swarming out of the mist. Wren barely had time to
look up before they were upon her. She caught a glimpse of
Faun streaking into the night, of Stresa’s quilled body flexing,
and of Garth as he rose to defend her, and then she was knocked
flying. She got her sword up in time to cut at the closest at-
tacker. Blood flew and the creature tumbled away. There were
bodies everywhere, crooked and black, bounding about as they
ripped and tore at the members of the little company. Stresa’s
quills flew into one and sent it shrieking away. Garth threw back
another and battled to her side. She stood back to back with
him and fought as the things came at them. She couldn’t see
them clearly, only glimpses of their misshapen bodies and the
gleaming eyes. She looked for the Owl, but he was nowhere to
be found.
Then abruptly she caught sight of him, a shadow rising from
the earth as he cut two of the attackers down before they knew
what was happening. In the next instant he was gone again, then
back at another place, a pair of long knives in his hands, though
Wren couldn’t remember having seen any weapons on him be-
fore. The Elf was like smoke as he slipped among the attackers,
there and gone again before you could get a fix on him.
Garth pressed forward, his massive arms flinging the attack-
ers aside. The demons held their ground momentarily, then fell
back, bounding away to regroup. Howls rose out of the darkness
all about.
Aurin Striate materialized at Wren’s side. His words were
harsh, urgent. “Quick. This way, all of you. We’ll worry about
the Council later.”
He took them across the stretch of lava rock and back into
the ravine. Sounds of pursuit came from everywhere. They ran
in a low crouch along the rocky basin, angling through boulders
and cuts, the Owl leading, a phantom that threatened at every
turn to disappear into the night.
They had gone only a short distance when something small
and furry flung itself onto Wren’s shoulder. She gasped, reeled
away protectively, then straightened as she realized it was Faun,
returned from wherever she had run off to. The Tree Squeak
burrowed into her shoulder, chittering softly.
Seconds later the demons caught up with them, swarm-
ing out of the haze once more. They swept past Stresa, who
curled into a ball instantly, quills pointing every which way,
and flung themselves on the humans. Garth took the brunt
of the attack, a wall that refused to buckle as he flung the
creatures back one after another. Wren fought next to him,
quick and agile, the blade of the short sword flicking left and
right.
Against her chest, nestled in their leather bag, the Elfstones
began to burn.
Again the attackers drew back, but not so far this time and
not so readily. The night and the fog turned them to shadows,
but their howls were close and anxious as they waited for others
to join them. The Elf and his charges gathered in a knot, fighting
for breath, their weapons glistening damply.
“We have to keep running,” the Owl insisted. “It is not far
now.”
A dozen feet away, Stresa uncurled, hissing. “Ssssttppht! Run
if you must, but this is enough for me! Phhfft!” He swung his
cat head toward Wren. “I’ll be waiting-rwwwll-Wren when
you return. At the river I’ll be. Don’t forget your promise!”
Then abruptly he was gone, slipping away into the dark,
having become one of the shadows about him.
The Owl beckoned, and Wren and Garth began to run once
again, still following the curve of the ravine. There was move-
ment all about them in the mist, swift and furtive. Jets of steam
gushed from the earth through cracks in the lava, and the stench
of sulfur filled the air. A slide of rocks blocked their way, and
they scrambled past it hurriedly. Ahead, Arborlon glowed be-