point of invisibility. Elven soldiers patroled the ramparts, but
there were no battles being fought now, the demons having
slipped away to rest until nightfall. The world outside had gone
sullen and empty, and the only audible sounds came from the
voices and movement of the people within.
As they neared the closest bridgehead, Wren turned to the
Owl and asked, “Why is there a moat inside the wall?”
The Owl glanced over at her, then away again. “It separates
the city from the Keel. Do you know about the Keel?”
He gestured toward the wall. Wren remembered the name
now. Stresa had been the first to use it, saying that the Elves
were in trouble because its magic was weakening.
“It was built of the magic in the time of Ellenroh’s father,
when the demons first came into being. It protects against them,
keeps the city just as it has always been. Everything is the same
as it was when Arborlon was brought to Morrowindi over a
hundred years ago.”
Wren was still mulling over what Stresa had said about the
magic growing weaker. She was about to ask Aurin Striate if it
was so when she realized what he had just said.
“Owl, did you say when Arborlon was brought to Morrow-
indl? You mean when it was built, don’t you?
“I mean what I said.”
“That the buildings were brought? Or are you talking about
the Ellcrys? The Ellcrys is here, isn’t it, inside the city?”
“Back there.” He gestured vaguely, his seamed face clouded.
“Behind the palace.”
“So you mean-”
The Owl cut her short. “The city, Wren. The whole of it
and all of the Elves that live in it. That’s what I mean.”
Wren stared. “But . . . It was rebuilt, you mean, from timbers
the Elves ferried here . .
He was shaking his head. “Wren, has no one told you of the
Loden? Didn’t the queen tell you how the Elves came to Mor-
rowindl?”
He was leaning close to her now, his sharp eyes fixed on
her. She hesitated, saying finally, “She said that it was decided
to migrate out of the Westland because the Federation-”
“No,” he cut her short once more. “That’s not what I mean.”
He looked away a moment, then took her by the arm and
walked her to a stone abutment at the foot of the bridge where
they could sit. Garth trailed after them, his dark face expres-
sionless, taking up a position across from them where he could
see them speak.
“This isn’t something I had planned on having to tell you,
girl,” the Owl began when they were settled. “Others could do
the job better. But we won’t have much to talk about if I don’t
explain. And besides, if you’re Ellenroh Elessedil’s grandchild
and the one she’s been waiting for, the one in Eowen Cerise’s
vision, then you have a right to know.”
He folded his angular arms comfortably. “But you’re not go-
ing to believe it. I’m not sure I do.”
Wren smiled, a trifle uncomfortable with the prospect. “Tell
me anyway, Owl.”
Aurin Striate nodded. “This is what I’ve been told, then-
not what I necessarily know. The Elves recovered some part of
their faerie magic more than a hundred years back, before Mor
rowindl, while they were still living in the Westland. I don’t
know how they did it; I don’t really suppose I care. What’s
important to know is that when they made the decision to mi-
grate, they supposedly channeled what there was of the magic
into an Elfstone called the Loden. The Loden, I think, had al-
ways been there, hidden away, kept secret for the time when it
would be needed. That time didn’t come for hundreds of years-
not in all the time that passed after the Great Wars. But
the Elessedils had it put away, or they found it again, or some-
thing, and when the decision was made to migrate, they put it
to use.”
He took a steadying breath and tightened his lips. “This
Elfstone, like all of them, I’m told, draws its strength from the
user. Except in this case, there wasn’t just a single user but an