considering the possibility of what lay ahead.
Then Garth rose and indicated the woods. They picked up
their gear and moved back beneath the willow. After settIing
themselves at the base of its trunk, they spread their bedrolls
and wrapped themselves in their forest cloaks. Despite her wear-
iness, Wren offered to stand the first watch, and Garth agreed.
He rolled himself in his cloak, then lay down beside her and
was asleep in seconds.
Wren listened as his breathing slowed, then shifted her at-
tention to the night sounds beyond. It remained quiet atop the
bluff, the birds and insects gone still, the wind a whisper, and
the ocean a soothing, distant murmur. Whatever was out there
hunting them seemed very far away. It was an illusion, she
warned herself, and became all the more wary.
She touched the bag with its make-believe Elfstones where
it rested against her breast. It was her good-luck charm, she:
thought, a charm to ward off evil, to protect against danger, and
to carry her safely through whatever challenge she undertook.
Three painted rocks that were symbols of a magic that had been
real once but was now lost, like the Elves, like her past. She
wondered if any of it could be recovered.
Or even if it should be.
She leaned back against the willow’s trunk and stared out
into the night, searching in vain for her answers.
CHAPTER
3
AT SUNRISE the following morning, Wren and Garth re-
sumed their journey south in search of the caves of the
Rocs. It was a journey of faith, for while both had trav-
eled parts of the coastline neither had come across caves
large enough to be what they were looking for or had ever seen
a Roc. Both had heard tales of the legendary birds great winged
creatures that had once carried men. But the tales were only
that, campfire stories that passed the time and conjured up im-
ages of things that might be but probably never were. There
were sightings claimed, of course, as with every fairy-tale mon-
ster. But none was reliable. Like the Elves, the Rocs were ap-
parently invisible.
Still, there didn’t need to be Rocs in order for there to be
Elves. The Addershag’s admonition to Wren could prove out in
any case. They had oniy to discover the caves, Rocs or no,
build the signal fire, and wait three days. Then they would learn
the truth. There was every chance that the truth would disap-
point them, of course, but since they both recognized and ac-
cepted the possibility, there was no reason not to continue on.
Iheir only concession to the unfavorable odds was to pointedly
avoid speaking of them.
The day began clear and cricp, the skies unclouded and blue,
the sunrise a bright splash across the eastern horizon that sil-
houetted the mountains in stark, jagged relief. The air filled with
the mingled smells of sea and forest, and the songs of starlings
and mockingbirds rose out of the trees. Sunshine quickly chased
the chill left by the night and warmed the land beneath. The
heat rose inland, thick and sweltering where the mountains
trapped it, continuing to burn the grasses of the plains and hills
a dusty brown as it had all summer, but the coastline remained
cool and pleasant as a steady breeze blew in off the water. Wren
and Garth kept their horses at a walk, following the narrow,
winding coastal trails that navigated the bluffs and beaches front-
ing the mountains east. They were in no hurry. They had all
the time they needed to get to where they were going.
There was time enough to be cautious in their passage
through this unfamiliar country-time enough to keep an eye
out for their shadow in case it was still following after them.
But they chose not to speak of that either.
Choosing not to speak about it, however, did not keep Wren
from thinking about it. She found herself pondering the possi-
bility of what might be back there as she rode, her mind free
to wander where it chose as she looked out over the vast ex-
panse of the Blue Divide and let her horse pick its way. Her