Phaeton in the breach renewed their efforts. The defense gath-
ered strength and surged forward. Again the demons were
pushed back. The clang and rasp of iron weapons rose and with
it the screams of the dying.
Then suddenly Phaeton went down. It was impossible to see
what had happened-one moment he was there, leading the way,
and the next he was gone. The Elves cried out and charged
forward to protect him. The demons gave way grudgingly,
thrown back by the rush. The battle surged into the gap once
more, and this time went beyond as the demons were pushed
down the other side and back through the light. Again the magic
that protected the Keel began to knit, the lines of the magic
weaving together.
Then the demons started back a third time. The Elves, ex-
hausted, reeled away.
Ellenroh Elessedil raised the Ruhk Staff and pointed. The
Loden flared abruptly. Warnings were shouted, and the Elves
poured back through the breach. Light exploded from the
Loden, lancing toward the Keel as the magic of the Elfstone
gathered force. It reached the wall as the last of the Elven sol-
diers threw themselves clear. Stone rubble lifted piece by piece,
grinding and scraping as it came, and the wall began to rebuild
itself. Demons were caught in the whirlwind and buried. Stones
layered themselves one on top of the other and mortar filled the
gaps, the magic working and guiding, the power of the Loden
reaching out. Wren caught her breath in disbelief. The wall
rose, closing off the black hole that had been hammered through
it, reconstructing itself until it was whole again.
In seconds the magic had done its work, and the demons
were shut without once more.
THE QUEEN STOOD MOTIONLESS at the center of the bridge
while new companies of Elven soldiers raced past her to man
the battlements. She waited until a messenger she had dis-
patched returned from the carnage. The messenger knelt briefly
and rose to speak. Wren watched the queen nod once, turn and
come back across the bridge. The Home Guard cleared a path
for her once more, but this time she came directly toward Wren,
able to find her somehow in the swelling crowds. The Rover
girl was frightened by what she saw in her grandmother’s face.
Ellenroh Elessedil swept up to her, robes billowing out like
banners flown from the Ruhk Staff she held pressed to her body,
the Loden still glimmering with wicked white light.
“Aurin Striate,” the queen called out as she reached them,
her eyes fixing momentarily on the Owl. “Go ahead of us, if
you will. Summon Bar and Eton from their chambers-if they
are still there. Tell them . . .” Her breath seemed to catch in
her throat, and her hand tightened about the Ruhk Staff. “Tell
them that Phaeton died in the attack, an accident, killed by an
arrow from his own bowmen. Tell them that I wish a meeting
in the chambers of the High Council at once. Go now, quickly.”
The Owl melted into the crowd and was gone. The queen
turned to Wren, one arm coming up to encircle the girl’s slender
shoulders, the other gesturing with the Staff toward the city.
They began to walk, Garth a step behind, the Home Guard all
around.
“Wren,” the Elf Queen whispered, bending near. “This is the
beginning of the end for us. We go now to determine if we can
be saved. Stay close to me, will you? Be my eyes and ears and
good right arm. It is for this that you have come to me.”
Saying no more, she clutched Wren to her and hurried on
into the night.
CHAPTER
12
THE CHAMBERS OF the Elven High Council were situated
not far from the palace within an ancient grove of white
oak. The building was framed by massive timbers and
walled with stone, and the council room itself, which
formed the principal part of the structure, was a cavernous
chamber shaped like a hexagon, its ceiling braced with beams
that rose from the joinder of the walls to a center point like a
sheltering star. Heavy wooden doors opened from one wall and