darker suspicions warned her that what tracked them was some-
thing of the sort that had tracked Par and Coil on their journey
from Culhaven to Hearthstone when they had gone in search
of Walker Boh-a thing like the Gnawl. But could even a Gnaw!
avoid them as completely as their shadow had succeeded in
doing? Could something that was basically an animal find them
again and again when they had worked so hard to lose it? It
seemed more likely that what tracked them was human-with a
human’s cunning and intelligence and skill: a Seeker, perhaps-
sent by Rimmer Dali, a Tracker of extraordinary abilities, or an
assassin, even, though he would have to be more than that to
have managed to stay with them.
It was possible, too, she thought, that whoever was back
there was not an enemy at all, but something else. “Friend” was
hardly the right word, she supposed, but perhaps someone who
had a purpose similar to their own, someone with an interest in
the Elves, someone who . .
She stopped herself. Someone who insisted on staying hid-
den, even knowing Garth and she had discovered they were
being followed? Someone who continued playing cat and mouse
with them so deliberately?
Her darker suspicions reemerged to push the other possibil-
ities aside.
By midday they had reached the northern fringe of the Ir-
rybis. The mountains split off in two directions, the high range
turning east to parallel the northern Rock Spur and enclose the
Wilderun, the low running south along the coastline they fol-
lowed. The coastal lrrybis were thickly forested and less for-
midable, scattered in clusters along the Blue Divide, sheltering
valleys and ridges, and forming passes that connected the inland
hill country to the beaches. Nevertheless, travel slowed because
the trails were less well defined, often disappearing entirely for
long stretches. At times the mountains ran right up against the
water, falling away in steep, impassable drops so that Wren and
Garth were required to circle back to find another route. Heavy
stands of timber blocked their path as well, forcing them to go
around. They found themselves moving away from the beaches,
higher into the mountain passes where the land was more open
and accepting. They worked their way ahead slowly, watching
as the sun drifted west to sink into the sea.
Night passed uneventfully, and they were awake again at
daybreak and on their way. The morning chill again gave ground
to midday heat. The ocean breezes that had cooled the previous
day were less noticeable in the passes, and Wren found herself
sweating freely. She shoved back her tousled hair, tied a scarf
about her head, splashed water on her face, and forced herself
to think about other things. She cataloged her memories as a
child in Shady Vale, trying to recall once again what her parents
had been like. As usual, she found that she couldn’t. What she
remembered was vague and fragmented-bits and pieces of con-
versation, small moments out of time, or words or phrases out
of Context. All of what she recalled could as easily be identified
with Par’s parents as with her own. Had any of it come from
her Parents-or had it all come from Jaralan and Mirianna
Ohmsford? Had she ever really known her parents? Had they
ever been with her in Shady Vale? She had been told so. She
had been told they had died. Yet she had no memory of it. Why
Was that so? Why had nothing about them stayed with her?
She glanced back at Garth, irritation mirrored in her eyes.
Then she looked away again, refusing to explain.
They stopped to eat at midday and rode on. Wren ques-
tioned Garth briefly about their shadow. Was it still following?
Did he sense anything? Garth shrugged and signed that he was
no longer certain and that he no longer trusted himself on the
matter. Wren frowned doubtfully, but Garth would say nothing
further, his dark, bearded face unreadable.
The afternoon was spent crossing a ridgeline over which a
raging forest fire had swept a year ago, leveling the land so
thoroughly that only the blackened stumps of the old growth