is we, Wren, who must do the carrying. It is we who must see
to it that those who have been gathered up by the Loden’s
spell-our people-are restored to the world again, that they are
given a new chance at life. Magic alone is not enough. It is never
enough. Our lives, and ultimately the lives of all those who
depend upon us, are forever our responsibility. The magic is
only a tool. Do you understand?”
Wren nodded somberly. “I will do anything I can to help,”
she said softly. “But I tell you now that I wish the magic dead
and gone, all of it, every last bit, everything from Shadowen to
demons to Loden to Elfstones. I would see it all destroyed.”
The queen rose. “And if it were, Wren, what then would
take its place? The sciences of the old world, come back to life?
A greater power still? It would be something, you know. It will
always be something.”
She reached down and pulled Wren up with her. “Call Garth
now and come with me to dinner. And smile. Whatever else
might come of this, we have found each other. I am very glad
that you are here.”
She hugged Wren close once more, holding her. Wren
hugged her back and said, “I’m glad, too, Grandmother.”
ALL OF THE MEMBERS of the inner circle of the High Council
were in attendance at dinner that night-Eton Shart, Barsimmon
Oridio, Aurin Striate, Triss, Gavilan, and the queen, together
with Wren, Garth, and Eowen Cerise-all those who had been
present when the decision was made to invoke the Loden’s power
and abandon Morrowindl. Even Cort and Dal were there, stand-
ing watch in the halls beyond, barring any from entering, in-
cluding the service staff once the food was on the table.
Comfortably secluded, those gathered discussed the arrange-
ments for the coming day. Talk was animated and direct with
discussions about equipment, supplies, and proposed routes
dominating the conversation. Ellenroh, after consulting with the
Owl, had decided that the best time to attempt an escape was
just before dawn when the demons were weary from the night’s
prowl and anxious for sleep and a full day’s light lay ahead for
travel. Night was the most dangerous time to be out, for the
demons always hunted then. It would take the company of nine
a bit more than a week to reach the beaches if all went smoothly.
If any of them doubted that it would really happen that way, at
least they kept it to themselves.
Gavilan sat across from Wren, one place removed, and
smiled at her often. She was aware of his attention and politely
acknowledged it, but directed her talk to her grandmother and
the Owl and Garth. She ate something, but later she couldn’t
remember what, listening to the others talk, glancing frequently
at Gavilan as if studying him might somehow reveal the mystery
of his attraction, and thinking distractedly about what the queen
had told her earlier.
Or, more to the point, what she hadn’t told her.
The queen’s revelations, on close examination, were a trifle
threadbare. It was all well and good to say that the magic had
been recovered; but where had it been recovered from? It was
fine to admit that recovery had somehow triggered the release
of the demons that besieged them; but what was it about the
magic that had freed them? And from where? Wren still hadn’t
heard a word about what had gone wrong with usage of the
magic or why it was that no magic was available to undo the
wrong that had been done. What her grandmother had given
her was a sketch without shadings or colors or background of
any kind. It wasn’t enough by half.
And yet Ellenroh had insisted that it must be.
Wren sat with her thoughts buzzing inside like gnats. The
conversations flowed heatedly about her as faces turned this way
and that, the light failed without as the darkness closed down,
and time passed by with silent footsteps, a retreat from the past,
a stealthy approach toward a future that might change them all
forever. She felt disconnected from everything about her, as if