she had been dropped into place at the dinner table quite un-
expectedly, an uninvited guest, an eavesdropper on the lives of
those about her. Even Garth’s familiar presence failed to comfort
her, and she said little to him.
When dinner ended, she went straight to her room to sleep,
stripped off her clothing, slipped beneath the bed coverings, and
lay waiting in the dark for things to change back again. They
refused. Her breathing slowed, her thoughts scattered, and at
last she fell asleep.
Even so, she was awake again and dressed before the knock
on the door that was meant to rouse her. Gavilan stood there,
clothed in drab hunter’s garb with weapons strapped all about,
the familiar grin shelved, looking like someone else entirely.
“I thought you might like to walk down to the wall with
me,” he said simply.
Her smile in response brought a trace of his own. “I would,”
she agreed.
With Garth in tow, they departed the palace and moved
through the dark, deserted streets of the city. Wren had thought
the people would be awake and watchful, anxious to observe
what would happen when the magic of the Loden was invoked.
But the homes of the Elves were dark and silent, and those who
watched did so from the shadows. Perhaps Ellenroh had not told
them when the transformation would occur, she thought. She
became aware of someone following them and glanced back to
find Cort a dozen paces behind. Triss must have dispatched him
to make certain they reached their appointed gathering spot on
time. Triss would be with the queen or Eowen Cerise or Aurin
Striate-or Dal would. All of them shepherded down to the
Keel, to the door that led out into the desolation beyond, into
the harsh and barren emptiness that they must traverse in order
to survive.
They arrived without incident, the darkness unbroken, the
dawn’s light still hidden beneath the horizon. All were gath-
ered-the queen, Eowen, the Owl, Triss, Dal, and now the four
of them. Only nine, Wren thought, suddenly aware of how few
they were and how much depended on them. They exchanged
hugs and hand clasps and furtive words of encouragement, a
handful of shadows whispering into the night. All wore hunter’s
garb, loose fitting and hardy, protection against the weather and,
to some small measure, the dangers that waited without. All
carried weapons, save for Eowen and the queen. Ellenroh car-
ried the Ruhk Staff, its dark wood glimmering faintly, the Loden
a prism of colors that winked and shimmered even in the near
black. Atop the Keel, the magic was a steady glow that illumi-
nated the battlements and reached heavenward. Elven Hunters
patrolled the walls in groups of half a dozen, and sentries stood
at watch within their towers. from without, the growls and hiss-
ings were sporadic and distant, as if the things emitting them.
lacked interest and would as well have slept.
“We’ll give them a surprise before this night is over, won’t
we?” Gavilan whispered in her ear, a tentative smile on his face.
“Just so long as they’re the ones who end up being surprised,”
she whispered back.
She saw Aurin Striate by the door leading down into the
tunnels and moved over to stand beside him. His rumpled body
shifted in the gloom. He glanced at her and nodded.
“Eyes and ears sharp, Wren?”
“I guess so.”
“Elfstones handy?”
Her mouth tightened. The Elfstones were in a new leather
bag strung about her neck-she could feel their weight resting
against her chest. She had managed to avoid thinking about
them until now. “Do you think I’ll need them?”
He shrugged. “You did last time.”
She was silent for a moment, considering the prospect.
Somehow she had thought she might escape Morrowindl with-
out having to call on the magic again.
“It seems quiet out there,” she ventured hopefully.
He nodded, his slender frame draping itself against the stone.
“They won’t be expecting us. We’ll have our chance.”
She leaned back next to him, shoulders touching. “How good
a chance will it be, Owl?”
He laughed tonelessly. “What difference does it make? It is
the only chance we have.”