Longing Ring

17

His mother stepped toward him, dagger in hand. "No, no. Nothing to fear, "she said "It's all going to be all right now. Everything will be all right."

He turned to get away, to hide in his room, but she grabbed his wrist fiercely and snapped him back toward her. "I'm sorry," she said "I'm so frightened." She held him close for a moment, then pulled back, the smile leaving her face. "Why did you do these things to me?"

J'role wanted to know why too, desperately wishing he knew how to stop hurting her. But he didn't have the answer.

Turning quickly, J'role saw two pairs of gleaming red eyes rushing toward him, moving low to the ground. One dog barked as it leaped through the air, trailing a mist of glowing red breath. Its night-black fur made it nearly invisible against the shadows; all he could see were the spectral eyes and mist floating from its mouth.

Releana looked up, spread her arms, puffed up her cheeks and exhaled, just as she had done in the pit. A rush of wind poured from her mouth and slammed into the dogs, sending the one in mid-leap back over on itself and then tumbling to the ground. The other dog continued its rush forward, going straight for Bevarden, who screamed like a child waking from a nightmare.

J'role's thief magic said, "Run!" Instead he threw himself at the dog attacking his father, tackling it, throwing his arms around its back. The two of them rolled off Bevarden and into the bushes.

J'role had never felt muscles as strong as those that now rolled and bucked against his arms and chest. The dog turned its head left and right, straining back as far as it could, snapping and growling at J'role. The teeth finally caught his forearm, and the animal bit deep. Though J'role wanted to scream in pain, he clamped down on the urge, afraid of releasing the voice of the creature inside him. The pain made him lose his grips and the dog scrambled free.

It rose onto its hind legs and whirled around, its breath summer-hot on J'role's face. It barked once, then lunged forward. The moment stretched out; the burning eyes seeming to come at J'role's face forever, then he rolled out of the way and the dog bit down on empty air. Now closer, it reared back its head for another bite, when suddenly the flesh along its neck was pierced by a spray of long needles. Blood spattered J'role, some of it falling into his open mouth. The dog let out a cry and its eyes rolled back into it head.

"Over there!" someone in the distance called.

"They're coming," said Releana.

J’role tried to spit the blood out of his mouth, but the taste clung to his tongue. He looked around quickly. The two dogs lay on the ground, both pierced by dozens of long, thick splinters of dirt formed by Releana's magic. His father also lay on the ground, curled up like a child, whimpering softly.

"Not now," J'role thought.

"Now, and always," the creature said.

J'role rushed to his father's side and helped him up.

"What.?" his father screamed, terror blazing in his eyed

"There!" came another voice from the distance.

J’role clamped his hand over his father's mouth and pulled him up. Releana rushed ahead.

At first J'role thought she was going to run off, but she waited for them to catch up. Then he saw that she was scouting their route, making sure they didn't rush into a thick wall of brambles.

Then came more shouts, the sounds of more dogs. The leaves and branches and bushes dragged at J'role, Releana, and Bevarden as they ran, catching their legs and clawing at their eyes and faces.

They ran for a few minutes when a thorn man suddenly sprang up from the ground, cutting them off from Releana. Bevarden said, "No, no, no."

J'role grabbed a thick stick from the ground and raised it in front of him. He swung it wildly, blocking the blows of the thorn man's magical spear. Whenever the tip of the spear hit the stick, the air crackled with blue-white light. The energy shot up J'role's hands, and his flesh became more and more numb after each blow.

Through the thorn man J'role saw Releana. She had her hands cupped a small flame appearing between them. Then she gestured her fingertips toward J'role. A bolt of flame raced through the air, through the thorn man, and then wrapped itself around his stick.

The red flames frightened J'role until he saw them parting around where his hand gripped the stick. He felt no heat from the flames. Releana had augmented the stick with magic.

The thorn man pulled back in fear too, though J'role did not know if it was the fear of a thinking person or of an animal panicked by fire. He swung the stick fiercely, the flames casting shifting red shadows among the branches and leaves of the forest.

The thorn man retreated a few more steps, and J'role pressed the attack. Though he knew little of the art of combat, the magic flames from the big stick seemed to help his blows.

Red sparks flared up as he struck the thorn man, illuminating the bones of several birds in its bramble chest. J'role smiled at his success.

Yet even as he forced the thorn man back, a strange discomfort overtook him. Fighting so openly, with a weapon of bright fire, felt-wrong. There was no other way to put it. A desire crept through his flesh to retreat to the shadows, to hide from his attackers and strike when they least expected it.

The agitation in his body drove him to a fury. He struck wildly at the thorn man, one blow after another. He knocked the spear out of the creature's hands, and the thing stumbled to the ground. With a final, massive blow he smashed in the thorn man's head, and dozens of sparks floated up like fireflies into the night air.

Dropping the flaming stick, J'role looked around for Releana and his father.

He found Bevarden leaning against a tree a few feet away, weeping silently but apparently unharmed. The next moment he looked around for Releana, and was greeted with the sight of two thorn men springing up out of the ground to attack her. She stood about thirty feet away.

The backs of the thorn men were to J'role, and a surge of excitement coursed through his chest. Exactly, he thought, and picked up the spear dropped by the thorn man he had fought. The weapon felt oddly balanced in his hands but he knew it would be more effective than his stick.

He rushed toward Releana's assailants, passing through the shadows like air, his footsteps wrapped in silence. The magic laughed inside him, seeing the perfection of his attack.

Yes. J'role was certain he would hit.

Releana dodged the thorn men's blows. Ducking and shifting left and right, she had not a moment's rest to prepare a spell. One of the thorn men slashed its spear against her right arm, and a crackle of blue energy burst on her skin, instantly leaving a black scar.

J 'role reached her without having made a sound or leaving a trace of his movement. Even Releana did not spot him through the gaps in the thorn man's body. He pulled his spear back and drove its tip-into the back of one of the thorn men, wondering only at the last moment if such a weapon could harm a creature made of branches and thorns.

But the spear's magical nature prevailed, and blue sparks flew wildly from the tip as it plunged into the thing's body. The creature's arms flew wide, its spear flung wildly away from Releana. The thorn man collapsed to the ground, then lay motionless. J'role whirled just in time to parry the thrust of the other thorn man.

He heard Releana's voice, then flames sprouted at the tip of his spear. J'role felt oddly giddy, and the moment seemed to freeze in his awareness. Before him stood a creature made of brambles and magic. He himself held a magic spear, now made more powerful by the spell of a magician. Despite all that had happened in his life, and no matter what would come next, everything he might ever have wanted from the fantastic had come his way.

His father hadn't lied at all. There was adventure in life. J'role knew now, however, that one could not define the terms of the adventure.

The thorn man stabbed his spear at J'role, and caught him full in the arm. A horrible pain coursed through his flesh and he staggered back. Raising the spear just in time, he blocked another blow, and then shoved the spear forward. The creature leaped out of the way.

The maneuvers cost J'role his balance, nearly sending him to the ground. He recovered just in time to dodge another blow from the thorn man. Jumping away from the attack, he whirled around and plunged his spear into the creature's right shoulder. The sparks flew wild, and the creature reeled back.

The two of them stalked each other now, moving in a wide circle around an undefined point of contention. Behind the thorn man, J'role saw Releana grab dirt from the ground, speak a few magic words, and toss the dirt at the thorn man. The dirt transformed into the same kind of darts that-had killed the dogs, but the darts passed harmlessly through the thorn man's hollow body.

The creature made a stab, then another. Each time J'role just barely dodged the attack.

Releana looked startled as she stared at some bushes back the way they'd come. J'role saw her wave her hands in the formation of another spell. A moment later an elf, his flesh pocked with thorns that pierced his flesh from the inside out, broke through the bushes, brandishing a sword and shouting, "Here, here!"

As J'role continued parrying with the thorn man, he saw Releana raise her hands again, and release another spell. A spear of ice formed under her fingertips and raced through the air. It slammed into the elf's chest, creating a red blossom on the elf's shirt of white petals.

In that instant the thorn man turned his focus from J'role, slightly toward Releana. J'role lunged forward and pierced the thorn man's chest, which began to glow white-hot as fire and sparks from the spear cut through it. The brambles exploded into flames as the thorn man fell apart and dropped to the ground.

"Come. We've got to go! Now!" Releana cried.

J'role hesitated. He wanted to go back and get the ring. He knew where it would be. On the shelves outside the elf queen's chamber with all the other gifts.

How could he leave the ring with the Alachia?

How could he leave her?

Without even thinking about it he began to walk back toward the castle a hand caught his arm and he turned sharply. It was Releana, looking concerned and confused. "We have to go!" she whispered harshly. "The Blood Wood, all of it, belongs to the elves. There's no place to hide. I already made that mistake. We have to get out. Now."

He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. Her words were full of practical, direct concern. Their abruptness seemed to pull him out of a dream. Yes. He had to go. They had almost died just trying to escape. What hope did he have of sneaking back to the castle, getting to the Hall of Gifts, and then escaping from the forest? He could not even explain to Releana what he would be doing. He would have to take his father with him …

No. No. There was no way.

Releana tugged his arm again.

"What is it?"

Just everything, he thought. Just everything.

"Not everything," the creature in his thoughts said. "The ork told you where to go next.

That kingdom. Throal.”

"Yes," thought J'role. "Throal."

"Exactly. He's probably still on his way. You can catch up to him."

"Yes. Yes. I can catch up."

Suddenly inspired, J'role went over to his father and took the man's hand. "The elves,"

Bevarden kept saying over and over, as if he'd lost a child. "The elves …"

The three of them pressed on in the darkness. Neither elves nor dogs nor any other creatures bothered them, but J'role saw the silhouettes of trees moving all during their seemingly endless trek through the night forest. Then Releana spotted spheres of light floating through the air, apparently looking for them. With each step, leaves and branches tugged at their clothes and scratched their flesh.

All J'role's wounds-from the spears, the roots in the pit, and the thorns of the elf queen-began to work deeper into his body. After a few hours he could barely stagger after Releana, who led Bevarden along in the night. He had no idea how long they had been traveling, though it seemed more than likely that they'd been wandering in circles.

He had a waking nightmare of stumbling once more into the clearing where stood the great, living elven castle. There the elves surrounded him once more and threw him back into the pit.

J'role's face soon began to feel prickly and he heard things he knew could not be real-

random words spoken by his mother, fragments of stories spoken by his father. But the words came so clearly that J’role thought he must be slipping in and out of the past, arriving in Blood Wood as if through some feverish nightmare-instead of the other way around.

"I'm sorry, " his mother said to him. "I'm so frightened. "She held him close…

…He was confused. The dark trees, the shadows on the ground…

A flash of metal …

Did Releana know where she was going?

"I want so much to see the elves," his father said.

No. His father had said. Right now, in Blood Wood, his father was crying softly.

"They're so beautiful That's what my father told me, and his father before him. And now I tell you. They live in thick forests, and there is no being fairer or kinder than they. They are strict, but generous.” His father looked away and up, as he so often did after J'role's mother had been killed. The elves were a replacement for her, giving him hope in a world without hope. "I may not live to see them. But perhaps you may, J'role. What a thing, son.

What a thing. What a thing to see the world."

There in the elven Blood Wood, J'role hastened his steps, caught up with his father and Releana. He took his father's hand in his. Squeezed it. His father squeezed back.

They had traveled some short distance away from the forest before J'role realized that they'd left it. The stars, forming an eternal bowl of countless silver flecks, caught his attention first. That was wrong, he thought. He must have dreamed stars.

T hen, he told himself, No, that's right. He looked up and around, saw the broad, barren expanse broken only by the mountains and hills in the distance. He could see and see and see. No trees towering overhead, no foliage blocking all sight.

He dropped to the ground and rubbed his hands in the dry, chalky dirt. Lovely. No life, no moisture. It was a land he understood. The forest, he thought, had tried to suck him into it; had tried to make him one more living thing among countless other living things.

Here, on the dead soil, there was no confusion. He was himself, no more and no less.

“Grim?” someone said. Who?

He looked up. Yes. Releana. She stared down at him. "Come. We've got to hide."

Yes. Hide. He had forgotten who he was hiding from, but it was good to hide.

Why did he answer to the name Grim? he thought, rising clumsily to his feet. His name was. . what? What was his name?

A voice in his head said, "I think she's nicknamed you Grim. You are Grim. It's a good name."

"Yes." J'role thought. "I am Grim."

"Do you want to know what happened, all those years ago? What happened in the kaer?

You've remembered more than I thought you ever would. You're so close….Do you want to know?"

A tremor passed through J'role, and he felt his chin shaking in fear. He continued to walk, following his father, who now staggered after Releana's lead. But his thoughts froze. Did he want to know what happened, all those years ago?

A blackness swarmed over him. No. No. No. He did not want to know. He was too close.

He'd remembered too much already, and all that he only wanted to forget.

His mother, holding him, "Shhh. Don't tell anyone…. You'll die if you …"

"No," he said to the voice in his head. "No, don't tell me."

The creature said nothing. Purred.

Soon they reached some rocks piled up on the barren plain. "Here," Releana said, and J'role obeyed by lying down on the ground. Now he could truly rest, for which he was immensely grateful.

He spread out, pressing his face to the cool, dry earth. Home again. Home is lifeless.

Home is safe. Home is where the heart is frozen.

18

She pulled him tight once more and he felt her body tense. There was no doubt in his mind what she was going to do with him. Do with the knife she held.

He did not struggle, did not pull away. She was his mother, and he wanted so much to make her happy. To finally cease causing her so much pain. Whatever he had to do.

Why did his voice makes her so sad? Why couldn't he speak to people? Something had happened, but he couldn't remember what.

Even in his dreams, your father's secrets within secrets remained deeply hidden.

The sky above, now full of rain-bloated clouds seemed to swirl slowly. His body shook and ached, and he thought it would be better to be dead.

"Then kill yourself," the creature in his thoughts; said wearily.

"Quiet," he told it.

Looking around, J'role saw his father staring up at the sky and saying in a flat, detached voice, "Rain. Rain. Rain."

Beside J'role was the spear he had taken from the thorn man during the fight in Blood Wood. He didn't remember keeping it, but apparently he'd never loosened his grip on the weapon.

Also lying on the ground was Releana, still asleep. It was the first time J'role had seen her in full light, albeit the light of a gray day. She wore an emerald green magician's robe, now smeared and nearly hidden under a layer of mud. The robe's pattern showed a person-a child, J'role thought-running. The running child raced for a lone tree standing in leafless silhouette against the green background.

J'role had never seen such a stark magician's robe before. It chilled him, though he did not know why.

Releana's long black hair was loose around her face, her features as plump as the rest of her. Compared to the sharp edges of the elf queen, Releana's soft curves were wonderfully appealing. He wanted to roll over and snuggle up against her.

But even that seemed like too much effort. Skin raw and muscles brittle, J'role could do no more man close his eyes and fall back to sleep.

Releana had built a fire. J'role drew as close as he dared, trying to warm his body, which felt chilled to the bone. Bevarden still stared up at the sky. "Rain," he muttered.

"Feeling any better?" Releana asked, sitting down beside J'role. She, too, was wounded, her legs covered with thick welts, and on her arm the strange black scar from the thorn man's spear.

J'role shook his head.

"Well, you will soon. The wounds are clean now. You just need time." She sounded confident, but J'role knew she was lying. Releana couldn't know for sure. Without a healer he might well die. They both might. Wounds were like that. They started as one obvious point of penetration, and if they didn't kill you immediately, they often festered slowly, draining all the life out of you, corrupting your health until …

Until what? How did you actually die? J'role didn't know. Maybe your body just got too tired to go on.

A drop of rain plinked against his temple, startling him. His muscles tightened, but instead of the deluge he expected, the rain began slowly. Big drops that splashed into the fire and fizzled with steam. They landed on his face, cold at first, but soothing somehow, He raised his hand to his forehead and smeared the drops over his cheeks, across his lips, and onto the tip of his tongue.

Bevarden tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide. J'role did the same, rolling onto his back. The drops fell into his mouth at unexpected moments, but they tasted wonderful.

“I've never seen you do that before," Releana said, her voice teasing.

J'role looked at her, puzzled and curious.

"Smile," she said. "It's the first time I've seen you smile. You are often Grim, but I'm glad to see you've got more to you than that."

He looked away, uncertain how to respond. Unable to respond. Why was the creature in his head …?

Seeing his deep concentration, she changed the subject with a bright tone, "So? Where are we headed now? Do you have a goal, or were you just wandering like I was? Each has its advantages and disadvantages, and I'm not saying one is better than the other. But if there's some place you're going, and you wouldn't mind, I'd like to come along with you. If that would be all right with you. I mean, I don't have a destination, and I'll tell you," she said smiling, "I'd sure like to have some place to go."

He hadn't thought about that: about her actually coming along. How would he explain it?

How could he possibly explain it all to her? How could he communicate the enormous complications of a magical ring, a hidden city, the strange, blind wizard with the eye in his hand, the one-eyed ork, and so on. . Just thinking about it overwhelmed him.

He decided to start with little bits of information. She was a magician. She was smart.

J'role figured she'd be able to put some of it together herself.

He propped himself up on one arm and raised his other hand a few feet off the ground.

Releana looked at him quizzically, then her face lit up as she realized he was trying to answer her question.

"A child?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"A short stick? A wand! No? Longer? A staff!?'

He shook his head and rolled back onto the ground, already frustrated.

"No, no, no," she said quickly, her voice happy and excited. "We just need to make up more rules. Listen, when I get closer, point your thumb up. When I start guessing worse, point your thumb down. Now. Is a child closer than a wand?"

J’role propped himself back up. She waited for his response, leaning in hungrily, a child waiting for the next round of a game. He found that he liked her immensely.

He held his thumb up.

"A child. It's like a child. A person?"

He mined stroking a beard, just as he'd seen his father do years ago, in the kaer, when telling a story about dwarfs.

"An-old man!"

He raised his hand again, then lowered it closer and closer to the ground. "A small old man!"

He shook his head.

"A dwarf!"

Her correct guess started him for a moment, and then he smiled. It had worked. And it hadn't been too difficult. "You're going to see a dwarf." she asked.

Not exactly, he thought. How do I communicate Throal?

He did it just as he had communicated dwarf. With patience.

"I've. . the dwarven kingdom. Actually, I've never seen a dwarf. Only heard about them.

Strange, isn't it. I'm speaking to you with their language, but I have no connection with them. Or, I have a strong connection with them, but it's so strong I'm not even aware of it.

I'm babbling. Sorry." She stood quietly for a moment.

J'role realized that she wanted to talk to him. He was supposed to answer. A conversation. Not his father's incessant apologies and dreams, but an actual exchange. At the same time, unable to do anything about it, he felt his fever winding its way into a headache. The pressure to interact was too much to bear.

"Why do you keep doing that?" she asked, abruptly curious.

He looked at her, exaggerating the confusion on his face so she'd know he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Look like that, I mean. So upset. You're always so serious. Not always. But you seem to retreat to it all the time. Retreat? Is that what I mean?" She thought about her question for the briefest of moments, then answered herself. "Yes. That's what I mean. Retreat. I called you Grim as a joke. But you seem too-serious. I don't know." She drew in a breath and looked at him.

Her words made him feel bad, though he didn't know exactly why. Then he realized that the words struck a chord because they were true. He was often serious. And all he wanted was to be light-spirited.

He could not speak, so he said nothing.

"I'm sorry," she said, realizing she'd depressed him even more.

The words, echoing his father's perpetual refrain, sent a buzz of frustration through his head. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for making Releana sound like his father. He got up quickly and took her hand-in his. Looking into her eyes he shook his head slightly.

As he touched her hand he realized how good it was to have someone near him who actually paid him enough attention to tell him the truth about himself, even if it was truth he didn't particularly like. How else was he going to know how others saw him? How else would he know if his behavior was actually different from what it could be?

Could be?

Yes. Exactly. He was serious all the time because it was his defense against all that had happened to him in his life. He'd assumed it was the only way to survive. Releana questioned his seriousness. Implicit in the question was the — notion that- he didn't have to be serious.

She assumed he could be happy. She wouldn't have asked the question otherwise.

She met his gaze briefly, then looked down at their hands, then removed her hand from his. J'role sat back down, almost disappointed to lose her touch, but not really. Someone had really paid attention to him. It was so wonderful in itself.

"I. . uh. .," she began faltering. He smiled at her. In the two days they'd known each other it was the first time he'd seen Releana at a loss for words.

He raised his hands, waving them, signaling that she dismiss her concerns. She stopped trying to talk and he stood up, carefully. When he was up he gestured for her to sit down.

She did.

With Releana and his father watching, J'role began to do something he'd never done before. He began to tell a story, just as his father had done in the kaer years earlier. His father had used words, but he had also portrayed all the people and creatures with his body. Drawing on the memory of his father's talents, J'role began to tell Releana of the day he stood in his village seeing Garlthik One-Eye approach. He mimed how they had met and later gone to Brandson's Tavern, and how J'role had seen Garlthik gazing spellbound at the ring on the stairs at Brandson's.

As he introduced new elements of the story, he and Releana played a guessing game of nouns and words until she guessed correctly. It took time, but she was curious and energetic and full of life and loved the challenge of figuring out what J'role was doing.

Hours passed and the rain continued to fall. His father applauded. The day wore on. J'role told his story.

That night the rain stopped and the clouds dispersed, leaving the stars clean and shiny in their wake. Stretched out on the ground, Releana and J'role and Bevarden stared up at the sky, a fire crackling beside them.

Earlier that day Releana had gone off to one of the copses that circled Blood Wood, later returning with enough berries to feed them well.

J'role had not been so happy in a long time. Doing something other than glowering provided its own energy.

Releana said, “My parents were killed by a Horror two years ago. I had already started my apprenticeship as the village wizard. But just a few months ago. . I don't know. . I didn't want to be around the death anymore." She turned to him. "Does that make sense?"

She did not wait for a reply. "Death is strange. So I left. I've been wandering, waiting for something to happen. Something exciting, I mean. When I came to Blood Wood, I didn't know what it was. The elf queen asked me for my gift. I didn't have anything. She threw me into the pit. I thought the elves were supposed to be nicer."

'The world," Bevarden intoned to no one in particular, "is dying."

J'role thought that an odd statement. Hadn't the world been growing itself back from near devastation in the past few decades? Or maybe that didn't matter. Maybe deeper down it was dying. Maybe it was already dead and no one knew it yet.

"No," said Releana. "Parts of it are dead. Our parts. But there's life out there."

Bevarden began a coughing fit. Blood came up from his mouth and fell on the ground in thick drops. Releana and J'role both got up and held him. J'role rocked his father.

"We've got to get him to a questor of Garlen," said Releana J'role nodded. His father quieted.

"So we're going to Throal?"

J'role nodded again, smiling and relieved. She hadn't yet said she would travel with him.

Now he was glad to hear she would.

"Good."

They sat up with Bevarden until he fell asleep. At one point Releana extended her hand and squeezed J’role’s. "You're nice," she said. Then, with a laugh, she added, “I’m glad we were miserable together. We might never have met."

They walked south toward Throal. All three were weak, but the need for help and food and healing drove them on.

Releana talked. "The ring makes people care very much about it. And thus keeps people searching for the city.''

J'role nodded again, this time listening carefully to Releana. He liked it when she reasoned. He'd never met anyone who did it so intensely.

"So, when you wore this ring, you wanted to find the city?” she said.

J'role nodded, confirming what he had told her the day before.

"It made you long for the city," she said thoughtfully. Then she suddenly added, "A geas!"

J'role touched her arm, then shrugged when she looked at him.

"A geas … it's a spell. A powerful one. I haven't the faintest idea how to do one, but I've heard about them. But never one like this. ."

She started to drift off into thought, but J'role tugged her arm again.

"Sorry. Thinking. A geas. . It commands a person to go on a quest. If I cast a geas on you, and command you to go find a particular magic sword, you will go off and find that sword. Whether you want to or not. You do want to." Her hands were moving quickly in the air now, as if she were casting a series of spells as she spoke. "You want to so much that it's … it's like being in love. And not fulfilling your quest is like having your love rejected. It hurts terribly. It hurts so much you become ill. But if you fulfill the quest, everything is right in the world."

She fell silent just long enough to draw in air.

"Anyway. I've never heard of a transferable geas before. I mean, the spell is cast upon a person or a group of people. That's it. I give you, Grim, a quest. And you do it. But this ring … It seems to pass the quest on from one person to the next. Do you still want to find the city now?"

He thought about it. Yes. But not as intensely as when he wore the ring. He didn't know how to express that. But he knew what she was getting at, he definitely felt differently about Parlainth when he'd possessed the ring. He shook his head no.

"But you still want to get the ring?"

He thought about that. Yes. Very much. Why, though? he wondered. Because he wanted the longing for the city to come back. He wanted his soul tied into the quest for the city.

He nodded.

"So the ring doesn't pass on the geas. But it leaves a memory with all the wearers. They all want to own the ring. And if you own the ring, you want to find the city."

This revelation troubled J'role. The longing had been so intense he'd thought it was just his and Garlthik's. To discover that everyone had felt it … Mordom and perhaps countless others. . It made him feel stupid. It cheapened it. Of course, Releana could be wrong.

"Of course, I could be wrong. As I said, I've never heard of anything like this before. It would take a great deal of magic, a knowledge far beyond that possessed by any other magician I've ever met."

J 'role gestured behind them, toward the elven Blood Castle.

"The elves. .?" Releana asked.

J'role nodded. Queen Alachia had said as much.

A moment passed in the still darkness, and then Releana said with quiet excitement, "The elves made the ring." He nodded again.

"Well, it would still be hard, even for them. But with enough time. And enough elves working on it … But what's it for?"

"It's for drinking," said Bevarden, his tone ugly. His mood had begun to shift unpleasantly in the last few hours.

Releana said, "Well, it's to make people find the city. That's it."

J'role tugged on her arm once more, and shrugged again.

"Right," she said. "Why would they create a ring to do that? If they wanted to know where it is, why didn't they just send someone out to find it? Maybe they don't like to leave Blood Wood. But then how did the ring get outside Blood Wood?"

Releana fell silent. J'role thought, If the elves made the ring, how did it get outside Blood Wood? Then he remembered what the elf queen had told him: the elves had made the ring hundreds of years earlier. Before the Scourge. Probably even before the city was lost. But then why did the elves build a ring to find something that wasn't hidden?