Rebel Fay

Chapter Twelve

Chane turned his horse around a jagged stone outcrop. He followed Welstiel each night southeast into the Crown Range as directed by the old Mondyalitko couple. At any moment, he expected one of their mounts to drop.

The beasts moved slowerwith each passing dusk. Welstiel did not appear to notice and pressed on relentlessly.

On a few evenings they had awoken trapped within the tent by heavy snowfall. Chane dug them out, but once it was so severe they spent the night inside. Not a pleasant night, for any delay aggravated Welstiel.

Tonight was cold but calm, and Chane reined in his horse as Welstiel suddenly halted to look up at the stars.

"How much farther?" Chane asked.

Welstiel shook his head."Until we see signs of a ravine. What did the woman say-like a giant gouge in the mountainside?"

"Yes," Chane answered.

For half the journey, Welstiel seemed lost in thought. The last time Chane had heard the man talk in his sleep was the morning he awoke shouting; since then, Welstiel's dreams had grown infrequent. He had also nearly ceased any pretense of grooming. Dark hair hung lank down his forehead, and his once fine cloak continued deteriorating. Chane's was no better.

"I should look for a place to set up the tent," he said.

Welstiel just stared at the night sky.

Chane urged his mount onward, searching for natural shelter. It was some relief to be alone for a moment, as he believed Welstiel might well be going mad.

The man's state of mind grew worse each night, though at times he was as lucid as the first time Chane met him. They passed the time with Chane's lessons in Numanese, not perfectly enjoyable, but it broke the silent tension and kept Welstiel's wits from wandering. And Chane now spoke Wynn's native tongue in short but complete sentences.

Welstiel had made sure they would not starve, but feeding through his arcane methods was hardly satisfying. How a Noble Dead could settle for such bland and unpleasant sustenance was beyond Chane.

Chane's thoughts often slipped to the memory of a stimulating hunt: the taste of flesh between his teeth and blood on his tongue, and how his pleasure sharpened with the fear of his prey. Welstiel's method might last longer, and was necessary under their circumstances, but he appeared to prefer it. Chane would never understand.

He dismounted and trekked up the rocky slope to an overhang below a sheer face of granite. It would do for the day. He could tie off the canvas on the overhang's projections, weight the bottom edge with stones, and create a makeshift chamber. The extra room would be a small luxury, so he returned to his horse and began untying the rolled canvas.

He paused to scan the firs with their sparse branches and listen to the last of the night, but he heard only the coarse wind gusting across the mountainside. He dreaded another dormant day, locked in by the sun with Welstiel, only to emerge into another night of icy winds on an exhausted mount. Language lessons were his only respite.

Chane closed his eyes indulgently, his thoughts drifting forward…

In Malourne, across the western ocean and the next continent, lay the founding home of the Guild of Sagecraft. Educated men and women would walk old and sound stone passages in robes of light gray. What libraries and archives they would have, tables full of scrolls, parchments, and books, all lit by the glow of cold lamp crystals.

He saw himself there.

Red-brown hair clean and combed behind his ears, he studied an ancient parchment. Not a carefully scribed copy, but the original, unearthed in some far and forgotten place.

The familiar scent of mint tea drifted into his nostrils. He looked up to see Wynn walking toward him, carrying a tray. She offered a soft smile only for him. Her wispy brown hair was woven in a braid down her back, and her olive skin glowed in the crystal's light.

She set down the tray with its two steaming cups. He wanted to smile back, but he could not. He could only drink in the sight of her face. She reached out and touched his cheek softly. The warmth of her hand made him tremble. She sat beside him, asking him questions as her eyes roved the parchment. They talked away the night, until Wynn's eyelids drooped little by little as she grew too sleepy. In that still and perfect moment, he lingered between watching her sleep and carrying her to her room.

Chane's horse neighed wildly. He opened his eyes at the first growl, and the vision of Wynn vanished.

Downslope between the wind-bent trees, wild dogs approached. He had neither heard nor smelled them while lost in wishful fantasy.

Six dogs, their eyes on him and the horse, snarled as they wove closer through the sparse foliage.

Most were black with hints of brown and slate gray, but each bore patches of bare skin where their fur thinned from starvation. Yellow eyes were glazed with hunger, and their ribs showed beneath shrunken and sagging skin.

The horse tossed its head and tried to retreat, sending stones tumbling downslope.

Chane snatched the reins and reached across the saddle for his sword slung from the saddle horn. He wondered how the dogs survived this far up with so little to eat. He closed a hand on the sword's hilt, and the two closest dogs charged for the horse's legs. Chane ducked away from the bucking mount as the lead dog sprang.

Its forelegs hooked across the horse's shoulders, and its teeth clacked wildly for a grip. The second dog charged from the front, snapping at the horse's legs. The horse screamed and reared. Before Chane could swing at either dog, another snarl sounded from behind him.

A skeletal dog was in midleap when he turned. He sidestepped and swung.

His longsword bit halfway through its neck.

The animal hit the slope and slid, smearing earth and rock with spattering blood. Another dog collided into Chane's back, and he toppled facedown.

Teeth closed on the base of his neck as his horse screamed under the growls of other dogs.

Chane released his sword and rolled, pinning the dog beneath his back, but it did not let go. He felt his skin tear as he wrenched his elbow back. The dog's jaws released with a gagging yelp at the muffled crack of its ribs. Chane turned onto his knees, pinned the dog's head, and shattered its skull with his fist.

His horse was down. Four remaining dogs tore savagely at it, and the mount's weak cries reduced to gasping whimpers.

All the dogs suddenly stopped and fell silent. Their bloodied muzzles lifted in unison.

Welstiel stood beyond them, the reins of his horse in hand. His expression was marred with livid disbelief.

"Why did you not stop them," he demanded, "instead of rolling about yourself like some rabid mongrel?"

"I was stopping…" Chane answered in his nearly voiceless hiss. "There were too many to get all of them quickly enough."

"You are Noble Dead," Welstiel said with disgust. "You can control such beasts with a thought."

Chane blinked. "I do not possess that ability. Toret told me that ourkind develop differing strengths-given time. That is not one of mine."

Welstiel's disgust faded, and he shook his head. His resignation made him look older.

"Yes… it is." He studied the dogs and then Chane's chest. "Do you still wear one of your small urns?"

Chane grasped the leather string slick with his own black fluids still running down his neck. He pulled it until a small brass urn dangled free of his shirt.

Welstiel stepped closer and the dogs remained still as he passed. "Leave one alive to take as a familiar. It can track ahead and perhaps aid in our search."

He turned away, glancing once at the dying horse with a weary sigh.

It was a sound Chane always found strange to hear from an undead, even when he did it himself. They breathed only when needing to speak, and a sigh was but a habit left over from living days.

"We'll walk and use my horse for the baggage," Welstiel said. "Collect what remains of your horse's feed, and roast its flesh to store for your new familiar."

Chane picked up his sword. It all sounded sensible and rational, but the scent of blood was thick around him. His hunger stirred, though he had no need for sustenance.

Dog and horse-lowly beasts-but the mount had served Chane, and the pack only sought to survive. He understood that, and it left him strangely disturbed as he skewered the first dog with the tip of his blade. Even at its yelp, the others just stood there, waiting to be slaughtered.

He did not pick or choose and merely killed the dogs one by one within reach, until the last stood cowering before him. He closed his eyes and imagined once more…

A quiet place in the world where Wynn's round face glowed by the light of a cold lamp crystal. Her eyes drooped in sleep over the parchment, and he reached out for her…

Wynn returned with Chap and Lily to the barrier woods. The silver deer was gone, but the remainder of the pack ranged about.

Her face and hands stung from scratches, and her left leg ached, but she limped along. These injuries seemed paltry compared to the majay-hi found broken and dead beneath the birch's branches. The steel-gray female had come for her as the Fay tried to drag her out to her death. Now her twin brother wandered listlessly among the trees, barely in sight of the others.

Of all things Wynn had faced, from vampires to Lord Darmouth and his men, the Fay's sudden wrath terrified her most. It was so unexpected.

Before discovering Chap, she had considered the Fay to be little more than an ideological personification of the elemental forces that composed her world. In knowing Chap and coming to believe in what he was, she had thought the Fay benevolent if enigmatic, much like him.

They had killed a majay-hi because she had heard them and learned how they had used Chap.

The world now made far less sense to Wynn.

Chap stepped up to the brambles filling the trees of the barrier woods. He ground his paws into the earth. Wynn did not need mantic sight to guess what he did.

She had seen the silken vapor of spectral white fire rise around Chap as he faced his kin. When he turned on them to defend her, his body had flashed and blinded her for an instant. His kin had fled in fear.

He annoyed her so many times with his doggish behavior, slovenly and gluttonous habits that made it difficult to remember what he was. When he chomped a greasy sausage, she did not see how anything descended from the eternal could be so… disgusting.

But he was Fay-and now outcast. Perhaps traitor as well to his eternal kin, though they deserved no better.

Chap clamped his teeth upon a bisselberry vine, and Wynn watched in chilled fascination.

Round berries receded to flowers and then to small buds among the vine's broad leaves and long thorns. Leaves shrank in size and thorns shortened as both faded into light green stems. The vine's branching parts withdrew as they shrank in size.

Wynn watched its wild maturity turn back to infancy as the thorny plant grew younger and smaller. It receded into the earth from whatever fallow seed it had sprouted.

"You reverse the course of life?" Wynn whispered.

Chap stepped into the hollow left by the vines, and the leaf-wing whispered in Wynn's head.

Only to take my kin's touch… what they leave of their will upon the world… as I took the pieces of them reaching for you.

She had grown accustomed to picking meaning from his multitongued voice, though it still made her stomach roll. The inky elder followed Chap inward. Wynn stepped in with Lily, and the other majay-hi came behind.

Dawn grew to day as Chap led them, tunneling through the barrier woods. Wynn watched in awe as again and again he bit and licked its altered life into retreat. The sun had nearly cleared the treetops when the last bramble curled away before Chap. Wynn stepped out behind him through a patch of enormous verdant ferns with fronds reaching up taller than her head.

She emerged at a clearing's edge where the ground was covered in soft emerald grass. Here and there patches of darker moss were thick and spongy. At the center was a domicile elm as wide and massive as any oak or cedar in Crijheaiche.Beside its curtained opening sat a stool and a basket filled with white lumps. A small brook gurgled across the clearing several paces beyond the tree.

At the water's edge, a slender woman perched upon a wide saffron cushion. With her back turned, she did not notice the visitors.

Bright sunlight turned her hair nearly white, and its long glossy tresses hung forward over one caramel-colored shoulder. The folds of her shimmering wrap were pulled down, and she was naked to the waist. She washed with a square of tan felt in one narrow hand.

Wynn thought she saw lighter scars in the skin of the woman's back, as if she had been clawed by an animal long ago.

As the majay-hi wormed around Wynn and into the clearing, Chap hesitantly stepped across the green.

The woman paused and turned just a little. White-blond hair slipped from her shoulder and swung down her back almost to the cushion. She set down the felt and pulled up her wrap. Chap barked loudly and ran forward, and the woman whirled to her feet, even taller than Wynn had first guessed.

Wynn had seen elven women both here and on her continent, but none like this one.

Her face was triangular like all elves', though its long angles swept in soft curves down to a narrow jaw and chin. Her skin was flawless but for the scars Wynn had seen. White-blond eyebrows swept out and up above her temples like downy feathers upon her brow. A long delicate nose ended above a small mouth a shade darker than her skin.

Her almond-shaped eyes were large, even for her own kind.

She did not seem quite real.

"Chap?" the woman said.

He scurried to her side and rubbed into her legs a bit too hard. She crouched down and lifted an uncertain hand under his muzzle. Chap twisted his head to drag her palm and long fingers over his face.

This was Leesil's mother-Nein'a-Cuirin'nen'a, as her own people called her.

Wynn found it difficult to see her as one of the Anmaglahk, spy and assassin, let alone a traitor to her caste or people. And Nein'a did not appear to be imprisoned.

She finally looked up at Wynn. An instant of surprise passed over her fine features before she turned with narrow-eyed suspicion to study the surrounding trees. The majay-hi spread across the green, sniffing about, and their ease in her glade seemed to calm her.

Wynn approached cautiously, uncertain how she would be received.

Nein'a stood, looking down upon the sage.

"How does a human come here?" she said in Belaskian. "And where did you find this dog?"

Beneath cold demand was an unsteady quiver in her voice.

"I came with Chap," Wynn said, "as did Leesil. He is here among your people, trying to find you… and free you."

Nein'a blinked once as her expression flattened. "That is not possible. He would not be allowed amongthe an'Croan… no more than you would, girl!"

Wynn had not expected such cold and sharp words from her, though Nein'a had been alone for a long time.

"Chap brought us through the mountains. Sgaile came to escort us by the request of Most Aged Father. I swear to…"

At the patriarch's name, fear washed through Nein'a's beautiful face. It was quickly replaced by something coldly vicious as she peered again into the trees around the clearing.

"Get out!" she snapped at Wynn. "Do not bring Leesil here. Take him from this land while you still can."

Wynn was shocked into silence until Chap's voice scratched in her mind.

She must come now, before pursuit catches us all.

Wynn stepped closer to Nein'a. "Come with us. Chap and I can hide you. I will get Leesil and Magiere from Crijheaiche, and we-"

"Leesil is among the Anmaglahk?" Nein'a cut her off. "You are all fools… rabbits who crawl into a den of wolves! How did you even find my prison?"

Before Wynn could sort out answers, her stomach rolled at Chap's words.

No more time for this-we leave now!

Wynn swallowed down nausea under Nein'a's wary gaze and then gestured at Chap and the other majay-hi.

"He brought me… and they led him. They can bring us back. But you have to come. There are others pursuing us, and we do not know how close they are."

Nein'a looked away. "What makes you think I could leave… not having done so in the long time I have been here?"

"Of course you can leave," Wynn insisted. "There are no walls, and Chap knows the way."

He barked once as his leaf-wing voice began to rise again.

"I heard you the first time!" Wynn snapped at him. "Keep quiet for a moment!"

Nein'a frowned at them both.

Wynn had no time to explain, and all Nein'a heard was Chap's agitated bark in reply.

Nein'a shook her head. "I am cut off, girl. I can no more walk the forest than you. It rejects me. If I step beyond the clearing, I am lost… wandering until I am quickly retaken and returned to his place. Do you think I have not tried?"

Wynn did not understand this. Every elf she had met was at home in this great forest and none suffered the confusion it pressed upon her.

"Trust me, or at leastChap," she urged. "He can lead us back."

Lily remained close by. In two steps, Chap brushed heads with her and tossed his nose toward the tall ferns. Lily yipped and the pack elder echoed her. All the majay-hi began to gather.

Nein'a watched them, but her large eyes kept drifting warily about the clearing, as if searching for some assurance. She sighed and scratched Chap's head.

"I have nothing to lose. But not so for you, girl, when we are caught."

"Just keep your eyes on Chap and the others. The forest cannot make them shift in your mind like it does with its own flora."

Chap led the way with Nein'a following, and Wynn fell in behind with Lily as the majay-hi swarmed around them. They stepped through the giant ferns and down the channel that Chap had created in the barrier woods.

"It took us all night to reach you," Wynn said, "but Chap and the pack know where to go. We still have a long trek ahead."

Nein'a did not answer, and seemed overly disturbed by the barrier woods, as if she had never seen it before.

Wynn tried to understand what the woman must feel, trapped alone for eight years. It would take longer than a few steps for Nein'a to accept she was free.

Another patch of tall ferns appeared ahead, blocking the path. Wynn didn't remember ferns at the passage entrance, only its exit into the clearing. But she put her faith in Chap's clearer perception as they stepped through the fronds.

Wynn stood on the clearing's edge with Nein'a's domicile elm at the green lawn's center.

Nein'a huffed. "Now do you see?"

"Whenever you try to leave, you just end up back here?" Wynn asked.

"No…" Nein'a answered. "I have thrice wandered, lost in the outer forest, only to be captured again. This is the first time I returned directly to my prison. But I have never before had anyone try to lead me out."

Wynn was not listening closely. She was too preoccupied, spreading the tall ferns with her hands to peer back down the passage through the tangled woods.

"I did not know the forest had thickened outside," Nein'a continued. "It has been years since I last tried to leave. Perhaps it is a new safeguard placed by Aoishenis-Ahare… since my son's return."

The title caught Wynn's attention. It was not Most Aged Father but the Fay who had raised the barrier woods. And Nein'a's misconception suggested something more.

Most Aged Father had some hand in cutting the woman off from the forest, leaving her susceptible to its bewildering influence. If that were so…

Wynn grew more wary and mimicked Nein'a's study of the surrounding trees. How much influence did Most Aged Father wield over this land, let alone its people?

Most Aged Father wormed his awareness through the forest. He drifted from tree to bush to vine as he followed Frethfare. Though he watched her run hard through the night without pause, he worried that she would not catch Leshil in time.

He slipped ahead and came upon Sgaile and his procession, pushing on with just as much speed. Most Aged Father clung to his calm, watching as they ran past. His awareness caught for an instant on the one called Magiere.

Before this woman's arrival, countless decades had passed since he had looked upon any human. Of those he remembered, not one breed matched her white skin and black hair. There was something wrong about her-more than just the flawed nature of a human.

The sun had risen, glinting off the crimson shimmers in her hair.

Most Aged Father raced on, but his awareness halted in a cedar strangled by blackberry vines growing all the way up into its branches. A lingering prickle within its living wood stung his mind.

Many years had passed since a majay-hi or a clhuassas had come close enough to his home for him to feel their difference from the forest's mundane creatures. They shied from him, and even sensed his presence slipping through the forest's growth. But here in this tree, in these newly grown brambles, he felt it…

The same lingering touch as in the descendants of the born-Fay.What did this mean?

Most Aged Father drifted within the barrier woods, as if the very walls of his own home had been altered while he had slumbered. His panic mounted.

Footsteps approached in the outer forest. He slipped away, burrowing inward toward Cuirin'nen'a's clearing.

The farther north they ran, the more desperate Sgaile became.

He had never seen the prison glade of Cuirin'nen'a, though most longstanding anmaglahk knew its location. A select few chosen only by Frethfare went regularly to check upon Cuirin'nen'a's needs. At the inception of her internment, some expressed concern for her well-being in isolation. Most Aged Father assured them that he would be aware of her needs-or if and when more was required for her. Frethfare held firm to limiting contact, and none but those she chose ever went to Cuirin'nen'a.

At the start of this pursuit, Sgaile did not believe Wynn and Chap could reach her before they were caught. The majay-hi might, but not with a small woman slowing them down. Then he had seen their tracks halt, and Wynn's boot prints vanished amid the hoof marks of a sentinel deer.

That a human rode a clhuassas, like some servant animal, was sickening. The sun had risen, and Sgaile knew the prison glade was not far off.

Someone called out from behind him.

Brot'an'duive was the first to halt and turn. As if summoned by Sgaile's heated thoughts, Frethfare came at a run up the path behind them.

Haggard and panting, she stopped near En’nish and her two comrades. Frethfare's face dripped with sweat that matted her hair against her forehead.

"Turn back… by word… of Most Aged…" she gasped out, hands braced on her knees. "Do not go farther!"

Sgaile tensed in confusion. "I have oath of guardianship to fulfill, and the retrieval of a human wandering our land."

"No one goes near the traitor," Frethfare insisted.

This was the second time in Sgaile's life that he was ordered to violate the ways of his people. The first had been when he was sent to kill a half-blood, also marked as a traitor.

None of his people, the an'Croan, would willingly spill the blood of their own. But the Anmaglahk obeyed the direct wishes of Most Aged Father. Only the presence of a majay-hi and the half-blood's ignorance of his own people had justified Sgaile's disobedience.

Brot'anduive spoke evenly. "Why would Most Aged Father force this upon Sgailsheilleache's and those he has chosen to share his purpose?"

"What now?" Magiere spoke up.

Through his fatigue and strain, Sgaile had forgotten that neither Leshil nor Magiere understood Elvish.

"We have been ordered to return," he answered in Belaskian, "by Most Aged Father."

Anger spread on Magiere's sweat-glistened white face. Leshil took two steps down the path toward Frethfare.

"I don't serve your master," he said. "Go back on your own!"

"Wait!" Brot'an'duive snapped, and stepped between them.

"Get out of my way!" Leshil demanded.

Magiere turned from Frethfare, but Sgaile was not sure if her eyes were on Leshil or Brot'an'duive.

"Why am I forced into shame?" Sgaile demanded, keeping to Belaskian in the hope that it might distract his angered charges a little longer. "You trap me between caste and people with no way to serve both."

"Nothing is greater thanservice to the caste," Frethfare returned. "That is our service to the people. In silence and in shadows… obey!"

En’nish stepped closer to Frethfare, a new eagerness washing over her sharp features.

"No," Brot'an'duive commanded.

En’nish’s two companions-and Osha — stood with attention shifting between Brot'an'duive and Frethfare. Like Sgaile, they were at a loss as to who had the greater authority here between Most Aged Father's trusted counselor and a revered master among the Anmaglahk. En’nish’s allegiance was clear. Frethfare remained certain of her position, and her words were only formally polite.

"You disagree with our father, Greimasg'ah? You question my place as Covarleasa?"

"Yes," Brot'an'duive answered."When it is used against our people."

Sgaile did not know what to do when he heard this. Brot'an'duive had not only rejected Frethfare's position, he had denounced it-and that of Most Aged Father. Sgaile found himself in an untenable situation and wanted no part of this.

Frethfare stood to full height. "Careful, Greimasg'ah… you are not so highly honored as to change caste ways at your whim."

"And what purpose do those ways serve?" Brot'an'duive returned. "They serve our people, first and foremost. Guardianship was an old tradition before the first supplicant bent knee before Most Aged Father. Break the ways of our people, and what is left for us to protect?"

Frethfare remained unconvinced, but Brot'an'duive cut off any rebuttal.

"Take this before the elders, if you wish. Even now they gather at Crij-heaiche. It is for them to decide-not you orI- if the people's ways shall be altered. Would not Most Aged Father agree, as first servant to the people?"

True as this was, Sgaile was still reluctant. En’nish closely watched Frethfare's silent frustration, waiting for the Covarleasa to counter Brot'an'duive's words.

Brot'an'duive stepped to the path's side, and his passive gaze fell upon Sgaile. The elder anmaglahk held out a hand to the open trail ahead.

"We follow in service to your purpose."

Sgaile turned his gaze from Brot'an'duive to Frethfare and back again. He did not know which of them had put him in the worst position. He stepped past Leshil, and the others followed, including Frethfare.

Not long after, Sgaile paused again. Paw prints led both ahead and off into the forest on his left. Brot'an'duive studied the split trail. There were signs that the pack had turned into the trees and back again, but why?

"It is your purpose and your choice," Brot'an'duive said to him.

Sgaile took a slow breath. "We move on and leave this deviation for our return."

He headed on in silence, and a short way down the main trail he slowed in caution.

"Is this…" he began in Elvish, for he did not want Leshil to hear.

"Yes," Brot'an'duive answered. "But it has changed."

The forest gathered upon itself in a wild and impenetrable tangle, except for one open passage that cut through the dense barrier.

"Well?" Leshil asked. "Is this it?"

Sgaile did not know how to answer, and Brot'an'duive had gone silent again.

"Fine!" Leshil snapped, and stepped into the path through the woods.

Sgaile followed. In spite of deep concerns over Leshil locating Cuir-in'nen'a, he could not stop this search. They had to find Wynn at any cost and bring her back.

At the end of the long path, he stepped through tall ferns behind Leshil.

A pack of majay-hi bustled about a lawn of grass and dark moss surrounding a single domicile elm. There stood Chap between Wynn and a tall elven woman in a shimmering white wrap.

Despair washed through Sgaile as he met the glower of Cuirin'nen'a. Wynn had been found, and his guardianship restored, but Sgaile had failed Most Aged Father once more.

Leesii thrashed through the ferns and halted, rooted to the ground. He stopped breathing. Wynn and Chap stood in the clearing, but he didn't really see them.

He only saw his mother, the perfect lines of her face, her tall and lithe stature, and eyes that could swallow all his awareness. He felt as he had looking down from the mountainside upon the vast elven forest-relieved and overwhelmed all at once. He had struggled and fought-and killed-for this intangible moment.

A flicker of terror passed through his mother's eyes at the sight of him.

In Leesil's youth, she had seldom shown open fear-and never at him.

Magiere came up beside him, but Leesii couldn't take his eyes from Nein'a.

"Mother?"

Someone grabbed his shoulder

Leesii knew it wasn't Magiere. Anger rose as he glanced back to find Sgaile restraining him.

Brot'an shook his head. "We are here now, and nothing can be done for it."

Sgaile's mouth tightened, but he stepped back as the others came through the ferns. Freth's narrowing eyes turned on Brot'an.

Leesil moved slowly forward, and Nein'a-Mother-turned her face aside. Perhaps all the years alone made her cringe with sorrow. The thought almost stopped Leesil from going on. He shrugged off the rope harness and brought the chest around into his hands.

One steel-gray majay-hi started and then lunged away from the surrounding woods. It spun about to stare into the trees, pacing.

Chap flinched and warily watched the steel-gray dog. The white female beside him hopped in closer to push at Chap with a whine. The other majay-hi grew more agitated in their movements.

It was the dogs and not Leesil that made Nein'a lift her face. Fear returned as she watched them. Her expression darkened when she peered among the trees, as if searching out some hidden threat.

Leesil slowed under the growing weight of guilt. Long imprisonment had affected his mother's mind. He kept on, stopping only when close enough to reach her.

Unbidden memories came of long hours training with her, the meals they had shared, and how she checked on him in his room when she thought he was asleep-and of a sad father who had done all this as well with unexplained reluctance.

Leesil wanted to confess his sorrow and guilt for abandoning her, for his father's death… for everything. But the words wouldn't come.

"Mother…" he finally said, "I'm taking you out of here."

Nein'a didn't reach out to put a hand upon his cheek, as she had long ago.

"Leave," she whispered with a slow shake of her head. "Get out of this land… if you still can."

Leesil's voice failed. He had come all this way, risked the lives of Magiere and Wynn and Chap-and her only response was to tell him to go?

Nein'a's large eyes shifted to Brot'an as the man approached. Leesil saw pleading in her gaze, and Brot'an's passive expression softened when he looked upon her. Leesil's stunned outrage was lost in chill anger.

Nein'a briefly spoke to Brot'an in Elvish, but the name "Leshil" was easy to catch. A silent Wynn looked up in dismay at Nein'a; this was enough to tell Leesil that his mother had asked Brot'an to take him away. He couldn't bear any more of this.

Leesil dropped to one knee and flipped open the chest, lifting the cloth bundle from within. He separated the cloth's folds and thrust out the skulls like a spiteful offering.

"I took them from Darmouth," he said sharply. "I went back looking for you and Father."

Nein'a's breath turned shallow as she reached out a hand. The closer it came to the skull of Leesil's father, the more her long, slender fingers shook.

"It is him?"

"Yes," Leesil said. "And your mother… though I was told it was you."

He cast a hateful glance at Brot'an, daring the tall elf to even try to explain. Brot'an offered no reply by word or expression.

"It is Eillean… and Gavril," Leesil said. "I brought them to you… for whatever last rites you see fit."

Nein'a's fingers slid to her mother's skull. Leesil had rarely seen her cry, but tears dropped down her caramel cheeks in silence. They seemed to drag her down into some strange sickness, and guilt flooded through Leesil again for his harsh words.

Nein'a took the cloth with both skulls and cradled them.

"Leave here at once," she whispered. "You cannot stay."

It was a long cold moment before she looked up and saw the others behind Leesil. Low, sharp Elvish erupted from her lips. The words sounded much the same as what she'd said to Brot'an, though this time Leesil caught Sgaile's longer elven name. She wasn't making a request, but a demand.

"You're coming with me," Leesil said. "I'm not leaving without you."

"I cannot," she whispered.

"It is true," Wynn said cautiously. "The path simply returns her, and anyone with her, back to this clearing. Chap and I have tried."

The sage's face and hands were covered in small scratches and scrapes. Leesil should've been angry for all the trouble she and Chap had caused, but then, they had found his mother.

"Enough!" Sgaile commanded. "We return to Crijheaiche. Leshil, come."

"No," he whispered.

He stood within reach of his mother-and she was alive. Her insistence that he go didn't matter. If anyone thought he'd simply walk away, they were dangerously mistaken.

At quick footsteps from behind, Leesil caught the barest cinch of Brot'an's scar-cut eyebrow.

Leesil back-stepped and spun out of reach.

As Sgaile tried to close the distance, Magiere snatched his cloak at the neck. Sgaile swung back with the edge of a flattened hand. It caught Magiere across the throat, and she fell back gagging.

"Stop this," Brot'an shouted. "Both of you cease!"

Osha stiffened at Brot'an's order, but the others didn't listen.As Sgaile turned his determined attention back toward Leesil, Magiere thrashed around on the grass.

Leesil saw her irises flood black.

"No," he whispered, panic-stricken. "Not now…"

Magiere kicked into the back of Sgaile's leg.

Sgaile buckled, dropping to his knee. Frethfare and En’nish’s two companions descended on Magiere. Leesil tried to rush in.

En’nish dodged in his way, a long-bladed stiletto in each hand.

Anxiety overwhelmed Most Aged Father. The little human woman had reached Cuirin'nen'a. When Leshil and the others arrived, all his careful plans evaporated.

He heard Cuirin'nen'a's repeated refusals to come away with Leshil and grew even more frustrated. Her words would only make Leshil lose hope, and without that, he would become more difficult to manipulate. It was clear that Cuirin'nen'a wouldsacrifice any tie to her son to protect him.

Most Aged Father writhed as the means to ferret out her confederates shriveled before him. She was a cunning one. He had hoped long isolation might make her desperate enough that Leshil could be used against her. Or his attachment to his mother could be used against him.

The only relief came at Sgailsheilleache's urgent attempt to remove Leshil from the encounter. The longer Leshil faced his mother's denial, the greater the risk he might turn from any lingering desire to free her.

The pale woman grabbed for the back of Sgailsheilleache's cloak.

Most Aged Father's frail heart began to race.

Magiere's eyes locked on Neina the moment she stepped into the clearing. Less than a year past, Leesil had told her of Neina and Gavril. How many years before that had he drank himself to sleep, hiding from nightmares of a past he couldn't bear and a guilt he couldn't escape?

And here was Nein'a, finally, yet she offered little welcome to Leesil. Magiere barely heard what was said as she waited for the easing of Leesil's pain.

It never came.

Leesil deserved more than this. It didn't matter what he'd done. There had to be more than the denial of a cold-blooded mother.

The low thrum in Magiere's body, whichshe'd held down for days and nights, began to make her shake. When Sgaile closed on Leesil from behind, it lunged up her throat like hunger and filled her head.

She snatched Sgaile's cloak from behind.

Her throat clenched when he struck. She fell back and lost sight of everyone.

She hit the ground, and hunger devoured the pain in her throat. The sun blinded her for an instant when her vision widened. She writhed around to glare at Sgaile's back, his hair now brilliant white in her sight. Then she saw Leesil's glimmering amber eyes fill with anguish. He stared right at her.

Magiere kicked the back of Sgaile's knee as the first tear ran from her burning eyes.

No one was taking Leesil from here until he got what he came for.

Her jaws began toache the instant Sgaile buckled. When she slapped her hand to the ground to get up, someone pulled it from under her. Anger mounted as her face struck the moss and she lost sight of Leesil.

Magiere twisted on the ground and a flash of gray passed above her. Chap slammed into Freth with a snarl, and Magiere's wrist jerked free of the woman's grip. She pulled her feet under herself as one of En’nish’s companions came at her. Magiere lunged from her crouch and slammed her hand into his midsection.

Her hardened nails bit through his tunic, and she grabbed his collar with her other hand. Turning, she dragged him in an arc as she rose. Gray-green fabric tore in her grip as she flung him into the clearing's border trees.

Where was Leesil?

Urgency shivered through her and she wanted to rend anyone who touched him. The bright sun made the world burn and blur in her expanded sight. Something struck her lower back.

Moss tore under Magiere's boots as she ground her feet in resistance. What was it-this thing that tried to stop her from finding Leesil? Magiere turned on it.

She saw a gray-green cowl around an astonished tan face. Her anger turned manic as it backed away. She lunged at it.

Leesil twisted aside as En’nish slashed her right blade at his face. Her left stiletto thrust instantly for his gut.

He speared his hand downward and slapped away the blade, and it passed harmlessly off his side. Her lunge brought her close. Leesil twisted sharply right, driving his left elbow at her face.

En’nish ducked, and her parried stiletto slashed across Leesil's midsection.

He heard it skitter across the rings of his hauberk. He felt its tip catch in one laced ring at his left side.

She shifted behind the blade to thrust with all her weight, and Leesil spun quickly, trying to turn out of her path.

The tip held and tore through. Leather split.

Leesil felt no burn of pierced skin, but he heard the tinkling of metal. One of his hauberk's steel rings dangled against the round guard of En’nish’s blade.

Leesil grabbed En’nish’s wrist below that dangling ring, and his gaze caught on her amber eyes so close to his face.

Another time and place-another woman with a knife-had looked at him with the same desperation. All because he'd killed someone she loved.

He raised his other arm on instinct, and En’nish’s free blade slashed his forearm.

Leesil shifted weight into his rear foot, prepared to throw a shoulder into En’nish and take her to the ground. His rear foot jerked from the mossy ground and a soft-booted foot struck his hip.

Without footing, Leesil flipped sideways. A grunt erupted from him as his back hit the ground. When he rolled to his feet, Brot'an stood in his path. But the scar-faced elf wasn't looking at him.

"Enough!" Brot'an ordered."Both of you!"

He held a wide and low stance with his right palm out at arm's length.But not toward Leesil. A half dozen paces beyond Brot'an's hand lay En’nish.

She was curled on the lawn, holding her chest and gasping for breath. One of her long stilettos lay at Brot'an's feet.

Chap ground his forepaws in Frethfare's stomach as he snarled into her face. The woman went rigid on her back staring up at him. But Chap faltered at Magiere's hissing screech.

She lunged into one of En’nish’s companions. Tears ran from her eyes around a mouth wide with sharp teeth and fangs.

Magiere had lost all control in front of the Anmaglahk.

She sank hardened fingernails into her target as Sgaile closed on her back.

The other majay-hi circled away from the conflict, but the pack elder lifted his grizzled muzzle. He stared intently at Magiere, and his jowls wrinkled.

Chap grew frantic. He had no more time to keep Frethfare pinned.

Lily paced behind the elder, looking into the trees where Magiere had flung her first opponent. That anmaglahk had not gotten up.

Chap could not turn from Frethfare to touch heads with Lily. All he could do was reach forher own memories. He dipped into Lily's mind, calling up her sight of Frethfare standing before Most Aged Father's massive oak, and added the memory she had shown to him in fear-the dark opening in that tree. He repeated these in an alternating flurry and hoped she understood.

The pack elder charged at Magiere with an eerie howl, and Chap bolted toward Magiere and those closing on her.

Magiere rushed the anmaglahk drawing his blades and drove one hand at his throat. Instead of slashing at her, he ducked into the brush beneath the closest birch. Something snagged Magiere's hair, jerking her head back. Her legs buckled under someone's whipping leg.

Her knees hit the ground. With her head pulled back, she looked up to see Sgaile, his grip tangled in her hair. He sucked a sharp breath at the sight of her face.

Magiere swung a hand upward to claw his astonished features, but Sgaile fell away beneath a snarling silver-furred bulk. Magiere toppled sideways as Sgailes grip tore from her hair. Her hand slapped firmly against the base of the birch.

Shock ran through her and every muscle clenched tight.

A wild rush of nervous energy flooded her limbs from that brief touch and filled her up with its intensity.

Magiere jerked her hand away, rolling to her feet. Sgaile struggled under Chap's assault, but the dog wheeled around, charging the other way.

He was hunting-like her-and Magiere's hungry gaze traced the path to his target.

A dark-furred dog rushed at her, its gray-peppered jowls pulled back from yellowed teeth.

Leesil heard Magiere's feral screech as she reached for one Anmaglahk with Sgaile coming at her from behind. Chap took Sgaile down but not before Magiere toppled. When she rose, shuddering as she snatched her hand from a tree, Leesil saw her face.

Her teeth… the tears… her irises so full black they nearly blotted out the whites of her eyes. He started to run for her.

Brot'an stepped in his way, and Leesil threw himself at the tall elf.

"Leesil… no!" his mother shouted.

Brot'an's palm slammed against Leesil's chest, driving the air from his lungs. But it wasn't enough to stop him.

Leesil fell on Brot'an, and they both hit the ground. He tumbled away as Brot'an tried to grab him.When he reached his feet, Wynn raced by him, clutching something in her arms. She threw it, and only then Leesil saw the large, grizzled majay-hi charge Magiere.

Bits of fluffy white nodules spun from the basket Wynn had thrown. It hit the charging dog in the shoulder. The impact startled the dark majay-hi. It spun away, and Chap barreled into the dog. Both wheeled around each other in snapping growls.

Osha finally flew into motion, running after Wynn.

Leesil sidled around Brot'an, trying to reach Magiere, but he backed into someone else.

He pivoted, cutting upward with a fist at whichever Anmaglahk was behind him. He saw a flash of shimmering white before his wrist was snatched.

His mother twisted his swing aside, throwing him off balance. Leesil righted himself in panic at what he'd almost done.

Nein'a glared at him. "What have you brought among us?"

Leesil floundered in confusion until his mother raised her head. Her gaze fixed upon Magiere.

Most Aged Father's awareness flitted around the clearing from one tree to the next. Watching from within an elm, all he perceived left him overwhelmed, including the strange majay-hi assaulting his treasured Frethfare. Then his awareness fell upon Magiere.

Far from the glade and deep within his massive oak, Most Aged Father curled into a twitching ball. No one heard his whimper.

He saw the pale woman with her bestial face slap a hand against one tree. He felt the forest's life shudder under that touch. It hurt, as if a piece of him had been bitten away.

Ancient memory writhed in the back of his mind. In sickening fear, he slipped his awareness around the clearing toward the pale monster.

All of Magiere's rage turned on Sgaile.

"Undead!" he hissed, and a blade appeared in his hand.

She saw only one more obstacle to reaching Leesil. Her jaws widened but no words came out. A rustle of movement sounded in the brush behind her at the clearing's edge.

Sgaile held up his hand, but not at her, and he snapped some command in Elvish. He never took his eyes off her, and his horror fed Magiere's hunger.

"Stop!All of you.Stop this now!"

Brot'an's deep voice carried through the glade. Magiere twisted her head around, tensing at the threat. Behind the tall elf stood Leesil, his wrist gripped tightly in his mother's hand.

Osha had Wynn pinned in his arms.

"Magiere… enough," the sage shouted. "Please… get control of yourself."

Freth knelt nearby, mouth ajar at the white majay-hi blocking her off. Just short of them, Chap crouched in the way of the larger dark dog. The rest of the pack began to circle in.

Magiere's head began to ache as the hunger shrank into the pit of her stomach. The more it receded, the more she started to shake. As if she'd swallowed too much drink… too much of Wynn's tea… or too much food, too much… life.

She stumbled back, and her heel caught in a bush. She toppled, falling against a tree trunk, and slapped her hand against its bark to steadyherself.

Another shock ran deep into Magiere.

The world went black before her eyes. In that sudden darkness, strange sounds and sights erupted in Magiere's head.