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No! Stefan screamed, jerking upright.

Easy, lad, soothed a gentle voice.

Stefan swiveled toward the sound. His aching head reeled at the sudden movement and he moaned, falling back upon the makeshift bed. He raised a shaky hand to his whirling head and his fingers were damp with blood when he lowered them. Confused by a feeling of unaccountable weakness, the boy rolled onto one elbow and levered himself up with more care. Stefan frowned as he looked around him at the sheltered campsite beneath its screening trees. How did I come to be here? Where is the raft? More importantly, where is my master?

Lie back down and be still, Stefan. You've taken a nasty crack on the head. You must rest. Collyn Silverbrook laid a firm hand on his shoulder and eased Stefan back onto the blankets.

Where is this place? asked the page, voice trembling as he fought a surge of panic.

You are safe here.

But the raft, and Roland….

The raft is gone, lad, but the prince sleeps yonder. He is fine. A good deal better off than you are, my boy.

What happened?

We were attacked. Do you remember anything at all?

Confused images of swooping, screeching riders in black flitted through his thoughts. His hand flew to his throat, seeking the comfort that was no longer there. My amulet. It's gone, Stefan whispered, voice catching on the words. And my lute…. His black eyes misted in the dim predawn light at the thought of his losses.

Collyn patted Stefan's shoulder, a lopsided smile quirking the trader's lip. You'll live. Rest now.

Stefan lay still and listened to the sounds of Collyn moving about the camp. His hand clutched at his chest, searching for the stolen charm. He could smell the clean, fresh scent of growing things borne on the breeze from the nearby trees, but there was an unpleasant hint of decay underlying the fragrance. His stomach clenched in response. Something about the wood saddened his heart and laid a burden of loss upon him. It had an almost physical weight.

By the time Roland awakened, Stefan felt well enough to sit up and drink the draught Collyn concocted for his headache. The potion dulled the pain, but he heaved the drink up again when the trader probed the wound on his scalp.

I'm sorry, Stefan murmured. His voice was miserable as he dragged a trembling hand across his mouth.

Collyn's gray eyes studied him with a grave expression that chilled the boy's heart. You are in sore need of a greater skill than I can boast, my boy. We will see you get to Edgetown without delay.

I am fine, Stefan protested, moving to stand. The change in equilibrium made the ground swoop and dive all around him, and he swayed on his feet.

Sit down until we have the camp struck, Roland ordered, slipping an arm about the page's waist and planting him firmly upon an old fallen tree nearby.

A broken branch curved out from the downed trunk and Stefan leaned back against it, grateful for the support. His head was spinning again and the temptation to just let everything slip away from him was overwhelming. He gave in.

~*~

Roland glanced up from the bedding he was rolling, then bounded forward just in time to prevent Stefan's limp form from sliding to the ground.

Collyn! the prince called harshly, struggling to control the page's dead weight.

The big trader hurried to catch Stefan up in his arms. He laid the boy on the soft grass under the tree. Collyn studied Stefan's pale face, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. He has lost too much blood to be moved, but we have no choice. I say again, last night's raid was no random attack, your highness. The men who survived it will be hard on our trail. Let us hope there are few of them, he growled. His eyes were no longer kind and his mouth set in a grim line as he scanned the horizon.

Roland swallowed hard and nodded. His impetuous pleading for permission to ride with the traders had nearly killed them all. He felt a renewed tightness in his throat at the thought of Jarome's hearty welcome and the captain's pride in his fine raft. What of the traders? the prince asked. His words were hushed, and his voice somber with grief and guilt.

They will have fought to the end, but they were outnumbered, Collyn replied. The big man's words were matter-of-fact, but his hands were knotted into white-knuckled fists. They betrayed his rage at what he was helpless to change.

Roland busied himself with collecting their few belongings in order to avoid thinking about the merry companions he had joked with around the cook fire. His father would be devastated to lose Jarome.

My father!

Collyn, I must get back to Woodbridge Point at once, Roland declared. His words tumbled over each other in their urgency. My father will be beside himself. I must let him know we are all right.

Collyn grabbed his shoulders and forced him to stand still and listen.

Roland felt a cold upsurge of fury at Collyn's temerity. He tried to jerk free, but Collyn was too strong.

Your highness, Collyn pleaded, Stefan is badly hurt. If he does not get a healer's attention soon he will join those killed in the raid. It may already be too late, but we must try. You will never beat the news of the raid to your father's ear, not even if your horse could fly. Help me get the boy to a doctor. The delay will not make much difference to your errand.

At last, the sense of Collyn's words began to sink in, despite Roland's anger. Stefan was hurt. He owed the boy this much at least. Roland drew a deep breath then exhaled gustily. You are right, he murmured at last, nodding his assent. At least we can try to salvage what may be saved. But please, let us hurry.

~*~

Before they finished breaking camp, Stefan was again conscious. He drank some weak tea but the effort sent a wave of nausea crashing over him. His head whirled, and the ground spun beneath him. He could not remember what Collyn had told him earlier, and dared not ask again.

I cannot think! Why can't I gather these scattered thoughts? They are spinning like leaves in a dust storm. By the Flames, let me stay on the horse as Roland commands…he'll leave me behind if I cannot keep up. I can't be left alone again!

Teeth gritted to harness his concentration, Stefan got to his knees, panting with the effort. Then he took a deep breath and rose shakily to his feet before limping to the black stallion. He leaned against the horse's warm neck. His fingers twined into the animal's mane, for both comfort and support. He locked eyes with the horse. It whickered, turning its head to nuzzle Stefan's shoulder. That's a good fellow. We'll get along fine.

The stallion tossed its head. It nudged him again.

Stefan's soft laugh tinkled in the crisp air. Don't worry, my friend. I will be all right. As if to prove him wrong, his world suddenly grayed. Stefan felt his knees buckle. The stallion neighed loudly as he slid down its side.

The page looked up to find Roland beside him. Are you all right?

Stefan fought to focus his vision. I-I'll be fine. Just help me on the horse.

I'll have to ride with him, Collyn. He can't sit a horse alone in this condition.

Aye, my lord.

I'll be fine, Master Roland, Stefan protested, trying to push up from the ground. His shaking arms would not support him and he fell back.

We only have two horses anyway, Roland pointed out with cool logic. Someone will have to ride with you in any case.

I can walk, Stefan declared. It is my place. He tried again to stand.

Collyn! Roland ordered, gesturing to Stefan.

Collyn lifted Stefan from the ground and set him on the horse's back.

Stefan felt the blood rush to his cheeks. I'm no baby, he muttered, feeling like a child despite the grumbled protest.

Roland swung up behind him.

The page turned once more to reason with the prince, and the motion sent his head reeling. He would have fallen, but Roland steadied him.

Sit still, you little fool, the prince snapped. You'll only wind up killing yourself. Then where will I be?

Stefan resigned himself to the inevitable with a weak nod of assent.

~*~

By the time they rode into Edgetown an hour later, Stefan had fainted once more. The rough bandage circling his forehead bore traces of blood seeping from the wound. Roland cradled the page in his arms. He studied the boy's still features and his heart sank.

I brought this hurt upon Stefan, too. Will I ever stop causing him pain? He would follow me into the Flames without protest to protect me, and yet he is the one who suffers.

We must get him to the doctor, Collyn. This isn't right. He shouldn't still be unconscious. >

'Tis a grave wound, my prince.

I-He-He can't die, Collyn.

He is not dead yet, my lord. I know of an inn where we can stop for the night. They will be able to tell us of a healer. The town is sure to have a good doctor. Stefan will be fine.

Roland said nothing further, but his arms tightened protectively about the page.

Edgetown was a large hamlet butting up to the very skirts of the Forest of Night. As the horses' hooves clopped over the hard-packed streets, Roland's glance roved from side to side. The buildings were large and airy. Most of them were sturdy stone constructions. The streets were free of debris and bordered by storm gutters.

Roland could not help but be impressed by the town, despite his worry for Stefan. The citizens looked at the pair of horses with obvious curiosity, but continued on their business. Roland saw well-dressed matrons herding plump children before them. A group of men stood beside a corral stocked with fine animals. The sound of their dickering punctuated the morning air. The entire town radiated a sense of prosperity.

It was here that Roland's original plan had called for them to desert the raft. Now, he devoutly wished the trip had gone as intended. He felt a bit more hope that there would be a doctor of skill in the village when he saw the reality of the town.

The inn is just there, my lord. Collyn pointed to a two-story edifice set into a wide lawn.

Roland nodded and pulled the horse to a stop outside the large inn. Collyn dismounted from his own animal, and tied both reins to the rail. Far overhead, a bird wheeled, a mere speck against the blue sky. As they tethered the horses, the bird swept down to perch on the signpost of the inn. Roland glanced up with a frown. The bird was a sleek black raven. It held its head at a tilt, as if watching them. The thought made Roland uneasy. The prince bent from the saddle and eased Stefan into Collyn's strong arms, holding his breath until the transfer was safely completed. Rolling stiff shoulders, he swung his leg over the stallion's back and dismounted.

Come, Roland ordered Collyn, turning toward the inn and trusting the other to follow. He strode confidently into the inn with Collyn at his heels. As they entered, the bird flew in behind them and soared up to the rafters.

Innkeeper, I need a room at once, and summon the town physician to attend me.

The grizzled innkeeper eyed Roland with a sneer. And just who do you think you are, Sir High and Mighty? The prince?

Roland felt as if his head was being cinched in a vice. His volatile temper ignited at the man's insolent tone. He leaned over the counter, biting his words short. Yes. I am the prince. Shall I show you my portrait on this coin? He slammed a golden disk onto the surface of the bar. This boy is seriously hurt and, if he worsens, you will be very, very sorry.

The innkeeper's face paled. I-I am sorry, my lord. Of course, you shall have a room at once. Best in the house. Straight up the stairs and first door on your left. I'll send for a doctor immediately.

Roland nodded curtly. He quirked a finger at Collyn. As he turned to lead the other up the stairs, he vaguely registered the raven swooping out into the sunlight. He fought to rein in his anger, every breath forced between gritted teeth.

Inside the chamber, Roland gave in to his fury. He threw his cap across the room. Blood racing, he paced the breadth of the space. How dare he speak to a paying customer like that? Any paying customer!

Collyn laid Stefan gently on the bed before checking the bandage circling the boy's forehead. He's bleeding again. I hope the doctor arrives soon.

You didn't answer my question. Roland turned on the trader, fists balled into knots on his hips.

Straightening up, Collyn met Roland's eye with a calm gaze. Perhaps he took exception to your tone, my lord. You're not in Woodbridge now. Few people outside the castle village have ever seen you. Why should they instantly grovel at your feet? It's better to earn respect than demand it. You've earned mine.

Roland felt his face flush under the gentle rebuke. Striding to the window, he leaned his forehead against his arm, staring out into the street. Am I really so arrogant?

You're young, my prince. You have much to learn.

A brisk knock sounded at the door. Roland nodded and Collyn moved to open it.

A stooped old man with long, gnarled fingers bustled into the chamber, taking one look at Stefan and hurrying to his side with a tsk of disapproval. Turning a birdlike eye on Roland, he shook his head. Why was this boy not attended to earlier? He is running a high fever and has lost a great deal of blood.

Roland moved to the foot of the bed. We've newly arrived in town, sir. We called for you as soon as we did so.

You're lucky it was me here to call. The doctor swept off the long black cape he wore. It swirled like silken wings as he hung it from a peg.

Who are you? Roland asked.

My name is Ravenwing, Prince Roland. Remember it well. That is all you need know. The elderly doctor clucked his tongue again. Irresponsibility, that's what it is. Complete irresponsibility. He carefully unwound the makeshift bandage, then examined the wound with a critical eye. How did he get a thing like this anyway, fall off a horse?

No, Collyn answered, he was struck with a club.

Powerful arm behind that stroke.

We were attacked on the river, offered Roland.

The doctor shook his head once more. And the little one here gets the worst of it. 'Tis a fine state of affairs we are coming to, I warrant you. He continued to mutter under his breath as he deftly cleaned Stefan's wound and packed it with a poultice.

The page moaned and the old man whispered over him. He should sleep now. Give him some barley soup and a good strong cup of tea when he wakens. And no matter what he says, do not let him out of that bed for three days. He fixed a piercing eye on Roland once more. What kind of king brawls on the river?

The prince scowled. How could the man know these things?

The strange little doctor turned to Collyn. Let me see that wound of yours, Master Silverbrook.

Collyn reluctantly held out the hand with its grimy strip of bandage.

Ravenwing undid the rag and cleaned the jagged cut with the efficient economy of motion befitting an expert. You will live. Keep it clean, and change the dressing daily. Replacing his instruments and ointments in his bag, the doctor continued, Now, remember, Stefan must be kept abed for the next three days, no matter how he protests. I leave that unenviable task to you, Master Silverbrook, for I know the prince plans on riding on before sundown. See that you take the task to heart. I would hate to see him lost...again. Picking up his bag, Ravenwing scuttled out of the chamber without a backward glance.

What do you make of that? I suppose the innkeeper told him he was to attend my servant, and Stefan's name is not unknown, but how did he know yours? Roland muttered, sinking onto the end of the bed. And how could he know my plans when I am not sure of them myself?

I don't like it. It isn't natural. The trader's hand clasped the crystal arrowhead about his neck as if to ward off evil.

What are you suggesting, scoffed the prince, sorcery?

Collyn shrugged. There are dark things in this world, my lord, though not all magic is black.

A sigh from Stefan ended the conversation. Roland jumped up and hurried to the boy's side.

The page raised shaking hand to bandaged head. What is this place?

Don't worry, Roland soothed. You're safe here. Rest. We'll get you something to eat. Would you like that?

I-I think I could manage a little.

Good. Collyn, would you go and request the barley soup and tea the doctor ordered?

Aye, my lord. He bowed and left the room.

Stefan tried to sit up, and Roland gently pushed him back onto the pillows. Save your strength until your food arrives. Then, you'll eat and go back to sleep. That's a command.

But I'm fine, honestly.

You're to rest for three days. Doctor's orders.

But I cannot! We must return home. Your father will be frantic. News of the attack will not take long to reach him.

Hush now. Your health is more important at the moment, and you will follow the doctor's commands.

There was a timid knock on the door, and a serving girl peeked around the jamb. T-the man said ye were wantin' soup, yer highness. I brung it to ye.

Thank you, my lady. Roland gave the girl his most winsome smile. Bring it over here.

She did as she was told; but her hands trembled so badly she almost upset the dishes. The prince took the laden tray from her grasp before he lost his meal. Along with Stefan's soup, Collyn had sent up a bowl of thick mutton stew and a chunk of fresh bread. A goblet of wine stood beside the mug of tea.

Thoughtful fellow, the prince murmured to himself. Where is the man who ordered the meal?

He be eatin' in the kitchen, me lord. Said 'twere more his place.

I see. Thank him for the food, please. He fished a coin from his purse. This is for you.

Oh, 'tweren't no trouble, me lord, she murmured in a husky voice. Then, coming to herself, her cheeks bloomed scarlet and she bobbed a hasty curtsey. Thank ye, me lord.

You're quite welcome, my dear. Now, go and ask Master Silverbrook to attend me when he finishes his meal. Can you do that?

Aye, me lord. At once, me lord.

Good girl. Now, off you go.

She backed across the room, bobbing curtseys as she went, and ran solidly into the frame of the door. With a little wail of dismay, she slid around it and scampered out of the room.

Roland chuckled to himself. At least he earned a positive response from some of his subjects. Helping Stefan to prop against the headboard, he handed the page the bowl of soup. Eat up. You need to build your strength.

But-

He interrupted Stefan's protests. We will talk after lunch. Eat your soup.

Roland found he was hungrier than he realized, and the mutton stew disappeared rapidly. He refused to let Stefan talk until the page had eaten his soup and drunk the tea. As soon as the page finished his tea, Roland saw a look come over the boy's face that warned Stefan would not be put off.

Where is this place, Master Roland?

This is the finest inn Edgetown can boast. Nothing but the best for you, my lad.

Stefan refused to let the prince evade answers with his banter. How did we arrive here? The last thing I remember is the clearing near the woods.

We rode into town about an hour ago, Stefan. The innkeeper called in a doctor to tend your wound, and here we are.

But-

No more for now. You must rest. The doctor left specific orders. Lie back now and sleep.

I am fine, Master Roland. I should be up and about my duties. Stefan made as if to rise and Roland shook his head.

You are going to lie right there and take a nap, my boy. That is your duty. Consider it an order.

Stefan smiled faintly. As you command, my lord, he sighed, eyes drifting shut.

As soon as he was sure Stefan was settled, Roland sought out Collyn. Each with a stein of beer in hand, they found a secluded table in a corner of the near empty common room. The prince took a long pull on his beer then set it down with a thump. You know the doctor was right about my decision to leave, don't you?

I suspected, Collyn replied. It isn't in your nature to let anything stand in the way of your wishes. Not even disaster.

That sounds so callous, Collyn.

Not necessarily. It's a good trait for a ruler to have; as long as those wishes are valid ones.

I must return home at once and explain what happened. I owe Captain Jarome that much. His raft was destroyed and a valuable cargo lost. I fear many stalwart men were killed because of me. My father must send word to the receiving party. The traders in River City will think Jarome cheated them out of their furs. That is why I have to go home.

Is that the only reason? asked Collyn, his voice soft.

I am not ashamed to admit I am also worried about my father. If he gets word of this from the wrong source, he may think the worst. He's not as young as he once was, and he has not been well of late.

A worthy cause indeed, but what of the boy?

I need you to wait with Stefan until he can travel then take him somewhere safe. Maybe Overlake would be big enough to get lost in. I can't swear who is behind this attack, but I can guess. If I'm right, he's a ruthless man, who will stop at nothing to achieve his ends. If it comes to a fight, Stefan will be a liability. He's safer in hiding. I'll return home secretly, and reassure my father, but Norfulk must think his plan succeeded so we can flush him into the open. After Stefan is safe, come to the castle. I may need you. But we must first make sure Stefan is hidden somewhere.

Why should a page boy cause any anxiety to one who is willing to murder kings?

I don't know. I can't explain it. I'd just feel safer with him hidden. The doctor's last comment made me uneasy. Frowning, the prince studied the rings left by his stein. He felt like he was missing some sign he should understand, but didn't. It made him nervous. Roland swiped a hand across the surface of the table, obliterating the neat rings into a single puddle of water.

Will you leave immediately?

I should, but I think it will be safer to travel at night with the moon full. Besides, you were right. I know nothing of my people. I think it's time I walked among them a little. I want to explore the town a bit before I go. He rose to his feet.

Collyn took a slow sip of his beer. This will break his heart, my lord.

Roland felt his chest tighten and his face harden as his temper rose. I don't need pronouncements from you, Master Silverbrook. Better a broken heart than dead. Where I go, he's too ill to follow.

You're the prince, replied Collyn with a shrug. But at least you owe him the courtesy of telling him you are abandoning him.

I am not 'abandoning' him. I am trying to save his life! Roland stalked out of the common room and up the stairs, while grinding his teeth in frustrated anger. Collyn is right. But how can I tell him? He has the heart of a lion, but it is as fragile as a soap bubble. Still, it must be done. I cannot risk hurting him further. He will forgive me in time.

When he reached their room, he found the ordeal postponed. Stefan was asleep, his dark hair a sharp contrast to the snowy linen of the pillow. He slept in apparent peace, but Roland noted that the boy bore the same pallor as the pillow. The prince didn't have the heart to waken the page.

Roland decided to slip away and explore the town instead. He would leave the inevitable for a time and screw up his courage to tell Stefan his decision.

The prince changed into a rough hunting jerkin and pulled his cap down low over his bright hair. He hesitated over his sword belt. He felt rather defenseless without it, but it was too fine a blade for the simple boy he pretended to be. In the end, he left the sword leaning in the corner. Stealing out of the room, he bounded downstairs and into the sunlight. As he paused on the porch, he took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air.

It is wonderful to be free! It is so seldom that I am truly alone. Stefan is like my shadow, constantly at my heels. Today I can forget the throne for a time and just be me…

The day had warmed as the sun rose, and the marketplace was bustling with colors and sounds. Roland tried to take everything in at once.

The freedom is like wine. I am drunk with it. Whenever I am allowed to visit the square at home in Woodbridge Point, it is with Stefan at my side and a pair of guardsmen at my heels. This independence is exhilarating. Accountable to no one. I could easily become used to this! >

As Roland strolled through the bustle, the calls of the vendors rose all about him.

Fresh fruit! Sweet as summer. Taste the springtime. Get your fresh fruit!

Silks like a baby's skin. Soft as a mother's touch. Dress like a king!

Knives sharpened. Grindstones, whetstones, flint and steel.

The calls cascaded around him like an eddying stream, overlapping each other, rising to the surface, then slipping back into the general bedlam. Roland fingered the soft silks laid in inviting display across a counter and complimented the owner. He felt almost giddy with the thought that he could buy whatever he could afford, and no one stood at his shoulder to moderate his decisions.

To celebrate, he bought a juicy pear and bit into it, laughing with delight as its sweet juice ran down his chin. He swiped it away with the back of his hand and walked on. He savored the taste of the ripe fleshy fruit as he continued his wanderings.

As he moved here and there among the crowds, the prince absently fingered the coins in his pouch. He didn't have much money. He had never needed to carry any, but what he did have would suffice to enjoy himself a little. Stopping at a booth offering weapons for sale, he picked up a slim dagger, testing the balance. It was a beautiful piece and the price seemed reasonable.

I'll take it, he told the merchant, reaching for his purse. His hand brushed another, and he stared open-mouthed into a pair of eyes as green as his own.

The little cutpurse was short and slender, with a tress of pale blonde hair falling over one eye from under his cap. He recovered with more speed than Roland, giving the prince's pouch a hard jerk as he slashed the strings with his dagger. He was off at a full sprint before Roland could gather his wits.

Here! Stop, thief! Roland shouted, chasing after the villain.

A burly tradesman stepped in front of the boy, making a grab for him. The thief dove and slid between the man's legs, before scrambling back to his feet. Roland danced around the man who still stood in the center of the path, staring after the boy with mouth agape. The cutpurse darted into an alleyway, and Roland skidded around the side of the building after him. The stench of refuse bins billowed out around the prince and he gagged. The thief upended a barrel of garbage in front of Roland, but the prince vaulted over the rolling cask. He stumbled as he came down on the other side.

Stop, you little wretch! Roland bellowed. His temper flared as he began to tire. He was unused to such exertion, and the realization fueled his anger.

The boy didn't waste breath in reply. He looked back over his shoulder, but his flying feet didn't slow as he took another corner. They were out of the alley and back into a broader thoroughfare.

Roland could smell the sharp, rich scent of horses, and guessed they might be back at the corral he had glimpsed on their way into town. The boy slipped between the bars of the fence and dodged through the milling animals. Roland leapt over the gate and followed; barely keeping his feet when his boot hit a clump of freshly deposited manure.

Damn you! he roared. Stop! I order you!

The little thief cared no more for his orders than the innkeeper had done. If anything, he ran faster than ever.

Roland felt a stitch in his side and had to stop. Head hanging, he panted, trying to catch his breath. If I ever catch you, so help me, I'll-

As if the prince's sincerity at last registered on him, the culprit all at once dropped Roland's purse and disappeared into the crowded marketplace.

At the same time, there was a flare of heat from the prince's finger. It felt like someone had dropped a live coal on his hand. Startled, Roland glanced down and caught his breath with a sharp hiss. The stone in the heavy ring he wore was glowing with an inner fire. The ring was almost a part of him; so much so that he often forgot he wore it. The gold signet was an inheritance from his grandfather, but he'd never heard of such a phenomenon associated with it. He stared wide-eyed at the glowing ruby then felt himself tugged forward. It felt like the ring propelled him onward. Curious, yet wary, he followed the urge, scooping up his purse as he passed it. The compulsion led him to a sheltered corner where a jewelry peddler had set up his stall. The prince's hand was drawn forward, as if to a lodestone, by a pendant on a length of gold chain. It swung in gentle arcs as the breeze teased it. Suddenly he noticed that he still clutched the dagger he had been admiring.

Roland shook his head ruefully. I must be more careful with my cries of Thief!

The prince shrugged. He would return the weapon on his way back to the inn. Reaching up, he stopped the pendant's swing. There was a flash of light from his ring, mirrored by the buttery stone set in the amulet. He studied the piece more closely. It bore the heavy golden likeness of a gryphon carrying a large, topaz-like stone on its back. The stone glowed like the sun when it contacted his grandfather's ring.

Find something you like? asked a man's voice at his elbow.

Roland dropped his hand in haste so the other would not see the unusual glow. Maybe, he shrugged, turning to the shopkeeper. It's a quaint enough piece.

Oh, aye. That it is.

The peddler was middle-aged, tall and tanned. His hair was coal-black with a prominent streak of silver, and his eyes were an unusual blue-green. He cocked his head, and Roland frowned. There was something familiar about that gesture.

There are rumors that it is from the elves, the merchant whispered confidentially. Some sort of myth about a gryphon carrying the sun across the sky or some such rot. But o' course, 'tis merely an old wives' tale. The elves were conquered long ago.

What do you want for it? Roland asked, falsely casual; in truth he was excited by the mere mention of that legendary race.

The merchant pretended to weigh the matter. I think five gold sovereigns might do. 'Tis a very old and valuable piece.

I'll give you three, Roland countered. He had to have the talisman, but the price the man asked was more than he had in his purse. Heart hammering, he waited to see if the peddler would accept his offer.

It is worth seven, young sir. I am already giving you a more than fair deal.

It is probably a cheap bauble you won at cards, Roland scoffed, his voice tight with suppressed emotion, but it is a pretty thing. I will give you three and a half. It would take nearly every coin in his purse and it was the highest he could possibly go.

The shopkeeper sighed. You drive a hard bargain, young master. Many customers like you, and I would be beggared for sure. Take it. It's yours.

Heaving an inner sigh of relief, Roland handed the merchant the proper coins and slipped the chain around his neck. He walked on, turning the pendant this way and that to watch the play of sunlight on the smooth surface of the stone. Then he settled the amulet inside his jerkin, deciding that it was safer to secure the piece with thieves running so rampant.

As he headed back toward the inn, preparing for the parting from Stefan, he saw the slight blonde lad who had picked his pocket lift a purse from a fat merchant leaning over a competitor's stall. The thief casually strolled off between two lanes of booths, glancing back over his shoulder and catching Roland's eye.

Roland saw the boy start when he noticed the prince had seen him. The cutpurse began to run, weaving his way easily through the crowd. Roland started to follow him then caught a glimpse of the dagger in his hand.

I am no one to judge. Mine may have been a theft of absent-mindedness, but it was a theft nonetheless.

The boy glanced back over his shoulder once more.

The thief obviously expected him to raise a cry, but the prince shrugged and winked at the boy, then continued toward the inn, lost in thought. Did I make the right decision? Should I have intervened? He sighed, shaking his head. Let the boy go. The lad is merely trying to survive. I wish him well, despite the dubious nature of his business.

As he passed the weapons stall, Roland stopped, laying the dagger on the counter. The dealer grabbed his wrist with a grip of iron. Here now, you! What do you think you are playin' at?

I am sorry, sir. I was distracted, and I carried the dagger with me by mistake.

You ain't paid fer it yet.

I realize that, my good man, so I am returning it to your care. Roland sketched a bow.

Here now! Does that mean you ain't going to buy it?

I'm sorry. I can't afford to pay for it.

So you lied to me as well, you little thief!

Roland twisted his hand free of the man's grip, before rubbing the feeling back into his wrist. If I were a thief, I would not have brought back your property. I am sorry I cannot complete our original agreement, but I have no choice. Here is a talon for your trouble. He handed the dealer a small golden coin. You are not out anything, and you can sell the dagger to another customer.

The dealer continued to grumble, but Roland slipped away, counting the few small coins remaining in his flattened purse. No longer charmed by the marketplace, he made his way toward the inn with all possible speed.

Near the inn, he made one final stop when a stall specializing in leather bound books caught his eye. He browsed through the wares, and picked out a beautiful old volume of illumined ballads covered in a soft, forest green chamois. He paid for the book, emptying out his last coin, then walked slowly back toward the inn, leafing through the pages.

This will be a sort of consolation present for Stefan. It will not ease the parting, but perhaps it will speed the recovery.

As Roland climbed the steps of the inn, a chill raced down his spine, and the hint of a shadow fell over him. Squinting upward against the glare of the sun, he caught sight of a single bird wheeling high above the town. The soaring bird made him feel very vulnerable. He hurried inside.

~*~

The jewelry peddler watched Roland make his way toward the inn, then stepped back into the shadowy interior of the stall and vanished.

Moments later, the little blonde thief who robbed the prince ran into the stall. Out of breath, the urchin swept back the curtain separating the counter from the rear of the booth. Seeing the stand was empty, he sank to the ground and dumped the contents of the fat merchant's purse into his lap, and began to count his take.

Did he make it back to the inn? asked the peddler, appearing as if from nowhere. He brushed the silver out of his hair with a careless gesture.

The little pickpocket appeared unfazed by the sudden arrival. I think so, Master. I didn't see him go in. He saw me, so I ran.

The peddler rubbed a damp linen cloth across his face, and the middle-aged wrinkles disappeared. I see. And why did you allow him to notice you?

The thief flushed. I got careless and I weren't watchin'. I wuz nickin' this at the time. He held up a handful of coins. We needed the money, he finished, a touch of defiance tingeing his words.

Will you never learn? sighed the merchant, transformed into a young man in his early thirties. He lifted a full black cape from a peg and swung it over his shoulder then fastened it with a flourish. That is no behavior for a well-bred young lad.

The thief looked daggers at his master.

Hold your fire, Flame-Cat, laughed the peddler. I meant nothing by it, though it's a good thing I was watching him. He has indeed reached the inn, and it's time for phase three. You pack up here, while I check on our prince.

Aye, master. The boy stuffed the purse in his shirt and began to dismantle the stall with an efficiency that bespoke long practice.

The merchant waited long enough to see his orders were being carried out, then strode off into the marketplace.

There was much to do.

~*~

Far away, in the midst of a desolate plain, a lone figure sat in state on an ebony throne, ensconced in a castle of black stone. His eyes were copper frost as he stared at the cowering brigand before him. Well?

T-the raft was destroyed, my lord. All hands were lost or captured.

Did you count the bodies personally? asked Norfulk Roderickson with deceptive casualness.

No, my lord.

Then how do you know all hands were lost?

The raft burned to the waterline. My men slaughtered anything that moved.

And did you see the bodies of the prince and that brat of a page?

No, my lord. But one of my lieutenants dispatched the page himself. He brought me this. The man held out Stefan's amulet.

Norfulk's eyes narrowed to copper slits as he snatched the silver disk from the man's hand. Most unusual. Why would a page boy have a thing like this?

I-I don't know, my lord.

It was a rhetorical question, idiot. He flipped the amulet between restless fingers. You didn't see the body yourself?

No, my lord; but the lieutenant's one of my best men.

Norfulk thrust out his hand…then drew it back, the small black dagger he kept concealed in his sleeve dripping with the villain's blood.

I'm sorry, he replied, smiling almost sadly, that just isn't good enough.

With a curious gleam in his cold copper eyes, he leaned back on his velvet throne and watched the man bleed to death.

~*~

Stefan lay among the coarse pillows, plucking at the edge of the coverlet. Although his fever had broken, his sleep was filled with dream images he could not shake.

The shadowy throne room of Woodbridge Castle was silent. Frederick brooded upon his great chair, chin in hand. A man stumbled into the chamber, dressed in charred clothing, with one arm caught up in a bloody sling and a filthy bandage knotted around his head. Stefan vaguely recognized one of the men from the raft.

My lord, the stranger croaked, falling to his knees before the king.

Instantly alert, Frederick leaned forward on the throne. What is it?

We were attacked, my lord, a day out of Edgetown. The raft was lost. I-I could find no trace of other survivors, although I hunted most of the night. I fear the prince is among those missing.

No. Frederick whispered hoarsely, collapsing into the depths of his throne. It cannot be.

I wish the news were otherwise, my King.

Roland- murmured Frederick in a daze.

Is there ought I can do, my lord?

The king made as if to stand, but slumped back onto the throne. Call my physician. I feel most strange.

The man hastened to obey.

The image faded from Stefan's sight as he jerked into wakefulness, to find himself alone, drenched with sweat from the intensity of the dream. He feared for the king more than ever.

We must go straight home! Roland's place is by his father's side. But where is Roland? Stefan had only the dimmest recollection of his earlier conversation with the prince. >

An attempt to rise from the bed sent his head reeling. There was no sign of Roland, but his pack still lay slung beside his sword in the corner. The prince would never go anywhere without his sword. Just the same, Stefan was beginning to worry.

There was a soft knock upon the door and he called out weakly, Come in.

Collyn Silverbrook regarded him from the doorway. Would you rather I didn't come in?

Stefan propped himself against the headboard, fighting against the dizziness washing over him. No, it's all right. Please, come in.

Collyn approached the bed, moving lightly in spite of his size. The crystal arrowhead swung forward as the trader laid a gentle hand on Stefan's shoulder. How are you feeling, lad?

Better. I'll be ready to travel by morning.

Pity clouded Collyn's clear gray eyes. Don't push yourself, Stefan. It is a grave wound. He checked the boy's bandage with practiced ease. The poultice seems to have stopped the bleeding though. That is a good sign. I'll leave you to rest.

Stefan quirked his lip in a rueful smile. I am tired, he admitted. But I must speak to Roland. It cannot wait. I must tell him something of utmost importance.

I'll see if I can find him, Collyn promised, but Stefan sensed an evasion in the big man's voice.

Where is the prince?

I believe he went to the marketplace. I'll see if I can find him.

Collyn left the room and Stefan eased back into the sanctuary of the pillows with a sigh. When he told the prince of the dream, they would go straight home. Stefan was sure of it. Even the slight exertion of the conversation left his head spinning, but he must be fit to ride by tomorrow. Frederick's life might depend on it. He had to be ready.

It never crossed his mind that it might already be too late.

~*~

Roland met Collyn on the stair as he climbed toward the room. The trader paused, leaning against the wall.

How is he? murmured the prince.

Awake and alert, but still quite pale. He's in great pain, but he'll never admit it. He's most anxious to speak to you.

The prince nodded and continued up the stair.

Roland-

The quiet hail halted him. It was the first time Collyn had called him by name instead of a title. The prince turned, curious.

I'm glad you're going to tell him yourself. It takes a brave man to face his responsibilities squarely.

A wry smile tugging his lip, Roland replied, It took a wise man to convince me I should do so. I suppose I owe Stefan that much. Though I don't relish telling him.

I'll save you a stool at our table, and order another round of stout.

Roland grinned. I'll join you soon. If I live. Reaching the doorway, he rapped softly upon it.

The answer came at once. Come in. Stefan's voice was weak but steady.

Taking a deep breath, Roland opened the door. Hello, laze-a-bed, he teased, closing the door behind him.

Stefan attempted to sit up straighter, wincing as he jarred the wound.

Roland was at his side in two steps. Lie still! he commanded, settling the boy back among the pillows. What are you thinking of? You'll kill yourself for sure without me here to fuss over you… His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. He turned away, unable to face Stefan's dark eyes.

I'm fine, my prince, I swear to you. My fever is broken. I can ride whenever you say. We must return to Woodbridge Point. Your father-

Roland sat down in the chair beside the bed, slipping the book of ballads beneath it. What about my father?

He is ill. I had a dream.

It was the fever, Stefan.

No, my lord. There is trouble. Please, we must return. I can do it, I swear to you.

One glance at Stefan's face, paler than alabaster, and his fever-brightened eyes gave the lie to his words. Taking another deep breath, Roland plowed ahead. Stefan, you know that I trust you, and I know I can count on you when I need a loyal man-

You're planning to go without me! the page cried, again struggling to rise.

Roland forced him back, leaving his hands on the boy's shoulders. Listen to me, you little fool. You're seriously hurt, and under the doctor's order to stay abed at least two days more. I can't wait. This dream of yours should convince you that I must move quickly. You must stay behind. I can't afford to move at the pace you would force.

But, my lord Roland, you can't leave me.

Roland felt helpless anger welling inside him. It was his instinctive reaction to circumstances he could not control. Be still! he snapped. I order you to remain behind. If you refuse to obey me, I'll have Collyn physically restrain you until I am well gone. It's your choice. You have been given a command. He crossed the floor and swept up his pack from its corner, slinging it over his shoulder and catching up his sword.

Stefan's eyes were huge pools of night in his white face. Roland could not bear the hurt accusation sweeping across the page's wan features, though Stefan fought to hide it.

Rest, he ordered curtly then turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Roland shut the door behind him with a firm click, then let his head fall back against the heavy oaken plank. It was not until then that he remembered the peace offering under the chair. Damn, he swore under his breath.

He hated himself for causing Stefan pain, but the main reason he didn't want the boy with him was the possibility he might be leading the page into further danger. With a heavy sigh, he trudged down the stairs to join Collyn in the common room, buckling on his sword as he went. He plopped down onto an empty stool and drained the mug the trader pushed before him.

You told him, I see, remarked the big man dryly.

Aye. 'Twas one of the hardest tasks I've ever faced.

I don't doubt it, my lord. But there are harder days to come.

Raising his hand for another mug, Roland muttered under his breath, You speak truth there, my friend.

~*~

Stefan lay back in the bed, his hands clenched into fists as he willed the tears not to fall. You are too old for tears! Roland is only doing what he feels is best. It's the practical thing to do. Besides, he is the prince. You have no choice but to obey or face the consequences! But my entire life has been spent in Roland's service. Almost thirteen years at the prince's side. Oh, what am I to do?

The thought that things were about to change overcame his resolve and a single tear slipped down his drawn cheek.

Chapter Three

Roland stood, pushing back his stool with a sigh. It's time for me to go. Now we shall see if my plans would have come to fruition without the attack. It will ease my heart to have my own steed beneath me on the race north.

And how did he come to wander so far from home, my lord?

Roland flushed, tracing circles on the surface of the table with an idle finger. My friend Alexendar arranged for Noble and Astreal to wait for us here.

You never intended to raft the remainder of the journey then.

No, Roland admitted, his voice soft with shame.

It is too bad you ever started with us. Good men died needlessly for your whim. Collyn's voice was grave.

The sadness in the trader's gray eyes brought a surge of helplessness to Roland's breast once more. I know that, Collyn, and I must live with it, but I cannot change it. I must do what I can to see that nothing more comes of this. Guard Stefan well, Collyn Silverbrook.

I shall.

The big man also rose, and Roland clasped his hand once more. I'll see you one day in Woodbridge Point, my friend. We shall lift a pint again.

I'll look forward to it, replied Collyn.

Roland nodded, and left the inn, seeking out the town stables. He soon located the stall holding his bay gelding, Noble, and saddled the horse quickly after giving the animal a fond pat on the withers. Ready to ride, boy? he murmured, and Noble bobbed his big head in reply, nudging the prince's cheek with his velvety nose. Roland laughed, swinging easily into the saddle.

Turning the gelding's head, he rode north out of town in the afternoon sunlight, cutting toward the edge of the forest. There were rumors about the woods in this section of the kingdom. No one ventured past their fringes unless lives depended on it, and few of those who did were ever seen again. Only the river traffic was safe, and the traders kept well to the center of the current while under the shadows of the trees. As he rode toward the dense line of trees, Roland debated his next course of action. Even the short time the raft had spent beneath the trees of the Forest of Night had left him feeling oppressed and uneasy.

But this time you will be riding, he told himself aloud, and Noble is a match for any woodland beasties.

The gelding tossed his head and chuffed, as if agreeing.

Roland laughed. Brave heart, he crooned, giving the horse's neck an affectionate slap. Nothing daunts you, does it, my beauty?

The prince scanned the line of trees ahead. They were, after all, merely trees. Rumors and hearsay should not dissuade a prince of the blood.

And think of the time we will save, my fine fellow. There couldn't be more than ten miles of Forest at this point, but if we go around, we will have to go at least a day's ride out of our way. With every moment so precious, how can I take such a chance?

Still, his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, toying with the peace guard. He could not help but remember all the whispered tales that had haunted his dreams as a young boy. Stories of wicked creatures that walked like men, but ensnared the unwary in their woodland lairs. They also spoke of beautiful beings like ivory statues that could slay a trespasser with a single word.

No. Father's life may be in danger. I have no choice. I am not a witless fool or a helpless child. I can take care of myself, and the time I save may make all the difference. He slipped his sword free of the peace cord and felt a great deal safer.

Cantering Noble to the edge of the forest, he slipped from the horse's back and walked along the verge of the wood, scanning the ground carefully. Some distance from the town, he at last found a break in the solid wall of trees, a barely discernible path, heavily overshadowed by undergrowth. Scouting the head of the trail, he could tell that little traffic passed upon it. Roots protruded above the ground, while vines tangled into a matted mass, hiding any unevenness of the pathway. Roland bit the inside of his lip. He dare not risk taking Noble along that faint track. Much as he hated the idea, he would have to go on foot or go around the forest.

He swallowed hard as he weighed the options. The time he would save still tempted him. On the other hand, could all the tales be false? Some of his bravado leached away.

No! I refuse to change my mind now that it is made up. I shall simply have to find another horse on the other side of the wood. It will not be Noble, perhaps, but it will see me home. It is foolish to waste the time in circling the wood, simply because I am frightened by children's ghost stories.

Lifting the saddlebags from the horse's back, he slapped the gelding on the rump once more and sent him back to the stables where Stefan's little gray mare, Astreal, waited. Shouldering the saddlebags, Roland began to whistle tunelessly as he plunged into the forest.

~*~

Stefan eased out of bed with soundlessness born of long practice, catching the edge of the headboard as another wave of dizziness broke over him. There was a slight thud, and he glanced over at the door, heart pounding with anxiety. The boy felt almost certain that Collyn was posted in the hallway outside. Exhaling against the pain, Stefan tucked his loose shirt in at the waist to keep it from catching on anything. He glimpsed the book lying under the chair, and pulled it out. He stuffed it into the top of his pack without examining it. Carefully slinging the pack on his back, he limped to the window and looked out. The room was in the back of the inn. Directly beneath the window was a small, steeply pitched roof covering a service porch. It was an eight-foot drop to the roof, and seven more to the ground. Even looking down sent waves of nausea crashing over him, but he had to follow Roland. He had promised the king to protect his master, and he decided that an oath to a king superseded the orders of a prince.

Gulping back queasiness, Stefan eased open the window and threw his good leg over the sill. He dragged his left leg after it and let himself hang from his fingertips. With a prayer for luck, he let go.

His feet hit the roof of the porch and continued to slide. His knees connected with a solid jolt that threatened to send him under again. Stefan fought to stay conscious as he slipped off the edge of the roof. Fingers scrabbling in frantic panic, he managed to grab the shingles and somewhat control how he hit the ground.

Face down in the dirt, he gasped for air.

I have to overcome this! I can't afford to give in to the weakness. I have to follow the prince. I swore an oath.

He pulled himself to his hands and knees and rested for a moment, head hanging.

Here, let me help. A strong hand lifted him to his feet, then remained on his shoulder to steady him.

Stefan peered up, vision blurred and doubling, to find Collyn gazing down at him with calm gray eyes that, thankfully, held no laughter. He blinked until the twin images resolved themselves into one.

How did you...? murmured the page.

I heard you through the door.

I wouldn't make a very good thief, would I? Stefan remarked, his voice thick with self-disgust. He raised a shaky hand to his whirling head.

You should be in bed, my lad, scolded Collyn, his voice kind.

No. I must follow Roland.

Then I suppose I shall have to follow you, or better yet, come with you. The prince told me he arranged for your horses to be brought. We shall see if that at least he managed. You will feel more secure upon your own horse, I warrant, and it will care more for your safety. Come along, then.

Stefan attempted to nod, and Collyn caught him when he started to fall. My boy, you are setting out to kill yourself.

Stefan drew himself up, his carriage proud. No one is asking you to come with me, Master Silverbrook. I shall go alone if I must.

He left you in my charge, and I am no more eager to fail him than you. Therefore, you are stuck with me, and I with you.

Then let us be off. Stefan started for the stables, his limp more pronounced than usual.

Collyn followed, taking great care to remain a step behind the boy despite the slow pace. Stefan noticed and was grateful. As they approached the stables, Noble came flying into the inn yard with a thunder of hooves.

Riderless.

Uttering a wordless cry, Stefan hurried to the horse's side, catching his bridle and whispering, There, there, boy. You are safe. Calm yourself.

Noble tossed his head, and pawed at the ground, then stood quiet under Stefan's hand.

His saddlebags are gone, Collyn observed. Either the prince set out on foot, or he's been robbed, maybe taken.

Noble will have to show us. Stefan put a foot in the stirrup and hauled himself bodily into the saddle. He swayed in the seat before regaining his balance. There is no time to go for the other horses. Besides, if Roland did send him back, it is pointless to take them where a horse cannot go. The prince and I have ridden Noble double in the past. You are heavier than Roland, but we have no choice. Frankly, I doubt I can sit him alone.

With a nod, Collyn mounted behind him. Mentally wishing godspeed to the dainty gray mare that was more friend than animal, Stefan gave Noble his head and the gelding cantered back towards the forest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stefan caught a blur of motion and his head jerked up. Senses reeling as he fought to keep down his dinner, he was unsure if the wheeling speck in the sky was real or merely a trick of his vision.

Collyn, do you see anything there? He pointed, trying again to blink away the dots dancing before his eyes.

Aye, lad. Collyn raised a hand to shade his sight. I think it is a raven.

The confirmation brought Stefan no comfort.

~*~

Roland found it slow going as he pushed his way through tangled undergrowth. He had assumed that walking through the trees would be like moving through the well-tended orchards of home, with their neatly planted rows. Instead, the trees grew mere inches apart in some places, and he had to detour around clumps of closely woven brush. He kept an eye to the ground, looking for an easier pathway. He ducked under low-hanging limbs, sweeping back whip-thin branches, which snapped back to lash at his face and hands. The vines and creepers carpeting the ground twisted about his boots, and kept him stumbling and off balance.

Roland dragged a forearm across his face, mopping at the sweat. He could never have imagined this dense growth, which hedged him in on all sides as if trying to force him back the way he came. His scabbard caught in the underbrush, and he jerked it free with an impatient tug. It was tempting to draw the blade and slash the vines out of his way, but two things prevented him. He knew it would damage the carefully honed edge but-more importantly-there was something about the forest that stayed his hand. He felt as if there were eyes watching him from unseen havens.

He found himself spinning to look behind him, as if, if he were quick enough, he would catch the spies. There were no bird songs or usual quiet scrabblings of small creatures in the brush, only the soft breath of the wind high above him. The silence was eerie.

The further into the forest he went, the fainter the traces of the path became. After a few hundred yards, he made his way through completely unbroken territory. Cursing himself for a fool, he pushed through a final screen of brush into a small clearing, then sank down onto a fallen tree trunk with a grateful sigh. The cool breeze whispering among the treetops ruffled his sweat-dampened hair.

I don't know where I lost my cap, in this labyrinth, but it surely didn't take me long. By the Flames, it is hot work slogging through this lot!

He pushed heavy waves of hair from his face, already regretting the loss of the cap as he disengaged a fallen twig that had tangled in them. He glanced around the clearing, his attention caught by the pungent scent of mint. He found a clump of the plant peeking from the broken base of the tree and snapped off a piece. Chewing thoughtfully on the juicy stem, he cupped his chin in his hand and weighed his options. >

Well, now. This is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Roland Fredrickson! You can keep on the way you are going, forcing a path through the woods until you finally find a way through to the other side, or you can go back the way you've come. It could only be a half-mile at most from here to the edge of the trees if you backtrack.

He stepped to the point where he had emerged into the clearing, and looked down his earlier path. Already the brush was springing back into place, and he could see no clear way through.

On the other hand, the forest is at least ten miles wide at this point, if those vague memories of your geography lessons are any true indication. Why couldn't you pay the attention to your tutors that Stefan did?

No, my lad, he sighed, tossing the stem of mint aside. Your way lies forward. I will not give the others an opportunity for sport. But no sense being a fool. Roland yawned.

It has been a long and eventful day. Even that full moon won't penetrate the heavy canopy of these trees enough to risk further travel tonight. I will rest for now and go on my way in the morning.

Tomorrow is soon enough to travel onward. This is as good a site as any to camp.

He gathered a pile of small branches and kindling and built a fire near the fallen tree, as much for companionship as for warmth. The forest pressed in around him, and he moved a little closer to the fire. Digging into his saddlebag, he pulled out one of Sara's journey cakes and a flask of wine. The mutton stew he had eaten at noon was long gone and forcing his way through the undergrowth was hungry work. Munching on the cake, Roland closely examined the clearing. It seemed unnaturally circular in shape. The only defect in its circumference was the large boulder behind his log.

Who could ask for more? he grinned, while settling his back firmly against the stone. The comforting warmth stored by the rock during the day radiated through his clothing and combined with the wine to make his eyes heavy.

He was soon fast asleep.

~*~

At the forest's edge, Collyn slipped from the horse's back and began studying the ground. There was little question about it. The bruised undergrowth still sent its sharp odor into the cool evening air. His heart sank. The headstrong prince had cut through the forest. He rubbed his left shoulder. A dull ache deep in the muscle reminded him of other days.

Which promise do I keep? The one made to Roland regarding Stefan, or the older one to that other, regarding myself? Neither will take kindly to having their will thwarted. But the prince is young and untried. He cannot imagine the perils of these woods. How can I let him go into those dangers alone?

From behind them in Edgetown rose the comforting scent of woodsmoke, promising a warm hearth and comfortable bed. He longed to accept that promise, but he glanced over at the page, who swayed slightly atop Noble.

As for Stefan, there is no doubt in my mind what he will do. His loyalty will serve him ill. The foolish child will go after the prince, with or without my help, and likely kill himself in the process.

Collyn sighed. There was no choice.

Stefan needs me. Whatever the cost to myself, I cannot abandon the boy to go alone. My honor is a small sacrifice. >

There is a path, or at least a trace of one, with footprints leading up to it, he told the page. I do not doubt the prince came this way.

Taking a deep breath, Stefan slid down from the horse. He caught himself just before he fell. Thank you for finding the way, Collyn. Take Noble back to the inn and wait with the horses.

Oh, no. You don't get rid of me so easily, my young friend, Collyn murmured. Did you even think to bring along any provisions in that ever-present pack of yours? What if you get lost in the forest? It is getting colder nightly. Can you build a fire with your music? No, you are stuck with me still, my lad.

He shifted the pack he had brought from the inn, anticipating a need to follow Roland, but not the necessity of entering the forest. He hoped he brought everything they would require.

Stefan smiled. Very well. I admit I'll not mind the company. Shall we go in?

The trees met overhead in intricately woven knots, with the slanting rays of the setting sun barely penetrating the darkness beneath their branches. The air felt damp and was redolent with the scent of decaying bracken and the sweet, sudden smell of a night-blooming vine as it opened to the growing shadows. The combination was cloying and brought to mind things better not said aloud. There was an ominous aura pervading the area, and Stefan shivered.

Collyn's sharp eyes detected the faint shudder. It will soon be nightfall. Wouldn't it be wiser to wait until morning, Stefan?

No. I must go now. The prince may be in danger. My eyes are good-

How do you feel, Stefan?

Better. I promise you, I'll be fine; but I'm worried about the prince. He's so headstrong.

He's not the only one, Collyn grinned, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. Let me lead the way. It will be rough going, and the prince may veer from the path.

Moreover, if there were trouble, he would be better able to protect the page.

In the direct rays of the late sunlight, Stefan's face had a waxen sheen, and beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip as he fought to hide his pain. The neat linen bandage was stained with faintly crimson sweat at the site of the wound.

The trader hoped this venture would not prove more than Stefan bargained for.

~*~

Stefan and Collyn started into the trees. Collyn pushed aside tangles of vine and threw fallen branches out of the path, but their progress was hard won. Even with Collyn easing the way, Stefan had to fight to keep up. Vines clutched at his bad leg as if by conscious intent and his head spun. Collyn's broad shoulders broke through the screening branches, and he helped Stefan over the worst of the outcroppings of roots that thrust through the loam.

Despite Collyn's aid, Stefan repeatedly found himself on the verge of falling, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Even as he struggled through the heavy growth, Stefan was struck by the silence. The only sounds were their clumsy footsteps trampling down living matter, which gasped out dying scents of crushed herbs and bruised foliage. Underlying the fresh odors was a stench composed from decaying leaves and pools of bracken-fouled water. Stefan forced himself on with grim determination. When they caught up with the prince he had to be able to pull his own weight or Roland would simply send him back to the inn.

After what seemed an eternity spent forging through undergrowth, Collyn halted, holding up a hand for silence. Peering around the trader's broad back, his curiosity aroused, the page felt his heart lift.

Scant yards away, on the edge of a circular clearing, lounged the prince, leaning back against a rock. His soft snores exposed the fact that he was fast asleep.

A roguish grin split Collyn's rugged features, sloughing years from his face. He motioned Stefan to stay hidden. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a water skin and stole across the clearing.

Stefan's eyes sparkled. He waited for the inevitable explosion that would follow Collyn's prank. As the trader crossed the clearing, Stefan glimpsed a wisp of movement behind Roland's reclining form. He started forward, ready to cry a warning, but ducked back behind a tree trunk at a sign from Collyn.

Sweeping up a thick branch as he moved, the big man slipped ahead soundlessly. When he drew even with Roland, the trader clapped a hand over the prince's mouth, startling the youth awake.

Before Collyn could warn Roland, the face of the boulder split in two, and a party of tall figures armed with long bows poured from the crevice in a deadly flood. Stefan watched in helpless horror as the others were surrounded. One of the figures removed Roland's sword from its scabbard and slipped it through his own belt.

The prince made a move as if to protest, but Collyn stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. Roland glared at the trader, shaking loose the hand and turning back to the newcomers.

The attackers were all pale, with long dark hair streaming about their shoulders. Dressed in greens and browns, they appeared to merge with the forest itself, slipping in and out of focus. One of the newcomers, a golden broach pinning his cloak at one shoulder, stepped forward and spoke, his words carrying with crystal clarity to Stefan's hiding place. His voice was like silver bells chiming in the wind.

Roland, son of Frederick, we greet thee, and trust you have valid reason for trespassing within our borders. He bowed fluidly from the waist.

Stefan could see the anger swelling up in Roland like a floodtide. It was always the prince's flaw. His temper would flare into fire before he thought. Stefan felt his heart twist within him. He had to restrain Roland for the prince's own good. These strangers would not care that he was of royal blood. Even the thought of what could become of the mercurial prince brought the warning to the verge of Stefan's lips, but it was too late, as Roland exploded.

Your borders? Roland blustered, shaking off the warning hand Collyn laid on his arm. I am heir to the throne of Woodbridge Point. My borders extend from Block Wind Cove to Dangerous Harbor, from Dark Wood to River City. I have the right to roam my domain wherever I please!

The tall figure spoke again, the bells of his voice frozen with formality. This land has been the holding of my lord for countless ages. Your ancestors wrested the Silver Plain from us, but my lord decreed the insult should go unanswered as long as our forest remained inviolate. Now you have penetrated Starlit Wood. You have one last chance. Turn back and take your own road or proceed as captives of Andundal, King of the Starlit Elves.

Stefan felt his heart grow cold. His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep from shuddering. There were rumors of elves even in Woodbridge Point and the stories were not easy to hear. He could not just stand by and watch but his legs betrayed him. He could not force himself forward, and only his grip upon the tree trunk he hid behind kept him from collapsing in a nerveless ball.

Nevertheless, he was steeling himself to try when, as if by chance, Collyn glanced idly around the clearing. He locked eyes with Stefan, shaking his head in a near imperceptible gesture. The page retreated further behind his tree. Logically, the big trader was right. Only if he were free could he help the others.

~*~

Roland faced the elf bravely. Although he was a tall man himself, he had to look up to meet the other's eyes. The elf was dark, with silver highlights scattered through his ebony hair. Eyes like pools of jet ink dominated the grave expression on his face. With a start, the prince realized he could be looking thirty years into Stefan's future.

I cannot turn back, but let this man go. He is here against direct orders. He has abandoned a solemn charge. Escort him from the forest.

My lord prince, let me come with you, Collyn murmured, falling to one knee. My charge is safely fulfilled and I crave permission to attend you. It is the least I can do for the one I leave behind.

The elven leader murmured, You are very brave, Collyn Silverbrook, but very foolish. The outcome of the meeting between your prince and King Andundal is uncertain. As for you, the warders know well your name. You know the cost of returning here.

Aye, sir, but I must serve my prince. I have pledged him my arm, replied Collyn, his own voice steady.

You could well be going forward to your death.

I will discharge the old debt without quarrel if necessary.

As you wish. You have chosen your path. May it prove wise.

Just a moment! Roland exploded, confused by the cryptic conversation. I refuse to have him come with me! Collyn, I order you to return to the inn.

Collyn stood his ground, facing the prince. I cannot obey, my lord; it is out of my hands. It is my destiny to follow here and I owe it to the one who cannot follow. If it is without permission, it will be by stealth, which is much more likely to get me killed.

Roland gritted his teeth in frustration. The situation had gone beyond him and he felt a helpless fool.

~*~

Stefan viewed the exchange in desperation. He felt torn between loyalty and common sense. ...the one who cannot follow...stealth…much more likely to get me killed. He heard Collyn' s words and recognized their message, but chose to ignore it.

You speak truth, agreed the elf. It is certain death to all who proceed without our consent.

Stefan's heart turned to ice when the tall figure turned his head and looked directly into his eyes. The elves knew he was here and were telling him to turn back. But Roland was the only family he knew, and Collyn was fast becoming a valued friend. He could not let them go into danger alone. No matter how many of the tales were true, he could not abandon the others.

The tall elf gave a trilling call and his companions converged upon them, arrows nocked but bows lowered. Bind them loosely, ordered the captain. One of the company stepped forward to obey.

~*~

Roland studied the newcomers. These elves might all be brothers, and Stefan would blend into their band without a ripple. Is this the secret of the boy's origin?

Roland brought his attention back to the present predicament to find his hands ingeniously tied behind him. He felt no discomfort but there was no way to bring them forward.

It would be difficult to keep my balance if I trip, he thought uneasily. At least Stefan is safe; his limp would make capture twice as dangerous. >

He glanced over at Collyn, still angry but glad of the company despite it.

I have never felt so alone. All of my life I have been in control; the one in charge. To be a prisoner, going to an unknown fate…it terrifies me.

Roland watched Collyn stand impassively while the elves bound his hands.

What did the elf mean by his enigmatic words? What secrets lie behind the trader's calm exterior? Whatever the case, the inner strength Collyn radiates is a comfort. It will help me face whatever is to come. Borrowed courage is better than none.

The captain made a sweeping gesture and his archers fell in around them. He led the way forward at a quick march, the undergrowth melting away from the elves as they moved. From the corner of his eye, Roland caught a flicker of movement on the far side of the clearing and his heart fell. He prayed it did not mean what he feared it did.

They walked for hours and Roland began to tire. He felt as if every step was forced from him, but he dared not falter. He glanced at Collyn's stoic expression. The big man strode ahead with no indication of weariness and Roland steeled himself to continue. He must not show any weakness. The elves showed no sign of fatigue either, as they talked quietly among themselves in their birdlike language. Listening to the twittering music of the elven conversation, he was struck by the beauty of it. It was soothing, despite being incomprehensible, and he found that some of his exhaustion slipped from him as he focused his attention away from the march.

The captain glanced behind him and Roland froze. He remembered the movement he had seen, and prayed once more that he was mistaken as to its origin. He forced his concentration back to moving along the path.

I must not give anything away. Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps the movement was nothing more than a breath of wind upon a branch. But if I am wrong, I must not draw attention to our shadow. With luck, the little fool will slip through unnoticed. It is a slim hope at best.

They marched on for another hour then came to a second circular clearing, identical to the one they were captured in. The captain of the warders stepped up to another of the large boulders like the one that had concealed the elven doorway. He passed his head over the face of the rock, caroling in his flutelike voice, Andundal stimariali. There was a harsh grating rumble and the rock opened to reveal the top steps of a descending stairway.

Roland felt a thrill of fear when he was prodded in the small of his back. Setting his boot on the top step, his foot slipped and he lost his balance. Startled, he overcompensated, and fell backward, unable to stop himself. A strong shoulder broke his fall and steadied him.

Careful, my prince, cautioned Collyn, as Roland regained his balance. 'Tis a dark way ahead.

Aye, Roland murmured, his voice grim as he carefully edged his way down into the stairwell.

There was another trace of movement on the far side of the clearing. The captain gestured, and one of the scouts dropped back into the trees beside the faint path and faded from view. The prince felt his heart sink to his boots.

If what he feared was true, the consequences could be disastrous for them all.

~*~

Stefan staggered forward. Sheer strength of will kept his feet beneath him as he stumbled after the party of elves. His head reeled and his vision began to play tricks on him, but he kept moving. He was hard-pressed to keep the others in sight, but he concentrated desperately and forged ahead. At least the footing seemed better as he followed the elves. The vines no longer clutched at his ankles.

When he thought he could go no further, the warders stopped inside the clearing. Stefan caught himself just before following them into the open, sinking to his knees in exhaustion. As he watched, the captain opened the rock and the party passed inside. Roland's slip brought him to his feet instinctively and he nearly swooned from the resulting vertigo.

By the time he recovered full control of his senses, the entire party had entered, and the face of the rock was grating closed. Stefan dashed across the clearing as fast as his bad leg would allow, ignoring the swirling of the ground as his vision faded in and out. He reached the boulder just as the gap slammed together with a crashing finality.

No! He banged his fists upon the rock until his flesh was bloodied. Master Roland, do not leave me behind! The plea was almost a sob, his control at the breaking point. Tears of pain and frustration coursed down his cheeks.

Stop acting like a child! he cursed himself, You are no baby. Think. You have to do something. You can't let them go into danger alone.

Swiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, he straightened his shoulders.

I have to do something! Passing a hand over the face of the rock, Stefan struggled to remember the words the captain had spoken to open the portal. What are the words?>

His lilting voice easily recreated the trilling sounds, and there was a faint stir deep in his memory. Andundal...sti-sti- he faltered. The final word eluded him. Try as he might, he could not remember how the command ended. Closing his eyes to concentrate, he wracked his brains.

...Stimariali, spoke a cool voice behind him and the rock began to slide apart.

Stefan's eyes flew open and he found himself facing a stern elf with an arrow trained on his heart. Terrified, the boy stepped back, his heel striking thin air as he overshot the top step of the stairway. Arms pinwheeling for balance, Stefan uttered one wordless cry as he crashed backwards into darkness.

~*~

Far ahead in a dimly lit corridor, Roland's head snapped up sharply.

What is it, my lord? asked Collyn.

I thought...I am sure it was nothing.

He glanced around the hall curiously. A faint illumination came from delicately worked crystalline lamps, widely spaced along rough-hewn walls. The light was soft and gentle, in pastel hues of green, blue, and gold, but it did not extend far into the walkway. The floor of the corridor was smooth, which Roland found lucky. It was difficult to see.

There was a dry, dusty scent to the air, overlaid by the fragrance of flowers rising from braziers of smoking incense interspersed among the lamps. The footsteps of the elves were silent in their soft leather boots, but those of the humans echoed faintly as their bootheels rang upon the stone of the corridor. Used to the bustling activity of Woodbridge Castle, Roland found the quiet almost eerie.

Finally, the captain raised a hand and called out, Aithmi. The column came to a stop and he turned to Roland. Wait here until you are called. He nodded to his men and they melted away into the shadows, one elf remaining behind to guard the prisoners.

Opieviami. A doorway slid open before them and the captain entered, closing the door behind him.

It doesn't look good, my prince, Collyn remarked, his voice hushed.

Does it ever? answered the prince, but the attempt at levity fell flat, even to his ears.

Life has its pinnacles and valleys, my lord. In the world outside Woodbridge Point, there are greater shares of valleys. A hard lesson…but best learned early.

You are quite the philosopher for a raftsman, Master Silverbrook.

Collyn shrugged his massive shoulders. I have walked on many paths in my lifetime.

The door slid aside once more and the captain appeared in the portal, trilling a command to the guard. Roland found himself urged forward into a chamber carved into the rock substructure. The room was larger than the Great Hall at Woodbridge Castle. Intricately fashioned pillars of the same illuminated crystal that lit the hallway supported the roof. Here, the flames of torches in wrought gold sconces augmented their softer light. Scattered throughout the room were silken and velvet pillows, glowing in the lamplight like soft jewels of amethyst, emerald, and ruby.

More dark-haired elves reclined upon the cushions, some talking softly, others listening to the strains of a harpist playing on the far side of the chamber. A couple sitting before a low table played a complicated board game that reminded Roland vaguely of his father's chess matches with Jarome. The thought sent a spear of remorse through him.

In the center of the room stood two ornate golden thrones, bases fashioned like tumbled rocks. The arms were designed to simulate waves hanging suspended in gentle curves for all time. Backrests of intricately patterned filigree rose as tall as Roland's head. Elaborate creatures seemed to chase each other around gilded tree trunks, frozen forever in their sport. In the center back of each throne was a billowing gilt cloud. From the larger throne rose a carved gryphon, wings spread and mouth open in an endless roar. On the smaller, the device of a full moon peeked from behind a delicate veil of spun filament cloud.

A handsome elf with a streak of silver in his raven hair and a wide circlet of gold about his brow sat upon the larger seat, but Roland's eye was drawn to the other throne.

Upon the smaller chair sat a beautiful girl with long ebony braids entwined with golden chains. Unlike the other elves he had seen, her eyes were a curious sea green. She was surely no older than he, but an air of ancient wisdom enveloped her like a cloak. On her head sat a circlet of silver and a warm smile played about her lips. She radiated confidence born of a lifetime of royal breeding.

Who is she? Roland breathed, unaware that he spoke aloud.

The guard who had waited with them in the hallway, a lively elf who seemed younger than his fellows, bent down to whisper. That is the Princess Mendana, King Andundal's daughter.

She is beautiful.

Aye, that she is, agreed the young elf. His twinkling eyes sparkled with the same clear sea green as hers.

At that moment, Andundal was deep in conversation with Mendana. Roland used the time to steel his courage for what must come. The king was stern of visage. His commanding features seemed hewn from living rock. Yet in the bottomless depths of his black eyes danced a spark of laughter, which died when he turned his attention from his daughter to the prisoners.

Roland faced the king bravely, though his heart was heavy with the realization of all this forbidding being held in his power. Despite his hot words to the captain of the warders, Roland knew he had chosen a dangerous path of his own free will and must accept the consequences.

If our positions were reversed, and I was ruler instead of trespasser, I would show no leniency to one who willfully ignored a warning such as I was given. The king holds my life, and he would be well within his rights to claim the forfeit.

Andundal gave a curt nod in acknowledgment of the captain's salute. The warder stepped forward. These are the men apprehended in Stardust Clearing. As per your orders, they were offered a chance to retrace their steps but they refused. Roland Frederickson, Prince of Woodbridge Castle, and Master Yeoman Collyn Silverbrook, formerly of Overlake, await your judgment.

Collyn fell to one knee, head bowed, the clear crystal arrowhead around his neck reflecting back the soft glow of the illuminated crystals. Roland remained standing, his bearing proud as he met Andundal's eye squarely.

For the first time, Andundal spoke aloud, and his voice was deep yet musical, the heavy toll of watch bells. Greetings to thee, Roland Frederickson. In ages past, we might have met as comrades, equals in rank and honor, but your ancestors were discontent with what was freely given and declared a war, which raged with inestimable bloodshed. When the massacre was over, only tiny pockets of elves remained, with the Starlit Wood our only fortress. It is all we have. Only in secret may we stray beyond its borders, and all men fear us. We cannot permit the smallest invasion of our territory. Already we allow men a way through the heart of our dominion. You should have sailed the river, which we do not claim. Instead, you struck through the center of our lands. For this, there must be reckoning.

As for you, Collyn Silverbrook, you knew the price for breaking your vow. I hereby decree-

There was a flurry of movement at the rear of the throne room and an elven scout strode forward, cradling a motionless body in his arms. My lord king, I crave pardon for this intrusion-

Stefan! Roland cried, leaping forward, shaking off hands that reached to restrain him. What have you done to him?

The elf laid the boy at Andundal's feet. He fell, Majesty. I could not catch him.

Roland went to his knees beside the page. Stefan! Stefan, please...

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned to find himself staring into the blue-green eyes of the princess. Let me see if I can help. I am considered skilled in the healing arts.

Even in the midst of this crisis, Roland could not help but note that her voice was rich and deep for a woman, the sound of a sparkling stream. He could listen to it for hours, given half a chance, but now he moved away to let her near the page.

Mendana took one good look at the unconscious boy and her ivory skin paled to the white of new fallen snow. She turned to her father and spoke rapidly in the musical tones of the elven tongue. Ruae astami leietae, Steavil. Noile, astami Steavil!

Twuia steami? Mendana, twuia steami? Are you sure?

Reve, she whispered, sinking down onto the dais and lifting Stefan's head into her lap. Reve, Noile, euia steami. I am sure, Father.

What is it? asked Roland, with a note of anxiety creeping into his tone.

She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes luminescent with unshed tears.

He is my brother.

Roland blinked at the princess in shock. He is your-?

He is my brother, she answered with a hint of impatience. She unwrapped the now filthy bandage from the boy's forehead with skilled care, gasping aloud at the jagged wound. What happened here?

Collyn remained kneeling, his voice hushed as he answered, The raft upon which we were sailing to River City was attacked. Stefan was hurt in the fighting. We took him into Edgetown and the doctor who treated him there counseled that he stay abed for three days. The boy refused to listen and I gave in to his desire to follow his prince, despite my better judgment and the old pledge. I take full responsibility.

Andundal rose from his throne to tower above the assembly. Though all the elves were tall, the king stood nigh to seven feet in height, topping his nearest subject by inches. His face was granite cold with fury, as he turned his wrath on Collyn. I thought you were a man of honor, Collyn Silverbrook. I see I was mistaken. You shall die for this, as was promised.

I expect no less, Lord King, murmured the trader. His tone was resigned and his shoulders slumped.

No! Roland cried, stumbling to his feet and standing up to the king. Collyn could not force Stefan to listen to reason. The boy has always been stubborn when his mind is set. If not for this man, Stefan would have died before we ever reached the doctor.

Collyn turned to him. Please stay out of this, my lord. The debt I owe the king is an old one.

I don't care! Roland turned back to the king. Collyn is a good and loyal man. I vouch for him with my life!

Andundal stared down at him, his black eyes bottomless pits of darkness. So you shall, little prince. Threami ruaen oth thyesti!

Neve, Noile! Mendana protested, easing Stefan gently to the dais and rising to her feet. Father, no! You can't send them to the dungeons. You mustn't!

Roland noticed that the girl was as tall as he. At six feet, the fact was remarkable. Her shining braids swung to her knees. He was glad his hands were not free, because he longed to touch her, despite his better judgment.

Please, Father. Is this the hospitality we show our neighbors? Is it any wonder the elven race is held in fear and hatred by our human counterparts?

I cannot forgive this, Mendana. I cannot. If my son dies-

Father. The princess laid her hand on the king's arm. Please. What else has he been to you for these past fifteen years but dead? Now these men have returned him to us. We have been given another chance. They brought Steavil back to us. I will tend his wound, and by the grace of Andailia, he will be saved. Give these men the honor they are due.

Emotions warred across Andundal's face. It was obvious he was swayed by the princess's words. Then his eyes fell once more upon Collyn. He shook his head. No, Mendana. I will not revoke my order. Take them to the dungeon, Dèodar.

Their young guard stepped forward once more to take the prince's arm and lead him from the dais. Collyn stood to follow.

Noile!

Yrethsti! Dèodar, take them. >

Chapter Four

Stefan fought his way back to consciousness. It was like swimming upward through a sea of congealing mud, one breath shy of drowning. With a shuddering gasp, he broke the surface to wakefulness and opened his eyes.

Raising a shaking hand to his splitting head, he experienced a fleeting sense of disorientation that was becoming an all too familiar sensation. However, when he blinked his eyes into focus, the feeling shifted to fear. He did not recognize the chamber in which he found himself, and he had no memory of how he came to be here.

The room was hewn from solid rock, but hung with bright tapestries wrought in vibrant silks. They warmed the cold austerity of the chamber. So lifelike was their rendering that the rich green grasses seemed to wave in an unseen breeze, while scarlet birds circled in azure skies. A snowy unicorn touched golden horn to knee in homage before the image of a dark-haired girl in a shimmering rose-colored gown. Stefan half expected to hear her laugh with delight, so detailed was the portrait.

There was a faint musty scent to the room, not unpleasant, and a bowl of fragrant autumn roses lent their perfume to the air. Overlying the scent of the roses was a sharp, pungent odor that was vaguely medicinal, and the silken pillows upon which he lay gave off the scent of lavender. He buried his face in their softness for a moment, shaken to the core but unsure why.

The silks of the cushions mirrored the tapestries, and he marveled at the bright, sharp hues. Never before had he seen such brilliance in a fabric. The colors seemed almost alive in the muted light provided by delicate crystal lamps hung on either side of the doorway.

The lamps looked as if they were spun of spider silk and fossilized into stone. Fretwork of open stone enclosed a glowing orb of pastel light. In this case, a blue with the faintest tinge of green, that reminded Stefan of the river at sunset back home in Woodbridge Point.

The reminder of home made him remember his master.

I must find out where Roland and Collyn were taken after their capture!

He moved to sit up and bit back a cry of pain. Every muscle in his body ached, but his left leg felt as if pinioned on a rack. The dull flickering throb he had learned to live with was supplanted by a roaring inferno. By the Flames, he swore fervently, must it always be the left?

Lie still, commanded an unfamiliar voice and a face from his dreams edged into his line of sight.

Stefan shrank back against the bed. Where am I?

You are safe, Steavil. Be easy.

My name is Stefan, he replied automatically. But her words stirred breezes deep in the vaults of his memories. He pushed to his elbows.

If you are determined to jostle your brains, let me help you, scolded the lady, slipping a slender arm behind his shoulders. With her aid, he managed to sit up.

Where is my lord Roland? he asked.

The lady frowned and his heart rose into his throat.

She hurried to reassure him. Do not worry, Stea-Stefan. The prince is safe. She laid a cool hand on his forehead, soothing away some of the pain.

And Collyn?

He is safe as well, for now.

Where are they? I must go to the prince.

Stefan forgot the new injury in the depths of his anxiety for Roland, and made as if to stand. This time he could not stifle the cry that tore from him when his ruined knee sent a knife of pain up his leg. He rocked back and forth, biting the side of his hand to stay the screams.

The girl tightened her hold about his shoulders. Sit still. Please. It will only make the pain worse.

A torch burned directly beside the couch. When she came to stand beside him, caught by the brighter light of the torch, Stefan took a closer look at his companion.

She was older than he, nearer to the prince in age. Long black hair hung like ribbons of braided coal to below her waist and her eyes reflected the green of her soft dress. A merry smile played about perfect lips and danced in her eyes.

Mendi...? he whispered, the name springing forth unbidden and unrecognized.

Ithneimi endi, inithi thiuveia.

He frowned in confusion. There was another stir of memory deep in his soul, but it was gone like a wayward breath of wind. I don't understand.

You will. When you are stronger. She bent and hugged him swiftly. I'm so glad you are home. We'll talk more later. Here, perhaps this will keep you occupied. It fell out of your pack. Smiling down at him, she handed him the slim volume of ballads. I'll be back this evening. With a swish of skirts, she was gone; leaving him more troubled than before.

Where are the others? For that matter, where am I? The last thing I remember was feeling so utterly helpless when the rock in the forest grated closed before me. Then the elf appeared, and the ground disappeared like smoke beneath my feet. >

He let his head fall back against the cushions. If only I could focus my thoughts!

Restless, he again started to leave the couch, hissing at the flare of agony. His leggings had been slit to the thigh on the left side, and his leg lay bare, with the knee tightly splinted. Once the surge of pain dissipated, he studied the limb with dispassionate detachment.

From ankle to knee, the leg was marred by scar tissue from the hound's attack. His foot twisted to one side, the muscles no longer responding when he tried to straighten it. He probed at the bandage around his knee. The resulting bursts of pain argued the leg was best left alone. Gritting his teeth, he managed to lift it high enough to slip a cushion beneath the knee, before falling back into his pillows once more.

Alone, he let bitterness rise in his throat, twisting his mouth into a resentful line. His life had been ruined that day in the courtyard. He did not regret saving the prince, but he could not help but begrudge the cost.

And now, the leg is damaged further. If it will no longer bear my weight, what am I to do? >

With a sigh, he turned to the book of ballads, striving to take his mind off his leg. He flipped through the pages, scanning lines here and there. A phrase caught his eye and he frowned, stopping to read the ballad more carefully.

The song was written in an ancient style, with unusual dissonances to the chords. He sang it aloud, sounding the tune out to himself as he tried to recreate the archaic rhythms:

An elven lay there was of old,

Of sunstone bound in setting gold,

Of moonstone wondrous to behold,

And bloodstone foretelling tomorrow-

In ancient days when elves were king-

The legends tell of a wondrous thing.

In elven hands, together bring-

And see an end to all sorrow.

But bloodstone was to humans tossed,

While moonstone's healing gifts held cost,

And sunstone's mystic powers, lost,

Are sleeping until the morrow….

There was a whisper of sound outside the curtained entrance. Stefan slipped the book beneath his pillow, blinking away the now familiar rush of vertigo when he strove to sit up straighter. As best he could from the awkward angle, he pulled together the remnants of his leggings to hide the knee. His pride made him keep his scars hidden as much as possible.

The curtain pulled back and an elf entered the room, moving to stand at attention beside the opening. Stefan braced against the headboard of the couch, tensed for whatever was to come.

The newcomer stared straight ahead of him while he intoned, His Majesty, King Andundal Etheraborae. Sweeping the curtain completely open, he bowed as an imposing figure in green and silver strode into the chamber.

Stefan's hands clutched the edges of the couch in white-knuckled desperation. He felt terrified by the stern visage of the king, expecting the punishment he had been dreading since he awoke in this strange place.

King Andundal came to tower above the frightened page, and Stefan cowered against the headboard. An inscrutable expression flickered across the king's face. Then he went down on one knee beside the couch, a gentle smile transforming his austere features.

Twuae liami vieindi, Steavil? he murmured in a soft voice while reaching for Stefan's hand.

M-my name is Stefan, whispered the boy, pulling back further. I do not understand you. Please, I must see my prince.

The light died in the king's eyes. Of course. I will arrange for Prince Roland to be brought to you at once. Do you require anything else?

Stefan shook his head, too numb with fear to reply.

Very well. The king rose to his feet. You remember nothing? he beseeched the boy.

I do not understand you, my lord! Stefan repeated, his voice tinged with panic.

I see. I had so hoped… The king sighed and moved to the doorway. I will send you the prince. Ithneimi endi, ethiae thuathae.

Euae veisthli, Noile, Stefan replied without conscious thought-then wondered where the words came from.

Andundal's smile brought light back to his eyes. You do remember something, my son. You may not be conscious of it yet, but it is there. Perhaps, in time, we shall have you fully with us once more. He swept from the room as grandly as he had come.

Stefan stared after him.

What did the king mean? And what were the words I spoke to the elf? Where did I learn them?

Right now, he had no answers and he felt like a lost child again, alone and terrified of the dark.

~*~

Norfulk stood before a large wrought iron cage beside his ebony throne, toying with Stefan's silver amulet. Tell me, my little friend, what news?

The raven that had dogged the boys along their journey clung to a perch suspended in the cage. It spoke to the sorcerer, in a harsh parody of speech. He lives indeed, my lord. I have seen him.

And where is he? Norfulk purred.

He entered the Forest of Night. The elves will have him now.

No! Norfulk spun on his heel, stalking across the room. I have worked too hard for this. I thought I had destroyed my arrogant cousin at last. This time, I must be sure to do so personally. He crushed the small silver disk in his hand and the fragments fell through his fingers like stardust. Surprise flashed across his face and he stared down at the bits of silver clinging to his glove. Hold on a minute….

How will you get him free from the elves? croaked the raven, flapping his wings to distract the sorcerer. They will not relinquish him willingly; they have their own bone to pick with the prince.

Norfulk shook his head as if to clear it, then answered smoothly, That I shall leave to you, little wizard. After all, we both know you have claws. Norfulk absently fingered a set of thin parallel scars on his cheek. Too bad you are so reluctant to use them. With a wicked laugh, he strode from the room.

The air around the raven shimmered and it shifted its shape. Where the bird had swung, there now slumped the figure of the Edgetown jewelry peddler. He looked after Norfulk with hatred in his sea green eyes, a lock of ebony hair falling across his forehead.

~*~

The chamber which Roland and Collyn were taken to was surprisingly comfortable. The room was ten paces square, with two bunks on one wall and a small wooden table with two stools against the opposite. In one corner, a spring fed into and out of a natural stone basin and a tiny alcove housed privy facilities. If not for the barred door, Collyn could have convinced himself it was a guest suite in a poorer inn, but he knew it was not so.

Despite appearances, a cell is a cell, and the king has good reason to be angry with me. I have earned his displeasure.

Sinking down on the farther bunk, Collyn fought to remain alert, but the strain of two sleepless days caught up with him at last. Exhausted, he lost the fight. Collyn slept, but the sleep was uneasy and filled with dreams of a long ago youth…

It was bitter cold; he hunched over the meager comfort of a tiny fire that barely dented the night's darkness. Moonlight sparkled on the river with its ice-laced edges. A small one-man boat was drawn up to the shore and secured to a low tree branch. There had been a powder dusting of snow earlier, and his threadbare coat did little to keep out the cold.

He stared moodily into the flames, toying with a dagger held in numb hands. He fingered the sharp point thoughtfully. He was so weary of traveling. It had been a long, lonely year since he'd had a home.

He'd roamed the land, trying to forget the circumstances that led to his exile, but without success. As he gazed into the heart of the flames, he saw again the outline of a burning cabin. His soul cried out against the echo of phantom screams.

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Those screams were never far from him. They haunted his dreams and darkened his daylight hours; nothing held them at bay for long.

In the dungeon cell, Collyn shifted in his sleep, a low broken moan slipping free of his iron guard.

He glanced down at the blade in his hand. Its shining surface reflected the firelight with a wicked red gleam. It would be so easy to do. If only he could find the courage.

A soft step behind him caused Collyn to spin in an awkward crouch. The dagger flashed from his hand to quiver in the trunk of a nearby tree. His heart froze when he stared into the eyes of an angry archer with a great horn bow drawn back to his ear.

The archer was taller than he, dressed in green leathers that blended into the night-draped forest in a chiaroscuro of light and shadow, making him hard to see. His black eyes reflected the firelight like two glittering hollows. Raven hair shot with silver framed a pale face twisted with hate. The arrow in his drawn bow was tipped with crystal and trained on Collyn's heart.

The young fisherman dove instinctively to one side as the stranger loosed the string. The arrow struck high in Collyn's shoulder. Pain blazed from the wound, and he rolled onto his back beside the fire, staring up at the archer while he felt the warm blood seeping through his fingers.

As he slept, Collyn's hand cupped protectively over his scarred shoulder.

The stranger nocked a second arrow and Collyn hissed through gritted teeth, Go ahead. Do it! The archer hesitated, a puzzled frown replacing the anger. Collyn whispered, Please.

The newcomer lowered his bow, keeping the arrow nocked. You are young and strong. Why do you wish to die? His voice was like the rippling music of a running brook.

The screams echoed again in his mind and Collyn met his assailant's eye squarely. My home, my family, my honor, all have been taken from me. My life is little enough to have left.

And yet, you dove to avoid my arrow; you attacked an unknown assailant; it seems that you are less willing to die than you think. Moving with caution, he laid the bow down. Let me see that wound.

Collyn pulled away from him. Let it bleed.

'Tis a coward's way out, the other replied, his quiet words charged with meaning.

The young fisherman's jaw tightened and he felt his cheek flush. I am no coward.

The stranger laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. That I believe, or you would not have ventured alone into this wood. It is said to be haunted, you know.

By demons and elves, they say. All one and the sam,e if you ask me, Collyn panted as the stranger probed at the wound.

Appearances can be deceiving, murmured the archer, a tinge of amusement coloring the words. Hold still. This will hurt. He shoved against the arrow until the blood-soaked head exited through the shoulder.

Collyn bit through his lip in an effort not to scream, tasting the hot salt of blood and swallowing hard against a rush of nausea.

I am sorry, the stranger soothed, laying a crimson hand on Collyn's good shoulder. It is necessary. He picked up a burning brand from the small fire and lit the end of the arrow. The feathers burst into flame and Collyn jerked his head away from the blazing shaft. He could feel the heat of the flame on his face, and the acrid odor of singed hair where the burst of flame had caught him unawares.

Take a deep breath, cautioned the archer. This will be worse. He grabbed hold of the protruding arrowhead and jerked the burning shaft down into the bleeding wound to cauterize it.

With an agonized scream, Collyn fainted.

In the narrow bunk, Collyn cried out softly in his sleep at the memory of the pain. In a lifetime that had earned him many scars, he had never felt such torment, before or since.

When Collyn came to his senses, he found himself propped against a soft pack with a clean bandage on his shoulder. The fire had been built up, and the stranger sat on the other side of it, tending his bow with the calm of one at home in the woods.

Collyn caught his breath at his first clear sight of the other's face. The archer's skin was smooth, pale ivory, not just from lack of sun, but a natural coloration. His eyes were solid black, pupil indistinguishable from the iris. The silver in his hair shone red in the firelight.

A half-smile crooked the stranger's lip. What did you expect to find in an elven glade?

Elven...? Collyn's fingers dug into the dirt on either side of him, the resulting pain from his shoulder serving to anchor him to reality. No one who had encountered the elves rumored to haunt the wood ever came out to tell of it.

The stranger's smile broadened. Am I truly the demon you feared?

Collyn gulped, while struggling to sit up. What will you do to me?

For someone who wishes to die, what does it matter?

I-

When it comes down to it, again you choose life. Tell me, what drove you to my wood?

The cabin burned again deep in the heart of the flames. Collyn hung his head, blond hair obscuring his face when he stared down at his hands. There was a fire. Eliesa...my-my wife...I couldn't save her. His voice caught in his throat.

With a heartfelt sob, Collyn turned over in his sleep, burying his head on his crossed arms and whispering Eliesa's name.

There was a sigh from across the fire, and Collyn glanced up through the thatch of hair in his eyes. The elf had buried his own face in his hands. What is it? asked the fisherman in soft curiosity.

The other's shaking hands came down slowly, knotting themselves together in his lap. I, too, had a wife. She was murdered by human marauders at the place men call 'The Lake of Sighs'. He met Collyn's eye. Is it any wonder we distrust the humans?

No.

I am sorry my temper got the better of me. It was not your fault Deveira died, yet you will bear the scar.

I hold no grudge, Collyn replied. At that moment, I would have welcomed death.

And yet you fought it, my friend. It seems your heart and your head are at odds. I, too, toyed with the thought of that release, but to what purpose? His face was an alabaster mask. My death would not return my wife and son, but as long as I have breath, there is hope of avenging them.

A flicker of hope sparked deep in Collyn's soul. If he could give Eliesa peace, perhaps he could find his own.

The elf rose gracefully to his feet. Collyn started to stand, but the other waved him down. Rest here tonight, with my blessing. Tomorrow, take your boat and leave the forest. The river is the only safe passage for a human. You must swear on your honor never to stray from that path again while in this wood, on penalty of death.

Collyn hesitated then nodded his head once. As you command.

If you are disturbed in the night, show them that, the elf nodded at the arrowhead he had pulled from Collyn's shoulder. My men will not shoot before you have a chance to explain. You have the word of Andundal, King of the Starlit Elves. He held out his hand, and Collyn clasped it in wonder.

Collyn Silverbrook, your majesty, he breathed.

Fare thee well, Collyn Silverbrook. For your sake, may we never meet again.

Still deep in sleep, Collyn's hand strayed to the crystal arrowhead hanging by its thong about his neck. It was marked with Andundal's rune.

Now would come the reckoning.

~*~

Roland smiled down at Collyn when the trader clutched at the amulet about his neck even in sleep. In the short time of their acquaintance, the prince had learned to trust Collyn implicitly, and value his advice. He had been taking the rafter for granted.

How long did Collyn go without sleep for us?

Thinking on it, Roland realized with a start that the other sat guard two nights in a row with no complaints.

With a sigh, the prince sank down on the unoccupied bunk, his head against the stone wall. Look at me, he sighed aloud. Crown prince of the realm and here I am, imprisoned in a subterranean cavern by a people I never even knew existed outside of children's stories. What a fool's venture this has turned out to be.

By now, news of the raft's loss could very well have arrived in Woodbridge Point. Father will be beside himself with worry. And what if Stefan's dream was truly one of his visions? What if Father is ill? By the Flames, I have made such a mess of things!>

I should never have been so impatient! he muttered in frustration, pounding his fist against his thigh. How could I have ruined everything? If only I hadn't tried to cut short my journey.

There was a noise outside the room, and Roland leapt to his feet, facing the door. The heavy oak panel swung open, and Dèodar appeared in the doorway.

My lord, the King has sent for you. Would you come with me, please?

Of course. Roland glanced uneasily at the sleeping Collyn. With him out of the cell, the elves would be free to deal with the yeoman however they wished. He knew from what was said in the throne room the king held an unknown grudge against the trader.

Dèodar followed his eye. I give you my personal bond he shall be unharmed, my lord, he murmured, one hand to his breast.

Roland nodded.

Of all the elves I've seen so far, Dèodar alone I feel I can trust.

Except for the princess, of course.

He followed the warder back to the throne room. The king was deep in thought when they entered the chamber; chin propped on one elegant hand while he stared into the far corner of the now empty room.

Without the scattered groups of elves, the room had an air of bleak loneliness, despite the wealth of its furnishings. The crystal lamps were extinguished, and guttering torches lit the room.

The walls of the hall faded into obscurity beyond the flicker of the torches, and the vaulted ceiling rose into darkness overhead. Only the dais upon which the thrones were set glowed with light.

Andundal's face was shadowed by more than darkness as his eyes looked beyond the room into whatever he saw in his mind. Roland was struck by the similarities between Andundal and his father.

Is it the weight of the crown that brings the seams of care to their faces and the silver to their hair? Neither seems particularly old, but both look years beyond their age. I am not eager to be king.

The king sighed, covering his eyes with one hand. My son…what new game are the gods playing now? he murmured.

It was obvious the words were not meant for Roland's ears, and he felt uncomfortable for overhearing them.

My lord king, announced Dèodar, his highness, Prince Roland.

Andundal started out of his reverie. Yes, of course. Leave us, Dèodar.

As you command.

The door slid closed behind the young guard, and Andundal sighed. My son is asking for you. He holds you to be master, not equal as is his birthright, yet he cares more for your safety than his own. The king rose to his feet, descending the dais to stand before Roland, with hands clasped behind.

Roland met the king's gaze without trembling. While he has been my page, he has also been my friend. He has been treated with naught but kindness. I have no brother, but Stefan has held that place as his.

Stefan...even the name is so close. Why was it chosen?

When he was found beside the Lake of Sighs, he was but a babe. No one could understand what he was saying, or recreate the speech, but the closest anyone could come to what appeared to be his name was 'Stefan.' It was not long before he spoke our language. We always assumed the other was a child's babbling, my lord. We never knew it to be another tongue.

He was found at Desolation Lake? The king's voice died to a whisper. What cruel irony. Andundal's face grew shadowed and he turned away from the prince, sinking down onto his throne. We are but a handful of people, the remnants of a once proud race. This keep is our last outpost, but once there were elves in all the woodlands. My queen, Deveira, was from the royal house of Moonrise Wood, known to you as Dark Wood. After Steavil was born, she wanted to visit her father. I...I was too occupied to attend her. She postponed her journey several times.

Finally, when the boy was five, she received word her father was ill, and decided to go alone. She felt she could no longer wait-

-Excuse me, my lord. When Stefan was found, he could have been no more than three.

A brief smile crossed Andundal's face, as if the prince had said something witty. You forget, my boy. Steavil is not human. He was always small for his age, and quick to adapt. Does he look the fifteen you have thought him to be? Our rate of aging is different from your own. Although he looks but thirteen, he is almost twenty.

Twenty! But that is impossible! Roland found himself at a loss for words. His relationship with Stefan was always one of a slightly patronizing older brother. To find the page was the elder disconcerted him.

The king nodded. It is true. My queen set off with a twenty-man escort, Andundal continued. Mendana was taken ill, and chose to remain home at the last moment. Somewhere between my borders and Moonrise Wood, the party was ambushed. The bodies were found in the mountains ringing Desolation Lake. We never discovered who was responsible. My wife-my wife was murdered, the escort butchered. No sign was found of the boy, but then, it was very…difficult…to be sure.

The shock led to the death of Deveira's father, and the Moonrise elves were left leaderless. They were few, their kingdom dying. They came to join us here in Starlit Wood, abandoning their homes. I spoke truth when I told you this was our only stronghold. I have a handful of subjects here. No more than fifty remain of a race that once roamed the entire land.

And my son, who was, and shall be, my heir, asks only for 'my prince,' as if he were a common servant. He has lost all memory of his heritage, although deep inside him I feel he does remember. He is a prince! Why can he not think like one?

My lord king, replied Roland, his voice thoughtful, if you are truly seeking an answer to that question, I can only venture a guess. For two-thirds of his life, Stefan has been my page. He was a prince for a very short time in comparison, and those years were very long ago. He needs to adjust to the change of fortune. Shall I speak to him?

And say what? What can you say to make him the king he should be?

Roland stood in stunned silence, suddenly realizing something that would never have struck him before this ill-fated journey began. He will be a great king, Lord Andundal. Much better than I. He has lived among the people of Woodbridge Point like an equal. He understands their problems in a way I can never hope to do.

He will not be king of Woodbridge Point. His subjects will not be human.

But the problems will be the same. Our peoples are not so very different, my lord.

Andundal glanced at him, his expression speculative. Perhaps you are right, little prince. But you are forgetting a most important fact. To rule his kingdom, Steavil must leave yours. He rose to his feet once more. Dèodar will show you to my son. He called out to the young guard in the hallway.

Dèodar stepped into the throne room, bowing to his king.

Alianiae, deastia threami oth ionavo an ethiae thuathae.

On twiae stimarimi. The warder nodded and started from the chamber, gesturing Roland before him.

As Roland started from the room, his thoughts were churning. Andundal had given him something serious to think about. Whenever he thought about life after he ascended the throne, Stefan had always been at his shoulder to counsel and advise.

Things will be different now. The king is right. For Stefan to fulfill his destiny, we will have to separate.

And knowing the separation would be for life cut him to the quick.

But it must be so. The boy's-no, the man's-heritage is to be king, not serve at the stirrup of another. >

Roland felt ashamed of the servitude he had placed upon the other, albeit unwittingly.

The only way to make it up to Stefan is to convince him to take his rightful throne. I must make him see reason.

With the decision came a lightness of heart that told him it was the right one.

It is not like we will never see each other again. This can only serve to unite the two kingdoms. The uneasy truce that exists between our peoples can be ended in a true peace. Why, the elves will be able to return to Dark Wood if they desire. The peoples will live and work side by side without fear.

Roland's bootheels clicked faster against the stone as he got caught up in the momentum of his thoughts.

There is so much we could teach each other! How those lovely crystal lamps would intrigue Father. Just think, a light source that appears perpetual. And the art of weaving such beautiful silks. Why, Woodbridge Point could become the envy of the world with such wares to sell.

He ticked the points off on his fingers while he hurried down the corridor. He was dimly aware of an indulgent smile on Dèodar's lips as the elf lengthened his stride to keep up.

And what of the fascinating elven tongue? Father loves languages so. He will be so interested to hear them speak. Just wait until I tell him!

Suddenly, Roland's excitement vanished like a wayward breath of smoke, and he stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment, he had forgotten he was still a prisoner to these beings, and the choice was not his.

Even if I am free to return home, what will I find there?

His heart sank when he realized he might never see his father alive again.

I must return to Woodbridge Point. If there is even a chance I can thwart Norfulk's scheme, I have to try! >

Still…the thought of the elves and the humans working in concert, sharing and learning from each other…it is a beautiful dream, indeed.

They reached a doorway, and Dèodar murmured, Here is the chamber, my lord. I am sure the prince will be very glad to see you.

Roland nodded and took a deep breath. Calling out a soft greeting from the hallway, he waited for an answer from within.

Come in, replied a quiet voice.

Roland edged back the curtain, poking his head around the drapery.

Prince Roland! Stefan exclaimed, stretching out his hands. Please, come in!

How are you, my friend?

Much better, my lord. The Lady Mendana is a powerful healer. My head throbs very little now. I think 'tis nearly mended. If not for my knee, I would be fit to attend you-

You shall not attend me any longer, Stefan, Roland murmured. His face lit with a gentle smile as he perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar Stefan's elevated knee.

Stefan's eyes grew huge in his pale face. Have I done something wrong, my prince? Or is it my knee? I'll not slow you any more than usual, I swear it. 'Tis the ruined leg that was broken.

No, my friend. It isn't that. Roland met Stefan's eye squarely. You cannot serve me because your first duty is to your own people.

But, my prince-

And I am not your prince. The heir of one kingdom does not bow to that of another. You are your own prince, Stefan, and you need to get used to that.

What are you saying, my lord?

My name is Roland. You need no longer call me 'lord'. He flashed a dazzling smile. Your father has told me much about your past we did not know.

My father…?

The king.

~*~

Stefan leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Emotions warred within him, and he fought to regain the control that had always sustained him. Years of damping down his feelings served him now, and he had soon calmed himself. Is it true, then? Everyone calls me 'lord' and 'your highness.' And memories keep surfacing from somewhere I do not recognize. Especially one of a beautiful lady, much like the princess, but older.

Your mother, Roland affirmed, his voice soft and gentle.

Mother.... The word was like a prayer. Where is she?

She is dead, Stefan. She was murdered near the Lake of Sighs.

A scene flashed through Stefan's memory like lightning: a party of travelers resting under the stars, talking quietly among themselves. Then, with the cries of carrion birds, a pack of raiders descending out of the night. A struggle...death all around him...a woman's scream...then silence. Calling out desperately for his mother. The sensation of overwhelming terror as he ran. Then darkness falling in a seamless shroud.

He remembered awakening an infinite time later at the bottom of a towering stone formation in a nest of bramble bushes, scratched and bruised, with his mother's final gift clenched tightly in his small fist. He held on to that little silver disk through everything that happened to him until the night on the raft, so similar to that long ago massacre.

No! he cried out, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes to crush the memories he had denied for so long.

What is it? asked Roland anxiously. Should I call someone?

No. I will be fine. Stefan felt he had aged ten years in as many seconds. I remember, he choked, his voice a hollow whisper.

~*~

Roland studied Stefan closely, watching the war of emotions within the other. As Andundal said, he looked scarcely thirteen human years, still with an almost childlike cast to his narrow features. Yet all at once, as if the elven prince had shed a long worn disguise, there was ageless wisdom in the depths of his eyes, revealing a spirit far older than his years. Thinking on it, Roland realized with a shock that the wisdom had always been there, shining out whenever he needed Stefan most. He had come to rely on that spirit to keep him in line, trusting Stefan to be his conscience.

What do you remember? he prompted, his voice gentle.

Everything: who I am, where I came from, Father, Mendana, my language...Mother. It all rushed back to me. I have suppressed it for too long. Stefan sighed. His words were weary, as if he were bearing the weight of those rushing years on his slender shoulders. And now that I do remember, I wish to the gods I did not.

What happened, Stef-Steavil? Roland stumbled over the pronunciation of the unfamiliar name.

Stefan gave him a crooked ghost of his normal smile. Please, Roland, I have become accustomed to 'Stefan'. I would prefer to keep it.

As you wish, my friend. Can you tell me, or would you rather not speak of it?

No, it is time to tell the story. But I would rather tell it only once. Will you bring my father and Mendana? I-I do not think I could face it twice.

Of course. I will go at once. Roland rose from the bed. Will you be all right?

The elf was preternaturally pale, all color leached from his cheeks by his memories. The eyes he turned toward the prince were dead black. I will be fine. It will just...take some time to accept it all. He favored Roland with another wan imitation of his usual grin. Unlike you, I am unused to being a prince.

I will bring your father, Roland murmured, reaching out to squeeze Stefan's shoulder. I am here for you, if you need me.

Stefan laid a hand on his arm. I thank you, my friend. I am sure I shall, in the days to come.

With a nod, Roland left the room. Dèodar waited in the hallway, a discreet distance from the chamber doorway.

I must see the king, Roland told the waiting guard. The prince is asking for his father.

The prince? Hope bloomed on the elf's face, and Roland nodded.

He has regained his memory.

Eostivil be praised, breathed Dèodar. I shall take you to the king at once.

~*~

Mendana sat before her dressing mirror, running a brush through the unbound river of her hair with thoughtful, even strokes. There was something soothing in the repetition, and she definitely needed soothing. Her gaze wandered from the reflection in the mirror to roam about the familiar room. The walls were hung with the same bright tapestries that graced Stefan's room, but hers bore images not of trees and unicorns, but of the sea. Blues and greens dominated the room. The frame of the mirror and the bedstead were gilt seashells, and the bed was spread with shimmering blue velvet, which brought to mind a still tidal pool.

Beside the mirror stood a small silver and gold flask, and Mendana set the brush on the table to pick up the vial. She removed the stopper and took a deep breath. The scent of lavender wafted up about her and she closed her eyes. The perfume had been her mother's. It gave Mendana comfort whenever she was in need of it. She dabbed it on her wrists and temples, massaging away the beginnings of a headache.

She picked up the brush again and renewed her steady strokes. The measured repetition helped calm nerves that were definitely jangled. A ghost from her past had come back to life tonight. She had long ago resigned herself to the thought that she would never see her beloved little brother again.

Now, from nowhere, he has returned. Not that the return is unwelcome, but it is a great shock. Particularly considering the wretched condition Steavil is in.

Her face hardened into marble. The injuries tore her heart.

I have done what I can, but his poor leg will never fully recover; and a split skull such as he suffered would have killed the human prince, had Roland been struck instead.

At the thought of Roland, her hand froze in mid-stroke.

He intrigues me so… He is different from the tall, pale elves of my kin. The fire of his hair shines like the sunset, and the green glitter of his eyes when he looked to me for help…

Blood rushed to her cheeks. There was something special about the man. It set her pulse racing just to think of him.

Sighing impatiently at her foolishness, Mendana quickly re-braided her hair into its practical plaits and smoothed the soft green folds of her gown.

There is work to do. No time to sit and daydream like this. >

She picked up a covered wicker basket, and went to check on the medical supplies. She wanted to make sure everything needed to make her brother's recovery as swift and easy as possible was readily to hand.

As she stood before the supply cabinet moments later, Mendana tapped her foot irritably. She peeked into a low wooden box.

I need to make a run above for herbs and other botanicals soon. The supply of birch leaves is nearly exhausted, and the infusion is useful for headache. Lavender has other uses than perfume; it will aid in Steavil's healing also. Horsetails for bleeding. If I am collecting anyway, I could use some fir…and I am running dangerously low on foxglove and witch hazel.

Mendana sighed, pushing back the tendrils of hair at her temples that were too short to catch up in her braids. It was so tiring being responsible for the healing of the entire clan, but there was no one else.

And it is not so difficult a task as it once would have been. There are distressingly few of our people left.

She pulled down a large basket and counted her stock of bandages. She had gone through several strips caring for Steavil's injuries, but there should be more remaining. With a frown, Mendana recounted the rolls of linen one more time.

Where has my carefully rolled store gone? >

Ruathia-

She turned at the sound of Andundal's voice. Yes, Noile?

Steavil is calling for us. Prince Roland says he has regained his memory.

For the first time, she noticed the human standing behind her father and her heart leapt. She fought to keep composure. That is wonderful, Father. Shall we go to him?

Andundal nodded and led the way out of the room. Roland stepped aside and gestured her ahead.

Thank you, she murmured, taking care to keep her voice formal when she brushed past him.

He fell into step beside her. I am glad he has regained his memory, your highness. He deserves to know his heritage.

Please call me Mendana, my lord. Her voice was husky with unspoken thoughts, and she inwardly cursed her transparency.

Only if you will call me Roland, lady, replied the prince.

As you wish.

Your home is beautiful, Mendana. The sound of her name from his lips sent a thrill through her, and she had to force herself to concentrate on his next words. The crystals are spectacular. I've never seen anything like them. How do they glow?

Magic, she returned, risking an impish glance at him as she smiled.

Before he could reply, they reached Stefan's room and she gratefully ducked inside the curtain, with Roland at her heels.

~*~

Stefan lay back among the cushions. Isolated images kept popping into his head: playing with his older sister at the feet of the thrones, hearing his mother laugh, looking up to find her watching them in fond amusement; riding double with his father and learning to handle a horse almost before he could walk. Now that the gates were open, the memories came flooding back in a rushing torrent.

The first thing I remember is lying in a velvet-lined cradle and reaching up for a spinning golden bauble…how I laughed when it caught the light-it flung reflections around the walls like stars. I could not have been more than a year of age.

His hand reached out at the memory, as if to catch the spinning bauble. There was something important about the pendant lying just beyond his grasp.

I remember playing in one of the forest glades one day, lying flat on my stomach and watching a line of insects bustling through the bracken. Then someone called my name, and I looked up to find Mother and Father standing arm in arm under a towering oak tree. I ran to meet them. Father scooped me up off the ground and swept me around in a circle until I felt like I was flying. We were all so happy then…and Father's hair was jet black, without a trace of silver.

Stefan tossed restlessly among the cushions. He would give his soul to move like that again.

There was a time when Mother sat before a stone hearth, my head on her lap, while she stroked my hair and sang softly in the elven tongue. She wore a soft russet gown like autumn leaves. Mendana sat cross-legged on the floor beside us, writing on a piece of parchment with a goose quill pen, while the firelight reflected from her shining plaits.

He sat up against the backboard, burying head in hands. So many memories.

I remember Dèodar kneeling beside me and fitting an arrow to bowstring, patiently showing me how to aim and shoot. It was such a thrill when I hit the target for the first time…

The memory of a quiet elf with laughing eyes and a ready smile adjusting his fingering on the neck of a lute made him catch his breath with a gasp.

I was taught to play! I remember now…but something happened…>

…and the rest of the memory would still not surface.

The curtain swept open without a hail, and Andundal strode in swiftly, closely followed by Mendana. Roland hung back beside the doorway.

My son...? whispered the king.

Stefan held out his hands. Noile.

Andundal's stern face was transformed by a gentle smile at the sound of the elven term, and he was beside the couch instantly, enfolding Stefan in his arms. The young prince returned the pressure eagerly.

Father, he repeated, his voice a mere whisper.

I never thought I would see you again, my dearest son, replied the king, stroking Stefan's hair.

The boy clung to the elf with all his might. For as long as he could recall, he had been envious of Roland for Frederick's love. He had been starved for a family of his own. I cannot believe Fate has brought me back to you, he mumbled, comforted by his father's strength. Oh, Noile…. He felt tears gathering, and buried his face in Andundal's velvet robe.

Shh, euae thuathae, the king soothed, we are here now. We will not fail you again.

Mendana stepped to the far side of the couch, and Stefan gulped, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes with a shaky laugh. He reached out to take his sister's hand, unwilling to let go of his father completely. She sank onto a stool beside the bed, never dropping his hand.

Roland edged toward the doorway, but Stefan called out to him. Please, Roland, come closer. I would like for you to hear this as well.

The human prince sat on the floor near the bed.

Looking around him at his family, both natural and adopted, Stefan took a deep breath and began. This will be hard-for me to tell and for you to hear-but it must be told. You have a right to know all, Father.

Go on, thuathae, I am ready to hear. I have waited so long to know.

We rode toward Moonrise Wood, continued Stefan. It was the night of the full moon, and Mother was impatient. She feared she would not be in time to say good-bye. We rode until well past sunset before we finally stopped for the night. We had supper around the campfire, and Raethan began to play. I remember drowsing on and off while I sat at mother's side. It was past midnight, and the moon was beginning to fall, when we were beset by a band of riders. They were dressed in solid black upon black horses, almost impossible to see in the darkness, even with night-sight.

The raiders were armed with crossbows and swords. Before our archers could bring their weapons into play, they were slaughtered. Mother hid me in a cave, then she…I-I can't remember-the next thing I remember is starting to run. It seemed like forever. Then I tripped and fell.

That is all I know until I awoke sometime later. He trembled violently, reliving the terror, and his father tightened his grip on the hand he held.

I was alone. It was cold and dark. I knew not how I got there or from where I came. All I knew was that I was tired and hungry. I wandered for hours. I suppose I must have partially circled the lake. That would explain why Frederick's party found me and not the bodies. I had fallen asleep, and his men awakened me with their horseplay.

I remembered nothing of what I witnessed, only my name and a few words for necessities. Even those were soon forgotten when the court taught me new ones. That is all I remember, even now. I'm sorry I cannot tell you more, Father.

Andundal's head was bowed, and Stefan felt a hot tear splash upon his hand. He squeezed his father's hand in turn, and the king smiled up at him gratefully. Thank you for what you have given me, my son. She died bravely, as I knew in my heart. He drew a shuddering breath. I must ask you one thing more. What of the talisman? Do you recall anything about it?

Something stirred in Stefan's memory and an image flashed across his mind. It was pretty. I liked to look through it at a light. It was like looking into the heart of a golden fire. And the gryphon looked so proud and free. I remember gazing at the fire through it after dinner. But I don't know what became of it.

I think I do. Roland reached behind his head, undoing the clasp of the chain hanging inside his jerkin. Is this the talisman of which you speak? he asked, pulling the gryphon pendant from around his neck and rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He held out the chain to the king.

Where did you get that? demanded Andundal, his voice harsh with unspoken accusation.

I purchased it in the market at Edgetown. It appealed to me, so I bought it. He fell to one knee, handing the chain to Andundal. Take it if it belongs to you. I knew nothing of its importance.

The elven lord lifted it from his hand with a reverent sigh, murmuring, It is the symbol of our house. When a male heir is born, he is given the gryphon. He placed the chain around his son's neck. I return it to its rightful place, he smiled. Then his face fell, haunted by a shadow. Once it had a companion, which was worn by Deveira, but we will never reclaim that. It would be too much to hope.

What was it? asked Roland, his tone curious.

There was a second pendant, much finer. It was the device of Moonrise Wood. The disk was of scribed silver, a half-moon with a moonstone held between the horns of the crescent to complete the circle. It was said to endow its possessor with great powers of healing, and it is true that Deveira was a master healer. It was also said that it would bring naught but pain to anyone of dishonorable alignment who touched it. Whoever murdered my queen will have found little joy in it. But, I fear, it is lost to us forever.

Perhaps not, murmured Roland thoughtfully, if, as you say, the thief will have had no joy from the theft, it may be easier than you anticipate to find the amulet. Give me leave to search for the Moonstone.

Why should you care to do so?

Roland flushed, and Stefan saw his glance dart swiftly to the princess and back to Andundal. I would like to repay Stefan in some measure for the debt I owe him, lord, and to gain back favor in your eyes for the sons of men. We are not all villains.

Where would you begin? asked the king with a frown.

Perhaps there is a clue at the Lake.

Stefan's heart fell. The parting would come much sooner than he had expected. He had hoped for time to become accustomed to the idea, but if Roland were to leave on a quest, there was no way he could follow. Not with his ruined knee. Such an injury was known to incapacitate a stronger man than he for a year, if not permanently. There was a good possibility this new damage would render his leg totally useless.

You have my permission to leave the keep, Andundal consented at last, nodding his head in acquiescence. Though I fear your quest will be useless. It has been too long. If it lay amid the carnage, it is long ago lost. He sighed. 'Twas once said that the Sunstone and Moonstone were joined, as were the elven houses. That the one could be used to find the other if need arose. But I never saw any evidence that this was true. 'Tis likely just another story for children round the fire.

I crave one further boon, my lord, requested Roland, bowing his head.

What do you require?

May I plead for Collyn Silverbrook? He is a good man, my liege. Give him leave to return to Woodbridge Point and warn my father.

Stefan reached out to touch the king's sleeve. Roland speaks true, Noile. Collyn has offered far more aid than hurt. I forced him to help me into the Forest when I should have listened to him and stayed abed. Please do not let King Frederick be endangered merely to punish Collyn for my foolishness.

Andundal's mouth set in a hard line. We had an old bargain, Master Silverbrook and I. It is a private matter. He made me a promise, and he has broken it. I cannot forgive him that. He knew the price it would exact.

For the first time, Mendana spoke from her place beside Stefan's couch. Then send your own messenger to warn the prince's father, and let Master Silverbrook have this chance to redeem himself. The quest itself will prove his mettle. A man without honor cannot touch the Moonstone. This will prove his worth. It is my birthright which is to be sought, and I command Collyn Silverbrook as my champion.

Aye, my lord, Roland agreed. Let him accompany me on the journey.

Very well, Andundal scowled. He may go with you. But Dèodar shall go as well, to keep an eye on both of you.

I accept your condition, my king. Roland stood and bowed, before exiting the room.

Stefan let his head fall back against the headboard, jaw grinding in impotent disgust. Some king I will make-the Lame Monarch, unable to walk his own kingdom.

You are tired, my son, Andundal remarked, his quiet voice brooking no argument as he rose to his feet. We will leave you now. Come, ruathia. He held out his hand to Mendana.

She bent to kiss Stefan's cheek, whispering, All will be well, inithi thiuveia. Do not worry.

Stefan looked up at her with a grateful smile. As you say, ethiae riuveia. He squeezed her hand. Noile, please, don't forget to send a warning to King Frederick. He will be frantic about Roland's disappearance. And don't let the others leave without saying good-bye.

Do not worry, Andundal replied, unknowingly echoing Mendana's words. He smiled. I doubt Roland would do so under direct orders. He is headstrong, your little prince.

Stefan felt his cheeks flush. It is his greatest fault. I try to curb it, but-

It is no longer your concern, murmured the king. Ithneimi endi. With a bow of his head, he led Mendana from the chamber.

Stefan stared after them, his heart bleak when he contemplated the truth of Andundal's words. How well he knew the prince was no longer his charge.

I have found a kingdom, but lost the only friends I have ever known. Is it a worthy trade?

Chapter Five

Dèodar led Roland back toward the cell, words spilling over each other like those of a wide-eyed child in his excitement about the expedition to come. I have rarely been outside this forest except when we came across the mountains from Moonrise Wood, and that journey was at night. I hear there are vast expanses where no trees grow. Is this truly so?

The prince laughed at the elf's enthusiasm. You'll see soon enough. Be patient. He glanced at the other with a speculative frown. The guard appeared to be little older than he, but after what the king told him, he realized appearances could be deceptive. How did you become a warder, Dèodar?

My father was Chief Warden in Moonrise Wood, replied the elf. His head lifted, and his voice filled with pride. When we fled that sanctuary to come to Starlit Wood, I was seventeen. He petitioned the king and my lord Andundal allowed me to join the guard. I was the youngest ever to be granted that privilege. Most posts go to men of at least fifty. His hands moved in eloquent counterpoint to his words. Dèodar was rarely still for more than a breath.

If you were seventeen when the exodus occurred, mused Roland, then you are- He stopped dead in his tracks, turning to the warder in astonishment.

Thirty-one of your years, my lord, answered the other with a laugh. You will grow accustomed to such surprises.

Roland shook his head, continuing down the hallway with his boot heels clicking off the stone. Our peoples are so similar, and yet so very different. For example, how can you stand to live beneath the ground, away from the sunlight?

I can't. That's why I am a warder. We're here, my lord. The elf turned the key in the lock, and swung the door open.

Collyn sat up on his bunk as the panel swept open. There was an expression of calm resignation on his face as he turned toward the doorway.

Get up, Collyn! called the prince. We have much to do. We leave at sunset.

Leave? For once Collyn's stoicism deserted him, hope lighting his face. Stefan?

Is well. His head is just as hard as ever, Roland replied with a fond smile. But he broke his knee when he fell. The smile faded into a frown. 'Twas his left. It will likely finish the leg.

If the Princess Mendana is tending him, broke in Dèodar, it has a valid chance of recovery. She has the healing gift. She may even be able to correct the old damage to some extent.

Roland studied the elf. You seem to know a great deal about what occurs in the palace for a mere warder, Dèodar. His voice reflected his curiosity.

My father was Queen Deveira's elder brother, answered the elf with a shrug. Steavil and Mendana are my cousins. The princess has confided in me since she was a tiny girl.

I don't understand. If your father was the heir to Moonrise Wood-

I never said he was the heir. I merely said he was a prince. That did not make him king on Grandfather's death. Deveira would have become queen. With her death, Mendana was next in line. Technically, she is queen of Moonrise Wood, but there is no longer a kingdom to rule.

Roland sat upon his bunk, leaning back against the wall. I don't understand.

Dèodar perched comfortably on the edge of the table, arms wrapped about a bent knee. For centuries, the kingdoms of Starlit and Moonrise Woods have been intertwined. The control of Starlit falls to the eldest male heir, that of Moonrise to the female. My grandfather was king because he had no sisters. It is not that complicated. Is it so different in your kingdoms?

We have only one kingdom, and one Royal House. I am sole heir in the direct line. If I were to die or disappear, my cousin Norfulk would become king at Father's death.

Would he be a good king?

No! answered Collyn vehemently.

Roland and Dèodar both stared at him in surprise. What makes you so sure? asked the prince.

Collyn's eyes were stormy as he responded with a voice harsh with bitterness. Roland had never seen the big man display such emotion, not even when he spoke of Jarome's death. I have been to many places in my lifetime, few of them by choice. Once I was a fisherman out of Fangspur Cove, barely out of my teens and but six moons married. Eliesa was expecting our first child. Norfulk the Ravager took it all away from me. He was fifteen when his father died suddenly, some whispered mysteriously, and he inherited the castle men now call Keep Opprobrium.

Collyn rose to his feet and began to pace, as if he could remove the pain of his past through action. The click of his heels in the confined chamber was like the restless snapping of fingers.

The land below the Lake of Sighs is held in Norfulk's iron fist, and his influence creeps outward daily. The plain is barren and desolate, and little will grow there. It is said this is a result of Norfulk's sorcery. You may think there exists but one kingdom, my liege, but no one in Fangspur Cove would agree with you. The big man whirled to face Roland, jabbing his finger at the prince for emphasis. Believe me, lord, no one in those lands dares acknowledge allegiance to any but the Black Lion. He swept his hand before him in a gesture of negation.

Roland was struck again by the vehemence of Collyn's emotions as the trader continued, But I was young and foolish at the time, and he was a mere boy. I refused to give him the lion's share of my catch. I told him my loyalty belonged to King Frederick and I would tithe to no other monarch.

Collyn's hand rose to his lips, as if to stop the words that were to come. He gave a ragged cough and wiped a line of sweat from his lip before resuming his story. One day, when my boat was out on the water, his men torched my cabin. The fire could be seen from the fishing grounds, and I raced for home, but it was too late. My neighbors didn't dare put out the flames. His voice sank to a grating whisper. Even though the doors and windows were boarded shut before the fire began, with Eliesa inside. The final words were almost a moan.

Roland felt his heart contract. How can Collyn possibly maintain his inner calm with such tragedy in his past?

The prince gulped, picturing the scene in his mind's eye. Collyn, I don't know what to say.

It was a long time ago, my lord, mumbled the big man, sinking down on his bunk and staring at his hands. I picked up where I could and moved on. A wan smile flickered across his face as he told Dèodar, I've seen your Moonrise Wood. It was a beautiful place, though there is silence now beneath the trees. It helped me to heal the wounds on my soul, and taught me a great deal about myself.

I have scaled the mountains surrounding the Lake of Sighs, and rafted from sea to sea along the Great River. I tended a tavern in River City and sailed along the outer coast to Sailor's Wood. But no matter where I traveled, the Black Lion's men ferreted out my steps.

He leapt to his feet again, resuming his pacing as if afraid to stay in one place, even within the shelter of the elven stronghold. For a time, I was safe within the anonymity of Overlake, but four moons ago, I saw the dogs of the Lion sniffing about the streets. He slammed the flat of his hand against the rock wall. Roland could see the frustration in every line of the big man's body. I had to move on yet again. I cashed in what little I had and started over. Collyn continued to pace, as if to illustrate his words.

Dèodar listened in solemn silence to the trader's recitation, his expressive features mirroring the yeoman's pain. His sympathy was all the more eloquent for its lack of platitudes.

Collyn murmured, I found a small farm outside of Woodbridge Point, but the land had gone fallow and I could not plant this season. The taxes were more than I had anticipated, which drove me into Woodbridge Point looking for work.

The rest you know, my prince. I hired on with Captain Jarome for the season, hoping to raise the tax money before true winter fell. Mine has been an unremarkable life, save for the destruction caused by the Lion, Collyn shrugged, but can you see why I argue so strongly against Norfulk's rule?

How could I not? answered the prince, deeply disturbed by the yeoman's story. And don't worry about the taxes, Collyn, he continued, his voice soft as he rose to lay a tentative hand on the farmer's broad shoulder. I waive their payment. You have more than earned the exemption.

When we return home, my prince, I'll remind you of that promise. Where do we go at sunset? The trader seemed eager to change the subject, and the prince respected the wish.

We have a quest, my friend! Roland cried, crossing to the table to include Dèodar in his sweeping gesture. The three of us are to search out an artifact lost near where Father found Stefan as a boy.

Collyn's face grew still as death. Where was the child found?

On the shores of Desolation Lake- faltered Dèodar, his youthful face registering the same shock that struck Roland even as Collyn completed the thought.

-The maw of the Black Lion.

Surely his influence doesn't range so far! Roland protested, trying to deny what he knew in his heart to be true. Opprobrium is two days away from the Lake of Sighs, and a range of mountains stands between them.

Norfulk's spies are everywhere, my prince, Collyn warned. Even in Woodbridge itself.

I refuse to accept that! Roland exploded, feeling the hot blood rush to his head. He was furious at the thought of spies within his very home.

Why do you think the raft was attacked? Why this trip? Do you seriously think it was a coincidence? the trader asked.

His implacable logic only angered Roland further, because it made such chilling sense.

Someone knew you were on the river, and good men lost their lives because of it. Do not make the mistake of underestimating your enemy, my lord. Norfulk Roderickson is the most dangerous man in the kingdom, and he wants you dead. With luck, he thinks he has succeeded. Take care that he keeps that misconception. It is your best defense against him-and your strongest weapon.

Roland cupped his hands under the rivulet of water in the corner of the cell. The liquid was cool against his flushed face as he bathed burning cheeks. It tasted faintly of minerals, though not unpleasantly so, when he sipped from his hands to calm jangled nerves.

Collyn's words shook the prince to the depths of his soul.

Is Norfulk's influence truly so pervasive? It was a sobering thought.>

Come, my friends, Dèodar murmured, slipping down from the table with the unconscious grace of the elves. There is much to prepare.

Roland was grateful for the distraction. Lead on, Sir Elf.

After you, inithio ionavo, replied Dèodar, with a grand gesture toward the door.

What was that? asked Roland, instantly suspicious.

The elf's laughter rang against the stone walls. Do not worry. It was not derogatory. I merely called you 'little prince' in my tongue.

I see. So I could greet Stefan in his own language! exclaimed Roland, delighted by the prospect.

In that case, the correct form is 'inithi ionavae', replied his teacher.

And why is it different? asked the prince, his curiosity aroused.

Because he is an elf. And the princess would be 'inithia ionavia', in case you were interested, continued Dèodar with a wicked grin, because she is an elven female. Although I would not advise the 'little' in her case, unless you wish to feel the sharp edge of her tongue.

It is all so confusing, sighed Roland.

Not really, the elf replied, his tone merry. There were once many of your people who spoke with us in our own tongue, but whereas we remembered what was taught to us, the humans have forgotten. I would be happy to teach you if you would care to learn.

Roland thought of the princess and how her lovely eyes would sparkle if he could complement her in her own beautiful language. Could you really teach me?

Even an addlepate like you should be able to learn. The warder shrugged.

Roland felt a spark of anger, then realized the elf was merely teasing. He flashed his infectious grin. 'Tis a good thing I need not be wise to study, with a jester for a tutor.

Dèodar threw back his head and filled the corridor with laughter. Well said, entheiro-'friend'- He clapped Roland on the shoulder as he led his companions through a doorway and into a room filled with the savory smells of roasting meats and drying herbs.

Roland's mouth watered and, to his chagrin, his stomach grumbled its protest over the way he had neglected it of late. He studied the room with keen interest, comparing its compact proportions to the cavernous kitchens of his own castle. The cooking staff at Woodbridge Castle fed the needs of over two hundred servants and guardsmen daily. The size of the chamber underscored yet again the fact that the elves were dwindling in number.

Dèodar winked at them and threaded his way through the kitchen to a tall woman with nut-brown hair in braids that coiled in an elaborate pattern atop her head. Sylvania, my sweeting, he wheedled, his voice coaxing, have you anything for hungry men who go to seek adventure at sunset?

Sylvania laughed, a low throaty chuckle, and swatted the hand that Dèodar was reaching toward a platter of cakes. Go along with you, Master Warder! she scolded. Roland sensed the affection between the two, and it sent a thrill of envy through him. Don't I have enough to do without your nonsense? she continued. Here, take these meat rolls and get out of my kitchen.

Dèodar scooped up a handful of rolls from the platter she offered and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek. The lady blushed as scarlet as her dress as she clouted Dèodar on the head with a spoon, and the warder danced out of range.

Back in the corridor, Collyn commented with a dry drawl, Have a care, my friend, that wench may prove more than a match for the likes of you.

Dèodar passed them each a pair of the rolls. A fine woman, without a doubt, he agreed. Too fine for the likes of me indeed. He took a hearty bite of the roll, but Roland thought he detected a note of wistful regret in the denial.

Roland bit into the proffered roll, and his mouth filled with the taste of smoked venison and sweet onions. There were delicate hints of herbs he didn't recognize, but the resultant combination assuaged his hunger like nothing had since he and Stefan had begun their journey.

Excellent, he breathed, then applied himself to making the rolls disappear with all feasible haste.

Dèodar turned to Collyn, his hands on his hips. What sort of guardian are you, Master Yeoman? You starve your charge, and lead him to consort with elves-

The unintended meaning in Dèodar's last statement brought another rush of heat to Roland's cheeks as he thought of Mendana. The wink that passed between Dèodar and Collyn argued that perhaps the meaning was not unintentional after all.

Collyn grinned, and his face lost years of care with the expression. Aye. 'Tis a pity I didn't have your sobering guidance to see me through.

Roland felt the tug of a smile at his lip as his companions burst into gales of laughter. It was impossible to stay angry at the merry elf, and it was good to see Collyn's solemnity lighten. He could ask for no better comrades on his journey, and wished only that the elven prince could join the fun.

~*~

Stefan lay back among his cushions, toying with the gryphon pendant. He longed for his beloved instrument; it would have been a real comfort during this enforced bed rest.

What is it that troubles you, Steavil? asked Mendana, re-rolling a bandage with deft fingers.

It's just…I just wish I had my lute. If I must be caged, at least I could sing. He smiled, a little sheepish to appear so ungrateful in light of all she had done for him.

Perhaps I can remedy that lack. I will see what I can find for you.

She turned back to her basket of healing supplies, dropping the neat roll on top. She picked up another length of spider-silk bandaging and began to wind it about her finger, careful not to tear the fragile fabric. Stefan watched her work, curious about the spun silk, but still not comfortable enough to ask her many questions.

His head felt completely cured, and his knee already seemed much better. It only made his frustration worse, and he sighed, restless and bored. Mendi.…

What is it, inithi thiuveae?

Little Brother. The endearment lifted his heart. Will I walk again?

His sister bit her lip against a heavy sigh, setting down the filmy bandage she held and coming to perch on the edge of the bed beside him. She smoothed the coverlet with a thoughtful frown then took his hand in hers. I will not lie to you, Stefan. The old damage will never fully heal. The leg was badly set originally. But the new break was clean, and it may even correct some of what was wrong before. Yes, I believe you will walk again in time; but will you run? I don't know. At least the limp should be no worse than before. Does that answer your question? A gentle smile illuminated her face.

Yes. Itheamia. The elven expression conveyed his gratitude far better than a mere 'thank you' could.

Enirmae, inithi thiuveae. Her reply warmed him inside. It appeared he had not forgotten everything after all.

Mendana, are you sorry you will no longer be queen?

No, foolish one, she laughed, returning to her basket. If I wished to, I could reclaim my own kingdom tomorrow. I am happy here, and nothing makes me happier than to have you home again.

She went back to her task, humming under her breath. Stefan was struck by the fact that the soft music was the only sound he heard. Used to the ceaseless bustle of Woodbridge Castle, he found the silence rather disconcerting.

He turned on the couch to face her, his good leg dangling over the side. One more question?

What is that?

How long before I may be out of this bed?

She shook her head with an indulgent giggle. It made her seem much younger, and more accessible. You are an impatient one, aren't you? I tell you what. I will find you something to occupy your time. If you promise me to lie there and behave for the night, in the morning we'll see how you are doing. By then, it may well hold your weight.

That's impossible. It broke. I felt it. When the dog attacked, I was abed for months.

Perhaps that is because a human doctor was treating you as if you were a human patient. Mendana finished packing her basket and turned to him once more. You are not a human; you are an elf. If treated correctly, our healing rate is many times that of the humans. A fractured skull such as you suffered would have taken much longer to heal for someone like Prince Roland, for example. Her cheeks colored prettily, and Stefan noted the fact with interest, though the rapidity with which she regained her composure made him doubt what he had seen. That head wound might have taken much longer to mend, even for you, but it was given proper treatment before I ever saw it. Who was the doctor? she asked, her voice tinged with a professional curiosity. If I didn't know better, I would swear he was elven.

They tell me it was an old man named Ravenwing.

Ravenwing!

Do you know him?

We have crossed paths before. He is a rogue and a scoundrel, but he is a good healer. I must remember to thank him when next we meet. Though, if the Raven is involved, there are strange forces at work indeed.

There was the sound of a polite cough outside the curtain then Roland stuck his head into the room. May we come in?

Of course, Mendana answered, lowering her gaze and fiddling with the bandages and bottles within her basket. Her fingers plucked a bunch of herbs from the tangle, and just as quickly replaced them.

Stefan was struck again by her manner. Mendana was no giddy girl, but she seemed most flustered by the prince's presence.

Excuse me, my lord, she murmured, slipping past Roland with her eyes still downcast. She ran straight into Collyn, who had followed the prince into the room, and dropped her basket.

All three of them bent to retrieve the scattered supplies, and Roland and Mendana reached for the same roll of bandages. Their hands brushed together and the princess pulled away as if burned, blushing furiously.

Thank you, my lord, mumbled the girl, collecting the last of her things.

Stefan caught Dèodar's eye where his cousin lounged against the wall, and both grinned with amusement.

Everiar, he mouthed silently.

Dèodar nodded in agreement, turning to Collyn to explain in a loud whisper, Love.

For both, I'd wager, replied the yeoman in the same tone.

Dèodar laughed aloud. Mendana glanced from one kinsman to the other with a sharp glare.

Stefan put on his best innocent air while she gathered her skirts to stand.

I don't know what you two are playing at, she remarked, her voice haughty, but I have work to do. I cannot lag about here all evening. Remember what I said, Stefan. She stepped to the curtain.

My lady- Roland called after her.

Yes, my lord Roland?

I shall bring you back your birthright.

It would not be worth it if you died, she replied, her soft voice charged with emotion. Be sure to return to us safe. That is all we truly require.

He swept her a low bow. As you command, my lady.

Stefan and Dèodar looked at each other again and caroled in unison, Everiar!

~*~

Mendana blushed crimson, flashed both her kinsmen a killing look, and fled, spurred on by the puzzled expression in Roland's eyes.

She cursed under her breath as she stalked away from the chamber. Maybe I am not so glad to have my impish brother home again. No, she chuckled to herself, her cheeks still flushed with heat. I just wish he were not so perceptive. Dèodar, however, I could cheerfully strangle.

And what of Ravenwing? It is many years since I saw him last and the circumstances of that parting were less than amicable. Still, I now owe him a debt of honor, it seems.

Mendana sighed. Life has become complicated overnight, all at the sight of Roland's russet hair and emerald eyes. I am too old to fall in love at first sight. That is a child's game. But neither can I lie to myself. Although he is the first human I've ever met, he has stolen my heart for his own.

My kinsmen are right. I am in love. Dare I hope it is returned?>

~*~

Stefan and Dèodar finally managed to control their laughter. The elven prince shook his head. I wish I was going with you, he murmured, with a wistful sigh.

Collyn moved to Stefan's side. How are your injuries, my lord?

Stefan reached out to touch his hand. Please, Collyn. To my friends, I am still Stefan. Let there be no titles between us.

As you wish. And my answer?

Mendana says I may try to stand tomorrow.

On a broken knee? asked Roland in astonishment.

I told you. She is a miracle worker, Dèodar said with a grin and a casual shrug.

But you are leaving tonight, and I still cannot go with you… Stefan's voice trailed into silence.

I'm sorry it must be so, Stefan, but go we must, answered Roland, coming to sit on the edge of the couch. Your father promised to send a messenger to Woodbridge Point at first light, so we decided to start under the cover of darkness.

You will need this. Stefan slipped the gryphon pendant from around his neck and handed it to Roland. If the stories be true, maybe it will aid your quest and bring you back more swiftly.

I will return it to you soon, the human prince promised, slipping the chain over his head and once more settling the amulet inside his jerkin. And, in exchange, you shall keep my birthright in trust. Roland reached down and slipped the heavy gold and silver ring off his finger, handing the jewel to Stefan. Here. Wear this for me. They say there is a legend connected with this stone as well. They call the jewel 'The Blood Stone'.

Stefan felt a tremor of fear shiver through him at Roland's words. The ballad told of the Bloodstone as well as the Sun and Moon stones. All the legends were gathering together in one intricate knot, and he hoped he could unravel it if need arose.

Roland continued his explanation, and it was clear to Stefan that the prince was unaware of the effect his words wrought. It is said the stone will clear like a diamond if its owner dies, as if the blood has run out of it. His quick grin flashed. I expect it back as crimson as it is now.

Stefan took the ring with great reluctance and slipped it upon his hand. A disquieting flash of premonition gripped him, and the color seemed to filter from the polished stone, leaving only a tinge of pink deep in its heart.

His senses reeled, and he fought to hide it. 'Tis beautiful, Roland. I-I did not know the legend.

What's wrong, Stefan? asked Collyn, the perceptive edge to his voice warning Stefan that not all the visitors were as preoccupied as the prince.

I am just a little tired, he lied.

Of course, replied Roland. And we must be going. Be well, Stefan. We shall return before you know it.

He gripped the hand that wore the ring in farewell, and Stefan felt an echo of his vision.

Be careful, Roland, he pleaded, clutching at the prince's sleeve.

I shall, my friend. Roland moved aside to allow the others their good-byes.

I'll take care of him, little one, Collyn murmured, too softly for Roland to hear. I swear it on my life.

I pray it will not come to that, Stefan answered, his heart troubled.

Collyn nodded agreement, moving back to flank Roland.

If I could speak to Dèodar alone, please?

Ducking his head in acknowledgement, Roland led Collyn from the room.

You have had a vision, haven't you? asked his cousin, his mobile features grave as he perched on the edge of the couch. Your mother had the Sight, and my father as well. I know it is a burden of great weight. May I share it with you? Tell me what you have seen.

Stefan stared down at the ring on his hand. If Roland's legend is true, he is going into great danger. Collyn alone may not be able to protect him. After all, he is only human. Stefan's mouth twisted at the irony of his words. Scant days ago, he had thought the same of himself.

You must watch them both, my kinsman, he charged Dèodar. Contact us at once if there is trouble. The prince cannot die. It is worth my honor, and for the sake of Mendana's heart.

Aye, Dèodar replied, his voice soft. She has never found true love before, though long ago I hoped to one day win her hand.

I am sorry for that pain, but think what could come of this.

We could be standing on the brink of a new time, murmured Dèodar.

But only if he survives, Stefan reminded his cousin. Only if he survives.

Then I had better get him back his sword, remarked the warder with a grin. Dèodar gripped Stefan's shoulder in farewell. I will keep him safe, cousin. Rest now. The king needs you.

After the adventurers left, Stefan passed a restless night. Every time he tried to close his eyes and sleep, he would see the color bleaching with inexorable finality from the ring. His visions had never proved false.

As a boy, he feared there was something odd about him, and he kept his premonitions to himself far more often than not, acting upon them in private. However, sometimes he would slip, so Roland and the king had come to know about the occasional omens.

Now that he knew his true heritage, he no longer found the visions strange. He had heard whispers about elven mystics all his life. Something made the race sensitive to currents the humans could not feel.

Now, those currents were swirling around him, and they would not let him rest. With a heartfelt sigh, he leaned back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, and stared unseeingly at the rough ceiling. He hated this enforced inactivity.

Despite his handicap, Stefan was a very dynamic individual. He was seldom still for any length of time, a trait he shared with his merry cousin, so he chafed under Mendana's orders.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he sat up in bed and took a deep breath. Swinging his good leg to the floor, he placed a hand on either side of his injured knee and lifted gently.

Before he could continue, a sharp voice called out from the doorway. Hold it right there, inithi iothinae! Do you want to be bedridden for life, you little fool?

Stefan dropped his hands. Why does everyone insist on calling me that? he sighed. Now he could be called 'fool' in two languages.

Perhaps because you keep acting like one! You made me a promise.

I'm sorry, Mendi, he sighed. I just can't take this any longer. I'm going mad lying here while the others- he trailed off, not wanting to worry her.

She bustled to his side, settling him back against the pillows. 'While the others' what?

Go on without me, he mumbled, face hot at the lameness of his excuse.

You'll have to get used to that, she reminded him, her voice gentle. When he returns, Roland will go back to Woodbridge Point…. Her voice died off in turn, but she pulled herself together. And you will stay here. That is the way it must be.

He could hear how hard she was trying to convince them both as she continued, her tone brisk, The two of you will be kings, and a king must rule his kingdom. She busied herself with examining his knee.

Then why aren't you ruling your kingdom? Is not a queen governed by the same edicts?

I've told you, inithi thiuveae. There's no one in my kingdom to rule. Myself, Dèodar, a scattered handful of others, these are all the Dark elves left. She finished her examination with a trace of a frown.

Please, tell me you're not going to keep me chained to this couch any longer, he pleaded.

I probably should, she scolded, but her face softened into a smile. However, I did promise we'd try. Now you must promise me something in return, she continued, her face solemn. Your knee is not completely healed, Steavil. You mustn't overextend yourself. If I say rest, you must do as I say, and when I say. Otherwise, you may permanently destroy it.

He nodded. For her to use his elven name, he knew she must be serious. I promise, evleeia. I will do as you say, beloved.

Good. First, swing your leg around. Now, put your left arm over my shoulder. She stood, leaning down to him. Stand up with all your weight on the right leg. Put a little weight on your left foot, and gradually increase it. Stop when it starts to hurt. The instant you feel it. Do you understand me?

He nodded absently, a flutter of excitement building inside of him. I understand. He swung his bad leg off the couch, and she slipped a supporting hand around his slender waist. Taking a deep breath, he put all his weight on his right leg and slowly rose to his feet. Carefully, he shifted his center of balance until he felt a twinge of pain.

Now, shall we show Father your progress?

Yes, please, he murmured, feeling as if he could float to the throne room.

~*~

Roland and the others walked through the night, staying under the fringes of Starlit Wood for as long as possible. The prince was grateful to have the keen-eyed elf with them, for Dèodar eased their way countless times. There was scant light leaking through the canopy of tightly interwoven branches, despite the fact the moon had waned but little since the night the raft was attacked. Roland found himself stumbling repeatedly over upthrust roots and snare-like vines. He heard Dèodar singing under his breath in his bird-like tongue, and the undergrowth seemed to melt away from the path. The night carried a hint of coming frost. Winter was nearly upon them, and Roland could smell decay as the forest shed its leaves to blanket the feet of the trees.

The trio stole like shadows past the outskirts of Edgetown, fording the Great River in the gray false dawn. Stepping into the water was like wading in a snowbank, and Roland shivered as they hurried across. Their clothes formed clammy second skins as they pushed on into the growing light.

Now, as the first rosy tint of sunrise lit the sky, the prince led his party into the foothills of the Ring of Tears, the unbroken mountains circling the shores of the Lake of Sighs. A light wind soughed through the rocks like a mournful spirit, bringing with it the scent of dead fish.

Roland wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant taint. He shivered, rubbing at his arms for warmth. Their wet clothes were accentuating the chill of the breeze. He glanced at his companions. Dèodar appeared tireless, but Roland could see fatigue shadowing Collyn's eyes, and he had to admit he was feeling a bit done in himself.

Let's find somewhere to rest. Somewhere out of sight. I feel odd here in the open.

I agree with you, murmured Collyn. We're too close to the Lion's den for my comfort.

Here's a cleft in the rocks, called Dèodar from the other side of the formation Roland leaned against. There's a space at the end of the split large enough for a day's shelter, and it has a natural chimney if you want a fire.

That would be welcome. I feel like I will never be warm again.

Right now, I'll settle for a place to throw myself down and sleep, Collyn yawned.

After you. The prince grinned, clapping the yeoman on the shoulder as they joined Dèodar. Collyn nodded to the elf and lay down in the rear of the shelter. Within seconds he was asleep.

I wish I could do that, Roland whispered with a shake of his head. He stifled a yawn of his own.

Go ahead and rest; I'll stand guard.

Roland sank down on the rocks just outside the entrance of the cleft. I'm too keyed up to rest. He leaned his head back against the stone. How do you do it, Dèodar? he asked, curious to know more about this newfound ally.

What, my lord? The elf lounged against the cliff face, with one foot propped behind him.

You act as if you could go on forever, murmured Roland.

We don't tire as quickly as humans, my friend. Just as we do not age at the same rate. There are many differences between our peoples, but there are also many, many similarities.

Tell me more of the differences, Roland smiled up at the tall elf.

I'm sure you've run across several of them, even if you didn't realize it. My cousin has been beside you for many years now. What struck you as different about him?

Well, he has the most beautiful voice in the kingdom. Any instrument he touches, he can play. I suppose those things aren't terribly exceptional, but they've always struck us as a little unusual, since he's had no formal training.

And there are his visions. He sometimes sees things before they happen. It's always been a trifle upsetting, he admitted.

Dèodar laughed. It's also upsetting to those who bear that gift. Not all of us do, thank the gods, though it runs strong in our House. Anything else?

He speaks to the animals and they seem to listen, especially his little mare, Astreal.

He named her 'Star,' the elf commented, with a fond smile. Even when he couldn't remember his own name, he used the elven word for 'Star.'

And there's Mendana's healing. I've never seen anything like what she did for Stefan.

It runs in her mother's family. My family, I suppose I should say. Strongest in the women, though not exclusively. It makes them very good queens.

Now, what else? mused Dèodar, sinking to the ground beside the prince. Our senses are sharper than human. We don't feel the cold or heat quite as strongly, so this little dunking was a mere inconvenience. He plucked at his damp clothing.

We are less apt to tire, as I said. I've been told we withstand pain at an exceptionally high level, something which I, by the grace of Eostivil, have had no reason to gainsay.

I've seen Stefan almost paralyzed by pain-

Then think how much worse the pain would have been for you to bear, Dèodar replied, his tone full of sober pride. Our prince is very strong, and very brave. He'll be a mighty king.

I don't doubt you in that, my friend. Roland yawned again.

Get some sleep. I'll wake you when the sun reaches its zenith.

All right. It'll be a long day.

Rest easy, my friend. In my tongue, ithneimi endio, ethiae entheiro.

Thank you. Itheamia, ethiae entheirae, replied Roland, his tongue tripping over the lilting words. Was that correct?

A broad grin split Dèodar's handsome face. Very good! I knew you could do it if you tried. More lessons later. When you are awake. Right now, your brain is asleep.

Roland nodded, sheepishly admitting the truth of the observation. He stretched out beside Collyn. As he moved to turn over, he noticed Dèodar was staring up into the hazy morning sky and followed the elf's gaze with his eyes. Just within the limits of sight, a lone bird circled, dipping and soaring.

The archer had taken out an arrow, and was fingering his bow with a frown. Roland started to call out, but his eyes drifted shut before he could open his mouth. He tried to force them open again, but they refused to obey. Despite his fatigue, however, thoughts buzzed like angry bees within his brain, and he tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. It was many long minutes before worry unwound enough to let his body find peace and slide into the depths of slumber.

~*~

Leaning heavily against his sister, and gritting his teeth, Stefan walked the short distance from his chamber to the throne room. Outside the entranceway, he halted. From here, I must walk alone, ethiae riuveia, he whispered.

I don't think that's wise, she cautioned.

Deastia, Mendana. Please!

With a heavy sigh, she helped him settle his weight then stepped away.

Opieviami, he called out, and the door slid open. Taking a deep breath, he limped forward while focusing on his right leg.

Andundal glanced up from the scroll he was reading at the sound of the opening door, and the parchment slipped from his fingers unheeded. Stefan bent all his will toward making his way to the dais. He bit his lip to counteract the white-hot needles pricking the nerves in his left leg. It is no worse than before, he lied to himself in a whisper. You have stood greater. Gulping hard, he took a deep breath and continued onward. You can do this. You must.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his upper lip, Stefan found traces of blood and realized he had bitten through his lower. Don't be such a baby, he chided himself, forcing another halting step forward.

My son, the king whispered, rising to his feet and stepping to the bottom of the steps leading to the dais. Stefan was grateful Andundal realized what this short walk meant to him and came no closer. It was important to the prince to do it alone. It meant all the difference between regaining his freedom and being a slave to his infirmity.

The strain on the knee was beginning to tell on him, and he paused to gather his concentration. It was just a few feet further to the platform, and he was determined to make it alone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mendana hovering in disapproval, ready to jump forward if necessary. He shook his head, waving her away with an impatient gesture, and limped on. He practically fell into his father's arms. The silken brocade of Andundal's robe was rough under Stefan's cheek. The boy smelled a comforting blend of pipe-smoke and soap.

Oh, my son.

Stefan's arms tightened around his father's waist. The prince was a foot shorter than Andundal, almost childlike amidst the rangy elves.

You've had your way, broke in an impatient voice, now get the weight off that knee before I tie you to your couch for the rest of your life!

Come and sit, urged the king. His hand trembled as he brushed the sweat-dampened hair out of Stefan's face with a loving caress. Andundal laughed with delight. Oh, my precious thuathae, my dearest son. I thought I would never see you again. He helped Stefan up the steps towards the thrones, careful not to do too much of the work. Stefan noticed the care, and smiled up at his father. Then a thought struck him.

But, Mendana- He gestured toward his sister.

She laughed. I have but kept your seat warm for you, little brother. Now, sit, before I make you do so.

He fell into the soft throne, running a wondering finger along the intricately carved arm of the chair. The velvet cushions cradled him in a luxurious embrace, and he sighed. They were like billowing clouds beneath strained muscles.

Here, put your foot up on this, ordered Mendana, placing a thickly cushioned stool before him.

For once, he obeyed without a murmur, his knee throbbing with more than usual violence. Mendana's warning of more permanent damage echoed in the back of his mind with the doleful toll of a watch bell. He had pushed the leg almost beyond the limit. The pain was much worse than its usual dull ache, and he could see the muscles trembling, even though the leg no longer bore weight.

His sister sank with lissome grace to a cushion between the thrones then curled her arms around the armrest of Stefan's chair and rested her head against it. He reached down, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Andundal resumed his own throne. I was just about to dispatch the promised messenger to King Frederick. Have you anything of your own to say? he asked Stefan.

Only that the prince is well, Father, and that the king must take care.

Andundal nodded. A slim figure stepped out of the shadows, a young elf perhaps a year or two younger than Stefan but six inches taller. He was dressed in solid brown jerkin and leggings, with a dark green cloak fastened over one shoulder. Soft leather boots came up to his knees. He had the sea green eyes of one of Mendana's dark elves, and his hair was dark brown rather than black.

Leithan! cried Mendana, with a broad smile of pleasure. Father, you couldn't choose a better messenger.

Thank you for your trust, my queen, the boy murmured with a bow and a winsome grin of his own.

You speak true, my daughter. Of all my subjects, I feel Leithan best suited for this task. He's the elf most likely to pass unnoticed among the humans. He is young, I admit-

I'm nearly eighteen! protested the proposed messenger, and Stefan felt hard pressed not to laugh. He knew well the need to prove oneself old enough for responsibility.

-But not too young, I see, continued Andundal in wry amusement. Go to Woodbridge Point and speak directly to King Frederick. You're to give him the message that his son is alive and well. Trust your message to none save the king himself.

By your command. The youth nodded his head.

The warders shall provide you with a horse for the journey. Ride at once.

Leithan bowed again, and strode from the throne room.

Stefan noted Mendana's fond smile as she watched him go, and the way the smile wavered into a frown as the door closed behind him. He's the youngest of our subjects, Father. I hope the decision to send him proves wise, she sighed.

She smoothed the soft green wool of her dress with a visible effort to compose herself and changed the subject. What were you reading when we came in, Father?

Andundal bent to retrieve the parchment he had dropped. His long fingers spread out the scroll as a thoughtful frown creased his brow. The news is not good, ruathia. 'Tis a report from the scouts in Moonrise Wood. You know we watch your borders, in case one day you wish to return, Mendana. The report says there is a great deal of movement underway in the region.

The king rose to his feet and crossed the room to a table standing against the curved wall. He laid the scroll on the table and poured himself a drink from a silver ewer. He took a long sip of the beverage but did not offer the others any. Stefan realized what a true sign of preoccupation it showed that his father would so forget courtesy.

Andundal drained the cup and set it back upon the table. He picked up the parchment and continued. Parties of cutthroats and brigands roam the plain. Strange ships were sighted in Perilous Harbor. The assessment is that Keep Opprobrium is massing for war.

Stefan felt Mendana stiffen beneath his hand even as that hand tightened on her shoulder. Roland has gone into the middle of it, he whispered.

Yes, replied the king with a grave nod.

We have to warn them! Mendana cried.

Stefan could feel her trembling. For the first time, it was clear how much Roland had come to mean to his sister, and he regretted the teasing of the day before.

How quickly love can grow. Will I ever know it for myself? Can anyone ever look past my shortcomings and see my heart?

He stifled a sigh as Andundal continued. How do you propose to do that, my daughter? We don't even know for certain where they are.

Ravenwing will, she murmured.

The king's eyes grew cold, and his frown deepened. He is forbidden here.

Then I shall go to Moonrise and find him. He is my subject, Father. I'll speak to him if I choose.

Deastia, evleeia, Andundal pleaded. He is a troublemaker-

-Who apparently saved my life, Noile, interjected Stefan. Mendana says it is to him I owe thanks for the speed at which my skull has healed, Father. I do not understand. What has he done that is so vile?

Ask his queen. Shouldn't you rest, Steavil? I must send an answer to this report.

Andundal's brusque tone and clipped dismissal confused Stefan. He felt hurt by the rejection, but did not know how to protest it without sounding like a whining child.

Mendana stood, and the prince could feel tension radiating from her. The smooth column of her throat rippled as she gulped back whatever response had leapt to mind. She slipped an arm beneath his and helped him to stand. He felt the tremors that continued to shake her slim frame, but her words were cool. Come, my brother.

Again, Stefan sensed currents swirling in the room that he couldn't understand, and he was grateful to leave before he drowned in them.

~*~

Mendana led Stefan slowly from the room, with her thoughts racing.

Ravenwing....

She was gathering herbs in Haven Clearing that late summer day. The sun was warm, and she stopped to bathe her face in the cool brook. As she bent over the clear water, she saw his reflection behind her and whirled. Eeonathor, you startled me.

I intended to. The handsome Dark elf lounged against the portal stone, a broad grin on his striking features. As usual, Ravenwing was dressed to please himself, forswearing the traditional browns and greens of the elves for the stark boldness of black and white. His constant outdoor life brought an uncommon tan to his cheeks, shared only with the warders.

She thought him splendid, as she had since she was a young child.

What are you doing here? she asked with icy calm, hiding interest in his answer by sorting through her harvest with fingers that fumbled more than usual.

I came looking for you. Dèodar told me you were here, the poor lovesick puppy.

Mendana's face grew hot. It had become clear that her cousin's feelings towards her were deepening. 'Tis not my fault. I have done nothing to encourage him.

Why not? You could do worse. He is a fine man, my queen.

But not for me, she protested, glancing up at him and just as quickly looking away. I-I've not yet found the man for me.

Ravenwing sauntered over to where she knelt and held out his hand. She took it and he raised her to her feet. Is that so, my queen? he murmured, capturing her eyes with his, or are you just pretending? He bent his dark head and kissed her.

Mendana melted against him for an instant, then pulled back. No…I mean, yes...I mean I don't-

He laughed softly. Give in, my love. Say you will be mine.

I can't. I do not love you!

Come now. We both know that is false. You don't need to have the Gift to see that. With my magic and your healing, we could reclaim the world.

I don't want the world, only my corner of it.

I have always loved you, >evleeia.

You have an odd way of showing it, she scoffed. Running off every chance you get.

He swept her into his arms again. But I always come back to you. He bent to kiss her once more.

No, Eeonathor! Please!

Let her go! barked a voice from the portal.

She and Ravenwing both started at the sound, looking over their shoulders to see Andundal filling the doorway. He was livid with rage.

Beside him stood Dèodar, an arrow trained on Ravenwing's heart. The loathing on his face was frightening in the carefree warder.

A harsh grin, more grimace than mirth, creased Eeonathor's face and he shoved her from him, eyes locked with Dèodar's.

She fell to the ground, staring aghast at the scene.

Leave this wood, thundered Andundal. I never wish to see your face again Eeonathor Eriaborae. Return under penalty of death!

As you command, my lord, spat Ravenwing, with a mocking bow. I leave you, my queen. But the offer stands. Sweeping his cloak around him, he shifted where he stood, until a raven flew from the grove.

Mendana slowly rose to her feet, unable to face either kinsman, but her lips still burned from the magic-user's kiss.

She had expected to live with only that distant memory of stolen passion, never dreaming love would come from such an unexpected quarter to claim her heart.

Will Roland now be taken from me as well? I must save him, at any cost!

~*~

Roland, 'tis noon. Wake up. He felt a light hand on his shoulder, shaking him to consciousness. With a reluctant groan, he left dreams of sea green eyes and long black braids, to find Dèodar grinning down at him. The elf's earlier concerns seemed to have been set aside.

Wake up, sleepy head. Here, inside the Ring, we will be safe, unless we were already spotted and, if that is the case… The elf shrugged with wordless eloquence, before leaping to his feet.

Roland had already noted the mercurial nature of the warder's temperament. One moment he was utterly serious, and the next, jesting at every turn. But the prince had also seen the nobility of the other's heart, and realized that his moments of gravity were worthy of attention. If Dèodar was not concerned with their current safety, they were safe for a time.

Roland followed much more slowly and noticed that Collyn was already out and about. The sun shone hot upon the barren rocks of the Ring of Tears, reflecting back in blinding flashes from the crystals embedded in the towering formations. Roland squinted against the glare, shading his eyes with his hand. However, where the beams should have danced upon the waters of the great lake, there was nothing but a dark, sullen-looking liquid hole. No greenery grew on the margins of that inky pool. Roland shuddered.

Where should we start to look, entheiro? asked Dèodar. This was your idea. Roland's head felt fuzzy, and he shook it to clear his thoughts. Perhaps we should begin with the site where the bodies were found.... He trailed off at the pain in Dèodar's eyes. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.

No, replied the elf, his voice soft, you're right. It is the logical place to start. Perhaps, even after all this time, there may still be a clue. We've no other starting place. Come, it was near here that my father discovered the bodies.

Your father?

He was Chief Warder of Moonrise Wood, remember. Our stronghold was closer than Andundal's and the Queen was his sister. Besides, he shared Steavil's visions. He knew there was something amiss, and rode in hopes of saving her, but we arrived too late. A smoking campfire and a pile of bodies were all we found. The bodies were so hideously mangled it was hard to recognize even the Queen. I always secretly hoped that Steavil had somehow survived. I searched everywhere, but could find no trace of him.

You searched?

Dèodar smiled faintly. It was my first ride with the warders. I begged my father to let me come. When I saw the slaughter, I cried. I was only seventeen. He shrugged. They were here. He pointed to the faint traces of a large bonfire. A stone cairn rose nearby. We raised a mound for our dead. The raiders, we burned. His handsome features grew hard and cold. I would have left them to rot, but I was outvoted.

Not knowing what to say, Roland reached down and pulled the gryphon pendant from its resting-place inside his jerkin. He squinted idly through the stone at the sun, and started with amazement. There were a series of light scratches on the rear of the stone. As he turned the stone slightly, the lines became razor clear. Dèodar, look at this. He passed the amulet to the elf. What do you see?

Well, Dèodar remarked, I see several scratches. The warder frowned, studying the configuration of the marks. It looks like one of the mountains. He turned in a slow circle, with the pendant to his eye. Several times, he adjusted position, finally halting to point across the broad lake to a distant peak. They line up exactly with that far mountain.

Collyn joined them, tossing an oily black creature at their feet. It was covered with a thick viscous slime. So much for fishing, he commented. The lake is dead. There are some inhabitants left in its waters, but just those that don't know they should be dead. He shook his head, his face sad as he stared at something only he could see. Once this lake was a sparkling jewel. In those days, the 'Sighs' were those of beauty and awe. Now they are of outrage and despair.

We may have found the place to begin our search, Roland told Collyn. Shall we go exploring?

The yeoman dusted his hands and squinted across the lake. Might as well. We don't want to be caught out in the open after dark.

There must be a cavern somewhere in that peak, Dèodar observed, bending to collect his pack. I doubt we'll find the Moonstone dangling from a rock.

Well said. Collyn, can we eat that thing? The prince pointed at the misshapen fish.

You might, my lord, but I wouldn't choose to join you.

Then I suppose I'll have to leave it be, and tighten my belt. Pity…I'm starving.

Chew on this, called Dèodar, tossing him a small, flat package. He seemed to have recovered his spirits, letting the memories wash away from him with characteristic speed.

What is it?

Best trail rations in the kingdom, little prince. Try some.

Roland unwrapped a corner of the package and nibbled at the cake inside. It had a delicate flavor, spicy, with a hint of venison. You're right. This is exceptional. What do you call it?

Trail rations.

With an exasperated sigh, Roland gathered his own pack. He chewed absently on the ration cake as they started the long trek around the lake. Roland noticed Collyn gazing about him with the same sad, wistful expression as they hiked.

What is it, Collyn? asked Roland, his tone gentle.

When I was a small boy, we would come to the shores of the Lake every summer. There would always be others camping nearby, and the air rang with laughter of children at play. They called the mountains 'the Ring of Tears' because of the sparkle of sunlight on the crystals. The children would hold contests to see who could find the largest ones. We would string them together, and the little girls would drip with diamonds they could never hope to possess outside their imaginations. Looking at this place now, you'd never believe it once held such gaiety.

What happened to it?

I give you three guesses, ethiae entheiro, but I think you need only one. Dèodar slipped his long bow from his back, then ran a questing hand along each section of the curved frame with a restless distraction.

Trouble? asked Roland with a frown.

Probably nothing, my lord prince, the rangy elf replied, managing only a trace of his usual insouciant grin. Just a little itchy. For one thing, where did those scratches come from? And how did the Sunstone conveniently wind up in that market stall? Steavil doesn't remember where he lost it, but it certainly wasn't in Edgetown. I'm probably starting at shadows.

It's more than that, Collyn murmured, casting about and finding a sturdy branch beside a long abandoned fire. He swung it experimentally, then nodded to himself before continuing. There is something wicked in the air. He gazed around him with a frown.

Beside him, Roland glanced upward instinctively, but the sky was clear. What do you mean? the prince asked the yeoman.

There is a feeling of evil in this place that grows stronger as we circle the lake. There may well be eyes upon us. I fear it may not be as simple as we hoped to retrieve the Moonstone. I suggest we make a cache of any possessions not essential to our search. In the first place, it'll lighten our loads if we must fight; and in the second place, if we do run into trouble, we'll have provisions for an escape.

Dèodar nodded approval. 'Tis good counsel, Roland. I see a niche in a rock over there that will serve our purpose. He pointed to a formation fifty paces to their right.

Your eyes are as sharp as a hawk's! growled Roland. All right, what should we take forward?

Here, Dèodar handed each a ration cake from his pack. He wedged the bag securely into the back of the tiny recess when they arrived at the feet of the rock. That will keep you from starving for many days. I'll keep my bow and quiver, but I leave my dagger here, and advise you to do the same, Roland. We may well lose our weapons if we're taken, and at least we'll know where there are others to be had. He slipped a beautifully wrought stiletto from its sheath inside his boot, and carefully hid it in the folds of his pack.

I didn't even know you carried that, Roland commented with an absent frown as he stripped off his own pack, and hesitated between his sword and his dagger. There was a certain comfort in the longer blade, but it was difficult to conceal.

The elf looked up from his crouch beside the rock, with the sparkle of his characteristic grin. There is a very great deal you don't know about me, young one, and you probably never will. Keep your sword. If we have to fight, we'll need every advantage we can find. He lifted his head and scented the air, then froze. There is a taint of something in the wind that does not belong on these shores. We need to be prepared for anything.

Collyn nodded. He's right, your highness. That sword is an edge over our other weapons we can ill afford to lose.

Collyn, will that cudgel be enough? asked Dèodar.

Aye, my friend, replied the burly yeoman, while swinging his pack to the ground. It's what I'm best with, and it suits me well.

Good enough, cried the ranger, stowing the last of the baggage and leaping to his feet. Shall we go?

Roland took one last glance around them, noting the position of the sun in the afternoon sky. Aye. We can't afford to waste any more time. I fear we've tarried too long as it is.

~*~

Stefan tossed uneasily on his cushioned couch. Mendana had forced him back to bed and gave him a sleeping draught after their audience with the king, but she could not turn off his dreams.

He was high amongst the cliffs of the Ring of Tears, looking down upon the dead lake. He could see Roland's party far below as they cautiously moved forward, and he started to go to them. His left leg refused to move, and when he glanced down at it, he found it was encased to just above the knee in the stone of the mountain, pinning him to the spot. He could only watch in helpless horror as a band of men descended from the rocks around his friends, outnumbering the trio four to one, and began to attack. He saw his cousin drop, the great bow snapped in two beneath him, and Collyn go down under a press of attackers. Roland stood alone, sword flashing as he fought a circle of brigands, desperately trying to defend everywhere at once. Finally, one man managed to get behind the prince and brought down a heavy rock on the back of Roland's head with a victorious whoop. The prince crumpled forward and lay still, the sword fallen from his open hand.

No! Stefan shouted, sitting bolt upright in bed, sweat plastering ebony hair to his pale face. Oh, by the gods, no, he whispered, raising shaky hands to sweep back the heavy hair from his forehead. It cannot be. Please, gods, let it not be too late to stop it!

He lay back for a moment, struggling to collect his thoughts. I have to go to them. I have no choice. But how? The pain in the knee has dissipated somewhat, but it is still a constant ache.

From the morning's venture, he knew it would support him, but his limp was much worse, and Mendana's warning of permanent damage rang in his head with the urgency of a fire alarm.

But which is more important, that I may hobble for life, or that my dearest friends will live? He set his teeth and threw his legs over the side of the couch. I have to save the others, and damned be the consequences.>

Holding on to the headboard, he hauled himself to his feet. He bit back a cry as his left leg took more weight than he anticipated. He held his breath until the flare of agony subsided to its usual dull throb. Concentrating grimly, he lurched about the chamber, collecting his belongings. As he worked, he caught a glimpse of the ring upon his hand, and his heart rose in hope. The stone was still a deep crimson. Whatever he had seen must still be in the future. Perhaps there was still time.

He had his back to the doorway, fastening his cloak, when a sharp voice froze him where he stood.

Steavil, twuae inithi iothinae! Mendana cried, leaping forward to catch him as he wheeled and almost fell. The lute she held clattered unheeded to the floor.

No. No, I'm all right, he remonstrated. I'm fine. Let me go.

Go? Go where? You look as if you've seen...oh, my goddess! Mendana's face reflected his terror as she forced him to sit on the edge of the couch. What have you seen?

He closed his eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath. They are in trouble, Mendi. They'll be hurt, maybe killed. I have to warn them. I have to save them!

Stefan, you can't. Your leg isn't strong enough for such a journey. It would damage it beyond all skills of healing. We'll tell Father. He can send men.

Father has no men, Mendana! There is no one to go but me, and go I shall. You cannot stop me.

Then I will go with you.

No.

'You cannot stop me.' It is for me that they are on this quest. Dèodar is my subject as well as my kinsman. The prince- her voice failed her, and she cleared her throat as color rose in her cheeks. The prince is an honored guest. I'll not have them hurt while seeking some bauble for my jewel casket.

The Moonstone is more than that, and you know it.

Yes, she admitted, but the situation remains the same. It isn't worth their deaths, no matter what its value.

It will be dangerous.

I'm fully capable of handling danger, my foolish brother. I can shoot a sparrow at a hundred yards with my bow, a handy skill when ambushing brigands. And I may at least be able to keep your pain tolerable, she added, her voice soft with sympathy, because this will cause you agonies beyond any you have ever known.

He took a deep breath and met her eye, accepting the cost he would have to pay. I have dealt with pain before. It is a small thing compared to Roland's life.

All right, she nodded. Wait here until I return. I must change, and I will arrange for mounts.

He frowned. Mounts? But how…?

Mendana laughed. We do have a few surprises hidden in our caverns. With the animals, we can ride underground beneath the river and save you at least some of the walking. It will also make us swifter in arriving. She started out the curtain.

I pray it will not be too late, he sighed.

As do I, little brother, she whispered, her tone fervent as her hand clutched the curtain in a white-knuckled grip.

Then she was gone.

~*~

The trio of adventurers reached the mountain near sundown. Slanting rays of sun revealed that the forbidding face was honeycombed with caverns.

We could search for days, complained the prince, heart sinking into his boots at the prospect.

Cheer up, inithi ionavo, laughed Dèodar, clapping him on the back and almost flattening him, we'll be done before you're fifty.

Thank you for your confidence, entheirae, replied Roland dryly.

What says the stone? asked Collyn, with a mild reprimanding glance at the elf. The big yeoman sank upon a rock before idly smoothing out a rough place on his cudgel with a sharp bit of crystal.

Of course, Roland groaned, pulling the pendant out of his jerkin. Whoever put these marks on the stone had a reason. If it is a map, he would not want to search all day to retrieve his prize.

Ah, yes, but he would also know where he left it. Dèodar tested the string on his bow, drawing it back empty to his chin and releasing it with a resounding twang.

It can't hurt to try. Roland studied the scratches on the stone with a careful eye. There is a tiny mark all by itself about two-thirds of the way down the outline of the mountain. Shall we start our search up there? He pointed to a cave in approximately the correct location.

Might as well, Dèodar shrugged, re-slinging his bow. It's the only clue we have. Besides, he squinted from sun to cave mouth, it looks like a good spot to make camp tonight.

Camp, Roland snorted. No bedrolls, no food, no fire. A poor camp, if you ask me.

Good thing no one asked you then, quipped the elf, while examining the base of the mountain.

You have lived too soft a life, my prince, Collyn added with a grin. I've known many nights where I dreamed of a nice, dry cave in which to camp. Sleep hungry under the stars in the shirt on your back after two days travel, with rain before dawn, then see if you complain about a cave to sleep in.

Roland felt his face grow hot. Come on then. If we're planning to scale the cliff, we'd better get started. It will be dark soon.

Aye, agreed Collyn, stepping up to the towering rock face and searching for a handhold. Finding an outcropping, he started up the sheer face. Too bad we have no rope, he muttered.

Will this do? asked Dèodar, tossing him the end of a thin coil of plaited cord.

Collyn caught it in one hand and pulled it up. What will this hold, Master Warder? One of your ration cakes?

Tie it around your waist and see.

Collyn did as instructed before shrugging down to the prince. I think the sun has scrambled what little brains he has, my lord.

Just keep climbing. At the first cavern mouth, step inside and we shall see whose brains are scrambled, Master Yeoman.

Roland grinned at the by-play. He watched with interest as Dèodar fed out the rope until Collyn reached the cave. When the trader waved, the elf tied the rope around his own waist and climbed nimbly up the face of the rock as Collyn braced to take his weight.

Well done! cried Dèodar, slapping Collyn on the back and tossing his end of the rope to Roland. Now you, entheiro. Come and join us.

As he looped the slim cord securely around his waist, Roland smiled to himself. Elf and human were working together side by side. There was no reason why the two cultures couldn't coexist in peace. With Stefan king among the elves, and himself on the throne of Woodbridge Point, the dream might so easily become a reality.

Chapter Six

Roland stared into the flickering heart of the campfire. His thoughts shifted like the flames. It had gotten too dark to climb before they reached the cavern that was their final goal, making the ascent too risky, so they took shelter in another alcove two ranks below the one they sought. Now, as he watched the dancing firelight, thoughts of Mendana flowed into worry for his father.

I should never have broken my journey home for this quest. Father may be ill. He needs me. But so does the princess. She deserves her heritage….>

This is madness! It is all so complicated. I should return home at once….

However, in the end, the thought that he could brighten those beautiful eyes overcame his fear for the king.

Roland sighed. He had forced Dèodar to get some sleep, knowing the elf had been pushing himself far harder than he let on. Collyn had volunteered for the watch, but Roland waved him off to bed as well, strangely restless.

He pulled out Stefan's pendant and twisted it between his fingers, watching the way the firelight reflected in the polished stone. Holding it to his eye and looking at the fire, he caught his breath with a hiss. In the heart of the stone, he could see images. The golden gem seemed to part like a stage curtain and, as clearly as if he were witnessing a play, he saw a troubling scene unfold:

He appeared to look upon a dark room furnished in heavy wood, with crimson and black draperies. Everywhere he gazed the emblem of a rampant lion worked in ebony thread was hung as standard. In the center of the room stood a tall throne, where the dark figure of his cousin Norfulk slouched. In front of the throne knelt Mendana, her arms pinioned by a burly figure obscured by shadows. The figure forced her head upward by means of a gloved hand fisted in her hair. Her lip was swollen and bloody. Even in the tiny perspective offered him, Roland could see hatred suffusing her face.

The scene played on, and his heart congealed within him as he saw himself dragged before the throne, barely conscious, his face a mass of bruises. He saw Mendana lunge toward him, only to be wrenched back… then the vision trickled away.

He dropped the stone as if it were white hot.

Mendana, a captive at Opprobrium? But how? Why? What could have possessed Andundal to let her go? And where was Stefan?

By the Flames...what will he do to us? he whispered aloud. What can we do to him?

There was a flutter of sound above him, and he reached for his sword, staying his hand when he saw the cause of the noise. A sleep-fuddled raven had blundered into the cave, coming to perch on a ledge well above the fire before tucking its head beneath its wing.

Just a silly bird, he muttered with a yawn. He was suddenly, abysmally tired. He must get some sleep. On the ledge above his head, the raven shifted, looking down at the trio with a cock of its head and the unaccountable trace of a smirk to its beak. Roland started to wake Collyn, but crumpled beside the fire instead, asleep before his head hit his crossed arms.

~*~

Stefan and Mendana rode through the night, pursued by an unease that would not allow them rest. Mendana's albino mounts with their pale gray eyes and large, padded feet picked their way surely through the dimly lit caverns, born and bred to darkness. The graceful creatures fascinated Stefan. He had never seen anything like them in the world above ground. They were nothing like the horses he was used to in Woodbridge Point. In fact, they reminded him more of great long-legged cats, with their soft, shaggy coats, which gave off a faint odor of cinnamon and allspice.

He leaned forward in his saddle and took a deep breath of the soothing aroma rising from his male. Its perfume lifted his heart, despite the urgency of their quest. What gives them that scent, Mendi? Why do they not smell more like…well, animals?

Mendana's laughter spilled like tinkling music to fill the dim cavern. It is part of the magic of their creation, thiuveae. They were bred long ago, when the elves held much greater power. There are only ten pair or so left in the stables now.

What about the warders? he asked her, curious to know more about the ways of his people. Do they never ride above? Surely they don't use these mounts on the surface.

There is some equine stock kept in a corral in Moonrise Wood. The warders and our messengers, like Leithan for example, use those horses, but for covering the caverns, our istionthi are the best possible mounts. Is that not right, my beauty? she crooned, reaching down and stroking the neck of her skittish female with a fond caress.

Can he be trusted?

Who? Mendana asked, with a puzzled expression on her face.

Leithan.

She laughed. Oh, yes. Do you not remember him? He has been in the castle since he was a babe. He was not yet two years old when the exodus occurred. And there have been no children born since. The amusement died in her face, replaced by a wistful sadness.

No children in almost fifteen years?

Our race is dying, Steavil. There are so very few of us left. Most of the women are beyond bearing. Her face darkened in the dim light as she blushed. Dèodar and Leithan are the only unattached young men in the clan, and they are my kin. If things remain the same, I-I will never marry either.

They rode on in silence for a while longer, then Stefan ventured a hushed query. Mendi, will I be a good king?

She glanced at him, her face reflecting surprise at the question. Why do you ask? How could you not be? You were born to be king.

But that doesn't mean I'll be a good one. I often listened to Roland's lessons. Many times the masters would speak of princes who proved to be cruel or incompetent kings. I've had no training to wear the crown. What if I fail?

It isn't something you need be concerned with for many years, inithi thiuveae. Father will be there to teach you the way. There may be few of us left, but we are a long-lived race. He's not yet ready to relinquish his seat.

Yes, of course, you're right. He favored her with a wan smile, wincing involuntarily as he did so.

Is it your knee? she asked, her voice anxious.

'Tis a bit of a strain, that's all, he shrugged, trying to minimize her worry. I will be fine.

They passed under one of the dim crystalline lamps, and Stefan glanced surreptitiously at the crimson stone set in Roland's ring. It remained blood red, and he breathed a little prayer of thanksgiving.

We're under the river now, Mendana remarked some time later. Look. The princess pointed to a ribbon of water cascading from the ceiling in a miniature waterfall. It pooled into a rippling stream that intersected their path. There is beauty here in our caverns, Stefan, as much beauty as above, if more subdued.

Stefan looked where she pointed, but even his sharp eyes had difficulty making out details in the dim light of the lamps. He felt like the walls were moving in on him. How do you stand this shadow world?

You grow accustomed to the dark, Mendana promised.

But how can you stand never seeing the daylight, Mendi? Or gazing at the stars? I've spent countless hours simply watching cloud shadows on Golden Heath. I'm not so sure I can give it all up.

I often go above to Haven Clearing and sit in the forest to feel the sunlight, or hear the wind. Our life isn't as awful as you fear, I swear to you.

It will just take some getting used to, as you say. He glanced at the ring once more.

What is it, Stefan? Has it changed?

Not yet, he replied, with a frown creasing his smooth brow, but I fear it will be soon. He kicked his mount up to a canter. We must hurry, Mendana.

Her face was grim in the shadows as she nodded and moved up to ride beside him. The loping animal ran on through the night, but Stefan's thoughts were too chaotic for further conversation.

Will we be in time? How did things come to such a pass? >

The king entrusted me with Roland's keeping. Now the prince is in danger. I failed Frederick's trust. I failed again. I failed…. >

The istionthi's pounding feet beat the refrain into his heart, until his head whirled with it. Hours flowed into a featureless blur, punctuated only with bitter self-recrimination, and the throbbing of his knee.

Are you all right?

Mendana's voice cut through the fog of exhaustion and pain that had him clinging to his mount with desperate determination. He shook his head to clear it, and managed a weak smile. I'm fine. Just a little tired. Are we nearly to the exit?

Almost. Would you like to rest?

Stefan shook his head again, while glancing uneasily at the ring. No. It's getting late. I can feel it. He kicked the animal to a loping gallop.

Stefan! Mendana called after him. Be careful! The floor may not be as smooth as you think.

We have no time to waste! he shouted back over his shoulder. The feeling of unease was growing stronger, as if someone goaded him ever forward.

He could hear Mendana's mount behind him and forced himself to rein in. He came to a crossroads where the tunnel branched in several directions. Which way? he cried, hearing the impatience in his voice, but powerless to prevent it.

To the left. We should come up just outside the Ring of Tears. It must be nearly dawn. I advise you rest for a time, Stefan. It will make you stronger, and you'll need your mobility. If that knee stiffens up, it will be very difficult for you to climb; perhaps impossible.

Reluctantly, he had to admit the validity of her warning. Already his knee felt permanently bent to the saddle. We will rest for an hour. By then the sun will have risen, and we will be able to see to climb.

She nodded. It's just a little way further along this corridor then we can tether the mounts. She kicked her animal ahead and led the way to a comfortable chamber carved out of the cavern.

Along one wall was a long straw-filled bin with water troughs at either end. Mendana slipped from her mount gracefully then looped her reins over the rail before the bin. She stroked its neck. Itheamia, entheiria. You have served well.

Stefan tried to free his left leg from the stirrup to dismount, but his knee would not cooperate. A searing pain raced through him, and he choked back a cry.

Steavil...?

I-I'm all right. Just give me a minute. He took a deep breath, concentrating all his will on his knee. Holding tightly to the saddle horn, he gritted his teeth and forced his leg free. Swinging it to the ground, only his grip on the saddle kept him upright when the leg buckled beneath him.

Mendana ran to his side, and caught him around the waist. You've overdone it, haven't you? I warned you!

He drew himself upright, trying to stand on his own. Did I have a choice, Mendana? He is my brother; maybe not by blood, but my brother just the same. And I swore to his father on my honor that I would protect him.

At least sit down and let me look at your knee.

He nodded, clenching his teeth against the pain. She helped him limp over to a set of stairs leading up into darkness. He sank onto a rock with a grateful sigh, leaning back against the risers. His fingers clutched at the edge of a step with desperate tension. Fiery pain swept through him in cascading arcs.

Mendana knelt on the floor beside him, lifting his leg in gentle hands and propping it on her bent knee. Even before she loosened the legging, it was obvious his knee was swollen to twice its normal size. Carefully, she undid the lacing to expose the leg. The flesh was tight and waxy, mottled with angry bruises.

She bit her lip at the sight of it. I should never have let you come. Now you will never walk properly.

It will be worth it, he grunted, if we can save them. He let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. Can you make the pain stop? murmured Stefan. Damn the consequences, can you make the pain stop? I need to be able to move without feeling it.

Do you realize what you are asking me to do? she asked, eyes bright with unshed tears.

Yes. But I have no choice. I've tried to stand it, but I cannot. I have to find them, before it is too late. If you can block the feeling in the leg, fine. If not, I will somehow go on anyway. Deastia, evleeia. If you can, please make the pain go away.

I will do all I can, inithi thiuveae, promised his sister, her face grave and still. She placed gentle hands on either side of the knee. I'm sorry, Mendana whispered, twisting the leg sharply.

The knifing pain that shot through him sent his senses skittering to the edge of sanity. How could anyone survive such agony? His system shut down. The world spiraled in around him like a bud closing in on itself. Everything went gray then, like sand running through an hourglass, the world faded to black as Stefan fainted.

~*~

Roland's party awakened at dawn and continued their climb. Now the trio stood inside the cavern where they hoped to find the Moonstone. Thousands of glorious crystalline structures sparkled like frozen fire in the early morning sunlight filling the grotto. The cave itself was musty after the clean, crisp air that greeted them on awakening, and Roland sneezed when they kicked up the dust carpeting the bedrock. He blinked against the dazzle of the dancing reflections, gazing around in despair. The magnitude of the task before them was overwhelming.

The Moonstone could be anywhere in this confusion.

Dèodar shrugged. We better start looking then, hadn't we? He pointed Collyn toward the rear of the cave. I'll take the left; Roland, you take the right. Start at the mouth and we'll work backwards to meet Collyn.

Sounds good. Roland nodded his agreement and moved around to begin the search. There were hundreds of little nooks and crannies among the crystal pillars. The crystals were sharp as knife blades, and before he could finish the first pillar, Roland sliced his finger. He hissed at the pain and stuck his finger in his mouth, tasting salt blood as he sucked on it until the sting dissipated.

This is ridiculous.

Roland sighed, impatient with the delay as he peered into the shadows near the cavern mouth. As he made his way slowly toward the rear of the cave, he felt a seed of warmth nestling against his chest. It was very faint at first, so slight he almost didn't notice it, but as he moved further from the entranceway, the sensation grew stronger.

He had gotten less than a third of the way around the cavern before the heat became intense. It burned his chest like a coal, and he tore at the lacing of his jerkin to discover the cause. As he ripped open the shirt beneath to expose the pendant, he gasped with wonder. The Sunstone glowed with an inner fire, and the heat emanated from it.

Dèodar, look at this.

The elf strolled over to stand beside the human and rested an elbow on Roland's shoulder. It's glowing.

Roland forced himself to count to ten. I know it's glowing. Do you know why?

Collyn moved to join them. Perhaps it is seeking its companion. Or its companion is calling to it.

It is possible, remarked Dèodar. Certainly worth consideration. Follow its lead and see where it takes you.

Remembering how the ring had led him to the pendant in the first place, Roland nodded, slipping the chain from his neck and placing the pendant in the center of his palm. He moved toward the rear of the cavern, the glow growing brighter and the heat becoming almost unbearable. Just when he felt he must drop the stone before it seared his flesh to ash, the glow began to diminish. He brought the talisman back to the point of its strongest reaction and stepped forward. The stone flew from his hand, coming to rest against a stalagmite.

Well, what do you know about that? Dèodar remarked, letting out a low whistle. He reached down and picked up the Sunstone pendant, which was once more cool and dark. Handing it back to Roland, he hunkered down beside the crystal formation. Let's see what we have here. He searched the bottom of the rock. There's a cavity here, he announced, feeling deep inside it. And here, unless I miss my guess, you have what you seek. He pulled out a small object wrapped in a soft cloth and peeled back the fabric with care.

There in his hand sat the Moonstone pendant, its silver untarnished despite fifteen years of neglect, and the stone glowing with a lambent radiance. The Moonrise heritage, he breathed, all flippancy banished from his voice. It is the symbol of my people, and it has been absent far too long.

Will you keep it until it can be returned to its rightful owner? asked Roland softly.

Oh, no, entheiro. I leave that in your hands, Dèodar answered, handing it back to him with a little bow, his easy grin back in place. I seem to recall you made a promise to a very beautiful lady I know.

I would suggest we return it to her majesty with all possible haste, murmured Collyn. An inheritance this precious should be with its owner.

Aye, agreed Roland. Now that the object of their quest was found, he remembered the doubts that assailed him the night before, when he wrestled with whether or not he should follow his head or his heart.

I must return Mendana her heritage and then leave for home. It is the right thing to do. Father is in danger. No matter what I feel for the princess, my first duty is to him-and it should have been all along.

We best be getting back anyway, Roland sighed. I must return home as soon as I can. I have an uneasy feeling about the state of things in Woodbridge Point. He glanced at the mouth of the cave. The angle of light showed that their search had taken longer than he realized. Time is running out.

Collyn nodded. I fear you're right to worry, my lord prince. The Black Lion will move while there is a seed of doubt as to your whereabouts. By now, the king will fear you lost. There has not been time for Andundal's messenger to arrive. If you are not seen soon at the palace, Norfulk will find the kingdom easy pickings.

Let's start now, replied Roland, his voice grim as he once more wrapped the Moonstone in its protective cloth and stowed the pendant deep inside his jerkin. Before it is too late.

~*~

Even before Roland's party left it, the raven quit the cave. Soaring through predawn darkness, Ravenwing headed arrow-straight toward Woodbridge Point.

Andundal must have sent a messenger to Frederick, or Roland would have returned home at once as he originally planned. Even the hot-tempered human has more sense than to abandon his home to the wiles of the Lion. Without Andundal's assurance of his father's safety, Roland would not be at the lake.

It will be interesting to see how the elven messenger was received.

The wizard remembered his own initiation to the world of humans all too well.

Banished from Starlit Wood for daring to kiss the princess, he had flown as far away as he could go, nursing a fierce resentment all the deeper because he could not focus it. Was he angry with the king, or with himself? Did it even matter? The important thing was, he lost his haven…and Mendana.

Eeonathor flew to Fangspur Cove, transforming to his natural shape just outside of the village. He had spent his twenty years alternating between the two woods of his kin, and had never dealt with the humans who shared the land with them. Curiosity drove him as much as anything else.

He brushed down his clothes, settled his cape about his shoulders and strode forward into the town. The humans on the street viewed him with suspicion. His raven black hair and sea green eyes were a combination not natural in the fishing community.

The sidelong glances did not go unnoticed. He set his chin proudly, and entered a tavern. Eeonathor walked to the counter and laid down a small cut gem. He had no human coin. A glass of wine, he ordered imperiously. As a stranger in a strange land, it was a poor tone to take.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around. Here, now! I bin waitin' fer service. You wait yer turn.

Ravenwing stared at the fisherman coldly. Take your hand off me.

Wot have we here? the human scoffed to his friends, as they joined him, surrounding the magic-user in a loose circle. He thinks he's better'n us. Ya kin tell by his attitude.

If you do not unhand me, I will not answer for the consequences. He started to raise his hand and it was caught and pinned behind him.

I think our visitor needs some manners. Don't you, boys?

A tiny tremor of fear ran through the elf. The humans closed around him. A dozen at least. His childhood was filled with stories of the cruelty of mankind.

Forget the wine. I'll just go. He stepped forward, but the grip on his arm did not loosen.

I don't think so, little man. Not without a lesson first. The words were backed with a hard fist to the stomach.

Ravenwing doubled forward from the impact. A second punch caught him in the chin and rocked his head back. After that, the blows came so hard and so fast he could not track them all. He sagged against the man who held him, barely conscious as he was stripped of his purse and thrown out of the tavern into the street. He lay where he fell, gathering strength to move.

What have we here? purred an amused voice before him.

Ravenwing blearily peered up through one slitted eye; the other was swollen uselessly shut. Who are you? he croaked.

The newcomer was dressed in solid black, a young man, still in his teens; little more than a boy really. Unruly black hair framed a handsome face, with the coldest eyes Eeonathor had ever seen, even though the youth smiled. I am your salvation.

It was his first encounter with Norfulk Roderickson. At the time, he believed the human. Driven from his home, he desperately wanted to believe in something. Only closer acquaintance had come to show him the truth. He had been at the villain's beck and call ever since, but the time was nearing when he would break those chains. He had his own plans.

Suddenly, Eeonathor sensed a shifting within his soul. The hour approached when he would put those plans into action. The messenger could wait. He turned gracefully, winging back toward the Ring of Tears.

He had important business to take care of, before it was too late.

~*~

Mendana proved good to her word; she worked another miracle with her healing touch. When Stefan returned to his senses, the pain was gone, along with all mobility in the knee. The joint was locked, and it took everything he had to force himself to climb the stairway out of the cavern. They came out of the underground cavern scant yards from the mountains and moved into the foothills with all possible speed. Even so, Stefan sensed they were being watched, and it made him uneasy.

Now, as they scaled the cliffs surrounding the lake, Stefan fought for every inch of progress. With a grim determination not to fail, he scrabbled for finger holds, pulling himself upward by sheer strength of will. He dared not let Mendana know he grew weary, because they could not afford to rest.

Stefan glanced furtively at his sister. With a graceful economy in her movements, she climbed steadily upward, as nimble as a goat, despite the long bow slung across her back. Even in his fear for the others, he could not suppress a thrill of envy at her ease of movement.

But the fear was growing. Every moment of delay was potentially disastrous. We will be too late! he gasped, breath ragged in his throat as he tried to make himself move faster. We must hurry!

I know that, little brother, Mendana replied, through gritted teeth. I may not have the Sight as strongly as you do, but I feel it as well. The danger is nearing. She mopped her sweating forehead with the side of her arm, brushing back the hair at her temples. She had gathered her braids into a heavy twist at the nape of her neck. Even worn in this fashion, it hung halfway down her back, but it made her hair less likely to catch on projections.

Stefan felt terribly vulnerable scaling the mountain face, and kept scanning the area around them for signs of a hidden watcher. The chill breeze fanned the sweat from his face, and he shivered, licking the salt from his lip as he paused and looked about him once more. Only a single bird wheeling high overhead moved within the silence of the desolate landscape.

Rubbing his neck to release a knot of tension, he reached out for a handhold and missed. His right foot slipped, and he came down hard on his bad leg. The jar seemed to knife through him, despite Mendana's block, and Stefan felt the world gray out around him.

He swayed, and his soft boots slid against the rock. Terror welled within him. His heart slammed in his chest as he flailed out for a hold.

His fingers could find no purchase. His feet continued to slip.

There was the smell of fear-charged sweat in his nostrils, and the taste of sour bile in his throat. Time seemed to stand still, frozen in an endless moment as he teetered for balance.

I cannot fall again! Please, gods, when will I have paid enough?

Stefan choked on the scream bubbling up his throat.

And then he felt a strong hand grab his wrist.

I have you, Steavil, Mendana reassured him, drawing him toward her with a firm and steady grip. There is a little outcropping just a foot or two above you. We will rest there, whether you wish to or not.

Stefan nodded reluctantly, too exhausted to do anything else. He had not expected the climb to be nearly as great a strain as it was proving to be. He had nothing left to give.

Mendana had to haul him up to the little ledge with very little aid on his part, and he slumped down upon a fallen rock, panting. He spat the taste of fear from his throat then drew the rough edge of his sleeve across his mouth. He still wore the clothes he brought from Woodbridge Point, despite his change in status, and he huddled now beneath his cloak, drawing its folds about him as much for comfort as for warmth.

Put your foot on this, she ordered, propping his leg up with her pack. I will get our bearings.

Grateful to sit still for a few moments, Stefan shook hair out of his eyes and let his gaze wander about the scene. A sickeningly intense flash of recognition hit him, and he pushed to his feet, feeling a fresh surge of panic building to a crest within him.

Mendi- he began, his throat so tight with fear he could scarcely speak.

Shh! she ordered, crouching behind a jutting boulder. Someone's coming.

He lurched to her side. They are coming, he grated, clutching her sleeve, Roland and the others. They are coming, and they will be taken!

How do you know? She seized him by the shoulders, giving him a rough shake. Tell me! How do you know?

His teeth clicked together with the force of her shake, and he swallowed hard. I saw it. I was there-here-when they were taken. I have to warn them.

What exactly did you see? Tell me!

Stefan moaned low in his throat, fighting to keep control. Many men, perhaps as many as a dozen, hiding in the rocks. When Roland and the others came among those boulders, they walked into an ambush. He pointed to the scatter of rocks just beneath them.

Well, I doubt the gods will let us change the vision so greatly as to cancel the encounter, but at least we may even the odds. She slipped her bow free and began scanning the rocks, looking for a sign of the ambushing party.

Stefan stepped back. Panic mounted within him. He realized that, weaponless as he was, he could no more influence the outcome of what was to come than in his dream. He remembered how helpless he felt when the mountain pinned him in place while his friends were slain.

He could almost feel the stone oozing upward like molten lead to encase his knee. The ambush was coming. The vision was about to become reality, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He saw Mendana stiffen to attention, and stepped toward her, only to feel a hand suddenly clapped over his mouth and his arms pinned behind him. He struggled like a mad thing, and his hands were twisted sharply, bringing a gasp of pain to his lips.

Stand still and be quiet, ordered a soft voice in his ear, and he froze. Good boy. I'm going to let you go now. If you make a sound, the consequences will be on your head.

The hands released him, and he saw a handsome Dark elf, a hair's breadth taller than Mendana, standing beside him. He opened his mouth, and the stranger shook his head with a warning frown and a finger to his lips.

Somehow, Stefan knew it would be wiser to do as the stranger said.

There is Power radiating from this elf that I dare not cross. But where did he come from? We are halfway up the mountainside, and I heard no sound of his approach. >

He soon saw why, when the stranger crept forward, noiseless in thigh-high leather boots.

Stefan opened his mouth to warn Mendana, but the newcomer spun, gesturing toward the boy. Suddenly, Stefan found that he could make no sound, and he cowered back against the mountainside.

Stepping behind Mendana, the elf pulled her from the edge of the outcropping with a hand to her mouth, preventing her from crying out. She dropped her bow with a clatter, and fought to turn in her captor's arms.

Now, now, Mendana Andundalia, he murmured, just loud enough for Stefan's sharp ears to catch, is that any way to greet an old friend?

~*~

Ravenwing! Mendana hissed, furious with both her captor and herself as she struggled against his deceptively loose hold, let me go, twuae iothinae! There will be an ambush.

Shh. Yes, there will be an ambush, inithia ionavia, but you will ruin my plans if you do not put away your play toy.

Let me go. As your queen, I order it.

By all means, your majesty, he murmured, an amused smirk crossing his handsome features as he moved away with a flourishing bow. It seems I am always letting you go, he breathed as he passed her.

She felt a wave of confusion wash over her at the unexpected sight of him. Even when she told Andundal that Ravenwing would know where to find the travelers, she never really hoped to find the magic-user. He truly did have a talent for turning up when least expected.

What are you doing here? Mendana's eyes flashed fire as she retrieved her bow.

Ravenwing tapped one long finger against his pursed lips. A very interesting question, my queen, he observed finally. Do you mean physically, mentally, or metaphysically?

I have no time for your riddles! There are people in danger here.

Ah, yes. He hopped up to perch on a waist-high boulder after flipping the long black cape he wore out of his way. He cocked his head at Mendana, bringing to mind the guise of raven he was wont to wear. The humans and that iothinae cousin of yours. Yes, they should be along any moment. And who is this? he added, with a sweep of his hand toward Stefan.

As if you didn't know, growled Mendana. I do owe you thanks for those services, I suppose.

That was a hint, my impatient queen, Ravenwing drawled. We have not been properly introduced, the little prince and I. He is little, is he not? I thought him much taller when stretched upon a bed with his crown parted.

This is no time for social graces. Roland and the others are riding into a trap-

Yes, I know, he nodded, his voice solemn.

Then you must help us warn them!

No, I don't think so. Not so long as I am being paid by the other side.

Stefan heard the sound of voices far beneath them, and made a desperate lunge for the edge of the cliff.

No, little prince, cautioned Ravenwing softly. 'Twould spoil things. He sketched a figure in the air, and Stefan found himself held in an invisible vise, unable to move or speak as Roland and his party came into view beneath him.

Stefan watched in helpless horror as the trio moved toward the position where he had seen them fall. The trip-hammer beating of his heart pounded in his ears, and his head swam as he fought against the compulsion of the spell.

He was aware of Mendana's glare of hatred as she too was held frozen by the wizard's wiles, but his whole soul cried out a soundless warning to those below. He saw Dèodar look up sharply, staring in their direction, but before his cousin could nock his bow, the party was attacked. While Stefan watched the skirmish below, a single tear broke free from the control imposed by Ravenwing's spell, and rolled down the boy's cheek.

Gods! I have proven useless to Roland yet again…

~*~

Roland saw Dèodar's head jerk upward as his glance swept sharply toward the summit of a nearby crag. There was the harsh caw of a single birdcall, and his own hand flew to the hilt of his sword as instinct took over. Before he could clear the scabbard, a ragged band of cutthroats sprang down from the surrounding rocks to descend on the trio. Dèodar plucked an arrow from his quiver, but before he could bring it around to his bow, he let out a wordless cry and crumpled to the dirt, hit by a sling stone in the temple. His bow snapped beneath him as he fell.

Roland's sword sang free of its scabbard with a ringing clash as he stepped toward the elf. He had no time to reach his fallen companion before he found himself surrounded by a group of four men, all armed with short swords or long-toothed daggers.

The prince gulped. He risked a quick glance at the ground to make sure of his footing. It was one of the earliest lessons he was taught. His mind raced as he tried to remember the other lessons.

One of the men leered and swung his sword in a short arc aimed at Roland's midsection. Roland caught it against his blade with a ring of steel on steel. His confidence soared.

Then they all attacked him at once.

Instead of one blade, he had to defend against four. The sharp taste of fear surged into his throat. He had never had a lesson about a situation like this. He was hard pressed to keep the men at bay, whipping in a circle and parrying blow after blow. His arm ached from the slamming impact of the weapons against his own.

He had no more time to think. He was moving on instinct alone. His heart pounded as he twisted and spun. A lucky flick of an attacker's dagger traced a line of fire across his right arm, and the copper scent of blood brought a rush of nausea to his throat. He felt hot liquid flowing from the wound, and it made him light-headed. The sword became harder to wield as his hand became slick with blood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Collyn brought to the earth by another foursome of the brigands, all four punching and kicking with savage fury as the big man laid about him with the cudgel. A thought crossed his mind in a lightning flash.

If any one of them were using a blade, Collyn would be dead by now. Why aren't they? >

The yeoman fought to his feet, but was brought low again almost at once. After that, Roland lost all track of his companions as he fought for his life.

His sword flashed in the sunlight as he thrust and parried with desperate urgency. He wounded one of the men in front of him, losing sight for an instant of his danger in a flush of triumph. It caused him to lower his guard and the world exploded from behind.

Through a red haze of pain, he sank to his knees, fighting for consciousness and losing the battle. He sensed the sword slipping from his numbed fingers as he fell forward.

His last conscious thought was a thrill of fear as his vision of Mendana in Norfulk's clutches within Keep Opprobrium flashed through his memory and left darkness.

~*~

And there we have it! cried the wizard, leaping gracefully to stand atop the boulder on which he perched. He gave a lilting, wordless cry. All at once, the attacking ruffians began to drop where they stood as the same hidden marksman who knocked out Dèodar placed his sling stones with uncanny accuracy. The singing swish of the flying stones was counterpointed by grunts and cries of pain as the brigands crumpled.

Ravenwing chanted a brief spell, sketching another figure in the air, and several more of the villains dropped to the ground. Yes! he crowed, waving his hand with negligent arrogance.

Stefan felt the invisible bonds holding him vanish, and stumbled forward to kneel awkwardly at the edge of the cliff. He studied the scene beneath him with anxious desperation.

He could hear Mendana running forward behind him-then Ravenwing stepped off his rock into midair. Stefan stared up at the wizard in open-mouthed astonishment as the other spread his cape and shifted, shrinking into a small bright-eyed raven, which swooped down toward the fallen companions.

Oluvi ilianae! Mendana spat after him, her voice ringing harshly in the unnatural silence.

Numbed by the sight below him, Stefan glanced down at the ring. There was a barely perceptible change in the color, and his heart eased somewhat. At least Roland did not appear to be seriously hurt.

Yet.

I will kill you, ilianae! Mendana screamed, scooping up a rock and hurling it over the edge of the cliff after Ravenwing.

We have to get down there, Mendi, Stefan murmured. His voice was grim as he struggled to his feet. Roland cannot be badly hurt. I must help him.

Yes, she nodded, with her mouth set in determination. I have a score to settle with Eeonathor Ravenwing.

Look. Stefan pointed to a place across the gully from where the victims lay.

Down from the rocks moved a slight figure, tucking a sling into his belt. A cap was pulled low about his ears, and on his shoulder perched the raven. The little figure moved silently among the fallen, collecting purses from the cutthroats. He stooped over Dèodar, carefully removing the warder's quiver of arrows and slipping a silver band from the elf's little finger.

That does it! Mendana whispered, her eyes snapping. Stay here. I can move faster without you.

Before he could protest, she was scrambling down the cliff side toward the thief. Stefan watched helplessly as the pickpocket rifled Collyn's pouch, apparently finding nothing of interest. By the time Mendana reached the ground, the thief had moved over to Roland.

The cutpurse hunkered beside the motionless prince, head cocked as if listening to the raven. When he tilted his head, it was obvious to Stefan, even from this distant vantage point, that the thief was a mere boy. Ravenwing cawed harshly, and the boy reached forward and shifted the unconscious Roland onto his back. The little thief raised an eyebrow and ripped open the prince's jerkin with a bodkin, baring his chest. The Sunstone pendant glowed in the bright sunlight. Mendana leapt upon the lad when he reached for the ornament, and the raven took to the air.

The princess pounded the thief around the head and shoulders as Stefan chewed his lip in indecision and watched. The cutpurse was strangely quiescent, merely raising his arms to protect his face.

Call her off! ordered a harsh voice in Stefan's ear, as a silk-clad arm curled around his throat and a sharp blade pricked his side through his tunic.

No.

The blade pressed harder, and Stefan felt a tremor of fear. He gulped.

Do it, iothinae! She'll ruin everything. I don't have time to convince you politely. Just call off that hot-blooded sister of yours! There was a note of desperation in the wizard's voice, and the blade broke the skin of Stefan's side

Mendana! he cried. She looked up, eyes narrowed against the sun as she held the little thief in a secure grip.

Stop hammering on my companion, my Queen, and I promise not to skewer your unfortunate brother, Ravenwing shouted down at Mendana.

Let him go, Eeonathor!

I think not, he replied, and Stefan swallowed hard against the arm around his throat.

He felt a moment of disorientation and dizziness, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he and his captor stood on the ground beside Mendana and her captive.

Impasse, my Queen. Shall we trade?

I should have let them kill you when I had the chance, hissed Mendana, confusing Stefan even further. He thought the magic-user was a friend of hers; now it appeared the reverse was true.

Look, you stubborn iothinia, we have little time. My spell will not hold those brigands forever. I need the pendant of Starlit Wood. It is my ticket into Keep Opprobrium. There is but one prayer to stop the madman living there, and I am it. Now let me have the Sunstone, and release my companion.

As you say, wizard, impasse. I will release your boy when you release my brother.

Despite his current danger, Stefan found his curiosity drawn by the quiet little thief. He stood in sullen silence, strands of lank blonde hair straying from under his cap. His eyes were a startling, vibrant green, the only spark of color in his pale face. Stefan felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Let him go, Mendi. I doubt it was his idea to come.

Well spoken, my prince, murmured the magic-user. With a heavy sigh, the elder elf released him. 'Tis no use, is it, evleeia? he asked Mendana, his voice a soft caress. You will never forgive, and I cannot forget.

Deliberately, Ravenwing turned his back on the princess, then squatted down beside Dèodar and gently examined the slight gash on the warder's forehead. He murmured some inaudible words, and passed a hand over the wound. Sleep now, thiuveae. All will be well, little brother. His hand lingered on the warder's shoulder. Daerci, give me the ring, he ordered sternly, holding out his hand. It wasn't part of the deal.

The little thief reached into a side pouch and pulled out the silver ring Stefan had seen him take from Dèodar. Jaw thrust out defiantly, Daerci slapped the ring into Ravenwing's palm.

With a cool stare of disapproval for his companion, Ravenwing slid the ring back onto Dèodar's finger.

How could you do this to Dèodar? Mendana snarled. You lead your own brother into an ambush and allow him to be hurt. This is on your head! She swept a hand over the scene in the clearing, while keeping a firm hold on Daerci's arm.

Dèodar will survive. I would never hurt him, and you know it. Ravenwing's handsome face was dark with rage. Someone else was not so kind once, I recall. And remember, it was he who held the bow the day you wish I'd died. Don't worry. None of your friends have suffered grievous harm. I merely needed them unconscious. Some of these cutthroats were not so lucky.

Now, will you release Daerci and give me the pendant freely, or must I force you? It is your choice, my Queen. From his lips the title sounded like an epithet.

Stefan listened to the heated conversation in silence. There was definitely some shared history here that he knew nothing about. Limping over to Roland's supine form, he bent from the waist, balancing precariously as he undid the clasp holding the pendant. He coiled the chain into his palm with thoughtful deliberation, and slowly returned to Ravenwing's side.

Here. He held out his hand to the wizard.

Stefan! You don't know what you're doing! Mendana cried.

He turned to her, head held proudly. It is my birthright. I may do with it as I please. I choose to trust this man. He saved my life. I owe him that trust.

Ravenwing dropped to one knee, extending an elegant hand to Stefan with dark head bowed.

Stefan! Mendana protested again, as he laid the pendant on the outstretched palm.

The long fingers curled around the golden stone. The wizard's voice was a soft, reverent whisper. Itheamia, ethiae ionavi. It is the only way.

There was a weak groan from Roland, and Mendana shoved Daerci toward Ravenwing. The boy stumbled into his master, who leapt to steady him.

Take your thief, ilianae, Mendana spat, her voice harsh with hatred. You deserve each other. She ran to crouch at Roland's side, cradling his head in her lap as he started to regain consciousness.

Stefan found himself more or less alone with Ravenwing. The wizard came closer, looking down at him. Your trust in me will not prove groundless, inithi ionavi. This I swear to you.

I do not remember you.

That is not surprising, eathinae. I began roaming before you were born, cousin, and did not often visit Starlit Wood, though my heart once rested there. I was curious after you disappeared. Something told me you were not dead, but I could not track you for some time and I think I now know why. However, since the fiasco on the raft, I have kept an eye on you. He laid a hand on Stefan's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. You are a strong man, Steavil Andundalae, and wise for one so young. Listen to your heart.

He slipped the chain of the amulet around his neck, settling the gryphon pendant inside the open throat of his flowing white shirt. It glowed against his smooth tan.

What do you plan to do next? Stefan asked his newfound kinsman.

I plan to claim your kingdom.

Chapter Seven

Roland lay back amid the soft down pillows of his bed with his eyes shut, contemplating the strange and wonderful dream he'd just had.

From the pain in my head, I must have had too much wine at dinner. That must be what brought on such vivid illusions. I have to tell Stefan all about the dream. He'll enjoy the story. Ah, well, no more time to laze abed. Time to attend to duties. I might well have missed my fencing lesson again, and Master Fortenbraes will not go easy on me this time.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes-to find Mendana gazing down at him, with an anxious frown marring the smooth beauty of her brow.

It was no dream, he mumbled under his breath.

She slipped an arm under his shoulders, and he realized with a flush of embarrassment that he was lying with his head in her lap. He struggled to sit up, and she guided him upright. Are you all right, my lord?

He stared around him at the fallen bodies of companion and enemy alike. What happened? I don't remember…and the others were already down-

Suddenly, Roland became aware of a cool breeze on his chest and glanced down to find his jerkin open and the pendant gone. The amulet! he cried. What happened to it? He tried to stand, but Mendana laid a restraining hand across his shoulders.

Roland hissed with pain, and Mendana dropped her hand with a stifled cry. You are hurt! Let me see.

She ripped the jagged remnants of his sleeve free. It is not deep. It will heal clean. Dampening the rag with water from her pack, she bathed the wounded arm.

Mendana, I must find the pendant.

Do not trouble yourself. Stefan took it. The deep bitterness in her tone was unlike anything he had ever heard her use when speaking of her brother.

It is his by right.

He is a fool! she spat, confusing him more than ever while she bound his arm with a strip ripped from her hem.

Roland winced as she jerked the bandage tight, but said nothing.

Following her line of sight as she glared past his shoulder, he saw Stefan engaged in quiet conversation with a strange elf looming over Dèodar's sprawled form. Even from where he sat, he could see the gleam of the golden Sunstone around the stranger's neck. As he watched, the two clasped hands. Then the tall elf vanished, and a bird soared upward and arrowed away from the lake.

Who was that, Mendana? I don't understand.

I don't wish to speak of him. Can you stand? Many of these men are only sleeping. We must get far away from here before they wake. See to Collyn. I must tend to Dèodar.

Feeling a little fuzzy, and very lost, Roland nodded. As he gingerly rose to his feet, he watched Mendana cross the gully to her cousin's side, ignoring Stefan as she passed him. An expression of infinite, wistful sorrow crossed her brother's face; then Stefan turned away, making his way over to lean against a nearby cliff. The elven prince's limp was worse than ever. A slight, slender figure in rough homespun and ragged cap moved to stand beside him. With a start, Roland recognized the little thief from the Edgetown market.

Where has that one come from? Roland wondered. He had certainly missed a great deal while he was unconscious. He winced at the memory, raising his left hand to the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody but, as he explored the damage, he deduced that the slight gash at the base of his skull did not appear terribly serious.>

He staggered to Collyn's side. The yeoman lay face down on top of one of his attackers. His hands circled the man's throat, and the villain's head twisted at an awkward angle. Collyn gave good account of himself, thought the prince in admiration. There is certainly a lot to learn about Collyn Silverbrook….

Prying loose the big rafter's fingers, he gently turned Collyn on his back. The man's face was battered almost beyond recognition. His nose appeared broken, and it would blacken both eyes. A cut lip was crusted over with dried blood. Roland bit his own lip in sympathy. A cursory examination for further injuries located a bruised or broken rib, but no other serious damage the prince could discover.

Collyn, he murmured. Collyn, wake up, my friend. We need you.

With a muffled groan, Collyn blinked his eyes and came to his senses. Where am I?

We're still near the lake. Wheels are turning, and I know not where they'll lead, but one thing is for sure, we must hurry and get out of here. Most of these villains will be ready to fight again soon.

Collyn sat up, moving with extreme caution. His hand went to his throat, checking to make sure his arrowhead was still in place around his neck. Aye. He glanced around him. Where is Dèodar?

Over there. Mendana is examining him.

The queen? What is she doing here?

I don't know, but she and Stefan came after us. Can you stand? We must get moving.

I believe so. Leaning heavily on Roland's arm, Collyn rose to his feet. Together they moved to Mendana's side. Roland glanced over at Stefan as they passed him.

The elven prince stood against the cliff, his weight balanced on his right leg while he chewed pensively on his lip, an expression Roland had seen many times in their years together. Stefan was off in his own world again, his thoughts far from the reality of the lake.

~*~

In truth, Stefan was lost in thoughts of his conversation with Ravenwing. The wizard's plan is a noble one, but doomed to fail. It will almost certainly lead to his death…and yet, none of the rest of us have even a whisper of a prayer of carrying it off. Least of all me.

The elven prince sighed, his gaze following the path Ravenwing had taken in his flight. Ah, to have the freedom to soar the skies, to lose the burden of this damned leg-now twice the liability through my stubborn folly-it is indeed a wondrous dream.

With a sad little smile, he shook his head at his foolishness. He had chosen his path and now ran along it at full speed. There was no turning back.

Milord, whispered a tentative, light voice at his elbow.

He turned, surprised to find Ravenwing's boy at his side.

Milord, them what the master put a spell on will be waking soon. 'Tis dangerous to stay here. We had best go quickly, and them others too.

Why are you still here? Why didn't you go with Ravenwing?

The cutpurse snorted with derision. How? D'ya see feathers upon me back? I'm no shape-shifter. Besides, he asked me to keep an eye on you, he did. He's terrible worried about you, you know.

No, I didn't know. Your name is...?

Daerci, milord. The little thief tugged off the ragged cap and swept him an awkward bow. Fine blonde hair spilled halfway to his waist.

Stefan frowned, peering closely at the grimy figure. You're a girl!

Aye, milord. Never said as that I weren't.

He laughed. No, I don't suppose you did. Of course, you never said you were, either. It might've saved you some rough treatment from my sister. Where did you learn to handle a sling like that?

I've learned a great many things, milord.

Please, he smiled down at her, topping her height by several inches, don't call me 'milord.' I am far too set in my fancies, and will have far too many people do so later, to allow my friends to do so now. My name is Stefan.

Am I yer friend? asked Daerci.

Stefan detected a familiar note of hunger in her voice. Ah, that desperate desire to belong, to have friends, to fit in…how well I understand it. Mendana cut me to the heart when she was so cold earlier, and I fear the others will do the same, but I know that what I've done is right! Daerci might be an unlikely ally, but any port is haven in a storm.

Aye. You shall be my friend, and I yours, if you will have me. We both could use one right now.

He glanced over at the others, who clustered around Dèodar. The light-hearted elf looked pale, but composed. Stefan felt much better about his decision.

Daerci, he whispered with soft urgency, I need your help.

The little thief leapt to his side. What can I do, mi-Stefan?

I must get away from here, and I can't make it alone. I need your help. Lend me your shoulder.

Aye, Stefan. She slipped an arm around his waist, and he draped his left arm over her shoulders.

Come. We're off. Quietly now, he murmured. If we're careful, they'll never notice we're gone until it's too late.

I don't understand, milord, she whispered back, taking great pains to place her feet so as not to jar his knee. Where're we going, and why alone?

To follow Ravenwing, because no one else will.

Why didn't ya say so! I know where the horses be. We can be off after the master before anyone be the wiser.

Let's hope so, Stefan replied, his voice grim with resolve. If the others saw him leaving, they would only try to stop him. Yet, he knew no one else would help the magic-user. Whatever Ravenwing did in the past to merit Mendana's displeasure, he had earned Stefan's trust, and the prince refused to let the wizard go into this battle alone.

Stefan bit his lip as they skirted a large outcropping of rock and came upon a small group of horses. His knee was throbbing with greater than usual violence.

You must help me mount, Daerci, and then we'll release the spare horses. The others mustn't follow us.

As you command, milord.

Stefan allowed himself a faint smile of exasperation. It would take a while to break her of that habit, he feared.

Somehow, between the two of them, they managed to get him onto one of the horses. Daerci vaulted into the saddle of her mount with supple ease, gathered up the reins of the extra animals and nodded to Stefan. They stole away from the Ring of Tears at a walk. When they were clear of the rock formations, Daerci set the extra mounts free, with a loud whooping yell to scatter them.

Let's go! Stefan cried, slapping his horse into a gallop.

Daerci rode at his heels.

~*~

What was that? Dèodar cocked his head in an alert gesture, eerily reminiscent of Ravenwing.

I didn't hear anything, Roland frowned.

It sounded like a shout.

Mendana glanced around the gully. Where is Stefan? And that thieving brat is gone as well. If Ravenwing hurts my brother-

Eeonathor was here? cried Dèodar in disbelief.

And you have him to thank for that lump on your head, eathinae. Remember what he has done to us.

And you remember that he is my brother, Mendana Andundalia. Whatever he has done in the past, he will always be my brother.

Please forgive me if I speak out of turn, my queen, murmured Collyn, but there is no time to argue the point now. Whether or not Stefan left to seek out Ravenwing or merely started home alone, he is not here. You say the men who attacked us will be awakening soon, and the odds are not greatly enhanced by your presence, my lady. If we don't leave now, we'll soon experience that first hand.

Aye, Roland agreed. We'll find Stefan, but first we must get away from here.

He gave his birthright to Ravenwing, muttered Mendana, her voice choked with anger. It is his heritage, and he handed it over without a murmur.

He must have a reason, princess, replied Roland, lifting her to her feet. Stefan has never been thoughtless. Headstrong, maybe. Stubborn, surely. But never thoughtless.

Speaking of heritages, my prince, Collyn reminded him, don't you have something for the lady?

Ah, yes! The prince reached deep inside his shirt and pulled out the Moonrise pendant, still wrapped in the scrap of folded fabric. That much at least went well. He handed the packet to Mendana with a bow. The Moonstone, my queen.

She caught her breath with a reverent sigh as she unfolded the soft cloth. It is just as I remembered it, she said, her voice hushed.

May I? Roland reached for the amulet, but she stayed his hand.

Nay. She turned to Collyn, her sea-green eyes grave as she studied the trader's face. Master Silverbrook, will you fasten it for me?

Roland scowled when a deep flush suffused Collyn's tan cheek. He had forgotten that aspect of their quest. Andundal's distrust of the rafter was unjustified, and it rankled to see Collyn humiliated this way. But the legend of the Moonstone, and the inability of the wicked to handle its purity unscathed, would reveal the truth beyond further question.

A test, my lady? whispered the yeoman through clenched teeth.

It will prove the question, Master Silverbrook, replied Mendana. She laid a gentle hand on the big man's arm. Before these witnesses.

The prince opened his mouth to protest then shut it again. The test will only prove what I already know-that Collyn Silverbrook is a good and loyal man.

As you command. The big yeoman reached for the Moonstone then carefully lifted it from the bed of cloth. He held it flat on his palm for a long moment, eyes locked with Mendana's. Finally, he moved behind her, fastened the chain around her throat, and stepped away. The moonstone on the pendant glowed like a closely banked fire.

Thank you, Master Silverbrook.

My lady. Collyn bowed low.

The stone appears content, ventured Roland with a crooked grin.

Aye, Mendana replied, turning to him and stroking the stone with a tentative finger. Itheamia, ethia ionavo. Thank you for returning it to me.

You are welcome, my lady. Enirmae. The word was still unfamiliar to him, but her eyes shone in appreciation. I could get lost in those eyes and drown....

Now, shall we go? broke in Dèodar. I believe I saw someone stirring over there.

Yes, let's hurry, Roland affirmed, flexing his right hand and wincing at the resultant pain. I don't want to fight again if I can avoid it. He flinched when his fingers explored the wound on the back of his head.

Shall we go find our errant brothers? Dèodar grinned, or shall we be sensible and return to the palace?

Roland felt a surge of indecision well within him. How can I simply leave the boy behind? But my first duty is to Father. And what about Mendana…? Why does Stefan always have to be difficult? If Stefan was here to aid his sister, I would feel no qualms about returning home…but how can I leave her alone?

The indecision was replaced by a familiar surge of anger. He felt it pounding in his temples as his teeth ground together. Damn Stefan to the Flames! He has been nothing but trouble his whole life!

Then he had a flash of memory: Stefan's white face as the terrified child thought first of his master and shoved Roland into the branches of the fruit tree when the frenzied hound rushed toward them. His anger disappeared like a puff of smoke. Stefan has never given his own needs or desires a second thought if someone else is in trouble. He has gone with Ravenwing, hoping to help. Although the mission is doomed to failure, it is a noble endeavor. I can do nothing more for Stefan. I must let him go his own way eventually. It appears the time has come sooner than I hoped.

Although I love Stefan like my own brother, I must return to my kingdom, Roland replied, with a reluctant frown. He sighed. I hate to abandon him, but my father must think me dead or, at best, lost. I must get back to reassure him. I should never have delayed this long.

Mendana nodded, biting her lip to stop its trembling.

Roland longed to brush away the tears he saw gathering like sunlit rain clouds.

Please understand, my lady. His eyes pled for her forgiveness. Stefan chose his own road, and I must leave him to it.

Mendana laid a hand on his. I understand, entheiro, and I know Steavil would as well. I have to…. She buried her face in her hands, while her slender shoulders shook with sobs.

Roland took her into his arms without stopping to weigh the consequences. She leaned into him, and he stroked her soft hair with a shaking hand.

How can I leave without him, Roland? He is my brother. He was lost for so long. All alone….

Roland breathed deeply of the light lavender scent perfuming her hair. My lady, we must trust him to fate. We don't even know where to begin to look. He lifted her chin, then gazed down into the brimming pools of her tear-filled eyes. We must return to our own homes, he said, voice rough with all he dared not say.

Mendana searched his face, as if memorizing its every line. You are right, she gulped. Come, we have istionthi in the caverns. They should be rested enough to carry double.

They eased around the rocks with extreme caution, as the cutthroats yet breathing began to sit up and get to their feet, still groggy from the effects of Ravenwing's spell. Besides the man Collyn had dispatched, three others lay crumpled and silent.

Over here, Mendana whispered, pointing to a cleft in a nearby rock formation. She led the way across the open space and into the caverns.

Roland looked around him in undisguised awe. It was his first glimpse of the elven gardens, and the crystalline flowers surrounding the stairway stopped his breath. Their delicate stone petals glimmered in the dim magical lamps, and the soft tinkling murmur of falling water played a constant musical accompaniment.

Roland stepped forward, circling to take in the whole cavern. The pair of istionthi lying at rest beside the trough caught his eye. The animals panted like big cats while their big eyes blinked in the gloom. He moved to pet the neck of one of the big white animals, which scrambled to its feet, and shied away from his touch.

They are high-strung beauties, Dèodar murmured fondly, soothing the animal with a rough caress. Aren't you, entheirae? The animal butted against his hand with a noise halfway between purr and whinny, then lifted its head and licked the elf's chin. Dèodar laughed.

We'd best be leaving, my prince, Collyn reminded Roland. I've an uneasy feeling about home.

Aye. Roland's eyes went to Mendana, and his heart thudded in his chest. Leaving her will cleave my soul in two. If only my father was not in such danger. I could willingly spend the rest of my life by her side. But Father is in danger. I must get home.

Dèodar leapt to the back of one of the istionthi. He reached down and helped Mendana to mount before him. The caverns go all the way to the far edge of the forest. You'll have to leave the istionthi underground, but you'll be at the verge of the plain you know as the Golden Heath. You should be back to Woodbridge Point by tomorrow sunset if you ride all night. His mobile features grew still and solemn. I envy you the journey. We must face the king. I do not relish explaining how we lost the prince again.

We did not lose the prince! retorted Mendana, her voice hot as her delicate face flushed crimson.

Ah, then you know where he is? The warder kicked his mount into motion.

I'll find him, she vowed.

I wish I could stay to help you search, my lady, but I fear for my father's sake. He is no longer young, and the news that the Lion is prowling makes me anxious indeed.

Leithan should have delivered your message by now, but I can understand your priorities, Lord Roland, and I wish you well.

They came to a fork in the path, and Dèodar pointed down the left branch. There lies your way, and here ours. Good fortune, my friends.

Roland gazed into Mendana's eyes, suddenly realizing that they had come to what might be a final parting of the ways. He could read something indefinable in the gentle sea green depths of those eyes, and instinctively reached out-to find her hand in his.

Euae astreal, he murmured. My star….

My prince…ethia ionavo. Rest easy, all will be well. Ithneimi endo, evleeo, whispered Mendana as Dèodar urged the animal along their road, and her hand was pulled from his.

Roland stared after the retreating pair in bewilderment. His elven was sketchy, but he thought he understood what she said, though he did not dare to believe it.

~*~

Stefan and Daerci cantered away from the Ring of Tears, heading toward the nearby outskirts of Mendana's Dark Wood. The prince looked around him as they rode. There was a slim band of plain between them and the forest, and the area was a barren wasteland, the grass dead and brown. He recognized the wisdom of planning his next move, but his head was a whirl of confusion. Somehow, I must follow Ravenwing, but is jumping down the Lion's throat the best way to do it?

The sun had begun to set by the time they reached the wood, and slanting beams drew an answering flash of fire from the stone on his finger. By the gods, I forgot to return Roland's ring! I must get it back to him.

Daerci reached over and grabbed his arm. Please, milord Stefan, kin it not wait? Me master is alone. He thinks he is invincible, but he's not. We must help him. We are his only chance.

Poor chance at that, he sighed, frowning down at the ring. But this stone is Roland's birthright.

As the Sunstone pendant is yours, but didn't he give it you as freely as you gave the other? Please, milord. You kin return the ring to Prince Roland when Master Ravenwing is safe.

I suppose you're right, he agreed with reluctance. But what use can we be to my cousin? If his magic cannot save him, how can I? He pounded his fist down on his left leg in impotent frustration. What good am I to anyone with this?

As long as you sit that horse, you're as good a man as any, Steavil Andundalae. What comes after, we'll worry about then.

Stefan looked at her in astonishment. How do you know my true name?

Daerci blushed, and the color rising in her cheeks lent a becoming sparkle to her green eyes. The master told me. He told me a lot about you-and your sister, she added hastily.

I wish I could say the same. I don't know where to turn, or who to trust. My life was much simpler when I was just Stefan, Roland's page, instead of Steavil, Andundal's son.

I swear, milord, you certainly are a one fer feeling sorry fer yerself! By the Flames, but yer enough to drive one mad. Fate deals the deck, milord, and sometimes deals dirty, but ya kin only play the cards She gives ya. Moaning to yerself will never change that. So let's get busy with a plan that relies on our strengths rather than bewailing our weaknesses.

Stefan stared at the little thief then burst into peals of tinkling laughter. Well said, little one. You must've been sent to be my conscience. Shall we make camp and start in the morning rested? He swung down off his horse, barely catching himself as his bad leg took more of his weight than he anticipated. His breath hissed between his teeth. Mendana's handiwork was beginning to wear off. The pain was flooding back into his knee as if it had missed his company.

A comfortless camp 'twill be, Daerci grumbled, sliding from her own mount with graceful ease. I weren't thinking not to snag the pack horse as well.

Such is fortune. Don't fret. I've some trail rations and a flint in my pouch. It may not be a sumptuous meal or silken tent we share tonight, but we'll have a fire. He glanced about him with a frown. The trees were stunted, twisted shadows in the fading sunlight. The forest might once have been a place of beauty, but there was something foreboding about it in the twilight. I'm sure Mendana will not begrudge us a few fallen branches in her woodland, he shrugged, as much to reassure himself as his companion.

I hope not, milord, Daerci scowled, making a sign against evil. Elves can be terrible cruel.

I cannot blame her attitude, Stefan mused. I was raised on the same stories myself, but the reputation still pains my heart. Especially since I have found the opposite to be true. The elves I've met are wise and gracious. Has my name and title smoothed my way, or are the stories as undeserved as I feel sure they must be? >

She is my sister, he murmured at last, his defense mirroring Dèodar's of Ravenwing. Eyes downcast, he busied himself with collecting together scattered twigs for their fire.

I am sorry, yer highness, she replied stiffly. I forgot meself.

He sensed a wall rising between them and sighed. His lonely soul had hoped for an ally in the girl, but he feared the differences between their peoples would prove too much for her. Would it make you feel easier to leave the wood, Daerci? It's dusk now, but we could probably find shelter somewhere on the plain before full dark.

Where the eyes of the night could spot us a hundred leagues away? No, my lord prince, here we shall stay.

He winced at the cold formality of her tone, remembering her spirited attack minutes before in defense of Ravenwing. That is another missing bit in the puzzle. Why is she so loyal to Ravenwing, when she bears so obvious a grudge against the elven race in general? She is risking everything to aid him, without even my excuse of kinship.

I'll start the fire then move off under the trees, he offered, his voice soft, his head bowed. I-I don't wish to cause you any discomfort.

Don't be a fool, she muttered. Share the fire. I could use the companionship.

But you so obviously dislike us.

I dislike elves.

I am an elf, and so is Ravenwing.

Aye, but yer different, and so's the master.

Daerci, we are both loners, not typical of either race; but the elves I've met are all warm, intelligent individuals, no more or less perfect than the humans, and no more dangerous.

As he talked, Stefan gathered twigs and a double handful of leaves in order to make a small fire. He had often lit the fire in their chambers, but those controlled circumstances little prepared him for such a task in the open wilderness. He would no sooner strike a spark from the flint than the wayward breeze snuffed it out. The sharp, white-hot scent of the sparks refused to soften into the comforting smell of woodsmoke.

Stefan's heart sank. He wanted to prove something to Daerci, and to himself, but the fire would not cooperate. The twilight is almost full night now, and there is an ominous silence under the trees. The fire would be an invaluable asset. If only I could get the Flames-damned thing to light!

Let me do it, Daerci grunted, taking the flint and steel from him. She added a handful of tinder to the structure of the fire, and sparked it into flame with a deft twist of her wrist. She blew gently on the tiny flame, feeding it into a crackling blaze. Warm gold flames licked upward, against the night, filling the air with their perfume.

Stefan sighed. Yet another failure. I am beginning to feel that incompetence is my strongpoint.

He stared into the flames, finding some measure of solace in their flickering depths. He slumped beside the fire, his bad knee stretched out stiff before him while he idly tossed twigs into the flames. Pain throbbed in time to the beating of his heart.

Daerci sat back on the far side of the fire, her knees drawn up under her chin. I'm sorry, Stefan, she murmured, her voice nearly inaudible over the crackle of the flames. I didn't mean to hurt yer feelings.

He raked the hair out of his eyes with another heavy sigh. It's just that I grew up with those same fears myself. How will I ever be able to combat those prejudices if I become king? I may be elven by birth, but I was raised human, same as you. I only want to unite both my peoples.

And perhaps you shall. With Prince Roland as an ally, there's a true chance of it. But with that devil in Keep Opprobrium, there's no hope. That's why the master went to confront him.

Why do you call Ravenwing 'master'?

Because he bought me, she shrugged.

He what?

He bought me from a slaver in Fangspur Cove. I was about to be shipped overseas.

No one lives across the sea, Stefan scoffed, plucking at something growing in the needles carpeting the forest floor. He threw it down with a grimace of disgust when he realized it was a slimy, mutated mockery of a mushroom. No one.

Tell that to the strange crews putting into Dangerous Harbor. They are wicked creatures, more animal than man, and they like their females young.

How old are you, Daerci?

Sixteen.

Are you Ravenwing's slave?

Were you Roland's?

Stefan opened his mouth to protest then stopped in stunned realization. I suppose, when it comes down to it, I was. But I never thought of myself that way. I always thought of myself as a brake to his coach. He laughed self-consciously. Foolish, wasn't it?

Not in the least. And as you feel for Roland, I feel for Eeonathor Ravenwing. If it wasn't for him, I would have died on that sea voyage, she continued, her voice soft and pensive as she stared into the heart of the flames. I would have leapt overboard rather than accept dishonor. I owe him my life.

So do I. That's why I came. I just hope I can help rather than hinder-

Stefan, it is a wise man who knows when to doubt himself, but a fool who cannot trust himself, Daerci scolded, her voice exasperated. She stretched out beside the fire. Brood if you like. I'm going to sleep. Tomorrow brings hard choices.

Sleep. I'll keep watch.

Her breathing soon leveled out in slumber, but he sat staring into the fire for hours, trying to calm the chaos of his thoughts.

~*~

Mendana allowed herself the luxury of leaning against Dèodar's sturdy shoulder as they rode. She was very tired. And frustrated. Events had taken a decidedly unwelcome turn, thanks to Ravenwing's interference, and her loyalty was torn to shreds. She wanted to follow and protect Stefan, but her heart rode with Roland, and her duty was to her father.

Ionavia, murmured Dèodar, his breath stirring her hair. May I ask you something?

Yes? she answered, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. The motion of the istionthi and the sleepless night were beginning to take their toll. What is it?

That day in Haven Clearing, was Eeonathor's embrace an unwelcome one?

She turned to look up at him. There was an unaccustomed sadness deep in his sea gray eyes. She longed to wipe it away, but felt she owed him the truth. No. I won't lie to you, entheirae. I thought I loved your brother once. He was dashing and so- She searched for the word she wanted. -different, she finished, dissatisfied with the description, but lost between the myriad possibilities of anything better.

Dèodar smiled a crooked grin. Aye. 'Different' he's always been. And now?

Her face hardened. He betrayed us.

Did he?

He bragged that he was being paid to ambush you!

He didn't do too thorough a job for his gold, did he? Somehow, I doubt the Lion just wanted his rival knocked out for a few moments.

You might all have been killed.

But instead, none of us was seriously hurt. And Stefan seems to trust him-

Stefan is a fool!

So everyone keeps saying, often to his face. Good for building a nervous boy's self-image.

He is not a boy! He is a grown man.

Who was treated as a child until three days ago. Think how confused he must be. And no one helps him, only chides him for a fool.

Dèodar, may I ask you something?

It's your turn, he chuckled.

Why do you defend Eeonathor so hotly? That day in the clearing...I saw your face. You would have killed him at a word.

That day in the clearing, I was angry and hurt. I did love you so, Mendana. I do still, in a different way. Eeonathor was boldly claiming what I had been denied. I would indeed have killed him at that moment. And I have often wished since then for a chance to apologize. Whatever else he is, whatever he has done, he is my brother, evleeia. I love him. And I haven't seen him since that day, nearly fifteen years gone. I realize your separation from Stefan was hard, but at least you thought him dead. I've known all along that Eeonathor lived, and yet may never get to tell him that I'm sorry. To know he was so close, and I missed this opportunity is not an easy thing. He looked down at the silver band on his little finger. All I have left of him is this ring.

Dèodar, I would like to offer you an apology.

Why, princess? he asked, his voice tinged with astonishment.

Because I hurt you. I truly am sorry.

Don't worry, ionavia. My heart healed those bruises long since. Besides, I think you are destined for another.

But will I ever see him again? she sighed.

Undoubtedly. If he lives.

~*~

Roland and Collyn rode on in silence from the fork in the path. Roland was grateful to Collyn for keeping his own counsel, as if he sensed the prince was in no mood for idle conversation.

Suddenly Roland reined in the istionthi with a little cry of shock.

What is it, my lord? Collyn asked.

I know what happened to Stefan. The fool! He didn't go with Ravenwing, he went after him, and Ravenwing-

-Was traveling to Opprobrium. They went to beard the Lion.

Roland's heart sank. The elven prince was ill equipped for such a venture. We must go back. We have to stop that idiot before he kills himself. He moved to turn the animal.

Collyn reached out a hand to stop him. Roland, you never spoke truer than when you told the queen that Stefan chose his own path. Your first duty, painful though it may seem, is to your people, and your kingdom. I know he is your friend, but his is one life. Norfulk could easily have destroyed your father and subjugated your people in the length of time we have been away from Woodbridge Point. Andundal's messenger will have met with suspicion at best, even if your father believes him. Only your physical presence can hope to mend any breach the Lion's insinuations have caused.

Roland sighed, kicking the creature forward. You're right, as always. And, in view of your uncanny logic, Collyn Silverbrook, I hereby appoint you High Advisor of my kingdom…if I ever get one.

Roland felt Collyn stiffen behind him. Do not mock me, lord. It ill suits you.

I'm not mocking you. Roland twisted around to protest. I will need an advisor I can trust. I suppose I just assumed I'd have Stefan as a sounding board. But he will have his own troubles, among his own subjects, and no time for mine. Please, Collyn, I ask you now. Will you be my High Advisor?

The yeoman frowned. You are serious?

Roland nodded.

Aye, my lord prince. You do me great honor.

The istionthi skittered to a stop inside another large cavern, dancing nervously before a flight of stone steps.

We must've arrived, commented the prince, sliding to the ground. I would have liked to go back to the inn for our horses, but I suppose we'd never be able to get through the forest on them anyway. If we travel straight through, perhaps we can reach Woodbridge earlier than Dèodar predicted.

The plain will be treacherous at night, Roland, especially on foot.

Perhaps, but we've no real choice.

Collyn nodded agreement. He dismounted and slapped the animal on its flank. Go home, my beauty. Tell your scoundrel of a master, Dèodar, that we have safely come to the end of the elven domain and returned above. I wonder if I shall ever see that rogue again?

Only time will tell, my friend, answered Roland. He started up the staircase. Then, struck by a thought, the prince turned back to Collyn. Besides, we might've had some trouble at the inn. After all; I'm dead, I fear.

Collyn laughed. An undead king might prove very popular, my lord. Perhaps it can be arranged….

Roland sobered as quickly as he had laughed. I only pray I am not yet king. My father has many years left to rule. If Norfulk murdered him- The statement remained unfinished, but his eyes grew cold.

I will gladly kill the Lion for you, Collyn replied, his tone grim.

Let's hope it won't come to that. Though I know in my heart there will inevitably be bloodshed. With a heavy sigh, the prince continued up the stairs and examined the face of the rock covering the exit. I can find no mechanism. It must be voice commanded, as was the rock in Haven Clearing. Let's see just how good my elven has become.

Frowning in concentration, he repeated the warder captain's command in a halting murmur. Andundal sti...stimariali. There was a reluctant groan of protest, but the rock slid open, revealing a small clearing at the edge of the forest.

Collyn gestured Roland aside and stepped cautiously through the doorway.

It is clear, my lord, he whispered, and Roland followed him out into the slanting rays of the setting sun.

A gentle breeze played among the trees, and the prince took a deep breath of fresh air. I know the forest is the same, but it feels so much more human on this side of the wood.

Aye, but we're still on Andundal's land, and he'll not be pleased with the queen's report. I suggest we hurry, my lord.

Wise counsel, Minister. I knew you would be a worthy advisor. Come on, it'll be far too dark to see our way out of here before much longer.

Roland led the way out of the wood with all possible speed, but by the time they reached its outermost fringes, they were picking their way through darkness. The moon sent down shafts of liquid pearl that failed to pierce the trees, but, as they stepped out of the forest, turned the plain to a deeply shadowed woodcut.

They started forward, the plain stretching before them in silver splendor. Suddenly, there was a soft whicker behind them. Roland whirled. Noble and Astreal were tied at the edge of the wood.

It seems we were anticipated, my lord. Collyn led the way to the horses, then ran a sure hand across the gelding's flank. They seem to be well.

Roland examined the dainty mare. Look, there's a note here, and full saddle bags.

What says the note?

Puzzling out the flowery letters by the light of the full moon, Roland read aloud. Thought you might need a little help, my friends. Ride like the wind. Your father needs you-Ravenwing. Roland stared at Collyn, with eyes wide. How…?

'Tis better not to look a gift horse in the mouth, they say, grinned Collyn. The point is, he's done it. He reached out to stroke Astreal's soft nose. The dainty mare danced skittishly at the end of her reins, pulling away from Collyn's touch.

Roland stepped forward to calm her, and Collyn looked down at him. I'm sorry, my lord, but the mare could never hold my weight, even if she were willing. You'll have to convince her to carry you, or ride double with me on the gelding.

Astreal never bore anyone but Stefan, Roland scowled. He raised her from a foal.

You must convince her otherwise. 'Tis a long walk to Woodbridge.

Roland whispered soothingly to the high-spirited mare in his broken elven, and gradually she quieted beneath his hand, rolling her eyes as he eased his way into the saddle. Without a word, he turned her head toward Woodbridge and clicked his tongue to her, knowing better than to kick such a highly-strung animal into action. She bounded forward, and he leaned into her gallop. Pounding hooves beat an urgent tattoo on the hard-packed earth of the plain as the high grasses swished past his thighs with the sting of countless lashes, whipping him to greater speed.

His heart told him there was no time left to waste.

Chapter Eight

Mendana and Dèodar reached the main keep near sundown. He leapt lightly down from the istionthi's back, slipping a hand under Mendana's elbow as she slid from the animal's back with a weary sigh.

You should rest, my lady, the warder counseled. You are in no condition to face the king's wrath tonight.

It won't get any easier, cousin. I'd rather get it over with.

Then I'll come with you.

There's no need for that.

Perhaps I can bear the blame.

But you didn't do anything.

I'd rather he blamed me as another member of a traitorous House than lay the burden on Roland-

-And turn the wrath outward, Mendana sighed. But Dèodar, the fault belongs to Steavil alone. His own rash foolishness drove him to his fate.

Or his rare act of courage. The prince is brave, but inexperienced. He goes to certain danger to save a man he never met before today, yet trusted with his birthright. Stefan is generally underestimated, Mendana, and I wish him well. I pray to Eostivil for his safe return. Nevertheless, the king will need a scapegoat, and I'd rather fill that place than Roland. Shall we go?

Full of misery, she nodded her head. She could see no way to avoid the coming confrontation. Andundal was so overjoyed to regain his son, and now Stefan rushed headlong into who-knew-what danger alone. She felt so helpless. The king would never let her go after the boy, and she had lost Roland as well. She knew he must save his own kingdom. She felt pulled between them, yet trapped at home. She feared Dèodar would indeed endure Andundal's wrath.

~*~

Ravenwing fluttered to a stop inside a small barred window of Woodbridge Castle just as the sun set in a sullen blaze of fire. A guttering torch beside the heavy oaken door provided the only light in the chamber. A figure slumped in the corner of the chamber, with one arm draped across its bent knee. The prisoner's forehead rested upon the propped arm.

He had found Andundal's messenger.

Cocking his head, the magic-user stepped off the windowsill, transforming to his natural form by the time he reached the floor.

Leithan, Eeonathor called softly. Leithan, it's me.

The young messenger looked up, and Ravenwing drew in his breath with a hiss. Leithan's eye was blackened, and his lip swollen to twice its normal size. The injuries appeared all too familiar. Who did this? Ravenwing whispered, hunkering down beside the boy.

Does it matter, my lord?

Did you see the king?

They never let me get that far. You'd think no human ever sported dark hair and green eyes from the suspicion they greeted me with, and when I said I came from my lord king-

I can imagine. He lifted the boy's chin with a gentle hand. Let me look at that eye.

Leithan jerked away. Leave it be. What good would it do to heal it? They plan to execute me.

Frederick would allow that? Eeonathor frowned.

The king is ill, many whisper dying. I doubt he even knows I've come. Leithan shifted position with an involuntary wince of pain. Everything they say about humans is true. They didn't even give me a chance.

There are bad seeds in both races. Do not judge them too harshly, lad. He daubed a bit of salve on the blackened eye, while chanting a phrase of healing. Their king is ill, and their prince is missing. They are frightened. But don't give up hope; Roland will be returning soon. He is on his way home even now. I'll try to get a message to him. He will see you freed.

If it's not too late.

Ravenwing laid a hand on the youth's shoulder. All will be well, inithi entheirae. After all, you are the baby; the best and brightest hope of the entire elven race, he grinned. What do you think my uncle would do to me this time, if I stood idly by and let the humans put you to death?

Why don't you just spirit me away, my lord? asked Leithan, his face lighting with eagerness. The whole kingdom tells tales of your powers.

That would just bring the wrath of the humans down on the Forest. You are their prisoner, and if you escape, they'll start remembering that they consider us their enemies. You must wait for Roland. He will see you freed. I promise you.

Eeonathor murmured the words of a spell, and warmth spread from beneath his fingertips to blanket the messenger. Leithan went rigid under his hand with a little gasp; then the boy's eyes drifted closed.

Sleep, little one, murmured the wizard. He lowered the messenger to the floor. The spell will help the pain. I wish a spell could heal the rift between the races with such ease.

With a heavy sigh, Ravenwing rose to his feet. The time had come to confront the Lion in his den.

Eostivil grant that he come out alive.

~*~

Stefan woke with a start, jarred awake when his chin hit his chest. He groaned, rubbing at a kink in his neck. Some sentry he'd proved, he mused with a rueful chuckle, while gazing around him in the darkness and trying to gather his scattered wits.

Daerci lay fast asleep on the other side of the dying embers, her face tranquil. She seemed much more vulnerable in repose. Stefan's lip crooked in a lop-sided smile. What an odd pair Fate had thrown together, and yet they sought to take on the world alone.

He sighed, staggered to his feet and stretched out cramped muscles. How long had he slept sitting up? Fatigue fogged his thoughts. From the tightness in his back, it felt like hours.

He moved around the campfire in a restless circle, gradually broadening the range of his pacing. The fire gave off fitful light, now more smoke than flame. The scent of the woodsmoke would normally be comforting, but now only intensified the underlying stench of decay permeating the forest. The almost inaudible hiss and pop of the dying fire was the only sound, except for the soft rustle and drag of his steps in the fallen carpet of leaves blanketing the campsite.

The trees exuded a feeling of evil that fueled his unease. It was more than just the tickle at the back of his throat caused by the cloying scent of corruption. Something had invaded Mendana's kingdom, and he felt a compulsion to know what. Everything seemed tainted with the mutation he had earlier found on the mushroom, despite the darkness that hid it from sight.

Stefan had roamed ten yards from the camp, and the defense provided by the fire, when they attacked.

Creatures swept down from the trees. They wheeled on strong leathery wings. Circled just beyond his reach. Chittered and spat. Angry, terrifying sounds.

He caught his first clear glimpse of them. Eighteen inches high, the invaders formed horrid mockeries of the rodents he and Roland chased as children. Instead of gliding from tree to tree, these creatures hovered before him on their membranous wings. Their sharp claws curved like talons. Their glistening fangs would pierce the flesh like needles.

One of the beasts darted in. Lightning fast, it struck at his face. Stefan threw up his hand to protect himself. The brazen creature sunk its fangs into the heel of his palm.

Stefan cried out as the razor-sharp teeth sank deep into the muscle of his hand.

The animal wrapped all four feet around his arm and began sucking like a greedy infant. Loathing welled up inside the prince. He bashed the abomination against the solid trunk of the nearest tree until the beast went limp.

With a shudder, Stefan wrenched the dead creature loose, tearing a sizable chunk of meat from his hand. The curving talons scratched deep rents in his arm. He threw the thing from him as he stumbled toward the fire.

Daerci! he shouted. Daerci, wake up! He practically fell into the coals, tossing frantic handfuls of tinder onto the embers to revive the flames. Daerci woke with the full control of one used to sudden rousing, one hand already reaching for the sling at her hip.

The rodents circled just outside the firelight, like swirling bits of leather and fur. The situation would have seemed ludicrous if not for the fierce throbbing in Stefan's palm, which argued for the deadly intent of these beasts.

Daerci needed no explanation, but began placing her sling stones with cool efficiency. The rodents dropped all around them, hitting the ground with sullen thumps like rotten fruit. As they fell, Stefan thrust a burning brand onto each, and they burst into blue-green flame. The explosive bursts lit the night with eerie patterns, juxtaposed with the cheerful red-gold of the campfire. A noxious reeking stench filled the air when the creatures burned.

After what seemed like hours of fighting a losing battle, Daerci panted, I'm running out of stones. Her voice was grim. What do we do then?

Stefan shook his head, too weary to speak. His right hand felt on fire, but there had been no time to look at it since the battle began. All at once, one of the creatures emitted a high, imperious cry, and all of the survivors soared into the air en masse.

Look, Stefan croaked, pointing a bloody hand toward the east. Dawn.

The creatures wheeled for a moment, shifting and scuffling to establish pack order then flew off toward the heart of the wood.

Freed from the need to fight, Stefan sank to the ground, wracked by violent shudders.

Let me see yer hand, ordered Daerci.

Shaking his head impatiently, he replied, I'll be all right. Just let me…sit here a moment….

She swung her loaded sling with studied casualness. Will you let me tend to yer hand, or shall I have to knock you out first?

Oh, all right. Too exhausted to fight with her, he thrust out the bloodied hand.

Daerci clicked her tongue over the mess and doused the wound with water, rinsing away dried blood with patient care. I'll say this fer you, milord. Pain seems to have made you his personal man servant.

Stefan managed a weak grin. I fear you're only too right, he murmured, wincing as she sponged away the last of the blood and exposed the raw flesh. A jagged hole, about half an inch in diameter, was torn deep into the meat of his hand. The edges of the wound showed a vivid discoloration, and the fire now radiated upward along his arm.

Those were nasty little beasties, Daerci commented with a thoughtful frown, and I don't like the looks of that wound. I'm afraid they might be venomous, Lord Stefan. Best let me bleed it more.

What makes you so sure?

Me master's the finest healer I ever knew. D'ya think he's taught me nothing these long years?

How long could you possibly have traveled with him?

Four years now; five, come winter proper.

Then you were-

-Very young to be a concubine. Aye. But not all men are fine gentlemen like you, milord, she said with dry irony, while dragging the point of her dagger across the wound to reopen it.

Stefan bit back a hiss of pain. He ground his teeth when she began to suck out the bad blood and spit it on the ground. His head began to whirl, and he moaned.

That should help, Lord Stefan, she announced at last, before dragging her sleeve across her mouth. She ripped a length of fabric from the hem of her shirt to bind up the wound. How does it feel?

He tentatively flexed his fingers. He had full movement in them, though he felt a bit of stiffness. I'll live, he replied, with a crooked smile flitting across his face. We should go, but I feel so very tired. He yawned behind his bandaged hand, fighting fatigue.

Sleep while you can, milord. We can spare a few moments, but we've a long journey ahead of us come full daylight.

Even an hour would help.

You'll have that, milord. Though little else, I fear.

With a vague nod, Stefan stretched out beside the dying fire and spun down into sleep.

~*~

Roland pushed them hard through the remainder of the night, resting only when necessary for the horses then pacing restlessly until they could ride again. Collyn kept silent, for which Roland felt an eternal gratitude. His feeling of unease grew in direct proportion to their proximity to Woodbridge Point. He dreaded what they would find at the castle, and the feeling made him urge Astreal to even greater speed.

Some miles out from the castle, Collyn broke his silence at last. My lord, these horses are too well known. Even disguised, we will draw attention. I suggest we hide them and proceed on foot.

Wise counsel, Roland sighed, though I dread the delay. Where shall we hide them?

I have just the place. Follow me, my lord.

Just before dawn, they cantered into an abandoned farm. Although rundown, the buildings appeared neat and well kept. A small corral stood empty beside the sagging barn, and the fields grew only weeds.

We can leave the horses in the barn. Welcome to my humble home, my lord. Collyn slid off Noble's back. He led the gelding toward the stable.

Roland dismounted and followed, while studying the farm with a thoughtful eye. An atmosphere of palpable hopelessness hung in the air, despite Collyn's dreams of making it work. Again, it drove home how privileged his life in the castle had been.

I took so much for granted. When I return home, things will change. I swear it.

He led the little mare through the barn door and into a stall. Collyn forked down some hay for her while Roland hurriedly wiped her down. Despite the urgency, he refused to let the horse suffer for his haste.

Upon finishing the cursory rubdown, he noticed that Collyn had left the barn, and moved to follow the yeoman. He swept up a piece of hay in passing, chewing thoughtfully on the stem. The sharp tangy sap tingled in the back of his throat as he stepped outside the shed.

The first blush of dawn glowed in the eastern sky. Rose and gold replaced the mauve dominating the sky. Roland paused for a moment to admire the still beauty it lent the farm. The ramshackle buildings showed neat patches of lighter boards where Collyn had repaired them against the coming winter. The lines of the corral fence were spare and clean, and showed no breaks. A cord of wood made a neat windbreak beside the cabin door.

Roland took a deep breath of the clear, cold air. It smelled of wild hay in fallow fields and the musty haven of the barn at his back. Wind rustling the oak leaves beside the farmhouse counterpointed the restless pawing of horses.

The tranquility of it, even in its present sadness, caught at his throat. Seeing it like this, he could begin to understand why Collyn felt so willing to fight for it.

Hearing a step, he spun around to find the yeoman beside him.

'Tis the best I have to offer, my lord. Most of my stores have fallen into decay, but here is some dried meat and a skin of wine. Eat a little. You'll need your strength. I fear what we find in the castle won't be to your liking.

Roland nodded, accepting the food with a word of thanks. He took a bite of the jerky, suddenly realizing how long it had been since his last meal. Ravenous, he wolfed down the scant repast with gusto.

We should have a plan, my lord prince. We can't just stroll in at the main gate and go up to the castle. Even if our misgivings are unfounded, it would be foolhardy to ignore them.

Roland's emerald eyes narrowed in concentration as he brought to mind an image of the castle compound and the surrounding village. There is one weakness we might be able to exploit. There's a drainage ditch running out under the wall in the back of the village, behind the orchard. It is small, and easily overlooked. 'Tis the only entryway that is any distance from a patrolled gate, and there is only a grate covering it. Stefan and I used to crawl out through that pipe to play on the Heath. We could uncover it without too much difficulty, though it has been several years since I've gone that way. At least, 'tis worth a try.

One other suggestion, my lord, Collyn commented with a thoughtful frown. He stroked his chin. Once we enter the village, our problems are just beginning. To reach the castle, we must pass unnoticed. That hair of yours is a flame that will draw moths.

What do you suggest?

A tincture of oak leaves will darken your hair. A few other alterations, and your own father won't recognize you.

Let us hope we have a chance to test that theory, replied Roland, with his mouth set in a grim line. What must I do?

~*~

Noile.

Andundal glanced up at the sound of her voice. He had cast aside his robes of state for a practical leather tunic and leggings of dark green. Now, he sat on his throne with his great horn bow across his lap, examining the bowstring. Rising to his full height as they entered, he threw aside the weapon. Where have you been? When they reported you missing, I-where is your brother?

Mendana took his arm and sat him back down on the throne. Dèodar remained standing at attention just inside the doorway. Noile, she began, her voice hesitant, I-I have bad news. She could see him die a little, even as she watched. Damn Stefan's stubbornness!

Where is your brother? he repeated in a hollow whisper.

He has vanished.

Vanished? >

Dèodar spoke for the first time from his station beside the doorway. He came after us as the result of a vision. An ambush had been laid. After the skirmish, Steavil followed Eeonathor from the battle. He hung his head. We think he rides to Opprobrium.

And you didn't stop him! Where are the humans? I charged you with their guardianship, Dèodar.

When Prince Steavil disappeared, my wits were addled by a blow to the head, your majesty. I didn't see him go. 'Tis no excuse, but 'tis the truth. As for Prince Roland and his companion, they fulfilled their quest, and returned to Woodbridge Point.

By whose authority? breathed Andundal with deceptive calm. His eyes narrowed into slits as his hands clutched the arms of his throne in a crushing grip.

Mendana could see the fury mounting and swiftly searched her thoughts for some way to divert it.

Mine, she murmured.

It proved the wrong way.

You are not queen in this kingdom, daughter. They rode under my sentence. How dare you release them!

Noile, please. If King Frederick held Steavil or me while we worried for your safety, would you be displeased if he released us? They were honorable men, who fulfilled their charge. Let them go in peace.

And what of your brother, Mendana? Shall I let him 'go in peace' as well?

He made his choice, Father. He told no one when he left. We only guess he follows Ravenwing.

Then I 'guess' someone will have to follow him. He glared at his nephew, with his jaw tight with fury.

As you command, murmured Dèodar, bowing to the king.

Father, no! It would be suicide. What chance has a lone elf against the Lion of Opprobrium? At least Steavil has his size and reputation on his side. Norfulk will no doubt keep him alive as a pawn against Roland. It is not possible for him to know the truth about Stefan. We may yet have time to plan.

What then do you propose, my daughter?

Time to think. Without a solid plan, everyone in the clan will die, not just Steavil. She met Andundal's eye, and took a deep breath. After all, he was dead to us for so long. If it will save the kingdom-

-I should let him go back to being dead? This time irrevocably?

She gave a miserable nod. If it saves the kingdom, we have no choice.

~*~

With great reluctance, Stefan allowed Daerci's gentle shaking to bring him fully awake. It felt like he had just closed his eyes, but the sun already peeked over the tops of the trees.

I'm sorry, milord. I couldn't bear to wake you earlier. You looked as if you really needed the rest.

Thank you. I did. He stretched, testing the flexibility of his wounded hand. Although his fingers felt a little stiff, they responded to his wishes. He prodded the bandage, finding a slight soreness, but nothing like the pain he expected. You are a good healer, Mistress Daerci. You've learned your lessons well.

I had an excellent teacher in yer cousin. She cocked her head, a habit he had observed in Ravenwing. May I ask you something, milord? What caused the rift between yer House and me master? He don't realize how wistful he speaks of home.

I wish I knew, but I'm as ignorant of it as you are. He told me only that he left home before my birth and seldom returned to either wood. No one else will speak of it at all. He stirred the ashes of the fire to make sure it was completely extinguished, then rose to his feet, dusting his hands. It's time we moved on.

Have we a plan, Lord Stefan?

He flashed her a crooked grin. Not exactly. As I see it, either two boys foolish enough to travel alone into the Lion's Den will be escorted into his presence, or Eeonathor will hear a rumor about them and come to intercept us. Personally, I'd rather face the Lion. As for you, I fear you'd do better without that mane of yours.

I'll gladly cut me hair, she replied, pointing to his left hand, if you'll remove that lodestone round yer finger. Any thief within ten miles will try and relieve you of that ring if they catch even a glimpse of it.

Stefan slipped Roland's ring from his finger. What shall I do with it?

Take off your tunic and shirt, and I'll show you.

He stared at her. I beg your pardon?

Just do it, milord, she replied, her voice dry with amusement. I promise not to ravish you. I haven't the time.

Blushing furiously, Stefan did as Daerci bade him. He watched with interest as she picked loose a piece of the hem in his shirt with the point of her dagger then drew a needle from her pouch.

Give me the ring.

He handed it to her, and she slipped it down inside the fold of the hem. She stitched up the sides of the little pocket with deft fingers then closed the top, securing the ring in place. There you are. Now, wear yer shirt tucked in yer leggings at all times, with the tunic pulled over. 'Twill be safe unless ye're searched. In that case, nothing will hide it anyway.

She handed Stefan back his clothes, and he slipped into them with a grateful nod. The air carried a hint of frost, the strongest sign to date that autumn fast waned and winter approached.

As soon as he was dressed, she gave him her dagger. My turn. Turning her back to him, she flipped her hair over her shoulders so that it rained down in a soft golden cloud. Have at it.

Stefan hesitated before reaching out and taking hold of the shimmering waves. It felt like raw corn silk between his fingers, and his hand trembled at the touch.

Please, Stefan, Daerci murmured, her voice hushed, just get it over with.

Taking a deep breath, he began hacking at the shining tresses with the sharp edge of the dagger. Soon, he had reduced it to a ragged mass ending just below her ears. Surreptitiously, he spirited a twist of the cuttings into his pouch, unsure why he did so. The rest of the fallen hair he swept into the remains of the campfire, spreading the entire circle with a thin layer of earth and scattering a covering of twigs and leaves over the whole.

Together, they cleared away the rest of the campsite, instinctively trying to obliterate their presence in the glade. Both worked in efficient silence, wrapped up in thoughts of their own. Stefan found his emotions in turmoil, and had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

He tightened the girth on his saddle with a jerk. The horse stamped his foot, and Stefan mumbled an apology. The animal shook its head with a snort then bowed its great neck. Stefan laughed and stroked its soft hide. You're right. I shouldn't take out my frustrations on you, he soothed.

Are you ready, milord? Daerci asked, as she swung into her saddle.

Stefan mounted the big roan with difficulty. What I wouldn't give for Astreal right now, he sighed.

A sure way to be recognized fer yerself. That horse of yers is well known throughout the kingdom. Perhaps Prince Roland himself hasn't traveled much, but stories of him have, and 'tis only natural that you have played a part in those tales.

Really? And what do they say?

Merely tell of a serving boy brave enough to risk his life fer his prince instead of running fer safety; a boy who charms the birds off the trees and sings like a nightingale; a boy who, 'tis rumored, sees beyond time's veil and whispers of tomorrow. And many a maid there is who envies you yer coal-black hair and lily skin, milord, she continued. You ain't going forth disguised because you ride a different horse.

Then 'tis a good thing we go to be caught.

Do you really think this is a good idea, Lord Stefan?

He could hear doubt coloring her voice, and turned to her with a dazzling smile that transformed his somber features. Not really. Do you have a better? I'm quite willing to discuss any option.

Perhaps there is someone you could go to fer help.

Who? My family ostracized Eeonathor, and Roland has his own kingdom to consider. No, my friend, I fear there is no one else who can help. I must go forward. I would be glad of your companionship, but, if necessary, I shall go forth alone.

That would be more than me life is worth. I best be alongside you if we do find the master.

Then let's ride.

He twitched the roan's head around and slapped it into motion, galloping away from the shadows of Dark Wood toward the heart of the wasteland.

~*~

Collyn's mixture did its work, and Roland's russet waves now appeared a dull muddy brown. The farmer fashioned a hump out of some old grain sacks and tied it over the prince's shoulder, giving Roland a hunch, which Collyn covered with a loose woven shirt made for the larger man. It hung about the prince's knees like a smock, and Collyn jammed a wide-brimmed hat down over Roland's eyes.

Collyn studied the results with a critical eye. It will have to do.

The battering Collyn had taken in Ravenwing's ambush served to disguise his own features from the few in town who might recognize him, but he donned his meanest clothing as well. Not that they were much different from the ones he had worn.

Roland laughed at the two of them. What a sight we present. Even Father won't know me.

Let us hope we get to test that theory, as you said, my lord, Collyn sighed. If you've ever trusted my counsel, your highness, trust it now. Let me lead in this venture. Play along with whatever I say. It's our only hope of getting the information you seek.

I bow to your judgment, my friend, replied Roland, suiting action to words. But we should go. I'm more and more anxious as to what we'll discover in the village.

Collyn nodded, picking up a heavy quarterstaff leaning against the wall of the cabin and tossing it to Roland. Are you well versed with this, my prince?

I've had a few lessons. Roland caught the sturdy staff in one hand.

Well, keep them in mind. This is the weapon of the farmer, and will not arouse suspicion. That sword of yours, you must lay by for now.

Roland undid his sword belt with clumsy fingers, obviously reluctant to part with the more familiar weapon. He handed it to Collyn with a rueful chuckle. It was my grandfather's blade. I feel rather lost without it.

Collyn climbed the ladder into the low loft and tucked the sword securely into the exposed straw thatching the roof. He pulled handfuls over it to cover the last glint of bright metal.

It should be much safer than we, he promised, swinging down from the loft without bothering to descend the ladder. He thrust a stout cudgel through the belt of his tunic. Now, let us be off.

Collyn retrieved a second staff from the neat stack of farm implements and led Roland out into the fallow fields. Cross country to Woodbridge, even on foot, should take us less than half a day. We'll be there by nightfall. Now remember, follow my lead at all times.

Roland nodded, hefting the quarterstaff and giving it an experimental swing. Let's go.

Even before we encountered the elves, rumors abounded in Edgetown. It was common talk in the inn, murmured Collyn in a grave voice as they walked. Rumors that the King has fallen ill; some say he grieves for your loss, others whisper darker thoughts. It could well be true. If so, you must trust me and control your desire to rush in and rescue him. You must remember that you're no longer the prince. You're a serf. If a better speaks harshly to you-and all are betters to a serf, my lord-nod and smile. If a courtier cuffs you, accept the blow. I'll not be with you at all times, so please remember what I've told you. Our lives may well depend upon it. If you don't control your temper, the kingdom could very well become Norfulk's by right, not theft.

But Collyn, if my father is ill-

Trust me. You won't be able to save him if you rush in like a fool. Besides, we aren't even sure the rumors are true. Your father may be well and whole, for all we know. Let's at least verify our concerns before we panic.

Collyn saw Roland bite back a hot reply, and nodded to himself. The yeoman knew how difficult it would be for the willful prince to pretend servitude within his own capital. Roland's acceptance of the necessity was a good sign, the first stirrings of the king within the boy.

Roland and Collyn walked for several hours before sighting the rough stones of the village wall. The prince pointed around back of the town proper, and the pair of them worked their way to the rear. They halted behind a small rise of ground about twenty yards from the orchard wall.

There, Roland whispered, pointing again. The mouth of the ditch is just within those bushes. I can't tell from here if the grate was reinforced or not.

We'll have to risk it. If the king is ill, strangers will not prove popular at the main gate. Now is our best opportunity, my lord. The guard is at the other end of the wall.

Aye. Wait for me here. Roland bounded to his feet, then dashed the short distance to the cover of the bushes and into the trench. He found the grate just as he remembered it, and struggled to move it. It took the two of them to shift it when he and Stefan came this way as children, but he expected to move it with ease now.

He sensed someone behind him, and spun, staff ready to attack if necessary. Collyn stood at his back. The big yeoman reached over with one hand and lifted the grate. Go, he hissed, and Roland dove through the opening.

Rotten leaves and brackish water half filled the drainage ditch. It smelt as if it had not been cleaned out since the boys had played along it. Roland sank to his knees in the pungent muck. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he started forward, only to lose his footing in the uneven slime and fall headlong into the ditch. He came up sputtering, coughing, and covered with filth.

Collyn waded up to give him a hand. Clever touch to enhance your disguise, he grinned. 'Tis sure no one would mistake you for Roland the Vain now.

Roland pulled away from him, stung by the teasing, and started forward again. This time, he found himself sitting hard when he fell backward.

Enough is enough, chided Collyn in mock annoyance. I think you've made your point. He lifted the prince to his feet once more.

Glaring daggers, Roland accepted the helping hand with ill grace, but made it out of the ditch without further mishap. They found themselves standing behind the king's orchards inside the town proper.

Collyn looked up and down Roland's bedraggled costume and raised an eyebrow. Even for a peasant, my lord, I think you've overdone it. Do you know of a place where we can clean you up a bit?

Putting aside his ill humor as best he could, Roland thought hard. It won't be easy to get anywhere from here without being seen. We could not logically have come from any building near the orchards. The guards' tavern is a rather seedy place, where no questions are asked, but going into the lair of the guard doesn't seem our most intelligent option.

I agree, my lord. We certainly don't want to be tossed into the dungeons as thieves. That would hardly suit our purpose.

The nearest buildings beyond the orchard are the forge and the stock pens. We may find solace in one of those.

If we can get to the stock tank, we might be able to wash the majority of that filth from you before we go any further. But if we are seen, remember, let me do all the talking.

Roland nodded. Let's just get on with it.

~*~

Mendana tossed on her couch, lost in the throes of a dream. She had left the audience with her father more confused and disheartened than ever. Nothing had been decided, even Andundal seeing the fatigue in her eyes and the pain in Dèodar's. The warder hid his head injury well, but Eeonathor's ministrations had been cursory at best, and her merry cousin had been knocked unconscious for several minutes. At Mendana's urging, the king had dismissed them both until the next day. She had welcomed the chance to snatch some sleep.

Now, she regretted the choice. As she slept, one hand clutching the Moonstone, visions chased through her head.

Mendana moaned, trying to awaken, but the picture merely changed….

Mendana bolted upright in bed. She was wracked with violent shudders.

~*~

The earth spread out beneath his wings like a vast map. Only the sigh of the wind broke the silence, and he allowed himself a moment to revel in the peace.

Eeonathor Ravenwing pretended he did not care what the world thought of him, but in truth, the banishment from Starlit Wood had destroyed part of his soul.

It drove him to the lands of the humans where he first met the sorcerer, Norfulk. At first, the younger magic-user fed his ego, pretending to learn from him, though Ravenwing now knew that the boy's skills already far outstripped his own even then. Thoughts of Norfulk sent his memory drifting through the past….

Ravenwing had roamed the world for many years after the attack at the lake, always at Norfulk's beck and call. Always alone. Biding his time, he knew not for what. He visited the lands across the sea and knew the horrors they held. Even if Roland gained his rightful throne, he might not keep it long. The creatures across the sea seemed ready to expand their horizons.

He wasn't looking for a companion when he rescued Daerci from those selfsame creatures, but he could not bear to leave a young girl in their monstrous clutches. She helped to heal a little of what he had lost, and he had grown to care for her like a daughter. It said a lot of his faith in Stefan that he entrusted Daerci to the prince's keeping.

The raven banked and wheeled, soaring high above the wasteland near Keep Opprobrium. Suddenly, the sight of two horses plodding across the empty plain caught and held his sharp eye.

Gods, he thought to himself, what could those foolish children be doing?>

He swooped down to meet the pair beneath him.

~*~

Roland washed in the stock tank, rinsing out his mean garments and putting them back on wet. He made a face at the feel of the sodden burlap against his skin, then sneezed at the sharp, dank smell of it.

Collyn shrugged. You have no others, my lord. 'Tis either wear them damp or go without.

I need to dry off a little before I venture into public. Roland muttered. Slogging away from the edge of the tank, he led the way to a spot under the apple trees, reached up, and plucked two of the ripe red globes. He tossed one to Collyn then sat beneath a tree. We also need to plan our next move. He took a bite of the apple, savoring the tart crispness of it.

Collyn nodded, while sinking down beside the prince. I think we should first test the truth of these rumors about the king. We must also discover if Andundal's messenger ever arrived. We'd best seek out a tavern and nose about. You shall be my younger brother, my lord, and I feel we will be safest if you do not speak. I counsel you to be mute, and it would not hurt our cause if you play half-wit as well. No one holds their tongue around an imbecile.

Roland chafed at Collyn's advice. He agreed to all the yeoman's other suggestions, but this was going too far! Why don't you play the fool? I dare say you can wear that disguise as well as I.

Collyn shook his head with a sigh. 'Tis just what I am speaking of, my lord. You aren't thinking with the logic of a king. You speak your heart and not your head. 'Tis likely to get us into trouble. I have enough of that on my own. He tossed his half-eaten apple into the grass and rose to his feet. My counsel appears no longer required. I wish you good fortune, my prince.

No, please, stay- Roland bounded up to stand beside him. I-I am sorry. You are right, Collyn. I will try. I must learn to curb my tongue. Perhaps this will be a valuable lesson to me.

Any lesson well learned is valuable. Are you still dripping?

No, merely damp.

Then let's go. We need to gather our facts before nightfall. It will be the safest time for an attempt if we need to enter the castle in secret.

Roland felt a chill run through him at the thought of having to steal into his own home. He nodded his agreement. There's a tavern against the outer wall across the common. I have been in there once or twice, but I know no one will recognize me like this. He wrung a bit more water out of his shirt. As you say, I do not merit the name 'Vain' in these rags.

Lead on, little brother. Collyn clapped him on the shoulder.

They walked across the common to the seedy tavern. Roland dropped behind Collyn and tried to affect a doltish expression. He pulled his hat down lower and watched Collyn's back.

Good morrow t'ya, milord, Collyn greeted the man behind the bar. Two ales, if ya please. His voice had a peasant's burr that it normally lacked, and he slumped against his staff, cutting six inches from his height. Roland pasted a vacuous grin on his face, pushing up to stand beside the yeoman at the bar.

Are you new here? asked the barman.

Oh, me and me brother 'ave a farm outside town. We don't get in much. Collyn gave Roland a light cuff on the shoulder. Wyll 'ere's a might slow, but 'e's strong as an ox, 'e is.

The man set the pints before them. Good health t' King Frederick! Collyn cried in a loud voice, before quaffing half the pint in one pull. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. That's good ale, that is. Drink up, Wyll. He smacked Roland on the back, knocking him into the bar. Roland glowered up at the farmer from beneath the brim of his hat. Collyn was becoming all too free with his blows. But the boy held his tongue.

'Tis not wise to toast the king too loud, warned the barman in a hushed tone.

I shall toast my king any time, answered Collyn, his voice gruff. Why should I not?

He has not been seen for days. There are rumors he has already followed the prince into death. The news that Roland had fallen proved a terrible blow to him. He leaned into Collyn. The dogs of Opprobrium's Black Lion have been sniffing the streets, he whispered. Take your brother home, where he'll be safe. That be my advice.

Roland clutched at Collyn's sleeve. His thoughts roiled in a fever of anxiety. If the king still believes me dead, the messenger never arrived-or his visit was kept so secret that no stir of it escaped the castle. Either way, Father remains in danger.