J

-|

What? Elena asked.

Harlequin nodded to the tunnel ahead. The Path of the Dead.

Oh' Elena's footsteps faltered.

Er'ril pulled her more snugly against his side. It's just a name, not an omen. Still, like her, he knew what lay at the end of this tunnel. Either they would corrupt the Gate or open it but which outcome was worse?

Both Elena and Er'ril had heard Tol'chuk's story earlier. They knew what awaited them beyond the ring of heartstone at the core of the world. But neither of them wished to speak that name aloud.

Sisa'kpfa.

From the dark cell of his imprisonment, Mogweed stared out through Fardale's eyes. All day long he had watched and listened'

And now they were headed to the Spirit Gate!

Now he studied the path they followed. He had tried these past many days to convince Tol'chuk to show him the arch of heartstone, but the og're had refused, too wary of letting the chunk of ebon'stone near the Gate. Now, at long last, they were going there, but he was trapped in Fardale's head, unable to act.

He cursed his luck.

At hand was the key to unlock his prison. He recalled the message from the Dark Lord, echoing out from the ebon'stone bowl: You must destroy the Spirit Gate' It must be shattered with the blood of my last seed! Mogweed stared past Meric and Nee'lahn. Tol'chuk strode with a torch raised before him, lighting the way.

It was Tol'chuk's blood that could free Mogweed. All he had to do was slay the og're at the Gate then the Dark Lord would break the curse upon him. Of course, there was one more price to be paid for his freedom.

We will burn the wolf from your heart'

That was the final cost Fardale's life. According to the Dark Lord, only one could survive the breaking of the curse. One body, one spirit.

But could he take that step, too? The dilemma had weighed upon him these last days. Suddenly he was not so displeased with his current imprisonment. Chained up in Fardale's skull, the choice was taken from him. For now, he would simply spy, and plot his victory for a later time, when his heart was not so conflicted.

Content in this realization, Mogweed allowed his attention to focus back to the world beyond Fardale's eyes even though his brother spent most of his time casting sidelong glances to his snowy-tressed companion. Thorn, the daughter of the elder'root, moved with easy grace down the tunnel. Mogweed could sense the wolfish lusts of his brother, the slight widening of his nostrils as he took in her scent, the thudding of his heart and drum of his blood.

Thorn, a wolf herself at heart, sensed Fardale's attention. She slowed her pace to match his. Her eyes glowed with something unspoken. Then words filled his head, reaching both their minds. / must spea't to you' I must tell you something'

Mogweed became lost in the mix of her emotions: fear, anger, shame, heartache, and a trace of the lust that matched Fardale's own.

What is it? Fardale asked aloud, his words clipped and short. His brother's anger clearly blinded him to the depth of Thorn's emotions.

Mogweed smiled at the two former lovers, unable to speak their hearts. He enjoyed their torment. Fardale still anguished over his exile from the Western Reaches, by edict of Thorn's own father. Fardale had begged her to come with him, but she had turned her back on him, refusing.

Thorn caught the edge of Fardale's anger, and it plainly flared her own. Her eyes grew brighter in the dark tunnel. She continued to mindspeak. There is something I should have said before. You deserve to know.

Fardale remained silent. Anger bolted his tongue, while heartache kept him from reaching out with his inner thoughts.

Thorn continued. There was a reason I did not go with you from the forest. She suddenly glanced away and spoke aloud. I wanted to' I truly did' but you left me no choice.

I? Fardale's outburst drew Meric's attention. The elv'in glanced back. Fardale lowered his voice. I begged you on my knee. I would have done anything to keep from leaving your side. How did I leave you no choice ?

Fury rose in the glow of Thorn's eyes' and a fierce pride. You left me with child.

Mogweed flinched in surprise and whether it was his own shock or Fardale's, the pair tripped in the tunnel, catching up against one wall. Fardale straightened. He met Thorn's gaze fully. A child? he sent.

She nodded, keeping their eyes locked. An image formed: A wild babe running through the woods, his head covered by a crown of feathers, flagging a furred tail behind him. Thorn spoke aloud. I named him Finch. He's back in the forest, with the other children and the infirm.

I have a son'

Fardale's shock was no less than Mogweed's.^ora . . .from the union the night they were cursed!

But Fardale's surprise tilted and fell into a well of anger. Why didn't you tell me?

I didn't know' not until after my father passed judgment upon you. She turned from the hurt on Fardale's face. Then it was too late. You had to leave the forest. I knew if I told you of the child that you'd refuse to go. And I could not go with you' not with a growing belly and soon a child to care for. She glanced back to Fardale. Her eyes shone with shame.

Fardale finally recognized her pain. And you were scared, he mumbled. For yourself and your child'

And you, she added in a whisper. I knew you couldn't stay, or you'd be lost to the wolf, settled into a wild beast with no memory of your heritage. But how it ached my heart to see you leave while knowing your baby was in my womb' especially when I could not say a word.

Fardale went to her. Mogweed sensed their two hearts seeking each other. Images fluttered between them, too fast for the mind to follow, but not the heart, a lifetime of joys and sorrows shared in a moment. This was the greatest gift of the si'lura: to commune so intimately, through thoughts, memories, emotions.

Mogweed floated above these deeper sendings. He could not reach that far into his brother's spirit. But still he sensed their thoughts, a barest flicker of a richer flame.

Mogweed found he had been jealous of his brother before but never as much as now. He retreated from their union, not to give them privacy, but from shame and a nameless pain that welled through him. He turned his back upon the fire of their passion and sought the oblivion of cool darkness.

And as the walls of his cell closed around him, Mogweed stoked fire inside. He knew there was only one true way to escape this prison. No matter what the price in blood' / must brea'tfree.

Elena sensed the tunnel's end.

With each step deeper underground, a pressure built, pushing upon her ears and chest, making breathing increasingly difficult. It was as if she were again sinking into the bottomless pool around the Root of the world.

Er'ril would occasionally comment on something, but his words were muffled by the growing weight. A bubble of isolation surrounded her. She felt a distancing from everyone and everything. Even the brightness of the torch held by Tol'chuk grew muted and dull.

None of the others seemed affected. They continued to talk as if nothing were the matter.

Soon the tunnel walls began to gleam with thousands of glowworms. We be near, Tol'chuk called back.

But Elena already knew this. The pressure had started to level out. Her eyes ached, her heart thudded, but she continued on.

Are you all right? Er'ril asked. His words sounded far away. Elena nodded. It's the magick here. The air is heavy with it.

You look pale.

I'm fine. And she was. She sensed no malignancy, simply the presence of something vastly larger than herself. But a part of her still cowered before the enormity of it.

Er'ril squeezed her fingers, but even this gesture was dulled. Nothing could hold off the magick here' not even love.

Tol'chuk marched on, and at last the tunnel opened into a great chamber. The others followed him into the room. Er'ril and Elena were the last to enter.

All eyes were already fixed on the far wall. An arch of fiery brilliance climbed to impossible heights within the echoing chamber.

The Spirit Gate, Tol'chuk said needlessly.

With that much heartstone, Harlequin Quail muttered, we could simply buy off the Dark Lord.

Elena stared in awe. According to Tol'chuk, what they beheld was only part of the whole. The arch here was but half of a solid ring of heartstone.

Magnam stepped beside Harlequin. If the Dark Lord ever got hold of this much heartstone, I fear the depths of the evil he might perform. Can you imagine an arch of this size transformed into ebon'stone? It would make the four Weirgates seem like a whore's glass baubles.

The d'warf's words roused worried expressions on everyone's features, especially Tol'chuk's.

The og're faced the Spirit Gate. One clawed hand covered his thigh pouch, as if he were trying to hide it from the arch of heartstone. Perhaps we should think longer on this choice.

No. Elena moved to Tol'chuk's side. I can sense the magick here that bit of ebon'stone cannot threaten its might. It would take something the size of a Weirgate to challenge it.

She recognized the doubtful glint in Tol'chuk's eyes. She touched his arm, willing him to trust her.

Slowly he nodded. With a worried frown, he stepped toward one leg of the arch, fingering the ties to the pouch and tugging it open. With his head half turned, Tol'chuk was the last to see what he unleashed.

Inky jets of darkness plumed from the opened pouch, shooting high over Tol'chuk's shoulder.

Elena gasped. Er'ril gripped her shoulder, pulling her back.

Mother above! Magnam exclaimed.

Seeing their reactions, Tol'chuk spun around. He stared up at the black cloud hovering under the arch. It be the Triad! he cried out. I thought them gone when the stone turned black.

Apparently this was not so.

As Elena watched, jagged forks of silvery brightness crackled through the roiling darkness, like lightning in a storm cloud. But this was no ordinary storm cloud. Rather it appeared more a mist of ebon'stone. And laughter, as black as the mists from which it issued, flowed out the churning darkness.

Get back! Er'ril shouted to Tol'chuk. He waved for the others to retreat to the tunnel.

Tol'chuk crouched under the cloud. But the Triad'

They've been twisted like the Heart! Nee'lahn called to him as Meric drew her back with the others.Like my sisters, the Grim wraiths!

Only Tol'chuk did not move. But the Gate! I cannot abandon it!

Words of dark amusement flowed from the cloud. And we wouldn't let you. The mists split into three shredded bits of darkness. Two fled to either leg of the arch, with the last sailing high to the pinnacle. Separate now, they appeared vaguely og're in shape.

No! Tol'chuk cried, straightening. I won't let you harm the Gate!

It be not we who mean to harm it! The words seemed to rise from all three shadows. Jagged crackles of lightning shot forth from the spirits guarding the legs of the arch. The bolts of silver lanced out and snared Tol'chuk by the arms.

Tethered between the two, he was torn off his feet and yanked forward. Crying out, Tol'chuk fought, but his arms were stretched to the point of dislocation. In a heartbeat, he was pinned under the arch, hanging in midair between the two legs

Er'ril ran forward, yanking free his sword. The wit'ch sword gleamed like an icicle, its elemental steel blade singing out of its sheath.

Elena ripped off her gloves and grabbed the dagger at her waist. With deft slices, she cut each palm and called forth her magick. Flames ignited over both hands: wit'ch fire and coldfire.

She sensed Meric and Nee'lahn flanking her. The others returned with them. None of them would abandon Tol'chuk to the wraiths.

From the peak of the arch, the third shadow cast more bolts of silver, warding them back. The jagged spears struck with the might of true steel. Er'ril dodged a bolt, rolling to the side. Bits of rock blasted from the stone floor where he had been standing. Other spears aimed for their group.

They scattered. The hammer blows echoed throughout the cavern. Back to the tunnel! Er'ril shouted from behind an outcropping of stone. Til go for Tol'chuk!

Elena picked herself up from the floor. Do as he says. Meric met her eyes, defiant, angry. Similar expressions flashed among the others. Even Magnam, with no magick of his own, shook his head. The d'warf had taken a blow to the shoulder. Blood flowed down his arm and still, he didn't budge.

Help Tol'chuk! Nee'lahn urged. We'll offer what aid we can! The next barrage of lightning lashed out. Elena cast a shield of coldfire before her, blocking the energy. Still the bolt was strong enough to knock her back. She tried to take another step, but more strikes bombarded her, one after the other, pounding her back.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Fardale and Thorn drop to all fours, shifting into two wolves, one dark, one snowy. They raced across the floor in a zigzagging pattern, passing in front of her while bolts chased after them.

With the momentary distraction, Elena fought her way forward. She spotted Er'ril behind the outcropping, pinned down in the center of the room. Blasts struck his shelter, shattering chunks of rock, eroding his hiding space away.

On the far side of the chamber, Meric moved with the unnatural speed of his people, impossible to catch, while Nee'lahn crouched behind a boulder with Magnam, binding his wound. There was no sign of Harlequin Quail. The master spy had fled.

Elena turned her attention forward. It was a stalemate; neither group was strong enough to break the other. Elena feared using her full power against the wraiths that hovered in front of the heartstone arch. Even if her magicks could harm pure spirit, the backlash might harm the Spirit

Gate. If the ring of heartstone were shattered, so would be all hope of learning whatever Sisa'kofa knew. It was too important to risk a direct attack.

Around her, the chamber echoed with lightning blasts, making it difficult to think. Elena kept up her shield as she slowly worked forward, trying to reach Er'ril.

But what then? How did you defeat an enemy that had no substance?

Off to the side, Thorn was suddenly tossed in the air as she caught the edge of a blast. She struck the stone and rolled back to flee on three legs, leaving bloody footprints behind, her snowy flank singed black. Fardale raced around her, keeping the bolts away.

The stalemate was beginning to fray and not in their favor.

Elena moved ahead as an explosive strike rocked the cavern, blinding her for a heartbeat. All three spirits had struck the outcropping behind which Er'ril hid. Rock dust plumed up. As it wafted away, Elena spotted Er'ril sprawled under a tumble of rock, not moving.

She raced forward. Her anger and fear melded her magick into a shield around her. Er'ril!

His legs were pinned under rock. Blood seeped from a scalp wound and from one ear, but a groan answered her. He still lived! One hand scrabbled blindly on the stone. She saw his hand was attempting to reach the rose sword, still trying to fight.

His effort fired her. She snatched up Shadowsedge.

No' he mumbled weakly.

But as her bloody palm gripped the hilt, a jolt tore through her body. She was on her feet before she knew it. Magick fed into the blade and ignited its length into pure flame.

Lightning struck toward her from three directions. But unbidden, her sword parried each bolt, driving it aside or absorbing its energy into her own magick. She was not knocked back this time. She danced across the cavern floor, feinting and parrying the multiple attacks, one against three.

Around the chamber, the attacks on the others faded. The wraiths needed all their attention to hold her back.

And still Elena danced. Her feet moved with a skill not her own, her arm flashing with magick uncalled. A corner of her mind recognized this control: She had once fought her aunt Mycelle with a blade whetted in her own magickal blood. She remembered the surety of steel melded to her flesh. But that experience paled when compared to what she felt now.

Shadowsedge had been forged of elemental steel, fused with the blood of Sisa'kofa, her ancestor. Elena had not only joined steel to herself, but to the skill of an ancient wit'ch.

Lightning danced around her in a blinding display. Blocked by her blows, bolts struck walls and ceiling. Rock tumbled from above. The others retreated to the walls. Even they knew the fight was now between her and the three wraiths. A smile grew on her lips.

Closer at hand, words reached her from behind. Elena' It was Er'ril, groggy. The sword' a blood weapon. His voice grew stronger. It is only steel. You must control it.

She dismissed his warnings. She was in perfect control. With a flick of her wrist, she parried a bolt back toward the wielder. The lethal force struck the granite wall under the arch, exploding the stone. Was that not proof of her control?

Her smile stretched, exposing her teeth. Magick sang in her blood, steel in her ears. She backhanded another bolt, driving it to strike the wall again. With each breath, her skill grew.

A cry of pain sounded from ahead, a pebble in a raging sea. Elena! It was Er'ril again. Look at what you do! he yelled at her. Elena shook off his words. She knew what she was doing. Look with your heart! Do not forget the woman inside you! As his words sank into her heart, she remembered a moment from long ago, but not far from here. She had stood atop a mountain pass in virgin snow. She had joined a ruby hand to a pale one, joining wit'ch to woman. She had accepted her power at that moment, recognized the weight of her responsibility. But she had also recognized that which she refused to lose: her heart, her humanity, her ability to love. Er nl'

Trust your heart' not cold steel'

A veil slowly lifted from her eyes. Lightning struck at her feet, jolting her back, stumbling her away. She cried out as the world came back into focus. The perfect blend of magick and steel shattered around her.

Across the chamber, Tol'chuk still hung between the two legs of the arch. But to either side of him, the smooth wall was deeply pitted where her parried bolts had struck. She had come within an arm's length of killing the og're, her friend.

More lightning chased her. She fought it with the blade, but now she did not release herself fully to the sword. She sought a balance somewhere in between and her skill ebbed. Blows again jolted her, threaten-ing to tear the sword from her grip. The surety of victory faded. Elena sensed that only by releasing herself fully to the sword would she have the skill to bring the fight forward to the Gate, but if she did that, she risked losing herself and those around her. Steel did not care about love, only victory.

Movement by the Gate drew her attention. A small hand waved at her. It came from near a pile of rubble at the base of the wall, under Tol'chuk's feet. A figure rose from hiding Harlequin Quail!

The spy held a dagger in his teeth and motioned with his hands. Elena frowned, then understanding dawned. Her eyes grew wide.

Of course'

She risked a glance behind her. I need everyone who can still move to be ready on my word! Elena turned back and parried another bolt toward the ceiling.

Sounds of affirmation echoed out to her.

She locked gazes with Harlequin Quail. She prayed his plan was sound. Now! Rush the Gate!

Elena burst through a flurry of lightning strikes. To either side, the others raced forward: Meric with his unnatural speed, Fardale, Magnam, even Thorn raced on her three good legs.

Lightning shattered out in all directions at this last drive toward the Spirit Gate, but their efforts were a feint.

Under Tol'chuk, the short man dressed in motley and bells leaped with an unnatural silence. Moving with a grace that defied bone and muscle, he grabbed Tol'chuk's ankle with one hand, pulled himself up, and used his dagger to slice the pouch hanging from the og're's thigh.

Harlequin then dropped and landed in a crouch, both hands held out. The ebon'stone Heart tumbled out the bottom of the pouch and into his waiting palms.

With his prize in hand, he raced from under Tol'chuk and aimed toward one of the pillared legs of heartstone. Only then did one of the wraiths notice the man under their misty noses. A bolt of lightning lashed out at him.

Harlequin dove forward with a jangle of bells, somersaulted twice, and was at the arch. Without pause he flew up the granite wall like a spider. Another bolt struck at him, but he was already leaping toward the arch. With the Heart held out before him, he slammed its dark shape into the gap where it fit with perfection.

A scream erupted from the trio of wraiths.

-|

Harlequin leaped aside.

Brightness flared along the arch, exploding with such brilliance that all were driven back. The wraiths were burned from their perches, blasted into wailing fragments.

Tol'chuk, no longer restrained, dropped to the stone floor. He landed in a half crouch, swinging to face the Gate

Elena retreated to Er'ril's side. He reached to her, blood dripping down his face. She dropped the sword and took his hand. The pressure she had felt in the tunnels grew to an enormity that threatened to drown her. Wincing, she leaned near him. Are you all right? He grimaced. I've felt better.

Worried, Elena turned to the arch. The wall, framed in glowing heart-stone, began to shimmer. Granite dissolved into illusion. The Gate was opening. The flow of ruby light trailed down under the stone floor and around again, marking the buried ring of heartstone.

When the brilliance reached the chunk of blackened stone at its heart, the ruby glow swelled over the darkness and overwhelmed it, wiping it away. With this release, the entire ring blossomed with a light that pierced flesh and bone.

For a moment, Elena felt a linking similar to that with the blood sword, a melding of her spirit to the energy here. But instead of being limited to the length of a steel blade, her essence sailed forth in all directions. The boundaries were vast, farther than her mind could fathom. In that instant, she knew to what she was blood-bonded. The world' all the lands, all the peoples . . .

For the barest moment, she sensed all life. In the past, she had experienced hints of this interconnectivity, a vast web of all living things but never more than at this moment. The beauty and symmetry grew into a harmony that was both complex and simple. It was a chorus without music, a perfect crystalline matrix of silver life force. Her magick sang with her ecstasy.

Then, like a snuffed candle, it was taken from her. The cavern snapped back into focus. The pressure popped away into oblivion, gone. A sob escaped her clenched throat.

Elena' ? Fingers squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, not ready for words.

Against the far wall, the ring of heartstone had opened. Beyond the threshold lay a well of darkness streaked with fissures of forking and crisscrossing veins of crimson fire. Bursts of brilliance raced along and disappeared, almost too quickly for the eye to follow, like shooting stars across a night sky. But this display was but a backdrop for the true marvel at the heart of the well.

In the center, slowly spinning, was a crystal the color of a clear morning sky. The stone seemed to swell toward the Gate, growing to fill the ring of heartstone.

The Spirit Stone'

The glow bathed the group huddled before its immensity. Elena again felt the connection to all living things. She sensed the beauty of her own lifeforce, of all those in the room, a shine of silvery energy. In Meric and Nee'lahn, she also recognized the flame of their elemental fire, a tiny spark of brighter magick.

In that moment, Elena realized a startling thing. They were the same: the lifeforce in all things and the silver energy of an elemental's fire. She gaped at the stone. The same was true before her. The crystal was an amalgam of lifeforce and elemental silver. It was both! And with this realization came another. She had seen such a crystal once before.

She was not the only to make this connection. De'nal, Er'ril whispered in awe and sorrow.

Elena knew he was right. The boy had been sculpted of the same crystal as here: lifeforce and elemental silver, fused into a brilliant crystalline form. There was something important about this connection. Elena could almost grasp it.

Then from the heart of the stone, a droplet of darkness appeared. It rose toward them, tangled in a cloud of silver strands. Tol'chuk backed toward Er'ril and Elena. The Wit'ch of the Spirit Stone.

Readying herself, Elena gave Er'ril's hand a final squeeze. Then she stood and stepped forward.

From the Gate, a dark figure of carved ebony rose like a swimmer from the depths of a silver sea. The silver strands wafted apart, moving to currents unseen. The figure floated free, stepping out of the Gate and hovering at its threshold.

It was a woman, cloaked only in a cloud of silvery strands. Elena saw that these filaments were the figure's own tresses, floating in wisps around her face, sweeping over her shoulders and about her form, flowing all the way back to the heart of the Spirit Stone.

In turn, the energy of the crystal swept out in bright flares of magick along these strands and sparked over her dark skin, defining her shape, as if continually sculpting her out of the darkness of the Gate's well.

But Elena barely noted any of this. Her eyes were fixed on the woman's face, smiling down upon her. It was her own face! Maybe a bit older. Only the eyes were truly someone else's, ripe with ancient knowledge and magick.

Sisa'kofa, she greeted her.

The woman nodded. Elena' at long last. Her voice seemed slightly out of time with the movement of her lips.

Elena was too stunned to speak, but the figure smiled so warmly that her frozen tongue melted. I' I have so many questions.

So do we all in life, Sisa'kofa answered, but I'm afraid I can only offer the guidance left to me by my predecessor. I am only the shadow of the one you name Sisa'kofa, bound to the stone to pass on one last message. What I've learned during my guardianship here, I've already told the seed of Ly'chuk.

Elena nodded. Tol'chuk had already related the history of the Dark Lord, of his ancestor's betrayal that had started in this very room and earned him the name Oathbreaker. What else must I know? she asked. What message do you bear?

I've come to tell you that you fight the wrong enemy, the shadow of the witch said. You have all along.

But the Dark Lord seeks to blacken the very heart of the Land. You've said as much yourself, she blurted out.

Sisa'kofa nodded. It is so.

Then how is the Dark Lord not our enemy?

The sea of glowing strands stirred. You do not listen. He may be an enemy, but he is the wrong enemy. Let the others you've gathered to your side face Ly'chuk and his darkness. You must ready yourself for the true danger to the world.

And what is that?

The figure wafted through the air, stretching from the Gate to hover before her. One dark hand rose and brushed her cheek, a sensation that was both ice and fire on her skin. Not what, but who she whispered.

Who? Elena echoed.

The wit'ch leaned near to her ear. There was no breath, but the answer still reached her. You.

Elena stumbled back in shock. Me?

The spirit drifted forward, following. There is a dark tide coming, foreseen for ages past, by seers from many lands. All the threads of prophecy wrap around a single spirit not Ly'chuk, but you, Elena Morin'stal, descendant of wit'ches and elv'in blood. You will hold the threads to the world's fate.

What must I do?

You will face a choice, a cusp of prophecy. Your choosing will either damn or save all. That is where the true danger lies.

How? Elena straightened, a flame of anger burning through her shock. Even at the cost of my own life, I will certainly choose to save the world.

The wit'ch smiled darkly. There is the heart of the danger of which I speak, the reason I've locked a part of my spirit in stone all these ages. I have come to tell you that your choice either way will doom all.

Elena stared at her tormentor, then spoke weakly. Then what must I do?

Sisa'kofa shook her head, stirring up the silvery nest around her figure. I can't answer that. All the fates whirl into the dark tide that is to come. None can see what lies beyond.

But'

The dark figure leaned close. Look to your heart. Look to the friends you love. Find your own path out of the darkness a path that none but you will see.

How?

The wit'ch reached forward again with an ebony-sculpted hand and touched a finger to her chest, a touch of ice and fire. The answer is here already. You must find it' or you will certainly doom the world.

Er'ril lay in a stupor of pain. Every movement ground the crushed bones of his trapped legs in fiery agony. Still, when he saw Elena stumble away from the wit'ch with despair etched into every feature, he tried to drag himself from the tumble of rocks.

Elena crumpled to her knees on the stone floor, as if crushed under the weight of the spirit's words.

Elena! he cried but she seemed deaf to him. He reached toward her, but she was too far away.

What did the wit'ch say to her?

While they had conversed, he could see their lips moving, but no words reached him or the others. Some magick muffled their speech.

Then the silence shattered away. The wit'ch spoke to Elena, but now all could hear. What I have told you, you must keep to your heart alone. None here have heard our words.

Elena stared up, her face a mask of fear. How can I keep silent about this?

Sisa'kofa knelt, reaching a hand to Elena's tears as they started to flow. Because you must. You know this in your own heart. You will weaken their resolve when they most need to be strong. This message is for you alone. It is a challenge you must face.

But how am I' ? Elena glanced to the others. Her gaze settled on Er'ril. How' ? she whispered, tears flowing.

The wit'ch followed Elena's gaze. Er'ril found himself staring into dark, ageless eyes. They seemed to ask something of him but what?

As he tried to decipher the meaning, Sisa'kofa spoke to Elena. The hows of the world, I don't know. Only the certainty of the outcome.

Elena covered her face, weeping. Sisa'kofa continued to stare at Er'ril, silently willing something from him.

Er'ril, trapped and broken under rock, did the only thing he could. Elena, he said softly.

She heard him this time and lowered her hands.

I love you, he said, meeting her eyes. Whatever grief you bear, I will always be at your side.

Er'ril, she sobbed, her heart breaking before him. You don't know

I do know he cut her off. I love you' and nothing else matters.

But

I love you, and you love me. Is this not true?

She nodded, sobbing. Er'ril had never wanted to take her in his arms more than at this moment. But he could not. He could only reach her with his words, comfort her with his heart.

I will always love you, he said. Bound on my word, I am your liegeman. Bound with elv'in blood, I am your husband. But it is my heart and spirit that bind me truly to you. You are my life, and nothing will ever change this. Not now, not ever.

Elena took a deep, shuddering breath. Er'ril' Her voice was still pained, but it had retreated from the pit of despair and agony of a moment ago.

The wit'ch rose from beside Elena. My duty is finished. I must be set free.

Elena wiped her eyes. How?

Sisa'kofa pointed to the sword abandoned on the floor. Shadows-edge' it is a blade made to cut through magick, to break the strongest spells. You must take it and sever my connections to the world's heart.

Elena stared at the sword as if it were a poisonous snake. Do this, and I will grant you a final boon.

Elena glanced questioningly to the wit'ch, but no answer was given. The wit'ch simply motioned to the sword.

Elena took up the sword and shoved to her feet. She crossed behind the figure, to where the flow of silver strands streamed back toward the world's heart. Elena raised the sword.

Er'ril heard a whisper from the wit'ch. At long last' she murmured, closing her eyes.

Elena brought down the sword. As it cleaved through the silvery tangle, a bright light burst throughout the room, blinding them all for a scintillating heartbeat. Then the world returned.

Elena stood a few paces away, still holding the sword in both her hands. The wit'ch was gone. Beyond her, the Gate remained open. The Spirit Stone still shone in the heart of the world, but now it retreated back, growing smaller until it winked away, taking its dark well. Ordinary granite filled the space. Tol'chuk cried out.

It was only then that Er'ril realized that the arch of heartstone was gone! The entire Spirit Gate had vanished!

Elena stared up at the empty wall, exhausted. Like the Spirit Root of the Western Reaches, she mumbled. The Land is pulling back. Only the shadow of the wit'ch was holding this gateway open. With Sisa'kofa gone, the Land readies itself for the final battle.

But the Gate, Tol'chuk said. It is the heart of our clans.

No, Elena answered. As long as the Land thrives, your clans will always have a heart. It exists for all lands, for all peoples. None can claim it as their sole property.

She turned around. Her eyes fell upon Er'ril with a confused frown. He could not fathom her expression until Meric stepped to his shoulder. I think you can get up off the floor, the elv'in prince said.

Er'ril looked behind him. The pile of rock had disappeared. He rolled to his feet, inspecting his limbs. There was no pain, no broken bones. Not even his clothes were torn. He glanced to the others. No one else was injured.

All our wounds are healed! he said, stunned.

The final boon, Elena said with a spark of bright relief. She crossed to his side and dropped her sword. She clasped him to her. Er'ril!

He wrapped his arms around her. Hush. She shuddered against him.

I love you, he whispered, but as he stared at the blank wall, a part ot him prayed it would be enough. A fear grew in him. What did the wit'ch tell her?

Cassa Dar lay stretched on her bed in the uppermost tower chamber of Castle Drakk. Her eyes stared up at the raftered ceiling, but her sight was far from the swamps of her home.

Instead, she sailed over the wooded highland countryside, looking through the eyes of her swamp child. The connection was tenuous the distances were vast, and her powers weakened as the flow of elemental energies continued their slow ebb. It was only the strength of the poison in the winged child that kept her link intact. The infant king adder at the heart of her magickal construction of moss and weed remained strong, rich in venoms.

Still, it was hard to breach the distances. It taxed her. Her castle children dragged up plates of dried fruits and boiled fish, but she could only pick at their offerings. She had remained bedridden, too exhausted to move from the room.

But she knew the importance of her mission.

Just after midday, she had taken wing along with six si'luran scouts. The shape-shifters had been assigned to scout the trails that their forces would take tomorrow. The plan was to head out just after sunrise and reach the highlands below the Fang by nightfall. From there, they would set upon Winter's Eyrie by the following dawn.

For that to happen, their armies would need to move swiftly, with a clear path and a clearer goal. They must fall upon their enemy like a torrent of snowmelt from the heights.

But where was the enemy? What did they face?

That was her mission.

Haifa world from her castle home, Cassa Dar sailed over treetops. The sun was near to setting. She banked on a warm uprising, circling higher. She was almost to her goal and dared not be spotted.

Below, the world was a sea of green. Highland forests stretched to the horizons north and south, fringing the peaks of the Teeth. But to the east, a great swath of devastation marred the beauty, as if the green sea washed up against a stripped and blackened island.

Smoke rose in columns from the green forest, marking the ruins of hamlets and farms. She had swept over one such site a short time ago: a homestead, recently razed. Embers still glowed through the pall of smoke, revealing a charnel house of horrors. Livestock had been brutally slaughtered, the remains strewn everywhere. From the air, she had spotted a cow sprawled in offal and blood, torn in half. Nor had the owners of the farm escaped the slaughter. Eight heads were piked among the ruins, women and children, an entire family, even their pet dog.

Since then, she had avoided those sites, focusing on the blackened forest ahead. From that island of death amid the green sea, a plume of black smoke sailed high into the air. It was not the smolder of the other smaller pyres whatever cast out such smoke continued to burn fierce and deep. She knew she had no choice but to scout out what lay ahead.

Satisfied with her height, she sailed toward the black sigil in the summer sky. From the ground, she would appear no more than a speck, impossible to spot. A part of her quailed at approaching any nearer, but she flew onward, cresting higher, banking in a wide curve toward the island of dead trees.

Once she was within half a league, she could make out a wide valley stretched between the upper highlands and the lower foothills. From the organized rows of trees below, it must have once been a mighty orchard, sectioned into family farms and centered on a modestly sized township.

Sweet Mother' Cassa Dar whispered in her chamber room. Though she had never been here, she knew this valley. Elena had described it in detail, from the small mill by the stream to the wide pond by the town's edge. It was the girl's own home, Winterfell.

Cassa remained at the edges of the valley.

Like the homestead she had passed earlier, the town was a burned-out husk. Brick buildings had been scorched. Some walls still stood; others had been razed to the ground. Cassa Dar banked away, aiming for the well of dark smoke at the north end of the valley.

Below, the orchard had fared no better than the town. Not only had all the trees been denuded of leaves, but even their branches were missing. All that remained were dead trunks, stripped and bare a valley of

James Llemens wooden spikes awaiting bodies to be spitted. It was a disheartening sight; she could only imagine what such a discovery would do to Elena. This had been her home.

Poor child'

She swung her gaze from the devastation below to the column of smoke at the north end of the valley, the region named Winter's Eyrie. The destruction of the lower valley rose up toward it, a path of sorrow and pain.

She dared not get too close. Though the township and orchards seemed empty of any living thing, whatever flagged the fire below would surely be wary of prying eyes. Still, she had been sent to search for the last Weir-gate. While this was surely suspicious, she could not return with just her grave misgivings. She needed proof upon which to target their armies.

So Cassa Dar urged her swamp child to higher elevations. She would have to get as close as possible without being spotted.

Ahead, the plume of smoke grew, filling the world with its foulness. On the journey from the mountains, the entire highlands had reeked of soot and woodsmoke, but here the winds were foul, smelling of burned flesh, scorched blood, and the tang of something twisted and unnatural.

As Cassa Dar climbed higher over the valley, she spotted the source of the smoke. A great pit lay blasted into the land. She swung closer. The hole, circular in shape, had to be two leagues across. From what she could see of the edges of the monstrous pit, the hole seemed to descend in giant stairsteps, huge tiers gouged from the land, dropping one after another into the ground.

Whatever the purpose of the pit, its construction was still under way. From the smoke, fires would suddenly flare, shooting high into the sky. Echoes of pounding and muffled explosions rose from within the column of smoke, sounding impossibly far away.

How deep is this pit?

Cassa Dar edged around the periphery of the dark construction. The outer circles of the pit were as empty as the orchard valley, but screams rose on the winds, amid howls and the clanging of steel. She sensed movement deep below: a churning of the smoke, darker shapes lumbering through the pall, limned in the flashes of fire.

The hole was clearly not empty.

She braved a closer pass, determined it would be her last. She would report what she discovered here and leave the decisions to the war council.

As she swept nearer, searching the heart of the smoky pit, she sensed a presence swell before her. Towering ahead, the column of darkness took

Wit ch star on a new form: It sprouted black wings, and a neck stretched forth out of the darkness. Fiery eyes opened above a smoky beak. A dark malignancy searched out.

Cassa Dar knew better than to tarry. She dove away, sensing that to be spotted by that presence would be certain doom. She fell back into the desolate orchard valley, dropping among the bare trunks, skirting and winging with the momentum of her dive. Trunks flashed past.

She dodged right and left, then rolled into the cover of a streambed. She flew just above the sludgy, muddy waters, keeping the banks of the stream between her and the smoky searcher. At any moment, she expected a monstrous black claw to snatch her away. Even hundreds of leagues away, she knew she was not safe from the evil. If caught, both child and creator would be destroyed.

Fueled by fear and aided by the innate skill of her creation, she winged down the stream, sweeping at impossible speeds, a prayer on her lips.

Then the stream emptied into a millpond, and the banks fell away. Exposed, Cassa Dar rolled and searched behind her. She was surprised at how far she had traveled. The smoky shape was only a smudge on the horizon.

Watching from a distance, she saw the spread of black wings fold back into the cloud. The beaked visage dissolved into smoke. The last to vanish were the fiery eyes. They searched a moment longer then they were gone.

Cassa Dar shook with relief. She had come near to awakening the beast at the heart of the monstrous black pit.

Thankful to escape its attention, she urged the swamp child out of the valley and away. The sun was disappearing into the mountains to the west. She chased after it, ready to return to her friends, to Jaston.

She glanced once more behind her. The black smudge stood out against the darkening sky. She had found what she had come seeking. There was no doubt what beast had risen from the smoke: the black wings, the sharp beak, the fiery eyes. It had been the shadow of the Wyvern, the last Weir-gate. It must surely lie at the heart of the pit.

With a heavy heart, Cassa Dar fled the devastation. In two days' time, she would return she and all the others. They had no choice.

A shudder of dread passed through the swamp child, and far away in her castle tower, Cassa Dar made a quiet plea. Mother above, have mercy on us all.