Aubreyan

By Lazette Gifford

An Author's Guide to The Dark Staff series b Lazette Gifford

...The bright day is done, and we are for the dark...

Anthony and Cleopatra, (V,ii,192) Shakespeare

Welcome to a universe filled with diverse worlds, unusual possibilities, and an evil that will destroy everything if Aubreyan and Tristan cannot end its spread.

There aren't many series that incorporate both fantasy and science fiction themes. In writing The Dark Staff books, I wondered why the gods should limit their creativity -- their very imaginations -- to only Tolkienesque worlds. If such beings did exist, why shouldn't they have at least as much imagination as I do? And besides, am I not the goddess of my own universe, even if it only exists in the words laid down in stories?

So here I present a myriad of possible worlds, from the traditional fantasy setting of Ylant to places where humans travel between the stars and magic is very rare. My universe is built upon possibilities and limitations. Magic is acquired through the ability to translate moonlight to power. A poor analogy is the way in which plants convert sunlight for their own use. When the moon reflects the sunlight, it mutates, offering a different power.

I loved working in the first world of the series, Ylant. This is a place filled with all the traditional magic I could imagine, from elves to dragons. However, by the time I finished the first book I began looking at other worldbuilding scenarios. Brendan's world is only a step for two removed from Ylant: less magical, but still without technology to fill in the gap. Crystal will take us very far from the magical roots of Ylant, and Dacey will bring us back, but to a place where magic has been subverted. When we reach Eliora's World we'll find very little magic at all.

The two main characters are a study in subtle differences: Aubreyan's uncertainty and anger, versus Tristan's naivety and persistence. This is also a very basic story of good versus evil, although like the real world, there are too many gray areas.

As they journey through these other places my two heroes -- uprooted from the magic of Ylant and cast out on the eddies of possibility -- must save worlds from a dark evil they inadvertently let loose. It is a long, hard journey, and there are no guarantees...

Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no one returns.

Carmina, Gaius Valerius Catulls

Prelude

This is a legend of Eltabar.

For a brief time the gods looked upon the world of Ylant that they had created. In those days they made man and elf and walked among them in the beauty of creation. But gods have many worlds and interests. They did not so much abandon Ylant as just depart to look elsewhere for a while.

Time moves quickly in the world, and ages passed before the gods had reason to glance again at this piece of their creation. The first age after their exodus was a golden time when man and elf lived side-by-side. Wise men and mages cast evil away from their bright new civilization and sent the dark tribes and their leaders into the northern realm of Forever-Winter. There, beyond the towering Ice Mountains, this unwanted and foul miasma of humanity grew in strength and became barbarians. They clung tenaciously to savagery, just as those to the south held to their civilizations and fine arts.

The second age came soon after, a time when man and elf grew wary of each other and their respective powers. They turned their backs to the North while the southerners fought their “civilized” wars, and generation after generation of men threw themselves against the immortal elves.

The war begat dark magic, and evils not as easily dispelled as created. She was made in those days, to curse of a later time.

Sometimes She whispered on the northern wind, there in the wastelands where the ways -- the traps -- of magic were unknown. Only the chosen could hear her. They were few, and many died young of their ambitions.

Come to me, come to me, come to me.

The horrendous wars between man and elf ended only when the elves took themselves and all the creatures of magic to the far west. Beyond the vast forest they crossed mountains every bit as formidable as those to the north, putting as much distance as they could between them and the rapacious humans. Then, to be certain they would not be followed, they wove a new magic that stretched from peak to peak -- a wall of power that no human-made spell could ever breach.

Knowing themselves safe, the elves spread out across the virgin lands beyond their shield and lived in peace. For centuries rulers sent the best human mages to try their hands at piercing that wall, though each succeeding generation lost a little more of the fire of war, and in time it became only a game that mages sought to play.

Then came the third age, when even the mages gave up the old challenge. Humans had spread out across the lands of Eltabar, just as the elves had spread across the lands of Ishan. The long peace came, the indolent times. Mages built castles of glass and magic and forgot the spells of war. Eltabar grew elegant in beauty, and fragile in power.

And in the north a voice still whispered on the wind.

Come to me, come to me, come to me...

PART ONE -- ALTAZAR

CHAPTER ONE

Altazar heard the whisper, a voice on the wind that invaded his youthful dreams of plunder. A woman's voice, but he still listened. This one didn't live among the northern tribes, where women whelped children and tended fires, never daring to voice their concerns about the ways of the world. No, this woman knew the ruling of people -- but not him. Altazar listened, but he made it plain that he held the power, not this women-thing that whispered to him.

The voice on the wind brought him luck and guided his plans. At sixteen, he already led a war band stolen from his unlamented late father. He dared not tell the warriors about the voice, of course. He kept her secret, his weapon. He used it well.

She guided him southward, watching battles through his eyes, helping him direct the forces. He reached the ripe age of thirty years, when most of the warriors of his generation were long since dead. And he ruled the northern lands, from the Snow Sea to the impassable Ice Mountains.

Then she led him through the barrier and down into the pretty lands of Eltabar.

The conquest proved too easy to satisfy Altazar's lust for glory. Mages who built glass castles and grew impossible flowers fled before hard iron and angry, insatiable men. Rarely, an army of fighters banded together, but they were not trained, and they were not ruthless -- well, not at first.

Villages that had been prosperous in the afternoon lay burnt and lifeless by moonrise. Altazar passed like a plague of desolation, and people wailed in their holy sanctuaries, asking even the gods to stop him.

He especially enjoyed destroying those temples.

She continued to whisper to him, louder now, as though they were closer.For reasons he couldn’t even admit to himself, he shivered in the hot dry sun, so far from the snow.

And he kept heading southward...

***

On a moonless night, when the powers of magic ebbed to their weakest, Altazar listened to her call and slipped away from his encamped army and into the hills nearby. He stood looking down at his army and wondering if they would miss him if he never came back.

Come to me!

He didn't like to be ordered. He thought he might still turn back, even now. What more could she give him, after all? What use was this woman, now that he ruled the world?

I am power you cannot even imagine.

He climbed higher and stopped on the summit, looking down at a desolate valley where a black tower rose in the midst of wretched, mangled trees and ubiquitous weeds. This lifeless valley did not belong in Eltabar, which everywhere else had been green and alive. It looked -- felt -- like something darker than the moonless night.

Altazar went to the tower, too avaricious even still to turn away from anything that he might take. And it had occurred to him that he might take her, since she so unwisely called him.

He found a door sealed with a working in runes. He couldn't read, and despised these written words as warnings from cowards who would not face an enemy with sword in hand. He pried a large metal piece away and felt a cold spark travel up his spine. The rune-covered iron glowed fitfully for a moment before the magic died and the metal crumbled to dust. A wind moaned loud around him, and for a moment he thought he could hear other voices whispering to him.

Come to me...

The door swung inward and he tasted dust and smelled age, but he knew nothing living remained within these walls. The interior glowed with a light from somewhere up the central spiral staircase. He took the steps two at a time, anxious to learn what she had called him here for. All he found was an altar, and a wooden staff half-covered by a dusty cloth. Six feet long, its dark wood was inlaid with golden runes that moved as he stared.

Magic.

And he craved that power, even anathematic as it was to his own people. What did he care if the northerners shunned that dark art? He ruled the world, and if she had brought him here to this gift he would not turn his back to it.

He reached out, battle scars illuminated by the fey light, like runes of his own. His followers could read legends in each scar and tell tales around the campfires of their leader’s deeds. There would be more legends now. Different ones, of magic and power they could not yet imagine.

But he could. Altazar had heard her whisper of them in his mind for most of his life, and he was ready to take up that new battle.

"I am Altazar!" He spat out the words in a voice like rattling gravel and listened as the sound echoed around the dark tower. "I am the greatest warrior who ever lived. I claim this staff of power for my own!"

His scarred fingers curled around the wood and golden runes. Heavy. Warm. Something seemed to hold it down, but he wanted this prize and wouldn't surrender. He laughed when he yanked the staff free from the altar.

Mistake...

Her!

Power! Gods, the power! Agony raced through the nerves of his body and even his mind recoiled and went blank...and he opened his eyes again later to find that he still stood, the staff in his hand. He turned his head warily to find the cloth still covered the top half. The fabric moved gently, in and out, in and out. Something breathed beneath.

Altazar wanted to throw the staff aside and leave this evil pace. Instead, his left arm moved without his biding and reached for the silk. Ignoring what his own mind demanded, his fingers tore the cloth away.

A face lay beneath -- a woman's face, thin and small and prefect in its dark beauty. Ah, and very much alive. The lips curled back in a snarling smile filled with perfect tiny inlaid pearls. Bright ruby-red eyes with centers of obsidian blinked at him. He saw only mockery in her look.

Fool, he thought. Never trust a woman.

"I have called down through all the ages since man won me away from my former master," she said. Her voice whispered like... like the wind in the night. "Called until something evil enough to hear, and strong enough to win, could reach me. I am of the dark, my Altazar. I, the Kiya Chanda Andee, claim you for my own. And now I have your soul."

He felt her darkness upon his heart, and he knew he'd never be free again.

CHAPTER TWO

They made a pact. Altazar served her -- he had little choice in that -- but she gave him powers that he had never imagined. Cooperation saved them both from needless waste of energy, especially since their goals proved to be so compatible. Altazar ruled the rabble, and the Kiya drank the souls of the powerful who fell to his sword and her magic. They worked well together.

The feeble Eltabaran winter proved to be no obstacle for an army raised in the northlands of always-winter. The blizzards and icy rivers held the weak mages and trifling armies in check, but were opportunities for Altazar's forces.

On the last day of the year, when the sun rose and set in only a few short, cold hours, he stood before the most famous castle in all the land, the fabled Mindeneh. It soared, towers of glass and light so high they were lost in the low-lying winter clouds.

But other glass castles lay broken behind him, destroyed by her magic and his sword. Mindeneh didn't impress him. There had been too few obstacles in taking this land. He wandered, restless, looking for new challenges. He wanted to sail to the southern lands he had heard so much about and fight the enemy there.

But she would not let him go. Satiated on the souls she'd drunk, she was content with baubles like Mindeneh. With Eltabar taken, he had nowhere to turn for another battle. He might provoke a few skirmishes, but the war ended here.

One last battle, and this only against a single man. The Mage King Tandair stood before his castle, a sword in hand, even though he obviously knew he could not win against the Kiya. Altazar felt no better about the encounter when within a few blows the king proved himself a far better swordsman, and he would have lost his head if not for the protection of the Kiya.

Fool. Without me, you would never have even reached this far.

He hated her, always whispering in his mind, mocking him. He had no secrets from her, and the Kiya drove him to near-madness some days. He could not even speak of it to his people. Even his most trusted generals would never understand that this female drove him to such rages. She shamed him, and she knew it -- and reveled in it.

He fought with anger, letting rage drive him his duel with the enemy. It didn't matter. The Kiya would protect him, and for a few moments he could be berserk and lose himself in the lust for blood.

But she grew bored, and drove the king to his knees with a flash of fire that destroyed the man's sword and burnt his hands. Bright blue eyes glared up at Altazar, and Tandair's rage and disgust were so strong that Altazar could almost feel them. He shivered at the stare, and looked up to see the moon rising behind the castle. Even that font of magic couldn't help Tandair as he faced the Kiya. The hunger the staff felt for this one's soul swept through Altazar, making him so giddy his knees felt weak. She reluctantly pulled back, though without a whisper of apology for her lack of control. Not her fault -- his weakness.

"I am descended of the gods," Tandair said. His head lifted, even when the bizarre words won a laugh of disdain from Altazar. But his blue eyes still glared, any pain lost behind his wall of hatred. "I have their blood, barbarian. They are compelled to hear my dying wish."

Tandair drew a thin, pretty blade from his belt, holding it in reddened hands and blistered fingers -- and drove it into his chest. Bright heart's blood flowed and magic surged, a protective luminous shell in the glowing night. Altazar stepped backward in a moment of shock, and even the Kiya went very still within him.

"I call upon the gods to curse you, barbarian. May your life be agony!"

The Kiya hissed as though she believed these dying words held power. She willed Altazar to attack again, her long staff-body beating against the shell, frantically trying to reach the king.

But by the time they shattered the magical shield. Tandair had died and his soul fled, and she lost the power of the last true mage in Eltabar.

He expected rage, but she silently drew back, saying nothing either aloud or in his mind. He looked at the last, fallen enemy. Except for some minor lords holding out near the wild woods, no one remained to even whisper of rebellion against him. Eltabar was now his.

Hers.

CHAPTER THREE

Altazar let the great castle stand, amused as his men marred the pretty glass with their swords and tracked mud and blood through the halls. The Kiya didn't care, having no concern whether they stood in the open storm or inside by the hearth.

He watched the southern lords weep when he sat on the gold-and-sapphire throne of their lost ruler. He had three executed at random; and then, with the Kiya whispering her orders in his mind, he relayed the new laws of the land. The staff taught him to hold with an iron grip what he had only meant to conquer and destroy.

Then, once again satiated with the souls she drank at the midnight execution, she finally allowed him to leave her in their room while he went in search of his own, baser enjoyments. He knew he need not fear losing her. No one in his army would even dare try to touch what belonged to him, and she held power enough of her own if an enemy came too near.

Most of his men lay drunk in the halls, boasting, vomiting and whoring. He didn't crave their company tonight. Instead, he wandered up the long stairs into what the others had called the Tower of the Clouds. It drew him, and for a moment he could imagine that he again climbed the Ice Mountains. He panted, drawing icy air into his lungs, unwilling to succumb to physical debility. A challenge all his own...

The thin crystal walls showed only the dark night encircling him, and he was glad it was not daylight. The magic that welded this castle together could be no better than that of all the other glass castles he had destroyed. He did not want to see the far drop to the land below him and only the thin, transparent glass between him and the distant ground.

But even if it had been bright day, he knew he wouldn't have turned back.

Clouds rolled in, brushing insubstantial fingers against the glass and promising a fierce storm before the night was gone. Soon, lightning flashed, blinding him as the tower trembled before the drumming thunder. He stopped, frozen in fear at the power of nature. He couldn't subdue this with a slash of his sword or an order to his men, and he wasn't even certain the Kiya could deal with such force.

If he turned back now his soldiers would know that the storm drove him down in search of safety. They would see his fear, and it would demean him in their eyes. The fierce storm was less intimidating than the thought of their scorn. He went higher still, beyond the clouds and the fear of failing.

He reached a half-walled opening, so high he could see the play of lightning in the clouds below. He experienced a moment of wonder, a strange feeling to him, immune as he was to beauty and believing in no power beyond his own.

And the Kiya's.

Thunder rolled like a call to arms or the growl of a giant wild cat. He stood above the storm while common men huddled below in the fury of the rain and wind. An icy gust blew against his face and he felt lightheaded, as though the wind sucked the air out of the tower. The stars swelled in diamond brightness above him, hardly dimmed by the glory of the full moon.

Altazar grabbed the waist-high wall, afraid for a moment that he might fall even with its protection. He took quick breaths, steadying himself, and wondered if he could make himself brave enough to move away and explore what else might be up here.

Something moved behind him.

Altazar spun, his hand instinctively going to his sword as need overcame weakness. Something huddled in the darkness and whimpered as he neared. A female sound. Gods, he'd been a fool. Tandair's soldiers might have been here, waiting, rather than just this cowering woman.

"My lord, please don't kill me!"

Her voice held such a nice whisper of dread as he stood over her, sword still in hand. She looked up, but he couldn't see her face, only a hint of dark hair swirling in the wind, accompanied by the sound of golden trinkets. This was no slave or servant.

"Who are you?" he demanded, holding the sword ready.

"I am Starwind," she whispered. He saw a glint of gold at her neck, a flash of lace at her arm.

"Starwind.” He caught a handful of that moving hair, and it felt like silk in his scarred hand. "You were no servant. The daughter of the late king?"

"Then he is dead," she said, her head bowing.

She made no sound of pain when he jerked her head upward. "I killed him. Do you know me?"

"Emperor Altazar. Keeper of the staff." When she looked up into his face, moonlight fell across her like a haze of luminous fog. He could clearly see a glitter of green in her eyes and a flash of small teeth in what might have been a smile. Beautiful, he realized with a start. "They say that the Kiya Chanda Andee couldn't corrupt you because you already equaled her in evil."

He laughed with a sound as harsh as dogs fighting, a laugh unsuited to this place of celestial beauty. The wind moaned around him, as though it knew his thoughts. He dragged the bitch to her feet amid a rustle of gold, lace and silks, and the air around her filled with exotic scents, driving him wild.

"All I see, I take," he growled as he pulled her hard against him. Sword still in hand, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. "Mine!"

She unexpectedly pressed harder against him. He dropped the sword and grabbed her dress, pulling at it as she laid her head against his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"You will want me, man," she whispered. "You will want me to stay."

Altazar hardly heard the words above the roaring of his blood. The need came on him so powerfully he couldn't stop himself. He pushed her down on the hard glass floor and tore at the lace, silk and gold, and lost himself in her beauty and his conquest.

CHAPTER FOUR

"A son, Emperor Altazar."

The slave bowed lower, her gray head nearly touching Altazar's feet, but she didn't dare that much intimacy.

Son. The word sounded too much like a threat to him. If he had killed his father for an insignificant little snow tribe, how could he trust this bastard, a son to take all the glory of the empire from him?

"Drown the little bastard," he said, and smiled at the shudder of horror that passed through her withered old body. "I want it dead before the hour is out."

"Yes, sire," the woman answered and awaited dismissal -- or a kick.

Thunder shook the castle. He wondered when this storm had blown in. He hadn't noticed. They were too common here, with wild lighting and winds that tore at his soul.

"Sire," the old woman whispered, daring his glare and the kick that came as an automatic reflex. She grunted but continued. "She wishes to see you now, sire."

Altazar considered telling the slave to drown her as well. He almost shuddered at the longing for her that came simultaneously with the thought of murder. The intensity of his obsession frightened him sometimes -- and amused the Kiya, in a distant way. She had grown aloof to everything since the night they took the castle. That suited him, even while leaving him caged here in pretty glass. Sometimes, he caught just the faintest ghost of a thought from her, a glimmer of exotic lands. He hoped that whatever she planned, it came soon. He wanted to take the war there, away from this place.

And take Starwind with him, of course...

He traveled up the stairs through a passage of thick, black glass to the room where he kept her prisoner, away from the eyes of anyone else who would lust after his woman. He only allowed the old slave woman to serve her, and he had expected Starwind to protest both the confinement and the lack of company. She did neither, never even seemed to care.

He paused by the door, suddenly curious to see this thing created from part of him and of this woman. He pushed the door open, almost timidly at first, but that made him snarl at his own feelings. He stepped into the room where light always seemed brighter, despite the single small window and occasional candles. Starwind lay on the bed, her pale skin flawless against the rough blankets. Long, dark hair spread like solid wisps of smoke across the pillow. She didn't look any worse for having just brought a child into the world.

Some thing, small and helpless, nuzzled at her arm, seeking warmth against the cold that never seemed to touch her. Altazar went closer to look down at it, the little arms and legs, the head with a fine covering of dark hair. He shivered with the realization that he had once been this small and his father might have killed him with a single blow, or a snap of the tiny neck. He started to reach, but her hand caught his wrist, powerful and stronger than he had expected.

"I call him Aubreyan," she said.

His gaze shifted from the rag-wrapped bastard and he pulled his arm free. When he looked into her face, he found himself -- as always -- staring into the bottomless depths of her green eyes. No wonder she never felt cold, with spring always in her eyes.

"Call it want you like," he said. "It will be dead before morning."

"No," she said. She sat up, the dark hair falling like a shield across the child. "You want this child."

"Why would I want a rival?" he demanded, and found that he had stepped away, his back pressed against the door as though he faced some danger. The movement angered him and gave him power to fight...something he couldn't even name. "What do I want with that bastard of yours?"

"Empires pass." She smiled, capturing him with a different look, and one that made him shiver this time. "This child is the only piece of eternity you will ever possess, man."

Not a woman's smile -- not a mother's smile. If the Kiya had not assured him that no human magic could penetrate her protection around him, Altazar would have suspected Starwind of bewitching him. For a moment he feared this creature enough that he wished she would leave and take the bastard with her.

"What do you want of me?" he asked, soft words that he'd never asked of anyone before.

"Oh, there are many things," she said, and leaned back. "But wisdom would be wasted on you.” His rage at the answer almost brought his sword to his hands, but she waved a hand, dismissing that threat. "I'll tell you this much: Aubreyan is no threat to you. Go, Altazar. Go back to your Kiya and rule these men with all the barbarism that you can manage. It doesn't matter to me."

"I want it killed!" He shouted, enraged because she unmanned him so easily.

"You will not kill him," she said. His hand rested on his sword, but he drew it away. He would not kill the child. Would not, because she said so.

He shivered and his hand sought the edge of the door, pulling it open without daring to look away from Starwind. He fled before a spell for which there was no warding -- magic, even if the Kiya said he was protected.

He found the old woman still kneeling at the bottom of the stairs and killed her with a quick swing of his sword against her stringy neck. Only she knew that he had ordered the bastard killed, and only she could reveal his weakness when he rescinded the order. White-faced slaves cleaned up the mess while Altazar went to the great hall and drank himself nearly to a stupor with a dozen of his men, the remnants of the first tribe he had won -- without her, without either of the females.

Just past the dawn General Tovan arrived to tell the tale of another battle lost against those damn magic-less hedge lords out in the west. Drunk and still incensed, he and his men took their time killing the general and working themselves into blood frenzy. When they were done with Tovan, he turned them loose in the castle and heard the screams of slaves.

Wisdom would be lost on you.

The words stung more in retrospect than they had at the time. The fire of the fine Mindeneh wine burned the words into his heart like a brand. He would go to her room and rip out her tongue for saying such a thing to the mighty Emperor Altazar. He would throw the bastard from her tower window!

But then she would leave.

No! He forbade her going. He held her captive in that tower.

But he knew she would go. Even in a drunken rage, he understood that his rules didn't tie her here -- and if she left he would forever long for something beyond his reach. He craved her as he had once craved war and battle. Altazar needed her like some men needed to breathe. The thought of her leaving --

Made him weak. Made him vulnerable. He knew he would leave the bastard with her. When it was old enough, he would take the boy into his care, and whatever part of her was in it he would destroy without pity... and with pleasure.

He finally pushed away from the damned throne. Uncomfortable chair. He hated it. He stumbled out of the hall, past two of his men who had a pretty young thing held face down to the floor while they took their pleasure with her. He almost stopped to join them, but he had never followed his men into any field. He turned toward the stairs -- but no. No, he would not go there again, even if he wouldn't release her. Privation of Starwind would make him stronger. Having her was a weakness, and besides, there were other women.

He found his way down into the kitchen, where a single slave girl worked, apparently oblivious to whatever else happened in the castle. She had lovely long dark hair, and he grabbed a handful of it, spinning her around.

He saw the knife in her hand, fingers red with the blood of butchered meat. The wine made him clumsy, and she stabbed low.

Altazar made the mistake of looking into her eyes as the blade struck. All he saw were the green, bottomless eyes of Starwind staring back at him from an unfamiliar face.

Gods, the pain! He screamed with fury as he grabbed the counter with one hand and drew his sword, killing her as she turned to flee. He almost fainted then, but knew that was suicidal. He remembered the last look on his father's face: blind drunk, staring stupidly as Altazar plunged his sword into the man's protruding belly. It had been a slow kill, and Altazar had enjoyed every cry for mercy, every dying moan.

He didn't want to die here like this. All the fine legends ruined by wine, fear, a slave woman -- and the eyes of another.

His men would gladly kill him if they found him weak. He dared not succumb. Instead, he sheathed the sword and, with a hand to his bleeding groin, made his way back out of the kitchen.

The Kiya. He knew he must reach her. Only she could save him. It was a long, agonizing walk from the kitchen up through the castle of glass, a thin trail of blood marking his passage. By the time he reached his door, he was so lightheaded he feared he would faint again before he got it open. But he managed, finally, to stumble in, falling -- like a supplicant -- before the inhuman creature that stood against the wall.

"Kiya, heal me," he whispered: An order, a wish -- a fear that he would die so badly.

"You fool," she said. She blinked as though she came back from some distant place. Those ruby-red eyes stared down at him with all the mockery he had ever seen in another's spring-green ones. "Is all I have done wasted on you?"

Wisdom would be wasted on you.

The Kiya heard the words echoing so strongly in his mind, and she laughed. "Ah, that whore is wiser than I ever expected. She kept you entertained these last few months, and that's all I cared about. But now you let yourself get knifed by some common slave? Useless damn man. What good are you if you have to be protected from every whore that passes your way? I have no time for this, fool."

"Kiya --"

"Oh, I will heal you, Altazar. In my own way. This will not happen again."

Fire burned through him, sharper than the knife. He knew the Kiya Chanda Andee purposely made it hurt so that he would remember, the next time he came crawling to her for aid.

The wound healed, though he soon learned that he had lost the ability to take a woman again. In the years that followed he believed that the Kiya and the whore conspired together against him. He never willingly went to the Kiya again, and never returned to Starwind's room.

Sometimes, when the nights stretched on in the interminable darkness, the Great Emperor Altazar longed for Starwind, but the desire always changed to agony, and he felt the fiery pain, like a knife twisting where she had struck.

There was nothing left for him, neither wars nor women -- and even the wine made him ill now. On the long, empty nights he almost believed in the curse of a dead mage-king's gods. May your life be agony...

PART TWO: AUBREYAN

CHAPTER ONE

"I will tell you this only once, child. We will never discuss my life while we are prisoners in this castle. Never ask me about it again."

He looked up at her, his eyes wide, completely intent on her words. Seven years old. She wouldn't make rainbows for him to play with anymore. Too dangerous at his age, she said.

"Listen to me, Aubreyan," she said. Unexpectedly, she sat on the floor beside him and took his hands into hers. "Listen, and then forget."

Strange words. She'd always told him to remember.

"The gods watch over you, the gods will help you -- but there is always a price. Nothing is free. Never ask lightly. Remember that when the times comes. And forget for now."

***

His life consisted of his mother and a soldier who brought them food, water, and wood but never spoke. They slept in a single bed -- two blankets and some old pillows -- in a room with a corner privy that drained down below the castle. He usually sat on a rug by the hearth, where he most often slept as well. No candles to light the night, nothing but black glass walls and a metal door.

And a single window where he would sit for hours and watch the world he couldn't touch. The view showed only a narrow stretch of the world: a long, stone-paved road that wound through part of a mostly deserted village and on to a hill, disappearing into the forest. If he craned his neck, Abby could see a little more of the village, and sometimes a peasant working out in the fields.

That was all the world the ten-year-old knew, except for bits and pieces gleaned from the lessons as his mother taught him to read and write. What is a flower? What is a river? What is a wolf?

She drew each answer on the old piece of parchment with a bit of charcoal from the hearth and the drawings came alive beneath her fingers -- something more than rough lines on the little scrap. While he held the parchment he would see colors and hear sounds unknown in his locked tower.

Then she would take the parchment and rub the life away with a brush of her fingers and make him study his words again.

***

Fourteen years old. Winter drew close, but it wasn't the change in seasons that drew Abby to the window. He stared, enthralled by the scene below. For most of the day horses and wagons and men on foot had covered the usually empty road. They raised so much dust he could barely see the hills and the trees. The great barbarian army had at last returned to Mindeneh, driven back by the lords in the west, she said.

His mother unexpectedly spoke. "He'll send for you."

Her thin hands pulled him away from the window just as Altazar came into view. Abby suppressed the frustration that he wasn't to see the man yet again. Then he realized what she had said and he froze, afraid. Leave the room?

"Why would he send for me now?" he asked.

"Because he lost."

"Lost?"

She shrugged indifference at the reason. He settled on the edge of her bed, patient as always, awaiting her answers. Patience was the one thing she had inadvertently taught him.

"Listen to me, child.” She laid her fingers on his shoulder and he felt a strange chill. His mother seldom touched. "Altazar will send for you tonight, and you will not come back to me. Remember this while in his care: he is only a barbarian, and he won't last much longer. The one who follows him will be your true enemy, Abby. Be strong.Survive."

The green eyes held him so entranced that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't look away. And he couldn't disobey. He would do as she ordered.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Too soon for food. He shivered at the thought of leaving.

"Abby, you will face the Kiya Chanda Andee soon. Be strong."

His mother looked away, and Abby felt a sudden loss so deep that it left him dizzy.

Go? Without her?

The door burst open, and he spun to see a man half-encased in iron standing there. Abby looked up into the face of this stranger with filthy blond hair, a beard snarled and graying, and eyes like dirty, brown stones.

"The emperor wants him," the man said. His voice quivered despite the harshness, and his eyes looked anywhere but at her, or Abby.

"Then take him."

Her indifference startled the soldier, but it was so much a part of Abby's life that he hardly noticed. She pushed him into the mail-gloved hands, and the soldier took him with a bruising grasp, yanking him away....

Abby had the strange feeling this soldier feared his mother. He looked back at her as they reached the door, beyond which he had never once stepped before. She stood by the window, staring out at the road and carefully brushing out her long black hair.

He would never come back to this room. He would be gone from her life, erased as she had the flowers and the wolves, a hand brushed across the parchment and gone.

The soldier pulled the door shut with a curse and threw a metal bar into place. His hands were shaking. "Damn that bitch. She's no more human than the staff. Damn her."

He caught Abby by the arm and pulled him away. The stairs were a new experience; and when he tripped, the soldier dragged him down and down, around through the tower and then through halls of lighter glass and brighter lights until they came at last to a huge room lit by smoky torches and filled with stinking men. Abby couldn't clearly see the ceiling in the shadows above them. He couldn't imagine how many people stood here -- more than he imagined in the entire world. They lined the walls, spilling over onto the seven steps that rose up at the end of the room. All watching him, and he didn't like their hungry stares.

At the top of the stairs sat a man on a throne as blue as seawater, and graced with golden stars. He looked up, gray-haired, dark-eyed and angry. Abby didn't need an introduction as the soldier threw him at the emperor's feet. A staff leaned against the throne, looked down at him once -- and then blinked and lost interest. But in that single moment, when he looked into her hellfire eyes, his heart pounded with a fear he'd never known before.

"So, this is my bastard," Altazar said. His voice held anger, untamed and barely held in check. "What did she say when you told her I was taking him, General Nual?"

"She said to take him," the soldier answered, his voice steady now that he no longer faced Abby's mother. "That one is a cold-hearted and unnatural bitch."

Abby rose to his knees, watching Altazar and waiting. It didn't take long for the anger to escape. Altazar rose, took one step forward and kicked with a force that sent Abby tumbling back into the open area before the steps.

Be strong. Survive.

"At least it doesn't whimper," Altazar said as he came down the stairs. He leaned over and caught Abby's hair in his hand, pulling the boy up until they faced each other eye-to-eye, father and son meeting for the first time. "You have her eyes, bastard. I wonder if there's anything of me in you. We'll see whose child you really are."

Those words drew anxious laughter from the crowd. Abby harbored no doubts about his future in this man's care. There would be no honor in being the emperor's only son.

CHAPTER TWO

The northerners tried to make the son into a barbarian like his illustrious father, but Abby was too much his mother's child. They never broke him in the three long years he endured in his father's care.

They were not kind years. He lived in a dirty, dank cell carved out of the dirt beneath the castle. Not even a window now, and no hope of digging out, though he tried now and then until the beatings wore him down. Sometimes, his father went days without calling for him; most often they forgot to feed him.

But those were the better days. If Altazar's hunt went badly -- the only killing left to him now that he could no longer go to war -- then he sent for Abby. There would be a beating, and perhaps a broken bone. Aubreyan understood his father -- knew the man reacted like a trapped, caged animal in a cell hardly larger than Abby's. The emperor had no enemies left, except for his son.

Nual treated wounds and set bones, though not as any show of kindness but only to keep him alive, a handy object for the emperor's growing frustration.

He survived. Sometimes, he might have wished otherwise, but he had no choice. Be strong! Survive! It couldn't overcome the pain of broken bones, or the nights when he grew faint with hunger and thirst, but her words... her wish kept him alive, even if he would rather have died then go on, forever, like this.

Dark years passed.

Then, in the eighteenth year of Emperor Altazar's reign, the unthinkable happened. Not death -- defeat. In a few short days his empire fell to an enemy they had not even known existed.

The invasion came from across the wide, trackless southern sea. Aubreyan, abandoned in his cell, knew nothing of it until they brought him, weak with hunger, up to the high hall. He heard the whisper of worry, the frantic shouts of soldiers. Another war, another battle, another enemy. Why did the soldiers worry? What did another army matter to the Kiya?

But when they brought him before his father, Aubreyan understood at last. Although the Kiya Chanda Andee stood in Altazar's hand, she laughed as the horde of tan-skinned and dark-haired enemy swarmed into the room, killing Altazar's soldiers with such ease that it stunned Aubreyan. Altazar had lost because the Kiya willed it.

With the new soldiers came strange creatures – man-shaped but winged. He saw two sweep into the dark ceiling to roost, great wings spread wide. His breath caught at the sight. They were darkness and evil. He could feel it in his soul.

Of all the soldiers, only Altazar and General Nual still lived when the enemy's leader came forward and stopped before the throne. He stood before them with an insolent lift to his head -- tall, black-haired, without armor -- and surprisingly young. Abby fell when the soldiers holding him were killed; and forgotten for the moment, he watched the last act of his father's life.

"I came as you called me, Kiya Chanda Andee," the stranger said. He bowed, mockingly, and Abby could see the slight smile on his face. This one didn't fear the staff. This one had power of his own, and it made Abby shiver to see it.

"She called you?" Altazar said. The emperor's voice sounded dull, and his face held no expression. His arm instinctively pulled the staff back.

"You will give her to me, you know," the stranger said. He lifted his own hand.

"The Kiya is mine," Altazar answered, but his arm moved against his will, and he held her out.

The stranger smiled, a look completely at odds with the situation. He brushed his hand against the wood, and it seemed as though the Kiya hummed at the touch, and her eyes brightened. But once again Altazar drew the staff back, holding it tightly against his chest.

"Don't fight me," the stranger said. He drew a golden sword, and his own men backed away from it. It glowed, a bright light that would have been beautiful in anything but a weapon. "The Kiya is of no more use to you. Shall I take your arm before she takes your soul?"

"Why?" Altazar whispered. His voice sounded meek and piteous, and it made Abby ill to watch him. He had always believed there was something more to the man than just the Kiya, and now he knew he had been wrong. Altazar was a barbarian murderer, nothing more. "Why would she leave me? I served her all these years --"

"You despicable little creature," the Kiya answered, her words a hiss of anger and contempt. "How could I wish to stay with you when I knew this one existed? Tabor is born of a demon, created to rule this world with me. A sorceress of the south died of the gift when she bore him. And I have called to Tabor from the day of his birth, leading him here. With him, I shall rule more than just Ylant, man. With him we shall capture the stars themselves."

"Nothing shall stand before us," Tabor agreed, and then looked around the room as though puzzled. He shook his head and turned back to Altazar, lifting the sword and resting it gently upon the emperor's wrist. "This is an old sword... man. With it I have marked my way to you, leaving behind wounds that never heal, except in death -- and for the chosen not even then. The chosen are the few worthy of being sent to my father as a gift. You, though, will not go that way. You belong too much to the Kiya. Let us not waste any more time, Emperor."

"What do you know about time?" Altazar said, his voice unexpectedly strong as he stood. "Take her, fool child. It doesn't matter. I was born a warrior. I never expected to live this long."

He tossed the staff to the demonling, but as Tabor reached to catch it Altazar leapt as well. They collided, Tabor falling. Altazar kicked the hand that held the glowing sword, knocking it free.

Altazar grabbed the sword, and Tabor only saved his head by rolling aside, though the weapon left a line of blood along his neck, just below the right ear. It was not enough to even slow him.

Tabor leapt to his feet, eyes glaring with a reddish glow that might not have been a reflection from the torches. His hand brushed the bleeding wound. Even the Kiya fell silent.

"Something for you to remember me by," Altazar said, grinning with a show of uneven, yellowed teeth. He lifted the sword again. "Something to remember me by, forever."

General Nual stepped behind Atlazar and shoved his emperor to the ground. The Kiya swung at the arm with the sword, and the weapon fell. In the next heartbeat she dropped her head to the emperor's chest, tearing apart cloth and skin until her teeth sank into the flesh above his heart. Altazar's body trembled, his face unable to hide the agony.

With his very last breath, Altazar looked at Aubreyan.

And Aubreyan looked away.

CHAPTER THREE

Altazar's body grew cold, ignored as the Eltabaran drama unexpectedly went on without him. Abby watched the demonling as he took the throne where Altazar had sat only a moment before. He looked young and inexperienced, but Abby knew that was deceptive.

Tabor set the Kiya against the wall. From the look on the staff's face, that wasn't what she wanted – rather, a true sign of power not lost on the crowd.

"Who is he?" Tabor finally asked, a hand waving in Aubreyan’s direction.

Nual, wide-eyed and pale, rushed over to grab Aubreyan's arm and shove him the dozen steps to the throne. But he didn't go to his knees before the new emperor. He met Tabor's look eye-to-eye. “Demon's son” meant nothing to him after being in the care of his father.

"This, Emperor Tabor, is Altazar's bastard. His only child," Nual said. The general kicked at the legs of the dead body. "He wasn't much of a man after all."

Tabor's eyes showed a glint of red again. "Being a man means nothing to me, barbarian."

Nual bowed his head, and Abby felt the slight shiver that went through the general's body. Nual drew his sword, bringing it up against Abby's neck, the usual recourse for these barbarians. "With your permission, I will kill him and his whore mother."

Abby thought he should feel something more than just a vague relief that it would finally all be over.

"Not yet," Tabor said, signaling the sword away with another wave of his long-fingered hand. Nual instantly obeyed. "This is his son? And he kept a woman? She must be beautiful. He doesn't look much like his father."

Abby almost felt gratitude -- not at the postponement of his death, but for Tabor’s saying he wasn't like Altazar and giving him an unexpected gift.

"I only saw her once, emperor," Nual said, obviously having trouble dealing with someone who was not a barbarian. "I didn't really look at her."

"Where is she now?" Tabor asked.

"Still in the tower room."

"Then why don't you bring her down to join our gathering?"

The sarcasm was lost on Nual. He only bowed his head and sent three guards running to do the errand. Abby wasn't certain that he wanted to see her again. He feared she would be unchanged.

Be strong! Survive!

And what good did that do in the end? Abby had only survived Altazar so that Tabor could kill him instead. And he couldn't even bring himself to regret it.

"I want them." The Kiya spoke, drawing Aubreyan's attention. "I want their souls, Tabor. Altazar was too weak to feed me."

"You fed off him for decades," Tabor replied. He ran a finger down the length of the living wood. Her eyes closed in pleasure. "We shall see what I give you from this feast, Kiya Chanda Andee. One will be a gift to my father. You must learn to control your appetite now that you are in my hands."

"You intend to give one to your sire?" the Kiya asked. Her eyes glinted red, too much like Tabor’s. "I haven't been present at a Gifting for eons."

"There will be one on the night of the full moon," Tabor said. He pushed back his long hair, frowning as he looked at Aubreyan. "You haven't bowed to me."

"I never bowed to Altazar. I won't to you."

"Bastard," Nual growled.

"My name is Aubreyan," he answered, meeting Nual's startled look with an even stare.

Tabor chuckled. Nual released Abby's arm, taking a quick step away. Aubreyan called up strength from some distant well and didn't even sway now that he was standing on his own.

A rush of steps behind them drew Tabor's attention. Aubreyan looked back, his breath held -- but she wasn't with them.

"The woman's gone, sire," a soldier whispered. He dropped to his knees, well back from the throne. "She had to have had help from someone, though I don't know how she got past all of us. There is only one way into the tower."

"You will find her," Tabor quietly ordered as he looked down at the man. They were soft words; and though they were spoken without a sign of rage the man still trembled and lowered his head to the floor.

"Yes, sire, I will find her," he whispered.

Tabor looked back at Abby, frowning. Then he shrugged, as though doing something he didn't particularly want to do. "This one will go to my father. He's more backbone than the rest of these northern dogs. You'll need it to serve a demon…forever. Vashan!"

Abby's heart pounded. No. He wanted out of this nightmare, not to be pushed into another one. He wondered if he could run, but he knew it would be pointless. He hadn't the strength of his mother, nor her resources. No one here would save him.

A large, hulking man lumbered out of the shadows, his face lost behind oily strands of black hair. Broken yellow teeth showed in a madman's grin. Aubreyan never backed away, though Nual did, yet again. Abby wondered if he should be honored to know that Tabor thought more of him than he did even Altazar’s foremost general.

Vashan knew his orders without being told. Huge hands expertly caught Aubreyan at the back of the neck and under his right arm. He didn't fight.

"Make him ready, Vahsan," Tabor ordered. His hand brushed at the thin line of blood on his neck and he frowned. "Make him acceptable for my father. Then prepare the altar in that fine high tower. I'll see that the guests arrive in time."

CHAPTER FOUR

Aubreyan didn't know how many days passed between the death of his father and the night Vahsan relentlessly hauled him up the long, winding stairwell, heedless of the trail of blood his captive left behind. There had been whips and blows…but the whispers had been worse. Vashan had told him about service to a demon, and about the eternity that made this torture kindness compared to what he would receive when he stood before the great demon Gix.

The fire that had kept him strong died with Altazar. He was cold now. Alone. He wanted to die, but they denied him even that escape. The knowledge of his future made him want to run, screaming, but he wouldn't escape. Vashan dragged him onward, up to the dark eternity he didn't want to face.

Vashan tossed Abby over his shoulder with a carelessness that made wounds ache and left him breathless for a dozen steps, until he finally slipped into unconsciousness, welcoming the emptiness….

Someone slapped him. Once, twice -- he didn't want to come back, but his eyes opened as though willed by another. He was in a very high place -- Vashan had said they would come here, to the high tower, for the last act of his miserable life on this world. Abby stared at the bright stars above him. A cold breeze blew across his face, and he shivered. Only a dull reddish light from a brazier standing at the end of the wooden table illuminated the little area. He turned his head to see men standing all around, their backs to the waist-high wall.

His only chance.

He ducked under Vashan's reaching hand, aware of Tabor and the Kiya to his right. He ran to the left, toward the nearest wall. The fall would be long, but better than anything he had been promised here.

"No! Stop him!"

He had his hand on the cold stone when someone caught his arm. He pulled away, even more frantic when he realized it was Nual who had caught him. A kick sent the general back, and he nearly gained the top of the wall before hands caught his leg, a knife cutting deep into his ankle. He didn't cry out at the new pain, only a small addition to what he already felt. But the wound stopped him for a crucial heartbeat; and Nual dragged him back to the table and threw him down again, his grin bright and feral.

"I didn't give you permission to maim him, Nual," Tabor said.

The smile disappeared. "Forgive me, emperor. He ran. He might again."

"Fool. You can't lie to me. You only wanted your last chance at him."

"Forgive me," Nual whispered, his voice trembling.

Abby closed his eyes, uncaring. He didn't want to be here and reached for the darkness again…but something called him back. His eyes fluttered open, and he realized that instead of Vashan's slap it was Tabor's warm, soft hand on the side of his face.

Tabor drew back, frowning. "You fought against me, bastard," he said. Dark eyes looked so long into his own that Abby felt as though Tabor touched his soul. "You didn't want to awaken, and you fought me. Something sleeps in you, and you're not even aware of it, are you?"

He didn't like the way Tabor looked at him, and he forced his eyes closed again, even knowing that Tabor used magic to will them open. He heard the Kiya hiss in surprise, and then felt Vashan's more painful touch -- and he opened his eyes to glare this time, which seemed to amuse Tabor, though not the Kiya.

"I could wish for more time with you," Tabor confessed. He picked up a cup and lifted Abby's head, giving him the first water he'd had in hours. The kindness nearly unsettled him. No one was ever kind. "You are not just the son of that worthless barbarian, are you?"

"His mother was the child of a mage king," Nual said, his voice softer than usual and tinged with fear. "Perhaps he inherited something from her?"

"Perhaps," Tabor agreed. He glanced around the tower and nodded. "The moon is on the horizon. We must begin."

"So innocent," the Kiya whispered. Her eyes glowed in the near dark, and she bent forward in Tabor's hand, looking into his face. "I've never felt one so innocent."

"He's not for you," Tabor said and pulled her back. Altazar had denied her nothing, even her most capricious wish.

Abby watched the shadows moving along the outer wall, the circle of faceless men who came to watch this gift-giving to a demon. He gauged the distance, wondering if he could make it that far once more -- but Tabor looked at him, and his hands moved in a quick and easy gesture of magic that bound Abby to the table and erased the last hope of escape.

"I am a demon's son," Tabor stated. "It’s time that you all learn what that really means."

The wind moaned again, and this time Abby shivered. There were gargoyles in the air around them, crying now and then with screeches that tore at his ears. Tabor stood by the brazier, chanting in a language that sounded like something filled with dark music, unholy places, and darkness. Even the Kiya joined in the chant, her voice shrill and loud. Abby looked away, but the shadows moved in the near dark along the periphery of his sight. He suddenly wished to see those faces in these last minutes that he would be with humans.

A bright glow near his face drew him back with a start. Tabor held a rod tipped with glowing metal, the end worked in a design he could not quite focus on. It came closer, a scent of fire, a whisper of warmth.

"This is the mark of your new master, Aubreyan Altazar," Tabor said. The branding iron hovered near Abby's forehead before Tabor shook his head and lowered it toward the chest instead. "Soon Gix will own you, body and soul."

Aubreyan closed his eyes and held his breath. Fire touched his shoulder and burnt through to his heart. He gasped, and the world faded again in a wave of pain and fire, and the Kiya chanting still…

A damp cloth touched at his lips. He sucked on it, absurdly grateful for the little kindness. When he opened his eyes, he found Tabor, the cloth in hand, looking troubled. But the demonling stepped back again, and his voice took up the chant once more, growing louder.

Abby felt the force in those strange words. Nature itself seemed to change; the air grew heavy and warmer, and he thought he could smell something foul. The wind howled, and for the first time he could hear the men whisper with worry. Tabor drew the golden sword from the scabbard he wore and lifted it to the sky. The Kiya, though, looked down at him, expectation in her face, her red eyes glowing. She seemed, suddenly, far more the enemy than the demonling, even when he lowered the sword and rested it over his captive's heart.

Vashan had explained what would happen. The cut would not kill because the demon Gix would take him in the midst of his worse agony, and before his heart stopped beating -- and that would be the measure of his existence forever.

Tabor chanted again, this time with more fervor. Something…changed. A circle grew beside Tabor, and circles within it, until one of dark red light opened and a darker shadow took form.

Something almost human.

Almost here.

Red eyes looked down at him from a misshapen, half-formed face. It hungered for him.

"No," Aubreyan whispered with fear and denial he'd never voiced before. They would give him to this demon, another to torture him like his father, Nual, and Vashan.

Forever.

"No!"

Abby nearly yanked his arms free of the magical hold before Tabor looked down in surprise and waved a hand, magic tightening around his wrists and ankles. The sword moved, a little flash of pain across his chest before the end of life and the beginning of forever. Abby closed his eyes.

And remembered.

"Listen to me, Aubreyan," she said. Unexpectedly, she sat on the floor beside him and took his hands into hers. "Listen, and then forget."

Strange words. She'd always told him to remember.

"The gods watch over you, the gods will help you -- but there is always a price. Nothing is free. Never ask lightly. Remember that when the times comes. And forget for now."

The only hope he had now…

"Gods help me," he whispered, who had never asked for help from anyone before. The words caught in the wind, echoing clearer than he had spoken them. The demon -- still not fully in this world -- growled. Tabor looked startled, and then put the sword again to flesh, but even as he started to cut a hard, cold wind swept through the tower and pushed him back. The sword left a long but shallow wound across Aubreyan's chest.

And then darkness swallowed up the moon and all the world around them.

CHAPTER FIVE

The demon howled as it faded, fire-red eyes glaring at Abby with unabated fury and hunger. With the moon gone, the magic faded so quickly that Tabor staggered at the loss and the Kiya cried out in fear. The gargoyles screamed as they flew away, their shrieks lost in the howl of the wind that rushed around them. The tower itself seemed to moan and tremble, but it held, even with the source of new magic gone.

The magical bonds holding him to the table dissolved. Abby moved, thinking he could still try to fling himself off the wall but suddenly not as sure that it was needed. The men who had been summoned to watch the ritual began fleeing down the stairwell -- some fighting -- and he saw in the dull light of the fallen brazier that someone had already killed Vashan in those few heartbeats. Aubreyan thought to follow the others, but when he slipped from the table he went straight to his knees, the agony of wounds and weakness winning over any resolve.

Only a few sparks of fire glowed fitfully in the utter dark where even the stars had disappeared. Abby tried to crawl away, to find some place at least to hide. Strong hands caught hold of him and lifted. He couldn't see a face in the dark, but the man pushed Abby against the wall and put a dagger in his hands before he let go and disappeared into the darkness.

A strange kindness, to give him a quick death at his own hands or a chance to fight his way free -- he wasn't certain which.

And then it was too late. A dull red glow blossomed before him, and Tabor stood there with the Kiya in his hand. The light seemed to fluctuate with each passing of the wind, as though it dragged the magic away with it. Aubreyan looked into the Kiya's face, shocked to find the horror and fear she showed when she turned to him. Tabor's face was less readable.

"You called upon the gods and they answered you!" the Kiya whispered, her voice trembling, though he wasn't sure if from fear or weakness. "I can feel the darkness growing, and eventually it will take all the magic from Ylant. It will destroy all life. How could they answer you like this!"

"Obviously, there's something to be said for innocence after all," Tabor answered with an unexpected touch of amusement..

"Destroy it, Tabor!" the Kiya urged with a fury that made her light brighter. "Kill it and get me out of this magicless dark!"

Tabor frowned as he lifted the golden sword. Even it didn't glow as brightly here. Aubreyan knew the moon fueled magic, and he wondered how long Mindeneh could stand in this darkness. They were lucky it hadn't crumbled already.

As Tabor neared, Aubreyan braced himself against the still-solid wall, his hand down, the dagger unseen. He knew he hadn't much chance against that cursed sword, and he didn't want to risk another wound, perhaps more serious than the one bleeding across his chest. He waited, trying to steady himself with slow breaths and trying not to tremble.

When Tabor drew close enough, Abby dropped down, slashing at the demonling's leg and winning a curse as Tabor spun, trying to track him in the darkness. Abby hadn't gone far because he knew he couldn't stay on his feet to run. Instead, he swung back with the dagger, the blade cutting deep into Tabor's arm.

The demon’s son dropped the Kiya but swung with the golden sword again, knocking the knife out of Abby's grasp. Abby dropped and rolled. He grabbed the Kiya, surging to his feet and using her to block the next swing of the sword. That sent Tabor stumbling backwards, unwilling to risk damage to the staff.

But she stung Abby with a fiery pain that tried to catch hold of his heart and kill him. He denied her that power as he staggered forward. He knew that if he didn't get rid of her she would take control of him. He couldn't withstand her for long.

He lifted her over the edge of the tower wall and felt her terror grow. She stung him -- and willed him to be hers. Power! Called him, offered him power.

Power to share! More power than I ever allowed your father to touch!

Her mistake. Aubreyan wanted nothing of his father's. He let her go, and she howled as she fell away.

"No!" Tabor shouted, the sound more of dismay than of anger. He pushed Aubreyan as he rushed past, probably hoping Abby would fall over the wall as well, but he didn't even pause to look back and see.

With Tabor and the golden sword went the last of the light. He alone remained, and Abby accepted the emptiness as a blessing as he carefully lowered himself to the cold, hard floor. Agony spread from his cut ankle, up his wounded chest, and to the pulsing brand on his shoulder. He couldn't see the opening to the stairwell now, but it didn't matter. He hadn't the strength to follow the others, nor the will left to care if he died. All he knew was that he wasn't going to go forever to Gix and hell. He laid his head against the cool floor and reconciled himself to death. He knew there was far worse that might have happened.

Emptiness took him, and he welcomed it…

And awoke yet again, this time to the sound of silk, lace and gold. He knew.

"Mother?" he whispered, lifting his head.

She moved forward in a little pool of light -- her magic. Nual had been right.

"You waited so long, we feared you wouldn't call us at all," she said, as she knelt beside him. She hadn't changed since the last time he saw her, the day his father took him away and she did nothing to stop it. Once again her green eyes sought his as they had when he was younger; deep green eyes like pools of spring light, holding the promise of life. He had always felt captivated looking into those eyes.

But he was stronger now. He looked away. "I don't understand."

"Listen to me, child!" she commanded, and it annoyed him that even she treated him so harshly. He had asked nothing of her. She should have let him die in peace. "Listen to me, Aubreyan. I grow weary of this world. Don't make me stay longer than I must."

That was a sentiment they could both share. He carefully forced himself up far enough to lean against the wall. He looked at her, obediently silent, but she must have seen the change in him by now.

"I shall tell you the story," she said, her voice as cold as the wind that blew around them. He didn't really care what she said, as long as she did it quickly and left him in peace again. "Altazar came like a plague to this land. He freed the Kiya Chanda Andee from a bondage the mages had put upon her centuries before. All such powers fade, Aubreyan. Men not only ignored the problem, they turned their back on the danger. We had expected better from them."

"We?"

"Listen! A king ruled here in Mindeneh before your cursed father arrived. Tandair's royal line descended from the union of a god and a mortal princess in a time lost to memory. The blood of the god had grown thin through the generations but still held power enough that when Tandair called down a curse on your father we heard it, a whisper on the wind.

"That was when we learned the truth. Your father had freed the Kiya Chanda Andee. The demons were preparing for their own assault with Altazar's unknowing help and the machinations of the Kiya and her demon allies. We could not bear the thought of losing this world, this place of balances.

"We wanted her destroyed this time. Tandair's call gave us the way back into Ylant, so I came to deliver our curse to your father and to begin our own work to counter the damage done."

"Goddess?" Aubreyan said, a whisper of a word.

"A being of the stars and the winds, and the storms that bring life to the worlds," she said. She lifted her hand and held her head up into the wind and smiled -- and he wished she would turn that smile on him, just once, while he bled at her feet. "I have walked between the stars where men rarely travel and stood in vast cities while the storms raged. Ylant is not the only world of magic, but it stands at the crux of reality, Aubreyan, a middle line between places where none but magic can live, and other places where magic is not known. Here is the middle ground, and vulnerable for it."

"Why didn't you take the Kiya?" he demanded, and the bitterness and anger in his voice startled them both. A fire began to burn in his soul, and it wouldn't be quenched by a look from her green eyes this time. "The staff was within your reach for years. You never needed me."

"The Kiya is demon-made, Aubreyan. If I had touched her, they would have known and come in force -- and then my own brethren would have swept down upon this place. The powers released in such a battle would have destroyed more than just Ylant. We fight this war in little steps, Aubreyan, testing the balance. The demons knew that a child of our blood had been born, but they couldn't find you as long as I kept the power asleep within you. And they never thought to look here, so very close to the staff. The demons made Tabor, a balance to your presence. And now it will be the two of you who fight the war here. You against Tabor isn't as dangerous as the gods and demons battling."

"You could have told me," he said.

"Ah, but you would not have been so innocent, and that innocence alone saved you during your years with your father and when you first fell into Tabor's hand. The Kiya would have known. You wouldn't have survived."

"And now? What now?" he demanded, his hand moving in a wave to indicate the darkness around them. "What will happen?"

"If you do not win, the world will die in the darkness that you called down when you asked for the help of the gods.” The words stopped him, driving ice into his heart. "You are a child of the gods, Aubreyan. We answered your call."

"How -- could you do this to me?" he whispered. "How could you put me into this position, knowing that you would destroy the world as surely as the demons would if I failed? What makes you any different from the demons?"

Her eyes flashed, and the green grew darker now. "It is true that the world might be destroyed either way -- but with the demons there is no other recourse. With you, there is hope."

"I should have died instead of letting you use me like this," he said, looking up at her. "How could you have lied to me all those years?"

"I never lied," she said. "I withheld truths, but the gods cannot lie, Abby. That is something I have passed on to you. It is only one part of what makes us so different from the demons, but it is a powerful legacy. We did not tell you, Abby, because you could not have lied. We kept you innocent for your own safety."

"And then used the innocence against me."

Her eyes flashed and the sky grew bright with lightning as well. But his own anger awoke and he thought the wind was as much his as hers this time.

"Tell me what I must do to end the darkness, and then leave me in peace."

She looked down at him, angry. He flinched, expecting a blow. There had been so many lately. "We saved you from hell, child. Remember that."

"I only wanted death."

"That was not ours to give. You were already half given to the demon, Abby. Now, to end the darkness, you must give us a gift, and only one is sufficient to the deed. Find the Kiya and destroy her -- sacrifice her to us. Tabor has her again, but he can't take her away from Ylant and this reality, not while magic drains away into the dark. Gix can't come back to this world unless called, and I am only here because I have not yet left. The darkness will grow every day, taking more land until all of Ylant falls within the shadow. All will die in the dark and the cold -- but better that than to be forever in the hands of Gix. Those were the choices, Aubreyan. The darkness or the demons."

"Then I shall follow Tabor and retrieve the staff."

She nodded, stepped back. Going, he thought, and suddenly he didn't want to be here alone after all.

"West," she said softly and looked in that direction. "There is help to the west, the magic you need to quell this enemy. And there is help within you, as well. You are bred of the gods, Abby, as he is of the demons. There is power in you, awakening."

He shook his head. "I want nothing more from you. Keep your powers and your not-lies."

Her eyes widened a little, but she had already begun to fade, the light gone, and then a last whisper of sound -- the rustle of silk, lace and gold that echoed on the edge of the dying wind.

Abby shivered in the dark, alone and afraid. The world's fate rested in his hands, and the darkness was his curse upon it. He stood and caught the edge of the wall, clinging to it for the painful steps that took him toward the stairwell again, which he had to find by feel. He would go down into the land of men, and among the people to whom he would never belong.

Down among men, whom he had never known.

PART THREE: ELTABAR

CHAPTER ONE

Abby started his long journey just by descending those stairs to find his way, in the dark, out into the world. He couldn't imagine existence beyond the walls of the prison castle. He only remembered the little stretch of land he'd watched as a child, a distant dream of silver, green, and brown. He recalled the road leading west, where he must go to find help. He knew he needed that aid, if any were willing to give it.

His father had never subdued all the lords of western Eltabar and had marched home along that road, defeated. If strength existed anywhere in the land, it would be there.

He ached, and the stairs proved treacherous with his injured ankle. Dead lay strewn here and there, and he wondered if Tabor or his men had killed as they fled. But, in the end, how they died didn't matter -- they were still Aubreyan's dead. His panic, his darkness, his fault. The realization that these people had died for his mistake tore at him, and he wanted to throw himself down the stairs or go back up and dive from the wall. He would willingly go to Gix rather than leave a trail of death and destruction as his gift to this world. It made him his father's son. Only self-destruction would count for nothing now. The darkness grew even as he stumbled down the stairs. It would grow until he won a reprieve from the gods.

Altazar was dead.

He had been sitting for some time on the stairs when that thought at last penetrated his mind with the true finality of the deed. Altazar was dead and would torture him no more.

He tore strips of cloth from his ragged clothing to bind wounds -- his leg and his chest. Then he went on, inching his way down the stairs. After a measureless, lightless time he reached the bottom and crept along the wall until he grew too tired to go on, then slept in an alcove. Even knowing everyone had left the castle, he still pressed his back against the wall, prepared to face the enemy.

But the only enemy he faced came in his sleep: the demon calling to him in the darkness. He didn't sleep well, despite his exhaustion.

He went on again and by luck alone happened into the kitchen. The slight glow of the dying hearth showed him the ransacked room, pots and utensils strewn across the floor, a frantic mouse running for cover. A door stood at the far end. He found a piece of bread accidentally kicked into a corner, and a piece of cheese lay untouched on the counter. Abby hadn't tasted cheese since he last ate with his mother, and he chewed it as slowly as he could manage, savoring the taste. He also found a cup of stale water and sipped until he had consumed the last few drops.

On the hook by the door he found an old worn work tunic, better made than the bloody rags he wore. He slipped it on. Too large, it reached nearly to his knees, but it felt warm and protective.

Then he pulled open the door and unexpectedly found that it led outside. A light breeze blew against his face, the first gentle touch of freedom. Standing there, he remembered brighter days sitting at his mother's window. He had wondered, sometimes, if Altazar would ever judge him worthy enough for freedom.

But he hadn't been worthy. He still wasn't.

Abby took a stepped out into the world, feeling fresh dirt beneath his bare feet. The scent of crushed green life drifted all around him, and after only a half-dozen precarious steps he stopped and sat on the ground until he had his breath and his wits back. Outside. He had never been outside before, and the anxiety of that next step nearly overcame him.

Time passed before he could get back to his feet. He ached and shivered, both with cold and fear of the unknown. The dark was very nearly complete -- except for a reddish glow that came from an unexpectedly large crater at the edge of the wall. He looked up, but he could only see a few meters of the Mindeneh castle, the shiny glass surface looking ice-like in the cold. He looked down into the pit, realizing he had dropped the Kiya here; obviously Tabor had taken the staff by now.

As he walked the world grew dark again, but he soon felt a difference in the ground -- stone worn even by countless years of travel across it. He took two limping steps and shivered again. Unworthy to travel this road. Afraid to go out into the world....

Only he could end the darkness. No one else even knew why this curse had come upon them. His fault, and his duty to make amends for all in which he had failed. That gave him strength, knowing what he must do for the people who did not deserve to suffer for his innocence.

Aubreyan began his long, dark journey.

CHAPTER TWO

Distance, like time, meant nothing it the dark, and only movement marked change in the endless night. He could not see the path, but he could feel the worn stones and knew every time he wandered from it onto the softer, dank earth. He could hear distant sounds sometimes, and shied away from them, even if he had to leave the path. He always found his way back, somehow. Or perhaps he only found other roads... it didn't matter.

Debris often littered the way with traps of cloth, boxes, pots and things he could not name even when he ran his hands over the surfaces. He fell over many of them, sprawling amid the abandoned ruins of someone's life.

His legs ached. His wounds sometimes bled.

He walked a long, long ways.

Aubreyan followed the deserted road until he collapsed and drifted between empty unconsciousness and demon-haunted sleep. When he finally roused again, he heard a strange sound not far away. Stream, he thought, remembering his mother's lesson. He crawled over the hard dirt and prickly plants until his hands touched the cool liquid, already covered in thin ice. A few sips cleared his head, a bit of the bread revived his sluggish body. His hand found other aid nearby in the form of a long, water-worn branch that proved a good cane. With that help he stood and walked more steadily as he limped back to the road and started his westward journey again.

At the first crossroads he found refugees, many carrying torches, most turning down the westward path with him, knowing that nothing lay beyond Mindeneh except for the wide sea to the east and south, and the sparsely populated coastline stretching northward. He learned, listening to the people, that the circle of darkness had engulfed villages more than a day's journey from the city. Aubreyan would have preferred to face the Kiya with his bare hands again rather than be in this mass of people. Of the few he had ever known, none had been kind. To go now amidst this mostly faceless mob sent chills through his body and soul.

He almost turned back to Mindeneh; but there were whispers of prayers and cries of fear, and he couldn't let them die in the darkness for his failure.

He gave the last of his food to a woman he found crying and alone at the edge of the road. He took a child from the side of her dead father and pushed her into the arms of another who had paused to watch. The woman nodded, a faint movement in the flickering light as someone carried a torch past, and walked away with the child's hand in hers. Neither looked back.

But it grew colder around them, ice coating the plants and a frigid mist sometimes filling the air. He heard some say that the ice would bury all the world, and they would never outwalk it. The thought of everything dying in the cold frightened him into moving faster. His fault. His work to undo the evil.

There were monsters in the gloom. Tabor's gargoyles sometimes swept across them, and some said they carried off humans to devour, though Abby didn't see it happen. But the horses frightened him the most -- more so than the people who rode them. The enormous, loud creatures thundered along the path like a rushing storm, with never a care for who stood in the way. Nobles, the word spread when one hastened past, sometimes accompanied by the cries of those who couldn't move out of the way fast enough and the curses of those who rode. The horses came to represent just another aspect of the uncaring dark.

As slowly as he moved, Aubreyan never fell back to the end of the refugees. When he grew weak and tired he slipped to the side of the trail and slept wherever he collapsed; but the cries of human despair filled his nightmares, mingling with the inhuman face of a demon who still had half a hold on his soul, and who still called to him.

Eventually, he reached the twilight between the unnatural dark and the promise of day. The darkness eased to twilight, and he moved faster now, afraid of the faces around him. Despite the weakness of his body, he began to move faster, afraid that they might somehow recognize the son of Altazar, or worse, know that he had called the darkness down on them. Fields and orchards lay stripped of vegetation around him, but Abby found the soft husk of an apple and managed a few small bites. Many of his fellow travelers stopped at the edge of the dark, but Abby moved on, walking through the daylight, a natural night, and into the next day. He had outdistanced those who found the light and rested. He didn't stop.

Westward.

Lost.

Abby foraged in the fields, managing enough food to stay alive. He avoided the bands of marauders who were raiding the mostly abandoned villages, killing those who had not yet fled before the dark of endless night that followed behind Abby. He looked back at it sometimes to see the sharp line of darkness still there and still spreading outward.

He walked on, finding food now and then, surviving through the long, dark nights -- but there were stars and a moon, at least. He slept sometimes in the early daylight and walked on again.

By the third day from the edge of the darkness he stood alone on the dirt-packed road. He had left the last of the others who had fled from the dark far behind. There had been other paths that turned to the south or north, but he avoided them. West.

In the last bright light of the day, he came around the bend of a trail to see a distant castle rising above the fields. Stone, gray -- formidable. Forest-covered hillsides rose up around it, and snowcapped mountains soared even higher beyond.

He stared for a long moment, knowing he was well and truly lost. With sunset and the natural dark coming, he didn't want to head closer to those woods. Nor did he want to seek shelter from any of the stone cottages he'd slunk past in the last few hours.

Aubreyan settled beside an ancient oak and wrapped his tattered tunic closer around him. He waited for the long night, knowing he wouldn't sleep.

The sun shown dully, only a sliver of light against the darkening horizon, when he heard the jumbled sound of voices and hooves. Nightmare memories of those huge, shadowy creatures sent Abby to his feet, his back pressed hard against the tree. Five horses came around the curve, their riders distinct in the last light. They'd been hunting, and the three men in front were laughing. The two behind were younger, dressed in fine clothes and long cloaks, one thin and blond, the other slightly larger, with brown hair that hung in loose waves at his back. Aubreyan watched them pass -- true noblemen, not like the barbarians who had been his father's followers.

None saw him, a motionless shadow in the quickly graying light.

"Ah, well, the dark won't be a joke much longer, I fear," one of those in front said just as he passed Abby. He leaned forward on the horse, a stocky man with ear-length hair blending into a bushy beard that covered half his face "And we -- poor fools, living so close to the heart of the land -- we won't be long from the dark, if the damned gargoyles don't get us first. We are not safe here."

"What will we do, Lord Indale?" one of the young men asked, urging his horse up closer.

"We'll go to Sanwind," he said. "It's the farthest from --" The horse stopped and the man spun. "Who goes there!"

The horse had scented him, and Aubreyan, trying to get away, tangled in the brush and tripped, going down on his injured leg. He didn't dare cry out, not with the great beast moving now to stand over him. He shuddered at the huge eyes, the yellow teeth that could rip off an arm --

"Just another damn refugee, my lord," one of the men said. He moved his mount beside the first, trapping Abby there, though he couldn't have run anyway. His heart pounded with fear and he could hardly breathe.

"The boy doesn't even looked armed," the younger blond man said.

"Stay back Petra. And you too, Carrick," Lord Indale ordered. "You never know with these damned refugees. Desperate bastards, some of them."

"I think you should move back," Petra said, though he didn't come closer. "He appears scared to death of the horses."

"He does," Carrick said, riding closer despite the order.

Lord Indale leaned forward in the saddle. "Look at me, boy."

Aubreyan obeyed, still on his knees, though that strained his leg. The other wound had started to bleed again, and he could feel the spreading warmth beneath his fingers. But he looked up at Lord Indale and waited.

Indale finally urged his horse back a step, and another. Aubreyan felt his heart being to slow, and he took a gasping little breath.

"Boy, I don't like refuges this close to Bridigen," the nobleman said, his eyes lost in the shadows. Aubreyan couldn't imagine what made Lord Indale stare in silence for so long, but he finally nodded and pulled the horse back yet another step. "I don't want you here. Move on."

"Y-yes, my l-lord," he whispered, and grabbed at the tree to pull himself up, ready to flee.

"He's hurt," Carrick said softly.

"I will go!" Aubreyan said and backed away in haste, ready to risk the wilds and the forest -- anything to get away from the people and the horses. He looked frantically for the branch he had used for a cane but couldn't find it in the growing dark. He'd find another. With his hand clutching the tree, he slid away.

"Wait," Lord Indale ordered, though his voice had softened. He brought the horse a step closer, and then stopped again when Aubreyan flattened against the tree. "Rest here for tonight only, boy. Leave in the morning. Come no closer to my castle."

"Thank you," Aubreyan answered and tried to take another step away. He would still run. He wanted no trouble here.

"Don't be afraid," Petra said, leaning forward. His blond hair fell across his face.

"Take this to eat.” Lord Indale tossed something from his saddlebag to the ground. And then he bowed his head. "Rest well."

Aubreyan returned the courtesy with a bow of his own head. The little kindness overwhelmed him. No one had ever cared if he ate before. Indale pulled the horse away, but he looked back, giving Aubreyan another long stare. Then the horsemen headed toward the distant castle, where torches were starting to dispel the growing dark. Aubreyan slid down by the tree and pulled the packet of food toward him. The darkness was coming, and he could not run fast enough to escape it.

CHAPTER THREE

With the tall, fierce horses and their frightening riders finally past, Aubreyan leaned back against the tree and took several deep breaths. He unwrapped the cloth from around the food, marveling that strangers had given him bread and cheese; but he could only manage a bite of each before he lowered his hands again, exhausted. He held the gifts tight in his hands and closed his eyes against a welling of tears -- though he couldn't say why he cried.

Beat, beat, beat.

Fear and shock brought him back to his feet as a black shadow crossed overhead, sweeping down at the riders and horses. Large, misshapen -- but he had seen them before at Mindeneh. Gargoyle!

The screech the creature made as it descended sent the horses bucking in terror. Two of the riders immediately leapt off and rolled free while the others tried to gain control of their animals. The gargoyle swept back at them, leathery wings spread wide, long talons reflecting the last blood-red light of sunset.

Swords swung, perhaps cut the creature, but it didn't slow. Claws found a victim, snatching the young blond nobleman by the arm and tearing Petra from the saddle. The prize didn't go willingly. Aubreyan saw the flash of a small dagger, stabbing at the taloned foot holding him. With a scream of rage and surprise, the gargoyle dropped his captive to the road.

The others had abandoned their horses and scattered along the road. The gargoyle ignored them, gliding down to the ground and the prey it had dropped. Petra hadn't moved and no one was within reach to beat the creature back from the unconscious man.

Aubreyan struggled to his feet, caught hold of a limb and, moving as fast as he could, yelled and waved his arm. The dark creature spread wings wide over its catch. The red-eyed face turned to Aubreyan, and it hissed a warning. Not birdlike at all, except for the wings and talons. The face looked far too human as it moved forward, the razor-clawed hands sweeping at him.

Aubreyan barely darted out of the way and slipped again as his injured leg gave way. By then the others had arrived and took on the battle. The gargoyle did not want to abandon the unconscious prey; and twice it slipped past the humans, trying to grab the body.

Aubreyan waited until the others held the creature's full attention, and then he crawled close enough to take hold of the fallen nobleman. As quickly as he could he pulled the man into the brush beside the trail where they were out of immediate view.

Aubreyan put a hand to the man's chest, relieved to feel that he still breathed. He looked like he might only be stunned, a condition Aubreyan knew too well from his own experience.

The battle beyond the thin screen of brush grew strident with the angry shrieks of the gargoyle and bellows from the enraged men. Aubreyan caught hold of a stout sapling and pulled himself up, his hand pressed against the flow of blood at his side. It took him several small steps to get back out to the road. By then several of the men were holding down the gargoyle; Lord Indale swung his sword, severing the head. The dark body gave one convulsive jerk and then shriveled and disappeared – magic-made, and gone back to the air.

The others leaned against one another gasping, some cursing softly. He could see cuts and lacerations, but nothing looked serious. Lord Indale cleaned his blade on his cloak and sheathed the weapon with an angry shove. When the lord started his way, Aubreyan waited, and didn't see the rage in the man's face until too late to back away.

Lord Indale grabbed him tightly on the arms, ending any hope of escape. "Where's Petra, boy?" he demanded, and then shook Aubreyan when he didn't answer immediately. "What have you done with him! Where's Petra!"

"Gently, Indale.” Carrick put a hand on the lord's arm and stilled him. "The boy's half-dead already. Let's not shake the rest of the life out of him. Gently. He helped us by getting Petra out of sight."

"Yes," Indale said. The rage disappeared, replaced by obvious distrust. "Yes, but where is he?"

"This way, my lord," Aubreyan whispered. "He's safe."

He pulled free of the hands and turned, pushing through the thorns again, shaking now at the thought of the angry people following him. They quickly reached Petra, who had not moved. Indale knelt, his rough hands gently lifting the young man's head.

"Is he all right?" Carrick asked.

"He'll be fine, Carrick," Indale replied. "Let's get him back to the road and see if we can’t find a couple horses. Otherwise, we'll head to Bridigen on foot, and I won't like that much in the dark."

Carrick helped the older man lift the limp, unconscious Petra. Indale held him close, protecting him from even the little harm of the thorns. Carrick signaled Abby to follow, and he did with a hand against his side and his limp worse again.

The horses had disappeared down the dark trail, and the riders had no luck retrieving them. Indale gently laid Petra on the soft grass beside the road and went to help. Carrick stayed, keeping watch over his fallen companion. Aubreyan remained a moment, but when no one looked his way he gratefully retreated back to the tree where he had abandoned his food. He managed two bites of the soft cheese and one of the bread before he lowered his head, too weary even to lie down.

"Friend?"

Aubreyan looked up, frightened to find a dark, shadowy figure standing over him. An arm reached down, and he tried to pull back, swallowing a cry of fear. They beat him if he showed any sign of fear.

"Please, don't be afraid.” The voice, soft with concern, brought his head up a little. Carrick. That halted Aubreyan in his retreat, though his heart still beat too hard. "I'm here to help you come with us."

"I must stay here," he answered, shaking his head. "Lord Indale told me to stay here."

"Indale, he says you ordered him to stay here," Carrick yelled over his shoulder.

The sun had gone down, and night lay thick around the trees, chilling his soul as much as his body. Footsteps neared, the crunch of boots on the broken trail and then the softer grass. They brought a torch, but the dim smoky light illuminated only a small circle around the holder.

Indale held it close to Aubreyan. The flame smelled of cloth and liquor, pungent enough to make his eyes water, but he could still see the same unreadable contemplation in the man's look that he had seen before the attack. The look made him want to run, but he was too weak even to stand.

"Come, lad," Indale ordered. Then his face inexplicably softened. "You earned a night's hospitality at my Bridigen. We'll find you a warm bed and some good food. You look as though you need it."

"N-no," he whispered, lowering his eyes, afraid to go within the castle of a human. "I stay here."

"Aye, haven't you sense enough to know better than to argue with a lord?" the man asked.

Aubreyan looked up, waiting for the blow bestowed for such a mistake. He flinched at a little movement from Carrick, who froze as his own breath caught in dismay.

"Come on, now, or I'll have to send a couple soldiers back to round you up," Indale said.

"Please, I can stay here."

"You don't need to fear us," Carrick said. He knelt beside the tree and put a hand on Aubreyan’s arm, though he shivered at the contact. "What should I call you, friend?"

"Au--" Aubreyan stopped and looked at Indale, frightened for a new reason as he looked at the Lord of Eltabar, who might know that name. He swallowed and looked back at Carrick. "Abby. My mother called me Abby."

"Abby," Indale said, his voice soft as he nodded. "Come now. I will show you the hospitality of my home."

He had no choice, especially since Carrick pulled him back to his feet and Abby hadn't the strength left to fight him. He shook with the feel of hands holding him up and moved as best he could. The pain left him nearly paralyzed by the time they had traveled only a few steps on the road. He watched, gasping, as the torch passed to the hands of another, and Indale gathered up Petra. Then they began in the direction of the great stone castle that stood on the rise before them, glittering now with bright lights.

Aubreyan let his mind go blank, his body moving as it had to, only faintly aware of Carrick to his right and another to his left, supporting him as they moved along. They talked, but Aubreyan only focused on moving, one step and another and another.

They paused with Bridigen much closer. Sheer stone walls rose above them, far more substantial than the magical glass of Mindeneh. Crenulated parapets and round guard towers rose in the darkness behind the reinforced barbican where soldiers had already gathered and shouted out greetings. That this castle stood after his father's destruction of so much else was surely a tribute to its strength.

His father. Gods, he couldn't accept the hospitality of this lord, being his father's son. He wanted to protest, but as they started out again, a sharper pain through his leg sent him reeling momentarily into oblivion.

The main gate slowly creaked upward. Carrick pulled him down to the ground, rolled under the gate, and dragged him through. The others made similar moves so that the gate wouldn't have to be fully raised.

Aubreyan lay on the ground, grateful to be still, and watched as the others stood. Carrick leaned down, and smiled. "You're conscious again, good. We're here at last. Just one more gate."

Aubreyan turned his head. They were between two high walls, and people shouted greetings from above them while another gate opened, inward this time. Carrick got him back to his feet and helped him into an enclosed square, brightly lit by smoky torches. Even Carrick raised his free hand to shield his eyes.

"My Lord!" someone shouted very close by. "Praise the Gods that you are here! We found one of the horses at the gate and were mounting a patrol to find you. Is Petra all right?"

Half a dozen stamping horses suddenly came quite near. Aubreyan threw himself aside with a startled cry and the horses echoed his surprise. He had even pulled free of Carrick's grasp, though his legs gave way and he went straight his knees.

"Damn!" Indale cursed. The older man came between Aubreyan and the monsters. "Get the horses back -- the boy's scared to death of them. Rice, take Petra up to his room and we'll follow with Abby. Brandt, bring medical supplies."

Indale passed Petra into another's hands at last and people began to scatter all around them. Aubreyan, only vaguely aware of what happened, closed his eyes with relief when the horses disappeared again. That made breathing easier, at least, but he watched warily as Indale and Carrick knelt beside him.

"There's blood on his tunic," Carrick whispered. "A lot of blood."

Indale made a soft hissing sound and reached toward Aubreyan, but he wrapped his arms around the unnatural wound, afraid of what they would see.

"You're hurt, Abby," Indale said, his voice soft and his face worried. It finally stilled Aubreyan's growing fears in mid-breath. "We're going to help you, but you must trust us. I'm going to pick you up and carry you the rest of the way. It will be far quicker and easier on you."

"You don't want me here," Aubreyan whispered, the words soft and desolate. He looked up at the man. "My Lord, I am --"

"You are my guest," Indale said. He took hold of Aubreyan's shoulders and pulled him to his chest. Carrick helped as Indale lifted him, though the man didn't seem to have much trouble. "You are safe with me, Abby."

Aubreyan bit his lip, managing to hide the pain as they moved. The darkness came for him again, and he didn't mind so much this time, as long as he awoke again in the light.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sudden agony brought Aubreyan awake with a gasp, his head pounding in time with his heart. He opened his eyes to vague shapes in flickering light -- men gathered around him, metal descending toward his heart.

Gix would take him!

"No!"

Barehanded, he pushed the blade away, ignoring the new pain as it cut deep into the palm of his hand. Someone cried out in surprise and despair and pulled the knife away from Aubreyan's reaching fingers.

"No, lad! No!" Indale took hold of Aubreyan's hands and held them tight. "Listen to me, Abby! We won't hurt you!"

Not Tabor, not the demon. This man had given him food. Aubreyan stilled, blinking in an attempt to see the room more clearly. Not Mindeneh. Not the Great Hall or the hole in the ground where they kept him.

"Calmly, Abby," Carrick said. He kept his voice soft as he took hold of Abby's bleeding hand and began to wrap bandages around it. "Don't be afraid. We're not your enemy."

Ah, but they didn't know who he was.

"Abby, others have hurt you," Indale said, drawing his wandering attention again. "We've seen the scars and we know you were mistreated. But not all men are cruel. Trust us."

They asked too much of him, to change from one breath to the next. At best, he could only close his eyes and ignore what they did. He forced himself to stay still as they cut away parts of his clothing and old bandages.

"This wound is worse than the one on his leg," Carrick said. A cool damp cloth brushed against the cut on his chest. "Looks like they were trying for his heart. It's not very deep. I think he was lucky."

"Yes, lucky," Indale answered. Cloth brushed across Aubreyan's face, and he started to relax at last. "There, that's better. Let's try to get some wine into him before we do anything more with that wound, though."

Carrick lifted Abby's head, cradling it in his arm. Abby opened his eyes, looking from one face to the other. He saw neither the dark anger common in all the other men who had ever looked at him nor the empty and uncaring distance he remembered in his mother's face.

Lord Indale filled a small cup with wine and brought it to him. The pungent aroma overcame the scent of blood, and the first sip tasted bitter and sweet at the same time. He'd never had wine and didn't like the way it burned the cuts on his lips, or the way it burned brighter in his throat and stomach. He only drank more because they wanted him to.

"There," Carrick said when Indale finally took the cup away. The room spun around him, and he felt even more ill now. He wasn't sure how this was supposed to help. "Did you see this brand, Indale?" Carrick asked. His hand touched the skin at Aubreyan's shoulder. "It's not very old. I've never seen the mark before -- a spiral."

"I saw it," Indale said, his voice harsher this time, and that won a shiver from Abby. The lord brushed his fingers across the brand, and then pulled the tatters of Abby's tunic up to cover the mark. "We'll keep that a secret between us, Carrick. Tell no one else that you saw it."

"My Lord?" Carrick asked and looked worried. "Is he one of Tabor's men?"

"No, not willingly," Indale said, and his hand tightened on Abby's shoulder when he began to tremble. "That's a brand of slavery. If you won't want someone to claim him, say nothing."

"I won't!" Carrick promised.

"No need to fear us, Abby," Indale again said. "You saved Petra, and I'm grateful. As far as we're concerned you're just another refugee from the darkness."

"I am --" he started, but Lord Indale stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"You are Abby. It doesn't matter what you were before the darkness came."

That wasn't true, but he hadn't the strength to argue. He closed his eyes and drifted away to darkness and nightmares -- and a little hope of waking up in a better place.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sometimes he could hear a voice calling his name softly: Abby, Abby. Calling him back. He ignored them for a long time. He only wanted peace. However, he still found himself unwillingly drifting closer to consciousness and the world.

Aubreyan ached at the slightest movement as he opened his eyes to find an utterly strange world. He lay in a bed of fleecy blankets, and the sun felt warm against his face. He accepted the better part of being awake -- such a nice place to rest, especially since the darkness wasn't here.

Voices whispered nearby.

"The horses scared him half to death, Petra, but he still leapt straight at that monster from hell and pulled you to safety."

"Will he be all right?" Petra asked, his voice hinting at pain.

"I've seen soldiers return from the war with fewer wounds and scars," Carrick whispered, his voice a little louder this time. "I'm surprised he survived this long. Since he has, it gives me hope he'll pull through this."

"I think he's awake, Carrick."

Aubreyan heard soft steps coming to where he rested. He flinched at the sudden dark as someone came between him and the sun.

Carrick knelt beside the bed and the sunlight streamed past him again, welcome and warm. He put his hands on the edge of the blanket and offered a little smile.

"How are you feeling, Abby?" he asked.

"I am better, my lord," Aubreyan said. He tried to bow his head, but even that little movement brought a surprised gasp of pain.

"Be still," Carrick said. His fingers brushed lightly against Abby's hand, there and gone so fast there was no time to flinch at the touch. "You're very weak. You need rest. And call me Carrick, not ‘my lord.’"

"And I'm Petra," the other one said, settling into a chair by the bed. His blond hair lay flat beneath a cloth bandage, and the paleness of his face confirmed Abby's suspicion that he suffered some pain. "The only lord here is Indale, and he only stands to be called that when it suits him."

"Carrick, Petra," Abby said, repeating the names. He looked from one to the other with only a slight shift of his eyes. He feared to turn his head and awaken the sharper pains again. He did note that the two were not much alike: Petra was thin and pale, blond-haired and blue-eyed; but Carrick stood a head taller and was broader, and his hair hung in brown curls across his dark eyes.

"Abby, would you like to tell us about yourself?” Carrick asked. Abby's heart pounded with sudden fear. He knew he trembled. "Don't worry. You don't have to answer. I only asked in case you wanted us to know. You and Petra wait here and I'll see if I can get us some food. You both need the strength."

Carrick stood and patted Petra's shoulder. He smiled at Abby, but refrained from a pat on the arm when Abby flinched. He turned away abruptly, and Abby felt an unexpected new pain that only touched his heart.

Petra rubbed his temples, trying to ease the ache that showed so plainly in his eyes. Abby forced himself to move against the pain, which was nothing new to him. The softness of the bed and the warmth of the blankets somehow made the old fight harder. Sounds outside the door froze him in mid-move again, frantically wondering what he should do.

"He won't hurt you, Abby," Petra said. He leaned over the bed, his eyes narrowed as he looked into Abby's face.

"I'm sorry," Abby apologized. He felt lost again, uncertain among these people. Altazar had been right. He was unworthy.

"You'll stay with us for a while. You'll learn we mean you no harm," he said and leaned back again. "I owe you my life, and I'd like to at least be your friend. You look as though you could use one."

Abby looked up, feeling unnatural calm as he looked into the face of his companion. "Petra, you should never offer such a gift to strangers."

Petra's eyes widened and he leaned forward again, surprise overcoming pain. When the door opened, Abby dared to look away, uneasy under the stare.

Carrick brought a tray in and set it on the table beside the bed. Abby's stomach fluttered at the scents, most of which he couldn't even name.

"Something wrong?" Carrick asked as he pulled another chair over.

"No," Petra said. He shook his head and leaned back, but he still watched Abby. "Just...you're more than someone's mistreated, half-dead slave, aren't you, Abby? Or you were once, at least. You speak very well. You are educated -- are you a nobleman's son?"

"No," Abby said, the word harsher than he had intended, and they didn't miss the inflection. Eyebrows rose, movements stopped. "No. My father was never a noble man."

They asked nothing more. Carrick went to work covering thick slices of brad with fruit preserves. Abby managed to sit partially up while Petra arranged pillows behind his back, allowing him to nibble at the sweet bread.

The other two ate in silence as well, hardly doing more than whisper requests to one another.

"Please," Abby finally said. Both looked at him, waiting. "Please speak normally with each other, like you were before. I've spent most of my life alone. I never learned to speak with men, but I do like to listen."

"Gods," Carrick whispered. His face looked peculiar for a moment before he turned and nodded to Petra. "You're right. Educated. Abby, someone deserves to pay for the way he mistreated you."

"He's dead," Abby answered with a slight shrug. It had stopped mattering to him the moment he went into Tabor's hands.

"What would you like us to talk about?" Petra said.

"I would like to know who you are," Abby said, hardly daring to speak up. He looked from one to the other and then around the room. There were two more beds, tapestry-hung walls, and a long arrow window bright with the light of day. "And where I am. I came a long ways in the dark, and beyond it."

"Who we are and where you are?" Petra laughed, taking another slice of bread that Carrick held out. "Well, that' s easy enough. You are in Lord Indale's southernmost castle, Bridigen. And we are much the same as you -- refugees from an earlier darkness. My father was Lord Nately of Myjar to the north. Carrick's father was Lord Pendustan, my father's cousin. Our lands bordered each other. The earlier darkness was named Emperor Altazar. Both of our fathers died fighting him."

The food turned to stone in Abby's stomach. Altazar cursed him still, even now. Even dead.

"Lord Indale took us both in," Petra said and gave a little smile. "We were both very young. Altazar wanted the families eradicated, but Indale sheltered us anyway. He held Altazar off for all those years. The emperor took only one of Indale's castles and that by treachery and magic, not war. He butchered all the people inside, including Indale's wife and four children."

"But Altazar is dead now," Carrick said. "Let the old war go. We've other enemies, and those far worse than the barbarians ever were. Tabor is loose in the land with that damned staff, and the darkness is growing closer. We don't have time to waste on dead enemies. Abby, you're shivering --"

Carrick reached toward him but Abby pulled away, his heart pounding, words stuck in his throat. He wanted to flee. He wanted to escape before they said anything more that would ruin the few moments of peace he had found here. He wanted them not to know his identity and that he had brought the darkness upon them. He wanted something he couldn't name.

"I'm sorry," Carrick apologized. "That was unthinking. Maybe you had better sleep again for a while. Lord Indale went to offer old Lord Marlis the hospitality at Castle Sanwind. When he returns we'll leave Bridigen. I pray to the gods that we win it back some day. I love this place."

"You shall have it back," Abby answered with sudden certainty that even stopped his trembling. The words gave him new power, strength he had not felt before. He gave his promise to them, and he meant to keep it, a payment for kindness already given.

CHAPTER SIX

Abby didn't want to awaken again. Days had passed -- he had sometimes seen the sunlight drift across the room, and shivered in the dark nights. Someone or another got him to the privy at the end of the hall now and then. A guard named Rice came and checked on him when the others were away, carefully introducing himself each time, as though uncertain if Abby remembered from one hour to the next.

Most often Abby just lay on the bed, drifting in an almost peaceful, almost empty haze. Petra and Carrick spoke to him, but he hardly did more than nod on occasion. He sometimes wondered about the worry in their eyes but never pursed those thoughts. He drifted somewhere between this world, where the kindness of people frightened him, and a place where a cruel and inhuman master still awaited the moment when the Abby was given over to him.

Sometimes Abby sought the deeper darkness where neither world intruded. He felt safer there, though it proved harder to come back to the world of light, even with Carrick and Petra calling to him.

Then, unexpectedly, Lord Indale's gruff voice summoned him fully back to the real world, a magnet to his wandering mind. The voice was a harbinger of destiny: Abby knew that his world would soon change again.

"We'll leave tomorrow," Indale said, his voice thick with weariness.

"Abby won't be ready!" Petra said. Abby turned his head, drawn to the sound of his name. When had they removed the bandages from around Petra's forehead? "I'm afraid what will happen if we move him. That sword wound doesn't want to heal."

"You've done the best you can," Indale said, his voice soft as he tried to calm Petra's growing despair. "There's nothing more you can do. We can only hope that he will survive."

"I will survive, my lord," Abby said. The words came softly through parched lips, and speaking seemed difficult. The words hurt.

"Awake are you, Abby?" Indale crossed to the bed, his eyes narrowing as he looked down, and his mouth disappearing behind his bushy beard.

"Yes, thank you, Lord Indale." He bowed his head to avoid that dark look. "It is time I go on."

He tried to move, knowing he shouldn't still be here, hiding like a coward away form the work that only he could do.

"There's no reason to rush," Indale replied even as Carrick and Petra began their own protests. The older man sat on the edge of the bed, and Abby froze as fear crept up into his heart again. "It's all right. Rest here while you can. In another day we all must go. You should take advantage of this while you can."

"Thank you, my lord," Abby said and bowed his head again.

Indale sighed, a strange, lost little sound that was at odds with the harsh stare. He finally shook his head and stood again. "There are scavengers all long the edge of the dark. They murder everyone and steal anything they can find. I plan to leave nothing behind for them, and that includes you. We have much work to do still. I'll need your help, Carrick and Petra."

The two nodded. They followed Lord Indale out of the room, though Petra gave Abby one parting smile. Left alone in the room, and awake at last, he found that he couldn't just stare at the walls this time. He carefully sat up and looked at the tapestries that hung near him -- unreal scenes of laughing people and flower-strewn gardens on one wall, battles on the other. He didn't dare try to stand, but he sat for a long time listening to the sounds beyond the window. Men shouted, and wagons and horses moved continually. The Dark must be very close.

Carrick and Petra returned late that night, shared food with him, and slept with utter exhaustion. Abby watched the moonlight drift through the narrow frame of the window and shivered, remembering the moonless and endless night. No stars, no mornings, no hope. Somehow, for a while, he had forgotten that the darkness still followed him. His rest had been a coward's escape.

The next day he rose when Carrick and Petra did, surprising them when he stumbled across the room and leaned heavily against the windowsill. While they packed away the last of their belongings, he limped around the room, trying to prepare himself for his own journey. He tried to ignore the worried looks the two gave him. They hardly knew him, after all. They wouldn't think about it for long after he left.

The tapestries came down, leaving the stone walls bare and the room feeling cold and empty.

"You should rest now," Petra said as he and Carrick lifted the trunk to carry it downstairs. "We'll be leaving soon, Abby."

He nodded, and turned away from the worried looks they gave him as they left the room. He tried not to feel alone, sitting there by the window. He would take his own leave soon enough and walk off to the west again.

Alone.

The two returned with the sun almost directly overhead, bringing a few scraps of food to share for the last meal they would have together. He joined them at the huge desk that was too heavy to drag out of the room.

"Well, at least the work part is done!" Carrick said cheerfully.

"Right," Petra agreed, cutting up bread and fruit and some dried meat before portioning them out among them. "Well, until we reach Sanwind, of course. Then we have to carry all the stuff back in again."

Carrick moaned and put his forehead on the table. "I'm staying here," he said.

"You'd die of starvation. You don't even know where the kitchen is, let alone how to find food there," Petra teased.

Carrick laughed. Voices shouted in the courtyard as people began the final preparations for the journey.

Indale came into the room, and Abby quickly rose to his feet, pressing his back against the wall. He couldn't tell what had prompted that surge of panic, but at least Indale ignored his unusual move. The Lord of Bridigen carried a tray with four cups of steaming tea that he set on the table. He handed cups to Carrick and Petra, then held a third out to Abby.

"Take it," he ordered, though softly.

Abby obeyed, his hands shaking as he wrapped them around the battered tin cup. They'd packed away the good china long before this, and much of the material had already left in convoys of wagons, along with local villagers and castle workers. Despite the shouts below, Abby knew there were very few people left.

"Drink up, boys," Indale said with a sigh. "This is the last warmth we're likely to have over the next few days. Sit down, Abby. You hardly look capable of staying on your feet for more than a half-dozen heartbeats at a time."

Indale stepped away from the last empty chair by the window and Abby gratefully slipped back into it. Indale leaned against the wall, not coming any closer. "Are you feeling better, Abby?" he asked.

"Very much better, Lord Indale. You've been very kind to me. Thank you."

"A speech!" Indale laughed and drank down his tea. "That's the most I've ever heard you say at one time. Drink your tea now, all of you. There's a long five days to Sanwind ahead of us."

Abby again wondered where he would go instead. Still west, he knew, though as far as he had learned, only forest lay in that direction. He couldn't imagine what help he would find there. He sipped the rich, sweet tea, letting the warmth and the moment settle into his soul, and wondered if he might ever have a time like this again, where he might sit among... friends.

Looking up at the early afternoon sky, he could feel the darkness coming closer. He shivered at the remembrance of cold and dark -- the curse he had brought to this world that sent these people fleeing from the place they loved.

"They're waiting for us in the courtyard," Indale said and pushed away from the wall. "Get the last of your belongings, boys. It's time to go."

He saw Carrick looking at him, worried, but saying nothing. Abby looked away and stood, watching down from the window to the people below. They moved about, nervous and uncertain.

Down....

The world lurched around him. Abby pulled his head back, and the room danced, the cup falling from his numbed hands with a long, echoing din as it rolled across the floor.

"Abby?" Carrick asked from somewhere far away.

Rough, strong hands caught hold of him, and he found Lord Indale much too close, holding him to his feet. He wanted to pull away, but his body refused to obey, and the world spun faster with each labored beat of his heart.

"He's all right, boys," Indale said. "I drugged his tea to make him sleep for awhile."

"Why?" Abby whispered, and heard the word chorused by the other two, distorted.

"I decided that Abby must come with us. He's too weak to go out on his own. However, we'll have horses all around on this journey.” Indale carefully lowered Abby into a chair and dropped down on his heels to face him, eye-to-eye. "I'm sorry, Abby, but I couldn't think of any other way to save you the terror of this journey, and my only other choice was to leave you behind. I am not prepared to do that, knowing you're too weak to travel on your own. Trust me. You'll only sleep, and we'll protect you."

The room still moved. He didn't believe that even the chair remained stationary, and he clutched at the table with both hands, fighting the inner darkness back. The demon waited in that dark.

He feared to let the drug take him, afraid to stay with the world moving -- and more afraid of the darkness coming for them all.

"Lord Indale?" he whispered, and reached -- and he'd never reached for help or comfort before.

Indale gathered him into his large arms, offering him unexpected safety against the cold, against the darkness, and even against the cruelty of others. "You're safe," he promised. "Let yourself go to oblivion, Abby. Trust Petra and Carrick to keep you from harm. Sleep."

A great weight pushed him to the darkness and he couldn't hold it back. Something more sinister pulled him there as well, and he hadn't the strength to fight them both. Lord Indale didn't understand what horror awaited him here.

"I've left blankets outside the door. Bring them to wrap him in," Indale said softly. "I don't want him to take chill now. Hold him up, Petra."

The world seemed to slip away and come back again as softness and warmth enveloped him. Abby barely felt it. He only knew when Indale lifted him and began to move, to take him from this room of safety back out into the world.

"Let's go, boys. We've a long journey ahead. Gods, this boy is light...."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Day....

Night....

Day....

Day....

Abby fought away the dark where the demon called to him so clearly, a voice foul and harsh, laughter that promised pain when the time came. Lord Indale's drugged tea didn't send him to oblivion, but to hell.

He forced his eyes open, glad to see the green trees, the light of day, clouds drifting across the sky -- anything but the darkness.

"Abby! You shouldn't be awake!" Petra said.

A hand gently brushed the hair from his face. Abby flinched at the touch, and Petra slowly drew his fingers back, looking worried and uncertain.

"P-Please," Abby whispered. The word came so softly that Petra bent closer. "P-Please d-don't make me sleep again. He calls when I s-sleep. I don't want to go!"

"Awake, is he," Indale unexpectedly said from somewhere nearby. Abby heard the heavy step of a horse coming far too close and wisely didn't attempt to look. "Just as well. We'll reach Sanwind this afternoon. Keep him quiet, Petra, but don't give him any more of the tea. He needs to regain his strength."

"Yes, sir," Petra said. His hand rested on Abby's shoulder and that felt unexpectedly comforting. For once he didn't try to pull away from a touch of this world, and life. He wanted to be here.

"I'll send Carrick back to help you and spread word to keep the horses away. We've not much farther now."

"Thank you, Lord Indale," Petra said. The sincerity of the words reached Abby, knowing the precautions were for his sake. He didn't know why they should care, but then, he didn't understand much about humans at all any more. They were not all evil, as he had thought....

Abby tried to stay here, but the world drifted away along the edges of his consciousness and he again felt the tug of the demon's power, stronger as he slipped farther from the world of men.

Until a single human voice called him back with a shout of joy.

"Sanwind ahead!"

Abby tried to sit up, to reach the world and be fully part of it again.

"Abby?" Petra said, looking at him with wide-eyed surprise. "Are you really awake again?"

"Would -- like to see," he whispered. His body felt leaden and unresponsive. "Want to see this place."

Petra smiled and gently lifted Abby until he sat up. They were in a wagon, he realized, and he could barely see past the wooden walls, and the horses, to the open trail ahead. The world swam around him during those first few breaths. Trees, men, wagons and horses all blurred into sinuous shapes and flowing colors. Sounds and scents were no less tenuous, as though his mind refused to acknowledge anything real. Abby bowed his head again and tried to take deep, steadying breaths.

"Go easy," Carrick warned. "You've been near-unconscious for days."

"There she is," Petra suddenly said.

Abby raised his head with a force of will, and the view repaid the effort. Sanwind rose out of the forest of pines, straight and tall, glittering white in the sunlight. The castle could not be made of stone, he thought. She glittered in the sunset like a beacon to show the lost the way home. Abby had never seen a place so beautiful, and he wondered if even fabled Mindeneh could be this elegant. Having left in the darkness, he still had never seen the castle from the outside.

"Impressive, isn't she?" Carrick said. He had climbed into the wagon and now helped Petra hold Abby up, though he didn't think he really needed both of them to help. "She's beautiful, and stronger than she looks. Three years ago Altazar fought all the way to her gate, but he never got in. Some say the damned Kiya had lost interest in the war and that saved us. I don't know -- but she still stands."

Abby shivered. Carrick put a protective arm across his shoulder and this time didn't pull away when Abby shuddered.

"She's a home fit for a king," Petra said. "Altazar seemed to think so. I don't think he much trusted that magical castle he lived in."

Abby looked away, trembling again. His father haunted him in the daylight, the demon in the night. There would be no escape. Three years ago Altazar lost this battle, and he had returned home, a sullen and angry man. On that day he sent for his son and vented the bitterness of his defeat for the next three years, while the Kiya kept him home from battle.

Tabor, though, possessed a different means of war, and the full backing of the Kiya besides. How long would Sanwind hold out against demon-bred magic?

Carrick and Petra settled him back into the blankets, and he rested without complaint. The two talked around him and he listened, letting their words anchor him to the world again. Eventually, they crossed a wide moat on a drawbridge that lowered only when the first wagon arrived at the bank. Cautious men. Once past the metal-reinforced gate, the wagon rolled between high walls topped with men-at-arms, their bows and crossbows ready for any treachery. Abby felt a chill again as they passed beneath those drawn arrows. If any recognized him --

They would kill him. Darkness would take Eltabar and all of the rest of Ylant, and he would go forever to the demon that had a hand on his soul.

The courtyard was larger than at Bridigen, and it rang with the calls of weary and relieved people. Greetings and questions passed from wagon to wall, from window to yard. The wagons had hardly slowed before the unpacking began. Carrick and Petra scrambled down from their places, shouting greetings of their own as they helped Abby out.

He somehow managed to stay on his feet, though he held tight to the wagon and kept his head bowed. The sight of so many people, and the horses, would overwhelm him. He dared not look.

Lost.

"Abby," Carrick said. He gently took hold of Abby's arm. "Come on. I'll get you inside."

"Thank you," he whispered, still not daring to look up, and for the first time loathing his own fear. No one here had hurt him.

He stumbled across the blue-and-green mosaic of the courtyard. How could they trample such beauty beneath the feet of human and horse? Indale's gruff voice called out orders, and Petra answered from somewhere else. His friends, he thought, and still did not dare to look.

The interior walls of the keep surrounded them at last, hung with bright tapestries; intricate rugs lay scattered across the floors. They traveled down a hall, the sharp sounds of outside growing muted, though soon voices inside the keep replaced them. He could not imagine the number of people who must be here.

Carrick all but carried Abby up a wide, curving staircase, waving away servants whose nearness startled their new guest. Eventually, they reached a room on the third floor and at the end of another long, well-kept hallway. The light from the windows brightened this place; and Abby lifted his head, looking around with a nervous twitch, uncertain what he might find.

Green brocade lined the walls and covered the beds. Richly carved wooden wardrobes stood against the far wall, and a round gilt-framed mirror hung between the two windows.

"This is the room Petra and I share on our stays here. Gods know we could have rooms of our own; but we grew up together after we lost our families, and we've never had reason to change. We get bored when we can't pester each other. You'll stay with us here, like at Bridigen. You should lie down now for awhile. We'll be up soon."

Abby's legs wouldn't hold him, and he barely had the strength left to nod agreement. Carrick settled him on the nearest bed.

"Thank you," he managed to say, lying back on the soft pillows. The aching of his body began to ease again. Safe. Carrick pulled the blanket over his shoulders and he began to drift almost immediately toward sleep again... and the demon, waiting for him in the dark.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Abby heard the sound of laughter, a bright whisper of hope that shouted down the calls of the demon and brought him once more to the world of men.

"Carrick! No!" Petra protested. Water splashed. "Are you trying to drown me?"

"Sit still or I'll have Indale come in and hold you down like he did when you were a child."

"As I remember, he wasn't just holding me."

They both laughed.

Abby slowly turned his head, afraid to disturb the two and lose the laughter he'd heard so rarely in his life. A cup-shaped wooden tub sat by the fireplace, where kettles of water were heating. The sweet scent of perfumed soap filled the steamy air. Petra sat in the tub, his blond hair dripping. Carrick, dressed in a robe and with his own curly hair still wet, moved to the fireplace, retrieving more water. He quickly poured it over Petra's head, drawing another cry of surprise.

"Carrick! Enough!"

They laughed again. Abby watched in silence. They were close to his age, and if he hadn't been Altazar's son (or his mother's), he thought they could have been friends. He would have liked to learn what it meant to be human from them.

Petra shaved off the bit of beard he had grown during the journey. Abby had never had the need, and he wondered if that came from his mother's blood -- she who had looked so young but must have been ageless. He hadn't really thought much about her, and about being her son. He wished he could forget.

"Maybe Abby --" Petra began, looking toward the bed. "Oh, I'm sorry -- we woke you!"

"I've had ruder awakenings, my lords," he said and sat up slowly, holding to the bed when the room moved a little still.

Petra stepped out of the tub, quickly wrapping up in the robe Carrick handed him. Then he crossed to the bed and smiled. "Your turn in the tub, Abby. Indale is holding a feast tonight, and he insisted that we get you up and going so you could attend. Come on. It'll do you a world of good," he said, carefully lifting Abby to his feet.

"A polite enough way of saying I'm not fit company." He stayed upright, letting Petra help him reach the tub.

"You are talkative today," Carrick said.

"I think it's still the drug," Abby said. He squinted toward the window, trying to gauge the time of day. Late afternoon, he thought. "How long have I slept this time?"

"One full night and nearly all of the next day," Carrick said. "I wish you slept more peacefully, Abby. We never know if we should awaken you from those nightmares. I'm sorry that we drugged you."

"I couldn't have come this far any other way, my lord," he said.

"That almost sounds as though you're glad to be here," Petra offered. "Though do we need to go through introductions again? Just Carrick and Petra."

"Ah. Yes," Abby said, bowing his head in apology. He slowly began to undo his shirt.

Carrick and Petra left him to what privacy they could while they dressed. Abby slipped off his clothing and, with the bandages still in place across his chest, finally managed to climb into the tub and slide down into the sweet-smelling water. He sighed with unexpected contentment as the warmth eased muscles and tension even through his pounding head.

"You look more tranquil than I've ever seen you, Abby," Carrick said. He handed over a cake of soap.

"I never knew that man had such pleasures to offer," he said. He closed his eyes and leaned back, resting against the side of the tub.

"Abby, who --" Petra began, but stopped when Abby's eyes flew open and his body tensed, fearing the question. "Never mind. Let's get your hair washed. I admit, I've wondered what color it really is."

"Color?" Abby asked. He pulled a strand before his eyes and critically examined it. "You mean it might be other than dirt brown?"

Carrick laughed with delight. Petra poured water over him. Abby spent the next hour in wonderful bliss, cleansing his body and his mind. He reluctantly left the bath and dressed for this feast.

He wore Petra's green silk shirt and blue vest, Carrick's blue pants, white stockings and simple, doeskin slippers. When he stood before the mirror, he could hardly believe the reflection that stared back. His shoulder-length hair, it turned out, was brown and gold, and his eyes bright green -- his mother's eyes, and he flinched away from looking at them. Fine clothing covered the wounds, and only a nearly healed cut on his right cheek reminded him of all the others.

Staring at the stranger, Abby thought that his friends had made him human, and he could spend this night's passage among the people for whom he fought. Tonight he could forget the past.

CHAPTER NINE

Carrick and Petra led him down the stairs into a madhouse.

Servants flowed in and out of the riotous hall in a never-ending stream of movement, smells and shouted words. Guests talked loudly and laughed even louder; the clamor overcame Abby. As he stood at the edge of the arched entrance, all the old fears came back and for a moment he could only gasp, trying to regain control.

Carrick carefully took his arm and led him within the chaos, while Petra followed close behind. Abby never dared look up. They guided him to a chair, Carrick sitting to the right and Petra to the left. Lord Indale spoke a quick greeting from down the table and then turned back to speak with someone he called Lord Marlis, who sat directly across from Abby.

Marlis and Indale talked about their plans for the future. The older Lord's lands already lay engulfed in darkness, and Abby listened, afraid to move. The plate placed before him contained more food than he had eaten in any given month of his life. Timidly, he broke off a piece of bread and bit into it. That, at least, gave him something to do.

People talked around him, a dozen conversations that he didn't try to follow. No one intruded into Abby's little place. Even Carrick and Petra talked past him, making occasional jests with each other and with Lord Indale. These were only people. They wouldn't harm him.

He dared to look up.

And Lord Marlis glanced his way.

A terrible change came over the Lord's gray-bearded face, from rough, bright laughter to steel, strong hatred -- all in one breath. Then Marlis sprang to his feet, his chair falling backward and clattering against the floor. His sudden, inexplicable rage brought surprised silence to the rest of the room.

"The bastard!"

Abby flinched from the word more than he ever had from a touch --kind or not. He stared up at the enraged face of someone he had never met before and awaited judgment.

"By the gods," the man said, his voice coming in short gasps. “By the gods, I'll finish what Tabor couldn't!"

Lord Marlis swept up a knife from the table and threw himself at Abby. By then Indale and Rice had come around the table and grabbed the man, dragging him back as the knife swept past Abby's face.

Abby hadn't the will left to move.

"Marlis!" Indale yelled, holding tight to the man, though he didn't attempt to take the weapon away. "Stop! Remember, you are in my abode, and you live by my rules here!"

"Gods, Indale! Don't you realize who this is?"

"Yes, I know," Indale said. His voice softened as he looked at Abby. "I was also there when Tabor attempted the sacrifice."

"No," Abby said. He hadn't meant to say even the single word, but it gave him the strength finally to stand and back away. Alone now, for even Petra and Carrick looked at him with shock and dismay.

"You were there, and you let this thing into your home? Altazar's bastard cursed us all!"

"He saved Petra's life at the risk of his own," Carrick said, as though he didn't understand any of the rest of this.

"A clever trick to get inside," Marlis said, his eyes narrowed, his face red with unspent rage. He leaned against the table, the knife still beneath his palm. Rice started for his weapon as well, but Indale signaled him to hold. "Afraid of the dark, are you, boy?"

"Yes, my lord, I am," he said.

"I won't fall for your tricks, bastard --"

"The boy is called Abby," Indale replied. His voice remained inexplicably calm. Guards had reached his side, but Indale waved them back again. "I thought long and hard before I brought him to Sanwind, Marlis. I thought back to that dark night at Mindeneh and everything that had happened when Tabor 's magic summoned us there to see a graphic example of his power. You'd be wise to recall that night clearly as well before you accuse Abby of all the wrongs we suffer now. "

"He brought the darkness upon us!"

"And I'll pay the price the gods set to bring back the light," Abby said softly.

"Dealing with gods now?" Marlis demanded; the knife rose in his hand again.

"Abby," Indale said. His quiet voice drew Abby's attention, and he could see no anger or hatred in the man. "Who was your mother?"

Strange question. Surely everyone had heard about Altazar's whore, as he'd heard her called by the barbarians often enough. "She called herself Starwind, Tandair's daughter --"

"That lie won't hold with us!" Marlis said, his lips pulling back in an unfriendly grin. “Tandair only had one child, a son who died in battled against your father. He never sired a daughter."

"Then you all knew she wasn't the king's child?" Abby asked, looking from Marcus to Indale.

"Yes, we knew," Indale answered.

The realization of the game they'd played with Altazar amused him even now. "And no one told the mighty emperor that his captured princess was--"

"Was some whore who thought quickly enough to save her life," Marlis said. "We kept that joke among ourselves, our little petty vengeance against the barbarian. So what does it matter to us who your mother was, bastard?"

"Marlis, the boy is named Abby," Indale said again, this time louder.

"My mother named me Aubreyan," Abby said. Emotion had drained from him in the face of all this anger, and all he had lost. "I never knew the truth about her until after the dark came."

"I suspected as much," Indale said, as though he not only understood but believed as well. "When you called on the gods to help you, they answered too quickly. We should have known then."

"Known what?" Marlis demanded, impatience and a little curiosity hedging in on the rage.

Abby forced calm to stay even in the face of that hatred. This was no worse than facing Altazar, though painful in an entirely new way. Lord Marlis had stripped away the little peace he had found here in the last few days.

No matter. He had known he couldn't stay for long...but he had hoped to leave friends behind. When he looked up, Marlis must have seen the change in him. Indale certainly did. Abby had raised the walls around his soul again -- the walls that he hadn't used since the night in the tower. He could tell them, now that it wouldn't hurt.

"My mother came to me after the darkness fell, when everyone had left the tower except me." He saw how Marlis looked at him, eyes narrowing and the knife shifting in his fingers. "She told me that she is a goddess, my lords."

A moment of absolute silence, when no one even dared breathe. Abby looked at the faces -- shock on all of them, but belief on Indale’s, at least.

"Lying -- god's cursed -- demon bastard!"

Marlis again launched himself at Abby, this time pulling free of Indale and clearing the table before anyone could stop him. Abby only waited. The walls weren't working as well as they had -- he couldn't bear the loss of all Indale had so freely given to him. As the knife in Marlin's hand swung at him, he only closed his eyes.

Abby went down under a jumble of bodies. Chairs crashed and people shouted. Someone had hold of Marlis's hand with the knife, but he snarled like a beast; and when he lost the weapon, he tried to wrap both hands around Abby's throat. An elbow caught Abby in the chest, and the wave of agony that doubled him over. By the time they had pulled Marlis away, blood covered the front of his shirt.

"Abby?" Carrick whispered.

He somehow managed to reach his knees, though his head spun and he had to fight for each breath as he pushed aside the pain. That proved harder than it had ever been back at Mindeneh, where he only faced his father's torture and the cruelty of Altazar's men. Something here hurt far worse.

"I didn't cut him with the knife," Marlis said, sounding surprised rather than angry.

"An older wound, my lord," Aubreyan said. The room spun, and the staring faces frightened him. Humans everywhere, and they would hate him.

"You were there when Tabor gave him that wound, Marlis," Indale said.

"The golden sword," Marlis said. His face lost some of the red and anger. "The wound that never heals."

"Never heals," Abby echoed and his head lowered again. "There's so much that will never heal."

The knife lay abandoned on the floor beside him. He picked it up with his right hand, the left holding tight to the bleeding wound.

"Abby," Carrick whispered, and dared to take a step closer. Abby turned the knife in his direction, and he stopped -- though he looked sad and not afraid.

"Not Abby," he corrected, the knife still in hand. "I am Aubreyan Altazar, Lord Carrick. My father killed yours and destroyed the land. My father freed the damned Kiya. And I called the darkness down upon us."

"You called to the gods to help you," Indale corrected. He finally released Marlis, who looked confused. "And because you are the son of a goddess, they answered quickly and harshly. I know you well enough by now to realize that you would never have purposely brought this down upon us."

"But I still brought it, Lord Indale," he said. He trembled with equal parts of pain, weakness, and fear. "And she says I must pay for the gift."

"The old myths," Carrick said with a nod. "Every gift of the gods must be repaid with a gift to them. Balance."

"We haven't dealt with the gods in generations," Indale said. "That's why we mistook the darkness for a curse. But it stopped Tabor and the Kiya, Marlis. And the darkness saved Abby from a fate even you wouldn't really wish on him, would you? Would you send this boy to serve Gix forever?"

"Postponed," Abby said with a different feeling of dread. "He still calls to me, in the dark and in my dreams. I will still go to him one day. I think he wants me all the more, now that he knows what I am."

He heard a different whisper in the crowd, one that hinted at worry. Rice unexpectedly drew Abby’s attention as he stared, amazed, at what had been living among them.

"What payment do you need to make to end the darkness, bast -- Abby?" Marlis asked, the anger till hard in his voice, though not aimed at him this time.

"I must destroy the demon staff, the Kiya Chanda Andee."

"How can something so powerful be destroyed?" Indale asked, shaking his head in despair.

"My Lord, the staff is made with magic," Abby said. "Surely magic can undo her as well."

"Eltabar fell because no one can summon the magic to stop her," Indale said. "Your father never would have won otherwise."

"No -- no one?" he said, shaking with the effort just to remain on his knees.

"Abby, please put aside the knife," Carrick said. He knelt, almost within reach.

"I'm not finished," Abby said. He looked away from Carrick, afraid that he might see anger and hatred there. "She -- Starwind -- said that I must go to the west for help --"

"To the elves of Ishan?" Marlis said. "But that's just legend! Surely they don't exist any more than does the mountain guardian that should have kept us safe from Altazar!"

"Or like the myths of the gods," Indale said. "But I believe, Marlis."

He nodded a little, a crease across his forehead. "If they exist, the elves might know the magic. However, they took themselves to a place apart from man ages in the past. They say a magic wall high in the mountains divides the lands of men from those of elves and no human can get past. The gods alone know if the elves truly exist any more."

"Perhaps the gods do know," Abby said, feeling a whisper of relief that these men gave him an answer, and not everything sat only in his hands. "Go to the elves," he told them. "If you destroy the Kiya, that will be the payment. She doesn't care if I survive, only that the work is done. You're stronger than I am. I can't go on like this. It hurts --"

Abby saw startled faces as he turned the dagger toward his heart. To Gix then, and be damned. It was better. He wouldn't expect kindness there.

"No!” Carrick launched himself from a kneeling position and caught Abby's arm, pushing the blade aside. Petra, who must have slipped in behind him, took hold of his arms, and all three tumbled back against the hard floor.

"No! Let me go!"

Marlis and Indale had come around the table, but Abby felt a chill at the sight of them so close; and even Carrick raised an arm, as though to protect him from anything Marlis would do.

"Can we trust him?" Marlis asked softly. "Is he telling the truth?"

"You were there when he called upon the gods for help," Indale said. "We’ve drifted a long ways from the old worship, or I think we would have realized what had happened at the time. It took me until I found Abby near Bridigen to reconsider what had happened. I can find no other reason why the gods answered him, except that he's one of their blood."

"And the Kiya is disaster enough to have drawn them to us again," Marlis agreed. He stared at Abby for a long moment. "And there's not much of Altazar in the boy, that's true."

He hadn't expected that admission from the man, an unexpected gift.

"Get him upstairs," Indale said softly. "Gentle now."

The world began to drift away as Carrick lifted him. Petra remained close by, his face pale with worry. Abby hadn't the strength left to fight them, and hadn't the will left to go on.

"I don't want to live as Altazar's bastard forever," he whispered. He closed his eyes, drifting to a dark place where only one enemy could call to him.

***

He woke again to a candlelit room, wrapped in warm blankets, his aching body cradled in softness once more. He thought someone had called to him from very far away, and when he turned his head he found Lord Indale in a chair by the bed. Others were standing close around him.

"My -- my lord?" Abby asked, barely breathing the words, too weak to even lift his hand. "Did you call me?"

"We prayed," Lord Indale said. He gently pushed the blankets up around Abby's arms. They didn't seem much help against the deeper cold that held him. He didn't want to be here, to rest for a while before the world turned on him again. "We prayed, Abby, that you would not die."

"Why?" he asked. Weary. Tired of the world. "You don't really need me. You can destroy the Kiya with the help of the elves. Let me go."

"To the demon," Indale said, and carefully took his hand, as though to hold him there.

"To -- a future I will go to one day, no matter what. Should I suffer here longer first?"

"Give us a chance, Abby. I did that much for you. I knew who you were when I brought you to Bridigen. When I saw you save Petra with no concern for yourself, I knew that you weren't just Altazar's bastard son. It wasn't until later that I even considered your mother."

"Please," Abby whispered.

Indale's fingers tightened on Abby's hand, and he looked up into the older man's face . "Prince Aubreyan, I would be honored if you would remain as my guest."

Abby, who had never cried at Altazar's beatings or Tabor's torture, felt tears at the corner of his eyes. Prince Aubreyan.

"I would be honored to stay for awhile, my lord," he finally whispered. "I'm so tired."

"Sleep," Indale said, gently releasing his hand. "Sleep peacefully. You are among friends, and we'll protect you."

As he closed his eyes, even the specter of Gix retreated from such steadfast protection. He slept without fear.

PART FOUR: ISHAN

CHAPTER ONE

"Abby, please let one of us go with you," Carrick pleaded as he caught Abby's arm.

Aubreyan instinctively tried to pull away and only stopped when he saw the desperation in the eyes of his friends. They stood between him and the bed where his little pack of supplies waited, the last thing he had to retrieve before he left this sanctuary.

"Abby --" Petra began, ready to back Carrick.

"No." The word proved hard to say in the face of their anxiety. "No. Neither of you will leave with me. We've discussed this. Please don't make it harder."

"You can't go alone!" Petra persisted.

"Except for the last month here in Sanwind, I've always been alone," Abby reminded him, and then finished with a truth that he only admitted to himself even now. "But it won't be as easy as it was before. Stay here with Indale and help him keep the peace until I return. I'm only going to the elves."

"Only going to the elves," Petra repeated, suddenly amused. "As though you were only riding off to visit the next village. Abby, the elves are legend..."

Petra stopped and looked at Abby as though he only now remembered Abby's own unusual lineage. Amusing that his friends forgot that he was anything but one of them. The days he'd passed here had healed very many wounds of his soul, and not a few of his body as well.

"I'll come back as soon as I can," he said. "This is the least dangerous action I can take. Either I go to the elves, or I try to find Tabor and the Kiya. Those are the only options open to me."

"True," Carrick said and even stepped aside. "Send word to us if you can find a way."

"If I need help, I'll even send for you," Abby promised. "If there is something I find that you can do to help end the darkness, I won't be foolish enough to try to keep you away."

That finally eased some of their worries. Abby picked up the pack and settled it on his shoulder, wondering how he could walk away from here. Another, almost welcome, delay came before he had crossed the room. The door opened, and Indale, Marlis and a servant entered, the last carrying a tray. Abby hastily stepped aside, bowing his head and trying to calm the wild beating of his heart. He and Lord Marlis had done their best to avoid each other since the night of the feast. He hadn't expected to see the man now.

"About ready to leave, Abby?" Indale asked. He signaled the servant to deposit the tray on a small table and leave. "We've come to see you on your way. I'm sorry you're leaving, but I understand the necessity of this journey, and I wish you luck with it."

"Thank you, Lord Indale," he said with a bow of his head, and wished they would just let him leave now.

Instead, Indale poured tea in each of the five cups, passing them around, a civilized farewell. Abby lifted the cup to his lips, and then lowered it again with hasty suspicion as he stared into the steaming liquid.

"All from the same pot this time, Abby," Indale said and laughed. Abby looked up with a guilty start. "No drugs. I am glad to see you aren't likely to fall for that trick twice, though."

Abby covered his embarrassment with a long sip of the warm, sweet liquid, savoring the taste. He would miss so much about this place.

"Boy?" Marlis said, his voice almost a growl.

Abby turned to him, never doubting for a moment that the gruff old man addressed him. "Yes, my lord?"

"Well, I can't fault you on your manners," the man admitted. "You never learned those from Altazar."

"No, my lord. I only learned to fear men from him."

Marcus looked uncomfortable at the revelation, but he nodded agreement. "I never thought I would turn to Altazar's son for salvation. Abby -- they call you Abby, right?"

"Yes, my lord," he said, feeling the world a little out of balance again.

"Good journey to you, Abby. And stay safe. You're the only hope we have."

Abby looked into the old lord's face, anticipating the anger there -- but he found none. Marlis never looked away from him.

"You've sudden overconfidence in me, Lord Marlis," Abby said. The words came quickly, and he feared to say too much as greatly as he feared to say nothing at all. "Don't count only on me. I've barely survived so far, and even that wasn't always my choice or intention."

Marlis looked away. Abby hadn't expected to see regret.

Indale put aside his own empty cup. "Will you accept a horse --?"

"No!" Abby yelped, and then hastily bowed his head. "No, thank you, my lord. I'd rather go on foot."

"I thought as much.” Indale laughed. "I needed to make the offer, though. It's expected of a host, you know. No, you don't know, of course. Well, be off with you, then, before the day's half gone. Go with him to the gate, boys, but no farther."

"They won't," Abby said. Then he crossed the two steps to the Lord of Sanwind and knelt, remembering the ceremonies of fealty often enough from his father's court. "I am your servant, Lord Indale. I will not forget your kindness."

"You honor me, Prince Aubreyan," he said, and gently pulled Abby back to his feet. "The gods go with you, Aubreyan."

"Yes, so I've been told," he said.

Indale looked shocked for a moment, and then very pleased by the jest. It was good to leave him with the smile on his face.

Petra and Carrick walked with him down the stairs. Abby marked the passage in his mind, trying to fix everything in his mind. He wanted the color of the tapestries and the smell of baking bread to overlay the nightmares of Mindeneh, so that he remembered this place when he walked alone on the trail.

They went down through the bailey and past the horses, which thankfully didn't come too close. He didn't stop until they reached the barbican. The guard began to open the gate for him, and Abby suddenly felt as though he couldn't move, that he would never take that first step away from this sanctuary.

"Be careful Abby," Petra said. "And hurry back."

"I will," he promised. Time to go. He looked from one friend to another, and took their hands in his for a moment, a touch that wasn't so difficult after all. He found it harder to let go.

When he did, Abby turned away without another word and walked out past the gates, past the guards, and past the walls that had been safety to him. When he finally looked back, the castle stood like a tiny spot of white in the distance, and even that sight still tugged at him. He never imagined it would be so hard to leave a place behind.

CHAPTER TWO

Walking ever westward.

Days passed quickly while Abby kept his mind focused on the way ahead, banishing both the good and the bad that he left behind. He walked in the light this time, outdistancing the unnatural darkness with every hour... and yet it felt as though he would never walk far enough, fast enough.

A strange, green world surrounded him, empty of man but filled with life. Trees rose like stately towers where birds and small animals made their homes. Occasionally, something larger stirred in the shadows, but despite the warnings from Carrick and Petra he saw on sign of bears or large cats.

He did face other dangers, and ones not so easily cured by a blanket used as a cape to ward off the morning cold. Swift and violent storms blew through the mountains, and he could find no place to shelter from them except in the leeside of some stately tree.

He spent many sleepless nights watching the moon nightly wane as it crossed the sky, but grew happier after the night of the new moon when it began to grow again. He knew the moon brought magic to the world, and although he had no feel for that art the elves were creatures of magic. The waxing moon gave him hope again.

Days and days and days....

Carrick and Petra had taught him how to find ripe berries, edible nuts and mushrooms. Those foodstuffs were plentiful in the woods, and he didn't mind that he never learned to hunt. His father had counted hunting as a pleasure only second to war and murder.

He crossed little streams, walked all through the days and sometimes long into the night until he grew too tired to go on. Then he lit a little fire and wrapped in the woolen blanket from his pack. He thought about his friends back in Sanwind, and with them so close to his heart even the demon couldn't always find him.

The land gradually began to slope upward and the trees thinned. Sometimes he could see the towering mountains beyond, and tried not to feel small and insignificant before them. He often passed open glades where herds of majestic deer watched him pass, hardly bothered by his presence. He found an unexpected joy in their acceptance. From time to time rabbits and raccoons followed him through the trackless woods. He dropped them berries and nuts, glad for their silent company.

The nights grew colder, a gradual change he hardly noticed until the morning when dew had changed to frost. His years in the cell at Mindeneh had prepared him for the hardships of this journey. The cold didn't bother him.

By the next day shadowed circles of snow dotted the landscape. The hillside changed in the next two days, boulders becoming more prominent than trees.

Upward still.

One late afternoon Abby stood on an open glade and faced the steep, rocky crags that obstructed him. He could see only stone and ice, and a cold wind blew downward from the inhospitable mass with a moan that promised hardship.

But that way lay westward, and he couldn't stop now -- though he did delay until the next morning. He didn't want to be caught on those icy slopes in the dark, and it gave him time to fill his pack with all the food supplies he could find in the area. When he lay down by his meager fire, he watched as shadows slid down the face of the rock, turning white to red, gray, black.

And something flickered in the dark night, far up in the mountain.

Magic -- the wall that separated the land of the elves from the world of men. This was the first real sign he'd had that the elves truly existed since he began. He slept fitfully beneath the light. It glittered like a star come to ground. Surely those who could keep such magic intact for generations could destroy the Kiya.

He found an old trail, long disused but still easy to follow. For the next five days Abby climbed, sleeping in ruins that humans must have built the last time they came this way. Carrick had said mages used to pit themselves against the wall, long ages past, and these shells remained of that old, forgotten quest. Abby tried not to think about their failures each night as he found a place to rest where he could see the growing glow of the wall. It gave him strength to go on.

Then came the day when even the sun looked dull before the rainbow light that rose before him. He could see the wall clearly now, taller than any tree -- taller than the high walls of Sanwind. Perhaps it even rose higher than the cloud tower of Mindeneh. Abby spent the last hours climbing and climbing until he knelt within a few steps of the magic.

He couldn't see through the glowing light, and the power concentrated here nearly overwhelmed even him. Abby turned away for a moment and looked back the way he had come.

The world of rock cliffs he had so long labored up looked insignificant on the edge of the wider view. The entire world stretched away in a blanket of green forest as far as he could see. He would have thought the entire world was nothing but forest, a land untouched.

But not untouchable. There, on the very edge of the view he thought he could see the coming darkness.

Reminded of duty, Abby turned his attention back to the wall. He stood and faced the last obstacle between him and the elves of Ishan, his dirty, stone-scraped hands touching the magical surface. It tingled with life and warmth. He pressed harder, but the surface felt as impenetrable as the stone he had climbed to reach this place. Abby felt a welling of frustration.

Either he must find a way in or else go back and face the Kiya without a hope of winning. Go back and watch the darkness overtake the world, with his friends standing beside him until the end.

No.

Aubreyan pressed harder, as though his will alone would propel the wall aside. He couldn't go back and watch his friends die because of his inability to right the evil he had brought down on them.

No!

"Let me in," he whispered. Desperate words, his voice hoarse after days of disuse. The night grew cold, the moon rose behind him. He could go nowhere except forward. "Please, let me in!"

Something moved beneath his hands, a tingling along his arms. It felt unpleasant, but his arms had slipped within the wall and he followed, unafraid. He could die here, but he could not go back in defeat.

For a time he did not -- could not -- breathe. He existed in a place of light made solid, an illumination that tried to hold him back, to force him again into the lands of men.

Forbidden! Something not told, but felt. Forbidden to be here.

He walked forward, each step more difficult than the last. The light became sound, the sound a painful assault on every nerve. Perhaps if he hadn't lived with pain for so long it would have driven him back. He pushed harder against the sound/wind/light and refused to be turned away. Beyond the wall lay salvation from darkness. Beyond the pain lay his only hope. Beyond…

He slipped from there to here, one moment in a place without time and next in a world of spring and life. Abby stood in a high mountain glade. On the human side of the wall, a mountain peak had overlooked a night-darkened and endless forest. Here, sunlight illuminated a land of brighter greens. There were no rocky, ice-covered cliffs here, and the air felt warm and tasted sweeter with every breath.

Euphoria gave way to exhaustion. He stumbled a few steps into the new land, wondering how long he had spent in that wall. So tired, and the grass felt soft beneath his head....

He woke again with the sun only a sliver of light against the rainbow wall of magic. Every muscle ached, and even breathing proved painful. He sat up slowly, reluctant to even move.

And froze. Across the field a dozen grazing horses turned to him. A half-dozen of the beasts came his way; a white giant with a tail and mane of gold moved out ahead of the others, walking with a regal grace toward him.

And then it unfurled wings that stretched twice as wide as Abby was tall and launched into the sky.

Terror finally brought him to his feet with every intention of fleeing. However, the world took a sickening spin at the sudden movement. He fell backward, and, mercifully, oblivion followed quickly.

CHAPTER THREE

Aubreyan returned slowly, reluctantly, to consciousness.

"Kill him!" a voice whispered nearby. "By the gods, kill him! It is a man!"

He shivered at the words.

"Quiet," a calmer voice said, a musical accent to the words, different from any he had ever heard before. "The boy is almost conscious again. He came across the mountains and through the barrier. Let us at least learn why, if not how."

"He's injured," another said. Abby felt soft fingers move against his chest, and he trembled with a new fear. "Easy, boy, I will not hurt you. Ah, this is not a natural wound. What fools, these men who play with magic they can never mend."

Kind words. Very slowly, Abby dared to open his eyes.

A ball of glowing light hung an arm's reach above him, casting... magical light on the area. For a moment that ethereal beauty held all his attention.

He realized that others were here, and his eyes darted from one face to the next. Four figures knelt around him, and the blue light made them appear as unreal as the magic that lit them. The three to his left had long dark hair, thin faces, and almond shaped eyes that were lost in the shadows. He shivered looking into the faces he could not quite clearly see.

"Move carefully, boy," the fourth one said, his fingers brushing softly against Abby's forehead.

Abby turned to look at him. The light showed him better -- long gray hair... no, silver. His face had fine features, and iron-colored eyes that were not hard. He had a gentle face, and looking at him, Abby didn't feel fear.

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, better, thank you.” He let this silvery man help him sit up, never looking away. Fear whispered at the back of Abby's mind, but he hadn't the strength or the will to call it back. "Thank you, my lord."

"My lord?" another repeated, but Abby didn't turn to look. "What does he mean?"

"That is a human term," the silver one replied. "Used to address those who are superiors of a ruling class. We would use ‘sire.’"

The others made sounds of understanding. Abby finally forced himself to look away from the one who helped him, and he wondered why he heard surprise from the others.

"Are you elves?" he asked, daring to look up again.

"Yes, we are.” He saw curiosity for the first time. "What else did you expect to find beyond the barrier we made to keep your kind out?"

"I only hoped to find you here, sire," he whispered. He took a deeper breath. "I came to ask your aid."

"Aid!" another said, her voice sharp. It hurt to turn to look at her, but he did, seeing only a shadowed face. "Why should man want aid from his enemies?"

"They didn't ask. Not men," he whispered. He put a hand to the back of his head and tried to fight against the growing dizziness and pounding pain. "My mother sent me here..."

"Slowly, child.” Cool fingers touched the back of Abby's head and eased the pain, but he suddenly felt very tired again, unable to lift his head from the elf's hold. "Let us get him take him back where he can rest and recover."

"Edra, we can't take a man into our tents!" the elf woman said with dismay.

"He's more than what he appears, Dytelya. And the choice is mine. Help me with him."

She reached to help, and he hadn't the strength left to pull away, even when fear rose up within him. Others helped, and he trembled at their touches, caught beyond any hope of escape.

"Don't fear," Edra whispered. His soft hand brushed against Abby's face. "We'll take you to a soft, safe place."

The pounding came in his head again, and the world receded so that he neither cared nor feared.

And he did awake in a softer place.

Abby lay amid pillows of so many colors he couldn't name them all. He'd never felt such softness before, and he found that even his clothing had been changed to silks and velvets. Sunlight flittered through the cloth walls around him, warm and bright. And though he ached at even the slightest movement, he enjoyed the peace he found here.

"Are you better?"

Startled, Abby turned to find Edra reclining on pillows beside him. He forced himself to calm again. "I am much better, sire."

"Good," Edra said, and helped him when he started to sit up. "I am Edra, leader of the Ishan elves. There are many questions I would like to ask you, but first let us start with politeness. What shall I call you?"

"Abby -- or Aubreyan, if you prefer."

"’Abby’ came more quickly to you, and your tone is lighter when you say it. There is a tale in that name, but it's one that can wait. As I said, I am Edra, King of the Ishan Elves, but we don't often stand on titles here. Forgive me for rushing this against the conventions of politeness, but I must ask why you have come to us, Abby."

“There is a staff called the Kiya Chanda Andee," Abby began, and Edra sat straighter at the name. "Then you do know of it."

"The demon-made staff, yes," Edra's iron eyes darkened for a moment before he looked at Abby again. "She's loose?"

"Yes, sire. And men no longer know the magic to destroy her."

"Men never did. Nor did we, or we would have sent her to oblivion eons past."

"You can't?" Abby whispered. All hope died with those words.

"Powers far beyond the abilities of mere man or elf made the Kiya Chanda Andee. Demon-made, and given into the hands of men because they are so easy to corrupt. That gave the demons more power in Eltabar. Elves never heard her siren call, but man listened to her and turned against us. We fought a long, hard war before we wrested her from their hands. Then we placed her in a prison in a dark corner of the lands of man, because bringing her into Ishan would have brought demon-bred evil into a place we wanted to make pure. I feared that one day the restraints we placed would weaken. I only hoped that man would learn the wisdom to ignore her when she called again."

"You put her there?" Abby whispered. The elf’s face that had looked young only a heartbeat before was ageless now.

"I, and others of my kind, had that duty," he said. His head tilted, and Abby imagined that he recalled a time so far in the past that humans thought of it as legend. "It took a thousand of us to quell her power. Alas, most of the High Elves have gone now. There's only Ynyr and me left of that older breed, and I doubt Ynyr will help any man again."

"There is an answer here," Abby insisted. His heart pounded. "She wouldn't send me here if I wouldn't find help!"

"She?"

He could only offer the truth now. "My mother," he said and looked down. He barely whispered the next words, afraid of the reaction. "She is a goddess."

Edra made no answer, and Abby finally dared to look up again. The iron eyes narrowed and looked…not so much at him, as into him. Abby trembled again, but he didn't turn away.

"At least now I understand how you came through the barrier," Edra said with unexpected calm. "I knew you were different just through that act. And you looked away from me when I willed you to be calm. I understand the problem far better now, Aubreyan."

"Abby, please. Just Abby.” He didn't want the High Elf to believe he was something different just because of her. "She told me I would find aid in the west, and Ishan appeared the likely answer."

"Made you of human flesh and left you to save the world from the Kiya Chanda Andee and the demons that are her allies. Do you have an opposite? There are always pairs, neither gods nor demons allowing the other an advantage. They fight, but nature still makes them strive for balance."

"Tabor?" Abby suggested, grateful for these answers. "He's the son of a demon called Gix."

"Gix," Edra repeated coolly. "You bear his brand. They came that close to winning already?"

"She never told me what I was," Abby said. His hand instinctively brushed against the spiral brand, hidden beneath the silk at his shoulder.

"Where is the staff now?"

"Tabor has her. She was my father's ally, but when Tabor came she willingly went to him and they prepared to send me to Gix. None of us knew about my mother then. I only learned after I --" He stopped, his breath catching, and shook his head in despair. "Sire, I didn't know! She told me once that I should call upon the gods in my time of need. I would have willingly gone to Gix instead if I had known what they would do. Now darkness spreads over all the land, and the goddess says I must destroy the Kiya to stop it. It has taken most of Eltabar, and it will follow me even here. Is there nothing I can do?"

Edra sat still for a moment, and Abby couldn't be certain if the elf looked at him or not. But he finally nodded and sighed.

"The gods and demons play games with our world once more," Edra said, a harsh sound from one who had only shown kindness before this. Abby pulled back, but Edra's face softened. "I won't hurt you, Abby. I'll do what I can to help, but this will require more than the aid of a single High Elf. I will call upon the others to come and hear you and judge your cause. Rest here, as my honored guest. I'll make a Summoning and bring together those who might aid us. You will have to face them and tell them what happened, and convince them to help. Abby, we can do nothing if you can't persuade the powers of Ishan to stand with us. It won't be easy."

"Sire, there has been nothing in my life that came easily. I will do the best I can."

Edra stood and bowed and left him alone in the fine tent, amid the soft pillows. He'd had to wait for his fate in worse places.

CHAPTER FOUR

Elves came and went during the first day and the next. They brought him more food than he could eat and asked after his wants and needs. They treated him with distant respect, but he saw the distrust in their eyes. They didn't like having a man, the ancient enemy, in their midst. Aubreyan never judged them by those looks; he understood their feelings toward men too well.

Edra remained very busy, and Abby rested. He didn't leave the tent until the afternoon of the second day, limping cautiously to the opening of the tent, drawn by the sounds of laughing voices outside. He found a bright, beautiful day, the breeze soft and scented with flowers and the world untouched by the darkness he had escaped. He watched elves move about with unusual haste as they dismantled their rainbow-colored homes and each tent shrunk to the size of a small piece of cloth. Elves folded them and put the tents away in their packs.

Magic.

"You are free to come out, Abby."

Abby spun, his heart pounding; but he bowed his head to Edra, trying to cover his reaction.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to startle you. And I certainly never meant for you to remain a prisoner in my tent. Come out, if you like."

"I bother them," Abby said, waving a hand toward the elves. "I don't want to upset them, sire."

"We're breaking camp, Abby. They must get used to seeing you on the trail anyway. We're going to the temple of the mountain. I made a Summoning, and the others will meet us there to hear your cause."

"Is it far?" Abby stopped, and then looked at the elf with new worry. "Sire, forgive me -- but you don't ride horses, do you?"

"No, Abby. No horses.” He nodded with sudden understanding. "Is that why the Pegasus frightened you? He was very sorry you fell, even if you were a man. You only surprised him."

"You talked with him?" Abby asked. He found the idea wondrous, even if the creature terrified him.

"Elves speak with all animals, but most clearly with the creatures of magic. Come, let us walk in the woods while my people pack this away. It will give us a chance to talk again."

Abby obediently followed Edra into the full sunlight, even though he really didn't want to leave his sanctuary behind. The brightness of the day hurt his eyes, but in a few steps they walked in a forest as primeval as the one he had crossed in Eltabar.

"Abby, when we took ourselves away from mankind, we did it for many reasons," Edra said. He looked into Abby's eyes, searching for something, before he shook his head. "Ah, but you are such an innocent. You understand nothing about the ways of man, do you?"

"I know that Altazar was a man, and the desire for power drove him mad. But then I met Lord Indale and he took me in, even though I am his enemy's son. In the end... sire, don't understand either of them."

"The elves could hardly understand them any better. We were old to the land before man began to arrive from the north --"

"So, we were barbarians from the very beginning," Abby mused. He brushed a hand against the soft moss on a tree, almost to make certain it, too, was not made of magic and illusion.

"They envied us. Elves have innate powers and longer lives, and we weren't cruel or covetous. We taught them whatever magic they could use, but they still envied us the powers we could not give them. Magic is a part of us, Abby, not a gift we can give to reaching hands.

“And then the demons brought the staff into the world, and they heard her call and turned against us. We fought until we tore the Kiya from them, and imprisoned her in a place no man-made magic could pierce."

"But Altazar just took her, sire. He never had any magic of his own. How did he do it?"

"Eons had passed. Magic faded. The other High Elves didn't care if men took her up again once we were beyond our barrier, safe in our own lands. We used unparalleled magic to make our wall, and that is not an act we could perform in two different places. I wanted to put the wall around the Kiya Chanda Andee, but the others wanted to make a barrier to keep man away from us forever, to shield Ishan from those who would destroy what they can't possess."

"And now I have come."

"Abby, I never believed it was the right answer. And now these unfortunate circumstances prove me right.” He stopped and leaned against a tree, giving Abby an unexpected shrug. "It's a bitter victory. At least this time we have the gods working with us."

"Are they? They've been no help that I've seen."

"Strange, there is such bitterness in your voice when you speak of the gods. It's not there when you speak of your enemies."

"The gods alone withheld the power to help me," Abby said. He leaned against another tree and fought to keep his voice calm. He had never liked anger, in himself or in others. "Instead, they used me. They didn't need to bring the darkness on the world for me to destroy the staff. They only needed to ask me."

Edra looked down.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, sire."

"You haven't, child," he said. He looked up again. "You made me see what a cruel world we live in, and accept without question. Abby -- Aubreyan Altazar, may I tell you about the gods?"

"I wish you would," Abby answered. "No one ever bothered to explain much of anything to me."

Edra smiled and sat down on the ground, his back still to tree. Abby followed. He liked the peace of this quiet place. Edra had chosen well.

"The gods and the demons are really very much alike," Edra began, startling Abby with that statement. "They're powerful, Abby, but their powers grow stronger or wane according to the energies they receive from places like our world of Ylant. This world is only one place the war is fought between the gods and the demons, between good and evil."

"Why do they fight at all?" Abby asked.

"Each side doubtless believes they fight to win, but actually they only battle to keep the balance. That's why when you were born to a goddess Tabor was born to a demon. Neither side allows the other to gain too much power on any world."

"A game of pawns," Abby said, his fingers brushing the grass as he tried to quell his anger again.

"Except that the pawns have the choice of which side to follow, Abby. Even you. You could willingly serve Gix, you know. Instead, you are fighting on the side of the gods."

"Yes," Abby said. He stayed calm. He wanted to understand, and Edra was the first person who had ever really tried to teach him. "I didn't like what I saw in Gix, but I still don't know what makes the gods and the demons different."

"The best way to explain -- through far from the full truth -- is that the gods live by laws and the demons do not. Think carefully about that difference, Abby. It sounds simple. Laws pervade our lives, my friend. Let me give you an example. Truth is law, and lies lead to chaos. You are the son of a goddess, and you cannot consciously tell a lie, can you?"

"Say something that isn't true?" he said and frowned. "Why would I?"

"Because men do so every day. Elves even have the ability, through we try to live purer lives. Not lying is one of the laws the gods live under. The demons have the powers of the gods but not the rules."

"Doesn't that make the demons more powerful?" Abby asked, amazed and frightened by the thought.

"You would think so, but obviously it isn’t true or they would have won by now. For some reason, the entire fabric of existence leans toward law and not chaos."

Abby nodded. "I don't think the gods are perfect, but I'd rather live under them then as a slave to the demons," he said.

Edra nodded and frowned. "You were promised to Gix. You were far enough into the ceremony that he touched you, and I am sure the idea of having a godling as a slave appeals a great deal to him. You would give him power, just by being in his hold."

"I'll have no choice, in the end," Abby said. "None that I can see. I am promised to him. But I'll do what I can for Ylant...before I go."

"Fight it all the way, Abby," Edra said. "Never go willingly."

Abby nodded, and didn't tell the elf that he had almost gone once already, willingly, in hope of getting away from the cruelty of humans.

"Abby, there's something else I would like to know.” The elf stood and took the two steps to Abby, then knelt again before he could get up. He leaned forward, one hand gently resting on Abby's chest. Abby pulled back from the initial touch, startled as much as afraid. "I won't hurt you. Tell me about the weapon that made this wound."

"A golden sword," Abby said. He tried not to flinch when the elf's fingers probed, and he felt a whisper of warm magic. “Tabor brought the sword up from the south with him. He said the wounds never heal."

"I know this sword," Edra said with a shake of his hand. "Man's magic made it. It's crueler than you realize. It has a name. Never let that name be spoken, Abby."

Abby trembled, and Edra moved his hand to gently lay it on Abby's shoulder. His breath still caught, even knowing Edra wouldn't hurt him.

"You are a gift to this world, a gift from the gods. I will not hurt you."

"They made me what I am, sire," Abby replied. He pushed his hands through his hair in a rare show of despair. "Men, gods and demons have all made me, and I don't know how to change."

Edra looked at him and nodded, as though he had made some decision. "In two days you shall face a Summoning of all the intelligent creatures in Ishan. There you must stand before them, alone. They can help you, Abby, if you convince them that they must act."

"What will happen when the dark reaches the barrier that protects Ishan?" Abby asked.

"Then we'll learn if the wish of the gods is stronger than the most powerful magic of the high elves."

"Men run before the darkness. Some will even make it all the way to the top of that mountain. The strong ones will. I don't know what they'll do."

"They will not come through to Ishan."

"I did."

"Abby, your mother is a goddess. Have you never considered that her blood might give you certain advantages over other men?"

"She never saw fit to tell me until after the darkness came. I don't want her advantages.” He lifted his head and met Edra's look for the first time. "And that is my choice. Do you think I am unwise, sire?"

"No," Edra said. "You are right. They made you what you are, and I fear there are more wounds than that made by the sword that will never heal."

"Sire --"

"Don't apologize for what you are, Abby. It's not you who needs forgiving," Edra said. He rose to his feet, an easy movement that Abby wished he could mimic. He accepted Edra's offered hand to help him to his feet. "Come now. We'll go for a long walk; and when we reach the Temple of the Mountains, we'll see how the rest of Ishan feels. In the end, I will stand with you, no matter what the others decide."

"Thank you, sire," he said, bowing his head.

"I shall show you wonders, Aubreyan," Edra promised. His fingers moved through the air, leaving a trail of light that moved like a wind through the trees around them. "It is time you see there is also beauty in the world."

CHAPTER FIVE

The land of Ishan resembled Eltabar in many ways. The same species of trees grew here, and the same grasses. Even the same sun drifted across the sky, and the moon brightened the night. Rabbits, squirrels and deer watched as they passed.

Yet the very air whispered of magic, and just walking the land proved a balm for injuries and pains of the heart. Though he knew the dark still pursued him, Abby learned that the world continued to move at its own pace. They couldn't bring the Summoning together any quicker by rushing to the Temple ahead of everyone. This was a time to rest.

And Abby needed the rest. Wounds that had only begun to heal at Sanwind had taken a toll on his health. He still limped from the dagger Nual had put through his ankle. Edra repaired what damage he could, but he explained that Abby's body rejected most magical help. He couldn't decide if the blood of the goddess in his veins or Abby's own aversion to dark magic was to blame.

Abby didn't care. He still felt more at peace here than anywhere outside the single room he once shared with Petra and Carrick. And here, with the peace, came a freedom he never thought he would know.

He finally learned to see beauty while walking through the forests of Ishan. One afternoon Edra pulled aside the leaves at a hollow tree, uncovering a family of raccoons and their guests, a band of pixies. The tiny winged manlike -- elf-like -- creatures slept through the day. At sunset they would awake and fly, moving like glowing butterflies in the night. Sometimes the larger magical inhabitants passed close by -- pegasi, unicorns, and griffins that circled high above the trees. Edra never brought them closer, though he did sometimes go out to speak with them.

Abby often stayed awake at night, his head filled with the wonders he never imagined existed. Once he watched with a silent smile as a bright-winged pixie fluttered through the tent door and hovered over Edra, tickling his ear until the elf sleepily batted at it and rolled over. Abby almost laughed but stopped himself, afraid he would frighten the pretty thing away.

However, before she left the pixie darted across to him. Her wings fluttered like moving rainbows, and the moonlight illuminated her fine, thin face. They studied each other for several silent heartbeats. Then she suddenly smiled and, with a whisper of a song, darted from the tent.

He slept very well through the rest of that night.

Edra had promised him wonders; Abby thought none could surpass watching the world pass without fear of what the next moment would bring. But on the third day Edra introduced him to finest wonder of all: Tristan.

Abby and Edra often fell behind the others, and Edra told him tales of the land or explained about the flora and fauna of the area. Abby loved to learn.

Midway through the third day two elves rushed back from the others. Abby started to step back, but he saw such joy in their faces that he stopped even before Edra reached out to stay him.

"Edra!" the woman called out. The blue and gold of her silken clothing flew about her as she leapt fallen logs, and her companion had trouble keeping up. She caught the High Elf by the arm. "Come on! Tristan's coming! We saw him across the field!"

"Tristan!" Edra said with a laugh. "Come along, Abby. You must meet my wayward grandson."

Not far ahead Abby heard people shouting happy greetings. By the time he and Edra reached the edge of the woods, even the High Elf had lost his usual decorum.

A wide, flower-strewn field stretched out between two stands of pine. A single figure made his way across the grass, but Abby couldn't clearly see him through the crowd.

"Tristan!" Edra shouted.

The stranger waved in their direction. Edra caught hold of Abby's arm and began to pull him out ahead of the others. For once Abby didn't flinch at the touch. He wanted to meet this Tristan, who seemed to bring joy to a people who were already bright by nature.

"Watch out for the squirrels and rabbits, Abby," Edra warned as they hurried forward. "They follow Tristan everywhere, and he can't seem to rid himself of them -- as though he ever really tried."

"I'll be careful, sire," Abby said. He tried to not slow the elf down, although he limped badly on the uneven terrain.

Edra slowed and looked at Abby, and then at his hand holding Abby's arm, as though he hadn't realized what he'd done. Then he smiled. "You didn't try to pull away."

Abby shrugged. Acceptance.

Suddenly, a dozen rabbits, squirrels and other small creatures moved in around them. Abby tried to watch where he stepped, and didn't even see Tristan until after Edra had embraced the smaller elf and stepped away.

Tristan stood nearly a head shorter than Abby, and his curly dark hair hung to his shoulders, nearly obscuring his features until he looked up. Light fell across a thin face, tan skin, dark eyes and a very bright smile. Abby could see no reservation in that look -- Tristan already accepted the stranger.

"So, Prince Tristan sees fit to grace us with his presence, does he?" Edra said with a laugh. "I hoped you might come to the Summoning, but I didn't expect to find you here along the way. How did you know where we were? I've taken precautions so no one would disturb us before we reached the Temple."

"Things are whispered to me sometimes," Tristan said and still smiled. A squirrel twittered for attention until Tristan silenced it with a simple finger to his lips. Then he looked back at Abby. "So this is the man, is he?"

"This is Abby," Edra replied with a nod.

Abby had bent down to brush the ears of a rabbit begging at his feet, hoping that he didn't step on one of them and not certain how he should greet Tristan.

"They like you!" Tristan said. He knelt and closed his eyes for a moment before he grabbed the rabbit, but a squirrel quickly took its place. "They don't like all strangers, you know. Not even elves."

"I didn't know. They followed me through the forests of Eltabar. I thought that was natural for them."

"Men hunt them for food and furs," Tristan explained. His smile faltered for a moment, and his dark eyes narrowed. "And there are even those in Ishan who also hunt them, though not as wantonly as in the land of men. They are justly wary of most strangers."

Abby knelt and petted a few of the little creatures, marveling that they were so at ease with him. The other elves were already moving on, though Edra lingered and helped Abby back to his feet.

"We want to make camp at the brook tonight, Tristan, and the day is getting late. You two can get better acquainted on the trail.” He looked from one to the other again, the pleasure clear in his face. "We'll reach the temple tomorrow. A good night's rest will do us all good."

"I won't complain," Tristan said. He stared at Edra for a moment, his dark eyes unblinking, but his hand moved, as though the fingers tested the air. "I wouldn't mind the hospitality of the great King Edra's tent for a night or two."

"You are welcome, Tristan. Just, please..."

"I'll send my friends to the woods for the night," Tristan said and laughed again. "I won't force you to share your blankets with them, Grandfather."

"Thank you," Edra replied with such heartfelt emotion that even Abby laughed.

That night the entire group gathered around a magical fire made of warmth and rainbow colors, and it didn't even scorch the grass beneath. Fruitcakes and honey passed freely around the circle. Edra sat to Abby's right and Tristan to the left, and none of the others made any comment about Abby's presence, as though they had always expected him to be there.

He felt a fool for having hidden in the tent each night, even though he had heard the laughter just outside. Now he sat in the circle while conversation shifted around him. Pixies darted in and out, making a game of stealing pieces of cake from the hands of elves. Abby ate little and followed Tristan's example of giving half of everything to his little friends. The creatures begged for scraps until even Edra gave them their share.

Never any meat, Abby noticed, not at all surprised by that revelation. The elves lived far closer to the creatures around them than man did.

Orantha, a lovely elfin woman with red hair and bright eyes, sang a song about the wind and the trees, storms and nature. The words seemed to draw all of Tristan's attention, until the elf next to him had to nudge the young elf to get him to take the flask of mead. He looked embarrassed as he held it out to Abby.

"Music does that to me," he whispered. "I'm drawn to it."

The moment Abby took the flask, Tristan turned his attention back to Orantha.

"Sounds hold special power over Tristan sometimes," Edra explained, and smiled. "It's part of his gift."

Abby nodded as though he understood. Others sang, as well, and then they turned back to conversation. No one asked anything of Abby.

The moon had risen high over the trees when Edra at last suggested they retire. They would reach the Temple tomorrow; and oddly enough, Abby had forgotten about that during the gathering by the fire.

As the elves disbursed, the fire died a little with each parting, until it winked out as Abby followed Edra and Tristan to the tent. Abby trailed the two and looked up as Edra stopped at the tent entrance and held out his arm. Tristan unexpectedly ran right into the outstretched hand and stumbled backward.

"Grandfather?" he said, startled.

"I told you that you are welcome, but not your little friends. Get rid of the rabbits and squirrels, Tristan, or you're sleeping in the woods with them."

Tristan laughed, shooing a couple rabbits back from the doorway. "Abby, would you care to walk with me?"

Abby looked at Edra and took a deep breath before he made such a drastic change in his own personality. "Yes,” he said. “I would like to."

Edra smiled again, but he carefully stood guard until Tristan had all his companions heading in the right direction. After a few steps they escaped the sounds of elves settling down to sleep. Tristan paused at the edge of the trees, his head tilted a little to the right. For a moment he closed his eyes, as though listening to something Abby couldn't hear.

"I think it's safest over there," Tristan said with a wave of his hand. He walked to the left, toward trees that stood like tall, dark statues in the night. “There is considerable movement in the woods tonight. I don't want to leave my friends where they might find trouble."

"I don't mind the walk," Abby said. He tried not to limp, because Edra fussed over him when his leg hurt, and he wasn't used to that kind of care. "I don't usually sleep well anyway."

"Do you need light, Abby?" Tristan suddenly asked. "I can make light for you."

"No, thank you. I can see well enough by the light of the moon. I'm used to the dark."

"The magic from the moon is strong tonight, isn't it?" Tristan said. His hand reached up, though he didn't look, but it seemed as though the light flowed around his hand.

"I don't know," Abby said. He carefully avoided a tangle of branches and stepped over a fallen log. "I don't know magic."

"You don't?” Tristan stopped and looked at Abby, obviously perplexed. He closed his eyes and reached out but didn't touch. “I sensed something in you that felt like magic."

"No magic," Abby said. "Not of the kind that men learn, anyway. Perhaps there is a gift from my mother, but I've never touched it. What do you know about me?"

"Enough," Tristan said. His hand at last touched Abby's arm, just a brush of fingers before he turned away and started back into the shadows of the trees. "Maybe fate intended for us to meet. We're both unique, I suppose. I doubt there are many more children of the gods in Eltabar than there are blind elves in Ishan."

"Blind?" Abby echoed, certain he had misunderstood the word. "Not really!"

"You didn't realize?" Tristan said, stopping again. He looked back, his hands moving and his dark eyes staring -- only Abby saw something different in them this time.

"I didn't know," Abby admitted, amazed by the revelation. "I doubt I would ever have realized if you hadn't told me."

"You'd figure it out soon enough," Tristan said. "I tend to trip over things when I'm not paying close attention. Or run into things, like I did Grandfather’s arm. My hearing is very good, better even than for most elves. And magic provides other compensations, of course. However, my blindness is why I no longer live in my grandfather's camp. They treat me differently. It bothers me, sometimes, when they set me apart for something I can't control."

"I understand."

"Thank you," Tristan said. They started toward the trees again, Tristan carefully stepping around a fallen log and sidestepping a rabbit that moved out in front of him. "I think we have a common bond, of sorts."

"You accepted me without question. Usually I face hatred in the beginning. Distrust. Why did you come to join us on the trail if you don't normally travel with the rest of the elves."

"Curiosity, above everything else.” He smiled in a way that forbade anything to be too serious, and then unceremoniously sat on the edge of a fallen tree, waving Abby over to join him. Rabbits, squirrels and a baby fox began to find niches around them. "I wanted to know what a man was like. When my little companions didn't run from you, I knew you were not the evil that some have said. I am going to stand with you when you face the others tomorrow."

"No," Abby said. He stared out at the trees, trying to frame his next words, and Tristan waited patiently. "This is my battle. I don't want to drag anyone else into the insanity with me."

"Abby, all the world -- Ishan and Eltabar and all the other lands -- must choose a side in this fight. We stand either with you or with Tabor. I'm not afraid to show my choice openly."

"I can't --"

"Please don't turn me away," Tristan whispered. His fingers caught Abby's arm and tightened, his head bowing.

"Tristan?"

"I want to believe I have some purpose in life, Abby. I want to believe that I can make a difference in the battle against evil, even if I can't see the light.” He looked up again with a bright smile. "And you might find me better aid than you think, Aubreyan. I'm not afraid of the dark."

CHAPTER SIX

The two new friends sat alone in the woods, trading tales of their unusual lives. Abby had never expected to find someone who understood about his fears, and Tristan admitted that he hadn't expected even Abby to understand about the need to do something right for the world. The moon drifted across the sky, a slow shifting of shadows that marked the passage of time. Abby wished for it to stand still. He didn't want to face the Summoning the next day.

But Tristan finally stood and stretched. "I never expected anyone -- man or elf, or whatever you are -- to understand so well. We had better get back to the camp before sunrise. Edra will send out a patrol, thinking I've gotten lost in the woods."

"Have you ever been lost?" Abby asked as he got up.

"Never," Tristan said with a laugh. "But Edra fusses over me anyway. Come on, you need a little rest. I shouldn't have kept you out here this long."

"This did more for me than hours lying awake in the tent would have," Abby protested.

"Good -- listen!” Tristan's right hand unerringly caught Abby's arm, while the left rose to touch something in the air. He closed his eyes.

Abby heard the sound at last, the trample of bushes. Something large moved in the night, and Tristan's fingers tightened.

"Unicorns," he finally whispered. "Normally, they aren't our enemies but --"

"But I am here, and nothing is normal," Abby finished. He watched as shadows of very large creatures began to assemble in the edge of the moonlight, horses of the purest white with manes and tails of jet-black and single golden horns set above glowing blue eyes. They gathered close, cutting off any hope of escape.

Abby closed his eyes and dared not move as one came so close he could feel the hot breath against his face. Only Tristan's tight hold on his arm kept him from faltering or trying to run away.

"Is that a trick you learned form Tristan?" an unexpected voice spoke from above him. "To close your eyes to fear?"

Startled, Abby opened his eyes and looked up past the terrifying creature. There he found an elfin woman with eyes as bright a blue as the unicorns’. She met his look with a show of distaste and smoldering rage that she barely held in check. When she shook back her golden hair, the unicorns mimicked her movement, startling him again. She looked ethereal and beautiful, but he didn't doubt the danger she represented.

"You've no right to hold us here, Hettena," Tristan said. His fingers tightened again on Abby's arm, a needless reminder of the danger. "Edra called the Summoning for tomorrow."

"Edra is not my king," she replied, scorn in her voice. She leaned down to look closely into Abby's face, and this time he didn't so much as blink. "I go my own way and make my own decisions. I need not listen to the rest of Ishan to know my mind. I don't like that a man walks in our lands, Tristan. He threatens us."

"No, Hettena," Tristan said. He moved quickly, startling the unicorn back a step, so that he could now slip between it and Abby, pushing him back toward a tree. "Abby is not our enemy, though there are others in the world who are."

"Is that what it tells you?"

"I believe him."

"And perhaps you are blind."

Tristan made a sound of amusement. "And is Edra blind then, too? What witty excuse do you make for him?"

"Perhaps Edra has at last gone the way of Ynyr and no longer cares."

"I don't find that funny at all," Tristan replied, his voice noticeably cooler.

"I've never trusted you, Tristan," she said, leaning toward him. The news apparently didn't surprise the elf. "Step aside. For the moment, at least, I have no reason to harm you."

The restlessness of the unicorns increased along with her anger, and they came quite close to stomping on Tristan before Abby pulled him back. Squirrels chattered in the trees overhead, and the young fox nipped at a unicorn leg until Tristan sent them all scurrying back to cover with a wave of magic. It even pushed the unicorns back a few steps, apparently much to Hettena's surprise.

"Go," Abby said to the elf, seeing a chance for him to get away.

"No. I made this my battle, remember? I fight on the side of good."

Hettena, plainly angered by the words, urged her mount forward again. The unicorn horn brushed past Tristan's head and caught Abby's tunic, tearing it at the shoulder as he pulled his friend back from the monsters.

"Mark of the demon!" Hettena shouted, and the unicorns screamed in surprise. "I was right! Mark of Gix!"

Abby's hand went to his shoulder and his back against the nearest tree.

"He was branded during an aborted sacrifice, Hettena!" Tristan said. He started to weave magic, but she countered it with a swiftness that obviously struck him like a physical blow. Abby barely had a chance to catch him before he tumbled. A unicorn reared over them, a hoof striking Tristan's shoulder and nearly knocking them both down.

"Run, Abby!" Tristan said, shoving him aside. He brought up magic -- a light that startled the unicorns back again. "Go to Edra!"

"No! I won't leave you! I won't add abandoning you to all the other mistakes I've made!"

The unicorns charged, and Tristan's failing magic didn't hold them back this time. Abby pushed the young elf back against the tree and stood his ground against the attacking monsters.

"Hold!" Hettena shouted.

The unicorns ceased their attack, blue eyes blinking with surprise that appeared to equal Abby's. When she rode to the front of the herd, Abby held Tristan behind him, the elf trembling and too weak to argue. He looked up into her eyes...and found wonder where he had expected rage.

"You wouldn't leave Tristan," she said. She leaned down over the neck of her mount and looked into his face. "You had a chance to run and escape me, but you stayed to stand with Tristan instead."

"He's my friend," Abby answered.

Her breath caught and she pulled back. He might have seen longing in her eyes this time. "What a fair, sweet answer," she said. "You are what you claim, aren't you? It is truth, what Edra has sent out in the Summoning, that a godling has come to ask help to save the world."

"I have never lied," he said.

She blinked, her eyes going wide this time. Abby put a hand to his chest where blood had begun to stain the remnants of his fine tunic. The pain made breathing harder every moment. He wished to be safe now. He wished for peace because he didn't think he could protect Tristan if she turned on them again.

Her hand brushed his face, a gentle touch that startled him. "Tomorrow I will stand on your side, Aubreyan," she said. Then she looked unexpectedly worried. "Edra sensed the magic used, and he's on the way. I dare not stay here and risk his wrath. I'm sorry, Tristan. I was wrong. I was blind in all my own ways."

Tristan looked up and smiled, even with one hand to his bleeding shoulder and his face pale. The unicorns disappeared back into the shadows, gone before they heard the sounds of Edra and the others. Abby dropped to the ground, shivering in the wake of the encounter and watching their approach. Glowing blue light illuminated the woods, and in a moment angry elves swarmed around them, their king in the front.

"What happened here?" Edra demanded.

"Hettena," Tristan replied. He bit at his lip when Edra knelt and pulled him away from Abby's protective hold. "She thought -- she thought to test Abby on her own."

"She's gone too wild, like those unicorns of hers. And they give her too much power. How did you win?"

"She decided she was wrong about Abby," Tristan said, but his breath caught again at another movement of his arm.

"He'll be fine, Abby," Edra promised, seeing Abby's look of worry. "I'll heal some of the injury here, and then we'll take him back to camp and allow the magic to heal him through the rest of the night. What were you two still doing out here?"

"Talking," Tristan replied. "I am going to stand with him during the Summoning tomorrow."

Edra stopped, looked from one to the other, and nodded. "Good."

Abby didn't argue this time. In the depths of his heart, he knew that it was right.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Tristan, do wake up."

Edra's soft voice brought Abby awake with a heart-pounding start as the words merged nightmare and reality. He sat up too quickly, gasping. He found Edra kneeling beside the pillows where he and Tristan slept. He held a rabbit in each hand.

"Tristan?" Edra repeated.

"Wh-at?" Tristan mumbled, and moved only enough to snuggle further into the pillows and blankets.

"I have something for you," Edra said and shook his head, finally giving way to a smile. "I found them on my pillow this morning.” He pushed the rabbits into the blankets.

"Thank you," Tristan answered sleepily as they curled up in the hollow of his arm.

Edra still smiled, and brushed back Tristan's long, curly hair before he stood again. "I'm sorry I woke you, Abby. Go back to sleep. We're not quite ready to break camp yet."

"I would rather not sleep, sire," he said. "It's worse, sometimes, than reality."

Edra nodded and didn't berate him. "Why don't we walk? It's a wonderful morning, and it will be good to watch the dawn."

Abby managed to extricate himself from the blankets and pillows without awakening Tristan. Three squirrels lay curled up at Tristan's feet and another rabbit nearly tripped Abby at the edge of the pillows. Two foxes sat by the door -- guards, Abby thought. Considering the encounter of the night before, he found it comforting.

Somehow, he and Edra made their escape without further entanglements.

"You sleep as little as you eat," Edra said as they walked past tents where elves were only starting to stir.

Abby shrugged, his attention drawn to the dawn colors around him. For the first time he felt the delight of bejeweled dew, musical birdsong, and the laughter of others. Though stiff and aching, Aubreyan felt alive -- and surprisingly happy to be so.

"Is Tristan all right?" Abby asked softly, afraid to find shadows in such a bright and wondrous morning.

"He'll likely be stiff for a day or two, just like you, but he'll be fine.” Edra suddenly frowned and shook his head. "Hettena will explain herself when I next see her."

"She mistrusted me," Abby said. They stopped at the edge of the glade, and Abby tilted his head back to feel the light and warmth on his face. "Can you blame her?"

"She hadn't the right to take this into her own hands. And to hurt Tristan was unworthy of her."

"Because he's blind?" Abby met Edra's surprised look with uncommon courage. "Forgive me, sire, but I think you badly underestimate Tristan for that reason."

"Perhaps you're right," Edra replied. The frown disappeared as he smiled brightly. "Tristan is special, you know. He has a powerful link with nature, and that's why his companions cling so closely to him. His magic is -- different than what most of us use. I know he's not helpless. Nonetheless, Hettena's actions were wrong."

"Sire, she has decided to come to my side at the Summoning," Abby said. He sat with the elf at the edge of the glade, watching the morning unfold around them and wishing the peace would last. "And while I wouldn't presume to tell you how to lead your people, I do need the allies."

"Very true," Edra admitted. "Perhaps it's payment enough that she stands with you."

"Or punishment enough?" Abby dared ask.

"You judge yourself too harshly, Aubreyan," Edra replied. He looked at his companion. "Some of us see you in a fairer light than you realize. And that's what we follow."

Abby avoided the elf’s eyes, running his fingers over the soft green grass. He knew they accepted him as the son of a goddess, even though he couldn't accept himself.

"It's a good morning. We'll gather a few berries for breakfast. Then we'll wake Tristan and get him and his friends fed before we move on."

Abby laughed with agreement and stood to follow Edra. He would not waste this morning, and for once he wouldn't worry about what would come next.

When they reached camp, Tristan stood at the entrance to the tent, shooing rabbits into the day. He stepped aside and bowed to his grandfather with a smile that mixed mischief and embarrassment.

"Sorry, Grandfather," he apologized as Edra stepped over the last rabbit. The little creature made a valiant effort to get behind Tristan again. "They worried after our encounter last night. Go, go!"

"Never mind, Tristan." Edra let the rabbit past and back into the tent. "I guess I should be used to this by now. Let's eat and start on our way. We've a long day ahead of us."

Abby carefully settled on the carpeted center of the tent, laying his berries out before them. Tristan sat more slowly, wincing as he moved his arm. Edra brought cakes and a pitcher and cups from a chest by the wall.

"What will happen, sire?" Abby asked.

"What will happen?" Edra repeated. He handed water-filled cups to both of them. "I called a Summoning. This is the first one in all the ages we've lived here in Ishan. All the leaders of the intelligent creatures will come."

"Do they know why? Ah, they must, since Hettena did," Abby realized. He held the cup unnoticed in his hand.

"I told them in the message who you are and why you're here. I also told them what you are," Edra added, meeting Abby's worried look. "They must know all the truths."

"And so what am I to do if they know everything already?" Abby wondered.

"Being told and believing are completely different, as Hettena demonstrated so well last night," Edra said. He sat opposite them, holding a cup as well, and with as little interest in the contents. "Aubreyan, you must convince them that they, too, are in danger. You must make them believe that the world will fall if you fail. Don't despair. All will go well. I pray the gods will bless --"

"Don't!" Abby warned, startled. Tristan caught his arm. He calmed with a quick breath. "Don't ask anything of the gods, sire. Not with me so close."

"Perhaps you're right," Edra said. "But there is something you need to understand, Abby. Men and elves both sometimes ask little gifts of the gods. If we didn't, then we might more easily fall in among demons. Our strongest tie with the side of light and good is that we believe the gods will help us in our times of need. We worship them, and that is a gift given. We deal with them on an entirely different level than you."

"And do they help you?" Abby asked. "Forgive me, but I really don't know. I can't judge what is right or wrong, in either gods or men."

"You know right from wrong, Abby," Edra said. "You know the difference better than any of the rest of us. That's why you sit in such bitter judgment against the gods."

"All I want is the knowledge to destroy the Kiya. The gods didn't see fit to give me that answer."

"Perhaps they don't know, Abby," Tristan suggested. He did, finally sip from the cup, but gave his berries to the rabbit that had crawled into his lap. "The demons created the staff. Perhaps the answer is outside the gods’ realm of knowledge."

"And you don't know either?" Abby asked as he looked back at Edra. "Is that why you only imprisoned the Kiya Chanda Andee and didn't destroy her?"

"We didn't have the knowledge Abby," he admitted. "Though that hardly mattered, since we didn't have the power, either. And now only two High Elves remain. We haven't even the power to imprison her again."

"Then what can we do?" Abby asked.

"We can give you aid in whatever way is still possible to us," Edra answered, and still sounded assured. "That may not be the answer you want, Abby, but it is the best we can offer."

"I am always grateful for any help," Abby quickly said. He leaned back on his elbow, more interested in the conversation than the food. "When shall we arrive at this Temple of the Mountains?"

"Before noon." Edra looked out the opening of the tent and nodded. "It's time we break camp. You two finish breakfast. Aubreyan, eat more than you feed to the rabbits!"

"Yes, sire." He obediently took a bite of cake as the elf stood over him. He took another when Edra paused in the doorway to look back. However, as soon the Elf King disappeared Abby lowered his hand, the food instantly forgotten.

"Tristan, what happened to the other High Elves?" he asked.

"They went away." He also set aside his cake and made no attempt to stop the rabbit that rushed from the pillows to take it. "They went…beyond Ishan, beyond the world we know."

"Beyond where we can call on them for help?"

"I'm afraid so. Now there are only Edra and Ynyr. I often think Edra has only stayed because Ynyr did. There's no love lost between them."

"You're Edra's grandson, but not a High Elf?"

"No. The High Elves came first to the world. They are the ones who created the barrier between our lands. A new race was born in Ishan, descended of the High Elves but different. We have less magic. We believe the High Elves used so much magic to subdue the Kiya and create the wall that they had less to pass on to the next generation.

”But the race of High Elves had begun to disappear even before they came to Ishan. Some say the war drove them away.” He stopped and frowned, his fingers brushing over the fur of a fox kit that darted into the tent and rested its head on his knee. "My mother was Edra's last daughter, a child by an Ishan Elf. Abby, how my parents died is something you should know. I don't think you realize that Ishan isn't all as bright and fair as where Edra chooses to walk."

"Hettena taught me there are differences, even here."

"There is darkness and evil in Ishan, though far less than in Eltabar. The High Elves tried to keep it out, but somehow a bit still slipped past their wards. Some believe Ynyr brought it with him, since he was so bitter by the time he left Eltabar behind. There are gargoyles near the Satilia, the city where Ynyr still lives. Gargoyles are larger than elves -- and men -- and they kill anything they can catch. They fly and glide down on their prey, so you don't always hear them coming. That's how they took my parents. Even I sometimes wonder if Ynyr didn't send them specifically to destroy something Edra loved."

"I'm sorry," Abby said. He had not expected such a tale from here, and worried about this Ynyr for the first time. "There are gargoyles in Eltabar, too. They came with Tabor. Why are Ynyr and Edra enemies?"

"Ynyr wanted to lay waste to all of Eltabar before the barrier went into place. Not to destroy the men, only to make them suffer. Edra opposed him, and the other High Elves chose Edra's side. It wasn't a hard decision for them, I suppose. They were never evil. However, when the other High Elves left, Edra remained behind to insure Ynyr never had his revenge on men."

"And now... now I am here," Abby said.

"Yes. And it's good that you came to us, since at least here there's some power against the Kiya."

"I don't want to bring ruin here," Abby said. "I don't want disaster to follow me, but it does -- the dark coming closer."

"A choice between this darkness and the Kiya strong and ruling -- I would rather fight the dark than the demon-made staff."

"My father's evil or mine," Abby said.

"Your father set the Kiya free, but I know you didn't create the darkness. Finish your breakfast and then we'll go for a short walk. I need to have a long talk with some rabbits, squirrels and a couple chipmunks." Tristan took a deep breath and looked as though he prepared to face some serious challenge. He grabbed the rabbit about to make a leap for Abby's berries. "I must make sure they don't follow me to the Summoning. I'm afraid no one is going to take you very seriously with my companions begging at your feet. I know. No one takes me very seriously. Come on. I'll need your support in this."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Edra led the elves into an open field of spring-green grass and bright flowers. At the far side of the glade a white stone building rose, stately and looking unnatural in this place where Abby had seen no other permanent buildings, with a frame of snow-capped mountains behind. The tall, white pillars held up a carved-stone roof, shading the dark interior from the bright noon sun. Abby paused, Tristan at his side. He watched the building with a suspicion he couldn't even name.

"Who keeps this temple?" he suddenly asked, holding Tristan back as the others passed.

"No one has that specific duty. Everyone who passes this way contributes as best they can. This is Ishan's only holy site dedicated to the gods."

"It makes me uneasy," Abby said. He raised his hand to shield his eyes against the glare of the sun. "What is it that glows inside the Temple, Tristan?"

"I never knew anything did."

Abby quickly turned to apologize, but Tristan smiled too brightly for Abby to feel any remorse about his thoughtless statement.

Edra waited until they caught up with him.

"All who are coming have arrived," he said. "There is a surprise -- the Sphinx is here. But Mandrix, leader of the giants, didn't travel to the Summoning, which troubles me, though another of the giants is here. Mandrix lives close to the City of Gold and Ynyr, and I wouldn't like to think he has been influenced by that proximity.” Edra looked over his shoulder and shook his head. "No dragon, either, but that's not a surprise. They have always gone their own ways. Come now. It's time."

His hand went to Abby's shoulder and stayed there through the inevitable tensing. Then he stepped aside and nodded toward the far side of the temple.

There a crowd of...creatures waited. Abby instinctively wanted to back away, except Tristan stood behind him and Edra's hand on his shoulder remained as a gentle insistence he remain calm. Even at this distance Abby could see that many of the faces turning toward him were not friendly.

"I know this isn't easy, Aubreyan," Edra said softly beside him. "Face them with the truth, and they'll not judge you harshly."

"Come, Abby." Tristan slipped a hand around Abby's elbow and began to move forward. "Look away, if it's easier for you. I can get us to the stage."

Abby did as Tristan suggested, keeping his head down and his eyes half-closed as he desperately tried to steady his nerves. This reminded him too much of standing before Altazar and awaiting the judgment of a man who never found him worthy.

"I'm with you, Abby," Tristan whispered near his ear. "I won't desert you."

That was difference enough.

They climbed a dozen white marble steps until they stood atop a large slab of bluish marble flecked with gold. The tall white walls of the temple stood sentinel behind them, and Abby shivered at the nearness of this holy house, even though he knew his trouble lay ahead, not behind. He finally took one deep breath and looked up.

Up at such a variety of faces he couldn't take them all in at one glance. Elves, feathered creatures, furred creatures; four-footed, two-footed, winged, small and large--

Abby stepped back despite Tristan's hand on his arm and all the reassurance that implied.

"And this thing is to save the world?" a rough male voice asked with a snarl that raised the hair on Abby's arm.

Something moved out from the midst of the restless crowd. Half-man, half-horse, it kept coming until the bearded face stood over him and glared down with eyes that were too brown and large to be entirely human. Abby again backed away, his heart racing.

"Stay where you are, man.” The four-legged man pranced forward. Those brown eyes glared. "Stay."

Abby froze.

Tristan held out his hand in an empty gesture of peace.

"What have you to say, elf?" the harsh voice demanded.

"Nothing more than you've doubtless heard from others by now, friend centaur.” Tristan smiled, his voice showing no vexation. "Abby is our ally in a battle that comes too quickly."

The centaur moved closer to Tristan, stamping a hoofed leg down beside the elf's foot. Tristan only tilted his head, still smiling.

"Brave, little elf.” The centaur's gaze narrowed. "Brave or crazy."

"Whatever I am, it's not for you to judge me. It is Abby's cause that we are here to discuss, and time is important. Don't play games."

"Don't press me, elf," the centaur said, his hoofed legs beating against the stone slab with sudden impatience. "I will judge this man in my own way."

Tristan bowed his head, but held his place even when the centaur tried to push him away. Maybe that was a test, because he didn't try a second time.

"They say you fear horses," he said when he turned back to Aubreyan. He smiled. "And men, too?"

"And men, too," Abby agreed.

"So, I must be a nightmare to you, eh?” The brown eyes drew even closer. "You fear me, don't you, pale little man?"

"Yes," Abby said. His eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath.

"And you'll save the world, man?" The hands took hold of his shoulders and tightened to a bruising force.

"I'll try," Abby dared to look again.

"Pitiful man."

The centaur tossed him aside, as though he were no more than a bag of cloth. Abby rolled with the fall and came to rest on his side with stamping hooves near his head. Behind him, Aubreyan could hear Tristan moving to help, despite the warning hiss from the centaur.

"Stay back, Tristan," Abby said as he sat up.

A hoof struck him in the chest, though with hardly more than a tap to knock him down.

"Worry for yourself, man," the centaur said.

"If I only worried for myself, I wouldn't be here."

"What is this? Sarcasm from our little hero?"

"No. Only truth.” Abby struggled to his knees. He lifted his head and looked up at the centaur's face, now so far above him. "And you know the rest of my truths. Do you judge me, or what I must do? Are you better suited to stopping the dark? Then do it."

"Spirit at last," the centaur said and grinned. He backed away two steps, allowing Abby to stand. "Still, man --"

"Aubreyan Altazar."

"They say your father was a barbarian."

"Is that worse than just being a man in your eyes? Yes, he was a barbarian in every sense of the word. However, I am only his son in blood. I don't claim him any more than he ever claimed me."

"So, you are your mother's son, godling?"

"No!" He looked back at the temple, standing like another judgment against him. "I am only a man of this world, and I do what I must, centaur. The curse of the gods follows me, and we can't afford to stand here for long. Tell me, friend -- are you afraid of the dark?"

"Yes.” The centaur nodded grimly, and abruptly backed away as the anger disappeared from his face. "The darkness is coming. I will stand beside you, Aubreyan Altazar, and hope that you can stop it."

He turned away again and moved back into the crowd, gone as quickly as he had arrived. Abby watched, amazed at how swiftly the centaur's emotions seemed to change but glad to have that encounter over. He bowed his head for a moment, waiting for the next to demand what they would of him.

"Are you truly a man?" something whispered softly in his ear.

Abby turned slowly and found a dozen small pixies fluttering like butterflies at his shoulder. "Are you a man or are you a god?" one asked, a dark-haired youth with wings of dark blue. His words were so soft that the slight breeze nearly overpowered the sound.

"Neither and both," Abby answered. "I have blood of both, but neither my father nor my mother ever taught me what that meant. I'm only now learning what I am."

"You smiled at the games we played in Edra's tent," another said and laughed.

"Tristan is our friend." The first pixie drifted toward the elf and landed gracefully on his shoulder. "He brings us orphan rabbits to raise as our friends. He never hurts us. If you are Tristan's friend, then we shall call you the same, no matter what your blood. And though we are small, we are not powerless. Go with our peace, Aubreyan and Tristan."

"Thank you." Abby smiled and bowed his head to the group as they scattered back to the crowd. He could even look that way without flinching now.

Hettena stepped forward this time, her golden hair flying wild and her head held high. Two unicorns and three of the great-winged pegasi followed. Abby stayed put, and Tristan came to him and laid a hand on his arm.

"I shall not hurt you, Abby," she said. "I am honestly sorry for what I did last night. And I will keep my word now."

She turned to the others. The horse creatures retreated at a wave of her hand.

"I did evil against Aubreyan and Tristan last night," she admitted. Many faces looked startled at the admission, including Edra. "Abby proved that he is, indeed, an innocent. I take his side, and the pegasi are joining with my unicorns to give him what aid we can. We stand on the edge of destruction, my friends. Even I, who have gone my own way far more than Tristan, can see that we have no choice but to help Abby. None of us could go back into the lands of men and battle the demonling Tabor for the Kiya. Pray be quick in your decisions. I don't want to see what happens if the darkness reaches our barrier."

Whispers circled in the crowd with a new nervous sound. Tristan looked vastly relieved, and that gave Aubreyan enough hope that he took a deep breath. His hand rested against his wounded chest. The cut ached since the centaur had lifted him from the ground.

Then something moved behind the crowd -- something so large that Abby hadn't realized it was alive before now. Stunned by the sheer size, he didn't even back away as the massive, brown-furred head rose above the crowd and turned to him, showing a deceptively human face though the eyes shown golden in the morning light. The crowd parted in soundless awe until the clawed paws reached the edge of the stone where Abby and Tristan stood. He paused there and stared at Abby for a long silent moment.

"Do you know me, man?" it asked. The voice, though soft, shook the ground like thunder in a growing storm.

Abby looked into the golden eyes and shook his head. Those eyes pierced to his soul, but they didn't frighten him. He had nothing to hide.

"I am the Sphinx of Eltabar. For five thousand years I stood before the Ice Mountains and guarded the lands of men against all evils." The golden eyes blinked at last, and the sphinx sighed with the sound of regret. "Then those men who had learned a little magic became so powerful that they no longer cared about right and wrong. I had protected them from barbarians in the north and mercenaries from the southern seas. I had kept evil at bay since the day the High Elves gave me as a gift to keep those men safe. Tell me what you do, Aubreyan Altazar, when that which you guard becomes that which you guard against?"

"We only do what we must," Abby said.

"Ah, then you do know what I mean, don't you?" the voice answered, softer still, distant thunder.

"The world is imperfect," Abby replied. Strangely, he felt no fear this time. "There are evil men, but there is still good in Eltabar."

"I was not made to acknowledge imperfections, so I could no longer serve; and I came, unwillingly but with no choice, to live in Ishan. I can only serve you, Aubreyan, if I am certain. I can aid you, if I know there is no evil in you. I know an answer for which you seek."

At last Abby had the first real sign of hope he had found in his long journey. "What must I do to prove myself?"

The golden eyes blinked again, and the too-human face looked almost hopeful. "Go into the Temple of the Mountains, Aubreyan Altazar. If you are the son of a goddess and if you fight their war, surely they will give us a sign that we may believe and follow. And I think that test will serve us who have come to judge you. This is all we shall ask of you."

He heard the whisper of accord from the others. It seemed a fair test, and one he hoped the gods approved. Abby nodded and turned to face the temple. He hoped his step didn't falter. They wouldn't understand his fear of what he went to confront

CHAPTER NINE

Aubreyan stopped at the entrance to the temple, unaccountably short of breath. Everything had begun to swirl with a mad profusion of colors, and sounds alternated between muted and too sharp. The others were following behind, and he could not stay here long -- but he didn't want to go on.

"Abby?" Edra called to him from very far away.

Abby turned to find him standing surprisingly close. Confused, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the Elf King's arm, trying to make the world real.

"We must go in, Abby," Edra said. He looked worried for the first time since they met. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." That voice couldn't be his. The single word reverberated within the temple, startling even Edra.

"Something is wrong," Tristan whispered. He reached out his hand and clutched Abby's arm, helping him take that final step through the portal and into the temple proper.

A tingle of power rushed over his skin, unwelcome -- but not uncomfortable. The swirling colors didn't fade, but he began to feel his way past the chaos. At the far end of the building stood the altar, a large block of white marble shimmering with an unnatural brightness.

"Why?" he asked, looking at Edra. Speaking had become difficult. "Why does it glow, sire?"

"Glow?" Edra's voice took on a very peculiar tone that reached Abby even in this strange place. "Aubreyan, tell me what you see."

"The altar glows so brightly," Abby whispered. He reached toward that light though still a few steps away. "And the other colors -- they make it so hard to breathe."

"Abby --" Edra began.

But the altar drew him like a fire on a very cold night. Edra stopped, but Tristan held tenaciously to his arm, and Abby at last realized the elf was trying to pull him away.

"Tris-tan?" he asked, still gasping for breath.

"Let me take you out of here," Tristan pleaded, fear in his face.

"Why?" Abby tilted his head, recalling something that seemed...worlds away. "We came to -- to prove…?"

"Come away. There are powers at work here that we don't understand." Tristan’s words came quickly, and his pull on Abby's arm became more insistent. "You're not evil. Whatever else you are is really of no matter, is it?"

"Prove...that I am the son of a goddess?" Abby suddenly yanked free of Tristan's hold. He reached for the altar. "That's why I'm here."

"Come away," Tristan whispered, but even his voice sounded very far away now.

Abby took the last step forward and placed his hands on the warm, bright stone. Carvings wound in a ribbon along the edge, all the faces sculpted to perfection. His fingers drifted over the surface until he found a single carving: A face, beautiful but hard, just as in life. A face of stone. Hers.

"They want to know what I am, Mother."

The stone glowed brighter, until he had to lift his hand and shield his eyes from the glare.

The sound of lace and silk and gold.

"No!" Sanity stabbed through the disorder as he backed away, fighting for breath -- fighting against the swirling, colored madness that had left him so defenseless.

She stood on the altar, a creature of beauty, stone, and coldness. He could see the bright green eyes in her face of marble. Looking up at her drove the last madness from him with a surge of fear.

Tristan put his hand on Abby's shoulder, remaining even when she looked down and everyone else fell silent.

"I don't want you here," Abby said, forcing the words out as he struggled for breath. "I didn't ask for you. You can't trick me again!"

"You stand on holy ground, Aubreyan," she told him, words that drove the colors wild and made the walls move again while he fought for control. "This is my place."

"I asked nothing," he still insisted. Tristan's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"My place," she reiterated and looked slightly annoyed. "In a temple, I may come and go as I please. You feel the power of the gods here, don't you, Aubreyan? But it tears at you, with your human blood. This is where gods come among their people, Abby. Even with no gifts, given or asked. Why do you think temples are holy, child? It is because we are always here, though rarely in corporeal form. This is not easy."

"Then go," Abby insisted, still distrusting her.

"Ah, but you came here to prove yourself." She looked beyond him, and he remembered the others who had followed him into this place. He saw danger in that look. "They dare to doubt you --"

"Stop it!" Anger gave him the power to step toward her. She looked down at him, almost, he imagined, with surprise. "How could they not doubt, when I doubt myself? You have no right to chastise them. You've done nothing to help them."

"I gave you to them."

"And for that they should doubtless be eternally grateful."

"Abby," Tristan whispered, dismay and warning, his fingers tightening to instill a touch of sanity again.

Abby stopped and caught his breath. He looked down at the floor, away from her. This place bred madness in him. He wondered if perhaps it did the same for her, with this power tingling through her. Plainly, no one else felt what he did, and that meant it was because he shared her blood.

"Aubreyan," she said.

He looked up, meeting those wild green eyes. He saw eternal springs there, and life returned, and gifts that came every day to the world without anyone asking. He remembered Gix's blood-red eyes, and the different promises he had seen there. Aubreyan understood the war a little better for looking.

"You are my son, Aubreyan Altazar. That's my answer to these creatures of Ishan. The darkness is only days away from the barrier. The Kiya grows strong again since Tabor took her into the light of the north. Find your answers quickly, my son, or you shall lose this world completely."

"You have the answers to save us," Abby accused. "You could give them to me --"

Her face changed, softened. She knelt, a hand touching his arm. For a moment, all the madness disappeared, and he felt the peace he had not known since the days in their room at Mindeneh.

"Abby, never ask of the gods anything you can do for yourself," she whispered. "You don't want to pay that price again."

With that, she began fading. The touch on his arm lingered, almost until the end, and her bright green eyes watched him as though...she cared.

Then the chaos returned, the sudden onset hitting him like a blow. Tristan caught him around the waist, keeping him from falling. A terrible numbness reached from his legs to his heart, making each breath more difficult.

"Take me out of here," he whispered. He leaned heavily against Tristan, unable to stand on his own. "Take me out. I can't breathe."

Tristan pulled him away from the altar and toward Edra. The Elf King looked at Abby, the confusion and wonder in his face giving way to worry. He lent his aid to get Abby away from the temple.

Abby laid his head on Tristan's shoulder and closed his eyes, afraid to look into the faces of those they passed. He feared what they now believed. He feared the hope they held in him just because he was her son.

CHAPTER TEN

"He's breathing easier now, Tristan," Edra said. To Abby the words sounded very comforting, a reassurance despite how he felt. "He'll be fine."

"Forgive me, Grandfather, but we just did something very stupid.” Tristan's voice trembled. He still sounded frightened.

"None of us have dealt directly with gods or their children," Edra said, his own voice calm, and his gentle hand brushing against Abby's hair, drawing him closer to the world again. "The elves have always believed without proof. The gods went to men, who question everything. However, you are right, Tristan. We were unwise not to consider the risks. I always believed Abby was a godling. I should have considered what holy ground would do to him. Get some warm tea, Tristan. He's awakening."

Abby dared to slowly open his eyes, afraid to find the world still spinning in a confusion of colors and sounds. Luckily, the interior of Edra's tent remained reassuringly steady. The soft light from the doorway came tinted in the colors of sunset. He blinked, his head aching with a ferocity that pounded with every heartbeat, but he even welcomed that after the frightening numbness he had felt in the temple.

"Abby," Edra whispered. He leaned closer, gently laying his hands on Abby's face. The ache eased slightly at the warm whisper of the High Elf's magic. "You're safe now."

"D-Did she go?" he asked, afraid to speak too loudly.

"Gone," Edra assured him. His silver-gray eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked worried. "Aubreyan, I owe you a great apology. I made a serious mistake, and you suffered for it. I'm sorry."

"We all did what was necessary," Abby said. He let Edra help him sit, and when his friend knelt beside him he carefully took the cup from Tristan's hands. "We went to the temple so they could judge me. I assume I passed?"

"Well, they did believe," Edra replied with a wry little smile of his own. "I can't say they were particularly happy about it. Life in Ishan would be much easier if they had proved you false. Now they remember the war, and the evils of men."

"Not all men are evil."

"Nor are all elves good," Edra said. He looked worried again. "Ynyr didn't come today. For some reason, I believed he would. We'll have trouble from him."

"What can he do?" Abby asked. He sipped, grateful for the warmth and sweetness. He felt very cold and empty.

"He can stop me from lowering the barrier. We equal each other in power."

"She said the darkness was only days away, didn't she?" Abby asked. He shook his head, but that did no good. "Everything is jumbled in my head."

"That's what she said," Tristan agreed. "What can we do?"

"I don't know." Abby frowned. Then another thought drifted toward the top of his mind. "What did the sphinx decide?"

"That all the world is a paradox of inconsistencies and riddles." Edra smiled at his answer. "He is reevaluating all his views. Before he left for his mountain cave, he said your aid is in Satilia, the City of Gold where the other High Elves dwelt before they left this world. She's called Janin."

"Janin? Who's that?"

"I don't know," Edra said, "and that makes me uneasy, since I thought I knew all the beings of power in Ishan."

"He didn't say she was called Janin, Grandfather," Tristan suddenly corrected. "He said she was called the Janin. Perhaps it's some instrument of power."

"That would explain why I don't know her." Edra smiled and ruffled his grandson's hair. "Unused magic items leave no trace in a land filled with other magic. It's lucky you listen so well, Tristan. There's still a problem, though. Whatever the Janin is, she's in Satilia and that's Ynyr's domain."

"Then I go to him. And quickly." Abby swung his feet over the side of the pillows, then shook his head, feeling very lost again. "Where is this city?"

"The heart of Ishan," Tristan replied. "About three days' journey to the west."

"Still west." Abby nodded with a bit of a smile. "So far Starwind has remained true to her word."

"You can't mean to leave right now!" Tristan protested as he effortlessly held Abby down.

"I must go to Ynyr, Tristan. The darkness is coming, and men rush on before it. They might already stand outside the barrier. If the barrier comes down, you know it will mean men will enter Ishan, sire."

"I've already reconciled myself to that fact," Edra said. "Still, Tristan's right again, Abby. You're not ready to make the journey required to reach Ynyr. I doubt you could walk unaided from here to the tent entrance."

"Oh, I think I might surprise you." Abby actually did smile this time. "I've done much more under far worse conditions."

"I don't want you to suffer for us," Edra said. "And I am the one who should go to Ynyr --"

"But you are Ynyr's enemy." Abby reminded him. "He might listen to me, if I go alone."

"Ynyr shields his city. I can't even use magic to get you inside. And I fear to transport you close. He knows the feel of my magic, and there's no telling what his reaction might be."

"I've come a long ways on foot," Abby said. "I can go farther still."

"We can't leave yet, Abby." Tristan suddenly stood, giving his tunic a nervous little brush of his fingers. "There's something I think we must attempt first."

"We? We?” Abby echoed, looking up at him. "You can't think you're going to travel with me."

"You'll need me," Tristan replied with absolute certainty. "And I won't be left behind. There's nothing you can do to make me stay."

"Tristan, it's too dangerous --"

"And isn't it less dangerous for two of us?" Tristan asked, cutting Abby’s protests short with a waved hand. "Besides, there's something else I want to try first -- and it's far more dangerous than going against Ynyr -- but if we succeed, it will give you knowledge and help that I think you truly need. Grandfather, I want the crowns."

Abby glanced from Tristan to Edra, hoping for an explanation. The Elf King looked from Abby to Tristan, and then back again, as though weighing them both in an entirely new aspect.

"Tristan, there's so much that could go wrong. I don't know what benefits you might gain, even if it did succeed."

Tristan's hand unerringly went to Abby's shoulder. Reassurance, though Abby had no idea what Tristan had proposed. He kept silent, though, because his elf friend deserved the right to be heard.

"I can help him, Grandfather," Tristan said and his fingers tightened on Abby's shoulder. "Forgive me, Abby, but you hardly know enough about the world to save yourself, let alone the rest of us. I can guide you. There are dangers in Ishan you wouldn't even recognize, and I can also give you strength when you need it."

"That's true." Edra nodded agreement, but Abby could still see other doubts in his eyes. "However, such a link between elf and man might be impossible."

"Link?" Abby dared at last ask. Both looked at him with embarrassment, obviously realizing he had no idea what they were discussing.

"During the Elf-Man wars, the elves created two magic crowns. When worn, they link the two who wear them mind-to-mind," Edra explained. "Using the crowns was far easier than creating a spell each time someone needed to communicate between our two main camps. Also, the contact was continual without expending personal power. However, their use carries a different price, Abby. Union within the crowns leaves no secrets. The wearers become closer than brothers -- as close to being one mind as is possible."

"They've not been used since the elves came to Ishan," Tristan added. "One of the two elves wearing a crown died in battle. The other died instantly, though he was far across the mountains."

"No," Abby said, his mind instantly decided. "It's too dangerous. I won't risk you needlessly."

"The risk is mine to take," Tristan replied without any hesitation. "And the need is worth the risk. We aren't just discussing you and me, Aubreyan. We are talking about whether your cause is to survive."

"He's right, Abby," Edra said, the reluctance in his face already edging to acceptance.

"How can it help?" Abby said.

"Tristan has pointed out one important fact. You don't know enough about the world. You've survived so far, but even you must realize that's been more luck than ability. We couldn't even begin to teach you all you need to know to safely pass through Ishan."

"I don't want to put Tristan in danger," Abby said and raised a hand, quieting Tristan's start of a protest. "However, I admit that I feel inadequate. I shall do what you think wise, sire. I have to accept what aid I can if I am to win."

"Good.” He sounded relieved, a strange change of emotion from a few moments before. He stood and brushed at his silken clothing, a nervous little gesture that was unlike Edra. "Drink your tea, Abby. Try to relax. Tristan, stay here and find him something to eat. You'll both need your strength."

Edra paused at the tent opening, but he said nothing more before he left. Abby couldn't name all the emotions he saw in the High Elf's face in that last moment, except that they mingled hope and fear.

"Tristan, I don't know if we should really do this," Abby said. He stood and swayed slightly, but stayed to his feet. "I can make it. I have so far. I'm stronger than you think."

"I know your strength." Tristan stood and crossed to the magic cabinet where Edra kept food. A squirrel that had been sitting morosely atop it suddenly showed more interest, and Tristan left him a treat before he came back. "However, this is Ishan, Abby. There are many, many dangers, especially for a man who isn't particularly wanted here. Not everyone came to the Summoning. Some could not -- the water nymphs, the dryads, and the others who remain bound to their places of power. Some of them may well take an exception to having a human -- even a half-human -- walking the land. The war we fought ended bitterly, Abby, and magical creatures have very long memories.

"And Ynyr can send magic against you. Can you feel magic coming? I can. By the time I called out a warning it might very well be too late for both of us. The crowns will give us an edge against the world, Aubreyan."

"Have you even considered what it might be like, tied to me, with all my fears, and all my dark memories? I've not led a pleasant life. And I wear the brand of a demon. He calls me when I sleep."

"I know. I sit with you at night and try to ease the nightmares. You can't frighten me away. I'm not afraid of you. Eat this."

Tristan held out pieces of an apple. Aubreyan took them and ate, though his mind still sought new arguments. He had found none by the time Edra returned carrying a small a silver chest in his hands. Other elves followed, their faces showing a mixture of emotions.

Edra knelt and placed the chest beside the pillows where Abby and Tristan had been sitting while they ate. He carefully lifted the lid.

Within the box, two gold circlets rested on a bed of pure white silk. The golden bands were hardly wider than a blade of grass, and each held a single, identical green stone no larger than Abby's thumbnail. They looked delicate, not dangerous.

"They've remained unworn since we settled in Ishan," Edra said. He gently laid a single finger on one, his eyes closed. "Yes, they're empty now. Chason and Brier are gone."

Abby realized that Edra must have known those two elves, dead so long ago. He watched as Edra drew his hand back. There were doubts in the Elf King's eyes again, but he shook his head as though to disperse them.

"Get as comfortable as you can," Edra said. "We'll hold on to you. I'm uncertain how the initial contact will go. You must feel your way through the first merging."

Abby settled closer to Tristan. His friend sighed with relief as he realized Abby had no more intentions of arguing. One elf settled behind Tristan, but Edra himself sat behind Abby and braced his shoulders. He was grateful, certain he couldn't bear the touch of a stranger at a time like this.

Edra whispered softly and moved one hand. As Abby watched, the crowns rose from the case. They moved apart to hover over Abby and Tristan's heads. Abby took a deep breath, preparing himself -- though he still didn't know what to expect.

"Remember yourselves," Edra whispered at his ear. "Remember."

The crown settled down over Abby's hair. The green stone felt unexpectedly warm above his eyes.

And the world went dark.

PART FIVE: TRISTAN

CHAPTER ONE

Remember, remember, remember...

Darkness. Soft sensations and pleasant sounds. The world felt alive around him, growing and warm beneath his fingers. He didn't know there should be more...

A single room was his entire world. His mother taught him about life outside. She stood before him -- so beautiful, so knowing -- but even then she felt distant. He didn't know people should be different.

The feel of someone warm and friendly beside him, holding him and laughing. Even then, the rabbits came with their soft fur and cold noses. He played in the warmth of the sunshine while others whispered around him.

Blind...

The armies returned, and he watched through the dust obscuring the individuals in the mass, saw horses at a distance, not knowing -- then -- that he should fear them. The army had not won. That very night he met his father for the first time. He knew he must never surrender to the barbarian.

Years passing. Dreary, long, fearful, tortured.

Never hope...

Never freedom...

They hovered around him, protecting him from what he only wanted to feel and know. Sometimes he slipped away and proved that he wasn't helpless. The other elves always came hunting for him, afraid of what might happen to the poor blind elf.

Never a name. Bastard....

He was with his parents, collecting herbs for the spring feast. He heard the gargoyles as they swept down. Turning to fight, his hands raised to spell cast. His father gave a cry of fear and pushed him down, sacrificing himself. His mother hadn't the power to fight all the creatures.

His parents died together, but he survived because he wasn't weak. And he lived with the knowledge that they died because they didn't trust him to help.

They were gone, and would never know...

Tabor arrived, a strange man, with the demon blood in his veins and Altazar dead at his feet.

Leaving the others. Edra, who understood and didn't pursue him, willingly letting him go into the woods where no one whispered around him.

Pain -- but Abby knew pain couldn't break him. They took him to the Cloud Tower where others hovered, silent and frightened before the new ruler in Eltabar. Tabor waited.

And called to something far worse. Something almost human--

Look away!

He didn't fear death, but he did fear to go forever to the demon. The thought repelled him far more than any torture Altazar ever imagined. Unexpectedly, he found a whisper of hope from his days with his mother. He grabbed it and called out to the gods, never expecting help.

The darkness came. For a moment, in that unnatural dark, he held the staff -- and threw her away again, appalled and sickened by her evil. Lay down, and just wanted to die.

And the goddess came...

The world felt wide around him, stretching out beyond his touch. Peace came at last, and he made his place in the warmth of the sun...

A long journey to Bridigen. Marveling at the kindness of those who had no reason to trust him. Carrick, Petra, Indale. Another journey while others watched over him. They didn't know that the demon came in his dreams. Sanwind, tall, white and beautiful...

Beautiful? Colors? Are these colors?

Acceptance with Carrick and Petra. Peace for the time he spent in Sanwind -- too short a time, but needed. Then traveling through the dark green forest, climbing the tall mountains, until at last he stood before the barrier, knowing he couldn't go back to the dark. He -- went through the light and sound. He found magic.

Ishan, Edra, Tristan.

Tristan?

Darkness and the feel of the band around his head, the stone warm where it rested on his forehead. Hands still held him, the elves silent around them.

Light and dark, light and dark. I am Tristan -- Aubreyan?

Dark, light, dark. Lost...

Remember...

Aubreyan?

He slowly opened his eyes. The room spun with unfamiliar colors that made his heart beat too fast. The darkness that swept in chilled him. Edra held him, quiet and tense.

"Tristan?" Abby whispered.

Here.

He felt a reply within, an impression more than a word. Here, a part of you.

Abby gradually became aware of other feelings drifting through his mind. He felt the shadows of his emotions mix with the elf's thoughts. The emotions, though named the same, all held subtle differences. There were other fears and pains and loves that swept up within him, the essence of Tristan within his mind.

"Aubreyan, speak to me," Edra said, moving to hold him with one arm. The Elf King gently placed his fingers beneath Abby's chin and lifted his head till Aubreyan looked only into those silver eyes. "Speak to me."

"I --" Aubreyan began -- but was that Tristan's voice that spoke the word?

I?

Who?

Darkness threatened to overpower him. He fought it back as he always had. He would never go willingly into the dark.

I am not afraid of the dark.

Was he really Aubreyan?

His vision cleared of the darkness again. Edra still held him, the High Elf's face pale. Abby shivered slightly and brushed his hand against his own chest.

Reassurance. Aubreyan. The bandages were in place, his chest ached slightly. He still looked down to be certain of his hand and his body. Self. I am Aubreyan.

He took a deeper breath and dared at last to look across at Tristan.

"Is that how you see me?" Tristan asked softly. His dark eyes remained closed. Tristan tilted his head as he watched through Abby's eyes and saw the world for the first time. His hand lifted, and a little whisper of magic slipped through the space between them. Abby knew what Tristan did, although he couldn't tell how the elf created the magic. Tristan instinctively used that ability to feel the world. In this impression, Abby felt what Tristan recognized as Aubreyan.

They sighed with relief as they sorted out each other's essence. Abby closed his eyes and relaxed. This time to a different darkness, a place welcome and safe. No demon could reach beyond Tristan's guard.

"Abby?" Edra asked softly.

"We're safe, sire," he said. "I am here, and Tristan is there now. The link touches, but doesn't merge."

"Good," Edra said. He pulled Abby back down to the pillows, making him comfortable. "I feared Tristan's inherent magic might prove too powerful for you. Now sleep for a while. You're both exhausted."

"Yes," Abby agreed. He willingly slipped further into the darkness. "Yes, we are tired..."

CHAPTER TWO

Abby slowly opened his eyes, only barely aware of Tristan's peaceful, gentle touch that calmed and eased him as he came awake.

"I learned to pull back," Tristan said. "You knew how to do that instinctively."

"I always pull away from people," Abby said. He rolled over and slowly sat up, gently rubbing fingers against the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension and ache.

"Abby, you don't always hurt like that, do you?” A hint of worry and resolution drifted his way.

"No, not always.” He smiled, amused by the feeling of relief that surged over Tristan's control.

"Sorry," Tristan said. However, Abby's amusement overcame the elf's embarrassment. Curiosity took its place. "I can see what you see, and feel, and hear -- and think what you think. At least it's all distant now, separate."

Abby nodded, remembering the overlying lives and emotions when he first felt the crown on his head. "We are a great deal alike. This link would have been difficult --"

"Impossible," Tristan cut in.

" -- if we had been too different. I can even feel your magic, though I don't understand it."

"And there’s something in you I can feel and don't understand either. I can't tell if that's because you're a man -- or because you aren't -- quite."

Abby shrugged and put a hand on Tristan's shoulder as he started to stand. Everything overlapped again with an intensity that drove them apart with a gasp.

"Physical contact strengthens the link." Tristan deduced. His voice shook with the aftermath of the emotions. "That's something important to know."

Abby only nodded, still trying to clear his head of Tristan's thoughts. Ylant was a far different place to his friend.

"We slept the entire night." Abby at last looked out to the green field beyond the tent opening. "Time we go, Tristan -- if you're still coming with me."

"Of course, I am." Tristan began gathering a little pack of food and blankets together. "I made my choice before I put the crown on. I’ve certainly found no reason to change my mind since. Someone -- Edra's coming. Grandfather's coming."

Edra looked uncertain as he came through the opening of the tent. He also looked as though he hadn't slept much.

"Getting ready to leave, I see. It is time, I suppose. I wish you luck."

"Thank you, sire." Abby bowed his head. "Thank you for everything."

"I'm pleased to see you taking to this so well," Edra said, looking from one to the other. "Do you know, when I look into your eyes now, Abby, I don't see so much fear. Before this I didn't know how I could prepare you to meet Ynyr. And I am afraid to leave here and go with you because he hates me, and I would be of no good use under those circumstances. And if the barrier comes down, I should be here, to deal with the humans."

"You're very wise, sire," Abby said. He silently marveled that his own feelings of mistrust toward humans were so well mirrored in Tristan's thoughts.

Or were their feelings only merged -- The elf's distrust of the unknown and Abby's terror of what he knew too well.

"I assume you two are in contact?" Edra asked.

Abby blinked, his eyes focusing on Edra with surprise -- and a new worry.

"We'll learn to be careful," Tristan decided. It's still so new, sire. Grandfather."

"Are you certain you're ready to go?" Edra asked. Then he shook his head before either could protest. "I know, you have to leave whether you are ready or not. The sun's only an hour up, and I think you'll have a nice day for the journey. Tristan, just remember this: Ynyr is a High Elf, and your magic is no match for his. Mine could only equal his, and I could not overcome him, either. You must not rely upon magical power to deal with him. Now, go, go!"

Tristan grabbed up the supplies and started out behind Abby, though he paused to embrace his grandfather -- a strange sensation to share, for Abby rarely sought the touch of others.

Tristan silently pulled away from Edra and followed Abby out into the daylight. Though his friend appeared calm, Abby could sense the swirl of emotions just behind the almost transparent shield that separated their two minds. Tristan's thoughts were not that much different from Abby's. Tristan also wanted to end the darkness and save his friends.

A new wash of feelings overcame Abby. The smell of the grass and the feel of the sun were Tristan’s; the vast view and the profusion of colors came from Abby. For one, brief moment, the full awareness mingled into an overpowering sense of life. Abby stumbled and Tristan gasped, swaying slightly. Then they pulled back from the sharing and nodded in unison.

"Be careful," Edra admonished behind them. They looked back again. "I know this is still new to you, and you'll get used to the link eventually. We can hope Ynyr won't move too quickly if he learns you are going to him. It's even possible he doesn't know or care what happened at the temple. I doubt he'll believe Abby is what he claims."

"Or cares what happens to Eltabar and the men," Tristan added.

"Exactly. Safe journey, children. May the gods --” Aubreyan and Tristan both looked up with a start. Edra stopped in mid-sentence. "Well, I hope you remain safe, anyway."

"Thank you," Abby replied. With Tristan at his side, he turned west and started away from the tents.

Still west.

Tristan matched step to Abby's slight limp without even considering the action. They started out slowly, knowing neither was ready to rush headlong into danger, silently agreeing to caution while they tested the bond between them and got used to the feelings.

Abby found himself automatically reciting the names of colors that came into view, though Tristan hadn't actually asked to be taught. Abby just felt the his yearning for the words that went with the images. And he learned as much himself. Tristan taught him about flowers and edible plants the elf identified just by scent.

When a single rabbit and two squirrels stopped in the trail before them, Abby felt a sudden surge of unbounded joy that staggered him.

"These are my friends?" Tristan laughed. He knelt, and the little creatures instantly drew closer to their elf. "Look at these ears! And the color of their fur! Oh, Abby, they're wonderful!"

And if only for this moment, Abby was glad to be linked to his friend. He alone gave Tristan this joy.

Tristan took the time to convince his usual companions that they must not follow this time. They showed reluctance to obey. Abby understood the stamping foot of the rabbit and the quick, nervous chattering of the squirrels. They wanted to stay with Tristan. When the little creatures scurried back into the brush, though, Abby knew the order to stay away would spread quickly throughout the woods.

They traveled for several hours without speaking, sharing far more than speech could ever convey. Abby had never realized how little he knew until he touched Tristan's world.

"You were never given a chance to learn, Abby," Tristan spoke aloud, startling him.

He had begun to take the link for granted already and hadn't really thought about Tristan knowing his thoughts. Tristan was just there, a whisper of other words in his mind.

"Sorry," Tristan said.

"No, it's all right," Abby said. "Everything just seems too natural. You feel so much a part of me already that I forgot I'm even sharing your thoughts. Are you hungry? I think you're hungry."

Tristan reached into his pack and tossed a honeyed cake. Abby caught it without realizing he was moving.

Now there was something really useful.

"You're hungry, too, Abby. You don't even know what the feeling means, do you? Abby, Abby, how did you ever get this far?"

"The gods know." Abby grinned when he felt/saw Tristan's surprise. So, they could do something unexpected still. "Though, then again, maybe the gods don't know."

"I never thought you had a sense of humor," Tristan said.

Abby suddenly laughed. "Tristan, for the first time, I actually think I might have a chance. It's wondrous to feel hope. And that's yours, too. Thank you."

CHAPTER THREE

At sunset they found a place to rest beside a small pool of water. There, the boughs of an old oak leaned close to the ground, as though to offer protection from the coming dark. Abby couldn't decide who first felt as though trouble lurked close by. Tristan thought the danger might only be a residue of some magic spent here in the past, since it hadn't the feel an immediate, tangible danger.

"We should try a few minutes without the crowns," Abby finally suggested. Both disliked the idea, but Abby continued speaking despite the inner turmoil. "This can't be safe, becoming so dependent and attached to one another."

"Maybe you're right," Tristan said.

He lifted his hand and they felt life around them. A cool breeze brushed against his palm, and the ebbing warmth of the setting sun tingled along his fingertips. By those indications, and the sounds of the forest, Tristan could judge nearness of the darker night. He found Abby's quick confirming glance at the declining sun almost amusing.

"There's no active magic nearby," he said, gut his mind lingered on the feel of something...not active, but nearby. "We're still safe enough."

Abby nodded and laid his fingers on the band around his head. Tristan braced himself both physically and mentally. As Abby gently pushed the crown upward the lines of connection eased and loneliness swept over him. How could a few hours with this elf make such a difference to someone who had spent his entire life alone? With a final, determined shove, Aubreyan lifted the crown free.

The shock stunned him as a fiery lance of pain passed through his body. The crown slipped from insensate fingers and rolled across the grass toward the pond, coming to rest on the muddy edge.

"Tristan?" He whispered the name aloud as his mind uselessly searched for something no longer there.

"Pick the crown up, Abby," Tristan answered. His voice echoed Abby's own pain, but in a distant, disconnected way. "Please, pick it back up. This isn't right."

"How could we become so entwined in so short a time?" Abby asked. Panic pushed away the pain. He'd been good at that for most of his life. "I never meant for you to become so much a part of me and my problems --"

"It was always my choice!" Tristan laid his head back against the tree, eyes closed, pain etched into his pale skin. "The sharing isn't entirely one-sided. You are giving me gifts in return. Abby, I could live like this, without the crown, but why should either of us suffer? Please, put it back on!"

"Just a moment more," Abby said. He stood and stumbled toward the pond where the glittering gift waited. "I want to know if this is easier to bear the longer we're apart."

"Wonderful." Tristan sighed. "Now you've taken to torturing yourself."

That wasn't a joke anyone else would have dared say to him. Maybe it would get easier the longer they were apart, but he couldn't imagine continuing without the link to Tristan. Looking around, Abby realized he was quite lost. Tristan made him part of the world, and he wanted that back again. He wanted to feel as though he belonged here.

He knelt by the pond, dipping his hands to gather the cool water for a sip.

Gold and green strands of hair and pool-blue eyes: A face staring back at him as though in reflection. Startled, Abby pulled his hand back.

A thin, white arm reached out of the water and caught his wrist, giving it a sudden yank. He tumbled down into the water, pulled back, got his head above the water --

"Abby!” Tristan ran straight into the water. "Abby! Where are you! There's magic --"

Abby barely had time to fill his lungs with air before the creature pulled him fully under. The grasp remained inhumanly tight and his physical protests ineffectual against the resistance of the water. He looked upward through the rippled surface and saw Tristan reaching out -- but the elf was blind and Abby wore no crown to lead his friend down to him.

Downward. Abby fought more frantically. He slipped free once, but she grabbed him by the leg, her clawed fingers biting like teeth into the muscle. With a sudden death-defying humor, Abby wondered if he would ever be rid of that limp. He stopped fighting, his head pounding, the need to breathe overcoming nearly everything else. Abby knew he would die here -- odd to feel that detached. Sorry he had failed everyone. Hoped Tristan was wise enough not to come after him. Glad he would not take Tristan with him, the crowns not linking them...

Relaxing did the trick. She must have thought him unconscious and her deadly grip loosened. He yanked free in that brief moment, kicked at the sinewy, greenish woman, and surged upward.

So far to go! He feared his head would burst. The world went gray around him, and he nearly lost the light above.

As he broke the surface, Abby gasped, inhaling as much water as air, before he slipped beneath the surface again. He tried to reach for the air once more, uncertain of the direction now that everything churned around him.

Someone caught tight hold of his arm. He fought until his head came free of the water and he could hear distant words shouted above the ringing in his ears.

"Abby! It's me! Don't fight!"

Tristan, of course. He let the elf drag him to the shore and back to the oak, where he alternately gasped, coughed, and trembled. He hadn't the strength left to do all three at the same time.

"Water nymph," Tristan explained. He caught Abby under the shoulders and lifted. "That explains the feel of magic and danger around this place. She must wait for prey to come and drink in her pond. We better go. She'll be angry, and I don't think I want to get into a magical battle and draw who-knows-what else down on us."

"The crown --"

"I have it," Tristan said. "You can put it back on when we're away. We don't dare risk getting caught off-guard now."

"Let's go," Abby agreed. He looked back at the dark blue pool and shivered again.

"I wanted to follow you, Abby. I couldn't find you in the water, with her magic so strong."

"You are not required to drown with me," Abby replied, still gasping.

That won a quick grin from his friend. And Abby felt better for seeing it -- but he wanted more. He wanted the crown back on.

"Can you walk?" Tristan asked.

"Tristan, right now I could run."

Tristan put his arm around Abby's waist and began to lead him into the forest. Night took command as the last of the sun slipped away. Tristan had no trouble following the trail in the dark, and Abby stumbled along with him, trusting his friend to get them away from the danger.

He didn't know how far they went. After the first dozen steps he moved only because Tristan did. He wanted to rest. He wanted to lie down and sleep.

Tristan suddenly stopped and looked back. Abby didn't care why, grateful just to rest for a moment.

"Magic," Tristan suddenly warned. He stood his ground, one hand raised. "It's weak, though. She can't reach us here."

"Then we can stop?" Abby asked hopefully.

"Yes."

Abby leaned back against the nearest tree and tried to catch his breath. Somewhere behind them a sudden glare brightened the night and died away again.

"My, she is angry," Tristan said, amused now. "Water nymph, all right. I should have considered the possibility when we reached the pond. I'm sorry."

"We'll just be more careful next time."

"We can rest here for the night, if you like," Tristan offered.

"Good." He slid down to the damp, leaf-strewn ground, his back still to the tree. The night sounds grew more natural now that he and Tristan weren't rushing through, unsettling everything.

"Abby, I want you to listen to me," Tristan said as he sat on the ground. Abby turned to his friend, no more than a shadow nearly lost in the darkness. "I want you to put the crown back on, and we will never remove them again. I could have helped you if I had just known where you went. I prefer the risk of our tie far more than being apart and unable to help you when you need me most."

"You're right. That's a mistake we won't make again."

"Good." Tristan drew out the crown from his tunic and gently slipped it back over Abby's forehead.

Together.

The transition came that easily this time. They knew the feel of each other's minds and the boundaries that defined Tristan and Aubreyan as individuals.

"Abby! You've hurt your you're leg -- I didn't notice that you were limping worse again."

"She wouldn't let go -- " Abby began, and shuddered at the thought of her claws, of being pulled down and down...

Tristan silently calmed and consoled him. The elf's magic felt warm and comforting, and he drifted toward sleep, knowing his friend protected him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Over the next two days they traveled in nerve-wracking peace. Tristan suspected those still uncertain about Abby only awaited the outcome of their meeting with Ynyr, but he couldn't be certain they weren't laying traps instead. Only an occasional pixie came near, as well as a few of the mundane creatures of the land.

Then, in the early afternoon of the third day, Tristan sensed a change in the terrain. Abby couldn't decipher the meaning of Tristan's feelings, but feared the alteration came because they neared the Satilia and Ynyr.

At noon they topped a small hill, and on the far side they found the land filled with twisted and dwarfed trees, many lying in rotting piles. No sound of birds or other life came from that blighted stretch of land. Things moved, but they stayed in the darkness and ran from the light.

"What happened here?" Abby wondered aloud. Tristan's mind was almost blank with shock and dismay.

"I don't know. It's not right -- we should have known about something like this back in the forests. Despite how it looks, I think it must be very new. I don't see a way around it. I fear we'll have to walk through."

Abby agreed in silence and they started down the hillside, slowing as they neared the edge of the devastation. The rotting stench nearly made Tristan choke, but he regained control of himself and silently nodded. Abby welcomed Tristan's hand on his arm, strengthening the bond between them. They moved together, so close in body and soul that even their hearts beat in unison.

The brown, dead land lay thick with fetid, dank air, making them both feel ill. They didn't turn back. The shadows moved at the corner of Abby's sight, startling him and making Tristan uneasy. He could not really sense anything out there through the miasma of destruction, but the creatures appeared to be stalking them. Abby stopped his friend from expending any magic to learn more. Though this place felt unpleasant, they hadn't faced any real danger yet, and it was best to keep the magic for that eventuality.

Abby felt a rush of relief when he spotted a hint of green and Tristan sensed something purer ahead. When they finally broke from the brown and into a grassy glade, Tristan lowered his head, gasping for clean air. The elves lived close to the land and nature, and everything they touched, touched them in return. That walk had been terrible for his friend. Even linked, he hadn't realized the enormity of the problem.

"Tristan?" Abby whispered. He gently pulled his arm free and took hold of the elf by both shoulders, holding him up so Tristan could breathe easier. "Are you all right?"

"Will be, " he said with more conviction than power. The words reassured Abby, and both could both feel the queasiness receding. Tristan lifted his hand back toward the brown, blighted land and shook his head, worry overcoming illness again.

"Something is wrong here. This can't be very old or Edra, at least, would have noticed by now. This struck very quickly."

"Tristan, is that a castle?" Abby asked, looking toward another inconsistency ahead in the landscape.

"Castle?" Tristan repeated. He closed his eyes, and then shrugged. "Maybe. I've never seen one before, except in your thoughts. Mandrix lives somewhere near here, I think. It would suit he and Esowan to have something so large for their abode."

"Mandrix?"

"A giant," Tristan replied. He relayed an impression of size based on sound and the feel of hands that dwarfed his own. "I met him and his wife Esowan many years ago when they came to visit Edra. They used to come every few years, just to see how life went elsewhere in Ishan. I'm surprised they weren’t at the Summoning."

"I remember Edra feared he might be influenced by Ynyr."

"I couldn't believe that of Mandrix. Giants don't use magic in the same way as elves, and because of that Ynyr always treated them as more closely akin to man. They never got along well, even though Mandrix lives close to Satilia. Let's seek shelter there tonight, Abby. I don't like what's going on out here. And I've heard rumors there are gargoyles in this area."

"I'll go wherever you think best, Tristan."

They heard something. Both turned back toward the brown of the dying woods. The shadows moved, and Tristan began to back away, Abby only half a step slower.

A mangy, dark wolf stepped free of the shadows. Brown-red eyes glared at them, and the mouth opened to show a row of yellow teeth. The animal didn't come closer. Tristan's hand lifted, but he refrained from spell-casting as the wolf slipped back into the shadows again.

"Let's get to your Mandrix," Abby said. He needed nothing more to convince him of the necessity of shelter for the night.

"There aren't many wolves in Ishan," Tristan said as they turned away from the ruined spot of land, though Abby often looked back. "They have a place in the mountains, living according to their own ways. They are not the evil creatures -- but nonetheless, I don't like to find them here in this blighted place."

Tristan used his magic to guide them closer to the castle while Abby watched for enemies. Before they'd gone more than fifty paces, another wolf came from the shadows. Others soon appeared, heads low and their growls clear in the silent day. They followed, though not in any hurry to catch up. The half-dozen that finally comprised the pack stayed far back, as though satisfied that they were all heading in the same direction.

By the time Abby and Tristan reached the huge gray-stone edifice of Mandrix and Esowan the sun had started to set, bringing new shadows all around. The wolves began to show signs of restlessness, closing in to within yards. A couple dared to come a few steps closer before they darted away again.

The huge castle gate remained closed, even after Tristan rang the bell. The two stood uneasily in the lessening light of day and watched while the wolves slinked closer, circling, growling, and nipping at each other. Abby felt, though he could not think why, as though the wolves knew he and Tristan wouldn't get inside.

"Oh, we'll get in." Tristan spoke suddenly at Abby's thought. He turned back to the gate and laid his hands on the wood.

The wolves inched closer, growls growing louder with every step. Abby kept his back to Tristan, aware of the magic powers the elf called upon though he still couldn't touch such powers himself. Abby could feel, but not quite comprehend --

The wood began to crack beneath Tristan's hands. The sound drew a sharper growl from the front four wolves. Abby became suddenly very aware of his inability to guard the two of them with no weapon and no magic. Tristan must have caught part of that worry. He pushed more power into his attack on the door, as though Abby's panic gave him strength. The wood suddenly splintered beneath his hands, leaving an opening just large enough for him to squeeze through. He grabbed Abby and pulled him in as well. The first wolf made a dash, barely missing Abby's ankle.

"I haven't the magic left to repair the door," Tristan warned. He kept pulling Abby through a large, littered courtyard. "I haven't much magic left at all. Mandrix had warded the door, and it took almost everything to break through. We must find cover!"

The wolves had already begun sniffing at the edge of the shattered entry. Abby located only two ways out of the high-walled, windowless court – a gate and a flight of stairs. Tristan raised a hand toward the gate and shook his head, finding it also warded. That left only the long set of high, broad stairs heading into a tower. Abby pulled Tristan in that direction as the first wolf dared step into the castle. Others followed, one at a time, cautious and anxious.

The stairs were not made for elf or man-length legs, and they had to take them in small leaps, which quickly sent sharp pains through Abby's injured leg. They slowed midway at a turn and he looked back down. The first wolf stood at the bottom of the stairs; the rest wouldn't be far behind.

They started back up again and breathless, reached the top of the stairs, where a short corridor to the right led toward the inner castle. Aubreyan pushed Tristan on ahead of him. He had hoped for a door here that they could close and block, but found nothing to hold back the pack. He followed Tristan to the end of the corridor and out into a high, open tower.

Panic.

Fear froze Abby where he stood, the terror so powerful that Tristan yanked himself free of Abby's hand with a cry of dismay.

"Abby!" The elf tried to assert his own calm over Abby's sudden nightmare. "Abby!"

Visions of a sacrifice surfaced though the blinding terror: a golden sword, an inhuman demon, and the Kiya Chanda Andee.

A high tower.

"Not here, Abby!" Tristan caught Abby's, arms using his own mind to fight away the terror. "That is not here and now! We have other problems!"

Some understanding reached Abby through the redoubled panic of their physical contact. A wolf growled from the upper edge of the stairwell, just at the end of the corridor.

"Unless you feel up to taking on a half-dozen wolves with your bare hands, you had better come with me," Tristan insisted. He kept his fingers tight around Abby's arm, still fighting to impose his calm on Abby's unsettled mind.

That was no easy task. Abby's fear infiltrated into the elf. Abby closed his eyes and tried to fight the image of the nightmare face of Gix that rose in his mind. He let Tristan take more control of what he did in the physical sense while he fought his own mental battle.

Sound ahead of them.

Startled, Abby lifted his head and opened his eyes. They were past the tower and had traveled down another, longer corridor. Something very loud approached; and for a moment, the sound quieted the wolves and stopped them from coming closer. Abby heard a slight whining behind them, and the scuffle of uncertain steps as the wolves retreated into the shadows.

Abby and Tristan silently considered doing the same.

A shadow crossed over them, blocking out the light of the high windows. Then he stepped forward -- a man so tall that Tristan and Abby barely reached his mid-chest. His gray-streaked red hair and beard glinted like cooper in the dying sunlight, and his brown eyes glared down at them. Tristan took a step back from that stare.

The sword in the giant's hand was longer than Abby's leg. He swung it lightly in his left hand.

"Sir Mandrix." Tristan bowed his head, though Abby sensed some question in his friend’s mind whether this was, indeed, the master of the castle. Tristan had, after all, never seen him. "I thought you were absent when you didn't answer the bell."

The giant took a step forward and grabbed Tristan's shoulder. The huge fingers tightened in a grip that shot pain through the elf's right arm, echoed through Abby's body.

"Let go! You're hurting him!” Abby ordered and tried to shove the giant away.

The giant only chuckled, leaned his sword against the wall, and grabbed Abby with the other hand, though the tightness of the holds did lessen a bit. The giant looked down the hall, but the wolves were -- wisely -- reluctant to come closer.

"The wolves wasted their time on you two.” He grinned, neither a friendly nor particularly sane look. "You're both much too thin to make a proper feast."

"I am relieved," Tristan said as the giant released them. He rubbed his aching shoulder, still uncertain about this odd reception. Something was very much amiss here.

"Though I once heard that elf meat is very sweet, and I have grown weary of wolf and rat."

Abby caught hold of Tristan and pulled him back behind him.

"You are a brave little elf, trying to save your friend.” Mad humor shown in his eyes. "Ah, but I fear it would take both of you just to make a proper snack."

"I am no elf, and I doubt man meat is very sweet."

The giant actually took one step backward, shocked. Sunlight spread across Abby and Tristan again. Then the giant tentatively reached out, one finger very gently brushing Aubreyan's face.

"Man!" The single word shook the walls. "How is it a man walks Ishan in the company of an elf?"

"How is it you're the only one who doesn't appear to know?" Tristan countered. He stood beside Abby, daring to face the giant. The wolves growled behind them -- he and Abby had nothing to loose. "Edra sent a Summoning --"

"I felt it. I didn't listen. There were other matters here that required my attention. I suspect now that our problems are interrelated.” He leaned down closer and looked from one to the other. "Aren't you Tristan?"

"Yes, Mandrix," Tristan said, relieved at the apparent return to sanity. "I remember you and Esowan --"

"Esowan," the giant said, loss and pain in his face and voice. He looked away, casting one glare back at the wolves. "Come down to the main hall. We'll close the door to these wolves, and you can tell me what madness is happening in Ylant."

He gave a formal bow and let them pass first. Abby didn't like having the half-crazy giant at their back, especially after Mandrix retrieved that sword.

Better than the wolves.

Maybe.

When they heard the sword return to its sheath, both relaxed a bit. A few yards down the corridor Mandrix pushed double doors closed behind them. Abby looked back, knowing he hadn't the strength to open them again by himself. Tristan imagined he could, once he renewed his magic. That wouldn't come again until the moon rose tonight. Weaponless and magicless, they could only hope that their host showed less inclination to strange snacks than he had first suggested.

Mandrix led them down another long set of stairs to a huge room lit by a bright fire. Abby and Tristan paused at the edge of the stairs, Tristan shivering at the sight of wolf skins littering the floor.

Mandrix glanced at the pair and went past, kicking the furs into a darker corner of the huge room.

"Elves," he mused. "I don't know how they ever got to be so powerful when the sight of even a damn wolf skin nearly brings them to tears. And you, man -- you look nearly as undone. Men used to be the fiercest hunters of them all, back in the days before Ishan. They even hunted each other. Don't tell me they've all gone elf-soft, too."

"Oh, no, Lord Mandrix," Abby said. "Men are every bit as cruel as they ever were."

"Good. Then there's still some stability in the world."

The last of the wolf skins disappeared. Mandrix signaled them to the table as he pulled an amber bottle from a cupboard near the fire.

Abby found the table a curious affair, obviously made to accommodate giants and those of elfin size at the same time. The surface rose in three tiers, with one side high enough for the giant, then a lower area in the middle for the food and drink, and finally the lowest level, where Abby and Tristan sat comfortably.

The chairs were very comfortable, and they both settled down with sighs of relief. The last run after the near illness in the blighted forest left them more exhausted than either expected.

Mandrix set two silver goblets before them. Though the vessels were small in his hand, the amount of amber wine he poured into each was far more than Abby knew he could drink.

"What's happened here, Mandrix?" Tristan finally asked. He lifted his goblet and took a little sip, insisting silently that Abby do the same and not insult their slightly unbalanced host. "The forest is unhealthy and the wolves are far too fierce."

"And I've gone mad," Mandrix said. He took a long drink of wine straight from the bottle. Then he sighed and set the bottle aside. "Oh, it's true -- I don't have to see it in your eyes to know. Since they took my Esowan there's nothing much to keep me sane."

"Who took her?" Tristan asked as he set aside his own wine.

"Gargoyles."

Tristan shivered with his own fears this time, and the remembrance of the sound of leathery wings, the cries of fear from his mother as his father pushed him aside. . .

"Not dead, Tristan," Mandrix said softly. He leaned forward and his huge hand brushed gently against Tristan's arm. Compassion softened his face. "I forgot that's how your parents died. My apologies for not being more specific. They took Esowan, but they didn't kill her."

"Took her where?" Tristan asked. His voice sounded almost steady.

"Down into their lair. There's a cave in the side of the hill just outside the city," he answered. Mandrix leaned back, looking lost and much too sane. The madness must have been an easy release for him. "Esowan is smaller than me. They could get her through the opening. I can't squeeze through to follow. I've tried to batter my way in for days, but I still haven't gotten the opening wide enough. It's only chance that I happened by here when you came calling."

"Why would they take your lady?" Abby asked.

Mandrix looked a bit more trouble as he glanced at Abby. Maybe the full realization that a man sat at his table had finally reached him, or perhaps he only questioned his sanity again.

"Mandrix?" Tristan prompted.

"I think Ynyr has his hand in this, Tristan. We always thought he brought the gargoyles into Ishan. I'd sooner bed down with live wolves than trust a gargoyle within ten feet of me. They've no honor at all. I think that's why Ynyr uses them."

"But why take Esowan?" Tristan asked again.

"About five days ago he started directing them to take material down into the cavern -- parts of buildings that he brought out of the city and left for them. When Esowan and I heard he had captured a band of centaurs and took them down as well we tried to learn more, but they captured her. Tristan, I believe he's building a temple of some sort down under the ground."

"A temple?" Tristan repeated, surprised. "There's always only been one temple to the gods in Ishan."

"I didn't say it was for the gods, Tristan," Mandrix said.

Abby's hand tightened on the goblet. He took a long sip under Tristan's silent insistence. They needed calm at the moment. The building of this temple coincided too well with all the other trouble. Ynyr planned something, and both Abby and Tristan knew it would not be something that would help their cause.

"I remember the crowns, now," Mandrix said and nodded. He leaned his elbows on the table and nestled his head in his hands as he looked at them. "Tell me what is happening. It must be very important for King Edra to risk his precious, blind Prince Tristan into the care of a man."

"I'll tell you," Tristan said. "And then you must tell us everything you know about the gargoyles and Ynyr. I think Abby and I shall have to go down to see this temple, Mandrix."

CHAPTER FIVE

Mandrix entertained his two unusual guests until the moon rose and Tristan recovered his magical strength, growing stronger as he rested in the moonlight. Abby wished he could have called upon such renewal as well, and contented himself to rest like... a human.

"If you still insist on going down into that hole, I think you should take more than elf magic as a weapon," Mandrix said. He pushed away from the table and went to a cabinet in the shadows by the wolf skins. In a moment he came back with a long thin dagger of human -- elf -- size. He held it out.

"I know nothing about weapons, Lord Mandrix," Abby said, shaking his head.

"My friend, any long, pointed thing is a better weapon then your bare hands."

Even Tristan couldn't find an argument for that one.

When he led them from the castle Mandrix kicked open the remains of the front gate that Tristan had breached by his magic. He shook his large head with mock despair, but his eyes shown with a brighter emotion. Abby shook his head and wondered how he and Tristan could inspire such hope in anyone.

Anyone sane. Mandrix admitted to his own unbalanced state of mind.

The moonlit night showed placid, rolling fields ahead, and the dying dark woods behind. The wolves howled somewhere within those twisted trees, and Mandrix quietly cursed the animals. He grabbed Tristan and Abby by the arms, pulling them along as though they were only two recalcitrant children.

"The wolves keep their distance from me. Usually." Mandrix chuckled softly. "However, if they see that I'm leading you to the gargoyle's lair they may find the courage to come after us."

"The gargoyles and wolves work together?" Tristan asked. He tried to keep his breath at the quick pace the long-legged giant set for them. "That's unusual. Wolves tend to keep to themselves."

"This is likely Ynyr's work as well," Mandrix said. He slowed slightly. "I've seen him outside the city more often lately. I think, Abby, that you're right -- this all began after your arrival in Ishan. He never came here at all in the first centuries. And since he started appearing the forest began dying and wolves and gargoyles work in unison. I sometimes see gargoyles bringing worked stone blocks from the city to take down into the lair. Have you ever known gargoyles to build inside their dens before?"

"No," Tristan replied. Abby felt the flutter of trepidation his friend kept from his voice. "I'm surprised Edra hasn't sensed the trouble here."

"He can't be everywhere, Tristan, though he tries," Mandrix said. "I should have gone to him when they took my Esowan. Without her I hardly knew what to do. Until you came I didn't even remember anything beyond the gargoyles, wolves, and my empty castle. Madness, not to have gone for help."

"You may still have to go," Abby reminded him. It felt unnatural, his hand resting on the hilt of the dagger. He knew he was inadequate for this job.

"If we don't come back by noon tomorrow, go to Edra," Tristan said. "He'll know better how to handle this problem than we do."

Mandrix nodded, looking at them with uncertainty now. The giant finally turned away, quickening the pace once more. In a matter of minutes, he brought them to a low-lying hill devoid of even the dying trees. A dark opening lurked before them. Tristan's little blue magic light hardly dispersed the shadows within.

Mandrix pulled his own giant sword as he stepped into the darkness, but Abby only kept a hand against the hilt of his weapon.

"It's clear up here," the giant whispered from within the cave. "Come in quickly."

Tristan waved the light in ahead as he and Abby entered. Large pieces of rock debris littered the interior of the narrow cave. Fifty steps inward and the tall fissure narrowed considerably. Abby and Tristan would have to go single file beyond this point, and the giant could accompany them no further.

He bade them farewell with only a nod. "I'll make certain nothing comes at your back," he softly promised.

The path turned just ahead, and they could neither see nor hear anything from beyond that point. Even Tristan's elfin magic could only sense distant life, deep within the ground. He kept behind with the light trailing them so the glare didn't blind Abby.

The cavern took a definite downward slant. Abby held to the walls, uncertain of his footing as he limped forward. Silence filled the area, so that even the little sighs of their breathing echoed like a wind, and their careful steps sounded like the pounding of a drum. They used only the soundless conversation they had found so helpful -- and natural -- during the last few days, but even that lessened in this place.

When the cave finally opened slightly around them Tristan slipped up beside Abby, a hand resting lightly on his friend’s arm. The emotions redoubled -- worry and fear that they weren't ready for this test.

I'll put out the light. I can lead us in the dark.

Abby agreed. Darkness instantly descended, but Tristan's hand stayed on his arm, giving him a sense of reassurance and sharing the sense of direction and feel for the world around them. The darkness was natural to Tristan, and he let the blind elf take control. They matched step.

Yet, though he trusted Tristan, Abby's mind still battered around in the dark. He remembered all the horror of his journey from Mindeneh to Bridigen, as real in this dark as in that unnatural blackness.

Peace, Abby. I'm here. You're safe.

Nothing came for them, although gradually they grew aware of sounds ahead and below, the danger toward which they moved. When a faint glow began to illuminate the way, Abby again slipped in front of Tristan.

Nearly an hour after leaving Mandrix, they finally reached another sharp turn in the cave from beyond which a repulsive red light came. Abby carefully looked around the last corner.

The narrow passage ended a few yards beyond, opening into a shadowed cavern that glowed bright, bloody red from torches on the walls. In a dozen niches along those uneven stone surfaces, gargoyles sat with their darks wings folded around thin bodies, heads held high on long, thin necks. Gargoyles, Abby thought with a shudder. Tristan lifted his hand, his face turned grim.

Yes, gargoyles.

He shivered at his own remembered terror. They couldn't run back to Mandrix now -- though Abby suspected the giant wouldn't berate them for abandoning the task, especially if they told him what they saw in the shadows on that cavern floor. A building stood in the center of frantic activity, already two floors high and still unfinished. Twenty or more creatures worked the stone scattered around the site. Some hammered, chipping it into acceptable sizes, while others carted away the finished product. All were bound with chains about the ankles and harried by wolves snapping at the feet of any who slowed. One, at least, lay dead in a far corner. The gargoyles watched the work, one sweeping down when a centaur kicked at a growling wolf. That action earned him a long cut across his back by the gargoyle's claw.

The building drew Abby's attention again. It looked very much like the Temple of the Mountains -- yet Abby felt some fundamental difference. This was wrong. He knew the creatures built this for the demons. He knew it without ever stepping inside.

What shall we do?

His thought or Tristan's? Probably both. They knew they couldn't stay hidden indefinitely at the only opening to the cavern. They weren't willing to go back and hope to get more help. With each block the slaves raised, the more the evil power grew. This corruption had already killed the woods above. If they could stop work on -- or even destroy -- the building they might weaken Ynyr before they faced him. If nothing else, this still tested their resolve and their abilities. They would not be found wanting.

Abby felt as much anger at the sight of the slaves as he did revulsion at the view of the temple. It reminded him too much of his own life.

"I can at least startle them," Tristan suddenly whispered aloud. Maybe Abby's anger had made him distant in their other contact. The noise below masked their little sounds. "I don't have the power to bring down that temple, though. And that's what we need to do."

"If we can free the workers, we can at least stop further construction. We can leave the actual destruction for others," Abby said, although inwardly he wanted to tear that offensive thing apart, stone by stone.

"Your breeding is showing, Abby," Tristan suddenly joked, startling him. "While I don't want to leave this unfinished, I can walk away from it. I don't think you can."

"Why not?" he said, fearing the elf might be right.

"Because the god-blood in you is rebelling against the unholy. Abby, we may have to settle for freeing the slaves and finding Esowan. Do you see her among the slaves?"

"No." Abby frowned and feared what might have happened to her. "I only count five wolves on the floor. With the help of the slaves I think we can handle them. The gargoyles are something else. Can you keep them away?"

"They don't have elf slaves because they fear our magic," Tristan answered. "We never welcomed them into Ishan. They're the only creatures we will destroy, if forced. I only hope I can hold them back by threat alone, because it takes too much magic to kill even one, and I could never kill them all. As long as they don't realize you aren't an elf we might survive."

Abby nodded and moved closer to the opening, though he still stayed in the shadows, unwilling to step into that blood-red light. There are other places we should be, he thought. He wanted this over.

Aubreyan scanned the walls of the cavern, helping Tristan mark the location of each gargoyle. They perched there like craven birds, heads swinging from side to side as they watched their captives. When one turned its hairless skull toward the opening Tristan didn't pause to find out if they had been seen. He sprang into the opening, chanting a fast wave of words. His hands rose and pointed.

Bright fire, white and blinding above the red light of the torches, flashed unerringly toward the nearest gargoyles. They winged upward with screams of anger and fear. The dozen flashes of lightning Tristan let loose took on independent life, bouncing from wall to wall. The magic light crisscrossed the vault above him, keeping the gargoyles in the air.

It won't hold them for long.

Abby took that warning to heart and threw himself down the path. Both slaves and wolves watched the scene above, shocked at the sight of the elf holding off the gargoyles. Abby went unnoticed until he reached the first slave, some creature he couldn't name, furred and tall with much-too-human eyes. Tristan's thoughts remained occupied with other problems and Abby didn't press for a name. The creature held a great, long-handled hammer in stubby fingers.

Abby yanked the hammer free. With one great swing, he lifted it above his head and slammed it against the chain holding the creature in bondage. The strength of the blow surprised him as the chain snapped apart. Abby gasped as he leaned against the handle, his chest bleeding from the exertion.

"Go," he wished more than ordered. He waved toward the exit. "Go!"

It fled, dropping from two feet to four as it made for the opening. It dashed past Tristan, who never noticed.

By the time Abby lifted the hammer again the wolves were aware of something wrong in their midst, but the slaves were aware as well. One of the many centaurs grabbed a wolf and strangled it with a length of chain. The others quickly took up the fight, making a joint defense against two more wolves. They used pieces of stone to throw and pound while wolves snapped and growled.

Two wolves came for Abby, however. He held the hammer in his left hand, though it was too heavy for him to lift again so soon. With the right hand, he at last pulled the dagger.

The wolves appeared apprehensive of the weapon, which was lucky, since Abby didn't know how to wield it. When one wolf dared a lunge at him, he only barely managed to swing with enough force to cut across the creature's nose. That sent the gray creature skittering back out of range.

Abby felt an urgent need to hurry -- Tristan didn’t think he could hold the magic much longer. Fearful the elf would stand there, alone and unprotected, sent Abby into action. He dropped the hammer and lunged straight at the wolves. He didn't catch any of them, but the pair did retreat in haste.

Then help reached him. A band of four centaurs raced straight at him, chasing the wolves back again. Despite everything, Abby backed up a step at the sight of the large horse-men.

"Elf! Do you carry a weapon I can use?" the largest of the centaurs called out. He kicked aside another wolf that incautiously closed in on them. It didn't recover from the blow.

Abby handed a centaur the hammer, and he used it to break the chains that still hampered the movement of his companions, and then freed himself. They yelled and cursed and killed a wolf with that hammer when it came too close.

Abby felt Tristan’s growing exhaustion, unable as he was to use magic to shield his weakness. Panic sent something unexpected through their link -- Abby felt some of his strength pass to Tristan, even if he couldn't give his friend magic.

"Is there a giantess here?" Abby asked. He felt slightly giddy and breathless.

"A giantess?" the centaur repeated. "Aye! She's in the temple with the other they're preparing for the sacrifice! You arrived barely in time, friend!"

Abby instantly headed in that direction before he realized even Tristan had urged him on, despite his own problems.

Go!

"Protect Tristan!" Abby shouted back at the centaurs. He pointed toward the cavern opening. The centaurs looked and nodded.

Abby dashed toward the temple, impelled by a need to stop the sacrifice -- for reasons that were all his own.

CHAPTER SIX

Light and shadow moved in disturbing patterns around Aubreyan as he bounded up the stairs, but he didn't slow even as he passed the grotesquely carved archway into the temple.

Then the godling found himself in the heart of a temple to the demons.

The world spun and his heartbeat became wild and unsteady. Fire flashed through his head. Unholy ground. Demon temple.

Power surged through him, the opposite of what he had felt at the Temple of the Mountains and just as devastating. Abby fell an instant after he saw the giantess and a silvery-white creature crouched behind her that looked at him with great blue-jeweled eyes, blinking and afraid.

Abby lifted his head from the cold floor, but he knew the movement was more in Tristan's control than his own. A shadow stirred, and he rolled aside just in time as the outstretched claws of a gargoyle swept down for the kill.

Instinctively, he swung the dagger. That, at least, came from him and not Tristan this time. His weapon surprised the creature, and as it tried to pull back, he cut deep into the chest. The gargoyle wasn't dead, but as it howled and flipped over him the claws left only scratches where it might have gutted him. Abby rolled again and came up on his knees and stabbed it through the back.

Tristan instinctively protested the action, and then as quickly stilled. A moment later the elf knelt by his side, two centaurs keeping guard at the opening of the temple. They easily fought off the howling gargoyles that swept down.

"The others are all loose and leaving.” Tristan took tight hold of Abby's arm and tried to pull him up, though he, too, trembled from exertion and weakness. "Abby, we have to get you out of here! This place is unholy!"

"I...know." Abby somehow managed to speak the words despite the tumult of his scattered mind. He made his feet, only to go down to his knees again. Then, with a force of will that didn't draw on Tristan, Abby stood and stayed there. "Help me get them free, Tristan. We can leave as soon as that work's done."

Abby started toward the prisoners. The stunned and silent giantess laid a hand on the frightened animal hiding in the shadows behind her. Its wide, glittering head reached her waist --

"Baby dragon!" Tristan exclaimed. The shock of the discovery overlaid all over thoughts in the elf's mind. He held out his hand toward the creature. "They are very rare, Abby. I don't think another has ever been born in Ishan! We have to get her out of here!"

"And you, I hope, are Esowan?" Abby asked as he stumbled toward the woman.

She caught him by the arms, holding him to his feet. "I am Esowan," she replied, amazed. She was somewhat smaller than Mandrix, with fairer hair and a brighter look, even after time spent as a prisoner here. "How did you know?"

Abby went to his knees again, this time to look at the chain that bound her. "We came looking for you. Mandrix asked us to bring you back."

"Asked?" Esowan said and laughed a little. "That doesn't sound much like my Mandrix."

"Actually, it was either that or stay for dinner," Tristan replied. He and Abby silently shared the joke. Tristan still held his hand out to the young dragon, and she finally brushed gently against his fingers.

"She likes you," Esowan said. "Until now she's not even stood on her own, but she seemed to sense you coming."

"I can try to use magic to break the chains, but I haven't much power left. And the moon is very far away."

"I'll give you what help I can," Abby said. The temple still made him dizzy and uneasy, but he fought away the queasiness as he held his hand out to Tristan. The elf gently grasped his fingers. His unsteadiness and Tristan's weakness doubled for a moment and then eased, though he knew they wouldn't hold it at bay for long "We must move quickly."

Tristan bowed his head and reached toward the band that held the dragon's leg to a column. The light from his fingers flared weakly but eventually cut through the chain. When the metal broke, Tristan bowed his head, but Abby gasped and fell forward. He hit his head forehead against the hard floor, leaving him nearly insensible.

"Abby!" Tristan grabbed him and gasped as well, the ties between them strengthened, the madness of demon power tearing at them both. Aubreyan barely had the sense to pull away. Everything moved in shadows of black and red, leaving him ill. He silently begged Tristan to quickly finish the work.

"Friend elf, if you can free me, I'll carry your companion out," Esowan said, worry mingled with the hope in her voice.

"Please, shake your chains. I've expended so much power, I can hardly move, let alone cast about for you."

"Shake my chains?" she asked, confused. "What manner of elf are you?"

"At the moment, a very weary and blind one," Tristan admitted. His fingers gently brushed Abby's hand again. Abby could feel him, hear everything -- but he hadn't the strength to help. He knew that Esowan caught hold of the elf's arm and pulled him close.

"Tristan," she said, surprised.

Abby closed his eyes and felt his friend channel all his power into freeing her. Tristan's mind wanted to wander back to Abby, worrying over his friend’s worsening condition.

Concentrate on the chain.

There were sounds outside. Shouts and screams, and the sounds of a battle that they could not help with. Abby closed his mind to it and tried to give Tristan what little power he could. Sometime later the metal finally came apart in his friend's hands. Tristan bowed down until his forehead rested on the cold stone floor. Technically, Abby thought, he himself might be unconscious, but Tristan's need kept him barely aware of everything, all dark but alive.

The dragon gently nudged Tristan's shoulder.

"Come, elf," Esowan said. She gently lifted him to his feet and held him there with a hand under his arm. "I'm afraid I haven't the strength left to carry you both."

"Take Abby. I can walk.” He proved it by pulling away and staying to his feet. Abby felt a remote amazement at the ability. "We must get Abby out of here!"

Esowan lifted him, took one step toward the exit, and stopped again. "This is a man."

"Yes," Tristan said. His hand rested on the dragon's head, keeping his balance, and he followed close behind while the centaurs moved ahead of the group, discouraging the enemy. Tristan gladly left the battle to them. He had trouble walking. "Trust us, lady."

"How could I not trust you?" she said. "You came to this lair of evil to free me, didn't you?"

"And we might even save the world," he said, though at the moment Abby knew just taking another step was all the fight left in Tristan.

Tristan teetered on the edge of the steps as the world slipped out from under his feet. Esowan gave a startled cry. Abby might have as well, but he could do nothing to help his friend. Reality spun away in shadow and light, and they fell into a quieter, more peaceful place.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"They're both coming around," Mandrix said, too loudly and too close. If Abby had felt any stronger he would have winced.

"Tristan?" Esowan whispered. Her hand brushed the hair from his face.

Like his mother had, so long ago...a pleasant ache drew the elf back, barely ahead of Abby, who wanted to linger in the darkness, away from the pain and the war, and away from battles he didn't know how to fight.

"Tristan?' she repeated softly.

"Here," he answered, bringing himself fully into the world, but urging Abby not to follow. Rest, Abby. "Did it go well, Lady Esowan?"

"Very well.” She stopped for a moment, and Abby felt the fingers brush against his face this time. He almost shivered. His mother had never been that kind. "I thought, when he first entered that foul place, that he only fell to the floor to feign unconsciousness. I thought it a neat trick to draw the gargoyle to him."

"That was no trick," Tristan said. He sat up slowly, his hand lifting, testing the air. He found sunlight close by, the night given way to another day. Abby lay beside him in a large, wide bed. Safe. Rest still, Abby. We're safe. "Are we back at the castle?"

"Yes. The centaurs brought you. Some left to deliver the news to Edra about this matter, and a few remained to stand guard at the entrance to the lair. Nothing will be allowed to go in or out."

"What of the dragon? What happened to her?"

"She took to the air as soon as we came out, too panicked to listen to reason. I hope she found her way home. No doubt her mother will hear her, now that she's free of that hell. She'll be fine."

"Good," he said. He took a deeper breath, his hand touching the stone resting on his forehead. He felt Abby's growing presence, reassuring him. "Tell me about Ynyr's involvement in this. We need to be certain. Did you see him there?"

"Yes. He directed the building," Esowan said with a snarl in her words -- but then she sighed, a lost, soft sound. "He said he created the temple as protection against men, to subvert and trap them. I never knew an elf could turn so easily to evil."

"The world changes," Tristan said. His hand touched Abby's arm, calming him. "He's waking now. And he has another of those headaches --"

Tristan's hand went to his own head as Abby's eyes blinked open and he looked around the room. A window let in a flow of bright sunlight. Abby turned his head a little more before the dizziness hit.

"Careful, Abby," Tristan warned aloud. "Please, go easy."

"Never, never again will I set foot in any temple," Abby whispered.

"I don't know what I was thinking to let you go. To send you there myself!"

"Never again," Abby repeated. He slowly sat up, testing his strength and steadiness. Both were there, though precarious. The two giants sat beside them, hand in hand, watching silently.

"We won," Tristan said. He smiled at the two giants, so happy in each other's company. Seeing them through Abby's eyes made him more aware of the good they had accomplished here.

"Well, I won't regret missing the chance to try elf stew for dinner." Mandrix laughed and stood, stretching in a way that made Abby think they had sat there for hours, watching over their guests. "Though if I get my hands on Ynyr I might still be tempted. You are both weak. You need food. I'll fetch something from the stores. I know, elf. No meat in the meal. Unless the man --"

"No!" Abby said, his eyes going wide.

"No, I didn't think so. I have some fine wheat bread and wild berry preserves. And I think a little wine wouldn't hurt either of you. Esowan, my love, why don't you see to Abby's injuries? Then we'll feast -- a simple feast, but truly a thankful one. The gods have been kind --"

"No," Abby said, a quick hard word. Then he regretted his outburst and looked sheepish when Mandrix fixed him with an even stare.

"You have some argument with the gods, do you, Abby?" he dared ask.

"And temples of all sorts have some strange affect on you," Esowan added. Her hand rested against his shoulder, ignoring his instinctive move to pull away. "Peace, Abby. There is nothing you could tell me that could make me think less of you."

"I imagine not, since I am a man."

"You can't twist my words.” Her fingers tightened slightly. Then, seeing Tristan's worried look, she let go. "What is your problem with the gods? How can we help you with it?"

"There is no one who can help me with what I am. Not even Tristan. Though I admit he makes this easier to bear."

"A curse?" Mandrix asked and frowned.

"No," Tristan answered and mentally stilled Abby's protests. "His mother is the goddess Starwind."

Silence.

"You are serious," Mandrix finally said. He looked from one to the other, shaking his head. "You didn't mention this before you went down into the gargoyle's lair. I might not have let you go if I’d realized I risked the wrath of the gods if you had died there."

"I doubt they would notice," Abby said and shrugged.

Mandrix stared for a moment longer before he left. Esowan tended them both with bandages and water to clean away the remaining signs of battle. Before long, Mandrix brought food back to the room, and they ate there. After a pleasant meal, Abby and Tristan drifted into a more peaceful sleep.

They awoke almost simultaneously to the bright light of another day. A whisper of dread and need and concern echoed through their minds, the remnant of a sleep-induced nightmare that neither could remember clearly.

A battle won, but there are others still to fight.

"Ynyr knows about the temple by now," Abby said. He slipped his legs over the side of the bed but didn't attempt to stand. Although he felt a great deal better than he had the last time he awoke, his head still pounded at any sudden movement.

"Go easy, Abby," Tristan said, sitting very still and wishing Abby would do the same. "Hurrying won't help anything now."

"True." He picked up the mended tunic Esowan had left beside the bed. He hadn't heard her bring it in. "Let's go see if we can find Mandrix and Esowan. It's time to say good-bye and continue our journey."

Tristan silently, and somewhat reluctantly, agreed.

They wandered down the halls, slowly making their way through the huge doors, and down the long, steep steps. They did not have to wander too far before they found the two giants entering the great hall again.

"There you are!" Mandrix said, his voice so loud the walls shook. "Come in! Join us! We celebrate today -- and every day hereafter, that we live together."

Esowan brought them food and plied them both with fruits, cakes, and teas. They both took up a cake, just to please her.

"We must leave this morning," Tristan said as they ate. The food tasted like ambrosia, and he silently induced Abby to eat more as well. "We still have other work, and very little time left."

"I wish I could induce you both to stay here," Mandrix stated softly. "Failing that, I want to go with you."

"No," Abby said. "You need to stay here and help Edra's people when they arrive."

"My grandfather can't leave the lands near the barrier. If it does fall, the men will come in," Tristan said. "He'll need to be there. This is your land, and you'll know how to help here."

"True," Mandrix agreed thoughtfully. "Well, then, the best I can do is escort you to the gate into Ynyr's domain. And given your success in the gargoyle's lair, I even believe you might win in the next battle."

"Might," Abby echoed the word, but with little conviction.

They bade farewell to Esowan, who tried not to look troubled by their departure. She had made certain they had adequate supplies and fussed over their clothing until Mandrix finally led them out of the castle, past the ruined gate and into the too-bright light of mid-morning.

The giant kept his pace slow as they walked over countryside that alternated between open field and dense, dark stands of trees. The land sloped up and down over a dozen small hills, but all in all, they had a pleasant walk with their friend. Mandrix told them tales of giants and the world before the elves severed Ishan from Eltabar. Abby had the odd feeling that he missed the world with men, though he never said so aloud.

At the top of one hill the giant finally stopped and waved at the trail ahead. Abby looked across a narrow and forested ravine to a higher rise topped by a towering, white wall.

"Satilia is beyond that barrier," Mandrix told them. "That's Ynyr's city, now that the others are gone. I dare not go farther, my friends, or I couldn't keep myself from going in after him. The gate's there at the top of the hill."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Mandrix," Abby said. He and Tristan bowed to the giant.

"My honor," he said and bowed to them in return. Then he turned and strode away, moving more quickly than he had when walking with them. He stopped after several yards and looked back. "Good luck, lads. And be wary of the dragon in the valley."

Then he disappeared down the far side of the slope.

"Dragon?" Tristan said. "Tell me he didn't say dragon."

"From your concern, I assume they're not all so small and easily handled as the one at the temple."

A great onslaught of information about dragons suddenly rushed through his mind. He finally gathered they were, if nothing else, very rare, very large, and terribly unpredictable.

"Oh."

"Let's hope we don't find her.” Tristan lifted a hand and tested the area where they must go. "I don't sense anything near. I almost wish we had kept Mandrix with us after all."

Abby looked back over his shoulder, but knew he wouldn't attempt to call the giant back. Instead, he and Tristan started down the hillside, hoping they could slip past one test without a battle. Soon enough they would face their true enemy -- Satilia. He wanted it done.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Treacherous fallen leaves and old weeds littered the last of the path, making it plain that no one had gone any farther than that hill top in a long time. They tried to descend by using rainwashed crevices devoid of most obstacles. Despite all the healing given to Abby since his arrival in Ishan, he still limped and the uneven terrain proved especially hard for him. He kept his head bowed and watched where he stepped. Tristan walked ahead of him, silently adding his own warnings when he sensed any weakness in the ground or loose rock.

The trail ended in a narrow, wooded ravine before the old path curved upward again, brown and rutted, on the last stretch to a gate mostly obscured by trees and other growth. Abby suspected the path hadn't been used in centuries.

Not since the High Elves left. No one found a reason to travel here, after they were gone. Ynyr never invited company.

What’s is behind the wall?

I've never been there -- Abby! Something comes! Something magical and very angry! Hurry into the trees!

Aubreyan rushed toward the trees before Tristan finished the warning. His leg twisted and gave way, and he slid down for a short distance but at least traveled in the right direction.

Something was, indeed, coming. Abby could hear the pounding sound, like the clap of thunder filling the air. He finally spotted a huge, long-necked creature flying toward them, its skin reflecting the sun with a metallic sheen that almost blinded him as it swept down from the sky.

Go for the woods! Tristan urged, breathlessly trying to grab Abby's arm and propel him in that direction. They both ignored the pain tearing Abby's chest. The dragon sailed over them, very close, but missed the attack as they ducked into the heavier mass of trees.

Stay silent, Tristan needlessly warned. He used his magic again, some form of protection to make them invisible.

Ward.

A roar shook the leaves around them. Sharp claws suddenly tore at the branches right over their heads as the dragon flew by. She circled back, her bright eyes looking through the opening.

"Abby! I forgot the dragons are telepathic!" Tristan suddenly said aloud.

Telepathic?

It roared again, and tore at more branches.

"She hears us through the crowns," Tristan said, pulling him farther into the trees. "We'll have to run for the gate and hope we can outrace her.” Abby looked down at his aching leg and frowned. "I'll give you strength. I'll help get you there," Tristan promised. She tore at the branches again.

"If we took off the crowns --"

"We'd both be lost and weaker. She knows we're here, Abby. The crowns are our strength as well as our weakness. Our only hope is to get beyond that gate!"

"Do you think that's going to stop her?" Abby asked, unconvinced of the hope of safety.

"The High Elves had some safeguards," Tristan answered. "I hope they're still in place."

He laid a hand on Abby's arm, relieving he pain in his leg; but the dragon's attack grew fiercer in that moment when their contact strengthened. Tristan dropped the useless ward and pulled Abby along until they reached the edge of the trees. They both ignored the stabs of branches and brambles, Abby keeping an eye on the huge creature that circled over them. They wouldn't remain safe here for long, not so near to the open ground. However, beyond this point he could see no cover at all.

"She's so large that she appears to be everywhere," Tristan said as he shook his head, his hand reaching upward, using magic as he tried to fix her location and judge the best time to run.

"She is everywhere," Abby replied. He looked up at the sky, trying to help, but couldn't clearly see past the last few protective branches. "Our only hope is to run all the way up the next hill, Tristan."

The elf nodded, took one deep breath. His hand tightened again on Abby's arm, intending to keep him close. But even as they came from the trees, she landed on the ground between the woods and the gate.

The light reflected back at them made Abby shield his eyes, unable to look too closely. Enormous -- he couldn't guess at her size, except that he felt like a pebble standing before a mountain.

He and Tristan retreated a few steps toward the edge of the woods, but the dragon stalked them, ready to pounce: mice before a cat.

"She's not going to let us get away," Abby said. She made a soft hissing noise. Abby's hand went to the little dagger he still carried.

"A lot of good that'll do us," Tristan stated with an edge of amusement. "Maybe if we split up, go to each side, we can confuse her."

Abby took his hand from the knife. The dragon's dark, glittering eyes watched them intently. "She doesn't look very easy to confuse, Tristan."

"Any better ideas?"

"No," he admitted. "If she hears our thoughts she knows our plan already. We have to move quickly, Tristan."

Be careful, Abby.

Now!

Tristan's hand released his arm, pushed him away. She moved as well, of course. They had hardly parted when she rose on back legs and reached out with claws -- right and left. Abby barely had time to fall and roll out from beneath her attack.

Tristan didn't react in time. Surprise, pain -- and then nothing.

Nothing.

Abby rolled back to his feet, drew his dagger, and charged straight at the creature.

Tristan!

He reached for Tristan's mind while he rushed at the dragon's side, slipping past claws and the spiked tail that swung around to catch him. Intent on Abby, she knocked Tristan aside with one great paw, never noticing.

Abby's rage overpowered him. The dagger found a spot between thick scales. She screamed, but the sound appeared to be more surprise than pain. She reached, but he rolled, somehow managing not to wound himself with his own weapon, and got back to his feet. He limped backward out of her next attack. Sanity turned his attention back to Tristan, wanting his help, needing his guidance, and fearing he would never have it again --

They said we would go together. But I'm not an elf, Tristan. And I don't want to be left behind, alone.

Something moved above them, and Abby made the mistake of looking up for one startled moment. He heard the dragon move. He tried to pull away but fell, and couldn't recover quickly enough. Silver passed over his head. He closed his eyes.

Tristan, I'm sorry!

Sought the place where Tristan had already gone --

***

"Are you hurt man?" a voice whispered soft and low over him.

He dared to open his eyes, and found his view filled with her narrow silver face, bejeweled aqua eyes, and ivory teeth. Her head was as large as his entire body.

"Are you hurt, man?" she repeated, softer still. Her eyes blinked. The head turned just slightly, studying him.

"Tris-tan?" he whispered. He dared sit up.

She pulled back, the long neck curling around something nestled between those murderously clawed legs -- a smaller version of herself: the young dragon they had rescued from the temple only the day before.

Abby looked away, uncertain if he cared for the reprieve on his life. He didn't dare stand because his leg ached so badly, so he crawled to where Tristan lay. The dragon made no attempt to stop him.

Tristan lay covered in dirt, breathing but otherwise very still. A long scratch showed through the cloth of his tunic. It didn't bleed much. The crown lay just beyond his outstretched hand.

Abby gently lifted Tristan's head and pushed the crown over his hair. He felt something -- distant, worried. He laid his head on Tristan's chest and felt a faint but rapid heartbeat. Abby closed his eyes and once more reached for Tristan from within his mind.

"Abby, please move your head. I can hardly breathe."

Abby sat up with a start. He couldn't tell his own dizziness from Tristan's weakness and pain. When the elf tried to sit up Abby carefully took hold of his arms and helped. He felt a sudden sharper pain through his chest, but even that might be Tristan's injuries, since he had trouble breathing.

"We both lost something dear to ourselves, man," the dragon spoke again. He found her still resting with the little dragon nestled close beneath her wing. "The gargoyles took my small one while she napped on the rocks and I hunted. I couldn't find her. I was most bitter. And then a man appeared --"

"I understand," Abby answered, forgiving everything. He put his own arm protectively around Tristan, who still moved unsteadily.

"You do understand," she said. "It was fortuitous that my sweet found us when she did. She looked all day, but I have kept myself…enclosed in my agony, and she couldn't find me. Your telepathy drew her here, as it drew her to you in that foul temple where they took her. She says you, man and elf, saved her. She's too young to speak except to me. She wants you to know that she's very grateful for your heroism. So am I."

"Are we…free to go to the gate now?" Tristan asked. Even the words took considerable strength from him, and Abby thought they ought to rest a while longer. Tristan shook his head. "We must face Ynyr. He directed the gargoyles in this work, and we think he hides something even more in the city."

"Ynyr.” She hissed rather than whispered the name. Leaves on the trees rattled with her anger. "Though we live side by side, I seldom see him. I am not surprised to find he turns to evil."

"Do you know the Janin?" Tristan suddenly asked.

"No." When she shook her head, silver scales caught the light, reflecting it back in beautiful, bright rainbows. "You two are a wondrous pair. Did you know that?"

"Lady?' Tristan asked, confused.

"A man and an elf walking together, tied by a magic bond, and so much alike I could hardly tell one mind from the other. These crowns you wear are great magic, but they gave you away to me."

"Telepathy, yes. I remembered -- too late," Tristan said. His hand rubbed gently at the bruise growing at his right cheek.

"I regret and am shamed for what I did," she said.

"You acted out of the loss of love. Mandrix did much the same," Abby said. "That was Ynyr's wrong, not yours."

"And I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the reactions were his intent as well, to turn both Mandrix and you against us," Tristan added. "And to keep you here so that no one else learned of his work."

"And you go to find him? The city is large. I would fly you in, but there is magic that holds me out."

"We go alone," Abby said, still afraid to let anything else come too close to his war.

"You are the reason for the Summoning, aren't you?" She looked more closely at him. "It's just as well I didn't go, as long as you came here. I would have hated to waste the trip."

"I think we might have met under less strenuous circumstances," Tristan pointed out and smiled.

"Ah, elf, I am glad you can forgive me. I gift you with a little magic," she said, and sang then -- magic that healed what wounds could be healed and gave them more strength in that moment than Tristan would have gained from ten nights beneath a full moon.

"Thank you," Abby said, bowing his head to her.

"I have never known a man," the dragon admitted. "Even in Eltabar, I avoided the men-places and shunned the Elf-Man wars. When you came into my little valley, I never considered the wonder that you walked in the company of an elf. You shall be legend, Aubreyan and Tristan. I shall sing of you to my brethren. And we never forget. Come, I will walk you to the gate."

She stood slowly, and the younger dragon copied her. Their wings stretched in unison, sending dancing lights around the little glade.

As they ascended that last hillside, she sang a song for them -- their legend, that a man and elf found peace with each other. The song whispered of hope and serenity and love that destroyed all barriers.

PART SIX: YNYR

CHAPTER ONE

The dragon rooted out the trees and other plants that had grown up by the entrance, saving Abby and Tristan time, energy and magic. She told them Ynyr used another gate, closer to the cavern, but they thought it might be just a little wiser not to go in that way. They didn't expect to slip in undetected, especially after their encounter with her, but they might as well not take the well-worn path, nonetheless.

She profusely apologized, and did what she could to help before she left them at the gate and, with her young one on her back, lifted into the sky and banked sharply away from the city. Tristan sensed the ward that kept her out, a little surprised to discover it was not set to stop elves or -- surprisingly -- men. But, then, not even Ynyr could have expected humans to get this far into Ishan.

The great dragon continued her song as she and the young one flew away. Abby listened even after she had disappeared. He'd never thought he and Tristan could appear so bright and wondrous to others.

Then he carefully slipped past the pile of dead brush and wood and walked into a small archway. In the dark shadows beyond stood an enormous -- and closed -- gate of gold. As he neared, he could see the fine inlay of flowers and trees that covered the surface, all set with jewels that glittered in the near dark. The delicate tracery of the elfin work made him feel too human, and unwelcome.

Tristan ran into the gate.

Aubreyan caught his arm when the blind elf stumbled. Tristan felt both surprised and embarrassed.

"I thought you were looking," Abby said, a little amused, knowing his friend wasn't hurt.

"It's all right." Tristan suddenly grinned at his own folly. "I was listening to the song. Music -- especially magical music -- always draws my entire attention."

"The song is very beautiful," Abby agreed, then fell silent for a moment, hoping to hear it again. However, dragons flew too far away now.

He turned his attention reluctantly back to the gate. "We can't stand here for long. I suppose your Ynyr has ways to know when someone enters his city."

"High Elves were the most powerful of all magical beings," Tristan said. "And he's not my Ynyr."

Abby nodded. After all, he had never wanted to claim Altazar. He laid his hands on the cold gold and bright jewels. He pushed. The mammoth gate unexpectedly swung open on hinges that protested the disuse of eons with a long, piercing squeal. Tristan grinned.

"Well, if nothing else, that will certainly warn him."

A hot, dry wind howled through the opening and down past the arches. The air tasted old, scented with musky decay. Abby lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the small pieces of debris it flung at them as he and Tristan stepped forward.

The city lay in ruins.

Tristan's surprise left even his companion's thoughts devoid of words for a long, stunned moment.

"Abby, I don't understand. There's no reason for this," he whispered. He held out his hand, eyes closing as he purposely blocked out the sight that came from Abby and reverted completely to his own powers. "There's still magic here. Ynyr purposely caused this devastation!"

"I don't understand why we had to come here for this," Abby said. He sat on the edge of fallen blue stones, looking around with dismay and distrust. The buildings had probably been very pretty, once upon a time. "We could have waited for the darkness, if there's nothing here for us."

"Something comes, Abby," Tristan suddenly warned.

The elf reached toward the center of the city as he used his magic to spy out what moved there. Abby squinted, surprised to see that a single tall building still stood in the distance. Then a shadow moved at the edge of one far closer. The figure -- human (Elf, Abby) paused, lifting something --

The whisper of a whistle filled the air. A sharp pain in Abby's arm, impaled by an arrow just above the elbow --

Down!

Tristan tackled him and threw them both backward over the remains of the blue wall. Another arrow sailed overhead and clattered among the stones behind them.

"Arrows?" Abby asked, gingerly shifting to look at the wound. The pain grew now that the shock had passed.

"I hadn't expected such a weapon, not from an elf. Especially not from a High Elf." Tristan pushed aside the feeling of wrongness as he put his hands on Abby's arm, testing with a gentle probe of magic that dulled the pain. "The arrow has gone through. I can break it off and pull it out both sides."

"You better take off the crown first."

"No," Tristan answered. Even his mind carried no doubts of the decision. They needed to remain linked during this danger. "More magic to deaden the pain. I'll do this quickly."

"If you think --"

Tristan broke the arrow with a slight surge of magic, an easy snap that didn't tear the wound. He pulled both pieces free with a quick, deft movement of his fingers. A dull ache spread from Abby's fingertips to the back of his head but eased again in the next breath.

Tristan searched for the enemy in his own unique way. "He's coming, Abby." He wanted to use magic to heal the wound but refrained even before Abby formed an argument about the waste of power. He tore cloth from his tunic instead and quickly wrapped it around his companion's arm.

"We better move away from here," Abby said. He successfully fought away the pain -- or did Tristan do that?

"No, that's you. You're better at it than I am," Tristan told him.

Abby carefully looked over the wall, marked where a shadow moved. They slid back into the ruins, quiet as they could manage. Thoughts passed without the need of words while they darted from fallen wall to ruined building, uncertain what good hiding did. However, until they learned something that would help them deal with Ynyr, they had no choice. Somewhere in this city lay a promised answer, an aid against the dark. Abby didn't intend to leave without that help.

The hunter pursed them, moving too quickly for the pair to outrun him for long. They didn't know the city. The enemy did.

He awaited them beside a wall of white marble -- an elf like Edra, though taller and gaunt, his silver hair snarled and unwashed. Gray eyes stared at them, unfeeling stones without compassion, perhaps without a soul. In his right hand, he held a bow, and a sword hung at his left side.

An elf wearing weapons, hunting with the intent to kill them. Tristan's repulsion at the sight overwhelmed Abby, who grabbed at the nearest wall, forgetting his wounded arm. Only the pain drove them both apart again.

"My gargoyles forgot to mention the crowns.” The High Elf's eyes narrowed as he slung the bow over his shoulder. He stepped closer.

"Stay back," Tristan warned.

"Or you'll do what?” Ynyr looked at Tristan with utter disdain as his hand dropped to his sword. "I see it in your faces -- the horror that I could kill. I know your weakness, elf."

"And I know your madness," Tristan replied coolly. He stepped forward, warning Abby to stay still. "You are in league with demons."

"No!" Ynyr denied, his eyes flaring with a sparkle like black fire in their depths. "I prepared that trap to bind the demons to my will and send them against the men! And now we have no weapon to use against them!"

"You only did it because you can't give up the old war," Tristan replied, disgusted.

"Don't provoke me, Edra's grandson. Tristan -- yes, I know who you are. I even know what happened in Eltabar. I've used my powers all these ages to watch beyond the barrier. The gods at last sent retribution upon man. They send payment for the horrors of the war they fought against us!"

"That war ended centuries ago. Those men died and have gone to dust," Abby said. The stone eyes glared at him. "And the darkness that comes will take both Eltabar and Ishan."

"Better Ylant should die in darkness than fall to the demons and men," Ynyr said. He drew the sword at last, bright and silver as a dragon's scale. The reflection off it nearly blinded Abby.

"No!" Tristan came between Abby and the sword, despite Abby's demands he stand back. "We've come for the Janin, and to convince you to allow the barrier to fall. No one need die here. You can't really want to see everything destroyed."

"I don't care, so long as the men die with us."

"Then you are insane," Tristan said, assured of it now. That drew a look of harder anger. "And I shall use whatever means I can to stop you from destroying us all."

"As though you could kill me.” The High Elf smiled with derision as his sword point made lazy circles between Tristan and Abby.

"I would," Tristan replied.

"Oh, little elf, you have no right to speak to me of insanity." Ynyr smiled more brightly, a chilling sight. His emotions surged back and forth too often, and the future lay in the grasp of this madman. "You were insane when you chose to walk with this man."

"You've no right to judge anyone, Ynyr," Abby said, and purposely drew attention away from Tristan. The direct approach would at least quickly get this finished. "You gave up all rights when you decided you would rather see Ylant destroyed than saved."

Ynyr snarled and swung the sword toward Abby -- toward the hated enemy, the man. He ignored Tristan, a mistake born of hate-blindness, and perhaps the belief that an elf really wouldn't hurt him. Abby backed up a step away from the blade. Tristan leaped at Ynyr, using a jolt of magic that sent the weapon flying.

The mad elf howled with rage, shoved Tristan to the side and stood, his hands moving. Magic filled the air like the fluttering of a thousand sparrows, wild and uncontrolled. Tristan called up his own magic and dropped to the ground, propelling Abby down by sheer force of will. Tristan's ward held only because Ynyr hadn't consciously directed the power. It only slowly dissipated, and by the time Tristan could lower the ward Ynyr had retreated too far away to immediately catch. Abby watched him, though, surprised to see that the High Elf's movements appeared erratic, and he swayed with each step.

"I see how the city fell now," Tristan said, shaking his head. "Madness. Abby, he just lost himself in his hatred of men and lets the anger control his powers. Ynyr badly weakened himself. He's insane. I never expected this. Are you all right?"

"Yes," Abby said, leaning against the nearest wall. His arm bled again, worse than before, but he could tolerate the ache. "We have to follow him."

"How could any of his kind turn to evil?"

"He believes he fights against a worse evil, Tristan," Abby explained, and started away with slow steps. No time to rest. "Perhaps the demons let him believe that he could trap them. He hates men so much they could subvert his cause to their own use."

Tristan silently agreed as they took those first few steps. Abby spotted Ynyr's fallen sword and curiously knelt beside the bright blade. When he touched the hilt, he felt warmth that came from more than recent use.

"There's magic," Tristan said. He knelt and held his hand over the blade. "Power to keep the weapon sharp and bright, and perhaps keep the aim true against an enemy. Not intelligent magic, but strong."

"Than maybe I can use it," Abby said, though it felt heavy in his hand as he picked it up and stood. "I'm not good with weapons, but we need the help."

"True. Give me the dagger.” Abby didn't move. "I should go armed as well. I could have done more than just stunned Ynyr if I'd held a weapon."

"No," Abby said, his hand dropping to his dagger. "You aren't going to take that step. You will not injure or kill. I know what that means to you."

"I told Ynyr the truth, Abby.” Tristan finally got up, his hand unerringly landing on Abby's fingers where they held the dagger. "I will do whatever is necessary to protect you and save the world. No elf could stand aside in this battle."

Abby reluctantly pulled the little blade from his belt and turned it hilt first. The elf paused only for a heartbeat before taking the weapon in his hand and pushing it into his own belt. Tristan's relief felt so genuine that Abby couldn't argue or berate him.

"We better follow him," Abby said. He spotted the figure, still moving unsteadily away from them. "I want to finish this before the night comes and the moon rises."

"Oh, you are getting wiser!" Tristan said, very pleased. "I hadn't even thought of that! With all the magic he expended in that display, he might just be weak enough for us to win. He really just brushed my power aside in that attack."

"He nearly brushed us aside," Abby said and began to lead the way, his hand on his bandaged arm for a moment. Then he touched the green stone in the band. "You were right, you know, Tristan. Your power pushed me down and away from Ynyr's magic far faster than you could have warned me."

"Let's hope it continues to work. We still need an edge. He didn't sound very surprised that we came for the Janin."

"He worries about destroying man and not much else," Abby said.

"That building --" Tristan lifted his hand toward the distant tower, the sole building intact anywhere in sight. "That's the focus of magic power. Maybe that's where we'll find this Janin. Ynyr is still heading that way."

"It's a tower," Abby whispered. He held no love of towers, especially when associated with evil, but he shook his head and pushed that thought away. Tristan had taken a dagger. He could look past his own fears. "We better hurry."

Tristan silently agreed. His hand dropped to his dagger as Abby's tightened on the hilt of the sword, and neither could decide which thought it more unnatural.

CHAPTER TWO

Music.

The melody came bright and beautiful, though the words remained unrecognizable even when they neared. A woman's voice, and she sang from the Tower of Gold where Ynyr led them. Abby shivered at the sound and the intensity. Even Tristan, who loved music too well, found this somewhat troubling.

They stood before the open door of the tower, an invitation into an obvious trap. They could hear Ynyr not far ahead, and they couldn't allow him to gain any more time now that he had reached his lair. The moon would soon rise, and they'd not stand a chance against him if he fully recovered his magical strength. They'd never have this chance again.

Tristan started forward first, but Abby's hand on his shoulder held him, without either words or thoughts. The music called to them with a sweetness that Abby mistrusted.

Now that they were closer, however, he heard a melancholy undertone in her song, and a whisper for help. Abby suspected that he had found another victim intended for a sacrifice at the dark temple. He didn't know what he would do if that proved the case. Could he ignore Ynyr to save another? Did Ynyr know enough about him to exploit that need to save others?

You aren't alone. You have help.

The sun rested low over the ruined outline of buildings and would descend far too quickly. They had no choice.

Abby took the first step into the building. Beyond the open door, they found a small, round room glowing bright gold-and-white with magic and sunlight. The beauty made Abby wonder what the city must have been like before this mad elf let it go to ruin.

A center stairwell spiraled upward with steps of blue stone, like a waterfall frozen in place. Abby could see movement above, Ynyr, still trying to escape them -- or trying to reach something.

Tristan sensed no traps, though he felt a presence of strong magic at the top of those stairs. They also realize the music centered there, a humming now that echoed around the tower, music that made Abby's skin tingle as he listened. Tristan had to let Abby become a shield between him and the lure of that sound.

They followed Ynyr, hoping to finish this last madness. Shared strength made the journey possible. Abby could not have gone up -- up this tower -- by himself.

They passed dust-covered floors where sometimes gold and jewels beaconed, but Abby didn't turn that way even before Tristan pointed out the magic. Traps for man, Abby thought. He didn't care for wealth. Ynyr needed something far more alluring to draw him in.

They reached the final flight of stairs only moments after Ynyr, but Abby couldn't see him. The song called still, a melody without words, alluring all the more for that reason. Tristan felt magic in the music as they drew nearer, and had trouble holding back from the call for his own reasons. Abby suspected the music was part of the trap, but Tristan wasn't as certain.

Five steps more and they slipped into the highest room of the tower. The last light of day cast pale pink hues through a ceiling rosette of clear panes, illuminating the only furnishings. A blue stone altar sat in the middle of the room, and upon it rested a rod of gold with sapphire eyes --

She sang.

A staff.

Abby stepped away, an involuntary reaction to the sight of something so fearful. The staff smiled at him, a look no less horrifying than the smile of the Kiya Chanda Andee. He even forgot Ynyr until the High Elf slipped between him and the altar.

"You shall not leave here with her, man," he said. His bright eyes glared from a pale face, and he gasped from the exertion to reach here before his enemies -- weaker, in fact, than either Abby or Tristan. "You shall not have her as long as I live. The Janin Abestella will never go into the hands of man."

"The Janin," Abby whispered. He looked again at the smiling face and the bright blue eyes -- a fake, a mockery of humanity. She still hummed a song. "Not a staff."

Tristan put a hand on his shoulder, forcing calm when Abby nearly lost all control and ran. He didn't trust what he found here. He could never trust a staff, not after holding the Kiya.

The High Elf intended to fight to the death to keep Abby from the song-maker, not realizing how little he wanted to go near that creature. Ynyr drew a dagger from his belt and held it with a show of ability Abby lacked, though he did bring the sword up.

"We will stand here, man," Ynyr said. His gray eyes looked at Abby with a wild, insane glare. "And we will wait for the world to end. It won't be long now. When the darkness reaches the barrier the true destruction will begin. It is close now. Sunset and the world ends as powers collide and only give way in an apocalypse that few will escape. And those who do will only die more slowly in the darkness. Neither man nor demons will have this world."

The words yanked Abby away from his personal fears with a reminder of why he fought. He stepped closer, ignoring both Tristan's warning and Ynyr's dagger. "There is no more time."

"So true. Before the night is out the world will end, godling."

"Then you do know what I am. I wondered."

"Oh, it's quite plain to those who know how to look." His eyes darted toward the Janin with a slight frown. She still hummed, oblivious to the confrontation. "That you are man is enough for me."

"Then you dare to go against the gods?" Tristan asked, taking his place beside Abby.

"I dared that long, long ago, little elf. And I dare more now. The gods know what will happen when the darkness meets the barrier."

"The end of the world," Abby said. For a moment, he almost wished it to happen. This task finished --

And accept the deaths? Carrick, Petra, Indale? Tristan's rabbits and squirrels and chipmunks? The pixies that slept unaware in their little logs? Abby raised the sword higher and took another step forward.

And the Janin suddenly sang a song of hope and brightness. The words and the melody filled the room with a declaration of life, and the gifts of beauty that filled the world. The music made him strong. With the knowledge that he must fight or lose everything, Abby stepped closer to Ynyr. The High Elf lifted the dagger to hold him back.

"Man, you are a fool. A toy of the gods."

"And you have no reason to live at all. You only want to take all life with you when you die."

That truth touched Ynyr and his eyes flickered with the pain. Abby took advantage of the moment and brought his sword around, knowing that he had no choices left.

Ynyr, more expert with weapons, brought his own little dagger up and parried Abby's desperate blow. Abby took hold of the sword with two hands, fighting against the weight while his injured arm and chest both bled. Ynyr's face lost the last pretense of calm, and he revealed only his hatred of Man, the old enemy. Abby could see no hope of reasoning with him.

Abby fought with a ferocity that had been alien to him before now. The Janin sang still, and he allowed himself to feel her hope and let it give him strength. He would do anything to win this battle.

His renewed attack surprised Ynyr, but Abby still couldn't gain an advantage. They cut at each other -- minor wounds -- and neither backed down. Abby wielded the more powerful weapon, but Ynyr had the better skill and still some magic besides.

Then, unexpectedly, Ynyr fell to his side as Tristan tackled him, his dagger stabbing into the High Elf's arm. Ynyr dropped his own weapon, and Tristan grabbed him when he tried to scramble after it.

"Kill him, Abby!" Tristan yelled. His thoughts echoed the order, despite his personal inclinations and instincts. "Kill him or the barrier won't fall --"

"No!" Ynyr hissed, frantic. He suddenly twisted in Tristan's hold, pulling the elf before the weapon, stilling Abby's killing blow.

"I saw the sword that cut you, and I know its name of agony, Aubreyan. You lose, Aubreyan Altazar." He grinned even as Tristan finally pulled free. "The sword is named Nurialin."

Everything went red with fire -- and the fire spread from Abby's chest to his head, to his arms, to his legs --

He fell but never felt hitting the floor. Pain grew with each breath till he dared not even breathe anymore --

Abby! Abby!

Tristan felt the pain as well, paralyzed and afraid for Abby's sake. For the briefest moment, at the height of the agony, Aubreyan sensed someone else caught in the anguish with him: Tabor, snared in the sudden fire of the sword's other power, even though he was far away. He felt no others who had been cursed by this sword.

Abby!

Blackness.

Reality returned, though very, very slowly. The world felt too hard around him, and even the air he breathed pressed heavy against his chest. The Janin hummed softly on the altar and only the faint glow of moonlight illuminated the little area where he lay.

Alive, and with the world still whole around him. He didn't understand. If the sun had set then Ynyr had his powers, and nothing prevented his killing an unconscious godling and his elf companion. Tristan drifted closer to consciousness as well, equally worried.

Movement proved difficult. The pain swept like fire through Abby’s chest as he rolled to his side. Tristan, feeling it, instinctively shied away again, slipping deeper into the darkness where nothing touched him. Abby wished him to stay there and wait a while longer. He didn't know why he still lived. He mistrusted Ynyr, and expected torture that he didn't want Tristan to share in.

However, Ynyr lay on the floor as well. Abby hadn't failed after all. The sword he had held ready to attack when Ynyr turned the old wound against him now rested deep in the High Elf's chest. He had won by the sheer chance of collapsing into the mad elf when he was beyond all reason.

The barrier must have fallen. He'd won... And now he had only to appease the gods and end the darkness that came closer even now. No time to rest. Moving with very careful breaths, he slid past Ynyr's side, reaching for Tristan.

Ynyr's hard, fanatical eyes sprang open as Aubreyan came close. A thin, bony hand grasped Abby's wrist, the fingers cold with death. He tried to pull away, but even dying the High Elf proved stronger than Abby.

"So, Aubreyan Altazar. You survive," Ynyr whispered, his voice binding hatred in every word. "And you win after all. What do you do now, man?"

"I go to destroy the Kiya," he said. He stopped trying to pull free and met the Elf's eyes in a stare that held his own anger. "Tell me how, Ynyr. At least do that much for Ylant."

"Without your link to the Elf I would have won.” His free hand went to the sword that pierced him, though he showed no sign of feeling the pain.

"No. I still would have won," Abby replied with a bitter softness. "How could I not, when the gods are on my side?"

"Not such a fool then." Ynyr nodded. His eyes darkened slightly. "You didn't call for help from the gods when you faced me, though the fate of Ylant rested in the balance."

"I learned that lesson, and I won't make that mistake again. If I could not win, what more would they have done?"

"You've saved the world from destruction. I couldn't hold the barrier and keep myself alive as well. How will you save Ylant from darkness and demons? Your battle is only begun. Surely, even you would prefer to see everything destroyed rather than fall into the hands of Gix and his minions."

Abby shivered. He faintly felt Tristan coming awake again and wished him peace in oblivion still. Abby hurt, and he didn't want to share the bitterness within him. Ynyr, though the enemy, still shared a bond of hatred. And Ynyr might yet redeem himself.

"The Kiya," Aubreyan said. "How do I destroy it?"

"By taking that which you so obviously deplore. The gods made the Janin to fight the Kiya, but I would never trust humans with that power. You should have realized she existed long before you saw her. Balances, godling. There is always a balance of strong powers.” He stopped, his eyes almost softening for a moment. "The Kiya Chanda Andee grows strong by destruction, and the Janin Abestella by creation. Music, godling, is a very rare form of creation. Not like any of the other arts, is it, man? Do you understand me? The other arts are of the eyes -- but tell me where an artist sees music?"

Abby looked up at the staff, shaking his head, unwilling to accept that he must take her to fight this war. And she smiled at him, and hummed softly.

"You will take her," Ynyr insisted. "You, man, now stand between our world and the rule of the demons. You. And you will use whatever power you need to win."

Abby turned away from the staff's bright, insane smile and more willingly looked back into the fanatical eyes of Ynyr. He knew the High Elf neared death as blood at last appeared around the sword.

"I will take her," he said.

Ynyr nodded, and there might even have been relief buried in that hatred. "And take this sword as well.” Ynyr's fingers touched the blade, and weakness showed at last. He trembled with the effort. "I called it Manslayer, and used the magic against your kind. However, when man forged it, eons past, they named her Gods' Honor. That suits you."

Abby looked at the sword and nodded. He could more easily take up the sword again than the staff.

"Elfin and human mages forged the Janin and Gods' Honor under the aegis of the gods, just as men and demons forged the Kiya and...that other sword. She has power, Aubreyan Altazar. Nothing will stop her blade. Use her wisely."

Abby only nodded. Ynyr's hold tightened on his wrist until Abby thought the bone would break. The High Elf's eyes closed, the blood flowed freely as his enemy breathed his last.

Dead, Abby thought until he tried to pull away, and Ynyr's eyes flew open one more time. The High Elf gasped with the effort of breathing, but he did not let go.

"Not yet, Aubreyan Altazar," he whispered, a rattling sound devoid of emotion, almost bereft of life. "I have something more for you."

He whispered something...magical. The five fingers clamped around Abby's wrist brought cold where they rested, as though his coming death drew life with it -- and the cold reached toward Abby’s heart. Tristan fought a panicked battle for conscious control of his own body and tried to throw a shield; but the high elf proved to be still more powerful and swept past it without pause. Abby suddenly feared very much, knowing the moon stood high in the windows overhead.

"This is my gift to you, Aubreyan, a command you shall never break. You will seek to destroy every demon and demon’s spawn that exists. You will never stay your hand when they are within your reach. Never surrender, never reason -- you will only kill the demons. I give you this as the curse of a dying High Elf, who defied even the gods. May my gift haunt you, man, forever."

He whispered other unknown words -- a seal of power that touched Abby's soul and stilled him even while he panicked. And the curse sat there, like a touch of fire ready to be flamed to an inferno. Ynyr's lips curled back once more in the familiar snarling grimace, and he died without another word, without even a sigh of protest.

Dead.

Abby carefully pried the fingers from his wrist, though he feared he would feel Ynyr's hand upon him forever.

Cursed. Cursed by his father's blood, cursed by the gods, cursed by a dying High Elf.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, wanting to run and knowing he hadn't the strength. Besides, he could escape to nowhere that the darkness wouldn't find him eventually.

Tristan knelt, pale but steady, a shape at the edge of the moonlight. Their eyes met, their minds touched. Understanding, but without hope. Abby turned to the humming staff and touched her golden surface.

"At last!" her words rang clearly. "I have waited long. Take me, and we shall walk in the light of day! Take me!"

"I've come very far, staff," Abby said, his voice unsteady. "And I still believe I would rather fight the Kiya hand-to-hand than take up another of your kind. I am not a fool like my father."

She smiled with a show of pearl teeth in her small golden face. All her words came as a song, bright and beguiling, a tune that would make the birds sing in the dark of night. "I am made to fight the Kiya Chanda Andee. I am all her opposites. Take me up, and I will help you win. We shall destroy the Kiya. There is nothing else for me!"

Tristan struggled to his feet and leaned on Abby's arm, still dazed but coherent. "She's right, Abby," he said. His hand rose shakily to touch what Abby could not, the feel of magic in the air around her -- though when he tried to put his hand on the staff itself she hissed a little warning. "There's no evil in her. You must have power before you fight Tabor and the Kiya."

Abby reluctantly agreed, wondering if he acquiesced only because his mind still felt numb from the touch of Ynyr and the curse that sat like a weight against his soul. He first retrieved Gods' Honor, the blade shedding the elfin blood as it came free, bright and unblemished by the battle. He held it tightly in his right hand. Then he lifted the Janin Abestella in his left.

She suddenly sang of freedom, of life -- and he felt the madness within her. She had waited too long, alone here where Ynyr kept her a prisoner. Now that Abby held her, she would trust no other near her again -- not even Tristan.

She wanted into his mind, into his heart -- but that he would in no way allow, and he didn't need Tristan's help to keep her out. This staff would never have him the way the Kiya had held his father.

Stunned by the power of his refusal, she pulled back, and her song quieted but did not end. Abby said nothing and Tristan only sighed. Her insanity felt natural in this mad world.

They descended the stairs to begin the long journey back toward Edra's village, and then beyond into the darkness. Aubreyan had his promised aid and now he must seek out Tabor and end this war.

PART SEVEN: RETURN

CHAPTER ONE

"There's trouble brewing at the border, my friends," Mandrix told them as he opened the newly repaired gate. "The men come fighting to take what they want when they should have entreated for peace. There will be war again if this madness isn't settled quickly."

Tristan sighed.

"Forgive me," Mandrix immediately apologized. "I am anxious about these matters, but that's no reason for impoliteness. I often voice my anxiety without thinking."

He stepped aside, watching, as Abby did, the shadows of gathering wolves. The sun had nearly set; golds and reds filled the sky, and Abby couldn't decide if that portended rewards or blood.

"We are all anxious," Abby said, glad to be inside the walls. The staff hummed softly, drawing Mandrix's attention for only a moment. The people of Ishan were used to magic, after all.

"We've come asking a night's shelter, my lord," Abby said. He found himself leaning against the staff and even welcoming her support. "We're too tired to fend for ourselves."

"You two are always welcome here," Mandrix said. The giant pulled the gate closed behind them, carefully securing the lock and casting a quick ward over the entrance. Then he paused to look at them in the faint flickering light of distant torches and frowned, shaking his head. "You look as though you fought a hard battle, but at least you won."

"Won," Abby said, testing the word. "No, we didn't win. But we didn't lose either. I have the Janin and Ynyr is dead."

"We thought he must be when the barrier fell," Mandrix said. He followed the two up the stairs, never commenting on their slow, weary steps. "Edra sent out word, much like he did the Summoning, to let all the land know what had happened. He said men began to stream over the mountains and into Ishan almost immediately. The first meeting between elves and humans didn't go well, but at least no one died of the encounter. Now the whole border lands are in chaos."

"Any sign of Tabor or the Kiya?" Abby asked.

"No sign of them crossing into Ishan."

Abby paused at the top of the stairs, looking toward the open tower room. He felt only a little less revulsion than the first time, though at least now he could prepare for the feelings. Tristan took his arm, using the physical contact to reinforce his own emotions and they crossed the area quickly. Abby wisely kept his eyes closed.

"Tabor and the Kiya probably don't know you're in Ishan," Mandrix said.

"The moment that barrier fell, he knew," Abby assured him, daring to look again. "Besides, Ynyr was dealing with demons. Tabor may very well have heard some news from his father through Ynyr. Lord Mandrix, our being here might prove unsafe for you --"

"Quiet, Aubreyan," Mandrix ordered, and laid a hand on the smaller man's shoulder, ignoring the muscles that tightened instinctively against the touch. "We shall not talk about what is safe, not after you've gone and saved my Esowan. Nor after you went after Ynyr. Spend as long as you need here."

"A night," Abby said. His head bowed with the exhaustion he couldn't hide any longer. "Only a night."

Mandrix said nothing more as he led them to a room where the bed looked soft and warm and the torches bright against the darkening night. Abby laid the Janin against the wall beside him, though she protested even that much of a parting. He gave her one glare of warning, and her mournful song slipped down to a soft hum and became almost a part of the world.

Esowan brought a little food and left again, forcibly taking Mandrix with her, though he wanted to hear about the battle. Abby hardly had the strength to slip off his boots and tunic. He finally lay down next to Tristan, ignoring the ache in his arm and the worse ache in his soul.

He slept deeply, exhaustion taking him beyond any touch of the real world. As he slipped toward that blissful darkness, he suspected he felt Tristan's welcome hand in bringing him this time of peace.

When he finally awoke again, Abby purposely kept his mind distant and quiet, hoping not awaken his companion. Tristan's dreams were pleasant, and Abby let himself drift, half-awake, in that dark, warm place. He wanted to stay in the dream, but reality and nightmare came too easily. He could hear the Janin humming, a call back to war and curses.

Tristan had kept him sane since the battle. Now Abby felt the full weight of what Ynyr had done to him. A curse -- words spoken that he could feel within him, and know their power. Kill all demons? The magnitude of the concept seemed almost as insane as--

"As the two of us trying to save Ylant from the dark?” Tristan rolled over in the bed and slowly sat up.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry. I slept enough." Tristan smiled and gingerly touched the dark bruises across his chest. "It's getting better. So is your arm."

"We can't stay here," Abby said. He suddenly stood and grabbed his tunic. "Tabor won't be slow in finding me. If there's trouble at the border, that's where I should be."

"Why? Those aren't your people, Abby. And you know it."

"I belong nowhere."

"Aubreyan." Tristan stood and caught hold of Abby's arm, careful of the wound. "Don't despair. Remember, I'm with you. We'll go to the border and see if we can help -- but it isn't your responsibility to make everything right. Not even the darkness is your fault, though I know you have to do what you can to end it. I understand. There's something you don't realize, sometimes. I don't just feel your emotions and hear your thoughts. I understand why you react the way you do, and I would have understood even without the crowns."

He hadn't considered that aspect of their relationship before. With Tristan so close to him, he didn't see anything beyond the link. Tristan didn't agree because of the crowns, but because he felt the same way about the troubles they faced.

Abby remembered the first night when they talked in the woods and the enjoyment he felt at finding someone who believed as he did.

Do not despair.

If he could save Ylant from the dark and destruction, surely he could manage to accept the curse of a dying High Elf. It felt no worse than the other curses that had been placed on him, after all.

When they bade farewell to Mandrix and Esowan again, the two giants looked less apprehensive as they walked away. When matters settled down in the borderlands Edra would need to come here and oversee the destruction of the Temple to the Demons, but for now the giants remained at their castle to guard against any more trouble in that dark cavern.

Edra was the last of the High Elves now, and the only one with the ancient and arcane knowledge to deal with such matters. Tristan wondered if his grandfather would stay, now that Ynyr had gone and he need no longer keep the balance.

Neither he nor Abby spoke aloud of that worry.

CHAPTER TWO

Abby and Tristan raced back to the border, stopping only when exhaustion compelled them to sleep. As they drew closer they met frightened creatures fleeing from the twin terrors of man and the encroaching dark, and heard tales of chaos from pixies and centaurs. The centaurs hadn't wanted to run, of course, but Edra asked that they fall back. They would form another line of defense against the men, if needed.

Abby wondered what held Tabor back. Did he fear the power of the elves? Did he sense the Janin, who still sang her little song of madness that constantly urged them onward to find her enemy, the Kiya?

Abby didn't trust the Janin Abestella, but he understood the necessity for her powers. He could sense she held potent magic. Besides, the Janin as his ally was better than leaving her behind for someone else to take. But Abby didn't trust any staff, and especially one that came to him as a gift from the gods.

At least he had little time to think about the curse. On the last day of their journey he could even see the edge of the dark, slinking its way across the forests. Abby stared, frightened by the realization of how far the darkness had spread. He tried to believe that he could defeat the Kiya and end the destruction he'd brought to the world.

They had run so far so fast that they quite unexpectedly came on what was left of Edra's camp. Tristan had led them to it by magic and froze with shock when they found the abandoned tents, many of them destroyed, their contents strewn across the ground. Aubreyan's first glance at the sight brought Tristan's cry of dismay, and the elf knelt, nearly senseless and afraid of what he would find.

Aubreyan pulled back from Tristan's overwhelming emotions only when he heard a sound in the woods. He focused on them while Tristan reached for the shreds of a fallen tent, stunned and afraid and oblivious to the world.

Abby drew his sword as several people crept toward them. Not Elves. Abby carefully put himself between Tristan and the men.

Truly, men.

One detached from the mass of darkness while the half-dozen others followed behind like some shadow predator slinking from the darkness.

The Janin sang a little louder, and that stopped them. Abby acknowledged that she served him well enough, especially if she helped keep Tristan safe.

"What have we here?" The voice held gruff bitterness, anger, and fear. Man sounds. "A damned elf with a sword? That's a new one! Are you a fighter, elf?"

"I am not an elf," Aubreyan answered clearly. He tried to soften his own voice, hoping not to antagonize these people.

"What, then? What manner of animal are you?"

"The man kind."

"Man -- who carries that thing in his hand and keeps an elf as a companion?"

The Janin sensed Abby's worry and began to sing more loudly, power tingling through his hand. She glowed a little, and the men backed away.

"Who are you? What do you want here? Quiet, Janin!"

The staff obediently softened her song to a hum, but her unnatural blue eyes watched carefully, waiting for the attack. He wondered if she had caught that paranoia from him.

"We move before the darkness," the man answered. "We're the strong ones, who outran the cursed night. The elves won't stop us. We have an army to clear our way of any opposition."

"Someone leads you, then," Aubreyan said. "Take me to him."

"Abby! No!” Tristan suddenly leapt back to his feet, his thoughts still disjointed but wild with fear for Abby's life. The elf fought for control of his emotions, trying to push despair away in the wake of Abby's new madness. "You cannot trust them. I learned that from you, at least. Don't go with them!"

"Tristan --"

"At least don't go alone!" Tristan turned to the man, closing his eyes. The elf's hand went to his dagger, resting there for the others to clearly see. "I am an elf, but I would kill to protect my friend from danger. You shall not take him!"

"Tristan, I am going, and I go alone," Abby whispered.

"No!" Tristan replied, unreasonably adamant. Fear and loss left him fractious.

They'll deal easier with me, a man, than with you, Tristan. They are my people.

"No," Tristan denied even that fact. His fingers tightened on Abby's arm. "I am your only people. You were never one of them."

Abby still denied Tristan's pleas to accompany him, mentally repeating his the reasoning. The men wouldn't trust an elf in their midst, but they might still deal with Abby. And he needed someone to watch the Janin, which he wouldn't dare take into the camp of men.

Lastly, if something did happen, Tristan would instantly know and could come to rescue him. That seemed a better plan than both of them getting caught in a trap.

"Then go," Tristan at last whispered.

He stepped aside as Abby shoved the Janin into the dirt. She protested, fearful of abandonment again. Her song grew loud and fearful and dangerous, but when she saw Abby's look of anger she softened her despair to a pitiful hum.

"Be careful, Abby," Tristan warned once again.

"And you, too. Janin, protect him, or I shall leave you here for eternity."

She believed him. She sang of what she would do to any man who dared come near. Tristan sighed and sat on the ground beside her. The men moved back toward the trees, pausing in the shadows to wait for Abby.

"Remember, there are men in the woods," Abby said. "Don't trust them."

As though I would.

The thought came silent and clear, winning a brief smile from Abby. He feared the elf picked up too much from him, and he learned far too little from gentle Tristan.

The band of desperate men surrounded Abby, but they didn't touch him. Eventually, he put up his sword, trying not to provoke more trouble.

They walked for nearly an hour. At last Abby saw large fires illuminating the perimeter of a camp. He smelled meat cooking and thought of Tristan's little friends. He felt both a sudden revulsion and hatred for these men. Where men walked, evil followed.

People watched as they marched through the camp. There were few women and fewer children. Strong, angry men stared at him. Abby looked up at the sky and the moon, but he could already see an edge of utter blackness descending the mountainside.

Mother goddess, my life was not worth this! Fight your demons elsewhere and leave my world in peace!

Careful, Abby!

But She didn't answer. They were safe from her tonight.

They brought Abby to a crude tent made of cloth scavenged from the elves’ camp. From within, Abby could hear the sounds of shouting men and smell more meat. He stilled the protest of his stomach and hoped his face didn't pale. He must stay strong.

"Wait here," one of the men ordered and went inside.

I'm here, Abby. You're not alone.

When the tent flap opened again, the man signaled Abby to enter. He lifted his head. These were only men, after all. Since the death of his father, he had won over far worse.

The tent stank of men and their foul food. Crude tables sat scattered along the cloth walls, crowded with dirty, bearded men. At the far end of the tent, one table sat on a platform made of rough-hewn wood. The war leader -- Abby remembered the arrangement from his father's court.

The man in this place of honor looked up at the interruption, a moment of stunned recognition in both their faces.

"The bastard!" General Nual shouted, standing

Abby winced but held his place, determined to stay strong.

Be strong. Survive.

Not Tristan's warning this time, but an echo from his mother. Tristan's thoughts were far more panicked. The elf wanted Abby to run, even though he knew that wasn't the answer. Too many enemies around him -- Abby would never reach the tent opening. Tristan started to come for him, but Abby urged him to stay back. Nothing had happened yet.

He watched as Nual came from his high place and stalked toward him -- only a chain-mailed barbarian, unchanged in a world gone mad. When the general stopped before him, Abby's hand dropped to his sword, even as Nual's did.

"Altazar's bastard." He sounded suddenly amused. He stepped backward, not releasing the weapon. "I never expected to see you again. I thought that demon wizard Tabor killed you. Why did he leave the work unfinished?"

"He was busy with other troubles when the darkness came," Abby said. "What do you want here?"

"Like the others, I ran ahead of the darkness," Nual said. His hand waved vaguely toward the east, but his eyes never left Aubreyan. "I started toward the Ice Mountains, and then I realized I didn't want to get caught in the dark and the cold, so I turned west; and I've barely outraced the endless night ever since. Now I find you here already."

"I came more directly, Nual."

"General Nual," the man said. His lips pulled back in the old feral grin Abby remembered so well.

Abby met the man's look without flinching. The barbarian's face reddened and his eyes bulged. Abby had accepted this man's power over him in the cell at Mindeneh. He didn't have to now and even welcomed the encounter. Nual would learn he was no longer helpless.

Abby! Not now!

That thought distracted him for a moment, almost made him falter in the face of this enemy. Tristan, realizing the danger of his own meddling, immediately pulled back with frightened despair. Abby again saw Nual before him, face red and angry that the bastard dared stand there, openly challenging him. Abby almost backed down and bowed to the man -- but that would win him no more here than it ever would have at Mindeneh.

"You have not yet addressed me, bastard."

"I'll call you General Nual when you call me Prince Aubreyan."

A hiss rose from the tables around them. Nual's eyes went large with surprise. The general, faster than Abby remembered, backhanded him with a blow that sent Abby sprawling against the far tables. He tasted blood in his mouth and could hear rough laughter above the ringing in his ears, though Tristan's panic drew most of his attention.

I'm all right, Tristan! Stay back!

Nual stood over him, foot raised, a hobnailed boot descending toward his head. Abby grabbed the foot and twisted -- Tristan's idea? -- and the general sprawled into the table behind him. Food and drink scattered on the revelers who sat there. They didn't mind, in view of the new entertainment.

Before anyone could snare Abby, he surged back to his feet and unsheathed the sword. He slipped past reaching hands and made for the startled Nual, who never expected an attack and hadn't even started to stand yet. With a knee to Nual's groin and Gods' Honor against his neck, Abby at last got the man's undivided attention, if not his respect.

Wind shook the tent. Little noise came from outside as the camp settled down to sleep. Within the tent, hardly a man dared to breathe.

"Now, Nual, we know each other better, don't we? I am not the bastard you beat. You are no longer my father's hand of power. Now we are just two more men seeking a way out of the dark. And the darkness comes fast, Nual. Two days, perhaps, and you'll see the sun no more. I can get you passage through these lands."

"How?"

Abby stood and stepped back, giving the man a chance to get up, which he did with little grace to stare at him. The anger inexplicably disappeared from his face.

"You are Altazar's son after all."

"No. I am only my mother's son, and that is curse enough," Abby replied. But Nual knew nothing about Starwind, so the words were meaningless to him.

"Bring us chairs," Nual ordered.

They sat a few paces from each other. Abby kept his sword in hand, resting the blade across his knees. Nual grinned at the precaution -- and perhaps thought better of him for it.

"Now tell me, bas -- Aubreyan, how we can get across this gods-cursed place. They'll let no man set foot on their precious land."

"I have already traveled across Ishan and back again," Abby replied, startling Nual, who didn't even question the statement. "I might still negotiate passage for you as well. They want peace restored here. You shouldn't have attacked the elves. Edra would have aided us."

"We've never fought the elves. They fled when we poured over the mountains into their camp. We destroyed their cursed magical belongings -- yes -- but they escaped. My men found you there. Did you see any bodies?"

The vision of the tents flashed into his mind, Tristan sharing in the maelstrom of hope. They hadn't thought clearly when they came on the scene. They saw only destruction and expected the worst of the men.

"Then King Edra lives." Abby smiled, half the joy coming from Tristan. "There's more hope now, Nual. Edra is the last of the High Elves. The other beings of Ishan respect him. Any idea where they went?"

"North." Nual watched Abby with a curious tilt of his head.

"North," Abby repeated. He tried silently to argue Tristan into going after his grandfather and quickly reached a compromise. Tristan would send a messenger. Abby nodded agreement and saw Nual look worried. It served him now to be mysterious, to be more than just a man running from the dark with the rest of them. "Others will seek King Edra for me, and we'll arrange a meeting. I suggest you order your men to desist from their foraging for fights. The less trouble you cause, the quicker Edra can aid you."

Nual nodded agreement, though Abby thought the others were reluctant.

"Will you stay with us?" Nual unexpectedly invited.

"No." Abby stood and sheathed his sword at last, glad that he hadn't needed to prove his nonexistent skill with the weapon. "I have my own place. I will return when Edra arrives."

They let him leave without any attempt to detain him. Abby's heart pounded with fear, knowing Nual was at his unguarded back; but Tristan helped keep him steady as he walked away from the enemy.

Abby cleared the camp and made the safety of the woods without incident. Tristan's relief spread within his mind, far stronger even than his own. Abby never thought to fight a battle with Nual, and never imagined he could walk away from one. The nightmare from his past, though, had not been made any better by the win. They would meet again. Even that old war wasn't finished.

CHAPTER THREE

Edra and five of his companions arrived at sunrise the next day. Abby and Tristan heard of their approach from pixies and barely had time to make their own way to the human's campsite. This time, Tristan came along, and so did the Janin. She still felt alien to him, but Abby realized his need to show power outweighed his own dislikes. He must save Ylant from the dark. He would use the Janin as his tool, and her power would do much to keep the uncertain men at bay.

Although he had begun to wonder what good it would do to save the world from the dark if it fell to likes of Nual afterward. Tristan had no answer, except to say that he would rather follow the path of Edra than that of Ynyr.

They entered the camp from the south at the same time King Edra entered from the west. The unintentionally perfect timing impressed the men. People fled from Abby, his staff and companion, and from the sight of the elves coming in the other direction.

Ignoring the smells proved harder with Tristan walking beside him. However, his elf companion proved a little more compassionate when he realized there were children among the refugees. Human children were such frail, short-lived creatures that no elf would treat them unkindly. Abby had never thought much about human children before. He didn't mind thinking there was something innocent from his species.

They're like you.

Aubreyan thought the children might be more elf-like than human. And Tristan didn't argue, because it made Abby more like the elves as well.

When the two groups met outside the large tent, even General Nual looked uneasy with all the magic and magical creatures so close. Edra, however, ignored the men. He quickly embraced Tristan and then Abby, who tried not to show too much surprise or unease.

"You two have aged a century since you left," Edra said as he looked from one to the other. "And I've aged an eon, worrying about you. So, this is the Janin. I hadn't expected her to be a staff."

"Neither, obviously, did I," Abby said. He glanced into the dreamy, blue-eyed face. She still sang, and he left her alone this time. "This is the Janin Abestella. I'm told she's a match for the Kiya. I've held the Kiya, and I've held the Janin. It's not going to be an easy battle."

Nual shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and his honor guard looked ready to run. Abby shook the Janin slightly, hoping she would quiet. However, she felt too much from Abby and knew that enemies stood near. She prepared to fight anyone who dared challenge him.

The longer she remained in his company, the stronger he felt her own emotions and limited thoughts. Her loyalty to him nearly equaled Tristan's, who placed a hand to the dagger at his belt when he neared Nual. Edra saw that move but didn't look particularly bothered.

The world's gone mad, Tristan decided.

The Elf King at last turned his attention to the general. The human didn't look pleased to finally gain notice. "We've come to make an agreement," Edra said.

"Say what you have to say," Nual replied, his words a snarl of anger -- but no. Not anger so much as fear, and Abby thought he might understand the man a little better for that enlightenment, though he still didn't forgive anything from their past.

"You wish to cross my land ahead of the darkness," Edra replied, ignoring the tone. Edra looked toward the ominous dark line that neared even as they spoke. Then he looked back at the nervous barbarian, his own face calm. "I might give you that right."

"At what price?" Nual asked, his hand to his sword. The barbarians only understood how to fight for what they needed.

"Only the price of peace," Edra said. His coolness balanced Nual's antagonism. Abby gladly left these negotiations in the hands of a master. "I'll let you cross my lands, but only in a straight line due west and within a strip not to exceed three miles wide. We will watch you and deal harshly with any man caught beyond the boundary."

Nual drew back his lips in a familiar snarl. He turned to Aubreyan, for some inexplicable reason expecting aid from him. Abby grinned and stepped back, leaving it plain with whom he must deal.

"Accept my offer, or wait here," Edra concluded with well-feigned indifference. Tristan was very much impressed. "A few more hours and the darkness will be upon you. Or try to go where you want in Ishan. The centaurs would be glad of that choice, at least."

Abby nodded and wondered about what other creatures might like to find the humans unprotected by Edra's aegis of peace. Hettena and her unicorns certainly wouldn't be slow to fight. Nor would the sphinx, he imagined, who had stood watch to keep men like Nual from Eltabar. Those of Ishan remembered the old war. For some, like Edra, the war remained a part of their personal memories. For man, it was only an old legend.

"We will go where you say," Nual said. Though the words came as a growl, they brought murmurs of relief from the other humans. "I'll do what I can to keep my people in line, but I suggest you keep your creatures out of our way."

"Nothing will readily come near you," Edra replied, and made the simple words a very plain insult.

Nual stiffened and started to pull his sword. Abby reached for his as well, and the smile on the Janin's face brightened and her song changed to something very frightful. Nual took his hand away empty and stepped back.

The Elf King nodded. He put his hands to Tristan and Abby's shoulders, starting to draw them away with his group. However, Abby remained in place and faced Nual again.

"I need information," he said to the barbarian. The man nodded. "What have you heard about Tabor and the Kiya?"

"They fled the dark and went north toward your father's old lands," Nual said, "I think she must have regained strength. After I turned away from that path I heard that he headed back to Mindeneh and the heart of the darkness. No one knows why."

"Probably to save us the time of chasing each other all over the world," Abby replied. A touch of the curse wanted to fill him with anger as he thought about the demon-spawn enemy waiting for him. He fought that madness away with Tristan's help. "Have you heard anything from Sanwind?"

"Old Indale's castle?" He snorted with a sound of amused disgust. "He laid in supplies and said he'd wait the darkness out. Apparently, he really believes it will end, the fool."

Trusts me, the fool.

Abby nodded and turned away. Tristan and Edra flanked him like two guards. Tabor waited to do battle, and Lord Indale trusted him to end the darkness. He didn't mind so much going back into the dark now, not if it meant he might really end this madness. The Janin gave him some hope of winning, at least.

"Bastard!"

Abby turned in reflex, and uncertain if he should be angry or not. Nual grinned, though surprisingly without the underlying anger he usually showed.

"I always feared you'd grow stronger than your father. We all saw the power in you. Altazar saw it as well, and feared you more than he ever did that damned staff of his. You are going back into the darkness, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said. Nual's words surprised and chilled him. Tristan's hand tightened on his arm, his own distrust of the man intensified.

"To fight Tabor and put staff to staff." Nual nodded. His eyes narrowed as he looked to the Janin and back to Abby again. Then he tilted his head, and his face softened for the first time since Abby had ever known him. "You've changed. You might just win, after all. Good luck, Prince Aubreyan."

And Nual bowed before he turned back into his tent.

CHAPTER FOUR

Edra placed a cup of sweet-smelling tea in Abby's hands. "This will calm your nerves, Abby," he said. "Drink slowly."

Abby obeyed, though he didn’t feel particularly upset about going back into the dark and even wondered if he should be too calm for the journey. There were dangers in the dark.

However, the sweet warmth did drive away several little aches and knots he hadn't realized were there until they disappeared. He barely noticed when Tristan gripped his arm. Even the direct contact brought only a whisper of worry.

"He's fine, Tristan. Bring him to the clearing," Edra said. "It's time for you both to leave."

"Grandfather?" Tristan said, confused.

But Edra had already started out of the tent, and Abby went with Tristan without comment. Many elves bade them farewell and safe journey, but Tristan worried about Abby, who felt distant from all of this. Too calm.

They were within a yard of the pegasus when Abby saw the creature and froze, knowing, even in this state, that he should panic.

Tristan's wonder only slightly overlaid Abby's fears. His hand tightened, trying to draw his full attention. "Listen to me. The pegasus is the fastest, safest way back into Eltabar."

"Time is important," Edra added. He took Abby's arm and gently led him closer to the creature. Large blue eyes watched, interest and unrest showing in the lift of its head. "Men and elves are not compatible. We run the risk of renewing the old war while these humans traverse Ishan. You must quickly give them back their lands, or even with the darkness ended there will be trouble."

"I understand, sire," he said. He still couldn't bring himself to willingly go closer to the immense, beautiful monster waiting so patiently for him.

"They don't even carry elves any longer," Tristan said. He held tight to Abby, but with the other hand he reached out to run his fingers over the mane. The pegasus tilted his head into the touch. "I know you're afraid, Abby, but this is a wondrous gift he offers. And a great honor."

"I understand.” Abby also understood why he hadn't run in blind panic as they neared the creature. Drugged tea. Again!

"He must have gotten the idea from me," Tristan said in half-apology. "Last night, after the conference with the centaurs, he asked how you had managed to survive around horses in Eltabar."

"And my apologies for taking advantage of you in such a way," Edra said, and sounded sincere. "But the need is great, and I trust that it will do you no lasting harm."

The Elf King was right, of course, and Abby decided to take advantage of the unnatural calm and lethargy. "Let's go now."

Still, he could only bring himself to mount the pegasus by closing his eyes and letting Edra and Tristan help him up. Even the Janin remained fairly quiet in his hand and she held tight with her own magic, leaving him free to worry about his own precarious grasp. For a moment, the dizziness of the drugged tea felt even worse than the realization of where he sat.

"Calmly, Abby," Tristan urged. He caught tight hold around Abby's waist after he climbed on behind his friend. "I'm right here. I'll hold you. I'm glad you gave him the drug, Grandfather, or we'd be pulling him down out of the trees by now."

"Fold your legs back, Abby," Edra said. He bent Abby's right leg to show him the way. "That way the wings can unfurl --"

"Wings?" Abby's eyes popped open despite himself and the darkness shifted precariously around him. "Fly?"

"It will be a quick journey," Tristan said, trying to assure him. His hold tightened as he folded his own legs back. "Wrap your fingers in the mane and hold tight."

"Mane? Only this to hold to?” He finally began to tremble with terror that went beyond any drugs they could have given him, but he grabbed at the mane.

"Safe journey, my children," Edra wished them and put a hand to each of their arms. "Hurry back to us. Both of you."

Edra touched the winged horse on the broad shoulder just in front of Abby. It threw back its white head and cried out with sudden, and unexpected, joy. The wings opened out around him -- that proved an unexpected little comfort, something more between him and the ground.

Then the pegasus raced forward over the open ground and leapt upward. They were in the air before Abby could frame any new protest. He held tight to the mane as the wind blew against his face and darkness enveloped them. At first he could only see the night, filled with a pale moon and wan stars -- but then, too soon, they reached the deeper darkness enveloping Ylant.

Tristan created a bright ball of blue light that illuminated a little circle around them. He worried more about the lack of a moon and available magic than the flying. Abby wondered how they must look to any stragglers wandering through the land below them: two figures atop a white winged horse surrounded by unnatural blue illumination and heading straight for the heart of the darkness.

They headed toward Mindeneh and the Kiya. Abby finally fixed that destination in his mind, knowing that the evil staff and her master waited there to do battle. He shouldn't fear this wondrous creature that so willingly served him.

"That's better," Tristan said. He laid his head against Abby's back, relaxing for the first time since they took to the air. "I know this isn't easy for you. It isn't easy for me."

"We're insane to go into the dark," Abby said, staring past the blue light to the empty, seemingly endless night. "Tristan, I hadn't meant for you to come with me -- not to face Tabor and the Kiya."

"I know," Tristan replied. A touch of humor brightened in his voice. Impossible to keep such thoughts a secret, with the crowns.

"If your grandfather hadn't drugged me you wouldn't be here."

"True. I would be following somewhere behind you."

Abby laughed. That pleased Tristan, and the joy looped through their crown-link. Abby wondered if he had ever known true joy before he met Tristan. With Carrick and Petra his feelings had been tainted with relief and gratitude. He had hardly known how to accept the gift of friendship they gave him, let alone return it. And his feelings for Indale proved even harder to define.

"I look forward to meeting those three," Tristan said. "Though I doubt I could know them any better than I already do."

"Sanwind would be a good place to stop. How will we find it?"

"I relayed the directions to our mount when we left Ishan. Between the drugs Grandfather gave you and your fear of horses, you didn't notice."

"How did you know that's where we would go?" he asked.

"We had to go somewhere. I didn't want to run straight for Mindeneh."

"Very wise," Abby said. He took one hand from the mane to pat Tristan's hand.

"You are at ease, aren't you?" Tristan said with a little laugh. He held tighter to Abby. The dark didn't frighten him, of course, but he understood about height, which he only experienced through Abby's own fears and sight.

Abby even slept for a while, exhausted and lulled by the last vestiges of the drug. Just before he slept, he wondered how he could protect himself from helpful druggings in the future.

"Abby? Abby, wake up. We need to see."

The words only slowly made sense. Tristan couldn't see. He must. That was the only little gift he gave the elf who had given him so much more.

"You don't know how much you have given me. Purpose in life counts for something, too, you know," Tristan said.

He couldn't quite follow that conversation. Abby blinked and forced himself to look down. His hands tightened on the mane, and Tristan's arms tightened around him. In the distance, he could see lights and large fires burning bright, illuminating the walls of a white castle. He had arrived here half-drugged the last time as well.

"Sanwind," he said, nodding. His heart raced at the sight of something so welcoming, even here in the dark.

"We should put down here," Tristan said. "I don't want to endanger our friend by flying closer to those battlements. I should be very sorry if they had archers."

"Yes, you're right. Let's go down."

The creature obviously understood, and immediately began to spiral slowly toward the ground. The Janin's song began to gather volume as they neared the land until Abby ordered her quiet again, worried about what might be there in the dark. They were conspicuous enough -- though he quickly and silently assured Tristan that he didn't want the light taken away. Tristan didn't argue.

They landed safely in a small clearing and Tristan slid down, stretching his legs. Abby followed, a little unsteadily, though he found himself strangely at ease with the fine animal that had brought them here. The journey couldn't have taken more than a few hours from Ishan back to Sanwind. He remembered long, lonely days trekking through those forests heading in the opposite direction.

Tristan sent the pegasus back home without even a pang, even though they now had no quick escape from the dark and the lands of men. That fear came entirely from Abby.

Abby looked toward the distant glow of the castle, wanting to reach that light and move away from the desolation he had created.

"Abby, you know better," Tristan said. He began to nervously urge his companion toward the building. "I don't like it out here. Let's find shelter."

A breeze blew through the trees around them. Abby shivered, though not with the cold. The Janin sang with a sudden, bright fierceness.

"Kiya Chanda Andee, Kiya Chanda Andee!" Her voice rose, and power tingled through the gold where Abby held her.

"I think the Kiya's seeking us out," Abby said, and began to hurry toward safety -- such as it might be. He tried to silence the Janin and managed to get her to hum again. "I don't want to bring Tabor down on these people."

The elf lifted his hand and felt magic coming as the wind rose. "Tabor's not coming. The feel is old. He's still in Mindeneh, sending out a little magic to find you."

"Well, I never expected my return to be a secret, so no matter. We won't stay in Sanwind for long."

As they cleared the line of trees, even the little magic-driven breeze suddenly died away. Tabor wasn't all-powerful in the dark and didn't waste power on the wind now that they were beyond danger of impalement from the striking branches.

They had made a good distance through the trees. Sanwind rose before them, tall and stately. The bright fires cast enough illumination that Tristan quelled his own light, conserving more energy. They had an easy walk up to the road and to the gate. Standing there at last, Abby wondered if anyone would welcome them back. He hadn't ended the darkness yet.

The outer gate stood closed, though they could hear the sound of voices inside. Abby tapped the Janin against the metal fittings, ordering her to stop her song. There was no use in flaunting the magic these men so mistrusted.

"Who goes there?"

Looking up, Abby could see the steady point of a quarrel and the end of a crossbow.

"I'm Abby --"

"By the gods!" the voice yelped. Abby winced. The crossbow disappeared, replaced by a shadowy face. "Sorry, my lord. Bad choice of words! I'll be right down!"

"Is that you, Rice?" Abby asked, recognizing the voice.

"Yes, my lord! I'll be right there!"

They could hear the sound of hurried feet coming down the stairwell of the little tower. Abby forced himself calm again. Their guide would lead them safely into the realm of men.

PART EIGHT: MINDENEH

CHAPTER ONE

There were too many men here.

Abby stayed well back in the shadows as they passed through the gates and into the keep. Tristan followed so quietly he seemed almost a shadow himself. So far Rice hadn't noticed anything unusual about Abby's companion -- probably because every few steps he kept looking back at the staff Abby carried instead. The Janin remained almost silent for a change, hardly humming loud enough for Abby to hear above the other sounds of Sanwind.

Rice quickly took them through the inner bailey, crossing the mosaic floor of the courtyard, the design lost in the darkness. Hundreds of torches flickered along the walls, but they lent only feeble light against the endless black night.

They passed no one in the lower halls, though Abby saw numerous signs that very many must be within Starwind's walls. Bedding and prized possessions were piled up in nearly every corner. He ached at the sight of a doll, carefully wrapped in a ragged cloth and set by a window to watch...only the darkness beyond. He wanted to give that unknown child something more.

Rice paused at the archway leading into great hall. Through the opening, Abby could see all the people gathered at tables, enjoying Indale's hospitality. He nervously caught of Rice's arm before the young guard started straight into the room.

"N-No," Abby stammered, fighting for better control. "Please -- I can't just walk right in there."

"Sorry, my lord," Rice apologized. His face softened. "I hadn't thought. You can wait in the arch there, and I could bring Lord Indale, Petra and Carrick out here, if you like."

"That would be best." Abby looked again into the brightly lit, smoky room, trying desperately to ignore the smells of meat as well as the sight of all those humans. He couldn't see the three he sought in that mass of bodies. "Please, be discreet. It might not be wise for some of the others to find my friend and me."

Rice suddenly looked over Abby's shoulder at Tristan, his eyes widening slightly. Abby saw no fear in that look, though worry almost replaced amazement.

"Stay here," Rice said. "I'll bring them quietly."

"Thank you."

Rice disappeared into the room. Abby worried that Marlis might find him first, unless the older lord had wisely headed for the light. Abby and Tristan slipped back into the shadows as best they could, although Abby knew the Janin would give them away. She still sang, though even she sounded uncertain in the presence of so many humans.

"I am an elf," Tristan suddenly whispered, and his particular worry began edging in around Abby's other fears. "I truly forgot that you and I are different. I forgot what they might think of me."

"If they can make me welcome, they'll have no trouble accepting you.” He felt Tristan's little bit of a grin at those words.

Abby saw movement at the far end of the great hall and spied Rice coming back with Indale beside him and two others right behind.

"No trouble," Indale called out when guests sounded worried at the exit. "Just a couple more friends come to enjoy our little hospitality. Eat up! Eat up! I had another cow slaughtered, and we can't let the meat go to waste!"

People laughed and went back to their meal. Celebration, Abby thought, and wondered if they rejoiced at being alive still, and at having found such a fine refuge for the night, however long it stretched.

Rice, Indale, Petra and Carrick reached the open doorway without any trouble. Rice nodded toward the archway where the two stood, not nearly hidden well enough.

"It is you!" Carrick exclaimed, obviously pleased. Abby smiled, and Tristan echoed it, caught up in the emotions. "Gods -- oh, sorry. Well, it is good to see you!"

"And you look so well!" Petra added, even more amazed. He looked Abby over from top to bottom and up again. His eyes strayed to the humming staff and away again, virtually unconcerned. Abby decided that all his friends had to be quite insane, but maybe that just went with knowing him.

"Every inch a prince," Indale added. That brought a bow of Abby's head, the old embarrassment returning. Indale laughed, and Abby had never seen such pleasure in the man's face before. "Are you going to introduce us to your friends?"

Abby brought the Janin forward, frowning as she started a song that threatened to grow loud enough to draw the entire castle's attention.

"No, don't do it!" he ordered. She quieted to a hum again. He sighed with tried patience, knowing this was the best he could expect. "This is the Janin Abestella, my lords. The gods made her to balance the Kiya, back during the man-elf wars. She'll allow no touch by mine, so stay clear of her. Others assure me she's a match for the Kiya."

"But I assume from your tone that you don't believe it," Petra said, frowning at the staff, who met his look with a little disdain.

"I have held the Kiya," Abby said. His eyes narrowed as he remembered that very unpleasant moment. "The Kiya is evil and powerful. The Janin is powerful and insane. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough if that makes them truly balanced."

"Ah." Indale looked into the sapphire-eyed face and nodded. Then he looked beyond to the shadow hovering at Abby's back.

"Tristan?" Abby at last urged him forward by word, since Tristan hadn't come forward by more subtle, silent persuasion. He slid up to Abby's left, opposite the Janin. He noted the looks of surprise through Abby's eyes.

"This is Prince Tristan, grandson of the King of the Ishan Elves," Abby introduced him.

"Unfair," Tristan mumbled, lowering his head. "We never used titles before!"

"Well, you're not very much like Abby, are you?" Carrick said and laughed.

Tristan looked up, grinning with agreement. Abby saw no fear or dislike. However, Lord Indale did cast an anxious look back at the great hall.

"Yes, my lord," Abby said. "We might be wise to find a more private place to talk."

"Very wise, Prince Aubreyan," Indale agreed, ignoring Abby's reaction to the title. "Come up to my rooms. Rice, bring food --"

"No meat!" Abby and Tristan chorused.

Indale looked back at them with a raised eyebrow, but Rice only nodded, as though the order wasn't in the least bit unexpected.

Indale quickly urged the group back down the hall and then up the long stairway. Tristan remained at Abby's side and tried desperately not to feel uncomfortable with Carrick and Petra behind them. Abby dropped a protective arm across his shoulder, understanding the feeling too well.

They won't hurt you.

Indale opened a door to his rooms and hurried them inside before he pushed the bolt into place. Then he waved toward a table by the fire. Abby and Tristan sat with a joint sigh of relief.

"I don't know all the people I have taken in," he said. "Better to take precautions. Besides, it's nice to get away from the crowds. They follow me nearly everywhere these days. Sit down, all of you. You look very well, Abby. Considering that I doubted you would survive the first day out on your own, I have to admit considerable pleasure at seeing you."

"You stayed here even though you thought I wouldn't survive?" Abby asked, confused by the admission.

"I stayed here because I had faith in you, Abby. That goes beyond logic."

"Faith?" Abby echoed the word. He laid the Janin on the floor beside him and gave her a slight nudge with his foot when she started to protest. "You might find a better word than that, my lord."

Indale laughed, his eyes going from Abby to Tristan and back again.

"Tell us what happened with you and the elves, Abby," Petra said. He leaned forward, anxious for the story. "What are the crowns you wear? I never thought anyone could get you to admit to your royalty."

"We don't wear then for show," Tristan quickly answered, nervous still. "The crowns are magic. They link us."

"Link you?" Carrick interrupted. They nodded in unison. "Maybe that explains the change in Abby."

"No," Tristan said. "I help him, but I'm in no position to change him. We're far too much alike."

"I see," Indale said. He again looked from one to the other. "You found what you sought in the west, Aubreyan?"

"Far more than I hoped to find, my Lord. And some of it...far worse."

A soft knock interrupted the conversation. Indale let Rice in, bolting the door again behind him. Rice put a tray of food, tea and cider on the table and stepped back. However, Indale pulled another chair to the table between him and Carrick. The young guard sat, looking a little nervous and out-of-place.

"Abby, why have you come to Sanwind? How may we help you?" Indale asked.

"We only came for a short rest, Lord Indale," Abby said. "This is a convenient landmark on the way to Mindeneh. I trusted you would not turn me -- turn us -- away."

"You could have brought an entire damn elfin army, and your mother besides, and I'd never have hesitated to let you in. Your father would have been another matter."

Abby actually laughed at the jest. The looks of wonder on Carrick and Petra's faces at last brought a smile from Tristan.

I like them!

"I told you they'd accept you, Tristan. Having an elf here can hardly be worse than me."

"Any friend of Abby's is welcome here," Indale agreed. He pushed a cup of tea to the elf. "They're rare enough. Although, perhaps I should at least ask if I need to make room for an elfin army, after all?"

"No, Lord Indale." Abby grinned still. "Only Tristan and me. I didn't want to bring Tristan --"

"But we drugged him so he couldn't protest," Tristan finished. His sipped at his tea, barely covering his own grin. "I understand you used the same ploy to get him here."

That brought a little more laughter from the others again. This was a very pleasant homecoming, and one that eased many odd fears that Abby had not even been able to name, though he recognized part of them were from Tristan.

"Why are you going back to Mindeneh, Abby?" Indale at last asked.

"That's where Tabor and the Kiya wait for me.” His humor nearly deserted him as thoughts of demons unsettled his mind. He shook his head and forced the joy back with Tristan’s help, though he knew his smile wasn't quite as bright as it had been. "I shall not stay here long, my Lord. We have business elsewhere. Soon, it will all be done."

CHAPTER TWO

After the two had rested a small traveling party left Sanwind, though far more people than Abby wanted to take with him.

Lord Indale had wanted to send all his trained men. Abby explained the problems associated with taking so many potential victims into the vicinity of the Kiya Chanda Andee. He wanted to risk no one's soul to that death. And besides, he explained, each death that came to her only made the Kiya that much stronger. With that point made, Indale reluctantly decided against the army. Abby even convinced him that he must stay behind as well. Someone must take up the cause if he failed.

Abby could find no argument to convince Carrick and Petra against going, however, and they would not be ordered. Their decision weighed heavily upon him as they gathered in the courtyard. Furtive faces peered out from behind the flames of torches high up on the wall as Indale came to see them off. Lord Marlis followed, though the older man remained wary of Tristan and stayed well back. Still, his appearance at all showed more acceptance than Abby had expected.

Rice brought the horses, obviously ready to ride with them as well. Abby took one breath to argue him out of it and then shook his head and gave up before he even began. Instead, he reached up to the neck of a horse, trying to quiet the nervous animal that didn't much like the dark.

"By the gods! I never thought to see that!" Petra suddenly exclaimed.

Abby spun around to see what had surprised him. Petra stared at him, as though he suddenly viewed something utterly unexplainable.

"Petra?" he said. He tilted his head as Tristan came to stand beside him, curious as well.

"Did you see that?" Petra caught hold of Carrick's arm as his cousin started past. "He just reached out and petted that horse as though it were the most natural act in the world! As though he never feared them in his entire life!"

Abby looked back at the horse, and then smiled at Petra. "That's Tristan's doing," Abby said. "Tristan loves all creatures so much, how could I fear them?"

"That, and he's afraid someone will drug him again if he doesn't behave," Tristan added.

Abby blushed at the truth and won a laugh from both Petra and Carrick.

Thank you, Tristan.

"I'll help you up," Tristan said, showing no contrition at all.

Abby accepted his companion's assistance, steeling himself against knowing he would, indeed, be atop the horse. At least it would stay to the ground. After flying on a horse, this couldn't be so bad. He carefully shifted the cloth-wrapped Janin so she settled to the saddle's right side. She still hummed, but the covering made it less noticeable to the skittish horses.

Tristan whispered something to the horse, followed it with a bit of magic. The horse calmed. Abby gratefully pulled the reins into his hand and reached down for Tristan.

"No, no.” Tristan shook his head and caught hold of the saddle behind Abby. "You'll just tear the wound right open. It's a good thing I'm thinking, even if you aren't."

Tristan started to pull himself up on the saddle. Hands caught him at the waist and lifted upward, and Tristan gave a yelp of surprise as he slid into place. Abby looked down to find Carrick standing there, shaking his head.

"You aren't much better at it than he is, Tristan."

"I told you we are very much alike," Tristan said. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around Abby's waist. He felt tired after his little use of magic. The elf had learned he could regain strength, though slowly, from the latent magic still surviving in the dark, but he had to be careful.

"Good luck, boys," Indale said. Then he walked with them to the keep's outer gate. Rice led with a torch secured by a pole to his saddle. The soldier carried a crossbow, ready for trouble, even here. "Abby --"

"I shall do the best I can, my lord. However, if I fail, you still know the price that must be paid to regain the light. Go to King Edra. He will join in the quest with you to find the Kiya. And if, somehow, Tristan survives where I do not -- trust him. Though magic comes hard to him in the dark, he still has powers. And, being blind, the darkness does not affect him."

"Blind?" Indale asked. Others repeated the word, a shocked echo that circled the courtyard.

"Ah, sorry. I forget that it isn't obvious when we wear the crowns. Just remember all that I've told you. And if you must deal with gods, do it with all caution. Ask for nothing that you do not absolutely need. Take care, Lord Indale."

"I will, " Indale promised. He finally stepped aside and let them pass. "And you...be safe."

They rode out, and the gate closed loudly behind them. Rice checked the rope that tied their packhorse to his mount and then rode down the trail, the others following behind. The illumination didn't even reach the sides of the path. Soon, the dark stood all around them like a solid wall, and Abby felt as though they were quite alone in the world.

The horses pranced uneasily the farther they went from the castle. All the refugees had long since passed this way heading west, though the group occasionally saw…shapes…that lay along the trail edge. The horses protested nearing these, and none of the riders went close enough to investigate.

The day monotonously wore on: dark, and dark, and dark.

Sometimes they spoke among themselves, driving back the emptiness for a little while.

"You on a horse is still a wonder I never thought to see," Petra said. He pulled his own mount up beside the one that held Abby and Tristan. "I imagined us walking to Mindeneh and didn't much like the thought."

"I ride for necessity, if nothing else," Abby said. "Tabor knows I'm coming back. I can't give him too much time to prepare."

"Tabor knows you're coming?" Petra said. He shook his head. "You are always such a fountain of hope, Abby."

Tristan giggled, but Abby ignored him. "I never thought I'd go back to Mindeneh," he at last said. "When I left, I never wanted to return."

"That's probably why Tabor chose the spot," Tristan said.

"I really don't think he knows me that well. I suspect that the choice is because it's the only place we both know. Doesn't matter," Abby said. "I won't stay. No one can make me remain there again."

Tristan soothed the anger and fears that rose suddenly in Abby. He had no good memories of the place that he should call home. The others talked around them, and eventually Abby slipped back into the conversation again. He owed that much to these three who risked their lives to come with him.

They rode on for a time measured only by the lighting of new torches and, gradually, their own exhaustion. At last Rice suggested they make camp before the horses fell over beneath them; and he chose a spot in the middle of the road, seeing no reason to take cover to the side. There had been no one else on the path. Petra and Carrick gathered wood from near by and made a friendly fire. Even the horses appeared inclined to stay close to the warmth and light.

Rice insisted upon taking the first watch while the others curled up in blankets near the warmth. Abby feared that his dark memories of Mindeneh would keep him awake, despite how tired he felt. However, Tristan stood there, even in his dreams, standing guard against the darker memories. Gix called, but only faintly, and he slept well enough.

The next leg of the journey proved too much like the first. They grew quieter, subdued by the dark emptiness. When they passed near Bridigen, no one suggested they take refuge there.

Later, they passed around a canteen of ale Rice had brought while Carrick and Petra told them stories about growing up in Lord Indale's care -- and even Abby laughed now and then.

He watched Rice fire another torch and realized they wouldn't have enough torches to light them back out of the dark again. He panicked. No matter what his fate, he doomed these three to share it with him.

We have the Janin. If it comes to that, she can shed enough light to lead us out again. She has magic to spare, even here.

Abby nodded and took the ale Petra handed him. He took a quick and sparing sip, grateful for the warmth that spread within him as well as for the company. The others told stories and laughed, reminding him of his purpose and what he fought to bring back to the land.

Tristan took the canteen from his hand, sipped a little, and handed it back to Petra. He pulled his cloak closer around himself and Abby, wondering why Carrick and Petra didn't share a horse. The endless night felt cold and . . .

Cold?

Tristan slipped suddenly from the horse, startling both the beast and Abby.

"What's wrong?" Carrick asked. The young lord turned his horse to follow Tristan as the elf headed toward the side of the road, and the others fell in quickly behind them.

The trees glittered, jewel-like, catching the light of the torch. Ice covered all the vegetation beside the road.

"We should have realized this would happen," Tristan said. He shivered with the cold again. "In the dark, without the warmth of the sun, everything naturally froze."

"And the farther we go, the longer the land has been in the dark," Rice added. He slid from his horse and walked out to the nearest tree, pulling down a branch that snapped easily in his hand. "Let's make camp here for awhile, my lords. It might be too cold to dare stop farther along the way."

"Good idea," Carrick said. "Glad to have someone practical with us. The gods know we nobles are sometimes not really bright when it comes to stuff like this."

Abby thought that Rice blushed as he looked away. So did Abby, though for reasons of his own. He might well be one of those nobles (at least in theory) who seldom thought that far ahead.

Tristan had other concerns and he could not keep them hidden from his friend. I live with magic. I don't think about those problems because I never had to face them before. Even the little magic I use just to sense the world around us is taxing my supply.

Tristan --

You can't seriously think I'd go back now.

The horses instinctively bunched together as they made a fire and laid out the supplies. The men followed their example, huddled about the warmth of the fire. They ate only a small meal and afterwards slept fitfully.

Thoughts of Tabor and Gix invaded Abby's rest this time, and fear and rage mingled into something beyond his control. Master and demon: two curses struggling to control him.

Rice's hand on his shoulder awoke Abby. Tristan took longer to come out of the nightmare, and both shivered in their silent misery. The night remained cold, though Abby's dream left the taint of red blood and fire in his mind.

The single torch illuminated Rice's face. Abby sat up, pushing hair back with shaking hands.

"My lord prince?" Rice whispered.

"Call me Abby, Rice," he automatically corrected.

"My lord Abby," Rice corrected, with obvious distress. "The fire has gone out and I can't light it again. The cold is bitter. I think, perhaps, we should move on. Staying still now is very dangerous."

Tristan lifted his hand, uneasy about something more than the cold. Abby began gathering their few belongings while Rice awoke their other two companions. Abby suddenly sensed a bit of what Tristan felt, knew something more than dark lurked out there --

Tabor?

Abby spun into the whisper of the breeze against his hair. Where they being watched? Was that why the nightmare had been so strong that even Tristan had been pulled in this time? Abby's hand went to his sword while images of the demon-spawned enemy rose quickly into his mind, obliterating everything around him for a moment.

A laugh?

The wind moaned in the trees.

Carrick, Petra and Rice started at the sound and the horses shied as wind sent dust and leaves, sharp with ice, into their faces. Aubreyan grabbed his horse by the saddle and vaulted up. He caught the startled Tristan by the arm and pulled him up as well. Abby's wound pulsed with a sharp pain, and Tristan gave a quick gasp. Abby caught tight hold of him, silently apologizing, but Tristan had already turned his concern to the trouble that had found them.

The others mounted, fighting for control of the startled animals. The howling wind tried to drive them back, away from Mindeneh. Abby's hands felt stiff as ice, and his eyes stung from the wind. He somehow controlled his horse until he saw Rice, Petra and Carrick force their own animals past into the face of the wind.

Abby and Tristan followed last, their mount fighting every step into the cold, unnatural gale. Abby didn't want to surrender the ground they had won, to retreat back to Sanwind. And Tristan knew that if Tabor wasted power now and they overcame his trap, he would only be weaker when they faced each other.

However, Abby was no horseman. Despite his intentions and efforts, the frightened creature at last bolted and Abby couldn't hold it back. The horse spun and raced, nearly blind with fear, back down the trail until Tristan reached past Abby and put his hand on its neck, forcing the animal calm with a sharp surge of magic.

They had barely turned back and almost caught up with the others when the wind snapped a branch that blew in front of Carrick's mount. The horse stopped abruptly, rearing to defend against an enemy. Carrick grabbed wildly at the saddle and mane, but tumbled backward to the ground. Rice, following closely behind, nearly trampled him as his own horse went mad with fear. The guardsman leapt off, grabbing for the torch. He watched with a moment of dismay as his horse and the one carrying their supplies disappeared back into the darkness. Then he dashed to Carrick, who only now started to sit up again.

Petra glanced back, saw Carrick and Rice down and tried to turn around. The horse spun willingly away from the wind, but proved unwilling to rein in when it reached the rest of the group. Petra abandoned any further riding as well.

Tristan held a tight magical control on the horse he and Abby rode. The drain on power left him so shaky that Abby grabbed him as he felt him start to falter.

"Let it go, Tristan!"

"Don't be a fool!" Tristan unexpectedly retorted, his breath coming in quick gasps. "At least get the Janin first!"

Chagrined, Abby quickly grabbed the cloth-covered staff while Tristan collected a few of their other scant supplies. Distracted by Tristan's magic and Tabor's magical presence, he could hardly think clearly. Tristan grew weak very fast, with no ready source of magic to replace what he had expended.

"Tristan!" Abby shouted. The elf felt very far away as he concentrated on keeping the horse from bolting and protecting them from the flying debris. "Let the horse go, Tristan! Now!"

Startled by the pure power of the order, Tristan instantly obeyed. The horse galloped away with the wind at its back, almost immediately lost in the night, swallowed by the dark. He wished the animals well, even though they abandoned their riders at such a dire place.

And the wind died with a last howl, a sound of anger and despair of its own.

Tristan collapsed against Petra, all semblance of consciousness gone. Abby knelt as Petra gently laid Tristan upon the dirt-and-ice-covered road.

"Is he all right?" Rice whispered, as though the silence felt more daunting than the howling wind.

"Just exhausted," Abby said. He laid his right hand on the elf's forehead, fingers encircling the green stone, and willed strength of his own into Tristan. The elf responded by opening his eyes, though he hadn't the concentration for anything more. Even his thoughts remained distant, tired. Abby's hand shook when he pulled away, but he felt more assured, knowing Tristan was nearly here. "Are the rest of you all right?"

"Yes," Carrick answered from them all. "I think we're in real trouble now, though. That single torch Rice kept isn't going to last for long. And it's going to get damn cold before we reach Mindeneh."

"We'll be all right," Abby said. He turned slowly, his hand touching the spot beneath his cloak where his chest bled. He felt no more than a twinge of pain in the cold and didn't mention it to the others, though he thought Tristan had taken some notice of it.

He pulled the long, cloth-wrapped staff from their rescued supplies. Wise, Tristan, not to have let her go. He unwrapped her, feeling welcoming warmth beneath his fingers.

When he uncovered her face she sang, and there came an almost blinding light, filling the little area with an unexpected beauty. Small rainbows scattered across the ice-covered trees and filled the night with glowing jewels. Magic -- and even Tristan felt it, drew from it, as he sat up, his fingers reaching though he did not dare to touch.

"Free, free, free!" she sang. Abby actually felt a little warmer in her light. "The Kiya waits, she waits -- she wants --"

"Wonderful," Abby said. He leaned against the Janin, using her as a common walking staff, and silently willing her to a little less noise. "Well, Tabor will hear us coming, if nothing else."

"The Kiya waits, free -- free," she sang, and then wove a new tune into her song of madness. "We shall save Ylant from the dark!"

It was not, really, a bad song for such a journey.

CHAPTER THREE

Finally, sometime in that endless night, they stood before the glass castle of Mindeneh. The mass glittered invitingly, lit within by Tabor's own magic. Not empty.

Abby had never seen the castle before. No barbican and crenellations here like at Bridigen and Sanwind. No parapets and walkways on which armed guards could stand, ready to face down the enemy. The kings of Eltabar had depended on their magic to keep them safe. Strong magic bound those walls to the world of man; and the castle stood, even in the darkness, after her kings had fallen.

His eyes instinctively sought the single arched window where once he had watched the great Altazar come marching down this road, returning from defeat. Emperor Altazar never took Lord Indale's lands. Now Abby brought Indale's beloved Petra and Carrick to this place of death.

He couldn't find the window. His eyes traveled then along the lines of a taller, glowing tower, so high he couldn't see the top. That tower -- his breath caught at the rush of memories from a night that had changed the world, because of his folly. Sacrifice, staff, demon --

"Abby! Look away!" Tristan grabbed Abby's arm and spun him around, and he saw the others’ startled, worried faces. Even the Janin's song grew softer. "Abby, please!"

Images of the demon meant to be his master surged through his mind and blinded him with fear and a growing, cursed rage. He could control neither.

"Abby!" Tristan's fingers tightened, forcing the elf's own thoughts into Abby's swirling, maddened mind. Calm! "Listen to me! I won't let him take you! I won't!"

You know the truth.

Abby quieted at last, taking deeper breaths, trying to deny Tristan what he meant to offer. He would not turn away from it.

"I will do more than just kill you, Abby, before I let Gix have you. Death would be no deterrent to the demon. I have the magic to obliterate anything that he could claim. He wants a mostly live godling chained in hell. Do you understand? I won't let you go to that service."

And will die with me, Abby thought. That nearly panicked him as well, but Tristan turned that fear aside. He let Tristan soothe him again, and when he looked back at Mindeneh, he kept his eyes to the lowest level and the doors that stood open and inviting.

They'd come too close without opposition, but then again, why not? Tabor waited inside, patiently knowing the enemy would come to him. He knew where the battle would be fought.

However, Tristan didn't trust the invitation any more than Abby did. The elf released Abby's arm and took one tentative step closer, his eyes closing as he lifted his hand to test for a magical trap.

They felt it spring, too late to stop the surge of magic sparked by magic. A wave of burning power swept down, encircling Tristan and crushing Abby as paralyzing pain engulfed them both. Tristan closed his eyes, fought against the power and tore the crown from his head.

"No!" Abby had fallen, but Rice got him back to his feet. He tried to leap forward again, shaking off Rice's clasp, only to have Petra catch him again. "No! Tristan!"

He could see Tristan's hands pressed against the barrier of white light. The crown lay at his feet, only a whisper of contact seeping through. He had lost his strongest ally, his most powerful aide -- but he couldn't turn back. Abby's hand tightened on the Janin. He almost swung her against the shell that encircled Tristan -- but he couldn't be certain what the attack might do to his trapped friend.

He fought away his panic, and then, unnaturally clearheaded and calm, Aubreyan looked back at the door. To free Tristan, he must deal with the source of the magical attack. He must go to Tabor. Abby's right hand dropped to the sword he almost forgot he still wore. Without a word to the others, he turned to the door of Mindeneh. The rest followed, leaving Tristan alone in a prison of power, watching. Helpless.

Abby wanted to order Carrick, Petra, and Rice away. However, the survival of the entire world rested in his hands, and he dared not turn away help even from those he feared to take into danger. He led his friends into the place he most despised, and to the final battle.

Without Tristan. For the entire journey, he hadn't wanted Tristan to be here, but now he didn't want to be alone in a way his other friends couldn't comprehend or address. He hadn't the wisdom or the strength he needed to fight this battle, and he feared that he would lose everything because he was inadequate to the responsibility.

But he went inside, the Janin in one hand, his friends as this back. The sullen red of a hundred smoky torches lit the hall. Here, Abby last saw his father and first met Tabor.

Gargoyles stood sentinel beneath the torches. The sight chilled him, but only for a moment -- a memory of Tristan's fear. Something different drew Abby. Tabor awaited him, sitting on Altazar's sapphire-and-gold throne with the Kiya in his left hand and a large gray wolf snarling at his feet.

Demon spawn!

Abby lost all caution, all concern for his safety, and all remembrance of his real battle. He dashed straight at Tabor, the rage to kill so overpowering that even his fear for Tristan disappeared in the onslaught -- the curse let loose at last, with nothing now to hold it back.

Tabor leapt quickly to his feet, shocked by the suddenness of the attack. Even the gargoyles almost moved too slowly to respond. However, when one came near Abby pulled Gods' Honor. The Janin -- released to her own madness -- sang a song of death and led his left arm into an attack, independent of Abby's incoherent thoughts as he swung the sword with the right. Momentarily slowed and distracted by the gargoyles, was peripherally aware of Carrick, Petra, and Rice behind him. They protected him from attacks he would never have seen coming. Ynyr's fault. And his mother's.

Tabor held his ground, leaning against the red-eyed Kiya, his eyes narrowed with contemplation. As Abby neared, he pulled the golden sword from the sheath at his side. The hand holding the Kiya lifted, one finger brushing the cloth at his neck, an unconscious reminder of what that sword he held could do. He waited.

Looking at Tabor rekindled the rage and gave Abby strength beyond his body's untrained abilities. He killed any gargoyles that came within his reach. He killed without remorse, without fear -- without any human emotion at all. Aubreyan only wanted Tabor.

At last, he stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Great Altazar's lost throne. Carrick and Petra still fought behind him, and Rice battled the enemy farther back in the hall. Abby fought a different conflict within himself, managing to remain just sane enough not to go mindlessly against this enemy. Not Tabor.

"You've changed, haven't you, Aubreyan Altazar?” Tabor said with the calmness of someone meeting an old acquaintance at a village market. Still holding the cursed golden sword, he reached toward Abby, though not in attack. Abby knew that gesture too well from Tristan. Tabor only tested for magic without casting much of his own. Not here, where he must have already expended so much just to survive so long in the dark, and to lay that trap for Tristan...

"Cursed?" Tabor frowned and lowered his hand again. "Someone has done neither of us a favor."

"Demon," Abby said, a growl as he fought for words that were quickly getting lost in the blood-red rage, too strong to hold back for long.

"Ah," Tabor said and nodded. He at last brought up the golden sword to protect himself. That weapon should have frightened Abby, who bled still with a wound that would never heal, but it meant nothing against the curse-inciting presence of the demonling. "This is not at all how I planned the meeting. I thought you would let the Janin test for a trap -- I didn't know about the elf. No matter. We are here. Come then, Aubreyan, if this is the way it must be. And bring your little staff. We need no longer delay the business between the Janin and the Kiya. They've both waited far too long for this encounter."

Abby surged up the steps, his own sword ready to plunge into Tabor's heart. Tabor parried the blow even as the Kiya gave a shout of battle and swept down on the Janin.

The Janin sang the beauty of destroying evil. She rose upward, met the Kiya with a flash of bright light and a stinging power along Abby's arm. The staves fought, held by their half-human slaves, while those slaves fought their own battle. Tabor brought his sword round toward Abby's head. He ducked low, and seeing that the Kiya had his opponent off-balance, swung with enough speed to catch Tabor in the side. The cut went deep and Tabor shuddered as he retreated. Abby swung again, missed, and caught the bottom of the Kiya Chanda Andee.

Gods' Honor cut through her as though she were only made of paper.

The Kiya screamed with rage, pain, and terror. Tabor froze, apparently paralyzed by her emotions; then he threw her aside. The Janin leapt from Abby's hand and followed her enemy with a joyous melody of fierce victory. Both landed on the stairs far to the left and intertwined like two snakes. The Kiya howled.

Abby parried the first blow, bringing his freed left hand up to help hold Gods' Honor. He pressed his attack again, relentless in the grip of the curse once more. Tabor backed away. If the demonling had any magic left, he hadn't a chance to use it now. Tabor tripped, fell back against the throne, momentarily unprotected. Done at last. Abby brought his sword up, ready for the kill.

The wolf growled and slashed deep into Abby’s left leg, deep enough to draw a cry of pain. Abby slipped down two stairs and landed on his knees before he could bring the sword around with a quick blow that killed the animal before it could attack again.

When he looked up again, Tabor held the golden sword poised over him, ready for the final blow -- the battle reversed, but the outcome really the same. Done at last.

Carrick and Petra shouted, coming from the right, ready to save him. Tabor swept the sword to the right, ready to protect himself --

"No!” The rage momentarily disappeared in terror as Abby surged back to his feet, shoving them both back. "No! Not against that sword!"

"Ah, yes, this sword," Tabor said. He brought it back down to rest gently against Abby's shoulder. He didn't try to draw blood. "Do I have your attention again, Aubreyan? Yes?"

"Y-Yes," Abby whispered. Tabor shifted the sword and the edge was slight, cold touch against Abby's neck, though he still didn't cut.

Even the staves grew quiet. Carrick and Petra now stood in the grasp of gargoyles, unable to save even themselves. Abby didn't know what had happened to Rice and dared not try to find him. Abby looked back at Tabor, gasping as he fought a different battle within himself. He desperately needed calm and Ynyr's curse denied him that, as Tabor's trap had denied him Tristan's help.

"Good, Aubreyan. I want you at least cognizant of what is going on. You cost me much, godling. The demon promises me forgiveness -- if I only deliver you and the Kiya to him."

Abby trembled and closed his eyes. Tristan was beyond the ability to keep his promise -- ah, but he was beyond his own death as well. Abby found a little peace in that thought as he composed his last message for Tristan, to remain within the crown and the link, even after the sacrifice. He wouldn't take the crown to Gix's realm. Tristan wouldn't follow him there.

You did not fail me, Tristan. Ynyr and the gods had as good as conspired against us from the beginning. End the darkness if you can. Trust my friends and help them if any of you survive. Find peace...

Tabor began whispering familiar words. The magic he spent and his bleeding wound left the demonling shaky, but he still remained careful not to cut Abby. For a moment, Abby thought he saw something melancholy and remorseful in Tabor's eyes. He had won, and yet even he regretted.

Abby looked past Tabor's shoulder as light flickered before the throne, circles and circles, opening wide. The figure taking shape in the haze of red didn't frighten him this time.

Something almost human.

Almost . . .

Aubreyan closed his eyes, fighting the rekindled rage of the curse and the fear of the failure. The golden sword rose from his neck and prepared to finish what it had begun so long ago. Not to kill, but to wound forever.

Abby didn't call upon the gods for help. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Tristan, Tristan! Save Ylant for me! Make this count!

Abby lifted his shaking fingers to the crown. Gix hissed, but Tabor paused and waited, even with his father glowering in a nebulous haze of light and smoke.

"Give him to me!" Gix growled. His voice shook the walls. "Why do you wait, fool!"

Abby pulled the crown away, bowing his head to Tabor for the unexpected kindness.

"Give him to me now!"

Tabor's eyes narrowed, the sword stilling in his shaky hands. No choices left. Then he looked away, his eyes widening at a sight behind them.

Tristan stood there. Abby could feel him through the tenuous contact of the crown still in his hand. Tabor's calling of the demon had weakened his other magic, allowing Tristan to get free. He came into the hall, prepared to attack.

Tristan, go!

No!

"The golden sword cuts in a different way, Tabor," Tristan said. His soft voice carried well in the silence. Even the gargoyles stood still. "The sword has a name, and the name is agony to those who bear her wounds. Don't make me use it."

Tabor's breath caught with unexpected fear and his hand brushed at his neck with remembered pain, a moment shared with Abby when Ynyr spoke the name and turned its power against them both.

Gix hissed, a sound like a thousand snakes. His hand reached from the smoke and grasped Tabor's shoulder with fingers covered in fur and ending in claws. Aubreyan looked at the hand and not the face of the demon, again combating the battle growing within him. Madness, and he couldn't hold it back for long.

"Give me the godling, Tabor. Don't dare to fail me again."

Tabor grasped the sword two-handed, his face hardening to what he must do.

Abby, forgive me!

"The sword is called Nurialin!"

Abby, realizing his own mistake, tried to throw the crown aside, but the fire took him too quickly and Tristan went with him into the agony. Tabor fell, the sword flung aside as he screamed. Abby's own pain left him silent, lost in a red fire that engulfed the curse and duty and fear and immolated them all as he tumbled to the floor.

He saw Tristan lying there, senseless. Abby struggled to pull the crown back on his head, but even when it was once again in place Tristan's mind still spun in darkness, too far away to reach.

However, he had other help. Rice, his arm and side bloody, leapt over Tristan and attacked the confused gargoyles holding Carrick and Petra. Tabor struggled to his knees, his head in his hands, no threat.

The demon still stood there, however, its hand moving, preparing magic by drawing on energy that answered him even here in the darkness. Power flared from his misshapen fingers.

The Janin suddenly sang louder, and her brightness grew till even the demon shielded his eyes, stopping his casting. A hiss of anger replaced the interrupted spell.

"Lord Demon, save me!" the Kiya cried out in an agonized voice barely heard above the Janin's wordless song. "She drains me! She drains me!"

"Come to me, Kiya Chanda Andee," Gix ordered. He lifted his hand, fingers dancing in the air. "I shall not lose you."

The Kiya rose, though the Janin still tried to hold her down. Bolstered by the demon's power, the evil staff shook the other away. As she moved effortlessly through the air, the Kiya's ruby eyes glowed brighter. She willingly went to her new master, the most powerful of all who had ever held her.

Abby tried to move, tried to stop her -- and in that moment his hand brushed a piece of wood on the floor. His answer.

He staggered up to stand unsteadily between staff and demon, turning his back on Gix, burying the curse for just a moment. She will cut through anything, Ynyr had said, and he knew her power already. With both hands, he lifted the sword and swung -- right and left, right and left. His chest bled badly, each breath agony. Yet from somewhere beyond him or Tristan he drew on a strength and speed that stunned even Gix.

With every swing, another piece of the Kiya fell to the floor, unmoving. Three heartbeats, no more, and a dozen pieces had fallen. Her scream, loud at first, grew to a soft whimper and died...

But the darkness stayed. So, the gods had lied to him about the gift. Aubreyan wasn't even surprised.

"No!" Gix's rage set the castle trembling. Abby finally looked back and let the curse consume him again, welcoming the Berserker power it gave him. That might be his only chance to save the others.

Gix raised his hands, and something unseen but very heavy pressed Abby back down to his knees. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. He watched helplessly as the severed Kiya pieces magically rose, drifting toward the demon.

"Oh, you shall pay for the effort it costs me to mend her, godling," Gix promised. His red eyes glowed. Abby couldn't look away, and the rage seethed within him, powerful and useless, nothing to hold it back, no way to fight the war. "You are mine now, Aubreyan Altazar, despite this fool -- this half-human thing --"

"Father," Tabor whispered.

"No.” He waved his hand and Tabor fell again, biting back a new cry of pain. "I will save the Kiya. She's irreplaceable. You are only human flesh. I can create the likes of you again, when I have the need. You failed me, Tabor. You cannot even make a gift of this godling to me. I'll take him, nonetheless. Without the ritual, I lose the power I would have gained. There is still the pleasure, at least."

"Demon --" Tabor whispered. He lifted his head again, but it went down under another magical blow. This time blood showed on his lips, and his eyes closed.

The demon turned away. His hand hovered above the pieces of the Kiya as he chanted. The magic holding Abby eased just enough for him to breathe, though not to move. Even the demon hadn't unlimited power here in the darkness, then -- for all the good it did him to know.

A circle opened, a circle within circles within circles. Abby glimpsed a thousand places all at once -- worlds and people, cities and stars.

All the planes, all the realities, Tristan whispered within him. Steady words. Too calm -- the elf planned something. But Abby couldn't quite grasp his intentions, between the curse and his pain and weakness. He'll find the door to his domain soon.

Then the elf cast his own spell. He swept the pieces of the Kiya up in a magical wind and flung them into the circles, scattering them throughout the realities.

Gone. Lost.

The circles wavered, the demon's concentration shaken with surprise and growing rage as he turned toward Tristan. Abby fought the power holding him down. Too weak!

Petra dashed past him, grabbing Tabor's fallen weapon, the golden sword abandoned beside him; but even he hadn't time to move closer to the demon to swing the blade. Instead, he threw it like a spear.

Even Gix feared that weapon. He leapt toward a circle tinted in red and dark, though at the last moment, as the circle began to fade, he turned back. His fingers lifted as he snarled, casting a bolt of fire made strong with the power of his domain.

The fire caught the golden sword. The room became a vortex of fury, heat, and pain. Someone cried out, but everything slipped away from Abby as he went to a dark, empty place.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tristan sat beside him, his friend’s touch on his arm drawing Abby back to here. Somewhere else, someone wept. The sound nearly drove Abby back into the inner darkness. He feared what he would find if he truly awoke.

"Abby," Tristan said, a soft whisper, wanting him closer, the brother of his soul. He couldn't deny that call.

Abby opened his eyes and blinked at the brightness of the illuminated room. Sunlight streamed through the glass walls, filling the room with an unexpected profusion of rainbows. Surely there'd been no rainbows while his father ruled here.

Rainbows and sunlight.

Won?

Tristan nodded. The elf in seeming ease, beside him on the floor, but Abby felt a foreign, numb emptiness within him. Aubreyan shied away from that feeling as he did from the sound of those sobs. He tried to move and succeeded only in turning his head. A dead gargoyle lay only an arm's-length away, damp blood on the floor beside its head.

When he turned back, Tristan's head remained bowed. He held his mind apart, though Abby could still feel a touch of sadness that won past Tristan's walls. Something was very wrong.

"We won?" Abby asked aloud, uncertain now. He looked back at the walls and the bright light he had never really expected to see again.

"Yes. And Tabor left. He slipped away with the last of his gargoyles before we could stop him. He didn't even try to kill us. I don't know why.” Tristan finally lifted his head. "We won back the light, but we paid a high price, Abby. Petra’s dead."

The grief swept through Tristan now, past the numbness. It mingled with his own, intensified when Tristan laid a hand on his shoulder.

It was Carrick weeping, somewhere else.

"No!"

Aubreyan denied the loss and denied the win at such a price. He stood, ignoring pain. He looked to where the Janin Abestella still lay. Her sapphire stone eyes watched him, worried. She hummed, very softly -- a dirge, as though she felt the loss as well. He refused to look behind him and see his friend dead.

This was victory? Ylant won back from the dark, but the reason barely important now?

"No! This isn't the pact we made, Mother! Show yourself! You owe me that, at least!"

Abby!

Tristan's despair at this new madness couldn't overcome Abby's outrage. Not this time. She owed him for all he had suffered, and all he would suffer after this -- the loss in his heart that weighed heavier than the curse. She owed him --

"Yes, Aubreyan. I owe you this much."

He spun around. She stood in the open doorway, a vision Abby remembered from his childhood. Her step faltered as she neared, those green-grass eyes blinking with a whisper of surprise. She saw the changes in her son, and looked distressed. She stopped, well beyond the reach of his hands -- or his sword.

"I want Petra back."

"Aubreyan, you ask a gift without considering the consequences," she said.

"I know you'll want a price paid," he reassured her. His steady glare must have convinced her of his seriousness. "I would offer my own life in exchange, but you've never valued it as worth much."

Starwind winced at the anger and the bitterness. She dared one step closer, the rustle of lace, and silks, and gold. Tristan stood, putting a protective hand on Abby's arm, ready to face the goddess with him. She only gave the elf a friendly and amused smile, without anger.

"Name your price, goddess," Abby said, mistrusting any show of kindness.

Her eyes narrowed, her head tilted with a flow of dark hair that moved as though touched by a breeze they could not feel. He thought for a moment he could hear distant whispers in that wind bearing a scent from Somewhere Else. Then she nodded, drawing his attention again.

"A trade, Abby. We said we would give back the light for the destruction of the Kiya. Though you did destroy her hold on this world, you didn't entirely succeed. No matter, we deemed it enough to save Ylant. And you proved yourself far more resourceful than we had ever hoped. Now I will give you back your Petra --" Somewhere, Carrick made a sound of confusion, hope, fear -- "if you will destroy the Kiya completely."

"I cut her to pieces. Tristan scattered them. What more can we do?" he asked, a whisper of despair and distrust. She asked the impossible.

"She is not dead, though you made her far less powerful in her individual pieces. However, there are problems created by what you two have done. The Kiya possesses magic beyond the ken of man -- or elf. Even in pieces, she has a defense that will keep her impervious to any attack either by magic or more natural means. Until she is made whole again the power that binds her will remain indestructible. Gods' Honor did more damage than any other weapon could ever do, but only because you were here in the magicless dark and Tabor had used her to fuel his other magics and weakened her.

“Abby, she will fall like a plague on unsuspecting worlds, bringing to them the whisper of demon-evil and her own darkness. Gix and Tabor will try to recover her, to put the pieces back together again and make her whole. She is an instrument they cannot recreate. Like the Janin, she is unique. You cannot allow her into their hands again, Aubreyan Altazar."

"Then I will go after her," he said. No remorse, only numbness. No war finished. On to another battle.

She reached out, her fingers brushing across his cheek. He trembled with remembered kindness and pulled away, mistrusting her far more now.

"You go to fight the dark still, Abby," she said softly. "You are our hope. The good you will do in our cause far outweighs the gift of light to a single world, or even the life of a single man. I give you something more, Abby. You go with the blessing of the gods. None who truly believes in your cause shall lose, so long as you win."

He felt inexplicable power in those words, and Tristan felt both a chill and a hope at the same time. What she gave them was something far more substantial than the words she spoke.

"How do we find the Kiya, Lady?" Tristan asked, never doubting that they would take up the fight. "I haven't the magic to search the other planes and places."

"One piece will lead to another.” She knelt and gingerly retrieved the first piece of the Kiya Abby had severed from the staff, shoved it into the elf's hand. "Take this, Tristan. You will not feel the attraction of such evil as others might -- your kind is immune to that lure."

He took the piece and frowned at it. Abby felt only...a little taint of the demon in it, a whisper of something he didn't want to touch. But he would --

"Each piece will work like a magnet, drawing you to the next," Starwind continued, stepping away as though she disliked being even that close to it. "The Janin still possesses the natural magic to follow the path to her enemy, and linked to her you can go where she leads. The Kiya wants to be whole again and she'll pull you along. Together, they'll take you far. Some places, close to this reality, will feel much like home. Others will be very alien. The Kiyasought out those places where she can gain some power. Places where she can find prey."

"I will not take Tristan with me," Abby said, snatching the piece of rune-covered wood from the shocked elf's hand. It stung, but he held tight. "No one else is going to share the curse of fighting this war with me."

"Take what aid you can, Aubreyan," she said, and lifted her hand to forestall his angry refusal. "The elf is a part of you. You would be incomplete without him, just as he would be the same without you. Don't do something you cannot undo, Abby. Even you are capable of cursing ones you love, my son."

He imagined Tristan left behind, alone again, deserted. Though he felt a wave of fear, Abby admitted to himself he couldn't abandon his friend. They would go together -- and that felt right, when all else was wrong. They had won the battle for the light, but now faced a far greater war.

The sunlight suddenly shone through Starwind. Abby wondered where the gods dwelled; then, panicked, he reached out for her.

"Petra! Give me Petra!" he cried out, fearing he had made a pact and now she would betray his trust. He couldn't abandon the war, even if Petra remained lost. His fault, after all, that the Kiya would curse others.

"Done," she said, a whisper like a wind through the sunlight. He could barely see her as her last words touched them. "The gift is given, the price accepted."

She disappeared. Abby blinked, and for a moment, he even regretted his bitterness. He had demanded she come here and asked her for a gift -- and surely she knew him well enough to realize he would have gone on the quest after the Kiya even without that gift of Petra's life. The Kiya would bring evil to others unless he prevent it.

Aubreyan turned to find Carrick gently lifting Petra's head. Rice stood behind them. The soldier looked pale and perhaps as uncertain as Abby felt. Petra's eyes slowly blinked open. He looked around at them all, dazed, while Carrick laughed and cried -- and looked at Abby with the adoration he should have shown to Starwind.

Aubreyan crossed to the Janin and picked her up. Her song of hope was tainted with a madness that felt almost as strong as his own. She would take him to the Kiya again. She hungered for the battle.

He looked down at the piece of magic wood in his hand and felt its pull. Closing his eyes, Abby willed to go wherever the Kiya might take him. He had never even considered that the goddess might free him of his curse, not while Petra's life hung in the balance. He could bear it, if he had to.

Ready to go on...

"Not yet, Abby," Tristan said, pulling the Kiya from Abby's hand. He looked at the elf with surprise. "Let's at least enjoy this day. We fought hard enough to bring it and I am weary of battle. Let's wait awhile before we chase after the dark again."

Abby didn't argue, accepting this time to spend with his friends before he went back into the service of the gods. Today the war raged somewhere else, and the darkness remained at least a few more hours away.

EPILOGUE: ABBY

The people would soon return to Eltabar. The birds already flew back and plants began to shed their ice-blackened leaves for new growth. Two days in the light and Ylant was reborn.

At dawn of the third day, Abby and Tristan quietly slipped away from Mindeneh. Carrick, Petra, and Rice might try to follow if they knew, so the godling and the elf left without farewell.

Abby looked back at Mindeneh, very much surprised to see the beauty of the castle that rose into the blue sky. He hadn't expected to feel awe for something he had so long despised.

"Man's magic built that castle, and they made it so strong; it even survived the dark." Tristan put a hand on Abby's arm and smiled. His calm acceptance eased Aubreyan's uncertainties. "They had such beauty in their souls."

"There's so much I don't understand," Abby said aloud. "Why did man and elf ever fight? Why do the gods and demons care about our world? Tristan, it worries me, not understanding so much. How can we hope to save those other worlds when we don't even understand our own?"

"If you weren't born to this war, would you choose to fight it anyway?" Tristan asked.

The elf always had a way of making his life fall into its own peculiar pattern. "Yes, of course I would." Abby grinned and lifted his head into the sweet breeze. "Let's go, Tristan."

"So many far places to see," Tristan suddenly said. He reached into the pouch slung over his shoulder and retrieved their single piece of the Kiya. Tristan felt the excitement of adventure, and it proved contagious --Tristan's own little madness, to go so willingly into the unknown.

Neither spoke aloud the fear that they'd never come back to Ylant again.

Tristan held the Kiya in his left hand and tight hold of Abby with the right. Abby held the Janin. She sang her song softly, feeding magic through them, into the piece of Kiya. She understood. A wind came up as light encircled them. Ylant began to fade, looking strangely unreal.

The journey began.

THE END

Lazette Gifford

Hi, my name is Lazette Gifford, and I'm a writer...

Actually, I've lately been referred to as a 'literate vampire' because of my tendency to do most of my writing between sunset and sunrise. Please note the picture, proving once and for all that I can come out in daylight... and that I go nowhere without my Visor and keyboard.

I am also an obsessive writer who has not missed a day of creating stories in more than a decade. I average over 1000 words a day-- which, in turn has led to thirty electronic publications since my first in July of 1999, including novels, short stories and poetry.