I

°/3ive the air bubble time to grow

^finoment. He could see the fear in her rc. He sensed if he pushed hard right feo/shes. He opened his mouth to do just , ^et him. He stepped closer to the waters.

can do this.“

sA e 1. A mixture of pride and determination

ghtened her shoulders and, with the boy

the stairs into the deeper waters. j .* to shiver as he watched the lake swallow s^O(ji sA(d himself back from diving in and pulling . -^Cjf^ shei light. His hand had closed to a tight fist. 3r

* • ^exlle said at his shoulder, but her voice qua-“‘f-b ybrry.

. beside Er’ril, Fardale nosed Er’ril’s fist. The ice, too.

i relax and found his fingers working through 0’ti can do this,“ he repeated.

boy’s light flare brighter in the waters. From the ^ fA?^ibleau of boy and girl glowed like the lamplit stage A? c. Elena fought to keep beside the swamp child. The ot^^-^y-vater did not seem to affect the boy.

e

He simply stood no water eddied around him, whereas Elena, using an anchor, struggled to keep her footing, bubbles again burst forth from the boy and swal-le away in a flurry of phosphorescent froth.

Er’ril held

¦yo,.

“Nick your palm and grasp his hand in your own. I’ll do the rest.” Elena remembered sharing her blood with both Uncle Bol and Er’ril when they were injured. Cassa Dar was not asking her to manipulate her magick, simply share its power, as she had done with the injured men. She nodded at the d’warf woman’s words and drew her wit’ch’s dagger. Its silver blade shone bright in the torchlight.

Er’ril suddenly grasped her wrist. “I can’t let you risk yourself like this.” Mycelle stood at Er’ril’s shoulders. “Perhaps the plainsman is right. This sounds more dangerous than it’s worth.”

Elena stared both of them down and yanked her arm from Er’ril’s grasp. “I will take that responsibility,” she said, using Mycelle’s earlier words. She placed the tip of her knife to her left palm and dragged a line across it. Blood welled blacker than her ruby skin.

She turned. The naked boy had come beside her and had his tiny hand raised up toward hers. Elena instinctively reached to accept the offered palm, but then she hesitated. She stared into the boy’s face and realized this was the boy who had accosted her on the streets of Shadowbrook: same mud-colored hair; same small, slightly pugged nose. She recalled the last time she shook hands with the little urchin.

“I won’t hurt you this time,” he said, noticing her hesitation. “I promise.” Elena was suddenly unsure. Whom should she trust? Should she listen to Er’ril and Mycelle? Or should she trust this wit’ch who had taught her a new side of her magick? She stared into the boy’s eyes for a heartbeat, then gripped his hand with her bloody one.

She would trust herself.

Er’ril watched as Elena shivered in the knee-deep waters. She had stripped down to her undergarments and waited as Cassa Dar finished her preparations. As Er’ril studied the girl, he sensed it was more than the cold waters that rattled her teeth, but his further protests against this endeavor had only firmed Elena’s resolve to attempt it, and now his words only fell on deaf ears.

“It’ll be cold at first,” the swamp wit’ch explained to her as she stood beside the girl in the waters, “but once you’re submerged and the bubble envelops you, you’ll warm up.” Elena nodded. i

“As you walk the stair, keep close to the boy and keep a firm hand on his fingers.” Cassa Dar reached and clasped her own hand around the joined fingers of the boy and the girl. “Never let go.” The d’warf woman studied Elena for a moment more, then slowly passed her hands over the boy’s naked flesh. Where her wrinkled palms touched, the boy’s skin burst with sharp light. She nodded at this result. “More than enough power,” she mumbled. “And with only a few drops of your blood.” She straightened and backed from the waters. “No wonder the Black Heart fears you.”

“Sh-should I go now?” Elena asked as Cassa Dar stepped from the waters.

“Yes, child. Proceed slowly. Give the air bubble time to grow strong around you.“

Elena’s eyes met Er’ril’s for a moment. He could see the fear in her gaze and knew her vulnerable. He sensed if he pushed hard right now she would fold to his wishes. He opened his mouth to do just that, but his heart would not let him. He stepped closer to the waters. “Be careful, Elena. I know you can do this.” She smiled weakly at him. A mixture of pride and determination firmed her stance. She straightened her shoulders and, with the boy guiding her, she moved down the stairs into the deeper waters.

Now it was Er’ril’s turn to shiver as he watched the lake swallow her away. He had to hold himself back from diving in and pulling her back into the air and light. His hand had closed to a tight fist.

“She’ll be fine,” Mycelle said at his shoulder, but her voice quavered, betraying her worry.

From where he sat beside Er’ril, Fardale nosed Er’ril’s fist. The wolf sought reassurance, too.

Er’ril let his hand relax and found his fingers working through Fardale’s fur. “Elena can do this,” he repeated.

He watched the boy’s light flare brighter in the waters. From the depths, the silent tableau of boy and girl glowed like the lamplit stage of a mummer’s act. Elena fought to keep beside the swamp child. The buoyancy of the water did not seem to affect the boy. He simply stood on the step as if no water eddied around him, whereas Elena, using the boy’s arm as an anchor, struggled to keep her footing.

Suddenly the bubbles again burst forth from the boy and swallowed the scene away in a flurry of phosphorescent froth. Er’ril held

his breath until the bubbling cleared and bje saw Elena. A huge pocket of air encased the pair now, lit from within by the boy’s glow. No longer buoyed by the waters, Elena stood oh her own feet on the steps, hand in hand with the boy. Though she was soaking wet and obviously shaken, Er’ril could see the relief on her face. Cassa Dar’s magick was working.

“It’s hard and takes all my concentration,” the d’warf said as she knelt at the water’s edge. “But her power is rich and malleable. We will succeed.”

Elena raised her face and stared up at them from the water’s depths and waved. Er’ril and Mycelle returned her salute.

With their acknowledgment, Elena followed the boy down the steps and off into the waters. Soon their progress across the room was only evident as a fading glow on the surface of the waters.

Then that, too, was gone.

As Elena walked with the boy, the wall of water around them distorted the surroundings of the submerged castle. It was like staring at the world through a carnival mirror, she thought. As fish would dart up, their features would swell large in the curve of the bubble’s walls. Huge eyes would stare back at her, then in a flick of tail, vanish.

Though a trace of fear still ran through her blood, a sense of wonder also thrilled in her. She was strolling through the bottom of a lake. Who else ever had a chance to do such a thing?

Her mouth gaped as she studied the ruins of the castle. With the stairs draped in algae and moss, she had to mind her footing, but her eyes were constantly drawn to the preserved remains of Castle Drakk.

Tapestries still hung on the walls, billowing slightly at their passage. Ornate oil lamps hung from chains, home to tiny creatures that ducked into hiding as they passed. Carved pine tables marked landings, their wood preserved for centuries in the brackish waters. Some furniture fell apart as their pocket of air pushed back the waters, the old pieces unable to stand on their own any longer.

Just when her fears had faded to a vague sense of worry, she came upon her first skull. The flesh had long been nibbled away by the denizens of the lake, leaving the white bone bright against the green kelp draped on the stair. She gasped and raised a hand to her throat to stifle back a scream.

“You’re hurting my hand,” the boy said from beside Elena. Thankful for the distraction, Elena tore her eyes from the horrible sight to look to the boy. “I’m sorry,” she said, and loosened her hold from its terror-tight grip.

“There’ll be more,” the swamp child said. “The assassins put up a fierce fight to keep their castle.” Suddenly the boy pointed to an eel as long as four men as it writhed past their bubble. “Look. It’s pretty!” His boyish exuberance startled Elena. Cassa Dar had explained to her that the children she created were more than just moss golems. Though they were forged to her will and could not disobey, they also had a rudimentary intelligence that flavored their behavior. The swamp wit’ch could direct them and communicate through them, but her actions were shaded by the creations’ own personalities. “Cassa, if you can hear me,” Elena said, “how much farther?” The boy turned his small face up to her. “She says it’s a long ways yet.” The boy picked at his nose as he spoke. “We have to switch to a different staircase soon. Then it’s a straight climb to the cellars.” He examined his finger to investigate the success of his mining, then leaned over to wash his finger in the waters beyond the bubble’s wall. Elena winced as his finger pierced the bubble. She feared that breaking the seal would somehow disrupt the spell, but nothing happened. The magick sustained the bubble.

He licked his finger dry. “We’ll leave the tower stair farther down and cross the castle proper to reach the back stair to the basements.” He began to hum a tune as he continued down the wet stairs.

Suddenly a huge dark form passed overhead. It trailed tentacles as thick around as her own thigh. She shied down away from it, but it shot past with a flurry of suckers and limbs.

“Owww! Don’t be such a scaredy-puss,” the boy scolded. “She won’t let any of the boogies get us.” Elena swallowed hard and nodded. She had to fight to loosen her grip again.

“Over there,” he said sourly, pointing to a doorway at the next landing. “We have to leave here, cross through the servants’ hall, pass the kitchens to the main hall, then follow it to the main stair. And I’m getting hungry. Do you have any cake?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Elena said, feeling less and less sure of her guide. “Maybe when we’re done.”

“I like mine with dollops of cream,” he confided to her as if this were of utmost secrecy.

With this revelation, he led her through the landing’s doorway and into the main body of the castle. As they progressed, Elena was glad she had a guide. Castle Drakk was a stcne maze of rooms, halls, and cubbyholes. Alone, she would have been lost among these many twists and turns.

While walking, Elena kept her eyes from the growing number of piled bones, both human and otherwise.

It was not just ordinary beasts that had assaulted the ancient castle. She passed one especially large skull whose shape she recognized and gave it a wide berth. A shiver passed through her. She recalled her own battles with the winged dreadlords of the Black Heart. The name s’tal’tum still gave her nightmares.

She hurried past, glad this battle was long dead.

By the time they reached the huge main hall, the boy’s constant -humming began to grate on Elena.

“Cassa, must the boy do this?” she asked the empty air.

The boy glanced up to her and stuck his tongue out at her. “You didn’t have to tell on me.” He sighed loudly and bunched his shoulders, sulking, but at least he was silent.

She followed him to the back staircase. The way from here descended into a deep darkness. The black waters seemed to suck greedily at the boy’s moss light.

The boy turned to her. “Do we really have to go down there?” She squeezed his hand and nodded. “Yes, we do.”

The blood hunter heard a whisper of echoed voices pass through the waters. He paused and cocked his head, straining for its source. For some time now, Torwren had been lost in the tangle of halls and rooms of the castle, unsure of how to reach the tower stairs. Backtracking and pushing through debris had eaten up volumes of precious time.

Then he had heard the voices and begun to follow, hoping that these voices were echoing down from above and could be used to track his way through the castle. Still, the acoustics under the water played a thousand tricks on his stone ears. He could not be certain he was going in the right direction as he followed the voices, his only clue in this sunken maze.

Soon he spotted a narrow staircase ahead, and his heart thrilled. Here must be the tower steps. As if to confirm his suspicions, voices and snatches of words again reached him.

He grinned in the dark water, scaring away a large lake trout that had investigated too closely. Surely he had reached the tower! He forced his legs to move, again feeling the growing torpidity in his stone skin.

He had not fed now in over two days, and the ebon’stone had again grown hungry and sluggish. Still, he did not let this disturb him. He would soon feast on the heart of the wit’ch and regain his strength back a hundredfold.

Grinning, he pushed through the portal that opened onto the stairs, but when he discovered where the steps led, the smile crashed from his face. The narrow staircase wound down, not up. This was not the tower stair. Consternation stopped his feet. This was the wrong direction.

Then again the voices reached him. He swung his head. There was no mistaking the source in such close quarters. The smattering of conversation arose from below. His eyes squinted at the dark descent. Was he picking up a trace of light flowing from far below? He took a step toward it, then stopped again.

He did not have time for curiosity. The wit’ch lay in the tower above. He did not have the luxury to investigate the oddities of this drowned castle. He took a step back, but deep inside him, something fought with renewed vigor.

Down… down… down, this strange compulsion urged. Again a picture of some vague treasure flashed across his vision. It seemed to be some weapon—no, some trophy. A flood of desire surged through him, urging him to seek this treasure.

He shook his head. The wit’ch was his goal, not some buried treasure. Yet, still, he could not retreat from the stair. It was not the stiffening stone that trapped him, but indecision. Maybe he didn’t have to fight this strange compulsion. Maybe both goals could be met. Whoever was speaking from below might know the way to the tower. And if not, his skin was starved for blood, and it would be good to feed before confronting the wit’ch. Both curiosity and hunger could be slaked by what lay below.

His decision made, the blood hunter began his descent down the stair. Deep inside him, something howled with glee.

Elena had to move with delicate care. She no longer stared through the bubble’s wall but kept her eyes on the rubble that lay strewn across the cellar floor. Its algae-slick surface sought to betray her footing with every step. She could not risk a fall and lose her handhold on the boy. If the bubble should break, she sensed the weight of the deep water would crush her instantly.

So she and the boy carefully picked their way across the jumble of boulders and bricks. The source of the strewn rubble soon became clear. The far wall of the cellar chamber had been exploded by some ancient force. The stone and brick lay ripped open to reveal the black caverns beyond.

“Just a little ways,” the boy directed. “Into the caves and down a level is the chamber where the Try’sil lies.”

She nodded. The two of them helped each other through the burst wall. Just as they stepped into the caves, the boy suddenly glanced over his shoulder, back into the cellar. His next words drove Elena’s heart to her throat. “Something comes,” he said. “Hurry!”

The boy sped into the deeper caverns. Lest she lose her grip on the child, Elena had no choice but to follow. “Wait! What is it?” she hissed at him, fear keeping her voice low but urgent.

“She’s not sure,” the boy said, referring to Cassa Dar. “This deep, she can’t sense that well. She’s tiring and needs all her concentration to keep the magick working.” He yanked on her arm to urge her faster.

“For her to sniff it, whatever it is must be close to us.” Elena needed no further urging—she would have sped past the boy if she knew the way. They dodged past fingers of rock that thrust up from the floor, while more stone fingers pointed at them from the cavern roof as they ran.

“Over there! Over there!” the boy urged, panic in his voice. He dragged her down a stone chute that emptied into a wide cavern chamber.

Elena stared through the wall of water around her. The chamber here bore its own light. It came from a bright river that split the cavern’s floor in half. It was the vein of silver that Cassa Dar had described. The elemental magick in the silver glowed brightly, but its luster was strongest where the river entered the chamber from the rear wall. The glow in the silver channel nearest them, though, was only a weak shimmer. This section of the river contained only a feeble trickle of magick.

Elena saw where the bright channel abruptly became this weak dribble. Midway along, a section of the silver had been torn away. The collapsed bulk of a d’warf lay near this damaged section.

The boy tugged her toward the rip in the silver. “Hurry!” he urged. “Get the Try’sil!” Elena sensed the boy’s words were no longer his own but that Cassa Dar was speaking directly through the boy. She followed him to the body on the floor. It was not scavenged bone, but a statue of black stone. Even sprawled on the cavern floor, Elena recognized the squat form and thick limb: It was a d’warf.

The statue’s head, though, was marred, cracked into shards of black stone that lay around its shoulders.

Only here did bright white bone jut forth from the statue, a thick-browed skull.

“My brother,” the boy said. Even through the panic, Cassa Dar’s sorrow rang clear. The swamp child pointed to an object that lay near the statue’s damaged head. “The Try’sil.” Elena knelt and reached for the weapon. There was no mistaking the ancient talisman of the d’warves: the Hammer of Thunder. Its wooden haft, as long as Krai’s ax handle, was decorated with scrollwork and runes and ended in a forged-iron hammerhead as big as a pair of og’re’s fists. Its iron shone red, as if blood had been used to forge its might.

Elena hesitated. She could not possibly lift this massive weapon with only one arm, and she dared not let loose of the boy’s hand. Still the fingers of her right hand wrapped around the haft. Gritting her teeth, she pulled hard, determined to carry it. To her amazement, the hammer rose at her touch as if it were but a light broom. She held it up, her eyes glowing in the silver light. “Beware, child!” the boy suddenly screamed. “Behind you!” Hammer in hand, Elena swung around to see a monster stalk into the chamber from the other caves. At first glance, she thought that the black d’warf statue had somehow come back to life. Lit by the silver light of the river, the black form pushed into the room. Elena’s eyes grew wide at the horribly misshapen form. She remembered Cassa Dar’s mention of something foul escaping the Keep at Shadow-brook and pursuing them. Somehow Elena knew that here approached that dark hunter.

“It’s another blackguard,” the boy moaned. “How?”

As it neared, even through the distortion of the water Elena recognized the familiar shape. It was a stone-encased d’warf like Cassa Dar’s brother. Its grin of yellowed teeth shone bright against its black lips. It spoke as it stalked toward them, its voice sounding drowned but its words comprehensible.

“Where is the wit’ch?” it said as it neared.

Elena and the boy retreated from it, but it stood between them and the only exit. As they stumbled back, the boy’s hand began to tremble in her own. The bubble of air began to expand wider around them, reaching toward the creature.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked the boy.

The swamp child’s skin shone with a deeper glow. Elena could almost see through his skin to the tangle of vines and moss in his core. Whatever magick was being employed, it taxed the boy’s illusion. He gasped as he spoke, tears glistening on his cheeks. “I’m trying to clear a space so you have room to maneuver.”

“Why?”

“You must fight the blackguard,” he said. “Use the Try’sil.” Elena’s breath froze in her chest. The creature had to weigh ten times her own weight, all stone, muscle, and bone. How could she battle it with only this hammer? If she could access her magick instead, maybe she’d have a chance. But she could not let go of the boy’s hand and had no way to pierce the skin of her right hand and release her powers. Raising the hammer between her and the creature, she was glad for its solidity, but she held no hope in its d’warf magick. She continued to back as the bubble expanded.

The stone d’warf stepped into the pocket of air. It still wore its grin as it left the lake. Waters hissed and steamed from its stone skin as it entered their bubble. “Now where is—?” It stopped as if its stone skin had suddenly frozen. Its nose raised to sniff at the air in the bubble for a few heartbeats. Then its eyes, flaming pits in its black head, fixed on Elena. “You!” Its grin spread wider. “You’re the wit’ch!” Elena raised the hammer higher in a trembling fist.

The blackguard’s fiery gaze narrowed at the threat, as if gauging its danger. Then its eyes grew wide with recognition, and the foul flames dimmed in their sockets. It stumbled forward a step, and a small voice arose like a vapor from its foul lips. “The Try’sil,” it gasped. “At… at long last.” The boy pushed in front of Elena. He spoke with the voice of Cassa Dar. “Remember your heritage, lord of the d’warves, and fight the Black Heart’s control! Let us pass!” The small voice was like a hissing whisper. “Too’s-s-strong.” The flames in the demon’s eyes began to grow fiercer.

“Fight!” the boy screamed. “For our homelands! For our people!” The fire in the pits of the blackguard’s eyes flickered. “I can’t stop…” His gaze suddenly swung to meet Elena’s. His voice became a strangled gurgle. “Beware,” he moaned, his words etched with sorrow and guilt. “Beware the Legion!” Then the flames blew savage. Twin pyres of black magick flared from the demon’s sockets, and it roared at the cavern roof.

Both Elena and the boy stumbled back. She knew the small flicker of resistance in the demon had been vanquished.

“He’s gone,” the boy mumbled, and fled to Elena’s side. The blackguard’s gaze descended upon the cowering pair. A wicked smile stretched its stone lips. Before Elena could react, the stone d’warf lunged at her.

Blindly, she swung the hammer but knew it was too late. Yet, for some reason, the d’warf’s leap began sluggishly, almost as if a bit of resistance still held some weak grip over its stone skin. Whatever the reason, her swing of the hammer had time to complete its arc, managing a glancing blow to the blackguard’s head as it bowled

toward her.

The boy, with surprising strength, yanked Elena out of the demon’s barreling path. Again, the creature’s sluggish response kept a stone hand from grabbing at her as she and the boy rolled aside. Scrambling away, the pair barely kept their feet, their hands only connected by their fingertips now.

“• Elena quickly regained a secure grip on both the boy and the hammer and faced the beast.

The blackguard swung around and raised a hand to his head. A section of his stone skull fell off with this touch. The Try’sil had lived up to its legend. It still had the potency to shatter ebon’stone.

As it probed its injury, Elena bit at the thumb that held the hammer. The demon, wise now to her weapon’s power, would be more wary in its next assault. She needed her magick. She bit deep and finally tasted blood and went to reach for her wit’chfire.

“No, child!” the boy suddenly warned. “Don’t call forth your magick! Its power is too wild and may disrupt my spell—but you’ve given me an idea.”

As the d’warf picked another piece of loose ebon’stone from the side of his head, he tossed it aside and hissed at them, “You’ll pay for that!” With no further warning, he charged.

“Stand still,” the boy yelled at her as Elena began to flee. Suddenly the bubble of air crashed down around them. The force of collapsing water shook the very roots of the castle.

Elena screamed, but the falling waters stopped only a handspan away from her nose. She was not crushed or drowned.

Such was not the case with the blackguard. Caught by surprise, the sudden weight of water crushed the d’warf to the stone of the cavern. The boy yanked on Elena. “Run,” he urged. “We must get away.” They fled around the creature’s sprawled form, giving it a wide berth even as it began to push back to its knees, stunned but quickly recovering.

“I’ll try to delay it,” Cassa Dar said, speaking through the boy as they ran from the cavern. “I can use the damage of the Try’sil to my advantage.”

Elena needed no further urging. They fled as fast as they could run. Climbing the endless stairs, Elena’s breath soon became a flame in her chest. But she ignored the pain, terror driving her forward.

From deep below, a bellow of rage pursued them.

“What’s happening?” Er’ril snapped at Cassa Dar. The swamp wit’ch still knelt at the water’s edge. Her wrinkled skin ran with sweat. Her shoulders trembled with exertion.

Jaston knelt beside the wit’ch, a hand on her bowed back. “Quit yelling at her!” he spat at Er’ril. “Can’t you see how much this strains her?”

Mycelle stood next to Er’ril. “Jaston, we need to know: Is Elena alive?” Cassa Dar’s voice was a croak. “She lives. She flees. I do what I can to sustain the magick around her and attack what pursues her.” Tears ran down her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to risk her life. But my people…” Her voice trailed into sobs.

Jaston rubbed his hand on her back. “You didn’t know. Do not whip yourself.” He glared at Er’ril. “If she is to help save your little wit’ch, she could use your support and not your accusations.” Er’ril bit back a retort, but he could not fault the swamper’s words. Right now, Elena’s safety lay in the hands of this d’warf woman, and as much as it frustrated him, he would have to accept it. He could not even imagine the battle raging under the calm black surface of the lake and sent his prayers into the waters, willing his strength to Elena.

As he waited, his lungs ached from curbing his screams of frustration. His hand began to shake. Over the long journey, Elena had become more to him than just a wit’ch, and in this moment of impotent rage, he had to admit that more than fatherly concern shaded his emotions. He swallowed hard, refusing to allow himself even to name this other feeling. He pushed such thoughts aside. He must be ready.

Cassa Dar moaned nearby. “I can’t stop him,” she mumbled to the lake. “I keep trying to slow him, but his stone skin is more poisonous than my own venoms. And when I try to attack him through the damaged patch on his skull, he keeps ripping my vines away before they can take root and spread.”

“And Elena?” Er’ril asked, this time not yelling. “She flees and draws near to us… but the blackguard has regained his bearings and is quickly closing the gap.”

Er’ril ground his teeth and pulled forth his weapon. Mycelle already had her blades out. Fardale growled at the lake. Er’ril raised his silver sword. Hurry, Elena! Come to me!

Elena limped as she ran, half using the hammer as a crutch. She had twisted her ankle on a loose stone in the stair. Only a frantic grab at the wall had saved her from tumbling back down the steps and losing her grip on the boy’s hand. Trying to ignore her protesting limb, she struggled on with the boy. Pain and terror warred in her. Her burning lungs, aching side, and throbbing ankle all slowed her pace, while her panicking heart and racing blood urged still more desperate speed.

“He comes,” the boy said beside her. Cassa Dar no longer spoke directly through the child. The wit’ch’s full attention was on keeping the black d’warf from their heels. The boy sucked his thumb as he ran, his eyes wide with fear. “I don’t want to die,” he mumbled around his thumb.

Elena had not expected a survival instinct in the moss children. “We’re not going to die,” Elena assured him and herself.

She increased her pace, now pulling the boy. After passing back through the castle proper and reaching the tower stair, she knew the way. She sped up the stairs toward the distant surface of the lake.

The boy stumbled to keep up, his small legs struggling to match her pace. “Don’t leave me behind,” he cried.

“I won’t.”

The boy suddenly moaned. “He’s right behind us. He’s already on the stair.” Elena did not bother to glance over her shoulder. She bent, and using her grip on the boy’s hand, she threw him over her shoulder

onto her back. “Hang on!” she yelled. He squealed with fear, but his other arm wrapped around her neck.

Using the hammer as a balance against the boy’s weight, she ran. Luckily the boy was lighter than a real child and not much of a burden. Her ankle screamed, but fear’s fire had hold of her blood. She leapt like a deer up the steps. Back in her family’s orchards, she and Joach had raced each other down the rows of apple trees. Though her brother had a longer stride, Elena had often still beaten him. She put every mote of strength in her limbs into this last sprint.

Overhead the dark waters suddenly brightened. She allowed herself a moment of relief. It was the torches at the surface. She sped on. The boy then screamed in her ear. “He’s here!” The child tried to climb over her back.

Elena glanced behind her. The hulking black creature lumbered up the steps behind her. He was a distance away, but his stride ate up three steps with every one of hers. Clinging vines fought at him, but he shrugged them off, hardly seeming to slow. His flaming eyes spotted her, and his pace increased.

With her attention turned, Elena’s foot slipped on some loose kelp, and both she and the boy stumbled to the steps. The boy was up first. “Go, child!” he screamed—Cassa Dar again. “Swim for the surface. The boy will slow him.”

As the child said these words, tears flowed down his cheeks—he didn’t want to stay. Elena hesitated a moment, her heart going out to the terrified child. Then the little fingers let go of hers. “Go,” he mumbled in a tiny voice. The pocket of air shrank quickly around her.

The monster was bearing down on them. Not wasting the boy’s sacrifice, Elena dove through the bubble and into the lake. The bouyant water shot her toward the surface as she pushed off the stone stair.

Bellows of anger rose with her.

Before she knew it, Er’ril’s arm was around her, hauling her up the last steps and onto the dry stairs.

Mycelle helped hold her upright as her twisted ankle gave way. Dropping the hammer from her numb fingers, Elena turned to where Cassa Dar knelt, orchestrating the fight against the creature. “The boy?” she asked. No answer came from Cassa Dar’s trembling form. At the wit’ch’s side, Jaston just looked Elena in the eye and shook his head. “She’s too weak.”

“Don’t fret,” Mycelle said. “The boy’s not real, Elena.”

Elena’s lips grew tight, and she turned to Mycelle. “Give me my dagger.” Mycelle obeyed, retrieving Elena’s silver blade from her discarded clothes. “We need to retreat up the steps,” her aunt urged. “Regroup when it pursues.”

“No,” Elena said. She sliced a deep cut in her left hand, the one that had held the boy’s hand, the one that had been born in moonlight.

Suddenly, behind her, the waters erupted in the still lake. Elena swung around on her good ankle. The black d’warf rose up, the boy’s throat clutched in one fist. From the child’s body, a tangle of vines burst forth and thrashed at the black skin of the creature, seeking purchase. Yet the battle was doomed, for where the boy’s vines touched stone, they curled and died.

Blood dripped from Elena’s slashed palm as she raised her arm. Where the red drops touched the lake, ice spread out across the waters in spidery traces. Elena touched the magick inside her, igniting it. Ice raced from her heart out to her hand and burst forth in a blaze of blue fire. Power again sang within her, and she let it rage.

She cast out her magick into the lake. Coldfire met the struggling blackguard and stunned him with its sudden frigid touch. Elena continued to pour her magicks forth, letting the magick run wild. This was no subtle spell, but raw power.

A scream echoed up from her throat as she cast out her coldfire.

The lake froze around the blackguard, trapping the creature in its tight embrace. Only its head, upper torso, and one arm were still above the ice. Elena poured forth more of her magick until the lake was frozen from wall to wall. Only then did she close her fist and stanch her river of coldfire.

As her eyes cleared, she blinked her frosted lashes and checked her handiwork. In the iced arm of the blackguard, the stone beast still clutched the small boy. There was no movement from either.

Elena sank to her knees, her hot tears like fire on her cold cheeks.

“You did it,” Er’ril said, kneeling beside her.

Cassa Dar also stirred from the water’s edge. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the frosted ice. The swamp wit’ch pushed to her feet, swaying slightly with exhaustion. With Jaston assisting her, she crossed to the discarded Try’sil. Jaston lifted the hammer so she could examine it. “Elena, you’ve accomplished a miracle,” she mumbled, fingering the carved haft of the Try’sil with reverence and awe.

t-j

Elena did not answer, her eyes still fixed on the child frozen in the grip of the blackguard monster.

But at what cost? she silently wondered, thinking of a boy who liked his cake with a dollop of cream.

Fardale was the first to notice something was wrong. The wolf stared out at the lake, and a wary growl flowed from his throat.

As Mycelle hurried to get Elena into her dry clothes, Er’ril stepped beside Fardale and studied the lake.

He didn’t see anything strange; the black d’warf still lay frozen in the ice’s grip. He rested his hand on Fardale’s back and noticed the wolf’s hackles were up. “Do you scent something?” Fardale took a step back from the lake’s edge just as a sharp cracky burst from the ice.

- Everyone jumped at the sudden noise. All were instantly on their feet. Er’ril at first thought the noise was the ice breaking up, but he quickly saw he was wrong.

It was not ice shattering—but stonel

The ebon’stone d’warf was cracking apart. Its thick skull fell from its shoulders and rattled across the ice, breaking into even smaller pieces. Its arms snapped from where it protruded from the lake to crash like an axed tree. As the limb struck the ice, it too shattered into hundreds of ebon’stone shards. Nothing lay within. It was as if the d’warf had been a hollow shell all along. Soon all that protruded from the frozen water was its upper torso, like a black egg imbedded in the ice. Fardale continued to growl.

Er’ril was unsure if any danger still lay out in the lake, but he had had enough of Castle Drakk. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Let’s get

away from here.“

Cassa Dar had finished wrapping the Try’sil in a cloak and passed it to Mycelle’s care. “I think you should,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the remains of the blackguard. “Something smells wrong here.” As if hearing her words, a thunderous clap exploded, shaking the tower with its boom. One of the chandeliers above the lake broke with a screech of bolts and fell with a clatter to the ice. Chunks of painted plaster rained down.

Er’ril shoved Elena behind him. The girl hopped to keep her weight off her injured ankle. “Out,” he yelled. “Now!”

WIT CH STORM

In the center of the frozen lake, the torso of the d’warf had split open. Like some dark chrysalis, the stone peeled back in curled sections. From the heart of this foul structure a bloody mist arose above the ice, followed by the squirming, writhing mass of something pale as a corpse. It squeezed forth, contorting and swelling as it escaped its ebon’stone womb. Its body, the size of a large draft horse, plopped to the ice. Steaming a red mist from its pores, it rolled sluggishly. Then, like a butterfly fresh from its cocoon, it shook free moist wings, and a long sinuous neck curled from where it lay coiled close to its body. It turned large white eyes in their direction, searching blindly. Then huge flaps opened to sniff at the air, drawing it toward the huddled group on the stair. It spread its wings and opened its wet maw and screamed at them, a keening wail.

Er’ril did not wait for the creature to gain its bearings. “Back up the stairs,” he ordered. He waved the others onward.

“Take the double doors at the next landing,” Cassa Dar yelled, struggling in Jaston’s arms up the steps.

“A shortcut.”

“No time!” Mycelle yelled.

They had not even climbed a dozen steps when the creature screamed again, its wail more strident. Still too weak to fly, it rose on a tangle of snakelike appendages and used its wings to propel itself across the ice at them. Its large bulk moved slowly, but its tenta-cled appendages were faster, like striking asps. A flurry of albino limbs shot up the steps after them.

Er’ril knocked Elena to the wall as probing appendages snatched at his legs. He swiped with his sword, severing the thick fingers. Where they touched, his pant legs smoked. He kicked the squirming sections away from his boots. The creature was sick with burning poisons.

On the far side of the stair, Mycelle fought the tentacles with her twin swords. She guarded over Cassa Dar and Jaston as the pair slowly climbed. Her blades were a blur before her. Er’ril was impressed with the havoc she wreaked. Splashes of poison smoked on her skin, but she ignored them.

Er’ril borrowed the plan of the others and slowly crept up the steps, herding Elena behind him. Progress was slow. Snaking limbs were everywhere.

Suddenly Mycelle yelled, a piercing cry. Er’ril glanced across the sea of tentacles and saw that a thick limb had wrapped around the swordswoman’s waist. One of her blades had been knocked away; the other was wrapped in the grip of smaller tentacles. Mycelle was pinned.

Er’ril spotted the woman’s fallen blade. It had landed near Jaston’s feet. “Grab the sword,” he yelled to the swamp man. “Help free

Mycelle.“

The man stood frozen, his eyes wide with horror. He did not move.

Cursing the swamper’s cowardice, Er’ril tried to push Elena faster, but the girl slipped past him and stumbled down a few steps. Blue flames danced along the fingers of her left hand.

“Elena!”

“I can slow it,” she yelled back, already raising her hand. “Free Mycelle!” A wave of coldfire shot from her fingers to slam into the bulk of the beast as it reached the base of the stairs. The force stopped its charge toward the steps and slid its bulk back across the slick ice. The tentacles were dragged along with it, clearing a path for Er’ril to cross to Mycelle. He dashed over and hacked at the thick limb wrapped around her waist. Her face was contorted with agony. Her clothes smoked, and when Er’ril finally sliced away the limb, he saw it wasn’t just her shirt that smoked: Her very flesh lay burned around her waist.

He glared at Jaston. “Help Mycelle up the stairs.” Jaston came out of his shock and took Mycelle under one of his arms as Cassa Dar led the way up the stairs.

Fardale, who had no weapon and had been hanging back from the fray, suddenly barked and raced down the stairs past Er’ril.

Er’ril swung around. Elena stood before a wall of lashing tentacles. She washed her coldfire over the snaking limbs, keeping them at bay—but the magick did little else. Where her blue flames struck the creature, its pale flesh grew red hot and resisted the ice with some inner fire of its own.

Elena was losing her battle—and one of the appendages was creeping along the roof, over Elena’s head, out of her sight. The treacherous limb now reached toward her unprotected back. But Fardale raced to protect her. The wolf leapt off the steps and flew through the air. He snatched the creeping limb in his jaws, and his momentum tore the appendage away from Elena.

n o I o R M

The wolf landed on his paws and gagged the limb from his mouth. The fur around his muzzle lay singed, and his tongue, lolling from his jaws, had been burned black.

Elena switched hands, obviously hoping fire would work where ice did not. She had already bloodied her right hand, and scarlet flames now danced in her palm. She sent a shaft of wit’chfire at the beast. Its flaming touch had once pierced even the formidable protection of a skal’tum, but the magick seemed to have little effect on the foul creature here. The beast mewled at the assault and was driven farther back onto the ice. But where the stream of magickal fire struck, its pale flesh grew black, like frostbit skin, and doused the scorch of the flames.

The beast remained unharmed.

Fardale loped up the steps while Er’ril hurried down. Burdened with his sword, he urged Elena back.

“The Dark Lord has grown wise to your magicks,” he warned. “We must flee while we can.” Elena ignored him. Her skin ran with sweat, and her face was pale. She raised her right hand again.

Flames roiled to a sun’s radiance in her fist as she built the magick to a fierce heat.

Er’ril did not know what she thought to accomplish. “Elena?” The girl thrust her arm toward the beast and released her magicks in a mighty rush. The fire struck, not at the beast, but at the ice under its tangle of tentacles. Her fire ripped into the ice, and the lake exploded under the creature. Steam swelled through the chamber. In a single breath, what had been ice became water once again.

Through the steam, Er’ril caught glimpses of the beast’s flailing appendages and beating wings. Caught off guard, it struggled at the sudden change of its footing and lost. The beast sank into the waters. “Wise girl,” Er’ril commended her.

But Elena was not done yet. She raised her left hand and sent forth her coldfire. Steam became icy mist, and the lake froze over where the beast had sunk. Once again the room was solid ice.

Elena lowered her arm and turned to Er’ril, her eyes still raging with her magick’s use. “We can go now,” she said. “I don’t know how long the ice will hold it, but perhaps long enough for escape.” She tried to mount the stairs on her own but swooned with exhaustion.

Er’ril had to drop his sword to catch her. Jaston appeared at her other side. The swamp man’s and the plainsman’s eyes met over the girl. Jaston’s face shone with shame, but also with determination.

He held Elena until Er’ril could retrieve his sword and sheathe it. “I’ll take her from here,” Er’ril said coldly as he scooped the girl up in his one arm. He headed up the stairs. Jaston hung back a moment, then followed.

Up at the next landing, Cassa Dar, Mycelle, and the wolf

awaited them.

“This way,” the swamp wit’ch urged, leading the way through a set of doors off the stairway. “This hall will take you directly to the exterior stair.”

Er’ril followed Fardale into the passage. The wolf padded forward, ears cocked tall, listening for any new dangers ahead. The footsteps of the other members of the party echoed on the stones behind Er’ril.

He hurried with Elena cradled in his arm. She had one of her arms hooked around his neck, and she leaned into his chest.

“You did well,” he whispered under his breath. - She raised her head. “Did… did you say something?”

“No, just hang on. We’re almost out of this cursed castle.” Suddenly a massive quake shook the tower. The stone floor danced under his feet. Er’ril almost stumbled atop Elena. He caught himself just as the explosive crash reached his ears.

“It broke loose,” Elena said as he regained his balance. “Let me down.” Er’ril ignored her. He wasn’t about to let her out of his grip again—not until she was safely away.

At the end of the passage, Cassa Dar worked at the secret door. “Just beyond here,” the d’warf woman said, “is the stair that runs along the outside of the tower, the steps that you all climbed up earlier.“

Elena pulled her arm free of Er’ril’s neck. “I’ll be safe here,” she told the worried plainsman. “Go help Aunt My watch the hall.”

Er’ril nodded, lowering her carefully to the floor. Then he leaned close to Elena, exacting a promise from her with his eyes. “Don’t go outside until I return.”

She nodded her agreement.

Satisfied, he slipped down the hall to where Mycelle and the wolf guarded their rear. Nearby, Jaston stood in the swamp wit’ch’s shadow, his face lowered, his eyes somewhere far away.

wit ch Storm

Cassa Dar talked as she worked, clearly anxious. “This was an old camouflaged door used by the assassins to sneak up on the rear flank of any marauding force that attempted to climb the stair. In the past, there were nomadic robber bands that—” The catch finally released with a snap, and the door sprang open a bit. The swamp wit’ch wiped her hands and stood. “There we go!” Jaston called to the others, his voice cracking slightly. “The door’s unlatched!” While the others hurried forward, Cassa Dar hauled the heavy door wide open. Beyond the threshold, the night breezes greeted them. It was still dark, and the moon had long since set. “Daybreak must be near,” Cassa said. “The swamp mists are always thickest upon the lake just before morning.” Elena had to trust her judgment. To her it was the darkest night outside, and sunrise seemed no more than a fanciful dream.

Mycelle hurried them forward. “We’d best hurry. I heard something in the hall just as Jaston called.” As if to emphasize her point, a wail erupted from behind them. No one had to say what monster made such a noise. “It’s close,” Er’ril hissed. “Everybody outside so I can get this door shut.” They rushed out onto the stairs, boots flying down the steps. Er’ril stood by the door, attempting to drag it closed. Even in the dark, Elena saw the veins bulging at his temples, the muscles of his arm bunching thick. The door was stuck. “Er’ril?”

“Stay back, Elena!”

Mycelle placed a firm grip on her shoulder, silently telling her to obey.

“I need time to build a boat,” the wit’ch said from the water’s edge. “He must get that door closed.” A second bellow of rage erupted from down the hall; then the monster’s shrieking changed in pitch- It had spotted Er’ril.

The plainsman’s attack on the door increased. A reddish mist flowed out into the night from the open threshold. Elena’s fist was at her throat. It must be almost atop him.

Suddenly, a questing tentacle shot out and snatched at Er’ril’s neck. The plainsman gasped as his neck burned. Unarmed, his hand scrabbled at the choking limb. Before anyone else could react, Jaston raced up the steps, his skinning dagger clutched in his hand.

|AMES (jLtMBBS T- y

Reaching Er’ril in a heartbeat, he slashed savagely at the appendage. Its acid blood etched his dagger and burned his hand and arm. He screamed, not in pain from the poison’s burn, but in a rage pent up over many winters. He ravaged the limb with his knife until Er’ril fell free of its grip.

“Hurry,” Er’ril choked, and threw off the limb. Together, both men forced the door and slammed it shut.

Leaning against the door, Er’ril patted Jaston on the shoulder. “Thank you.” Just then something huge crashed into the door, the shock so intense that Er’ril was knocked outward by the concussion. The plainsman cartwheeled his arm at the edge of the stair, but one arm was not enough.

Jaston reached for him and missed. Er’ril tumbled off the stair and crashed into the lake below.

“Er’ril!” Elena ran to the stair’s edge. Even in the mist-shrouded starlight, Elena saw huge fins arise and cut toward the ripples in the lake. Er’ril’s head bobbed up, and he swam with vigorous kicks toward the lowest stair. But again, one arm made a poor swimmer. The fins closed quickly upon him.

“Don’t fret,” the wit’ch said, appearing beside her. Cassa Dar waved a thick arm across the water, and the fins turned away in unison and sank from view. “I don’t have time to build a boat,” she muttered as Er’ril neared. “I’ll have to improvise.”

With these words, Cassa Dar threw herself off the stair to land flat on her belly atop the lake. Instead of sinking, her flesh blew out in a nest of vines and moss, some glowing brightly in the night. “I told you I was more than just d’warf.” Then her form was swallowed away as a raft of vines and moss formed around her. Her voice, though, still rose from the tangle of vines. “Hurry. Climb on board.” Everyone hesitated a moment, uncomfortable with climbing atop the vessel that was built from an old woman’s body. Then another concussion shook the tower steps as the beast slammmed into the door again.

Er’ril swam up to the edge of the boat and clambered up. “What are you all waiting for?“

No one needed further prodding. The party scrambled onto the living raft. As soon as all were on board, the raft took off across the waters, quickly gaining speed. Cassa Dar’s voice arose from the floor. “I’ll not be able to talk with you much longer.”

Fardale sniffed at the raft, his ears cocked and his head tilted.

“Powering the raft,” Cassa Dar continued, “taxes my elemental abilities, and the farther from the castle I travel, the weaker my skill will become.”

Er’ril ripped off his soaking shirt, freeing his arm of its clinging grip. He checked his sheath. His silver sword was still in place. “Will you be able to get us across the lake?”

“Yes, but after that, I must return to Castle Drakk, to my nexus of power. From there, I can guide you all the way to the coast.”

“But what about the beast in the castle?” Elena asked. “I don’t think it will remain there long. Hopefully just long enough for you all to get lost in the deep swamps. Then I can return to my castle.” But Cassa Dar’s hopes were not to be realized. A thunderclap suddenly roared over the waters. All eyes turned to the castle. The dark tower still stood like a shadowed island behind them. Against its black stone, a white form could be seen, aglow in the starlight. “It’s burst through the door!” Mycelle said in horror. From the prow, Elena stared back and watched the beast take to the air, its wings huge white sails to either side. They cut through the mists like a predator’s fins slicing through the lake. But Elena knew that no wave of Cassa Dar’s hand would save them now. She glanced to her own hands. Both her palms were still red—no longer with the dark ruby of before, but with a weak scarlet. Her powers were low.

She stared skyward as the beast turned on a wing and dove toward them. Tendrils of its snaking appendages hung all the way to the lake now, leaving small ripples in the still waters with their foul passage. Earlier, when Elena had been at full strength, the beast had resisted her magicks; what could she hope to accomplish now? Still, she slipped free her wit’ch’s dagger.

Er’ril stood near the stern of the boat, barechested with his sword in hand. Mycelle stood armed beside him, marking the progress of the beast against the speed of Cassa Dar. She could see that they would not escape the lake. Seeming to sense her gaze, Er’ril glanced over his shoulder at her, an apologetic look, in his eyes. He knew they would not survive this. Still, he raised his sword. At least he would die fighting.

And so would she, Elena decided. She drew the tip of her silver blade across each palm, then sheathed her dagger. Cupping her hands on her knees, she stared as the blood welled into her palms F

^yl

and released the dam of her magicks. As she allowed the power to sing through her blood, each hand began to glow. The Rose of her right hand grew into a fierce crimson, while the Rose of her left hand burst forth with an icy azure luminescence.

Here were the two sides of her power, and both were now useless. Elena stared at her glowing hands.

Suddenly her eyes grew wide. What if—?

Elena shot to her feet, moving so suddenly the boat rocked. Ahead of her, Er’ril grunted, shaken off balance. He glared over his shoulder at her.

It was too late to explain. The beast had reached them. As it swept over the fleeing boat, its appendages writhed and tangled under it, grabbing at the raft and its occupants. As the others fought the beast with their swords, Elena saw Fardale yanked into the air by a coiled limb of the monster.

Jaston leapt after the wolf, flying over the edge of the boat, his knife clamped in his teeth. The swamp man caught the vinelike appendage with both hands, then loosened one grip to snatch the dagger from his mouth. As his palms burned, he sawed at the limb, a scream frozen on his lips, until the appendage severed and both he and the wolf tumbled into the lake.

Elena knew this was just a test of their strength. She stared up into the night sky. The main bulk of the beast glided on its huge wings. Its pale eyes seemed to study the boat; then suddenly it focused directly on her. It was no dumb beast that hunted them. A malignant intelligence lay behind this creature’s dead eyes.

She knew the Dark Lord watched and guided this beast. It studied her for a heartbeat more; then a scream of triumph burst from its throat as it dove toward her, wings tucked for speed.

“Everyone down!” Elena screamed, not bothering to see if she was obeyed. From here, she knew the battle was hers alone.

She raised her arms. Not just her right or her left— but both. She brought her two red hands together and entwined her fingers. This time she did not unite wit’ch and woman—but coldfire and wit’chfire!

She thrust her joined fists at the diving monster and let her mag-ick rage forth. The power blew out from her with such force that Elena was knocked backward. She had to anchor her legs to keep her feet.

From her fists, a rage of cracking lightning, searing flames, and shredding winds swept out. The lake screamed with her magicks. Thunder boomed across the waters.

Elena knew the name of this awesome power.

Stormfire!

This new magick ripped into the beast, haulting its dive. Like a fly in amber, it hung trapped as crackles of lightning danced across its flesh and savage winds tore its wings to shreds. Flame followed and laid waste to all it touched. The beast writhed within a ball of fierce energies, wailing and thrashing its appendages.

Elena poured every last dreg of her magick into the creature.

Finally its skin cracked, its tentacles curled and blackened, and its wings became bone and ash. It crashed into the lake with a final keening scream.

Waves and swells rocked the boat; everyone standing was knocked down. When the boat’s rocking finally calmed enough, Er’ril sat up and glanced to Elena to make sure she was safe.

She leaned up on an elbow and gave him a nod. No words were needed.

A voice called out from the lake. Mycelle crossed to the vessel’s edge and helped Jaston crawl into the boat. He dragged the sopping wolf behind him. Fardale’s fur was burned in thick swatches, but the shape-shifter lived.

Er’ril crawled over to Elena as the remaining swells died down. He helped her sit up. “What was that magick?” he asked.

“Stormfire,” Elena said breathlessly.

Er’ril stared at her, then took her hands one at a time and examined them. He had no qualms about touching her soft white skin, bare of magick. He glanced back to her face, wonder in his eyes. “How…

?”

“You told me mages in the past could only bear magick in one hand.” She squeezed Er’ril’s palm as emphasis.

Er’ril nodded and kept his hand in hers.

“But I can wield both,” Elena said. “And since no one but Sisa’kofa could wield two magicks at once, I knew the Dark Lord could not be prepared for such a united attack… so I took advantage of his blindness.” Elena smiled shyly up at Er’ril. “But even I didn’t expect such a show.” Er’ril pulled her into his embrace and hugged her hard. “You continue to amaze me, Elena.” She leaned into him, relishing his warmth and scent. She hoped this moment would never end.

Then the lake erupted in a huge wave and jarred them apart. The boat almost flipped with the force of the sudden surge. From the waters to the side of the boat, a huge head burst forth, burnt and scarred, borne on a long sinuous neck.

Its maw swelled open, lined with thousands of shredding teeth. Its blackened eyes searched the boat, blind but still able to sense its prey by scent. It struck at Elena.

She screamed and raised her hands, but no power lay there. Er’ril threw his body atop hers, knocking her down and protecting her with his own life.

Suddenly a second surge rocked the boat, knocking the vessel • back from the beast. Er’ril pushed up to see. Elena followed.

Up from the lake rose a monstrous, scaled head, huge jaws hinged wide open. Its teeth, shining in the light, were as long as Elena’s forearm. With a whip of its huge tail and a clacking roar, it burst forth, snatched the Dark Lord’s creature by its long neck, and shook it savagely. The pale beast squealed its death cry, thrashing in the jaws of the huge swamp creature.

With the beast already weakened, the lake monster finished what Elena had started. It twisted and tore at the pale creature until the head of the burnt beast fell limp in its jaws.

The swamp reptile, still holding its prey clamped in its huge jaws, rolled a huge black eye toward the raft, then sank below the waters. Jaston spoke from the edge of the boat. “A bull kroc’an.”

“Was it called up by Cassa Dar to save us?” Elena asked. The swamp wit’ch’s voice rose weakly from the floor, just a whisper. “No. It was no magick of mine.” Jaston stood at the boat’s edge, staring out at the black waters. His wet clothes clung to him. He turned to the others, no longer hiding his scars. “I know these swamps, and I know the kroc’an. That roar before the bull attacked was a cry of revenge.” Jaston turned back to stare at the lake. “These swamps are my home,” he said, his voice a blend of warmth and pride. “Out here, creatures know how to survive.”

Elena sensed he spoke of more than just the bull kroc’an, and from Mycelle’s sad smile as she stared at Jaston’s back, she knew her aunt must also suspect the extra meaning behind the swamp man’s words.

Though still scarred, something vital had finally healed in the man.

Sighing, Elena stared out across the calming waters and remembered Mycelle’s words back at the Painted Pony in Shadowbrook: Not all wars are won with swords and magic’t.

Elena studied her white hands.

Somehow those words made her happy.

TWO DAYS LATER, IT WAS STILL DIFFICULT TO SAY GOOD-BYE. EVEN

though the swamps had held such horrors, Elena would truly miss her new friends, allies forged in fire.

But with their party’s wounds treated and their plans finally laid, they were ready to strike for the coast.

So, as the sun rose on the day of their departure, the party stood on an island at the edge of the large swamp lake. Er’ril busied himself with packing the boat while Fardale nosed the plainsman’s handiwork.

Mycelle and Elena still faced Jaston and Cassa Dar, finishing their good-byes. From here, the wit’ch would guide them directly to the coast.

“You could still come with us,” Mycelle said to Jaston.

He shook his head. “I have the horses to attend to,” he said. Jaston was going to arrange to have their mounts, still stabled in Drywater, join a swamper’s caravan to the coast. Elena had insisted that Mist not be abandoned. The mare would not thrive as a swamper’s mule—loaded with gear, stopping every fifth step to chew razor-grass, and refusing to budge until her belly was full. No, Mist would not make a good workhorse.

Jaston stepped back from Mycelle. Their trials at Castle Drakk had revitalized the scarred man. He hardly seemed like the sullen man they had first met. He now held his back straight and spoke with good humor, unashamed of his scars. “Besides,” he said, “my home is here in the swamps.” Elena saw how his words wounded her aunt, as did the brief glance Jaston gave the wit’ch as he mentioned his love of the swamps. Her face sad, Mycelle turned away and straightened her shoulders. Elena saw the resignation in her eyes. Some flames gone to ash could not be rekindled, even when a small spark was still left. “Then I guess we’d best be off,” Mycelle said with false cheer. As she walked away, her aunt held a hand to her side, where the poisons of the tentacles had burned deep. But Elena suspected it was more than just the wound that pained her.

So Mycelle and Jaston parted—more than friends, less than lovers—leaving only Elena to say her good-byes. She hugged Jaston and turned to Cassa Dar. The wit’ch had redonned her magickal garb, standing again as an auburn-haired beauty. Her slender hands reached to Elena’s gloved fingers. “You bear the heritage of Sisa’kofa. There is much power in your hands,” she said, then raised a palm and rested it against Elena’s chest. “But your true strength will always come from your heart. Remember that, child.”

Elena’s eyes misted up.

¦ “And please… remember also your promise to me,” she continued. “You’re my people’s only hope.” Elena nodded. “I will see to it that one day the Try’sil is returned to its rightful place.” Cassa Dar smiled, and they hugged. The illusion of the wit’ch was so strong that even with her arms wrapped around Cassa Dar, Elena could not discern the ancient d’warf hidden within the moss magick.

At last they parted company.

Elena’s group climbed aboard the boat and settled in. With a soft bump, the vessel receded from the bank, moving on its own, borne away by Cassa Dar’s swamp magick.

Elena, sitting at the stern, turned for one last view of Jaston and Cassa Dar. The pair still stood on the mossy bank, arms raised in farewell. Elena noted how the wit’ch slipped her hand into Jaston’s as she waved them off. Elena smiled. So it seemed Mycelle was not the only one with an interest in Jaston.

This small display of affection by the wit’ch did not pass unnoticed by Mycelle either. Her aunt’s cheeks reddened, and her wave of farewell was perfunctory. She quickly swung back around to discuss some detail with Er’ril, bowing her head away from the scene behind the boat.

Elena was glad her aunt had turned away and missed what transpired next. Just as their boat disappeared around a bend, Cassa Dar raised a hand to the swamp man’s cheek. Where she touched, the

^yu ¦• ¦¦•»

man’s scars vanished, swept away by moss magick. Jaston examined his face with tentative fingers, wonder in his eyes. But as he turned toward Cassa Dar, Elena caught a glimpse of something more in his eyes—something that suggested Cassa Dar’s interest might not go unrequited.

Elena smiled to herself and twisted forward. Jaston had always said he loved the swamps. Now perhaps he’d have a chance to prove it.

From near the boat’s bow, Er’ril suddenly cursed as he rubbed a balm the wit’ch had given them on his raw neck. His skin lay blistered and red from where the poison tentacle had touched him. He then wrapped the wound with a bandage and settled deeper in the boat. “I’ll be glad to be rid of these poisoned lands,” he muttered.

“As will I,” Mycelle echoed, her voice a whisper as she glanced one last time behind them.

Elena placed a hand on her aunt’s knee. There was no medicinal salve that could soothe this pain. All Elena could do was offer Mycelle her support.

Her aunt gripped Elena’s hand and did not let go.

It would be a long trip to the coast.

Six days after leaving Castle Drakk, Elena stepped on the first solid ground in what seemed like ages.

Her feet were slightly unsteady after the many days of traveling through marshy soils and bobbing on rafts through swamp channels. She adjusted her pack to balance herself and tested the ankle she had twisted on the flight up the castle’s stairs. Only a dull twinge remained, like a distant memory of its former pain.

Beside her, Fardale stretched each of his legs, arching his back and relishing the release from the boat.

The wolf clearly enjoyed the clean sunshine after the constant mists of the bogs. Elena studied the swaths of clipped fur on the wolf’s torso; his burns were scarring well. The swamp wit’ch’s salve was helping the others’ injuries, too.

Er’ril stepped next to her, wincing slightly as his pack brushed his bandaged neck. Mycelle walked carefully behind him. She had sustained the worst injuries. The poison ring around her belly still pained her often.

Luckily, the hike from here wasn’t far: half a day’s journey at most. Er’ril knew someone who owned a remote cottage among the bluffs, a place were they could hide and rest while their wounds healed.

It was the promise of the cottage—of real beds and hearth-cooked meals—that kept the party moving.

Yet the luxuries of a clean bed were not the only motivation for their hard pace. In less than half a moon, Mycelle would need to journey to Port Rawl and search for the other members of their

^ / u Witch Storm

party. Elena looked forward to seeing Krai, Tol’chuk, Meric, and Mogweed again. She missed them dearly.

With their boots on real ground, Er’ril led them on the last leg of their long journey from Winter’s Eyrie to the coast. As the sun climbed the sky, he guided them east toward the ocean, aiming slightly south.

The land rose gently higher as they left the marshlands and entered the rolling coastal hills. Birds called and rabbits bounded from their path as they left the poisons behind them. The air was scented with green meadowgrass and purple jonquils, while patches of honeysuckle swarmed with the buzz of bees. Summer claimed these hills, but the heavy milkweed pods that hung like the heads of drunken men warned of summer’s end.

By noon, they crested a large hill. Not far ahead, the ocean appeared. Elena stared at it, gawking. It was as if the world ended beyond the bluffs. From horizon to horizon lay the blue waters of the great ocean.

Nothing interrupted the smooth expanse except for an occasional misted green island.

“The edge of the Archipelago,” Er’ril said, pointing toward the distant isles.

And, Elena thought wearily, their next destination. She sighed. But that was another day. For now, she would enjoy the sunshine and the scent of ocean breezes and forget for a time that she was a wit’ch. She refused even to glance at the two deerskin gloves that hid her ruby skin.

With the ocean in sight, Er’ril called for a meal break, passing out the last of their ration of dried meat and hard bread. It was a glum meal until Mycelle offered Elena a few berries that she had gathered from a small barbed bush nearby. Elena’s eyes widened. She knew those ripe berries. They were her favorite—blisterberries! Accepting them greedily, she popped them in her mouth. They were tart and sweet at the same time. Her mother had grown such bushes in their family’s garden, making the most excellent tarts from those few berries that Elena had not already picked and consumed by the time they were ripe.

Elena glanced around the hills. More of the small prickly bushes dotted the slopes. She grinned, her teeth stained purple. The journey from here didn’t seem so bad.

James ulemens

Mycelle spoke to Er’ril as Elena finished the last of the berries. “So this friend of yours out here in the bluffs,” she said. “Is he to be fully trusted?”

Er’ril nodded as he packed away their gear, then sat back on his heels to eye Mycelle. He rubbed absently at the stump of his arm. “He’s a brother of the Order. I have full faith in his loyalty and would put my life in his hands without any misgivings.”

Mycelle studied Er’ril a moment before speaking. “But it’s more than just your own life this time.” Er’ril’s gaze flickered toward Elena and back again. “I know my duties,” he muttered, and returned Mycelle’s stare. “If you don’t trust this man, then trust my judgment.” Mycelle stood up slowly, protecting her injured belly. “I do, Er’ril.” The plainsman’s eyes widened slightly at her declaration. He covered his surprise by snugging his pack closed. “Then let’s be off while the daylight holds.”

With their meal finished, they moved on through the hills. After a time, they reached a rutted path that hugged the coastline and made their pace easier. The bluffs were lonely country. From the fields, a few curious sheep and sleepy-eyed cows watched them pass, and they met only a single wagon on the road, the driver tipping his hat. Unfortunately, the rig was heading in the wrong direction to beg a ride.

So they continued on foot. The hike stretched endlessly, and the day had turned to twilight by the time a small cottage appeared ahead. It stood atop a tall bluff overlooking the seas. Its thatched roof and hewn stone walls seemed the finest palace to Elena’s tired legs.

A dog barked and ran out to meet them as they approached. But when it scented Fardale, it grew less sure and backed away. A few goats also noted the passage of a wolf near their midst and bleated feebly and moved off. Only a gaggle of ducks actually waddled over to greet them, quacking for scraps of bread or seed. Elena smiled at them.

Er’ril, though, shooed the fowl from underfoot as he led their party off the wagon path and across the yard toward the cottage. At the door, he rapped soundly.

At first, no one answered, and for a moment, Elena feared that maybe no one was home. But then the steps of someone sounded from within. Somewhere deeper in the cottage, a voice called out. “Git the door already!”

Er’ril smiled. “That would be Brother Flint,” he whispered to her. “Always in a foul mood, but with a heart as big as the sea.”

Whoever bore the brunt of this man’s rough affection finally opened the door. He stood just a little smaller than Er’ril. The plainsman nodded, not recognizing the red-haired young man—and for just about two heartbeats, neither did Elena. Then her eyes grew huge, and she shoved Er’ril aside. She flew at the man in the doorway and wrapped her arms around the shocked fellow.

“Um…” he said awkwardly, stiffening in her embrace. Elena pulled back and looked him in the face. He had grown a head taller over the past year, and even a bit of red beard now sprouted on his chin. She grinned up at him, and tears of joy ran down her cheek. “Joach, don’t you even recognize your own sister?”

He blinked. “Elena?” he said, tentatively at first, then seemed finally to see past her dyed and shorn hair.

“Elena!” He grabbed her up and hugged her so hard she thought her ribs would break, but she didn’t protest or urge him to lighten his grip. She just held him. In Joach’s arms, she rediscovered the strength of her father, and in his close warmth, the heart of her mother. United in tears, they were a family again.

“How… ?” She both laughed and sobbed into his chest, unable to form words, her vision blurring. She squeezed him tighter. He was not a figment of a cruel dream, a ghost to disappear on waking. Over the past moons, she had dreamt often of her brother, but this was real. He was flesh and bone. She could not stop crying. “How did you… ?”

He raised a palm and touched her cheek. “Hush.”

By now, a grizzled, gray-bearded man strolled up behind her brother. He had a pipe clenched between his lips. “So it seems you two know each other,” he said gruffly.

Joach loosened his hold on Elena at the approach of the old man but refused to let her go completely. He kept one arm around her shoulders as he introduced her to the man. “This,” he said, grinning his boyish smile, “is my sister, Elena.”

“Yes, the wit’ch. I figured as much.” He nodded toward Elena and passed her a handkerchief for her tears. He surveyed the rest of the party, his eyes growing large at the sight of the huge treewolf. Then he beckoned them all inside as if they had just come from a neighboring farm. “About time you got here, Er’ril.”

Joach had started to turn away when Mycelle stepped from behind Er’ril. Her brother’s head snapped back around to face the swords woman. “Aunt My?” he asked, his voice shocked. “What… what are you doing here?” Joach let go of Elena and reached to embrace his aunt.

Elena smiled, having momentarily forgotten there was another member of their lost family present.

As Joach reached for Mycelle, their aunt held up a hand. “Whoa there, Joach. I just saw how you hugged your sister. I’ve got wounds that can’t withstand that kind of love.” She leaned and gently hugged him, then let go. Her eyes filled with tears. “You’ve grown even more than your sister,” she said, wiping at her eyes.

“Flint,” Er’ril said, ever gruff, ever serious, “how did you ever come by the boy?”

“Moris found him in A’loa Glen,” he said, waving off the question. “But the story’s long, and I’ve got a pot of stew simmering. It’ll burn if I don’t get back to it.” Before they could enter, a deep roar cracked across the hills, freezing everyone in place.

Er’ril reached for his sword.

As they all turned, a winged shape suddenly swept up from below the bluff’s edge behind them. It arched and swung toward the cottage.

“Skal’tum!” Elena cried.

Joach wrapped his sister up in his arms. “No, El, it’s nothing to fear.” Er’ril drew his sword, as did Mycelle. Fardale growled. Flint pushed through them all. “Jumpy sorts, aren’t you all?” The old man ran his eyes up and down Mycelle’s physique as he passed. He glanced at Er’ril, pursing his lips appreciatively. “C’mon,” he said with a nod toward the bluffs. “My stew will have to wait. I sent a messenger out to rally some forces, but it looks like she’s returning early. And I don’t like what that implies.”

Er’ril followed, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “What’s going on, Flint?” Elena, her eyes on the skies, did not hear the old man’s response. In the last rays of the setting sun, Elena saw it wasn’t a monster of the Dark Lord that glided the coastal winds, but a striking figure of iridescent black scale and silver claws. As the sun set behind them, the last rays sparked a brilliant radiance off its scales. It spun on the tip of one huge wing and swept back toward the bluff. Elena’s mouth hung open as she followed on numb feet, her neck bent back to study the handsome beast’s flight as it moved with power and grace across the darkening skies.

Elena trailed behind the plainsman, her brother’s arm around her shoulders. Ahead, the huge black creature landed at the bluff’s edge, digging gigantic claws into the rich soil. As it perched above the crashing surf, it swung its stately black head in their direction as they approached. Eyes of cobalt and ebony studied them. “It’s the dragon Ragnar’k,” Joach explained.

Now closer, Elena spotted a small girl seated atop the dragon. Her green hair blew like a sweep of willow about her face. Joach raised his arm, greeting her. The girl returned the gesture. “That’s Sy-wen,” Joach explained to Elena. “A mer woman.”

Elena’s eyebrows rose high. The mer were supposed to be creatures of myth, but after all Elena had seen, she did not doubt her brother’s claim.

As they crossed the meadow to join the dragon and its rider at the bluff’s edge, Flint and Er’ril were deep in conversation. Elena drew close enough to hear their words. Er’ril’s face had darkened with the fading light. “So A’loa Glen is lost,” he said, dismayed. “And my brother…” His voice cracked, and the plainsman could not speak any further. His eyes stared far off. Elena had never seen him so distraught.

Flint chewed his pipe. “I’m afraid so. I’ve heard reports that flocks of skal’tum have been seen circling the towers of the city. Boats report other strange beasts seen in the waters around the island, and five times more the number of ships go missing at sea than before. I’m afraid the Dark Lord is digging in his heels. If we’re ever going to get the Blood Diary, we need an army.” By now, their group had reached the bluff. They kept their distance from the dragon, though it had already lost interest in them and stared out at the ocean. Elena’s and Sy-wen’s eyes met briefly. The mer woman nodded at her. Elena suspected they were around the same age.

Flint spoke to Sy-wen. “How did it go? Were you able to convince your mother to help?”

“Conch had already reached my mother,” Sy-wen said, “and passed on your request for aid.” She waved an arm to encompass the seas below the bluffs. “And there is her response.” Beyond the crashing surf, the blue waters undulated in slow, regular swells. Nothing lay there but empty waves.

Elena noticed the old man’s shoulders slump.

Then the small mer woman reached and touched her dragon’s neck. At the quiet signal, Ragnar’k stretched out his long throat and bellowed across the waves, his call echoing along the cliffs.

Wincing at the noise, Elena leaned into Joach.

As the dragon’s roar ended, the smooth sea beyond the frothing surf bloomed with hundreds of snaking heads as countless submerged creatures surfaced. “Seadragons,” Elena whispered, awed. Like a scatter of jewels across the midnight blue waters, more and more dragons, in various hues and sizes, rose from the sea.

Each dragon bore a rider, an arm raised in salute.

“My mother sends her greeting to you,” Sy-wen said with a ghost of a smile, “and pledges her aid.” Beyond them, huge behemoths of the deep sea rose like barnacled islands, spewing fonts of spray from holes along their backs. The spray caught the sun’s glory, casting twilight rainbows to the horizon.

Flint whistled appreciatively. He fingered a small star-shaped stud in his ear. “You did it, Sy-wen,” he muttered. “You’ve brought back the mer’ai from the Deep. The prophecies weave together this night.

Can you feel it?” he asked Er’ril. “When the sun next rises, the war will be upon us.” His words—war and prophecy—chilled Elena.

Suddenly, the black dragon trumpeted again, a piping wail that startled Elena. His countless brethren below chorused back, a rising tune that somehow blended with the pound of the surf below them. It was a song that united sea and beast.

But deeper in the dragons’ song, Elena heard more. She heard the drums of war, the beat of sword on shield, and the trumpet’s charge.

Joach whispered in her ear as the light faded around them, his eyes wide upon the host below. “They’re here for you, Elena.

His words brought her no joy. Tears rose in her eyes. From here, she knew nothing would be the same.

As if sensing her emotion, Fardale stepped to the edge of the bluff and added his voice to the chorus below, a long low cry that escalated into the ululating howl. The loneliness of his song spoke to Elena’s heart.

Joach slipped his hand in hers and squeezed. She returned the silent affection. Whatever may come, Elena thought as she held tight to her brother and listened to Fardale’s cry, at least she would no longer face it alone.

Hand in hand, brother and sister watched the seas turn dark as the day died. The warmth of family flowed between them, stronger than any ruby magick.

And so as Elena stares out at her dragon army, I must end this part of her tale. From this night forward, the oceans will run red with the blood of heroes, cowards will show their true colors, and brothers will raise swords against each other.

Yet is that not always the tides of war?

So for now, let’s rest and pretend we don’t hear the drums of battle in the pounding of the surf.

Tomorrow is soon enough for the lands ofAlasea to bleed.