“Without it to protect us, we—”

“Did you not hear Mradvior say it will eventually drive you mad?” Worry touched Gavril for only a moment before he dismissed it. “Why should I believe what that villain says? Tanengard will protect us from the evil here.” “Tanengard will only draw you into the darkness. Have care—” “Be silent!” Gavril roared, losing his temper entirely. “I will hear no more on the matter, lord cardinal! Must I use this weapon to silence you forever?” Noncire stood very still, his face as immobile as stone. For a long moment he stared at Gavril. “I have lost you,” he said sorrowfully. “All the training and instruction in the faith that I gave you since your infancy is now as nothing.  You are lost, Gavril, and I cannot get you back.”

“You old fool!” Gavril pointed at the door. “Get out! Get out!” In cold, disapproving silence, Noncire drew the sign of the Circle between them and went.

Dain and his companions were five days into the forest of central Nether and looking for a place to camp for the night when the attack came.  It had been overcast all day. No snow was falling, but the air smelled damp and frosty. It was bitterly cold, and as dusk drew nigh, shadows began to pool beneath the trees. Keebacks flew overhead, calling their plaintive kee . . . kee . . . kee. A young danselk, his antlers spreading to only two points, foraged noisily in a stand of colorful harlberries until he heard their approach; panic-stricken, the danselk flung himself from the thicket and raced away.  “Damne!” Sir Terent said. “An easy shot, that, if I had a bow.”

“Do you want to course him?” Thum asked.

“And do what? Stab him with my sword?” Sir Terent snorted. “Nay. He’s gone already.”

Meeting Thum’s smiling eyes, Dain gave his squire a small nod of approval. That was the most Sir Terent had said in days. Ever since Sir Polquin’s death, Sir Terent had gone about in a black mood indeed. Gone were his sunny, gap-toothed smiles. Instead, his brow was often furrowed, and grim lines bracketed his mouth. Dain left him alone to his grieving for his friend.  There was no comfort to offer; nothing would bring Sir Polquin back.

At present, Alexeika and Sir Alard had ridden ahead, scouting for a campsite.  Dain, Sir Terent, and Thum allowed their horses to plod along at a walk. It was getting more and more difficult to find forage for the animals, and their own food supplies had dwindled to whatever they could manage to hunt on the way.  Early this morning, Sir Terent’s traps had caught two hares. Tied to his saddle, they dangled and bobbed with the promise of tasty eating tonight.  Dain’s head was aching a little, in the way it did occasionally since Cardinal Noncire had tried to force open his mind. As a result, he wasn’t alert. All he could think of was stopping for the night, eating something hot, and not moving until his headache eased.

Had he felt well, they might have had some warning before gray shadows came flying at them from the trees.

Larger than bats and much faster, two of the creatures zoomed over Dain’s head.  He ducked instinctively and heard Thum shout in alarm. Drawing rein, they all bunched together, ducking and swatting the things in bewilderment. Sir Terent drew his sword with an oath, but he could not swing it fast enough to strike whatever these things were that darted and circled.

His headache forgotten, Dain tried to contact them with his mind, but was brushed aside. One came right at him, and Dain ducked just in time.  “Morde a day!” Sir Terent swore, swinging his sword in vain. “What are they?” “Nothing of this world,” Dain said as one struck his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he caught a confused impression of gray fur and beady malevolent eyes. Its claws were like needles, and with an oath, he knocked it off. Before it hit the ground, however, it turned over in midair and suddenly zoomed away.  Thum screamed, arching his back, and Dain saw that one of the small gray shapes had fastened itself to his shoulder. “Get it off me!” Thum shouted. “Damne!  It’s—” He halted in mid-sentence and screamed again.

Unsure what to do, Dain drew Truthseeker and plunged its tip into the creature.  Flames burst the thing apart, and the others flew off with tiny screeches just as Sir Alard came galloping out of the trees, with Alexeika clinging behind him.  Sir Alard had his sword drawn. His eyes were on fire and he was ready for battle. “What is it? What happened?” he demanded.

Dain had no time to answer him. Leaning over from his saddle, he pounded out the flames burning through Thum’s cloak, using his gloved hands to smother the fire.  Thum was huddled over his horse’s neck, moaning softly. Dain stopped slapping flames long enough to give him a light shake.

“Are you much hurt? Did it bite you? Thum, are you hurt?” Thum didn’t answer. At that moment, the fire in his cloak shot back to life, nearly scorching Dain’s hand.

Sir Terent gripped Thum by his collar and shoved him out of the saddle. Even as Thum hit the ground with a startled yelp, Sir Terent was dismounting. He ran to roll Thum over and over in the snow until the fire was truly extinguished from his clothing. Even then, Sir Terent took no chances. He yanked off Thum’s ruined cloak, flung it on the ground, and kicked snow over it.  “These damned swords,” he grumbled. “ ‘Tis against Writ to put magic in a blade, aye, and I can see why.”

By then they were all off their horses, except Alexeika, who remained on Sir Alard’s steed. Holding her daggers in her hands, she kept a sharp watch on the sky and trees around them.

“We must leave this place,” she announced. “Now.”

Dain glanced up at her. She was an odd maiden, to be sure, with her brusque manners and masculine clothing. Her tongue was sharp, and she was quick to criticize, quick to voice her opinion, whether asked for or not. But since that first night, when they’d argued so fiercely, she’d taken care not to contradict Dain’s orders. On his part, he tried to talk to her only when it was absolutely necessary.

He noticed now that she was looking tense, even a little frightened. That increased his sense of unease.

“It is not good to be here,” she said. “They are a warning.”

“What are they?”

“Krenjin. Imps. They’re dangerous.”

Dain had never heard of the creatures. But although they were not Nonkind, they were certainly hostile. “What kind of warning?”

She glanced overhead again with such apprehension that Dain looked skyward too, half-expecting to see another formation of the creatures in renewed attack.  “Alexeika, what kind of warning? Against what?”

“I don’t know.” She gestured impatiently. “We must go!” By now Sir Terent and Sir Alard were helping Thum to his feet. The squire’s face was bone white beneath his freckles. His hazel-green eyes were round and wide with shock.

“All right?” Dain asked him worriedly. “Can you ride?”

He gave Dain an unsteady nod. “Aye.”

“We’ll tend him later!” Alexeika called out. “Only let us get away from here!” Dain had many questions about these mysterious krenjin, but he would ask them later. While Thum was helped back astride his horse, Dain swung into Soleil’s saddle.

“They came at us from the direction we were heading,” he said to Alexeika.  She frowned. “Then let’s turn aside. We’ll circle east a ways before we head north again.”

Mindful of Thum, who looked none too steady in the saddle, Dain kicked his horse to a trot and ducked beneath the bare branches of a tree entwined with woody vines. The others followed him, and for a moment there was only the sound of their horses crashing through the snow-crusted undergrowth.  Then Dain sensed something ahead, something he did not know or recognize.  Fearing another attack of krenjin, he turned Soleil aside, but an enormous gray beyar came loping across his path.

Soleil reared in fright, and suddenly they were surrounded by more of the huge, shaggy animals.

By the time Dain had his panicked horse back under control, it was too late to run. Only then did he notice that some of the beyars had riders. Slim, cloaked figures, they were but half-seen in the gloomy shadows among the trees.  “Merciful Thod,” Sir Terent whispered hoarsely, “what lies before us now?” But Dain started grinning in relief. “Eld-folk!” he said with a laugh. “We have found them.”

Sir Terent’s eyes shifted and darted warily. “Looks more like they’ve found us.

Aye, and caught us fast.”

“There’s nothing to fear,” Dain proclaimed. For the first time since he’d sneaked out of Thirst Hold via its secret passageway and waited long, bleak hours in the darkness until Sir Terent, Thum, and Sir Alard rode through the gates at dawn’s light, concealed among Lord Renald’s small squadron of knights, Dain felt optimism. No matter how much the others had doubted the course he’d set them on, he’d always believed that he could find the elusive eldin. And now that he had, he felt that many of his troubles were over. After all, these were his mother’s people. As soon as they knew who he was, they would help him.  Raising his hand in peace, he called out a greeting.

“Take care, sire,” Alexeika warned softly.

Ignoring her, Dain kicked his trembling horse forward.  A slim, short arrow hurtled through the air, missing him by inches. He halted, his heart pounding fast.

“In Thod’s name, sire!” Sir Terent called out in alarm. “Come back!” “Be still,” Dain told his protector, and stared at the silent, hostile eldin around him. He wished he could see their faces more clearly in the darkening shadows. Again he raised his hand. “I am Faldain,” he said loudly. “Son of King Tobeszijian and Queen Nereisse. I come seeking my mother’s people.” When no one responded, Dain frowned. “I bring no harm to you,” he said. “I seek my mother’s people, and come with friendship and good intentions.” Finally the beyars parted, and a single rider approached Dain. His mount was a stout, black-furred beast with a band of white at its throat. When the beyar halted in front of Dain, its rider pushed back his hood with a frown.  Dain found himself looking into a pair of amber eyes flecked with glints of silver. The eld’s hair—blond as tasseled grain—fell nearly to his slim shoulders, and the pale locks twisted and writhed constantly as though a wind blew through them.

A pang of familiarity shot through Dain’s heart. Thia’s hair had been that same pale color. It, too, had moved and curled incessantly as though possessing life of its own. He wished fiercely that she were here at his side for this reunion with their mother’s people.

The eld’s face was triangular, with pronounced cheekbones and a narrow chin. A single gold earring dangled from one of his pointed ears. Beneath his cloak, he was clad in a fur-lined jerkin and leggings of soft, fawn-colored leather.  “You call yourself Faldain, son of Tobeszijian,” he replied at last when he had finished his scrutiny of Dain. “How will you prove it?”

Dain frowned. “How will you test me?”

The eld glanced at the darkening sky and shrugged. In silence he started to turn his beyar around.

“Wait!” Dain called out desperately. “Please. I’ve come seeking your help.” “You wear man-stink and think man-thoughts,” the eld said to him harshly. “We no longer walk among men.”

“I would change that, if I could,” Dain said. “I know many injustices have harmed the eld-folk, and hope to put an end to such wrongs.” “Then end them,” the eld said indifferently. “It is nothing to us.” “Wait!” Dain called again. “Please take me to your king. Let me plead my cause to him.”

“Your cause has no meaning to us.”

“How do you know?” Dain asked.

The eld glared at him. “Leave this land. You have intruded on sacred ground, and your presence offends us. Take your men and go!”

“I ask your pardon for our intrusion,” Dain said quickly. “I didn’t know—” “The markings are plain.”

Embarrassed by his ignorance, Dain sighed. “I know only dwarf runes, not eldin ones.”

The eld gestured with contempt. “We do not scratch runes into trees like barbarians. You were warned away by the krenjin, but you heeded them not. You have intruded, and I will give you but one more chance to go with your lives intact.”

“Sire,” Sir Terent said softly behind him. “You better back away now, nice and quiet.”

But Dain couldn’t face defeat now, not when he was so close to achieving this part of his objective. He drew a deep breath. “In the name of Solder, I—” Roaring, several of the beyars reared up on their hindquarters. Their eldin riders exchanged glances and called out sharply in a language Dain did not understand.

Their leader narrowed his amber eyes at Dain. “What do you know of the old favors?” he demanded angrily. “What do you call for in the name of the First?” Dain realized his mouth was hanging open. He shut it hastily as he tried to hide his delight in what Solder’s name had invoked. He’d only intended to urge them to listen to him; he knew nothing about any “old favors.” But now it seemed he had some leverage, and he intended to use it.

“Take me to your king,” he said. “I must talk to him.”

The eld scowled at him through the gathering shadows, then said something rapidly that Dain did not understand. He pointed behind Dain, and several eld riders closed in on Dain’s companions.

“No man may come past this point,” the eld said to Dain. “Your companions will stay here, guarded close.”