As she worked the loom, Brandella wept. Her tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the fabric below. When the scarf was finished, it bore not only her craftsmanship but her love.

Tenderly, she laid the scarf down on her bed, leaning it against his side of the long, down-filled pillow. With shaking hands, she took a piece of parchment from her table and sat down to write. The words did not come easily: Dearest to my heart-

I would never leave you if I had a choice. But Tanis has come for me, and I cannot refuse him. You see, he comes at your behest, through your own magic as an old man. This life that we live, he says, is not real. It is only as you remember it in your ancient days. In your old age, you think of me still. I love you for that-and for so much more. Just as you have not forgotten me, I promise that I will not forget you. And I will always love you. Believe that. Wear this scarf that I wove with my tears at our parting. But cry not for me because I will always be with you. Forever, Brandella

She thought of so many other things she might have said, so many memories she might have included to warm his soul, but she didn't know where to begin or how to end. So she left it at that, hoping that her declaration of love, unfettered by other thoughts or remembrances, would tell him most clearly how she felt.

She left the note on top of the scarf and headed for the door-until a thought flew into her head. She looked up at the ceiling and stared at the picture she had drawn so long ago. There she saw the image of Tanis carrying her away. But the dream that she had painted did not tell her if Tanis succeeded in his quest. What if Tanis failed? What if he were unable to take her out of Kishpa's memory? What if he escaped, but she did not; what would Tanis remember of her?

She rushed back to her table and wrote another note, this one for the half-elf. She read it over when she was finished and then closed her eyes to keep her emotions in check. One thing was certain: she knew Kishpa would not understand; he must not see it. She folded the note, put it in a metal box, and then remembered that she was to leave behind the writing instrument with which she had written both her letters. She placed the pen in the box with the note to Tanis, covered it with its lid, and then took the box with her as she rushed outside into the deepening twilight.

On her way to Ankatavaka's east gate, Brandella stopped at the spot where Tanis slew the giant spider. A warrior remembers all his battlefields, she thought, so it was here that she buried the metal box. Later, she would speak of this to Tanis. If he survived and she did not, she wanted him to know that he should never feel adrift.

The breach in his friendship with Mertwig was painful enough, but to find out that Brandella had deserted him was more than Kishpa could bear. He stood alone, sobbing quietly to himself, clutching the brightly colored scarf in one hand and her note to him in the other.

His mind raced with a thousand rancid thoughts of betrayal. She spoke of love in her note. What did she know of love if she could leave him feeling this way? What did she know of love if she could so casually disappear with a stranger? And this nonsense of being imagined and remembered in his own mind when he was old-how had the half-elf convinced her of that? Why did Tanis fabricate such lies?

"I should have let him drown," he shouted at the figures that Brandella had painted on the walls and ceiling. "I should have killed him a hundred times over for this crime he has committed in stealing away my Brandella. My Brandella! Not his! She might have been fooled by his cleverness, but she will learn of his deceit and come back to me more loving than ever. I shall get her back!" he vowed. "I must!"

But he did not move.

It still didn't seem possible that she had gone. He stared once again at the scarf and the note in his hands. Suddenly, he screamed something unintelligible, crumpled the letter, and threw it and the Scarf against the wall.

Even before they hit and fell to the floor below, he had scrambled after them, scooping them up quickly with the tenderness with which one might pick up a baby. They were all that he had of her. At least for the moment.*****

They stood at the east gate. Bloodstains still marred the ground where the enemy had been routed only hours before.

"I thought you had changed your mind," Tanis admitted.

"I considered it many times," Brandella replied uneasily. "If I were not used to Kishpa's magic, I would have thought everything you said was the raving of a madman. Even now, I wonder if I'm putting my life in the hands of someone from whom I should flee."

"My words of reassurance will mean nothing. Only when you see that you have been set free will you know that I have spoken the truth."

She stood without pretension, her arms at her sides. In the battlefield beyond, a meadow bird called, then was silent. "I am waiting, then."

The sun had set, and the only light shining on them came from a pair of torches that illuminated the east gate. Tanis took one of them in hand. "Follow me. There is a place we must go," he announced with more confidence than he felt. "It is from there that Kishpa's magic will deliver us."

Tanis took her by the hand and led her out of Ankatavaka through the darkening night. The air was sweet, and the half-elf imagined himself taking his woman for a walk underneath the stars.

Look at her, he thought, glancing over his shoulder. She comes so willingly, so lovingly, to be with her man. What a contrast with Kitiara! The swordswoman had done as she pleased; if anything, Tanis had followed her bidding. But Brandella… Tanis scowled. If only this night belonged to him and not to Kishpa. But what were these thoughts that the half-elf was thinking? He had come to do an old man's bidding and found himself contemplating ways to steal the mage's memories for himself. Tanis, not Mertwig, should be the one on trial, the half-elf thought. But Brandella smiled at him with such tenderness. Her hand fit his so perfectly-

Tanis stumbled into a tree stump, nearly losing his balance.

"Are you all right?" Brandella moved closer, carrying with her a scent of wildflowers and cloves. The darkness deepened her forest-green blouse to black. Her eyes shone in her porcelain face.

"Uh, I guess so," he said. To hide his embarrassment, Tanis waved his torch over the tree stump as if he were examining the cause of his misstep. A shadow crossed the top of the stump when the light passed near by. "Hollow," said the half-elf. "It seems we are close. This is where Scowarr saved my life. That means I was standing over there when I first appeared in this place." He pointed his torch toward the center of a grassy meadow.

For some reason-Tanis hoped it was Brandella's desire to prolong their time together-the two of them walked very slowly in the direction he had indicated. He still held her hand.

Finally, he said, "I think this is the spot where I appeared." He took a deep breath.

"Wait!" There was no fear in her torchlit face. Something else stirred there, but he did not know what it meant. "What is it?" he asked. Brandella spoke. "Should something go wrong-" "Nothing will go wrong. Kishpa said-" "Listen to me," she ordered, drawing him close. "If you should return to your world without me… if I cannot leave Kishpa's memory… if I should disappear… then go to the spot where you killed the giant spider. I left something for you there, at the foot of the barricade, buried in a box. It is only for you. For you, Tanis. Do you understand?" "Yes," he said. His mind, caught by her nearness, seemed to go blank. "It's time," he finally added. "Are you ready?" She closed her eyes and nodded. Holding her hand in his, Tanis called out into the darkness, "Kishpa! Bring us back! Brandella is yours again. Free her!" Nothing happened. "Kishpa!" "I am here." Kishpa's voice answered. Tanis felt a wave of relief. They would not be left to die in the mage's memory, after all. But then Tanis's body went rigid with shock. The voice was that of a young man, not an old mage lying near death. And Tanis felt the point of a knife held tightly against his back.