Tanis looked around. Nearby, Clotnik was recovering from his bout of nausea. Steam and smoke still rose from blackened trunks and boughs. Any animals in the area had long since disappeared. Sligs, huge, intelligent cousins of the hobgoblins, would have a hard time hiding in the lake's blaze-scarred surroundings.

"It seems to have worked," Tanife agreed. He paused, then resumed as if talking to himself. "I've never known sligs to travel in this part of the world. They must have been after something valuable." The old man averted his eyes but didn't reply, and Tanis went on. 'The fire stretched from one horizon to the other. You must have set the fire some distance from here."

The old one tried to shake his head and winced. The numbness from his overnight stay in the cold water appeared to be wearing off, and the terrible pain was only just beginning, Tanis saw. The blue eyes seemed to go out of focus again, and the man sighed and closed them.

"No," he whispered. "It was not very far away, at all. It was my magic that spread it so wide."

"You're a mage?"

"What's left of one," he replied with a dull laugh.

Something didn't add up, Tanis thought. "If you saved yourself from the sligs with magic, why didn't you cast another spell to save yourself from the fire?"

"I couldn't… "-and his voice trailed off before he visibly pulled himself together-"I couldn't cast another spell so soon after the first. My strength is not what it used to be." He shook his head, remembering. "Once the fire was started, I had no way of controlling it. I got a good head start, but when the wind changed direction and it came after me, I didn't think I'd make it."

Clotnik heard the last of this as he returned from the lake. He was pale and trembling, one hand held at his stomach as if to keep it calm, the other wrapped tightly around his chest as if to ward off a chill despite the rapidly rising sun.

"The only reason you live is Tanis," the juggler said. "He saved your life."

"I remember," whispered the pain-wracked mage. "When I saw him, at first I thought he was his father."

Tanis felt himself go lightheaded. His mind was a jumble of questions, yet he couldn't find his voice. Please, he thought, let him live long enough to tell me what he knows.

Clotnik reached out and carefully drew a waterlogged twig from the old man's grizzled hair. "You should rest," he gently advised the wizard.

The mage responded by tightening his lips. The old man must have shown a mulish streak in healthier days, Tanis thought. "You know better," the wizard objected.' "There is too little time. I must talk to the half-elf while I can."

The mage tried to turn to look at Tanis, but the effort brought him only unendurable pain. He groaned down deep in his soul as his eyes rolled up into his head.

Tanis hastened to speak. "We'll stay with you until-" The half-elf couldn't finish.

"Until I die?" the mage told Tanis through clenched teeth. "No. Not you."

Tanis did not know what to say.

"We must strike a bargain," the old mage said slowly, with increasing difficulty. "A deal. Knowledge of your father… in return for a favor."

"Of course," Tanis said without a moment's delay. 'Tell me what you want, and if I can do it, it is yours."

The blue eyes suddenly turned steely in his ash- smeared face. "I want you to find someone for me… someone who will perish without your help." He cried out the final words, and his hands shot up and grabbed Tanis's tunic. His fire-blackened fingers curled, and he used his handhold both to pull Tanis closer and to raise himself up off the ground. In a strangled voice, he exclaimed, "She must be saved! I need your word!"

"Was the woman you speak of out there on the plains with you when the fire struck?" Tanis asked in alarm, preparing to rise and search for what, at best, would be a charred corpse.

The mage shook his head, however, and pulled Tanis closer with strength born of desperation. "She's very far away," the old wizard said sadly.

Tanis eased the man back down onto the blanket. "Who is she?"

"She is Brandella," he said simply. "There is no other like her. And you must find her, save her, so that she can live on after I die."

Clotnik finally interjected, "Kishpa, you haven't explained it to him."

"Give me water," demanded the mage. Once he had sipped from Clotnik's water bag, he gave a deep sigh and continued. 'Three years ago I cast a search spell, hoping that my magic would tell me whom I should seek. My magic told me to find you, Tanthalas," he said, using Tanis's elven name. Kishpa coughed, and Clotnik offered him more water. The old wizard refused it and went on. "I have sought you ever since. My hold on you is simple. Your father came to my village ninety-eight years ago. I will lead you to him if you will give me Brandella."

The old man rested a moment, catching his breath.

Tanis was having nearly as much trouble breathing as the old mage. His father. Was it possible? Ninety-eight years were but a short time to an elf, but Tanis's father was human. He couldn't still be alive. Tanis wondered if his doubts showed in his face.

"How am I to find this woman, this Brandella?" Tanis asked hurriedly.

Kishpa's blistered lips cracked into a bleeding smile. "The same way you will find your father. You will look for both of them in my past. They live in my memory."

Tanis felt his hopes crash around him like one of the burned-out tree trunks that now marred the landscape. Kishpa's blue eyes gleamed with an intensity that doubly alarmed the half-elf. "The old man is delirious," Tanis said. "Clotnik, help me set up the other blankets to form a tent around him. We ought to protect-" But Clotnik continued to kneel impassively on the sandy dirt next to the mage. "He isn't delirious," the dwarf said firmly. Tanis glanced from the juggler to the mage, thinking, Maybe I'm the one who's delirious.

"Brandella is living and breathing inside me," said Kishpa hoarsely. "So is your father. Or at least they will be for as long as I live. That's why I need you, Tanis." The mage suddenly coughed up blood. He wiped it off his fire-scarred face, breathlessly forging on. "While I'm still conscious, I'm going to cast a spell. I will send you deep into my memory, back to the time when I knew my Brandella best and when your father came to my village." He stopped and Clotnik gave him a worried look.

Few sounds broke the morning calm; pieces of charred wood occasionally thumped against each other in the lake, and a branch broke with a crack and dropped to the littered ground only yards away. The smell of smoke was still strong. The half-elf and the dwarf were silent as they waited for the aging wizard to overcome the latest spasm of pain. Tanis watched the mage's shallow breath barely move the charred robes that once, he knew, had been red and velvety.

A fierce expression crossed the mage's face; he refused to let the pain stand in his way. "Learn what you will about your father," he said, "but find my Brandella and escape from my mind with her so that when I die, she will live on. I don't want her memory to die with me, Tanis. Do you understand? I love her too much to see her perish with me. Find her. Free her."

The old man slumped back, watching Tanis with a stare that now waned from demanding to hopeful. "Will you do it?" Kishpa asked weakly.

To actually see his father? To meet him? "Yes," he replied. There could be no other answer.

The mage managed a smile. "There is much you should know," he said, "but I must concentrate now and build my strength for the spell. Clotnik," he called, "tell Tanis what to expect. And be quick. Time is short."