There remained the issue of blood. Blood of heritage, of people, and blood spilled.

It was a tangle that even Chap found himself trapped within. Whether it unsnarled or cinched tight to strangle them all depended on how Leesil was viewed by his mother's people.

No matter how many memory fragments Chap gleaned from Sgaile, he could not clearly piece together all concerning this issue and the consequences of killing an anmaglahk. But Chap felt certain that Sgaile would follow his people's ways with as much conformity and integrity as he could.

En’nish was another matter.

Her thoughts were clouded with memories of Groyt'ashia. They shared a like fire that had burned hot in their separate natures. She smelled of blinding anguish and hatred, even from a distance.

Another scent reached Chap as he trotted watchfully behind Magiere. Movement in the trees caught his eye-a flash of silver-gray.

All other thoughts vanished when he saw the majay-hi skirting the path. He watched for them-for one of them-as they wove among the trees, drifting in and out of sight.

The silver-white female appeared briefly and then vanished.

"It is all right, Chap," Wynn said. "Go run with them, if you like."

He had not even realized he had slowed to fall back beside her. He peered into the forest with rapt attention but remained at Wynn's side. A high-pitched chirp made his ears perk up.

It trailed into a song, like someone whistling too perfectly, and then faded. He had never heard any such bird in his infancy among the elves.

Wynn lifted her gaze, searching for what had made the sound.

"What kind of bird was that?" she asked, and turned toward Urhkar at the rear.

Urhkar stopped for a long pause, and Chap did so as well, as the man looked back the way they had come. When the elder elf turned around, his expression was astonished.

He did not answer Wynn's question. And when Chap reached for any memory surfacing in Urhkar's thoughts, he caught only a vanishing glimpse of full black eyes and wings of mottled white feathers.

Six days more, and Leesil still didn't know how far Sgaile intended them to travel. They encountered no other elves and few animals besides the majay-hi among the trees. He once had to pull Wynn back from going after a multi-hued dragonfly and a cloud of shimmering moths. There were a few common squirrels in the trees, and ones colored something like a mink.

And the infrequent song of some bird out of sight.

Wynn's warning about the tashgalh had unfortunately proven valid. They hadn't seen it, but small things were missing from their packs. Including a flint stone, the last tin of Wynn's tea leaves, and several coins, as they'd found their purse spilled on the ground one morning. Leesil took to sleeping with the chest of skulls near his head.

Clear streams were plentiful, and the Anmaglahk produced two decent meals a day for them with little effort. One of them simply disappeared into the forest and returned shortly with necessities for breakfast or dinner. Fruits, nuts, and more ugly little mushrooms served as a light midday meal while they walked.

Every time Leesil thought of Wynn, he felt small and petty. She annoyed him, and he couldn't help it. She might be fluent in Elvish, as she often reminded him, but what good was it? Sgaile barely acknowledged she existed, so the only elf Wynn spoke with at length was Osha, who didn't strike Leesil as particularly bright.

Each day was new torture as Leesil pictured his mother in some elven prison, though shame or anguish always mixed with resentment. Every time he asked Sgaile how many more leagues, the only answer he got was "More days… we will travel more days."

Leesil grew tired of it.

Magiere walked beside him, plainly uncomfortable and as distrusting as always.But more so now with the Anmaglahk. She looked well enough, her black hair shimmering with lines of red in the sunlight, but he'd noticed how sparingly she ate, and at night she had difficulty sleeping. Each day she grewmore tense, a nervous energy building in her.

He'd always viewed Magiere as someone who preferred the night-who felt out of place in the sun-but here, she'd changed somehow.

Leesil tried to remember the last time they'd been truly alone.Too long. Each night, guilt mixed with longing as he crawled beneath the blanket with her and pressed his face into the back of her neck. It was one moment when he forgot why he had come here and what he'd done to achieve it.

On this sixth day, Sgaile put his hand up, and everyone stopped.

"We near my home enclave, where we will spend the night with my family." His features tightened thoughtfully until he pointed to Magiere's falchion. "You are hu… outsiders, and bearing weapons might produce a dangerous reaction. I will carry them for you until we leave tomorrow."

"Not if I were already dead," Magiere growled at him.

Sgaile sighed, gesturing to Leesil's winged punching blades. "You have my word. We enter among my people, my clan. None have ever seen a human in this land. They will not take kindly to your presence. Less so, if you are armed."

"No," Magiere said flatly.

En’nish backtracked to stand behind Sgaile. The corner of her left eye twitched.

"Savages!" she whispered to Sgaile, though she spoke in Belaskian for all to understand.

Leesil's eyes shifted quickly to Magiere, prepared for the inevitable flare of anger, but she was so quiet that it made him even more wary.

"Why did they send you?" he asked Sgaile. "Out of all of your kind, why your

Sgaile slowly swung his arm back until En’nish retreated. "Because I am the only one you might trust… enough."

Leesil would never admit it to Magiere, but a part of him had begun to trust Sgaile-or at least the man's word.

"What if we keep our weapons out of sight?" he asked.

Magiere shook her head in disbelief. "You're not seriously considering what he asks?"

"They have their customs," Wynn warned. "And we are guests here."

Magiere turned to spit out a retort, but she didn't.

"No one else will touch your blades," Sgaile repeated. "And no one will touch you."

En’nish uttered something under her breath. Leesil didn't care for her tone, let alone whatever she'd said. Sgaile held up his hand for silence and waited upon Leesil's reply;

For all Sgaile's calm manner, it was clear that unless Leesil and his companions agreed, they were not going one step farther. Leesil unlashed the sheaths of his winged blades from his thighs. Osha crept closer. Even silent Urhkar stepped around to a better vantage point. En’nish kept her distance, though she watched intently.

Leesil handed his blades to Sgaile and followed with his two remaining stilettos, but he kept his wrist sheaths.

"What use?" Osha asked in clipped Belaskian, pointing to one winged blade.

Before Leesil answered, Sgaile uttered a short stream of Elvish with a lift of his chin toward Magiere as well. Osha’s eyes widened.

"No," he said, then looked to Leesil. "It is… is truth?"

Sgaile fell back into Belaskian. "Pardon… I told Osha of your hunt for undead beneath your city."

Leesil remembered it clearly. He'd been half-crazed to take Ratboy's head. From Sgaile's perspective, it must have seemed bizarre indeed, considering why he'd tracked Leesil into those sewers beneath Bela. The Anmaglahk hunted in silence… hunted the living.

The thought gave Leesil pause. In that, he saw himself-his past-once again halfway between worlds.

"May I?" Sgaile asked, gesturing to the strange weapon.

Leesil nodded, and Sgaile unsheathed one winged blade with a firm grip on its crosswise handle. He held it up, slowly rotating the weapon in plain sight.

Its front end was shaped like a flattened spade, tapering smoothly from its forward point along sharpened arcs that ended to either side of the crosswise grip. The grip was formed by an oval cut into the back of the spade's base. The handle was wrapped tightly in a leather strapping. Theblade's outside edge continued in a long wing of a forearm's length, like a narrow and short saber that ended at one's elbow. Where the wing would have protruded a touch beyond Leesil's elbow, it was slightly short next to Sgaile's forearm.