"And you?"

Foxfire placed a hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "I will fight beside you, or elsewhere as I am needed, but the command of the northern band will be yours. Now go, and gather your fighters."

His eyes sparkling at the thought of his first command, the younger elf spun and raced back toward the main camp. The news came as no surprise to the others. In moments the camp was gone as if it had never been there, and the elven fighters were ready to move northward from their fen-land refuge.

They followed Tamsin's confident lead, traveling throughout the day and well into the night. Shortly before dawn they came upon the humans' camp, not far from the place where the white dragon had fallen upon them. By all appearances, the humans did not realize this. Their panicked trails had taken them in wide circles, and they had wandered still farther in an attempt to gather their scattered members. Yet it seemed they had made a good recovery. The camp was neat and orderly, and three alert sentries circled the site.

Tamsin pointed to the sentries, then to himself, to Sontar, and young Hawkwing. All were good choices, Foxfire acknowledged silently as the three elves slipped up into the trees and moved into position, though it pained him to see a maid as young as Hawkwing in battle. But war had chosen her, and she did not flinch from the burden that had fallen her way.

At a signal from Tamsin, the three elves dropped silently to the ground, directly in front of their chosen marks. Before the humans could move or cry out, three bone knives slashed forward and dealt swift and silent death. The elves caught the falling humans and eased them silently to the ground-a difficult feat for the tiny Hawkwing, who used her own body to muffle the sound of the falling human. Foxfire winced, but the elf girl crawled out from under the dead sentry and signaled that all was well.

Foxfire nodded to the group leaders, and the elves scattered into the forest. He followed Tamsin into the trees. As they crept through the canopy over the campsite, he took careful note of the men who slept below. There were a total of three-and-forty humans-a large band, far more than Foxfire had anticipated. More, in fact, than had pursued them into the forest. Somehow they, like the elves, had managed to send for reinforcements. The implications of this did not bode well for the elves.

Although he knew little of humans, Foxfire understood that they did not possess the elven gift of rapport, that mystical closeness that enabled elves to share thoughts and feelings, even across long distances. Rapport was strongest among the twin-born-Tamsin and Tamara shared such a bond with each other and a strong empathy with other elves-but most often rapport occurred between elven lovers who forged a bond strong and bright enough to weld their spirits together for all time. It was the deepest commitment known to elves, rarely undertaken and never done so lightly. Foxfire knew that humans could not send messages through rapport; they could do so through use of magic.

Suddenly a sharp crack split the silence of the night-the heart-chilling sound of a metal trap springing shut. There came another, and a third, and then a quick brutal crackle that came too quickly to count. The sounds roused the humans, who leaped from their bedrolls and seized their weapons: wooden shields, small crossbows, swords, and daggers.

Tamsin's body contorted in a spasm of agony as the backlash of the trapped elves' pain swept through him. Foxfire reached out to steady him, then captured the younger elfs anguished eyes with his own. It was clear that Tamsin not only felt the elves' suffering, but blamed himself for it. Had he not been so focused on the hunt, he might have sensed the coming danger.

"Shield yourself?' Foxfire said sternly. "What's done cannot be undone; you will not help them by sharing their deaths."

"How could this happen?" demanded Hawkwing, her black eyes wide with horror. "Why could they not see the traps?"

"The humans have a wizard," Foxfire replied as he nocked an arrow. He elbowed Tamsin, for the young elf s gifts were needed. Of all of them, Tamsin had the best chance of discerning the deadly foe.

The young fighter shook himself, scattering his borrowed emotions like an otter casting off droplets of water. He put aside his grief and his guilt and took a deep, steadying breath. Swiftly, surely, he focused on the unseen threads that tied him to the forest and to the web of magic that was its essence.

Tamsin knew the pattern-they all did-but more than most elves, he felt it in his blood, traveled its gossamer paths whenever he rested in reverie. And thus he sensed quickly and surely the ugly, gaping tear in the fabric of life that indicated that a human wizard was at work.

"There," he said, pointing to one of the men crouched below-an easy target, for he was one of the few humans who did not hold a shield.

Foxfire swung his bow into place and loosed his ready arrow. The bolt tore through the layers of leaves, straight toward its mark…

… and burst into flame.

Blue fire flashed down the length of the shaft, and a thin line of black ash drifted to the ground at the wizard's feet.

The other humans were not quite so lucky. The archers under Wyndelleu's command bombarded them with a small storm of arrows; most clattered harmlessly off the wooden shields, but a few got through. No humans sustained mortal wounds, but at least a few of them would be slowed during the battle to come.

Undeterred by the cries of his comrades and the arrows that flamed and fizzled around him, the wizard began to move his fingers rapidly in some sort of silent, arcane language. He concluded by banging both hands together. The result was like a summer storm, like lighting and thunder combined into one killing stroke.

A thunderclap rolled outward from his hands and through the forest; every arrow that was in flight at that moment flared with brilliant white light. A bolt of energy sizzled back from each glowing arrow, following an invisible path through the air and back to the archer who had sent it forth.

Foxfire watched in horror as five of his people were blasted into ash.

He drew in a breath to call for retreat, but the sound died in a strangled gasp as all the world seemed to burst into flame. There was no heat, just a sudden, searing light that was nearly as painful.

The elf dug both fists into his eyes, trying to rub away the painful sparkles that danced and whirled behind his eyelids. When at last his eyes adjusted to the unnatural brightness, the possibility of retreat vanished from his thoughts.

The humans had dragged the captured elves into the clearing. There were seven of them, and all were alive, though the foot-hold traps-clearly visible now that they had been sprung-had inflicted terrible wounds upon them. A few men guarded them, loaded crossbows leveled at their hearts. And surrounding them was a circle of human mercenaries, swords drawn.

One of these men waved his weapon at the trees overhead and shouted something. Foxfire and Tamsin exchanged helpless shrugs-neither of them spoke the language of Tethyr's humans. Before Foxfire could call down a request for parley in the Common trade tongue, the human found another, more visual way to get his meaning across.

He spun and lunged in a single, quick movement, sinking his sword deep into one of the helpless elves. Then he turned to the forest and brandished his crimson blade. The challenge was clear, as was the price of refusal.

The first to respond was Hawkwing; she dropped to the ground with the speed of her namesake, her dagger gleaming talon-bright in her hand. Without hesitation, all the elves who could still fight followed the fierce elf maid into the circle of wizard-light and death.

In another part of Tethir, far from the clash of weapons and the scent of death, Arilyn clung to her friend's silver fur as he carried her swiftly toward the hidden den of the lythari.