But the thing slid under his defenses and clawed for his face. He'd never slash this close…

Above, Greenwillow called, and a caw answered. A tremendous flapping exploded in Sunbright's face-and the wraith's. A croaking rasp whipsawed the air.

A raven, thought the barbarian dully. The raven, the one that talked! It pecked and bated and shrilled, and the wraith backed off. Frenzied wings riffled the fire around the black head, and the ghast fell even farther back.

"Here!" called a voice from above, and Sunbright looked up. Greenwillow was closer again, almost within touching range. Had the broken earth heaved? Had the raven yanked it up as if on a string? The elven warrior trailed her sturdy black belt into the pit.

Unable to slash at the wraith for fear of striking the raven, Sunbright fumbled his way toward the belt, his free hand in front of his boots to feel for holes. Twice he had to stop, cut back, and sidestep. But then-glory be!-his hand clamped on to the warm loop of leather.

Surprisingly, he had no strength to haul himself up, despite his terror. He could barely retain his grip on the sword. In the anthracite-lined pit, the raven flew tight circles around the wraith, which shadow-boxed away from it. Then Greenwillow's warm hands, immensely strong, grabbed Sunbright's hand, then wrist. Grunting, he was dragged belly-first over the rough stone threshold and into the mucky street of Dalekeva.

"You're safe! Safe!" The elf-woman wept openly, pulling him facedown across her lap, dragging his boots across the threshold.

"Yes," he whispered. "Glad to be… with you. But I don't… feel well."

Those were his last thoughts.

Sunbright opened his eyes to sunshine, billowing curtains, and Greenwillow's face hovering above him. Others were in the room as well, he realized. Dimly he recognized the fat woman by the door: one of the merchant delegates, the only one to pay them a bonus and add thanks.

The elf saw his gaze and said, "Mistress Keenid was the only one I could think of. Out of the kindness of her heart, she's taken us in, hired nurses and a cleric to tend you."

Sunbright tried to joke, to say, "We owe her a bonus," to show them he was fine, in good spirits. But all that came from his mouth was a ghostly sough. The weakness, the hollowness of it, terrified him. What was wrong with him?

Greenwillow touched his lips. "Hush. Sister Fjord will explain."

A dark-skinned woman with long braided tresses came to his bedside. She wore an unadorned blue gown, the uniform of some sect popular in the city. Sunbright hadn't bothered to sort them out; he had his own gods. But they failed you, a voice added. But then, he'd left this world behind, hadn't he?

As if reading his thoughts, Sister Fjord said, "You're both an unfortunate and fortunate young man. Unfortunate to stumble into a pit of the Underdark. It's an old curse laid against the city's founders, according to legend. Like a volcano or hot springs, eruptions sometimes split the surface. In the abandoned quarters, they can go unnoticed and grow. Exorcism and barrowloads of rock plug them, but sometimes…" She shrugged with a cleric's detachment.

"Girl?" That one word hurt to gasp out, as if Sunbright had swallowed fire.

Greenwillow's voice was flat. "He means, did a redheaded girl stumble into the pit too?"

Sister Fjord shook her head. "No, we searched to see if others were trapped. There was no one."

Sunbright closed his eyes for a second, and upon opening them, he found it dark outside. Night noises, of owls and watchmen, rustled along with the curtains. He sat up with a start, feeling lost and alone. At his cry, Greenwillow appeared as if by magic. And so he slept again. And woke. And slept.

Most times he was dead to the world. But drifting in and out, he saw the red-haired Ruellana, smiling, laughing. Then her face would char and blacken, her hair ignite, and she'd try to claw his face off, laughing all the while.

Sunbright was up and tottering around in a few days, but he knew part of his essence had been left in that pit. Inside he felt hollow, and he was subject to queer dizzy spells that made him stagger to grab a solid surface. He was sore in several places, especially the back of his neck where the wraith had punctured him and ten fat, black-centered lumps still lingered. But finally he could dress himself and strap Harvester across his back, and shove Dorlas's warhammer in his belt, though both felt as heavy as anvils.

Three women were there to see him leave: Mistress Keenid, owner of the house; Sister Fjord, the cleric and healer; and Greenwillow, who seemed a stranger and sister to him at the same time.

Motherly Sister Fjord felt his forehead, looked in his mouth, slipped her hand into his armpit to tell his body temperature. "Your stamina saved you. Only the iron in your muscle helped you fight off the lifedrain. But eat lots of meat and eggs, drink red port, and you'll grow robust in a few weeks. But… you had magical abilities before, didn't you?"

Sunbright disliked that word "before." "I was… have… I think of myself as a shaman in training, on a spiritual journey of sorts. My father was a great medicine-healer, and my mother said I had the Sight. But all my people have some abilities with animals and nature and the edges of the world."

The woman nodded even as she frowned. "But those abilities come from the soul, the ka, or essence, whatever you call it. Yours has been shrunk, shriveled, crippled, I would wager. The… thing that attacked"-she would not say the word "wraith" lest she invoke one-"was only partly of this sphere. Had it wasted you away, you would have moved to that plane. Some of your essence did, and it's lost. I can't explain it all, or promise anything, but know that, if your heart remains pure and your vision true, your essence may heal. Meditate, observe your rituals religiously, look inward and outward, and continue your quest. No matter what, you'll be a stronger person for this ordeal, in spirit and in body. So do the gods test us, and prove us worthy or find us wanting."

Numbly, Sunbright nodded. Her words at least gave him hope that this debilitating weakness-internal and external-would someday end. Lacking any other way to thank her, he leaned forward and kissed her dark cheek, then that of Mistress Keenid, who cried. But when he turned to Greenwillow, she stepped outside ahead of him. And so, like a boy sent off to school by bis aunts, Sunbright returned to the world.

He was glad to get outside, for having lived his life in the wilderness, he was never comfortable under a roof. Yet the sun overhead seemed watery, the cries of fishmongers and children muted and whispery, the rich, mingled smells of the city-privies and spices and fish and manure and perfume-seemed as thin as dust in an old cave. A pair of fork-tailed swallows jigging overhead were just birds; they could tell him nothing. Briefly Sunbright wondered how much of him pulsed in the Underdark and its sinister nothingness. Then he shook his head and dizzied himself.

"Where… where are we bound?" he asked Greenwillow.

The elf strode along ahead of him, and he struggled to keep up with her. Without turning, she called, "We're off to see the city council. They've requested an audience when you're available."

"Requested?" gasped Sunbright. But that was all he could say, and so he plodded after Greenwillow's stiff back.

They waited on a bench in the council hall for hours as endless piddling business and squabbling went back and forth. Before, Sunbright was able to ignore it; now he could barely endure the bickering, for his head throbbed and he wanted to scream at them to shut up. Greenwillow never said a word, which confused him. Hadn't she stood by him in battle with the wraith, and then nursed him through his sickness with tears in her eyes? Why, then, was she so angry and cold?