The elf had not uttered a sound throughout. Nor had he let his attention fix on the pain they inflicted. Instead, he drifted in his mind, remote and aloof, savoring memories, recalling pleasant times… remote and unreachable. He had removed himself to such distance that he was barely aware of the goblins around him. But he knew the leader now. A human female, Kolanda Darkmoor. Cornmander, the goblins called her. And he knew that someone – or something – else was with her, though he had seen no one. Distantly, he had heard bits of their conversation… the woman's voice impatient and querulous, the other's a dry, shriveled husk of a voice that whispered in tones of venom and mockery. He had heard her call the other's name. Caliban.

Garon shut out all other awarenesses. In his mind he walked the patterned forests of the Qualinesti, drank cool water from a brook, listened to the songs of elves in a nearby glade…

"We're learning nothing here," Kolanda Darkmoor snapped, beckoning to an armored hobgoblin. "We've wasted enough time. This elf will tell us nothing."

"Kill him now?" the creature asked hopefully.

"No, bring him along. He's strong. He will make a good slave."

"Elf," the hobgoblin snarled. "Make trouble. Run away, sure -"

Kolanda turned fierce eyes on him. "Did I ask for your opinion, Thog?"

The hobgoblin stepped back quickly, then lowered his face in submission.

"Forgive, Commander."

"Assemble your patrol, Thog. Or what's left of it. We're going back to

Respite. The valley should be reduced by now, and there are things to do.

Bring the elf, but first cut the tendons in his legs. Then he won't run away. When we rejoin, put him to work tending one of the carts."

She turned away, cold and angry. No elf would ever make a worthwhile slave, but this one would live long enough to serve her. He had killed nearly half of her patrol before they brought him down.

As the sunset shadows op Westwall climbed the slopes of the ridge above the Valley of Waykeep, Chane Feldstone cut a final hold in a rock cliff, pulled himself up and over the lip of a ledge, and gawked at the kender sitting there idly, waiting for him. The sound he had been hearing for the past half-hour, virtually since he had begun to ascend the sheer cliff, was louder and nearer now – a wailing, keening, heart-rending song of misery with no apparent source.

"You always do everything the hard way," Chestal Thicketsway chided him.

"I guess it's just the nature of dwarves, to tackle everything headlong no matter how difficult it is. Do you suppose you just can't help being that way?"

"How did you get up here?" the dwarf puffed. "It's taken me half an hour to climb this cliff. How did you do it so fast?"

"I didn't," the kender shrugged. "I went around. There's a perfectly good by-path just over there. Easy climbing, for anybody who'd take the trouble to find it. I brought your sword and your pack, too. They're over there on that rock. Do you want to camp here for the night, or do you want to scale the next cliff? If you want to do that, I've found another by-path so I can meet you up there."

Chane shook his head. "What is that awful noise? It sounds like somebody in pain."

"Oh, that's just Zap." The kender looked around, then shrugged again, remembering that Zap wasn't really anywhere to be seen. "It's his latest talent, wailing like a stricken soul. He's been doing it for quite a while now."

"I know. I've heard him most of the way up. Can you get him to hush?"

"I don't know how. I don't even know what he's wailing about. Maybe he misses the valley or the frozen dwarf place. That's where I found him, originally."

"Well, I wish you'd shut him up. He gets on my nerves."

Chess turned. "Zap! Shut up!"

The eerie, voiceless wailing faltered, then began again with new enthusiasm – only now it added occasional sobs to its repertoire.

"That's even worse," the dwarf growled. "How come he's following you, anyway? I mean, it. That isn't a person, you know. It's just an old spell that never happened."

"I don't know why he follows me, but he… it does. Zap! I do wish you'd be quiet!"

The wailing, sobbing almost-sound continued. Chane sighed, stood, and looked around. They were on a wide, rubbly ledge with another wall of shorn stone ahead. But, as the kender had pointed out, the wall diminished a short distance away and a path began there, angling upward. Abruptly evening had come, with the setting of the sun beyond the valley's other rim, but there still was lingering twilight.

"We have time to go on a little farther," Chane decided.

"I wonder if we're anywhere near that green path."

"The one I can't see?" Chess spread his hands. "I haven't the vaguest idea."

Chane looked one way, then the other, along the mountain's slope. He rubbed his forehead, feeling the tingle there, but saw no green trail.

Still, he knew from last sighting that he was somewhere near it. From a distance, it had appeared there was a shallow pass between peaks above, and the dwarf had assumed that the trail was going there. But by what route'! He went to his pack, fumbled around inside it, then looked up.

"Where's my gem?"

"Your what?"

"Spellbinder! Where is it?"

The kender looked thoughtful, then snapped his fingers and reached into his own pouch. "Do you mean this?" He pulled out the red stone, which pulsed with a steady rhythm as the dwarf reached an angry hand to take it.

'You must have dropped that somewhere," the kender said innocently. "I guess I picked it up for you. Don't bother to thank me."

"What else do you have in that pouch that isn't yours?" Chane growled.

Chess peered into his pouch. "I don't know. I lose track. Here's a marble of some kind that I found on that old battlefield. And some nice pebbles, and a toad's skull…a couple of candles, some twine, an earring, a twig. What's this? Oh, a pair of nice cat-tooth daggers." He pulled out one of the daggers. "Didn't you used to have one like this?"

"I had two like that," the dwarf rumbled.

"Did you? What did you do with them?"

"Give me that!" Chane growled.

Chess handed over the dagger, then closed his pouch. "If you're going to expect me to replace everything you lose -"

"Oh, shut up!" Chane stopped abruptly and looked around. "Well, one good thing. Your spell has stopped wailing."

The kender listened for a moment, then grinned. "He has, hasn't he?

Thank you, Zap."

"Agony," something voiceless mourned.

With the Spellbinder gem in his hand, Chane pointed.

'There it is. The green line. It goes up the by-path." He hoisted pack, sword, and hammer. "Are you ready?"

"Look at that!" The kender pointed upward. Overhead, great flocks of birds flew, coming from the high peaks, winging toward the valley. Birds of all sorts, a migration of panic.

Chane watched them, wave after wave coming past.

"What do you suppose caused that?" he wondered aloud.

"Whatever it was, the birds are in a hurry," the kender said. "See those out ahead? Those are pigeons. And mountain kites, and jays, and ducks, and… stand back!" Chess swiftly pulled a pebble from his pouch, fitted the sling to his staff, placed the pebble, aimed, and let go. The pebble streaked skyward, and an instant later a large bird crumpled in flight and fell, thudding to the shelf almost at Chane's feet.

"Goose," the kender explained. "I'm getting tired of dried cat. We'll have this for supper."

Chane gaped at him. "How did you do that?"

"With a pebble. I thought you saw." He picked up the goose and slung it over his shoulder. "See if you can find some berries along the way.

Snowberries will do. They're the yellow ones on the thorny vines.