For a short time, he sat in silence with the elfmaid, but curiosity finally compelled him to speak.

"Why did you stop the wizard from burning me? You spoke of going to Istar, of singing the Evening Prayers. Why did you turn away from that?"

He was afraid that she would be terribly upset, but when she spoke, her voice was strong, her words clear. "Istar is meaningless now-or at least, it will be in a matter of days."

Iydahoe remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"Loralan has preached this prophecy for many decades, more than a century. I have heard about the spi- raling descent of Istar's rulers. The current Kingpriest is the worst, and it was only with reluctance that Loralan consented to allow our chorale to make the journey this year. Then, from things he said in the wagon, to Wellerane-" Here her voice cracked for the first time. "-I believe the end is near."

"The end? Of what?"

"Of Istar-and, perhaps, of Krynn. The wrath of the gods will strike our world, and the legions of Istar will perish. If that happens, and I cannot be with my father, I did not want to be among the humans of that wretched procession."

"In the forest we live with little, by House Elf standards," Iydahoe pointed out.

She smiled slightly. "Little? There are those in Silvanesti who have nothing amid the splendor and plenty."

"Spoken like a Kagonesti," the warrior admitted, impressed.

"I've treasured the solitude of the wild places since I was a little girl," Vanisia said. "I chose the fields of Misha- kal's flowers over the greatest crystal citadels of our elven architects. Often I slept outside, on the banks of the Thon- Thalas, just to hear the music of the river in the dawn."

"We have no architects in the forest," Iydahoe replied, "but I, too, know the song of flowing water." In his heart, he wondered if she would be able to survive-and enjoy a life-in the mud-and-deer-hide lodges of the Kagonesti. Surprising himself with his vehemence, he desperately hoped that she would. Only then did he wonder if there could possibly be any substance to her fears. There couldn't. She was frightened by the strange disappearance of her father. Surely that was all.

"I-I thank you for taking me away."

"You took yourself away," Iydahoe said with a shrug that was an attempt to conceal his pleasure at her companionship. All this talk of gods' wrath unsettled him, but he could not bring himself to believe that the end of the world was a real possibility. Still, he pressed her on the point. "What words did this cleric say to you, to your father, to make you believe the future is so dire?"

"He has talked of the growing arrogance of the King- priest, of that man's belief that someday he will be able to command the gods themselves. When he tries, the gods will punish him-and all of Ansalon as well."

"How will they mete out this punishment?"

"Loralan did not know. But he said that the true clerics might be summoned away beforehand, and that many days-twelve or thirteen, I think he said-of terror would befall the land. And that none of the warnings could cause the Kingpriest to turn from his disastrous path."

"The priest did say something about that, about the road to Istar taking more than thirteen days," Iydahoe remembered, still unwilling to accept the veracity of her fears.

Vanisia only nodded.

"And you believe that the first of these predictions has come to pass, that the priests have been summoned away?" Iydahoe did not place a great deal of faith in prophecies, but the young elfmaid's words disturbed him nonetheless.

"Loralan came to get my father, just as he is taking the other clerics-the true speakers of the gods who live across Ansalon. I suspect they are all gone now."

"Clerics and wizards of the House Elves may come and go as they wish," Iydahoe replied skeptically, "but other priests still dwell among the peoples of the world. My father, Hawkan, is a shaman who knows the ways of the gods-and he awaits us in our village. We will see him by the end of the day."

"I hope you're right," said Vanisia, and he knew that she meant it.

Yet Iydahoe was disquieted by her conviction, sensing that she would be honestly surprised to find the wild elf shaman in the camp.

"Why do you think the clerics were taken from the world?" he asked, grappling with the mystery.

"I can't say for sure. Perhaps because we have allowed the arrogance of the Kingpriest to grow too strong. Neither elves nor men have been able to prevent his mad condemnation of everything he dislikes. He brands a thing, or a people, as evil-then he has it killed. Dwarves, ogres, even elves have felt this hatred."

"Then why did Silvanesti make a road to his citadel?"

"For more than a century we had shunned Istar, banished all trade and commerce with that realm. But some of our priests-notably Loralan-convinced our rulers that we must try to communicate with the Kingpriest. He felt that only thus could they even have a chance to change his disastrous path."

"We have no need for such superstitions in the wild. You will find that life is simpler in the forest." In Iydahoe's own mind he began to wonder if, too, it might not become more peaceful. How many more humans would he have to kill before the four tribes were avenged? For the first time, he realized that he had embarked on a hopeless task-and he gave real thought to laying aside his quest for vengeance.

"I think this is more than superstition, though I pray that I might be wrong."

They rested uneasily for a few hours, then rose to take the trail in a peculiarly dim and misty dawn. The light seeping through the trees seemed pale, sickly, as though a greenish filter had been laid across the sun. It was not until midmorning, when they emerged from the trees onto a low promontory with a view of hills, valleys, and sky, that Iydahoe understood why.

The entire expanse of cloudless heaven had become a dank, putrid green.

Like a sweep of fetid marshlands, the pale, sickly color stained the sky. It was not in any way a healthy, verdant green, like the budding of spring or the rippling of a lush field of grass. Instead, it filled the upper air with a dead, shadowy layer of rot. The vast space overhead took on a vivid, dire cast, like the skin of a person who had become seriously ill.

Iydahoe vividly remembered Vanisia's words, her predictions of godly warnings that would pace off the days before disaster. Certainly it did not take much imagination to think that this coloring of the sky must be such a warning. Indeed, it could be nothing else!

The three elves did not speak, but took the homeward trail with renewed urgency. Iydahoe was shaken to his core, though he tried not to display his unsettled state to his two companions. Bakall looked around wildly, holding an arrow constantly ready in his bow, while Vanisia became listless and downcast, plodding dully along with her gaze fixed on the ground.

They jogged as quickly as possible.. Iydahoe taking the lead, now seeking the shortest path back to the grotto of the small tribe's village. Under the pall of the bizarre sky, he felt that the legionnaires would hasten back to Istar and not waste a lot of time seeking the two wild elves. Undoubtedly the human soldiers, bereft of their wizard and their priest, were reacting with horror to the phenomenon.

The memory of the dead wizard left Iydahoe cold, even numb. Always before the slaying of his enemies had been a thing that gave him satisfaction. Now he had killed perhaps the deadliest enemy in the history of the four tribes -and yet the memory of that justifiable death gave him no pleasure at all.

He wondered if the humans would realize that the Kagonesti had taken Vanisia-or if they would believe that they had abducted Wellerane as well. The Istarians' consternation didn't matter to him, except insofar as his enemies would be too distraught to bother with following the wild elves. This, of course, was a good thing.