With a shrug, Coryn left the now lively fire and pushed along the little trail next to the stream, where she had gathered much of the firewood from the lower branches of a downed pine. She pulled more of the sticks, dry and brittle, off the trunk as she tried to make sense of this stranger in the forest carrying on a silent argument with Jenna. When she carried her armload of fuel back to the fire, she got another shock.

Dalamar had pulled back his hood to reveal, as Cory has suspected, long and beautiful golden hair. But it was something else that grabbed her attention: the tip of a slender, tapered ear that extended into view through the strands of smooth yellow.

He was an elf!

Even as she absorbed this shock, the two continued to converse while making no sounds that Coryn could discern. Kneeling at the fire, the girl took a little time to tend the blaze, thinking. That one word Jenna had uttered had triggered a magic spell, obviously, some sort of silence cloak that she had drawn over both of them to keep Coryn in the dark. Not a cloak so much as an invisible cone, Cory decided, wondering how large an area it enveloped.

She wondered what they were saying and why she was excluded-how their talk must involve her.

"You're seeking the Tower, aren't you?" Dalamar noted with a triumphant sneer. "And you must think this girl will help you to get in."

Jenna snorted in contempt. "You know the Tower. It gives entry to those the Master wants to let in, and all others might seek it for a lifetime and never even see the entry into the wood. The girl is only a girl."

"Yes, I know the Tower," Dalamar conceded. "I think that the Tower is suffering… weakened. I think it needs help, the help of wizards from all the orders."

Again the Red Robe swatted his notion away. "What orders? Have you seen a wizard worthy of any of the robes, even since the moons have returned?"

The dark elf's expression grew grim. "I have been to see Palin. He's finished with the robe-it seemed like he'd barely noticed that his white moon was back in the skies. Tell me, Jenna-you feel Lunitari again, do you not? The pull of your red goddess, waxing and waning with that sacred circle in the sky?"

"Of course I do. And I know that Nuitari has returned as well, even though I cannot see him. Yet his presence, as it was so many years ago, is once again a thing I can feel."

"Humans are such fools," Dalamar snapped. "Do you know that they call it 'The Night of Two Moons'?"

"I should have thought such pridefulness was beyond your concern," Jenna said. "What does it matter to you, what the humans think?"

The dark elf shrugged. "You're right. It doesn't matter, not in the case of most humans, anyway." He turned his head, his eyes falling upon the dark-haired girl by the fire. She was staring at them with open curiosity, though when she noticed him looking at her, she turned and busied herself by putting another log on the fire. "She'll burn the woods down if you don't give her something else to do," he said wryly.

"Don't worry about her. I was telling the truth-she is a servant, the granddaughter of an old friend, a woman with little means. She rightly believed that coming to work for me might give her a chance at a decent life."

"Really? And what is this dear old friend's name."

Jenna hesitated. "She is Scharon Fallow of Two Forks, from the Icereach. We were friends very many years ago."

"A friend from the Icereach, met as a young woman. I don't believe you traveled that far south, not in those days. Nor would she be likely to come to Palanthas-the Icefolk are notoriously clannish barbarians, after all. So you must have met somewhere between… someplace where you spent some time as a young woman. Someplace like the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest, perhaps?"

Jenna rolled her eyes. "You always did have an active imagination. No, Dalamar, not the Tower. There is nothing magical about Scharon Fallow, I assure you. Her father worked for a trader, and she traveled by ship to the north. My family took her in when her father died before he could return home. She lived with us for a year, until I went away to the Tower, as a matter of fact."

"Very well," the elf said, with a dismissive shrug. "In any event, know that I am here to stay. I have decided we should seek the Tower together."

Her eyes narrowed. "You have decided!" She paused, thinking. "You say that Palin has renounced the robes, any part in this quest?"

"He seems content to grow fat and happy next to his hearth fire, lording it over that pathetic village and letting his wife and sister cater to his every whim."

Jenna, for the first time, smiled slightly. "He stung your pride, I take it."

"I care not," the elf said with an elaborate shrug. "Except that we are without the use of our greatest potential ally."

"I am fully prepared to do what I need to do, alone," Jenna said sharply. "I don't need you."

"And I told you that I am not prepared to let you do that."

They stared at each other for several minutes. Neither noticed that Coryn was intensely staring at them; she had been futilely trying to lip-read their stalemate.

Jenna sighed and spoke more gently. "All right. You're right-we'll have a better chance together. So let's get moving." She turned toward the fire, stepping out of the invisible cone of silence as the magic faded around her. "We're going to get the mules loaded," she informed Coryn. "Leave the fire for now-we'll put it out before we get back to the trail."

If the girl had any surprise to spare over this sudden midnight departure, her stoic face did not betray her. Instead, she quickly went to the tethered animals and lifted the harness over the head of each.

"If you help," Jenna told Dalamar, "we'll get out of here faster."

"Your servant seems quite capable," said the dark elf with that slim smile.

Muttering to herself, Jenna bundled up her own bedroll and carefully checked the saddlebags on Dora, those containing all of her spell books, as well as assorted other tools she had brought along to help with the quest. She sent Coryn to take care of the cooking kit while she called angrily to Dalamar.

"At least give me a hand with these packs!"

He came over and helped her lift the big leather sacks over Dora's back, holding them in place while he watched Cory. With practiced gestures, the girl nested the plates and cups within the cook pot and brought them over to the mules.

Jenna was leaning over to buckle the snaps when the first arrow came out of the darkness. It thwacked loudly into the saddlebag, inches from her shoulder.

"We're under attack!" she shouted, spinning around and staring into the darkness. Light flared behind her as Dalamar barked a spell. In the surge of illumination she saw a half dozen scruffy, bearded men sprinting toward them. Others were unseen beyond them, and two more arrows came winging from the darkness.

"Deflectu-denius!" Dalamar cried, raising his clenched fists before him, crossing his arms at the wrists. One arrow struck the place where his arms were crossed and sputtered into nothingness; the other soared harmlessly over their heads.

Jenna peered into the darkness, past the men who suddenly hesitated at this clear evidence of magic. She spotted two figures in the shadows beyond, archers drawing fresh missiles into their bows.

"Braacius!" shouted the Red Robe. A crackling missile, like an arrow trailing sputtering fire, flew toward the dark stranger. She repeated the command and a second magical dart shot through the night. They struck the archers squarely and the two bowmen shrieked in pain, stumbling backward, swatting at the sparks that sputtered and flared from their clothing.

One of the bandits had a surge of boldness and came charging toward Jenna with an upraised sword. She ducked to the side, letting go of Dora's bridle as the sword whooshed through the air near her head. A bark of sound from Dalamar turned that sword into a striking viper-at least, that's how it looked to Jenna and, even more important, to the swordsman. He suddenly held a lashing snake by the tail, and-with fanged maw gaping-the serpent curled around, driving for a bite at that hand. With a shriek, the man hurled his weapon away, the writhing blade flying into the midst of the bucking mules.