The thought was a little unsettling. Even more unsettling, however, was the clear memory of crawling under that big, dead birch. She had just stood up, a moment earlier, after making that tight squeeze, but when she looked back, now, that deadfall was nowhere to be seen.

The wood was changing before her very eyes. A shiver passed down her spine. She spun through a quick circle. She couldn't see any sign of danger-but all the same, this wood was darker, more ancient than before. She stood upon a wide trail, but couldn't see as far as a few steps away, where the path vanished around the bole of a massive, gnarled oak. Hesitantly, and limping slightly, she walked around that huge, white-bark tree, and found that the path continued, wide and smooth, before her. Yet there were shadows on every side of the path, and she sensed that things lurked in the shadows. She heard a noise and ducked, looking behind her. But she saw nothing except the oppressive, cloaking forest.

It was then that she noticed the birds; they were now crying strange sounds, raucous and strangely compelling. She sought to find the birds in the branches, but they remained just out of sight. A dark shadow flashed in the distance, and another whisked around the trunk of a knotty tree, but she couldn't be sure if they were mere shadows. Still, the sounds came so close, so clear, she expected to spot the feathered denizens around each bend of the path. Instead they seemed to flit ahead just enough to keep out of sight.

The cries of the birds then took on a note of urgency, and as Coryn pushed herself along, she heard the cacophony ebb and flow together, forming a melody that was repeated over and over. She chuckled wryly, imagining she heard words in the birdsong. No doubt the solitude was getting to her!

And then she froze, listening.

"Come, girl of the white moon… Come, we will be there soon… Come through the woods… Come along the trail… Come with us… Come to your future, and your life."

She found herself unafraid, walking again, though she wasn't aware of consciously moving her feet. It was more like the pathway was gliding beneath her, as she effortlessly progressed. The song was seductive, and she felt a sense of wondrous curiosity-she just had to see those birds.

A bend in the trail, the pines and oaks parting with almost visible movement… and the vista opened to reveal a small clearing, and an astonishing sight: a lofty, double-spired structure. As she stepped forward, the birdsong ceased, and she advanced into the meadow with a sense of awe.

She knew instinctively that she had found the Tower of High Sorcery-the place that Jenna and Dalamar had been circling around without success. Then this ancient woodland must be fabled Wayreth Forest! The Tower itself was so tall that she had to crane her neck just to see the tops of the two main spires. She counted innumerable parapets and lesser platforms, some carved right into the Tower's smooth, stone walls, others suspended out from the main structure by a spiderweb of cantilevers and elegant, narrow walkways.

Only gradually did she sense something intangible about this tower. It was beautiful, lofty, and graceful… but more than that, it was suffering. There was no visible movement, yet she could sense tremors within the immobile shape. There was no wetness on the outer walls, yet she could discern tears along its marble facade. She didn't know how a building could feel, much less express, pain, but she knew that this structure was experiencing an awful agony.

For the first time since leaving Two Forks, Coryn was truly afraid. She quivered like a frightened doe, wanting nothing more than to turn and flee.

But she could not. She had embarked from home at Umma's command, and then had followed Jenna's orders uncomplainingly. Now she was on her own, and it seemed as though her destiny was here-as if she had been brought to the tower by some strange force.

She was startled by that thought: Could it be that the Tower had called to Coryn?

Starting forward, she noticed for the first time that the base of the Tower was enclosed by a long, plain wall. A single gate stood just before her, a shimmering structure of wiry-thin bands of bright metal; that gate swung soundlessly open as she passed through. The gauzy material was more like a spiderweb than any construct of metal. It was still glowing, and she made no move to touch those gossamer strands as she passed through the gate and found herself upon a broad courtyard paved with smooth, gray stones.

Now she could see that the bases of the two great spires were connected by a squat foretower, a smaller structure that melded the two halves into one sprawling building. There was a single door in the base of that foretower, and she approached it, noting without surprise that it swung soundlessly open when she was still twenty paces away. Without hesitation, she came up to the very shadow of the great spire and stepped inside.

Immediately an aura of warm welcome surrounded Coryn The greeting was tangible in the aroma of fresh bread and the array of bright flowers in vases around the entry hall. She identified fleabane and columbine, daisies and willowbloom, and saw a host of unfamiliar blossoms. Some of these were huge and hooded, like cowls of deep indigo, purest white, and blood red, while others seemed to explode in bursts of yellow, orange, or purple petals. The light was subdued in the large, circular hall, but gathered into clusters of brightness around each arrangement, as if the air around the flowers breathed some enchanted illumination.

She found herself following her nose, and the scent of the bread, through an open, arched doorway. This room was rectangular, dominated by a long table large enough to seat a score of diners. One place setting lay pristine at the near end, plates and goblets shimmering like clear ice, utensils to either side-a multitude of forks, knives, and spoons, beyond anything Coryn had ever imagined. Just beyond the plates and goblets, still within easy reach, several silver domes formed a semicircle of small metallic hills.

And there was the loaf of bread, steaming on aboard with a sharp knife beside it, and the bright yellow butter in one of those icelike bowls. It looked safe-and familiar-enough. She wasted no time in seating herself, sawing off a thick piece of bread, and layering on the sweet spread. The butter was melting by the time she took her first exquisite bite. She forced herself to savor the bread when every instinct told her to wolf it down, and by the time she had finished that first slice, her worst hunger pangs were past.

More slowly, she worked on a second piece, while looking around with an attentive eye. She lifted one of the silver dish covers by its ornate pearl handle and was delighted to discover a trout, grilled to perfection and presented on a bed of fresh greens. Another uncovering revealed fruit, sliced and chilled and arrayed in concentric rings of color; a third protected some steaming white grains-white rice, but rice of a purity and plumpness far beyond any of the tiny, nutty grains her people gathered from the summer bogs.

She ate, alternately sampling the fish, the rice, and the fruit. The tastes were so splendid that she could think of nothing else than the wonderful sensations in her mouth- until a terribly obvious question occurred to her.

Who had prepared this food for her?

For Coryn had no doubt she was the intended guest for this magnificent repast-since her first glimpse of the Tower, she knew she was supposed to be here, that the Tower wanted her to enter. Logically speaking, it was the Tower that had presented her with this meal, then. But how?

"Welcome."

She was so startled that she dropped her spoon with a clatter. "Who said that?" she asked, whirling around in her chair. A sad old man limped into the room, leaning heavily on a rickety cane. He had white hair, a beard of the same color, and a robe of such pure whiteness that she almost had to squint.