"Who is she?"

"Her name is Jenna. I knew her long, long ago-before the moons changed for the first time. Before your mama was born, even." There was a hint of wistfulness, and also of tenderness, in Umma's voice, that Coryn had never heard before.

"Jenna will take care of you, once you get there. But there's no time to waste!"

"B-but Umma!" Cory was nearing panic. "I've never been out of the Icereach. I don't even know where Palanthas is! And I told you, I have to check with Mama and Papa! I have things I'm supposed to do around here! I can't just go away, not now, not like this!"

"When can you go away, then?" The old woman's tone was as stern as ever. "I'm not going to be around here forever, you know. And don't you think your pop, and all them other brave hunters and fishers, might be able to keep their bellies full even with you off to the north? Fact is, it will do them old hook-baiters some good to get up and about, not leavin' all the chores to bright young girls who got more important things to do!"

"Huh! You think I'm bright?" asked Cory, inordinately pleased.

"Did I say I was talking about you?"

"No," she admitted, instantly humbled. "But then, how am I supposed to find Palanthas."

"Open the door," Umma declared.

Puzzled, Coryn crossed to the lone entrance to the small hut, and pulled open the wooden-slatted portal. She gasped in surprise as she saw a person-a small person, but most definitely not a child-standing outside. "It's a kender!" she blurted. She had never seen one, but she identified the fellow's race by his wizened features, long topknot, and the haphazard collection of pouches, purses, packs, and pockets dangling from every part of his frequently patched garments.

"Moptop Bristlebrow, at your service," said the kender, with a bow so deep that he tumbled through the threshold to fall in a heap a Coryn's feet.

"Who are you?" gasped the girl. She spun to face her grandmother. "Who is this?"

"He's your guide. I hired him. He'll be taking you to Palanthas-in fact, right to Jenna's house. So you don't have to worry 'bout a thing."

"Don't have to worry?" Coryn's eyes, wide open, took in the ramshackle figure who was clumsily climbing to his feet, stuffing various items-she noticed a teapot, a branding iron, a small frying pan, and her grandmother's brass stamp-into his pouches. Firmly the young girl reached into a leather pocket and retrieved the stamp. "This doesn't belong to you!" she said firmly.

"Well, of course not! I was just returning it to your grandmother. See that she gets it, won't you? Hey, who's in charge here anyway? I don't need young whippersnappers talking to me rudely-"

Umma cut in sharply. "I meant, you don't have to worry about finding the way to Palanthas. You'll have plenty to worry about, believe me. Why, there's bandits in the forests and thieves in the cities. You'll have to book passage across the Newsea-let's see, I have a few steel pieces stashed over there, should help you with that."

Coryn's head was whirling as she put the stamp back on the desk. Yet Umma's dark eyes were alive with amusement. "I've packed some sandwiches, and a few slabs of jerky for you," Umma said, gesturing to a bulging knapsack near the door. Coryn hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed perfectly natural that it be packed and ready for her departure. And where had that kender come from, so suddenly?

"I'd better get dressed," she said, blushing as she realized that she had greeted the kender in nothing but her knickers and shirt.

"Good thing, too," said Moptop. He pulled a sheet of paper from another purse and unrolled it, releasing a cascading scroll that spilled to the floor and then some. "I've got our route marked on my map. Let's see,"-he squinted, inspecting his notes-"if we start now, we should make it to the Icewall tonight. All due speed. Them's my orders!"

Coryn felt a glimmer of concern. "But-the Icewall is south of here! Isn't Palanthas in the north?"

The kender squinted, lifted his map, turned it around in his hands so that the voluminous top of the scroll was draped over his head. "Why, so it is!" came his voice, from beneath the makeshift shroud.

"Are you sure he knows the way to Palanthas?" Cory asked her grandmother.

Umma cackled, one of the few times her granddaughter had ever heard her laugh out loud.

"Well, he did okay when he took me there. That was fifty-seven summers ago, but I don't think it's moved all that much. Now, daylight's wasting. I'll see your folks know what's happening, count on that. Get going, girl, and you, Moptop, you'll know my wrath if anything goes awry."

The kender saluted stoically, as if indeed he did recall Umma's wrath.

"What will my parents say?" Coryn asked, suddenly feeling an intense wave of homesickness.

"Why, they'll say they love you. And they'll miss you like parents tend to do. No doubt they'll have a few special things to say to me, but don't you worry about that. I can take care of myself, you know. Now, good-bye, Girl, and good luck, and hurry! Hurry!"

Only a half hour later, the little cottage in its grove of cottonwoods was nearly out of sight. Coryn paused only long enough for one last squint, until she saw a wisp of smoke from her grandmother's chimney. The kender was hurrying along a dozen feet in front of her, showing no signs of slowing his pace for her benefit. With a sigh, and an unmistakable tingle of adventure, the young woman adjusted the straps of the heavy pack and turned her steps toward the north.

A Master for the Tower of Magic

Where are we going?" asked Luthar. "This woodland is strange, is it not?"

Kalrakin paused, drew in a deep breath though his beaky nose, and nodded in satisfaction, even anticipation. "Strange, perhaps. But it makes us welcome! See how the path opens- even the trees grant us passage!" The trail, indeed, was wide and smooth, though darkly shadowed by overhanging limbs and dense foliage.

Luthar hurried to keep up, a step or two behind the tall sorcerer. He couldn't help looking this way and that, wide-eyed, as they advanced along a path that was startlingly clear amid the flourishing underbrush and tall, gnarled trees.

Those trees stood back from them to either side, but loomed very high overhead, extending curving limbs over the trail like a series of shadowy arches. Beards of moss draped many of these boughs. Vines and stalks of dewy underbrush also leaned over the path, fingers of foliage brushing against the hems of their robes, but Kalrakin stalked steadily onward without taking notice. His eyes remained fixed on the path before him, and his long strides carried him forward determinedly.

"Wait! Did you hear something?" asked Luthar suddenly, stopping.

"The wild birds," Kalrakin replied, shrugging. His long fingers stroked his tangled beard as he cocked an ear. "Noisy little fools. All this shrieking makes it hard for a man to think!" He, too, had stopped and now glared into the woods as if to challenge the cawing, shrieking flyers. All the while he flipped his polished white stone back and forth from one hand to the other.

"That's just it-listen! It's more than noise."

Many crows and more exotic birds were calling, a cacophony of sound unlike anything in any forest Luthar had ever visited. There was a musical cadence to the notes, but something more… almost intelligible.

"This is not the woodland we woke up in this morning, my lord," Luthar suggested. "Something has happened here-listen, I beg you!"

The birds cried and cried again, with ever greater urgency, and gradually the swelling sounds took on a distinct meaning.

It was a summons.