“Stresa,” she whispered. “Over here.”
He trundled forward obediently, spikes laid back against his muscular body, snout lifted to test the air, eyes glittering like candles.
“I can see you well enough, Elf Queen,” the Splinterscat muttered as he came up to her. “And hear you well enough, too.”
Wren smiled at the sound of the familiar voice. It had not been three days ago that she thought she would never hear it again. Her ordeal with Tib Arne and Gloon had given her a new appreciation for the things she had once been too quick to take for granted. It was strange how death’s whisper suddenly made you hear better. She wondered how many times she would need to listen to it before she remembered its lesson.
“What did you find?” she asked him, dropping into a crouch so that she could better see his face.
Stresa sniffed. “A way in for them and one out for us. Phffftt. It can be done.” He glanced around. “Where’s the sstttpp Squeak?”
She gestured. “Watching east, where the others wait. I didn’t want anyone to hear what we said. Funny how much better she and I have become at communicating.”
The Splinterscat’s spines rose and fell back again. “That is hardly an accomplishment. Squeaks haven’t much to say. Hsssttt. Keep your conversation brief, Elf Queen.”
Wren refrained from smiling. No point in encouraging him. “So we can do this, you and I?”
“This isn’t Morrowindl, and the Brakes aren’t the In Ju. Of course we can do it. Sppptt!” He spit. “Should have thought of the idea myself.”
Barely three days gone since her escape from the Shadowen, and Wren was about to challenge them again. She had flown into camp with Tiger Ty and been greeted with elation and astonishment by the Elves of the advance guard, who had given her up for lost. They were settled still within the fringes of Drey Wood, watching the continuing advance of the Federation army, shadowing the Southlanders from cover while they awaited Barsimmon Oridio and the balance of the Elven army. Desidio was effusive in his welcome, telling her straight out that the Elves needed her leadership and he was hers to command, saying more in that single moment than he had said the entire time they had been gone from Arborlon. Triss was furious with her, pointing out that her impulsiveness had caused her abduction, warning her that she was not to go off without the Home Guard ever, that in fact she was not to go off without him personally. She greeted them both with a handclasp and assurances that she would not take such a risk again—already knowing that she intended to do so.
In her absence, the advance guard had been busy. Desidio and Triss had put aside any differences on strategy to continue what she had begun so successfully, sending a second raiding party at the Federation the very night after she was taken, setting fire to supplies and wagons, driving off stock, harassing sleeping troops, doing everything they could think of to cause their enemies discomfort and confusion and to keep them from advancing. With the death of Erring Rift, command of the Wing Riders had passed to Tiger Ty, the most experienced among them and a leader with whom they felt comfortable. Tiger Ty, gruff and abrasive, but up to the challenge, had sent the Wing Riders in support of the Land Elves. The Federation army had been better prepared than before, but still not well enough to prevent considerable damage to supplies and stock. The Elves had lost more than a dozen men this time, but the Federation juggernaut had been brought to a halt once more, forced to stay their march long enough to allow recovery of horses, foraging for food and water, and treatment of their wounded.
Barsimmon Oridio had reached the Valley of Rhenn and was starting down to meet them. Messengers had arrived from the old general to announce that help was on the way. Desidio and Triss had dispatched the messengers back again with the queen’s greetings—unwilling to reveal just yet that the queen herself was missing. Neither had been prepared to concede that she was gone for good, despite what had happened to Erring Rift and Grayl. Wren was pleased to discover that they had kept her disappearance quiet.
But she had already decided that the advance guard must do more than just wait for Bar and the rest of the army to reach them. She had thought it through on the flight in from the grasslands, her body weary from the battle with Tib Arne and Gloon, but her mind strangely sharp and clear. She knew what had to be done, and it had to be done regardless of anything else that happened. The Creepers had to be stopped. They would be gaining rapidly on the Federation army now, come out of the Tirfing and across the Mermidon and into the grasslands east of the Pykon. They would catch up in another few days and join with their allies in the hunt for the Elves. When that happened, it was all over. The Elves had no defense against the Creepers, not in numbers, skills, or strength, and the Shadowen machines would track them through the Westland forests to Arborlon and put a quick end to them.
She was not going to let that happen, she had promised, and she had thought back to Morrowindl and the things that had hunted her there and then back to the things that had hunted Ohmsfords down through the years in their service to the Druids, until surprisingly, unexpectedly, she had found the answer she needed.
But once again it would put her at risk, and once again it would require use of the Elfstones.
She had told Tiger Ty, Triss, and Desidio of her plan that very night, and all three were aghast. They had pleaded with her to give it up, to think of something else, to try a different tactic. They had beseeched her to consider what it would mean to the Elves if she was lost again—this time for good. But she had held them off with reason and hard fact, with strength of will and argument, and in the end they had been forced to accept her decision, however reluctantly. They had managed to wring one concession—Tiger Ty and Triss would go with her for however long it was possible.
That had been two days ago. She had come south that same day with Triss, Tiger Ty, fifty Home Guard, and half-a-dozen Wing Riders. The Rocs had carried the Home Guard in the giant baskets, keeping well back within the shelter of the trees and mountains where they could not be seen from the plains, and Wren had ridden with Tiger Ty. She had held everyone in place just long enough to dispatch Faun into Drey Wood to locate and bring back Stresa. She had told the Splinterscat what she intended, and because so much depended on him she had waited for his assurance that her plan could work. When he had agreed that it might, she had scooped him up, strapped him in place on Spirit’s back, tucked Faun into her pack, and off they had gone.
Desidio and the rest of the advance force had been sent north to meet with Barsimmon Oridio to await her return.
Two days ago. They had traveled all night to get here and spent the first of those two days without sleep. They had all gone exploring instead.
She shook her head, looking off into the darkened trees, smelling moss and bark mold and wildflowers and wondering that so much could happen in such a little time. She heard Stresa shift in the darkness before her, restless, and she looked back again.
“Did you find the Thing?” she asked him, not knowing what else to call it.
“Hssstt.” Stresa was laughing. “Not Thing, Wren Elessedil. Things! There have been some changes in three hundred years, it seems. There are more than the one now.”
And perhaps always were, and only one was ever seen, she thought suddenly. She rose, contemplating the advent of the new day. Before her, east, waited the Wing Riders and the Home Guard, and beyond them, somewhere on the grasslands, the Creepers. Behind her, west, lay the Matted Brakes.
More than one. Well, now.
“Wait for me, Stresa,” she ordered, rising again, anxious now to begin. “The valley opens into a draw that will bring them right through here. It shouldn’t be long.”