The green-man smiled, snail-shell teeth showing between rose-petal lips. "It is no easy thing to kill a marosorcerer. We don and doff our bodies as you do your clothes. I will not die, not truly, while Yavimaya yet lives."

Nodding in realization, Gerrard said, "Very truly, then, the last months brought you near to death."

"Yes," Multani replied. His eyes-twin fish swimming in socket-pools-flickered in remembered pain. "The Battle of Yavimaya is won, as is the Battle of Llanowar, thanks to you and Eladamri."

Eladamri turned to his comrades, clasping their hands. Again, the revelers cried out gladly.

"I am only a tool of higher powers," said Eladamri humbly.

"As are we all," Gerrard said with a laugh.

"As are we all," Multani agreed. "Still, Llanowar owes you both a great debt."

Drawing a deep breath, Gerrard said, "I would like to collect on that debt." His two companions looked surprised, but Gerrard waved away their concern. "It is the smallest of prices for you and the forest but the dearest treasure I could beg."

Eladamri stared seriously at his friend. "Whatever you ask."

"Whatever is in our power."

"It is in your power," Gerrard said. "Take us to Weatherlight. I will explain there."

Without a moment's pause, Multani's viny arms reached out around his companions, encircling them. More stalks and stems insinuated themselves through the framework of the nature spirit. His body grew. Long arms branched from his shoulders. Tendrils reached up to encircle boughs overhead. Multani pulled free of the overlook where they stood. Brachiating beneath the overhanging branches, Multani carried the two saviors of Llanowar over the head of the crowd.

Below, the people cried out in thrilled amazement.

Multani seemed a spider dangling from his thousand legs and picking his patient way across the canopy.

Ahead, Weatherlight rested in the broad crook of a quosumic tree. Even at midday, the ship gleamed like a jewel box. In addition to running-lanterns, she had been decked with festive lights for the celebration. The prison brigade thronged the deck, quaffing elven wine and cheering. A contingent of once-xenophobic Steal Leaf warriors had joined them, trading war stories. Above it all, in the noontime skies, the Benalian aerial armada swarmed. They seemed almost living fireworks, circling joyously.

With strange solemnity, Multani bore Gerrard and Eladamri toward the festive folk.

As they approached, the cheers and oaths quieted. Wine jacks ceased rising to lips, which in turn grew respectfully still. Everyone aboard Weatherlight knew the weight on Gerrard's heart. They knew the boon he would ask of Multani and Eladamri. The crowd separated as the green-man arrived.

Multani lowered himself into the midst of the people and released his passengers.

Gerrard set his boots to the familiar planks. "Below," he said simply. He gestured toward the hatch and led the way downward.

Grim jawed, Eladamri followed. On legs of twining wood, Multani shuffled after. They descended into the ship's deserted companionways, down to a single room that glowed with lantern light. Though it held numerous bunks, all were empty save one. In a chair beside the bunk, Orim the healer lingered. Her eyes were tired beneath black, coin-coifed hair. Tawny hands moved fretfully along the sheets.

Another woman lay beneath those sheets-this one a seeming skeleton. Her face was drawn and bone white. Her closed eyelids were gray. Even her thin lips were taut with pain, making a death's-head grimace.

Gerrard went to his knees as if his legs had been cut from beneath him. He clutched her hand-as light and curled as a dead twig.

"Hanna. Can you hear me? I've brought some friends, a savior and… and a god."

Eladamri's eyes were dark beneath his lifted eyebrows. Multani lingered in silence just behind him.

"They are going to take you to a place where you can be healed. Caves beneath the forest. Thousands were healed there, healed with a touch. They're going to take us down where you'll be made whole again."

Swallowing grimly, Eladamri said, "You must understand, Gerrard, it is a matter of belief. The caves make belief real."

Gerrard's gaze was bright with anger. "I'll believe you. I'll believe anything. Just make her well."

"Yes," Eladamri replied heavily. "If there are greater powers at work in us, she will be healed."

There were no more words to say after that. Multani stooped. Every fibrous stalk grew a sudden silky down across it. His fingers opened in milkweed pods. His arms became a cottonwood blanket. Tenderly, he reached beneath Hanna's still form and lifted her in her draping sheets.

"She is so light," Multani murmured before he could stop himself.

Gerrard's eyes clouded. "Take her ahead of us. Eladamri will lead us-Orim and I-down to the caves. Take her and let the caves work on her. Let them begin their work." A tragic hope lit his face. "If there is justice in the multiverse, she'll greet me herself when I get there."

Wordlessly, Multani bore Hanna from Weatherlight's sick bay. He climbed to the deck, followed by Gerrard, Eladamri, and Orim.

Silence surrounded them. If the three men were the saviors of Llanowar, the woman they bore in their midst- skeletal within her pure white sheets-was the martyr. The ravages of plague were painted plain across her, and yet her former beauty shone through. That she was Gerrard's love was whispered among the prison brigade and the Steel Leaf elves. One by one, the revelers went to their knees-one by one and then ten by ten. They saw on Hanna's face the daughters and sisters and mothers they themselves had lost.

Tendrils sprouted from Multani, catching hold of a nearby network of vines. Without pause, he drew himself and Hanna smoothly over the rail and began his descent.

Gerrard watched, his gaze dipping lower and lower until she disappeared from sight. A shuddering breath moved through him.

A hand settled on his shoulder, startling him. He turned, seeing Eladamri's solemn face-prominent nose and chin, eyes profound and piercing. It was no wonder the elves saw a leader in this man.

"Choose the ten who believe most in you. I will take Liin Sivi and the nine who believe most in me. Their faith will help."

Nodding numbly, Gerrard leaned on the rail, staring.

"I would be… honored to be included in the company," came a solemn rumble at his side. Gerrard looked up to see Tahngarth, no more than a looming shadow in that bright company.

Once, the minotaur had considered Gerrard a spoiled, selfish, and angry young man. Somewhere along the line, the bull-man's opinion had changed-perhaps because Gerrard had changed.

He clutched the minotaur's four-fingered hand. "I would be honored."

"You'd have to drive me off with a stick," Sisay volunteered, coming up behind the minotaur.

"Squee too," the goblin said on his other side. He crouched back from Gerrard's desolated stare, lifting his hand as though he expected a stick to fall any moment.

"Sisay, Squee, Orim, Tahngarth-yes, thank you all," Gerrard said gratefully.

Something massive moved among the kneeling soldiers. They scurried up and back. A gasp went through the group. In their midst rose a steaming specter. Hissing heat peeled away from muscles of silver.

"Would anyone like a shoulder ride?" Karn asked.

Gerrard, Eladamri, and their comrades descended within the Palace Tree. They gradually left behind the sounds of festival. First came the creak of growing wood, then the slosh of subterranean seas beyond the root walls. At last, only stone silence remained.

All the while, the party's lanterns bathed the tortuous descent in flickering light. Ragged splinters jutted from every wall. Giant cobwebs laced the spiraling way. The corpses had been removed, but still it was a haunted place.