The song of the dryads slowly faded. As it did, the glow within each stone lessened. When the music ended at last, the powerstones each retained some portion of their inner fire.

Silence settled like a blanket on the grove. A hush extended across the land for miles, a stillness that embraced every living creature. For a long moment, it stretched outward. Gradually, normal night noises resumed.

Gerrard found, to his surprise, that he was breathing rapidly. Beside him Sisay sat, head bowed to her knees. When Gerrard touched her arm, she stirred and looked at him, her eyes dark pools in the night. Tears glinted on her cheeks.

"Did you hear it?" she whispered. "Did you?"

He nodded.

The chief dryad approached, laying the stones at Gerrard's feet. Twiglike fingers reached toward the Benalian. He held his hand out as well. Small, snapping surges of power arced between them, and Gerrard once again understood.

"Ramos has given us his blessing," he told the crew reverently. "Ramos has joined the Uniter. Within these stones, he will return with us to Mercadia."

While Gerrard spoke, the dryads faded into the trees that ringed the grove. The crew rose to their feet. No one said anything else; nothing was needed. Gerrard gathered the Bones of Ramos, placing them in his pack.

"We will remain here through the night," Gerrard said quietly, "and hike out for Mercadia in the morning."

By morning, the pack, the bones, and Takara all were gone.

Chapter 20

Darkness gripped the deck of Weatherlight. Squee awoke, soaking wet and tied hand and foot to a chair. He turned and twisted, trying to free himself. Water splashed coldly over him, drawing a cry of protest from his throat. "Is not that enough? Is he not awake once more?" Unfamiliar voices. Squee struggled again. Shapes moved before him in the murk and slowly took form and substance. Two Kyren were standing there, both in rich robes. To one side was a Mercadian, tall and slender, his simple robes indicating his servile status. The Mercadian held an empty bowl, which he had evidently just emptied over Squee. The dark cave ceiling hovered far above.

Squee struggled against the ropes. He gave a piteous yelp as they scraped his flesh. His chest and head ached. Tiny shapes swam before his eyes.

The Kyren paid no attention to him.

"Will not his companions miss him if he is gone?"

"Is it not possible, though, that they sent him away on purpose, knowing his nature to be superior to their own?"

"May your words not be truthful, but even so, is it not equally possible that he was sent by his party to spy upon us and to bring word of this to those who must not know?"

"Should we not question him to learn the truth of this matter?"

Both Kyren nodded solemnly and turned to Squee.

"Do your companions know of your whereabouts?" asked one, whose slightly larger size and more authoritative demeanor made Squee think of him as the leader.

The little goblin shook his head. The larger Kyren took Squee's chin in his long, slender fingers and twisted it back and forth. Squee gave a loud yelp and bit the hand. The Kyren jerked back, slapping the prisoner soundly across the mouth. Squee wailed and felt blood running down his chin.

The other Kyren stepped forward. "Are not we your friends, Squee?" he asked. His voice was gentle, and he patted the cabin boy's shoulder. "Are we not of one people? Are we not all klomahamin?"

Squee nodded without speaking.

The other, larger Kyren, who had been nursing his hand, suddenly grabbed the bowl from the Mercadian and with a shout brought it down on Squee's bony knee. The bowl shattered.

Squee felt something pop in his leg. A wave of agony shot through him, and he screamed until his throat felt raw.

Both Kyren stood watching him impassively. When he'd shouted himself hoarse, Squee slumped in the chair, and the smaller of the two Kyren stepped forward again.

"Again I ask, do your companions know of your whereabouts?" he asked calmly.

Again Squee shook his head.

"Do you know where Gerrard and his companions have gone?"

Another headshake.

"Do you know when they will return?"

Squee tried to shake his head a third time, but the pain in his leg was so great that he found himself falling into the comfortable, dark shadow world. His eyes rolled back in his head. His body sagged against the ropes that bound him to the chair. He felt the room falling away. At the same time, as from a great distance, he heard the conversation in the room.

"Must we not revive him and continue?"

"Have we not received answers?"

"Is he not lying? Does he not know where his friends have gone? Do we not have a clear obligation to continue until we are satisfied he truly knows nothing?"

From farther away, Squee heard another voice break in. The voice was tantalizingly familiar. "He knows nothing."

"Is one completely sure?" The Kyren's reply was deferential.

"I am sure."

"Shall we release him, then?"

"No. Keep him here. Question him again. Above all, he must not be allowed to communicate with his companions."

"Is it not easier to kill him?"

Squee struggled to remain conscious. Amid the pain, he felt a new pressure in the air, as if some being, vast beyond his conception, was bearing down on him, pulling at his mind, seeking to dominate it, to tear it apart. The presence was strong, growing stronger.

"No. I do not wish him killed. He will provide useful leverage against his comrades, and when this is over, it may amuse me to have him serve me."

A hand touched Squee's forehead, and he suddenly saw a great hallway filled with gleaming mirrors. He turned this way and that, and each of the mirrors he saw reflected a small, frightened face-his own. Slowly, he walked down the endless hallway. Each image of himself became subtly different. As he progressed, the images grew leaner, the skin tighter. With each reluctant step, Squee felt his body contract and contort.

He was starving. He was alone. He would never again see his friends. He would never again taste food. The goblin knew with certainty that in all the multiverse, in all the countless planes and worlds, there was no one but him. Through space and time, there was no one but him.

No one.

He cried out in despair. His scream, high and plaintive, echoed down the mirror corridors and found no listener. Try as he might, Squee could see nothing but his own endlessly repeated image.

Kneeling, he wept, his tears puddling on the floor. They congealed into sparkling ice and spread out on either side of him, forming a gleaming pool rimed with frost. Within the ice, Squee saw his own frozen shadow, trapped forever in sorrow. He knew with a horrible certainty that he would never escape, that he was imprisoned for eternity.

With a kind of relief, he felt his mind slip away. He heard the goblins ask the same questions as before, but this time he did not hear his answers. The dream world faded, and the tiny flame that was his mind flickered with one final thought before it went out.

Volrath…

Hanna and Karn waited nervously in their latest hideout in the lower city. It was a deep cellar hewn from rock, small and solid and dark. A single candle burned by the stairs- the last of the candles. It cast the cellar in a dingy light. The place was better suited for potatoes than people, which made it perfect for Karn. He had a tendency to break through the floors and walls of rundown shacks, and no disguise allowed him to move safely about the daytime streets. At night, he made his way by wrapping sackcloth over his silver skin and pretending to be a runty giant. Hanna was almost as conspicuous-slim, blonde, and clean. Only in the company of Squee could Karn and Hanna safely navigate the nighttime streets, and Squee had been missing now for days.