Spiridale stomped back out of the cave into the bright sunlight, a loud growl culminating into a roar. During the one night he had seen the caravan safely to Peltora, the trolls had packed up and moved out. The stink of the rotting human flesh in the back of the cave was almost overpowering. He had held his breath just long enough to check if there was anything unusual, but had found nothing. The trolls were well and truly gone.

The cave mouth was a low, wide opening beneath a huge overhang, a large outcropping of rock just like any other that populated the forested hills. Spiridale stood for several seconds in front of it, breathing deeply of the oak, ash, and sparse pine, letting the quiet shade surround him, soothe him, become him. He stepped forward, running before he knew it, completely invigorated. Quietly, smoothly, he blended into the forest, easily following the six-hour-old trail left behind by the blundering trolls, heading north-northeast.

As he trotted along, he wondered why they had left. They wouldn't have run away, and the cave had been lived in for some time. He could think of no reason for them to leave suddenly.

Spiridale followed the trail for several hours, noticing the speed of their movement and trying to double it, before rounding a steep rock face and stopping up short in surprise.

The tracks split up in five directions.

He scowled, sniffing the air. Nothing unusual. The marks were now about four hours old. One trail continued forward, and another two proceeded forward to the right and left, fanning out. The fourth turned left, leading down the hill and disappearing into the underbrush. The last turned right and led straight up the rock face.

It only took a second for him to make a decision. If the trolls were heading for a cave, he reasoned, it might very well be up in the rocks where he was standing. Also, a moderately light breeze was blowing toward the rocks, right into them, which might blow a scent or two his way. And finally, if he didn't find anything, he could at least take a look around from a high vantage point.

He turned right and started climbing the cliff face, following the last set of tracks.

Spiridale was perplexed. The creatures he was following just weren't acting like normal trolls. No scuffle had taken place, yet they had split up. Why? Was there not safety in numbers? They couldn't be up to something clever, he thought – trolls were just too stupid.

If the tracks he was following weren't so old, Spiridale would have been a hundred times as cautious, suspecting an ambush while he was climbing, unable to reach his weapons. As it was, he felt safe.

This thought had just gone through his head when he raised himself over a craggy rock to find himself staring at a pair of elegant boots and the point of a scimitar inches from his nose.

He blinked and followed the curve of the scimitar up to see the stern, small, extremely pretty face of a young wild elven woman, her dark hair pulled back in a tail. She was dressed in a light-colored, short-sleeved tunic, breeches that draped to her knees, and boots that went halfway up her shapely calves. She was very beautiful.

She turned her head slowly to one side as an eyebrow went up and an amused, fun-loving smile curled up one side of her mouth. Spiridale growled softly and glared, furious at himself for being careless. He could swear he saw a not-quite-malicious gleam in her eyes.

"I suggest you climb up slowly," she said in the elven tongue, still with the amused smile, "and be thankful I'm letting you climb up at all."

Still glaring, and feeling quite foolish, Spiridale clambered on up to the ledge. She backed away accordingly, not too far away that she couldn't attack, but just far enough not to be surprised by any lunging move he made. She held the sword and the upper hand – and they both knew it.

"So who are you?" she raised her head some, fully in command of the situation. Oddly enough, what infuriated Spiridale most was her smile. It wasn't boastful, just cheerful.

"Why do you care?" he replied, utterly still, utterly expressionless.

She wrinkled her nose at that, looking almost childlike. "Well you're the fun-loving type, aren't you?" She suddenly sheathed her sword. Spiridale was quite surprised. "One reason I didn't swipe off your head as you came up is that you wear the symbol and colors of Meilikki. She is of nature," she nodded approvingly, "like Chaunteau." She turned her hip, showing the hilt of her scimitar. On it was the holy symbol of the goddess of plants and farmers. Spiridale nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

"So I take it you're a ranger," she said brightly. As she spoke, Spiridale noticed she seemed to be looking at him, at the sky, at the trees and rocks and everything else all at once. It was like watching a fascinated young animal, only a lot quicker and more magical.

"I've been called that before," he replied evenly, not moving a muscle. His anger showed.

All her motion stopped, her eyes wide and staring back at him. Then she wrinkled her nose again. "You don't let the sun in, do you?" she asked.

Spiridale was utterly confused.

"Your eyes are closed, and you won't let the sunlight in. You walk a path of darkness." She seemed to shrink from him. "You're like no ranger I ever met. I don't think I like you very much."

Spiridale scowled. "You're a ranger/druid." He said it as one word. "I can tell. The last ranger/druid to Chaunteau I knew, I didn't like, either."

"Well, then, we're even," she said suddenly, cocking her head back. Then she smiled, a smile of joy and of understanding things once again. "What are you doing up here?" she asked. She whirled around to look at the view over the forest again.

Spiridale was dumbfounded, not knowing what to make of this woman. To his surprise, he stammered. "I – I was tracking some trolls." That feeling of foolishness washed over him again. Somehow, he felt very, very small and insignificant next to this woman who was, well – alive. It made him feel dead inside by comparison.

"Trolls?" her eyebrows went up in interest. But her smile, the brightness in her eyes, didn't waver a bit. "I haven't seen any. But you might check over at Mr. Smith's. I think he invited some over for dinner."

"What?" Spiridale exclaimed. He was beginning to think this was all a dream.

In that instant of confusion, she leaped forward, tweaked his nose, and bounded away up the rocks, laughing. Spiridale had been taken completely by surprise.

He stood there with his mouth open, dumbfounded. He did not know what to do.

She laughed again, and Spiridale roared and leaped up the rocky hillside after her. He didn't know what he would do when he caught up with her, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Come back here!" he yelled.

"Tell me your name, first!" she yelled back, still skipping away. "You never answered my question!"

Spiridale looked up to spot her, and much to his surprise, saw that she was farther away than when he started. She was more agile than he was. He kept after her nevertheless.

She disappeared behind some rocks, and Spiridale reached deep inside himself for the energy and power he knew was there, but had some trouble doing it. He suddenly realized he just wanted to let the strange woman go.

Then she screamed, a short piercing shout of surprise, one that could not be faked, and Spiridale charged up the hillside, power building inside him. His legs launched him from rock to rock, and the air rushed by.

He suddenly moved very, very fast.

He reached the rocks she had gone behind and went over them, drawing his bow in mid-air. The second he hit the ground he whirled in a full circle, looking for enemies. There were none.

The girl was there, but she, too, was at the ready. Thirty feet away, around a half-day-old campfire, were sleeping rolls and blankets. They had been shredded. Equipment was strewn everywhere. It was immediately obvious to both that the occupants had been violently taken in the night.

The girl bent down, looking at the ground.

"Troll," she said softly, and there was pain in her voice. "A troll did this."

"That's what I'm following," Spiridale stated, restrapping his bow. "I've got to catch up to it."

She looked silently off in the direction the troll had gone. Spiridale, behind her, watched her thoughtfully.

After a moment she stood up, but did not turn to face him. "I suppose you should know that I am called Larissa Starfrost," she said sadly, "since I'll be going with you."

They traveled in silence for the most part. Spiridale had been surprised, and relieved, when she didn't recognize his name, or the name he and his companions had given themselves. "The Knights of Prophecy," whatever that meant. They had acquired a bit of fame, locally, for trashing the Temple of Elemental Evil, and he was irritated at being known wherever he went by people he didn't know. It was very disconcerting.

It was also disconcerting to travel with only one other companion. In a group of people, he could remain silent if he wished, but now he didn't know what to do. After he filled her in on the troll situation and how puzzled he was, there wasn't much more to say, except that he was a member of a group of adventurers who were half crazy, and seemed to fight each other more than their enemies. So he didn't know whether to be relieved or angry when they discovered something even more puzzling.

"Three other trolls joined up right here," Larissa said, confused. "Do these look like the ones who split up?"

"Yes," Spiridale replied. "But there's one missing." After studying the ground a little more, he said, "They stayed here a while, and then turned directly east. They've slowed down some, too."

Spiridale heard the sharp intake of Larissa's breath. "My home is in that direction!" Her eyes were wide. "I have to see if grandmother is all right!"

And without another word, she turned and ran into the forest.

No other creature had left Spiridale speechless so many times in one day. He stared after her for a second, then anger surged through him. He could not abandon the trail now, but he didn't want the girl to get hurt.

"Blast all!" he said sharply, and sprang after her. After a minute, he caught up with her, and the two ran on the rest of the way in silence.

Half an hour later they reached a small, well-built house with a yard, in a space cleared out of the forest.

Larissa smoothly hopped the fence and ran inside.

"Grandmother?" she called.

None of Spiridale's senses were giving him warnings of danger, so he strolled into the yard, but his bow was nocked and pointing at the ground.

He also didn't go inside because a smell washed over him, a smell so powerful it left him dazed and unclear.

It was the smell of his own kind.

Powerful ghost memories came at him, memories of another house in the woods and the smell of a wild elven family. But that was a century ago, and the longing, the emptiness he'd felt all those years but never knew he felt, suddenly overcame him.

He staggered and fell to his knees, but that was wrong, oh so wrong.

"Again!" the voice called.

Spiridale got up, bow in his hand.

"Faster!" his father called. "Your enemies will never give you time to get up! There's one!"

And at that, an arrow flew into a tree. Spiridale whirled and aimed at the same tree, but missed by several feet. He fired again and hit, but he knew he had taken too long to aim. Three more arrows had hit the woods around him.

"Your enemies are closing in!" the voice called, and another arrow sang out of a bow.

Spiridale couldn't see his father. He didn't have time to. Wherever he shot an arrow, that represented a charging enemy. Spiridale had to then match the shot to "kill" the enemy. And he had to be quick, because his father was firing about one arrow a second. He now had four enemies to deal with, some close, some far away.

He reached down deep inside himself, applying everything his father had taught him. He aimed, he fired, willing the arrows to hit their targets. They did, and in the proper order.

"Good! Good!" There was obvious pride in his father's voice. More arrows sang.

This was what they were working on. Two arrows hit in front of him, a third directly behind, and a fourth in front. Even though the one behind had hit close and had not been the last, Spiridale had to keep his priorities straight in the heat of battle.

He drew and fired three arrows in a row, hitting all three targets in front, all hitting within a foot of his father's arrows. During this time, he kept in mind the one behind, who was, by now, about to skewer him with a sword. His father was teaching him the spin attack, how to about face, draw, and fire in an instant.

He did, and, like always, lost his balance. But he would not give up. He ignored his body, and in the instant he was still before falling, he concentrated on nothing but aim, and let the arrow fly. It his dead center, just in time, and he toppled over.

"Good! Good! But get up! You must get up! You must never let your guard down! You never know what may happen in the next second of life!"

Spiridale was on his knees, his hand gripped around his bow in never-ceasing vigilance and urgency.

"Get up!" he heard. "You must get up!"

The daze cleared. He was in a yard, staring at a house with an open door. Voices were coming from inside, and laughter. Wild elven voices. Wild elven laughter. The pain shot through him again.

"No!" he whispered hoarsely through clenched teeth. "Spiridale, you fool!" He got up. "What are you doing on the ground? What were you doing with your guard down?" He staggered to the fence and leaned on it, breathing deeply. He calmed down, his voice taking on a reproving, loving tone. It sounded like his father. "Never be taken by surprise. Never let your guard down."

This was foolish, he knew. He didn't belong here. He didn't belong anywhere. He shut out the pain and the memory, and turned to the house.

He had a feeling he would regret ever meeting these people.

Spiridale, Larissa, and Bethula, Larissa's grandmother, dipped their bowls into the pot of stew above the fireplace. They sat down to eat.

"So where are your parents?" Spiridale asked. Larissa kept eating her food for a few moments before she realized he'd asked her a question. "Huh?" she asked, then, "Oh. Well, they're dead." She continued eating, no expression on her face. But Spiridale could tell she was suddenly closed off.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he answered, feeling foolish again. He ate some more, and just as Bethula was about to speak, he said, "Mine are, too." He hesitated, feeling even worse, then looked at Bethula, desperately interested in whatever she had to say. He hoped she would talk for a long time. He wanted to fade away.

"Would you like some spice, young sir?" she offered.

A pause. "No. No, I'm fine. But thank you." He continued eating. He decided he would not try to talk again.

"How did they die?"

He looked up and saw Larissa staring at him with the saddest, most intense eyes he'd ever seen. Her spoon was resting in her bowl.

"I – I don't know," he looked down again, somehow unable to meet her gaze. "I mean, I don't know who did it. But I certainly know how it happened. I was there –" He stammered. He paused.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of this house, this wild elven woman and her wild, wild elven granddaughter, of the stew, of the rugs on the floor and the wood burning in the fireplace and the timber of the house, which held them all close and warm and declared to the world there they were, happy. He breathed deeply of all these things.

"All gone," he whispered, his eyes still closed. "All, this," his hand trembled slightly, "gone in – one second."

His eyes half-opened, dully. "Tad. Christina." Stunned, the awareness flooded his face as he remembered names he'd forgotten a century ago and never thought he could recall. "Rosianna, and...Elizabeth." He shook his head. "I don't know what mother and father were called."

He opened his eyes some more, the pain fading into a distant dream he still couldn't quite accept or believe. "Three men came in the front door and –" he shrugged helplessly, "– killed them."

He noticed the stunned faces of the other two. "They took me prisoner, but I got away." He dug his spoon into his stew again, but didn't eat. "I remember their names, but that's all. It was years later before I felt strong enough for reverie. Ever since, I've just been –" he shrugged, "existing."

This last word surprised him. He'd meant to say, "on my own."

Spiridale put his head down and resumed eating, but he felt as if he should say something. He knew he was the cause of the silence. He looked up again and saw the two of them staring at him with pity and sadness.

"I – I'm sorry," he said softly, "if I've made you uncomfortable."

"No, no," they both said instantly.

"We're just sorry, dear," Bethula said, "for what you've been through."

Spiridale shrugged, wanting to say something like, "Well it was a long time ago," to pass it off, but then realized it was a compliment. He simply said, "Thank you." Smiling at her, he said, "You're a lot like your granddaughter – very beautiful."

"Thank you, sweet child," she said, obviously touched. Larissa and Spiridale both blushed some, as the two of them realized he had complimented her, too.

He hadn't meant to do that, but was glad he had.

Spiridale sat on the fence, peacefully watching the night fill up the forest and run over the land like a silent river of beauty. The stars were coming out when the door opened and closed. Seconds later, Larissa was there.

"She's in bed now," she said, then half-laughed, "She likes to go to bed early."

Spiridale turned to her. "She's dying, isn't she?"

Her body sagged, her face fell. "Yes."

Before he knew what he was doing, Spiridale reached out an arm and held her close. She didn't resist.

"Any day, now, she will undertake the journey to Arvanaith," she said. "and then I'll have no one else."

Spiridale simply whispered, "I know how it is."

"We were part of a tribe." She was crying softly. "But we were haunted by a vampire. Night after night he'd come and take someone. No one knew who would be next. No one knew how he got past the guards. Wives would wake up with dead husbands next to them, children would find morning had brought them corpses instead of parents." Her face twisted with grief as the tears flowed. "I was one."

Spiridale closed his eyes. He'd heard stories like this far, far too often.

"We eventually disbanded." She sat up again, but held onto his arm, her lip quivering. "It was no use moving, because he followed us, wherever we went." She cried some more. "I wanted to be a druid, but we needed everyone we could to know how to fight, as well. The number of our warriors had drastically fallen.

"All the remaining warriors, when they left, made a blood oath. We would continue to hunt this vampire as long as it took. I don't know how successful anyone has been. All I know is that he's in this general area. So I search and search and search, and I have no tribe and a dying grandmother to take care of." She leaned against him and wept some more.

"I'll help you," Spiridale whispered. "Tonight, we'll take turns watching over the place. If nothing happens, we'll pick up the trail of the trolls and deal with them. There's a man in my group who can help us find out anything we want to know, and if this vampire is too much for us, I'll ask all the Knights of Prophecy to help us."

She looked up at him, the new moon reflected in her wet eyes, fathoming him. "You'd do that?" she asked softly.

Spiridale nodded and lightly stroked her hair.

"Of course you would," she looked down, then up again, smiling. Then she leaned up to kiss him. "Thank you," she whispered. She held him for a long moment.

When she pulled away, she said, "Now go inside. I'll take first watch. I want to be alone for a while."

"Sure," Spiridale whispered.

He left her there, sitting on the fence, holding herself in the moonlight. Before he closed the door, he thought he heard sweet, joyful prayers of thanks.

Spiridale stood in the sunlit doorway as Larissa hugged Bethula.

"Bye!" she said, holding her tightly. "We'll be back even before you know it." When she drew away, it was obvious she didn't want to leave.

They walked to the door, and Bethula hugged Spiridale also.

"Thank you for all your help, kind one," she said.

Spiridale didn't know how to respond to this. Finally, he just said, "You're welcome. It's what I do."

"I know," she said with a smile.

She strolled out into the yard, waving after them. She watched them set off at a jog through the forest, and stood gazing, with a wise and wistful smile on her face, at the way they had gone, long after they disappeared. Then she shut her eyes and a single tear, which somehow shone with the light of moonbeams even on that bright sunny morning, rolled down her cheek. It fell into the earth, mingling with the land there, disappearing forever, yet not.

She turned and walked back inside. There were preparations to make.

After an hour of travel, they picked up the trail again and continued following it back to the east. A few miles later it curved again to the northeast. Spiridale didn't bother telling Larissa that, had it continued east, they would have been too late anyway. He was sure she knew.

Several hours later, Spiridale was very unhappy.

They stood, staring at the end of the trail, where one second trolls had been blundering along, the next – nothing. Footprints ended abruptly. Underbrush that had been violently thrust aside was undisturbed past the same point. There were no trees into which they could have jumped. The trolls had simply vanished.

Spiridale's hands hung by his side, clenched in fists. His face was frozen. He was too angry for words.

In all his life, no one had eluded him for so long.

"We need to go back," he finally said without moving, "and find the last one. The one that didn't join with the others."

Larissa was sitting on the ground behind him, resting. Normally she would not have been put off one bit by the development. But after the hope of the night before, and the promise to help each other in their quests, even she was a little let down.

But at Spiridale's suggestion, she nodded. "Yes. But lets eat first." She pulled some rations from her pack. Spiridale sat down to join her.

"We need to move fast," he said. "I can't explain it, but I have the worst feeling that the other one will escape, too." He munched silently on his food. "But it's a full day's journey back to where they split up, and who knows how much farther beyond that to catch up with it."

"How far would you say that was, 18 miles?" she asked.

Spiridale nodded.

She chewed thoughtfully for a second, looking at him intently. "Can you ride a horse?" she asked.

The land flew under them, and Larissa was quick but smooth, just as she promised. Spiridale wasn't familiar with riding animals, especially barebacked, yet found no trouble in holding on lightly to her mane.

As a druid, Larissa's goddess granted her the ability to take the form of an animal, if she wished. She had changed into a full-grown, beautifully muscled stallion, and was making incredibly good time across the land. Spiridale's heart leapt with pride and joy, his confidence returning with every gust of wind that hit his face. A journey which would have taken a day and a night was now only an hour-and-a-half.

He also felt pride and joy about his new-found companion. He still didn't know who she was, exactly, or why he'd met her, but he felt increasingly more comfortable with her as the miles went by.

They reached the point where the trolls had split up, just below the ledge where he and Larissa had met. Judging from the way the trails had rejoined, Spiridale guessed that the one heading directly away from the rocks was their best bet. He nudged Larissa in that direction, and she trotted along, snorting. Spiridale smiled. Somehow, he knew that was her sense of humor talking.

The trail was old, and heading through the forest became difficult and slow. Spiridale dismounted and Larissa's form shifted, shrank, and reformed to her original shape.

They continued on for about 15 minutes before the trail hit another rocky hillside, but this one had a steep wall at the base, rising some 90 feet. The troll had gone straight up it, for it wasn't unclimbable. However, it would take several minutes for them to make the climb. Spiridale made a decision.

"Wait a second," he said, retreating from the wall to get a better look at what was above it. "I can make this easy."

He unsnapped his bow and drew forth a metal arrow with a rope pulling behind it. He unstrapped his quiver and set it on the ground, angling it so that the rope would have as easy an exit as possible from its compartment.

He nocked it and took careful aim, choosing a huge boulder up above the cliff. He knew from experience that boulders made better targets. For some reason, cliff faces were made of harder rock, and sometimes repelled his arrows.

He pulled it back as far as he dared, took an extra second to aim, and let it fly.

The speed of the arrow, with one hundred pounds of pressure behind it, was remarkable. Almost immediately it appeared in the middle of the boulder, burying itself perfectly. Larissa came up next to him to look.

And the Fireball which blasted between them with a sound as loud as thunder threw them both to the ground.

The magical explosion flung them ten feet to either side. Both were caught completely off guard, yet reacted immediately. Larissa sprang to her feet, body tense, looking like a hunted animal at being attacked so mysteriously, but could see no one. Spiridale furiously tore himself off the ground, frantically scrambling for his quiver, only to stop short as he realized that all that remained in its first two compartments were ashes.

Larissa felt a slight tingling in the air. "Down!" she yelled, tackling Spiridale as another blast washed over them.

"Come on!" she got up. "We've got to retreat!" She grabbed him and started running.

Spiridale grabbed her arm and yanked her the other way. "No!" he yelled. "We've got to get closer!"

"What?" she screeched, but followed him anyway. They sprinted for the cliff face, Spiridale snatching up his quiver on the way.

A third Fireball detonated well behind them just as they reached the wall. Whoever was casting them had also thought they would retreat. Now they couldn't be seen by anyone above unless they stuck their eyes over the edge.

Spiridale fervently hoped their attacker was above. If their attacker was in the surrounding woods, he and Larissa were in real trouble because their backs were against the wall. But he didn't think so, and the cessation of battle seemed to bear that thought out. From a high point is where he would have attacked; he assumed others would do the same.

"Now what?" Larissa gasped, trembling. It was creepy and sinister to be attacked by people she couldn't see, and it made her feel powerless.

"We need to guess what we would do if we were the enemy," Spiridale said, his mind racing, fighting the fear. "What I would do is come up close to the edge to spot any retreat or flanking move, but be ready to cut the rope if –"

The rope. His eyes focused on the rope dangling in front of them.

"I hear something moving," Larissa whispered. "Sounds like he's right above us."

"Cover me, in case they look over." Quickly he pulled two spikes and a hammer out of his satchel.

As silently as possible, Larissa cast a magical spell, and a flame appeared in the palm of her hand. Cupping it, she stood ready to throw it.

Spiridale quickly hammered the spikes in the wall near the ground. "They'll think we intend to climb," he whispered. He stood up, positioning his feet underneath the spikes, and grasped the rope. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and pulled.

Every muscle in his body suddenly clenched, straining. His feet, anchored by the spikes, kept him stationary.

Larissa heard a slight movement above. Spiridale heard it, too, and pulled that much harder, confidence and power building inside him.

There was a grating of rock, a loud crack, then a startled yell and a squeal as Spiridale pulled down the boulder his metal arrow was in, starting a chain reaction. He fell, but rolled immediately up against the cliff face. Larissa hunched down beside him.

They heard a blood-curdling scream as a rockslide cascaded over the cliff, falling just beyond them. Carried in the rockfall were two broken bodies, arms flailing about.

After a few seconds the dust cleared and the booming echoes died away.

They got up and made their way to the bodies. Larissa threw two flames up above, but they heard nothing. "I think that's all of them," she said.

Spiridale drew his sword and chopped the head off of one of the bodies. It was a troll.

"We must burn it," Larissa said sternly, advancing on it, "or it will grow back and become alive again."

"No need," Spiridale replied, wiping his sword clean. "This sword is a Flame Tongue, and burns as well as kills. The troll is taken care of."

She nodded thoughtfully, and the fire went out in her hand. She cast another spell, designed to seek out magic, and several items on the other body glowed.

Spiridale looked at him. He was a young human, and couldn't have been very experienced. Searching his belongings, he found a wand and a book he knew to be a spell book for wizards. Both glowed. In his hand was part of a wand which had broken. Nothing on the troll gave any signs of magic.

Larissa used more of her druidic magic to heal some of their wounds. It made Spiridale's skin tingle, as it always did, to have a priest cure his injuries so. "That's all I have," she apologized. "I can get more in a few hours."

"That's all right. What isn't all right is that we don't know what they were doing. A troll traveling with a mage?" He shook his head. "I just don't know what to make of it."

"Oh, we can still find out," she said brightly. "I'll just ask them."

"This is no time for your jokes, Larissa," Spiridale said darkly.

Larissa's motion stopped, as it always did when she was offended or surprised. "I wouldn't joke about such things, Spiridale," she said softly. But her gaze was intent, and just a little cold.

Spiridale turned away. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

She looked at him for a second longer, then turned away also, brushing it off. But the damage was done.

"I have magical spell which allows me to get information from the dead," she explained. "What do we want to find out?"

Over the next day or so, while Spiridale carved more arrows to replace the ones that were burnt in the fireball, Larissa cast Speak With Dead. She had to do it again and again, for she was only strong enough to ask two questions at a time, and sometimes it didn't work at all. Only she could hear the faint, emotionless replies from the deceased minds.

Larissa also got her first lesson in knowing how to ask the right question.

"What were you doing traveling together?"

It was our duty.

"Who gave you that duty?"

Our Lord, Geoffrey Balbantha.

"Who is Geoffrey Balbantha?"

He is our Lord.

"Who is he besides being your Lord?"

He is a vampire.

At that, Larissa's face went white. Spiridale tried his best to console her, but he wasn't very good at it. She just sat, scrunched up, for a full hour before daring to pray to her goddess and sleep, to restore her magic. Then the questioning continued.

"Did Geoffrey Balbantha ever stalk and slowly kill a tribe of wild elves?"

Yes.

That was the end of the questioning for the day.

Larissa slept fitfully that night. She didn't panic, but Spiridale could tell she was terrified. He stood guard throughout the night, feeling a full range of mixed emotions. Care for the young woman. Unconcern, for he knew she had to face her own fears. Scorn, for letting her fear get to her so easily. Resentment, for he felt they were wasting time. Shame, at himself for feeling that way. And envy, for he desperately wished to find and destroy the men who had so ruined his own life. He suspected he never would, however. He was sure that at least some of them had died of old age by now.

He smiled at that. He was an elf.

He would live forever.

The next day, Larissa forced herself to be calm, and the questioning resumed.

"What is the function of the wand that is still intact?"

It detects traps and secret doors.

"What was your mission?"

To find new victims.

"Why did you split up from the other trolls?"

To search for more victims.

"How did they disappear?"

Our Lord, Geoffrey Balbantha, teleported them away.

"Why didn't he teleport you away, too?"

It wasn't our time yet.

"When were you to leave?"

Last night.

"Where were you to be?"

Two miles north, in a clearing.

"What would he have done when he found you weren't there?"

Left us for dead.

"Where does Geoffrey live?"

He does not live. He is undead.

Larissa swore at that one.

"Then where is his home?"

About 30 miles northwest of here.

"What does his home look like?"

It is a cave in the side of a cliff.

"Does his home have any special, identifying features?"

No.

"What defenses does he have?"

Shadows protect his lair, up above the cliff.

"What other defenses does he have?"

Many trolls are in his service. Also, many traps are in his lair.

"Why are you in his service?" This was asked of the mage.

I was his apprentice.

Larissa was stunned.

"You were his apprentice?"

Yes.

Trembling, Larissa asked her last question as her final spell expired.

"Is Geoffrey then a wizard as well as a vampire?"

Even though the spell was for information only, because the dead have no emotions, she would forever swear the dead man smiled.

Of course he is.

She numbly told Spiridale what she'd discovered. They stood there for many moments, staring at the bodies, feeling the enormity of the task ahead of them. Larissa finally spoke.

"I suppose we should burn the bodies anyway. Just to be sure."

"Yes," Spiridale replied, rousing himself. "We should."

She turned to him suddenly. "I know you won't, but I feel I should offer – that is, if you want – I wouldn't be angry – I would understand – if you wanted to back out. This isn't your blood oath, you know. You don't have to do this."

Spiridale just looked at her in confusion. "I don't understand. Why would I want to back out?"

She hesitated, a million different answers to this innocent question dancing around in her head. Finally she just sighed.

"Never mind. I had to make the offer."

"Odd," he said. "I was going to offer you the same thing."

"What?" she asked sharply. It was her turn to be confused – if she wanted to play it that way. She was smarter than that, though.

"I'm afraid you might get hurt, and I don't want that."

"Spiridale Darkpride!" she put her hands on her hips and took several paces back, giving him her warrior's glare. "How dare you! If I was a man, would you ask that of me?"

This surprised Spiridale, and he had to think about it. "Uh – no, I don't think so."

"Of course not! Because I'm a woman you don't think I can handle myself?"

"Uh-"

"Who surprised who when you were rock-climbing after your trolls the other day?"

"Now wait-"

"You told me there are women in this group of yours. How come you're never concerned about their safety?"

"I am-"

"And how do you think I've survived this long, on my own, unless I-"

"You have someone to live for!" Spiridale roared.

She jumped back, trembling, hand on the hilt of her scimitar.

"Have you ever wondered why all I do is hunt down evil? Have you ever wondered why all I do is protect life? Have you?" he yelled.

She didn't answer.

"Because I have no one! Did you know I never wanted adventure? I never wanted to be a warrior? My brother did, but I didn't! But I do it now, because it's all I know! It's the only way I know how to give back to the forest, to give back to life, and be ready in case I can ever have my revenge!"

She stood still as stone, staring at him, transfixed.

"But mostly I do it because if I die by the hands of a troll, or at the bottom of some dungeon, or from bandits on the road, or even by a vampire, no one will miss me! Not one person will give a damn about me if I'm gone!"

He was breathing hard, trembling with rage. Larissa could only stare and listen.

"You have somebody! You have some family, and others you could rejoin once this vampire is destroyed! That's," he breathed deeply, "that's why I asked if you wanted to back out! You would be missed, people would mourn, but no one would miss me!"

"I would," she whispered softly.

"What?" he asked sharply, looking as if he'd just heard a red dragon invite him to sit down and have tea.

"I said, 'I would,'" she whispered again, and the same look was in her eyes as the night before, at the dinner table – was it only last night? Spiridale wondered. He shook his head. He was confused again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, ever so gently, "if I offended you."

Spiridale suddenly noticed she was really afraid.

"What-?" he asked, then realized she was looking at the bow in his hands with the arrow nocked to it –

His bow. It was in his hands. It was armed and ready to fire. It was aimed in Larissa's general direction.

Spiridale stared in sickening horror at his own hands.

"I don't," he whispered, "I don't remember drawing my bow." He slowly drew the arrow out, then let it and the bow fall to the ground.

Larissa closed her eyes, letting out a breath she'd been holding for quite some time.

Spiridale looked up at her, a world of apology and horror in his eyes. "I – I'm so sorry," he said. "When you yelled at me, I felt exactly like I do when somebody attacks me."

She nodded, not hiding her scorn, but not hiding her understanding, either. "So your first and only reaction to a threat is a fight," she said.

Spiridale bent down and clumsily restrapped his bow, putting his arrow back in his quiver. He avoided her gaze.

"I do mean it when I say I'm sorry, though," she said, still talking softly, soothingly, like she was the forest itself. "Instead of yelling at you, I suppose I could have told you I was touched when you said you'd fight my battle for me." She paused. "Even if it was an insult."

Spiridale burned.

"But I was really touched most of all when you said you'd fight with me."

"But you were right," Spiridale replied, and sat down heavily on a rock. He hadn't felt this badly in years. "I've always held all life sacred, whether it's someone I love, or someone I didn't know. Just because I don't know someone doesn't mean their life is worth any less, and I could never understand people who would fight to the death for their families, but not care when told of somebody else's.

"But now, for the first time in my life, I care about you, and," he hesitated, trying to find the words, then finally sighed. "I don't know. I've seen people die, and I've seen people die who I love, but still, if I even saw you get hurt, I would be furious. Now that I've met you, and you've reminded me of so much, I can't seem to stop thinking about you. And if I had to choose between saving everyone in the whole world, or just you – I think I'd save you." He looked up at her, trying her to understand what he himself had just said.

She, in turn, was looking at him with compassion, but still a lot of cold reservation. "Well, Spiridale," she said, "stop aiming arrows at my stomach, and maybe I'll believe you."

She strode off, and called over her shoulder, "I'll gather wood for the fire."

Spiridale just sat there on the rock, thinking himself an utter failure, a complete fool. All his skill with the bow, at killing evil creatures, and a pretty wild elven woman had him nearly reduced to tears.

He brushed them back, determined not to let them show. He stood up and slowly made his way to the bodies.