4 Chapter 4

Banishment

Through hard experience she had learned the truth of such words as used by Elves. This one in particular was intended to hide a lie, and a terrible crime.

You're to be banished for one year . . .

Malina well knew that people who were "banished" simply never returned, that they were in truth taken away to a remote place and murdered. Whom did the Elves think they were deceiving? The soldiers possessed first-hand knowledge of these atrocities, for it was they that carried out the executions. The magistrates knew, for it was they that issued the directives carried out by the soldiers. The magistrates in turn enacted the will of Prince Cir, and he, at least in theory, answered to the will of the King. Even the civilian population knew, for a few of their number were known to have committed atrocities on their own account, no doubt taking licence from the fact that such actions were quite obviously sanctioned by the Crown. And hadn't other civilians acted on her behalf in the past, warning her of danger, and on more than one occasion intervening, defying the soldiers at great personal risk to themselves? What was the point of this game of deception if everyone knew the truth?

Pondering circumstances past and present, however, did nothing to alleviate her immediate discomfort; in any event, she was beyond being able to think clearly. Instead, she was reduced to shivering uncontrollably in a corner of her dank cell, hugging herself for warmth, shifting uncomfortably on her haunches which were cramped and sore, and leaning her stiff aching back against the wall. The damp stone beneath her bare feet was too cold and jagged to allow one to lay down on the floor and get some rest. The iron collar the Elves had clamped around her neck was cruelly tight, and she pried at it futilely with her fingers from time to time in an attempt to keep it off her throat. She was afraid even to lie down, for fear of strangling to death in her sleep. Feeling utterly wretched, moaning in helpless frustration, she hugged her sore belly which was cramped as much from fear and cold as from hunger, and wiped at the unpleasantly stiff feeling left on her cheeks from dried tears, and at her cold nose which wouldn't stop running. Why didn't they just kill her and get it over with, instead of dragging out her torment?

It was so utterly dark and silent in her cell that her eyes and ears ached, despite the quiet susurrus of her ragged breathing and the fearful thump of her heart. Seemingly drawn into that void created by the absence of sight and sound, like air drawn into a vacuum, bad memories came unbidden and unwelcome, goading her fear and her sense of hopelessness. One such was an incident which had occurred years before, when she was being hunted by some of Prince Cir's soldiers. They had surrounded her home, and would have succeeded in trapping her if she hadn't been forewarned of their coming and fled. For days they pursued her, until she was far from those places she knew and out of her reckoning, and at last exhaustion or reckless desperation threatened to make her an easy victim. In a final bid to save herself, she made for a copse dark and wild, dove headlong into some bushes and lay hidden, numb with fear, naïvely hoping they would simply give up and leave. Instead, to her horror, they began combing the area with relentless diligence until she began to despair, sensing that it was only a matter of time before she was discovered.

Suddenly, one of them called out, and they did begin to leave. At first she was elated But as she overheard their talk, her elation turned to dread. A stone's throw away, several soldiers stepped out of the forest into a clearing leading two captives, a Pixie mother and her daughter; the child was no more than three or four years old. As Malina lay carefully hidden, a wild fancy took hold, that she might see a chance to help them escape. She left her place of safety and began edging closer, stealing her way through the copse until the nearest soldier with his back to her was only an arm's length away.

An unnatural stillness came over the soldiers then, and Malina had seen a sudden cold look, a silent signal, pass between the captors. Malina had seen the young mother's face, knew that she had seen as well, and knew as the young mother did, with a feeling of cold shock, what the Elves were about to do. The anguished words the young mother had cried out to her daughter were burned into Malina's memory, and even now they cried out to her clearly across an empty abyss of time and space, as though perhaps it was Malina the words were intended for . . .

She remembered with chilling clarity the sword drawn from its scabbard and upraised above the child's head, the frightened youngster's eyes upon her mother, oblivious.

Shut your eyes, sweetheart Please, shut your eyes

Malina had shut her eyes. But she had heard . . .

Her memory of the next several moments was vague; perhaps she had fainted. But when she became aware of her surroundings once more, the Elf soldiers were gone. She found the Pixie mother and her daughter laying not far from where they'd fallen. Despite her broken body, the young mother had somehow managed to crawl to her daughter's side, had tried to drag the dying child to safety, leaving a trail of blood in the tall grass . . .

Sobbing, trying to shake off the horror of those memories and other terrible images, Malina thrust herself to her feet. Why are there no windows? Had she cried out in frustration? Or had she just thought those words? Why couldn't she tell the difference? More than anything, she wanted to see, if only for a moment, the clear light of day. Why had the Elves put her in such a dark, evil place? She began pacing the cell, feeling the walls with her outstretched hands. Once again she found the smooth, cold iron of the door, and began feeling around it for any tiny opening . . .

Banishment Only the Elves could conjure up such a nightmare from a single word. She had an overwhelming feeling of being caught in a vast, invisible web of senselessness, yet which was driven by a hidden, cold, utterly ruthless purposefulness. This was beyond dispute, for the Elves now controlled and owned all the wide lands. They knew what they were about. But why was their behaviour so incomprehensible? What had happened to make them become so violent and so evil towards their lesser Faerie kindred? At times the Elves did explain themselves. But their so-called explanations made as little sense as their behaviour. If one ate, then one was stealing food from the Elves. Wherever one lived, one was trespassing on the Elves' property. To live free, to do as one pleased, and to go where one wished to go, was to risk being slain out of hand. And simply to live . . . to live was to do so at the Elves' sufferance. Yet these same Elves were often overheard holding forth about their lofty social ideals, which included Equality, Freedom, and Justice for all. Any non-Elf who dared question this line of thinking was told that the answer was self-evident, and that failure to understand this was obvious proof that their Faerie kindred were mentally deficient. The one question that tormented the Elves' kindred the most was simply, What do they want? Nothing seemed to appease or to satisfy the Elves, except the persecution and murder of their kindred; a matter that was beyond dispute, but which they denied in the face of all reason and common sense.

Why won't they let me go home? What did I ever do to them? Her youthful optimism and trust in life crushed forever, she slumped down into a cold corner of her cell and wept.

She must have dozed The loud boom of an iron door being slammed shut still rang in her ears, punctuated by the approaching sound, with its accompanying sharp echo, of hobnailed boots on a stone floor. With mounting terror, she listened as the footsteps drew ever louder and nearer. Then came the sound of a key fumbling its way into the lock, sending her scurrying from corner to corner of her cell like a wild, mad thing: though she well knew that her surroundings afforded no refuge, her overriding instinct was to seek it out nonetheless. Whose voice was that, gibbering with fear? Was it her own?

The door opened, groaning inward on massive iron hinges, admitting the light of torches which illuminated the stony faces and eyes of the Elf Guards that bore them. Sensing that her doom was nigh, her mind went blank, fear rearing itself over her being like a nightmare shadow, and she cowered where she was, transfixed, unable to move or think. How often had her kindred told her of the "Faces of Death" of the Elves? Their eyes seemed fixed on something unknown to her, and unseen, their faces revealing nothing except a grim fixation on some hidden purpose, to the exclusion of all else. It was as though she barely impinged upon their awareness. She could laugh or cry, beg piteously for her life or curse their heartlessness; it was all the same to them.

Two of the guards approached her, grabbing her roughly by the upper arms. Behind them came another holding a chain, the end of which he snapped to the collar around her neck with a rough jerk. Then, propelled as much by fear as by her captors, feeling as though she was swimming forward into quicksand-like dread, she was dragged choking from her cell.

She was led down a short torchlit hall lined with iron doors, each identical to that of her own cell. Coming to the end of the hall, they passed through the guard's room, which was furnished only with a crude wooden table and chairs, and lighted by oil lamps mounted in four iron sconces, one affixed to each wall. At the far end of the guard-room was a latticed iron door, which was held open for them by an Elf gaoler wearing a large ring of keys on a wide leather belt. Through this they passed, and up a steep stair. It was not a large dungeon, and they were soon at the entrance, which opened into a high-walled courtyard with a port cullis at one end. In a clear moonless sky, the bright stars seemed to glitter as coldly and mercilessly as daggers. Waiting for them in the courtyard were thirteen Elf soldiers mounted on horseback. The sight of the Elf soldiers and what their presence meant was too much for Malina. She fell to her knees, mewling piteously in despair, unable to look upon their faces. The Advocate had told her that she would be spared He had promised her Instead, she was here, being yanked viciously to her feet, choking, compelled forward by an unbreakable grip of iron around her neck toward impending death.

Dimly, she was aware that one of the soldiers dismounted and approached.

'I will take charge of the prisoner from here.'

She started at the sound of the voice, for it was a voice she knew; Pran, an Elf-soldier who lived near her home. She feared Pran, though he had always pretty much left her alone. Still, he was an Elf, and a soldier, and under orders. He would act out Prince Cir's will as though it were his own.

When the gaoler holding her leash handed the end of it to Pran, the Elf soldier responded by unfastening the leash from the collar. To the gaoler, who was looking for a chance to cuff Malina as a parting gesture, Pran said quietly but firmly, 'It is unlawful to gratuitously abuse prisoners. I suggest that you refrain from doing so.' He proffered the leash. 'And take this. I will not be needing it.'

Responding with anger and surprise, his face grotesquely contorted with corrupt rage, the gaoler reached towards Malina, thinking to abuse her despite the soldier's words, but found his wrist bound in a grip of iron. Yanking himself free with some considerable difficulty, and in so doing realized that he was badly overmatched in strength, the gaoler tried instead to make a show of it by shouting in the soldier's face, though it was plain to all that he did so fearfully, counting on the soldier's restraint. 'You're one of those filthy little Nature Lovers, aren't you, slinking about the woods and gathering posies Nature Boy You're the type as gives soldiering a bad name '

'I do love Nature, if that's what you mean. Only a fool would choose not to,' replied the soldier mildly, a half-smile on his lips. This, of course, had its intended effect, and succeeded in agitating the gaoler even more.

'Hah No doubt you're one of those who enjoys making it with her kind. I'll bet once you leave here, you're going straight out into the woods and do her, out in the woods and behind your wife's back-'

At a subtle, curt gesture from the soldier, the gaoler was instantly silenced, as though he had been shot. 'If you utter another such word, especially about my wife, it will be your last.' Pran's smile was replaced by an ominous expressionlessness, and his eyes glittered dangerously. For a long moment, the two Elves stared at each other, engaged in a contest of wills, the soldier's mien all-too-deceptively calm, the gaoler shaking with fear, which he tried to disguise as apoplectic rage. At last, licking his lips and glancing uneasily at the mounted soldiers that watched him and his fellows in stony silence, the gaoler withdrew reluctantly and noisily, rudely snatching the leash from the soldier's hand, and grumbling as he made his way back to the cells, an unmistakeable craven petulance in the set of his retreating shoulders.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Pran guided Malina to his horse, where she stood, baffled, until he hoisted her into the air and placed her astride the saddle. She stared at the Elf riders, wide-eyed with fear, as Pran put his foot in the stirrup and mounted, seating himself behind her. His grim smile as he did so made her shudder involuntarily. At once they were underway, passing under the port cullis which was raised before them and lowered behind them by unseen hands. Within minutes they had gained the main road and passed the last lighted buildings of this garrison-town, which was a sort of eastern extension to the city of Sormanon and bearing the same name. At last, they were well out into the dark night and the open road. Presently, over the unhurried clop of the horse's hooves, Pran spoke. His voice was tinged with subtle irony. 'It is fortunate for you that it is I who must mete out your punishment. Another might have dragged you by the collar all the way to your place of sentencing.'

She writhed uncomfortably, trying to puzzle out whether or not he required some sort of answer from her. Yet she feared to speak, for he had as yet asked her no question. In the meantime, one of the soldiers had taken a packet of food from his saddlebag and began eating. Malina, unable not to stare, put a finger in her mouth.

Seeing this, Pran said in annoyance, 'Were you not fed in prison?'

She flinched at his tone of voice, and quickly turned her gaze back to the unfathomable darkness ahead.

'When have you last eaten?' he persisted.

She swallowed, uncertain as to how she should respond. Why was he angry with her? Would he strike her if she told him the truth? Or if she said nothing? She flinched, hearing him reach into one of his saddlebags, wondering if the sound portended that he would do something to her. After a moment, to her incomprehension, he pushed a small cloth sack into her hands.

'Well? Open it.'

Apprehensively, she did so. And stared. It was full of food

'Are you going to just sit there and look at it, or are you going to eat?'

Eat? Unable to help herself, instinctively fearing some cruel trick, that this small bounty would be taken from her, she pounced on the food and began cramming it into her mouth as fast as she could, dimly noticing that her hands were shaking uncontrollably from hunger.

'Take your time You'll choke yourself. No one is going to take it from you. Here . . .' he reached into another of the saddlebags and produced a skin, from which he removed the plug, 'you might like to drink some of this.'

Wine He was giving her wine and food Despite his warning, she managed to choke herself a few times, slowing down only a little, hardly remembering to savour the simple tastes of meat and cheese, hard, heavy, dark bread and dried fruit, buttered biscuits and sweet red wine. When she had eaten all she could, she yawned, and found herself nodding. She was only dimly aware that he took the bundle and skin from her limp grasp and replaced them in his saddlebags, as she slid inexorably downwards into slumber.

She woke with a start, disoriented and only half-awake, her abject fear having receded to an ugly dull feeling in the pit of her stomach. Digging at the sleep in her eyes with the knuckles of one hand, she managed to open one heavy eye to get her bearings, and with a pang, realised that they were on the road which passed not a great distance from her home. Yet this same road leads also to Pran's home, she thought, surmising this to be the Elf's destination. With a sudden feeling of cold shock, she remembered that somewhere along the way, her sentence was to be carried out. For a time she did her best to weep quietly, fearing to draw attention to herself. Pran and his fellow soldiers spoke in low, half-heard voices as they rode through starlit, mist-shrouded farmland. It was some time before Malina realized that they were speaking in an unfamiliar tongue; evidently they were discussing something not meant for her ears. For no apparent reason, she found the quiet murmur of their voices calming, and gave her the impression that this was how Elves' voices should sound, though she couldn't have explained why this should be so.

Perhaps because of the collar around her neck, and the awkwardness and danger of her situation, or perhaps because the past several days had been such an ordeal that she was simply too emotionally and physically exhausted to care what they might do to her, she suddenly gasped aloud, and was soon racked with dry sobs that wouldn't be held back. Pran immediately responded to her distress by placing a gentle hand on her head and murmuring inaudible words. At once, she felt herself falling as from a great height, tumbling ever downwards, back into the waiting arms of blessed and forgetful sleep.

A matter of days ago they had come for her in the dead of night, with their deadly arrows and weapons of steel, and their ferocious hunting dogs. Pixies fleeing from Elves at night well knew that trying to escape by transforming was quick suicide; a Pixie's light shone like a beacon when in their tiny, wingèd form, and made them an excellent target for the sharp-eyed Elven archers. They ran her down like a pack of wolves, boxed her in and trapped her with ruthless efficiency, then bound her cruelly. Yet the worst was yet to come. The Elf captain then drew an iron collar from his raiment, found a key, and opened it. At the sight of the thing, she cried out in terror and began struggling wildly, but to no avail. The iron ring was clapped around her neck, closing with a loud metallic snap. Instantly, a sick feeling invaded her senses, and she retched dryly as it seemed to creep into her very being, invading her vitals. Then came an agonizing pain as the evil thing began silencing her Power with cold finality: it felt as though something fundamental within her was being ripped out by the roots. She began screaming in high adulation, calling upon her dead mother to save her, and for a giddy time knew no more, until she was revived by cold, fowled water thrown in her face. For some time afterward, though insensible and delirious, she writhed and gagged with revulsion from the sensation of that iron collar against the bare skin of her throat . . . the merest touch of it was like reaching blindly into a hole, to discover a black pit infested with snakes or earwigs. The black iron from which it had been uncannily fashioned was unadorned, black, smooth, and seemed much heavier than it appeared, though that may have been some sort of illusion; it made the limbs feel weak and awkward, it clouded the mind with feverish anxiety and evil unbidden imaginings, and it leached all hope from the body, as though the center of one's chest was a gaping hole, rather than the buttressed enclosure of a warm, beating heart . . . In her sleep, she clutched at that gaping hole, and found a hand there, which she grabbed and held on to. It was a large and reassuring hand, warm and confident. It quickly dispelled her disturbing imaginings, and she slept comfortably for the first time since she could remember.

The bright early-morning sun, hanging huge and golden directly before them on the horizon, drew her into wakefulness. A cacophony of chirping and twittering came from small birds in the dense undergrowth beneath the trees to the left, their tiny brown shapes a guess amongst the closely interwoven branches. Rather than sound cheerful however, there was a stridency to their calls. Perhaps they were agitated on her behalf. Or what is more likely, she mused sleepily, is that they intend only to warn each other of the riders' passing.

Perhaps.

Borne on the fresh breeze was a hint of the pungent scent of burning garden refuse. Somewhere in the distance a dog began barking; a door shut; cattle lowed; sheep bleated, their bells clanking dully as they were driven out to pasture.

Having been lulled by sleep into feeling safe and relaxed, Malina realized that she was slumped comfortably in Pran's arms. She jerked upright with a gasp and tensed with fear immediately, remembering where she was, and where they were heading.

'You slept long,' he said. 'Are you well?'

There was a hidden seriousness behind his question which made her uncertain as to how she should answer. Finally, unable to contain herself, she replied bitterly, 'Why should that matter?' At first, Pran seemed reluctant to answer her. She ventured a timid look at his companions, trying to make sense of their strange behaviour. Most were preoccupied, but a few of them regarded her gravely, their expressions devoid of the openly rabid contempt she had become accustomed to.

'Things are not as most of us would wish,' Pran told her. 'Under the circumstances, it is just as well that you are leaving for a time-'

She flinched and went very pale at this remark, knowing full well how other's banishment had gone. 'I only ask-' she choked back a sob, 'I only ask that you don't make me suffer . . .'

In an unreadable voice, he said, 'So, you know that others of your kindred have been killed by Elves.'

'I know,' she replied brokenly. 'And . . . I have seen . . .' At her back, she heard some of the Elves muttering in their strange tongue. Though she couldn't understand their words, about their tone she could not be mistaken. She heard anger, and was utterly wretched and dry-mouthed with fear, for those who spied on the Elves could expect to be tortured before they died.

To their left was a dense forest of tall deciduous trees, narrow, strong, smooth-stemmed with silver bark, and canopied overall with gold-green and yellow leaves. The border of this forest ran almost straight, standing like a high wall. To their right lay fallow rolling hills, meadows, farms, and in the far distance there arose a low range of mountains. Presently they came to a yellow river, perhaps a furlong wide, bordered by ancient weeping-willows whose leaves hissed in the light breeze. The slow-moving river originated from somewhere in the distant mountains to their right, meandered through a series of interconnected valleys between low hills until it crossed their path, disappearing into the forest to their left. An ancient bridge of worn stone crossed the river at this point, and on the far side of the river was an intersection; one limb of the road continued on as before, following the border of the wood, while the other branched to the right and followed the river. They crossed the bridge slowly and came to a stop. One member of the escort, Malina thought his name might be Dornal, approached Pran, and the two soldiers exchanged some brief words. Then, Dornal and the other Elves turned their mounts to the right and followed the river upstream in the direction of the distant mountains, leaving Malina and Pran alone at the crossroads. Pran watched in silence until the others were well on their way before clucking to his mount and resuming their journey once more. Malina watched the receding soldiers for some time, made curious because of her distinct impression that they were looking about with uncharacteristic nervousness. When they were finally out of sight, she turned her attention back to the road ahead. Taking a deep breath that inadvertently became a sigh, her nostrils caught the scent of the horse and its leather saddle and tack. Though afraid of Elves, she had always liked those things. Hoping Pran wasn't noticing, she leaned forward fractionally and touched the horse's mane-

'Malina?'

'Yes?' she said, startled, snatching her hand back.

'Please listen to me carefully,' he said. 'I am not going to kill you. However, I have no choice but to send you away, as the Prince has ordered. I will carry out the King's Law to the letter.'

Not believing him, she stared ahead unhappily. 'Couldn't you just let me go?'

'No. That I cannot do.'

'Why?'

'Because if I was simply to release you, you'd soon be recaptured by either the King's or Prince Cir's soldiers. Make no mistake; the next time they will kill you on sight. Even this time, if I hadn't been informed by your Advocate as to your whereabouts and the danger you were in, I doubt very much that you'd be alive at this moment.'

Oblivious to, or perhaps ignoring his words, in either case being unable to believe that he had intervened on her behalf, she kicked her feet absently, feeling the cool morning breeze against the exposed skin of her arms and legs like a cruelly alluring caress of freedom. 'What of this banishment? What are you going to do to me?'

In a low voice, as though not wanting to be overheard, he replied, 'It is because of this matter that I have sent the others on to Mirrindale. There is danger in thwarting the will of Prince Cir, and I do not wish for the others to share this risk. While I have taken it upon myself to spare your life, still, you must understand that I have a family to protect as well. To accomplish both ends, I will enforce the Law as it was intended to be enforced. In so doing, I intend to circumvent Prince Cir's wrath. Through my own limited Power, hidden from the view of the King's Loremasters (or so I hope), my thoughts have been guided to a world for you that feels promising. You will not be able to use your magic there-'

'Wha- why? How can I . . . how will I live?'

'In this there is no choice,' he told her. 'Other worlds do not harbour the sort of magic which exists here. To do so would cause mortal harm to the wielder. The same would be true were someone from another world to come here and attempt to cast their own native magics, though in time they might come to learn ours. But, as I say, a world has been shown to me that speaks of promise.'

Incomprehension causing her to miss the full meaning of his words, she tried grasping for what little did make sense to her. 'What sort of . . . promise?'

As though trying to gauge her inner mettle, he said, 'I will not lie to you. I foresee some danger, and some hardship. But it seems to me to be a place where you may live by your wits, and perhaps do well if you apply yourself.'

She was quiet and sullen for some time. 'So I'm to live out my life in some strange place where I know no one, without my Sisters or my Power to keep me-'

'The sentence is but one year,' he said again. 'And one does not need magic to live.'

She sighed. 'But what if I can't remember exactly where . . . what if I get lost there?'

'You needn't worry about that,' he told her. 'At the end of your sentence, after the year has passed, regardless where you may find yourself, then I will come for you.'

Considering his words mistrustfully, looking down at the road ahead without seeing it, she said in a small voice, 'You would do that? For me?' She thought the tone of his reply a bit sad, though she very much doubted that his concern was genuine.

'Yes, I would do that for you. You may not know it, but I, and others, have already gone to a great deal of trouble on your behalf-' he lapsed into silence as she began weeping, quietly. Wondering if there was nothing he could do to comfort her distress, he said gently. 'You don't believe me, do you.'

'No '

He studied her tear-stained profile as she stared with heartbroken longing into the deep quiet of the forest; from within came the tantalizingly rich smells of renewal and decay that lay thick and close about it like invisible robes which concealed life's hidden and subtle grandeur. Her home. And once the home of the Elves. He glanced at the forest, himself, and thought mordantly, We left You in search of Wisdom, only to find that there was no Wisdom in leaving You . . .

There was a matter which he had not told her of, where his search for a world to which he could send her in safety was concerned. Always, where Elven magic was concerned, the Earth Mother was aware of the wielder, and consequently the wielder aware of Her, that his actions were observed. There were many who believed that the Earth Mother was no more than an unfocused force of Nature, possessed of no true volition or awareness. But during his search, Pran had been very much aware that She scrutinized his actions closely, and he had felt that perhaps something more than he was aware of was taking place, that Her hand or Purpose was at work right alongside his own.

When he told Malina of the promise he had sensed, he hadn't told her the whole truth; that the promise he spoke of might carry a greater, hidden meaning. But he had pushed such thoughts aside, deciding that if the Earth Mother was truly aware of his actions, Her concern, Her Purpose, was merely that Malina, child of Nature and Innocence, should come to no harm by his hand.

As they continued on, the farms became fewer, the road less well-travelled. They came presently to a cart trail on the right, and Pran turned his mount on to this. The trail was rutted and overgrown with wildflowers and thick, fragrant green grass, as tall as the horse's chest. In its wake, the horse left a trail of scattered down from the wildflowers, which took unhurriedly to the languid breeze like children at play during summer. The scent of farms, of hay and broken earth and manure, were very strong in the air. 'It is not far, now,' he told her. 'I suggest that you prepare yourself. You should eat and drink all you can. I would send you with ample provision, but the Law forbids.' He handed her the sack of food and the wineskin once more.

She did as she was told with a growing sense of misgiving, wondered if there really would be no sudden and cruel end to her life. Though she tried to imagine the place Pran said he was sending her, nothing came to mind. Thinking that in itself might well portend the end to her short life, she tried to hold such thoughts at bay by talking. 'What's it like?'

'H'm?' Unnoticed by her, he was toying with the insignia he wore over his left breast, distractedly. On it were the words, in Elvish, Equality, Freedom, Justice.

'This place you say you're sending me. What sort of place is it?'

She found his answer disturbingly vague.

'I am uncertain as to its appearance, if that's what you mean. However, appearance was the least of my concerns. As I have already told you, the promise of this place was shown to me; that is, promise as far as you are concerned. What form that promise will take did not reveal itself to me, though that comes as no surprise. After all, it is a promise that speaks to your life, rather than mine.' She was quiet after that. And, he thought, far too disheartened and sad for one so young.

The cart-trail traversed a wide arc, eventually coming round to face the forest once more. It wasn't long before they came in sight of a familiar field, with a farmhouse fronted by bright flowers, the sweet scent of which was borne upon the light breeze. To the back and left of the house was a barn smelling strongly of hay and horses and sunshine, and further to the left were a few smaller dwellings and sheds of various sorts. They had reached Pran's home. Malina hadn't expected to come all the way here, and she certainly hadn't expected to set foot on the Elf's property. The sight of the Elven flowers fronting the house filled her with longing, for she liked Elven flowers; they were very beautiful. Having always seen this house from the wood, and therefore having seen it only from the back, their existence had remained ever hidden from her eyes. This revelation caused within her an odd stirring of emotions, that of things missed . . .

Pran turned away from the buildings once more in a wide arc, circled gradually to the right, skirted along the bottom of a low hill, and came to a stop at last in the middle of the meadow, directly south of the farm. It was a very quiet spot, low and concealed all around by small hills. The air was very still. Pran dismounted, picked Malina up lightly by the waist, and set her on her feet. He then gave the horse a light slap on its rump, sending it the rest of the way home on its own. She backed away a step, and considered the futility of running. The open meadow offered no place of concealment; he would be on her in a matter of a few strides. She never for a moment doubted that at the last he would kill her, that all his words, though spoken in kindness, were intended only to calm her fear.

'We are come to it,' he said at last. 'Are you prepared?'

She didn't answer, but stared up at him mutely, on the verge of tears.

He sighed. As if completing a sort of ritual, he produced a small key from his raiment and unfastened the collar from around her neck. No sooner was Malina free of it than she put a trembling hand to her throat, feeling that she could breath freely once more; though at once, as an after-effect, she felt giddy and chilled, and had to resist the urge to throw up. Despite the relief of the cool morning air tingling on her skin where the collar had just been, her neck now felt perilously exposed . . .

'All right. It is time.'

As the Elf soldier placed a strange-looking object on the ground before her, an immobilizing fear gripped her heart which began to pound uncontrollably, painfully, as though it were trying desperately to burst out of the shell of her chest to freedom. At a gesture from the Elf, the object came to life, making the surrounding air feel charged; time seemed suddenly to stand still; it was as though her surroundings were imbued with a too-sharp permanence of being, while she was become a mere ephemeral awareness that was a few short moments from ending.

Not wishing to see the coming of the final, deadly blow, she closed her eyes tight, and stood panting shallowly with terror, fists clenched at her sides. Somehow resisting the futile urge to cover her throat, she found herself remembering words, but couldn't recall who had said them. 'If ever you are caught, it will go easier if you just bare your throat and pray that the sword is sharp. If it has a keen edge, you'll hardly feel a thing . . .'

Pran placed a gentle hand on her head.

'Do not fear, little one. Everything is going to be all right. I promise you.'

He made a thrusting gesture . . .

. . . and then, the glowing object he had placed on the ground began to fade, having burned itself out. The young Pixie was gone. As suddenly, the meadow had become a place too empty for words; a single cloud obscured the sun momentarily, like a veil being discreetly drawn over a dead body. On the face of it, little had changed, really; yet it was as though a palpable ache marked the place of her passing. He stood beneath the sun with his head bowed. It seemed to him as though that fiery fathomless orb were both mute witness to and silent judge of his actions. Would that it could speak For a long time he stared unseeingly at the place where the young Pixie had been, wondering whether his actions had been guided by courage or by cowardice; but most of all, he wondered why he was unable to tell the difference.