"I am at peace, a greater sense of belonging than I have ever known," the ranger said at length after more than half an hour sitting in his wooden chair in the darkness, staring at the barely perceptible mirror. He gave a chuckle at the irony of his own words. "And yet, Uncle Mather, I count my current friends as but two, and one of them is no more than a shadowy image, a specter that cannot speak!"

Elbryan laughed again as he considered the preposterous illogic of it all. "I belong here," he declared. "This area, these towns -- Dundalis, Weedy Meadow, and End-o'-the-World -- are my towns, these folk, my folk, though they hardly tolerate the sight of me. What is it then that gives me acceptance in this place, a greater sense of peace and belonging than I knew among the Touel'alfar, who became my friends, who cared for me much more deeply than any of the folk of the three villages, than any but you and Bradwarden?"

He stared hard at the image at the edge of the dark mirror for a long while, considering his words, seeking his answers.

"It is duty," Elbryan said finally. "It is the belief that here I am doing something to better the world -- or at least my corner of the wide world. With the elves, I felt a sense of personal growth, learning and training, perfecting my skills, always moving toward something better. Here, I use those skills to better the world, to protect those who need protection whether or not they believe they need protection.

"So here I belong. Here I fit into a necessary niche and know that my daily toils, my watchful eye, my rapport with the forest -- creatures and plants --is surely valuable, if not appreciated."

Elbryan closed his eyes and kept them shut for a long moment, his mind filling with the thoughts of the many duties left to him this day. He soon realized that Uncle Mather would not be in the mirror when he again opened his eyes, for the trance was broken. That was the way it always happened, the needs of the day dispatching the spirit soon before the dawn, turning Elbryan's thoughts from philosophical to pragmatic. He used the Oracle regularly now, sometimes two or even three times in a week, and he never failed to bring up the image of his relative, the ranger who had gone before him. He wondered often if he might also find the image of Olwan in that mirror or of his mother or Pony, perhaps.

Yes, Elbryan would like to converse with Pony, to see her again, to remember that innocent time when patrolling was play and nightmares were not real.

He left the small cave, crawling out past the large tree roots, with a sincere smile on his face, rejuvenated and ready for the day's work, as always. He was hoping to find Bradwarden, for the centaur, after weeks of Elbryan's teasing, had at last promised him an archery contest. Perhaps Elbryan would make his prize, should he win -- and he had no reason to believe that he would not -- an indenture of the centaur, forcing Bradwarden to accompany him on his coming visit to the forest about the western village of End-o'-the-World.

First things first, the ranger told himself. He took up Hawkwing, removed its feathered tip and its string, and went to a place he had claimed as his own, a nearly treeless hillock much like the one he had frequented in Andur'Blough Inninness, one that lifted him up into the heavens on starry nights and brought him the first rays of dawn and the last rays of the sunset.

The ranger quickly removed his clothes, the grass feeling scratchy but not unpleasant to his feet. He greeted the dawn with his dance, weaving the staff about as he would wield a sword, stepping slowly, perfectly balanced, the moves coming with hardly a thought, since the movement memories were ingrained deep within his muscles. The sword-dance was perfected now, and there were no steps to be added, no more difficult maneuvers, no increase in speed. These movements alone would continue to heighten Elbryan's balance, his sense of control over his body. In the half hour that it now took Elbryan to perform the dance, he would put his body through every movement needed in battle, he would reinforce in his muscles the memory of which action properly followed which.

Truly the ranger was a thing of beauty, moving with animal-like grace but with human control. A combination of strength and agility, a balanced, thinking warrior. The greatest gift of the Touel'alfar was his name, Nightbird, and all the training that had come with it. The greatest gift of the elves was this harmony the man had achieved, this joining of two philosophies, of two ways of looking at the world, of two ways to do battle.

Sweat glistened in the morning light, beading and rolling about the man's hard, sculpted form. For though he was not moving quickly, the energy required to maintain the balance of the sword-dance was tremendous, often a working of muscle against muscle or an isolation of a muscle group so completely that it was worked to its limits.

When he was done, Elbryan gathered up his clothing and ran to a nearby pond, diving into the chilly water without hesitation. A quick swim refreshed him, and he dressed and went at once to his morning meal, then set off to find the centaur.

To Elbryan's relief, Bradwarden was in the appointed area, though not exactly in the spot where he had told Elbryan their contest would be held To make things even easier for the tracking ranger, the centaur was playing his pipes this morning, a haunting melody that seemed akin to the dawn, gentle and rising, rising, until the notes burst forth as the rays of the sun, cresting the long hill and spreading wide. Following that music, compelled by its notes, Elbryan soon came upon the half-equine beast, standing amid a tumble of boulders.

The centaur stopped his playing when he spotted his friend, his white smile growing wide within his bushy black beard. "I feared ye would not have the courage to show yer face!" Bradwarden roared.

"My face and my bow," the ranger replied, holding Hawkwing up before him.

"Aye, that elven stick," the centaur remarked. Bradwarden held aloft his own bow then, the first time Elbryan had seen it, and he was truly astonished. Mounted sidelong on a platform, the thing would have passed for a fair-sized ballista!

"You throw arrows with a tree?" the ranger scoffed.

Bradwarden's smile didn't lessen a bit "Call 'em arrows," he said evenly, placing his pipes on the ground and hoisting a quiver that would have passed for a

sleeping bag for Elbryan, with arrows each as long as the man was tall. "Call 'em spears. But if ye get hit by one, know that ye'll call 'em death!"

Elbryan didn't doubt that for a minute.

Bradwarden led the way out of the area to an open meadow upon which he had placed a series of six targets; each a different distance from the appointed line.

"We'll be starting close and working our way to the back," the centaur explained. "First one to miss a target is the loser."

Elbryan considered the rules, so befitting the centaur's blunt style. Normally in a test of archery, each contestant would be granted a specified number of shots, with the best total score serving as the measure. With Bradwarden, though, it was a simple challenge of hit or miss.

Elbryan stepped up and let fly first, confident that the first target, no more than thirty paces would pose no difficulty. His arrow slapped into the target near the bull's-eye, a straight, level shot.

Without a word of congratulations, Bradwarden lifted his monstrous bow and drew back. "Ye only stung the giant," the centaur remarked, them let fly. His great bolt thudded into the target near Elbryan's arrow and overturned the whole three-legged thing. "Now," the centaur declared, "the beast is properly killed."

"Perhaps I should shoot first at each target," Elbryan said dryly.

The mighty centaur laughed heartily. "If ye don't," he agreed, "then ye' ll be aiming high for the clouds and hoping yer bolt drops straight down on the mark, don't ye doubt!"

Before the centaur had even finished, Elbryan's second arrow thudded dead center into the next target, ten paces farther away than the first.

Bradwarden hit it as well, and again the target fell over:

They were up to the fifth target in no time, the first three having been knocked flat, and the fourth still standing, for Bradwarden's great arrow, though true in aim, had not pushed it all the way over. This fifth target, some hundred yards away, was the first for which Elbryan had to elevate his shot. Not much, though; so strong was Hawkwing that the arrow's flight was barely arched, cutting a sure line through the gentle wind to strike perfectly.

The centaur, for the very first time, seemed honestly impressed. "Good bow," he muttered, and then he took aim and let fly. Elbryan clenched a fist, thinking himself victorious as he marked the flight. Bradwarden's arrow did hit the target, though, barely catching hold in its outer edge, as far to the left of center as it could go.

Elbryan turned a wry gaze on the centaur. "A bit of luck," he remarked.

Bradwarden pawed hard at the ground. "Not so," he insisted in all seriousness. "I aimed for the beast's weapon hand."

"Ah, but if it was left-handed . . ." the ranger replied without hesitation.

Bradwarden's smile was gone. "Last shot," he said evenly. "Then we'll be picking out farther trees to substitute for targets."

"Or leaves," Elbryan replied, and lifted his bow.

"A bit too much," the centaur said suddenly, and the ranger eased the tension on his bowstring, having almost lost his concentration and the shot.

"Too much?"

"Too much faith in yerself," the centaur clarified. "Next, yell be wanting to wager."

Elbryan paused and thought hard on that line, then looked back to consider the centaur's last shot, so near a miss. Or had it been planned that way? he had to wonder. Was Bradwarden setting him up? Certainly the centaur was a fine archer, but was he even better than Elbryan had recognized?

"Me pipes'll be needing a new bag," Bradwarden mused. "Not a difficult chore, but a dirty one taking a hide."

"And if I win?" Elbryan asked. His eyes betrayed his idea, roaming to the centaur's strong back.

Bradwarden started to laugh, as if the notion that Elbryan might win was absurd. The centaur stopped abruptly, though, and glared hard at his human companion. "I know ye're thinking ye might be riding me, but if ever ye try, I'll be giving human flesh another taste."

"Just to End-o'-the-World," Elbryan clarified. "I wish to be there and back in a hurry."

"Never!" the centaur declared. "Only a maiden I'd let ride, and then she'd be letting me," he finished with a lewd wink.

Elbryan didn't even want to conjure the image.

"What, then?" he asked. "I'll wager against you, but the prize must be named."

"I could make ye a real bow," the centaur chided.

"And I could put an arrow up your arse from a hundred paces," Elbryan retorted.

"Big target," the huge centaur admitted. "But what might ye be needing, me friend, not that ye've a chance at winning."

"I already told you," Elbryan replied. "I enjoy my walks, but I fear that I need a faster method to cover the ground about the three towns."

"Ye'll never climb on me back."

"Do you lead the wild horses?" Elbryan asked, surprising the centaur.

"Not I," Bradwarden replied. "That's the work of another." A strange smile came over the centaur, a strange expression as if he had found the solution to some puzzle. "Aye," he said at length, "that'll be yer prize. If lightning hits me arrow -- for that's the only way ye'll beat me -- I'll take ye to the one who leads the wild herd. I'll take ye, mind ye, but then ye'll make yer own deals."

Elbryan realized that he was being duped, that this prize, in Bradwarden's estimation, was more a punishment. The ranger felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, felt a tingling of trepidation. Who might this leader of the herd be to inspire such uncharacteristic respect from cocky Bradwarden? Along with the realization came an undeniable sense of intrigue, however, and so the ranger agreed.

Up came Hawkwing and off flew the arrow, striking hard on the far distant target.

Bradwarden gave a grunt of respect, then let fly, his arrow, too, hitting the mark.

"Three," said Elbryan, and he put up his bow three times in rapid succession, each bolt flying unerringly.

Bradwarden followed and scored three hits.

"Fourth, fifth, sixth!" Elbryan cried, letting three more shots fly, the first hitting the fourth target squarely, the second striking the fifth -- splitting Elbryan's previous shot on that target -- and the last zipping into the final target, dead center.

The centaur sighed, beginning to understand that he had, for the first time, possibly met his match in a human. He got the fourth target easily enough, and then the fifth, but his shot at the last in line skipped off the top of the target and flew away into the brush beyond the far edge of the meadow.

Elbryan smiled widely and clenched a fist. He looked up at Bradwarden and found the centaur eyeing him with an expression he had not really seen from the creature before: respect.

"Ye've got yerself one dragon-killer of a bow, me friend," Bradwarden offered. "And be sure that I've not seen a steadier hand."

"I had the best bowyer," Elbryan replied, "and the best tutors. None in all the world can match the archery of the Touel'alfar."

Bradwarden snorted. "That's because the skinny little folks don't dare to get close to an enemy!" he replied. "Come on then, let us go and get our arrows, and then I'll show ye something fine."

They gathered together their arrows and their belongings and set off at once, the centaur leading Elbryan deep into the forest, past the pine and the caribou moss, down a deep valley, then up its other side. They walked for several hours, speaking little, but with the centaur often lifting his pipes to play. At last, the sun moving low in the western sky, they came to a secluded grove of pines, neatly tended into roughly a diamond shape. It sat on the gentle slope of a wide hill, surrounded on all sides by a meadow of tall grass and wildflowers. Elbryan could hardly believe that he hadn't found this grove before, that his ranger instincts hadn't guided him to a place so naturally perfect, so in tune with the harmony of the forest. This grove -- every flower, every bush, every tree and stone, and the trickling brook that crossed it -- was something more than the ordinary forests of the region. It was something sacred, something befitting Andur'Blough Inninness, and not of the tainted world of men.

There was some magic here; Elbryan felt that as clearly as he had felt the magic of the elven valley. Reverently, almost as if in a trance, the ranger approached, Bradwarden at his side. They crossed the outer line of thick evergreens into the heart of the grove and found bare paths weaving through the dense undergrowth. Elbryan walked along without speaking a word, as if fearing to disturb the stillness, for not a hint of a breeze came in through that wall of pines.

The path meandered, joining another, then forking three ways. The grove was not large, perhaps two hundred yards across and half again that measure in length, but Elbryan was certain that the paths, if straightened and laid end to end, would cover several miles. He looked back often to Bradwarden for guidance, but the centaur paid him no heed, just followed silently.

They came to a dark, shady spot where the path forked left and right around a great jut of rock covered with a thick patch of short, yellow flowers. Elbryan glanced both ways, then, figuring that the paths converged just the other side of the boulder, went right. He soon came to the expected joining, and, looking ahead, he almost continued on.

"Not so perceptive for one trained by elves," the centaur remarked, Bradwarden's deep voice shattering the stillness. Elbryan spun around, meaning to hush him, but all thoughts of that, all thoughts of Bradwarden at all, left him as he glanced past the centaur, to the back side of the boulder that had split the path. Elbryan glided back, moving beside the centaur, staring hard at the pile of rocks, eight feet by six and roughly diamond shaped. The ranger glanced all about. They were in the very center of the grove, he realized, and he realized, too, that this cairn was the source of the magic, that the tree- lined borders of the grove seemed to be a reflection of this place.

He went down to one knee, studying the stones, marveling at the care with which they had been placed. He touched one and felt a gentle tingling there, the emanation of magic.

"Who is buried here?" the ranger whispered.

Bradwarden snorted and smiled. "Not for me to tell," he replied, and Elbryan couldn't discern if the centaur meant that he did not know, or that it was not his place to reveal the person's identity.

"Put in the ground by the elves," the centaur said, "when I was no bigger than yerself."

Elbryan looked at him curiously. "And how long ago might that be," he asked Bradwarden, "in the measure of human years?"

The centaur shrugged and pawed the ground uneasily. "Half a. man's life," he replied, as exact an answer as Elbryan was going to get.

The ranger let it go. He didn't need to know who was buried here. Obviously the man, or elf or whatever it might be, was important to the Touel'alfar; obviously they had graced this place, this cairn and the grove that had grown about it, with more than a small measure of their magic. He could be satisfied with that; Bradwarden had promised to show him something fine, and indeed the centaur had fulfilled that pledge.

There remained, however, the matter of Elbryan's prize for winning the archery contest. He looked up at the centaur.

"Ye just keep coming here," Bradwarden remarked, as if reading Elbryan's thoughts, "and yell find the one who leads the horses."

The notion filled the ranger with both excitement and fear. They left the grove soon after, to find an evening meal. Elbryan returned later that night, and then again the next day, but it wasn't until his fourth journey, some two weeks later, after he had returned from his rounds to End-o'-the-World, that he found Bradwarden's payment.

It was a brisk autumn day, the wind whipping though inside the grove, the air remained still -- leaves and clouds alike, the puffy white mountains drifting swiftly overhead across the rich blue sky. Elbryan went right to the heart of the grove, paying homage to whoever was buried there, then came back to the edge, wanting to feel the breeze in his face.

Then he heard the music.

At first he thought it was Bradwarden at work with his pipes, but then he realized that it was too sweet, a subtle vibration in the ground and air, a natural song. It didn't increase in volume or intensity, just played on, and Elbryan soon realized it to be a heralding call, the run of hooves and the wind. He turned and ran along to the southern tip of the grove, though he had no idea of what might be guiding him.

Across the wide meadow, past the flowers and the grass, he saw perfection of form, a huge stallion, milling about the shadows of the distant trees.

Elbryan held his breath as the great horse, shining black except for white on the bottoms of its forelegs and a white diamond above its eyes, came out onto the open field. It was taking his measure, Elbryan knew, though he was not downwind and too far for most horses even to notice him.

The stallion pawed the ground, then reared and whinnied. It came forward in a short burst, a show of strength, then turned and thundered away into the forest.

Elbryan breathed again. He knew the magnificent steed would not return that day, and so he walked away, not in the direction in which the horse had run but back toward Dundalis. He found Bradwarden, at work crafting some devilish arrows, and the centaur's face immediately brightened.

"Welcome back," Bradwarden offered with a chuckle. "I see ye've already been to the grove."

Elbryan blushed to think that his emotions were so clearly displayed on his face.

"I telled ye," the centaur gloated. "So fine a creature is --" He stopped and laughed again.

"The stallion has a name?"

"Different to all," Bradwarden remarked. "But ye must be knowing it if ye want to get close to him."

"And how might I learn it?"

"Silly boy," said Bradwarden. "Ye do not learn it, ye just know it."

The centaur walked off then, leaving Elbryan with, his thoughts.

The ranger was back at the grove the next day, and the next after that, and every day, until finally, more than a week later, he heard, or rather, felt the music once more, this time from the west.

"Smart," he quietly congratulated when the horse came into view on the edge of the shadows, for the stallion's approach was downwind this time, that it might get a scent of this intruder to the grove without offering its own scent in return.

After a few minutes, the horse came out onto the open field, and again Elbryan's breath was stolen away by the sheer beauty of the thing, by its muscled flanks and wide chest, by the intelligence of its features, those knowing black eyes.

A word came to the ranger then, but he shook his head, not understanding. He took a step forward and the horse ran off, breaking the spell and ending the encounter.

Their third meeting came only a day later, the same way as the previous, the stallion approaching tentatively from the west, eyeing Elbryan and pawing the ground.

That word was in his head again, a word that perfectly described the appearance of the great horse.

"Symphony!" the ranger called out, stepping boldly from the grove: To Elbryan's surprise, to his delight and his horror, the horse reared and neighed loudly, then fell back to all fours and pawed hard at the ground.

"Symphony," Elbryan repeated over and over as he cautiously approached. What other name could so fit such a horse? What other word could describe the beauty and harmony, the working of muscle with muscle, the songlike vibrations, as if all of nature heralded the run of the great stallion.

Before the ranger even realized it, he was within five strides of the great horse.

"Symphony," he said quietly.

The horse nickered and threw back his head.

Elbryan moved closer, his hands out wide to show that he was not a threat: Respectfully, he put his hand on the stallion's neck, stroking firmly and evenly. Slowly; slowly, the horse's ears came up.

Then the great stallion leaped away, thundering back into the shadows, into the brush.

The pair met day after day, each time growing more comfortable. Elbryan soon realized that this horse was meant for him, as surely as if the elves had put him here as companion for the ranger -- and that thought, too, did not seem so ridiculous.

"Did they?" he asked his uncle Mather at Oracle one night. "Is Symphony, for I know that to be the stallion's proper title, a gift to me from the elves, from Juraviel, perhaps?"

There came no reply, of course, but hearing his own words, Elbryan discovered one distinct flaw in his reasoning.

"Not a gift, then," he said, "for no such animal could ever be given. But surely the elves have played some role, for this was no chance meeting and the response from the horse was not as would be expected from a creature running fully wild all its life.

"The cairn," Elbryan whispered a moment later, discovering his answer. It seemed so perfectly clear to him then; the magic of the cairn had somehow brought Symphony to him -- no, it had brought the two of them together, ranger and stallion. Now more than ever, Elbryan wanted to know who was buried there, what great man -- or elf or centaur, perhaps -- had been placed so reverently in the ground by the Touel'alfar, with magic strong enough to tend that perfect grove, strong enough to call Symphony and to give the horse such intelligence. For surely it was the magic of the cairn that had done all of this; Elbryan knew that without doubt.

The next day, he rode Symphony for the first time, bareback, clutching tight to the horse's thick mane. The wind rushed past his ears, the landscape flying along beneath, such a thrill of the run, such a smoothness of stride, that Elbryan would have sworn he was flying across a cushion of air.

As soon as he dismounted, back in the meadow by the grove, Symphony turned and ran off, and Elbryan made no move to stop the stallion, for he knew that this was not the normal rider-horse relationship, not a relationship of master to beast but a friendship of mutual respect and trust.

Symphony would come back to him, he knew, would let him ride again, but. on the stallion's own terms.

Elbryan gave a salute to that place on the forest's edge where the stallion had disappeared, a motion of respect and understanding that he and Symphony had their own separate lives but were joined now.