It took Elbryan and the other leaders of the rebel force several days to get everything organized with the twenty-five warriors and eight score refugees they would leave behind. The remaining band would cease its hit-and-hide warfare and concentrate on getting all the folk to safer points in the south, trying to parallel the advancing army without engaging it.

For those few heading north to the Barbacan, it was a difficult parting, but especially so for Elbryan, who had come to feel as a ... father to these people, as their trusted protector. If they were found and destroyed, the ranger knew he would never forgive himself.

But the other argument was more compelling; if the dactyl could not be defeated, then there would be no safe havens, then all the world as the humans knew it would be destroyed. Pony reminded the ranger often that he had trained those warriors who would escort the refugees, that they went with not only his blessing but also his woodland skills. And, like a father who has watched his children grow beyond his protection, Elbryan had to let them go.

His course, a darker road by far, lay the other way. They set out at an easy pace, with Elbryan riding Symphony -- but only for a short distance -- that he might hasten out to run a perimeter guard, and with Pony and Avelyn walking beside Bradwarden, who had pipes in hand, but wouldn't start playing until they had put the monstrous enclaves of Dundalis, Weedy Meadow, and End-o'-the-World far behind them.

Just out of sight of the encampment, the small group came upon a party of elves -- there might have been five -- or there might have been twenty, so fleeting were their glimpses of the ever-elusive sprites -- dancing amid the budding branches of several trees.

"What says Lady Dasslerond?" Elbryan inquired of Belli'mar Juraviel.

"Fare well, says she," replied the elf. "Fare well to Elbryan the Nightbird, to Jilseponie, to good Brother Avelyn, to mighty Bradwarden, and," he finished with a flurry, beating his tiny wings furiously to set himself gently down on the ground, "to Belli'mar Juraviel, who will represent Caer'alfar on this most important quest!" The elf dipped a low bow.

Elbryan looked up at Tuntun, who was sitting on the branch and smiling -- a grin that did not seem so sincere to the perceptive ranger. "See to him, Nightbird," the elven female said threateningly. "I will hold you personally responsible for my brother's safety."

"Ho, and a mighty responsibility that is, when facing the likes of a demon dactyl!" howled Bradwarden.

"If I had my say, Belli'mar Juraviel would remain with his own," Elbryan replied. "Of course, if I had my way, then Pony -- Jilseponie -- would remain with the folk of the three sacked villages, as would Avelyn, and Bradwarden's pipes would greet the dawn each day in this forest, his home."

"Ho, ho, what!" bellowed Avelyn. "Brave Nightbird would fight the beast alone!"

"Aye, and cut a killing swath through the army ye seen 'tween the arms o' the dactyl's mountain!" added Bradwarden.

Elbryan could only laugh at their jibes. He kicked Symphony into a short gallop, rushing down the path.

"Fare well to you, Nightbird!" he heard Tuntun call, and then he was alone, riding the perimeter, glad for this newest addition to the party, despite his comments to the contrary.

He sensed a movement not far away and asked Symphony to walk slowly. He relaxed when Paulson and Chipmunk came onto the path, some distance ahead and apparently oblivious of him.

"If we missed them, I'll beat ye silly," the large man huffed at Chipmunk, who wisely shifted to the side, out of arm's reach. Elbryan did not miss the fact that they were dressed for the road, though the others would not be going to join with the refugees until the next morning. The ranger moved his mount into the cover of a pair of pines and let the two approach, hoping to discern their intent, thinking that they might have had enough of it all and were striking out on their own.

Aside from Paulson's typical grumbling, he caught no direction to their conversation.

"My greetings," he said suddenly as they neared, startling the pair.

"And to yerself," said Paulson. "Glad I am that we did not miss yer departure."

"Have you plans of your own?"

Paulson eyed him directly. "What's for us with Elbryan gone?" he wanted to know.

The ranger looked hard at the man, then shrugged. "We will need to get the refugees to the south. There can be no further delays."

"Ye've got more than a score of fighters for that task," Paulson answered.

"A score that will need Paulson and Chipmunk to lead them," Elbryan. reasoned.

"They'll more listen to Belster O'Comely," Paulson argued. "And the able man's already taken charge, by all accounts from the big camp. Our job here is done."

"Then you are free of responsibility," Elbryan replied, "to go as you will, where you will. And to go with my thanks and the gratitude of all who survived the invasion."

Paulson looked at Chipmunk, and the small man nodded nervously.

"With you," Paulson said suddenly. "The way we're seeing it, the goblin that killed Cric was sent by this Bestesbulzi-thing, so we're holding it responsible."

Elbryan's expression was skeptical.

"Are ye knowing anyone better for the woods?" Paulson argued.

"Ye just said that we were free to choose," Chipmunk added sheepishly, ducking behind Paulson's bulk as he spoke.

The others caught up to the ranger then, Bradwarden -- with Juraviel nestled comfortably on his back, the elf tucked between the heavy packs -- moving up right beside Elbryan.

"Our friends Paulson and Chipmunk would like to join us," the ranger explained.

"We decided that a small group'd get through all the better," Bradwarden complained.

"The two of us take up less room than yerself alone, centaur," Paulson argued. Elbryan smiled wryly at Bradwarden before the fearsome centaur could take offense. "True enough," the ranger agreed.

"And we're knowing the ways of the woods," Paulson went on, "and the ways of our enemies. Ye get in a fight and yell be glad that me and Chipmunk are with ye."

Elbryan looked at Bradwarden again, since he and the centaur had been unofficially accepted as the leaders of the expedition. Bradwarden's hardened visage fast softened under the ranger's plaintive look. "Come along then," he said to the two men. "But one bad word for me piping and I'll be eating more than the meat that's on me back!"

So they set out then, seven strong. Seven against the tens of thousands and -- in odds that seemed even less favorable -- seven mortals against one demon dactyl. At the edge of the forest surrounding Dundalis, Elbryan slipped down from his mount.

Run free, my friend," he said to the horse. "Perhaps I shall return to you." The horse did not immediately run off, but stood stamping the ground, as if in protest.

The ranger sensed that the stallion did not want to remain behind, and for a moment, Elbryan entertained the thought of riding all the way. But how could he do that in all good conscience, when he knew that Symphony might not be able to cross the mountainous Barbacan, and certainly would not be able to go into Aida's tunnels with him.

"Run on!" he commanded, and Symphony bolted out of the immediate area, but stood quiet in the shadows of some trees not far away.

So it was Elbryan, and not the horse, who walked away, when the others caught up to him. It was not an easy thing for the ranger to do.

They struck out west more than north, wanting to cut a wide circuit around the long caravan that Avelyn had magically observed. Even from several miles to the north and west of Endo'-the-World, from atop a hillock, they could see a long line of dust rising into the air, moving south, descending upon Dundalis and the other towns.

"All the way to the Belt-and-Buckle," Avelyn remarked grimly, and from that vantage point, it seemed impossible that the monk might be wrong. There were no roads out here once the group got beyond the logging areas of End- o'-the-World. The forest was old, with tall, dark trees and sparse undergrowth, and there were rivers to follow, some whose waters had come all the way down from the high peaks of the Barbacan. Occasionally, the group came upon a lone house or a few clustered together, the real frontier families, living beyond even the meager civilization of the three small villages. It was not a comforting thing for the seven to find that every house they chanced upon, including one whose occupants had been friends of Paulson's band, was deserted.

They found the reason the tenth day out, when Elbryan noted a line of tracks preceding them in the muddy riverbank.

"Goblins," the ranger informed his companions, "and a few humans."

"Could be a rogue band," Bradwarden offered, "and nothing to do with our enemy in the north."

"Goblins been in this region for a thousand years," Paulson added. "Me friends've fought with them often, so they felled me."

"But do goblins normally take prisoners?" the ranger wanted to know, and that admittedly unusual circumstance tipped them off that this was no chance incident, no rogue band.

The demon will draw all the goblins from all the holes, Avelyn had warned.

How Elbryan wished he still had Symphony with him, that he could ride fast to catch up to the band!

"We slip back into the woods to avoid them," Bradwarden said. "No problem with that."

"Except that they have prisoners," Pony was fast to interject.

"We're not knowing that," Bradwarden replied.

"Human tracks with the goblins," Avelyn argued.

"Might be that they had prisoners," Bradwarden answered bluntly.

Elbryan was about to argue the point with the centaur, to point out that, whatever their mission, they first had to see if there were people in need of their assistance, when he got some unexpected help from Paulson.

"They're running an army," the big man reasoned, "so they're needing slaves. If this raiding group is in league with the dactyl, then they're knowing better than to kill those who might be worked to death."

Bradwarden threw up his arms in defeat, and motioned for Elbryan to run on and see what he might see. The ranger did just that, circling west of the riverbank as he made his way to the north. He came upon them at last at a bend in the river, where the goblins -- many goblins! -- had stopped to drink, but were keeping a score of humans, three quarters of them women and children, back from the badly desired water.

The ranger bowed his head as he considered the options. Thankfully, there were no giants or even powries to be seen, but there were at least fifty goblins down there, with several, Elbryan noted, wearing the black-and-gray insignia of the dactyl's army. Even if he and his powerful band attacked the group, how might they stop the goblins from killing the prisoners?

Elbryan went back to report to his companions, expecting that a furious argument would ensue. Was their mission the overriding factor here, for if they attacked and were beaten back, killed, or captured, then who would go on to the smoking mountain to stand against the demon dactyl?

"Only fifty?" Bradwarden huffed. "And only goblins? I'll warm me bow on the first score, trample the second score, and give me club a taste on the last ten!"

"How do we hit them without endangering the prisoners?" the ever-pragmatic Pony asked. The question was not meant to dissuade any attack, Elbryan knew in looking at his determined companion, but to logically guide the group in the best possible direction.

"We separate them," Elbryan answered. "If even one or more ventures away into the woods, lags behind, or gets too far in front. . ."

Six grim nods came back at the ranger. Within the hour, they were shadowing the caravan, learning their enemies' movement, discerning the pecking order among the goblin ranks. At one point, when the riverbank grew more narrow and impassible, the goblins sent a group of six out to find a new route.

They died quickly, quietly, cut down by bows and daggers, by flashing sword and crushing cudgel. So fast and complete was the massacre that Avelyn never used his magic. The monk did get in close enough to one wounded goblin to finish it with a flurry of deadly punches, but he kept his magical energy in reserve.

When it became apparent that the first six would not return, the goblins sent out a couple more to find them. Elbryan, Juraviel, and Bradwarden shot them down as soon as they were out of sight of the caravan.

"They are onto us," Pony reasoned when the band of seven moved back to view the main group, goblins rushing about nervously, tightening the ropes do the prisoners, herding the miserable humans together. The worst of it for the onlookers came whenever a goblin beat a human, particularly when one slapped a small child to the ground. Gritting his teeth, holding discipline supreme to emotion, Elbryan held his companions at bay. The goblins were wary, he reminded them all; this was not the time to strike.

"We hide the bodies," Elbryan plotted, "and let any more scouts they send out go unhindered. Let them find the paths. When, they are on the move again, the forest thick about them, we hit them hard."

"Aye," the centaur agreed. "Give them a couple of hours to think that their miserable kin just ran away. Let them drop their guard again, and then we'll take the lot of them and pay them back for every slap."

Elbryan looked to Avelyn. "You must play an important role," the ranger said. "We will cut the goblins to pieces, I do not doubt, but only your magic can protect the prisoners long enough."

The monk nodded grimly, then looked at Pony. Elbryan did as well, sensing that the pair, Avelyn and Pony, shared a secret. The ranger's expression grew even more incredulous when he noticed Avelyn hand a piece of graphite to her, and green malachite after that.

The goblins did indeed send out another pair of scouts, and these two moved unhindered through the woods, then went back to the main group reporting no sign of their missing eight companions. Since desertions among goblin ranks were surely not an uncommon thing, the goblin leaders seemed to relax almost immediately, and with new trails found, they soon started the caravan along its plodding way once more.

And again, they were shadowed, every step, and even led, though they did not know it, by the ranger as he scouted out the perfect spot for the ambush. Elbryan had found just what he was looking for, a narrow pass between a steep, high ridge and a muddy pond, and was returning to lay out the plans when he found that his hand was being forced.

Pony's expression was the first indication that something was wrong, and as soon as he gained a vantage point on the monsters, the ranger figured it out. A dispute had arisen between one or more of the prisoners and their goblin captors, and now the humans were being punished once more. Elbryan winced with every blow, feeling the pain as acutely as if the goblin's club had been aimed at him; but again, he tried to hold back, tried to keep perspective and hold the greater goal above his emotions.

But then one prisoner, a young man of about the same age Elbryan had been when Dundalis was first overrun, was pulled from the line. The goblins' intentions for this one soon became obvious; they meant to make him an example. The young, man was forced to his knees, his head pulled low, exposing the back of his neck.

"No, no, no," Elbryan whispered, and truly he was torn. All the plan and all the prisoners had a better chance if the ambush was carefully plotted and choreographed, and yet how could the ranger stand idly by and watch this unfortunate young man be sacrificed?

Elbryan could not watch idly, of course, and as soon as Hawkwing came up, the others realized that the time for action was upon them.

The goblin's sword went up high, but fell harmlessly to the ground as Elbryan's arrow slammed into the creature's chest. Elbryan came charging through the trees, screaming wildly, readying another arrow:

Goblins scrambled, one calling out commands -- until its words became a gurgle, its mouth filled with its own blood, Elbryan's second arrow deep in its throat.

"Oh hurry!" Avelyn cried to Pony, for the two had laid plans of how they might get to the prisoners.

Pony was trying to hurry, concentrating with all her will on the malachite. She had done this before, in practice with Avelyn, but now the pressure was intense, the price of failure too great.

"Ho, ho, what!" Avelyn howled at her. "You know that you can do it, and do it well, my girl!"

The encouragement pushed her over the edge, into the depths of the stone's magic. She felt her weight lessening, felt as light as a feather.

Avelyn lifted her easily from the ground and threw her in the direction of the monstrous caravan. Pony floated up as she went, grabbing the branches of trees and propelling herself along. She crossed over Elbryan, the ranger engaged with sword now, battling a line of goblins and, amazingly, driving them back.

She crossed over the goblins, scrambling high and keeping quiet, until she was, at last, directly above the huddled group of prisoners. Pony held her breath, noting the movements of the goblins, thinking by their actions and by the snatches of screamed commands she caught that they were indeed planning to harm the human prisoners.

The woman looked worriedly at the other stone Avelyn had given her, then at her own sword, wondering which she would be better to trust. Either way, her situation was about to become desperate.

Elbryan's rage did not relent. Two goblins rushed to intercept him, but he batted their weapons aside with a furious two-handed swipe of Hawkwing. He dropped the bow as it moved past the creatures; and in the same lightning-fast movement, drew out Tempest, thrusting it into the belly of the closest creature. The ranger punched out with his free hand; connecting solidly on the other goblin's chin, and he charged on, tearing free his sword.

The stunned goblin rubbed its chin and tried to rise to follow, but Bradwarden was right on the ranger's heels and was quick to trample the wretched thing into the dust.

Then the centaur was beside Elbryan, singing at the top of his voice, running goblins down and clubbing goblins down. Their momentum carried them deep into the goblin ranks, but began to ebb as the creatures finally organized a defense about them.

The goblins came at them in a semicircular formation, but the integrity of the monstrous line was compromised quickly, for Belli'mar Juraviel, perched on a branch some distance away, plucked at them with his tiny but deadly bow.

At the same time, Paulson and Chipmunk caught up to their fighting companions, the small man leading his way in with a line of hurled daggers.

"On me, back!" the centaur roared to Elbryan. "We'll get to the prisoners!"

But not in time, Elbryan thought, looking past the goblin ranks to the pitiful group. He prayed that Pony and Avelyn would do their part well, and wondered if his rage had betrayed them all.

* * * Avelyn could hardly see the goblin ranks and knew not at all which creature was in charge. As soon as Pony was away, the monk searched for some hiding spot for his bulky frame, but realized that he had little time to spare. He settled for a clump of birch trees, throwing his body into their midst as he threw his mind into the hematite he tightly clutched. He was into his spirit-walking, already rushing fast away, before his great bulk ever settled amid the tangled branches.

The monk's spirit flew past Juraviel, the sensitive elf taking note, though the ghostly form was surely invisible. He swept past Paulson and Chipmunk, past Bradwarden and Elbryan, past the front ranks of goblins, until he came to the miserable prisoners and the monstrous guards about them. One in particular was calling out commands, and Avelyn's spirit made a straight line to that body, pushed into the physical form, and battled for control.

Possession was never easily accomplished, a difficult and dangerous practice, but no one in all the world could summon the powers of the stones as thoroughly as Avelyn Desbris, and the monk was desperate now, for the safety of others and not for himself.

He ejected the goblin's spirit almost immediately and continued barking out commands, but these did not concern the prisoners at all. "Flee!" he yelled to his charges. "Run to the trees, into the forest. Run away! Run away!"

Many goblins did just that, more than eager to be gone since the furious ranger and the powerful centaur were crushing through their ranks.

Others, though, meant to get their taste of human blood before they left.

Pony saw them, two of them, ruining from the area of the fight but angling their course and their weapons to pound the prisoners as they passed. The woman's concentration was taxed to its limit as she tried to fall into her other stone while maintaining the weightlessness of the malachite, all the while, keeping her eyes on the monsters, measuring their progress.

She was opt of time. Her mind let go of the malachite and she dropped the ten feet to the ground, landing right between the surprised goblins. They screamed, Pony screamed, and they spun about bringing their weapons to bear, as the woman grabbed their shoulders.

Pony was quicker, falling into the stone, the graphite.

There came a sharp crack, a sudden black flash; and the two goblins fell to the ground, twitching violently as they died.

"Forget the woman!" Avelyn the goblin chief cried to another monster that was swinging about to bear down on Pony, and the monk rushed to intercept. He tried something new then, connecting his mind back to his physical body and bringing in new magic from a second stone that his own form clutched, as he went.

"Kill humans!" the goblin howled in Avelyn's face, but the monk reached up with an arm that more resembled that of a tiger than of a human or a goblin. He took away the creature's protest as he took away its face.

"Ho, ho, what!" the monk-turned-goblin roared, eyeing the transformed arm. "It worked!"

Indeed it had; Avelyn had reached out across the distance, had connected with his own physical being while holding control of the goblin's form. But the strain had been great, too great, and the monk felt himself losing control immediately, his spirit soaring back past the fighting, back to the birch trees. In his last effort of will, right before he lost consciousness, the monk reached back out to the goblin's body, and as the creature became aware of its physical form once more, it found its own arm -- or at least an arm that was connected to its body -- moving up to claw viciously at its own face.

The surprised, confused creature stumbled backward, its other, normal appendage grabbing at its torn face. Surprise turned to horror, to agony, as it stumbled near Pony, and the woman drove her sword into its back, its tip poking right through the goblin's chest.

Pony then turned her attention to the prisoners, bidding them to run off, out of harm's way. Most of the men and a few women would not go, however. Wearing masks of grief, no doubt for loved ones this monstrous band had slain, they charged the other way, into those monsters battling Elbryan and the others, fighting with weapons they snatched from goblin dead, with sticks or rocks found on the ground, or with their bare hands.

It was over in a matter of minutes, with more than a score of goblins lying dead, the rest running, scattering into the forest. Several humans had been injured, as had Bradwarden -- though the tough centaur thought little of his cuts and bruises -- and Avelyn returned to them shortly, on unsteady legs, carrying the worst headache the monk had ever known. Still, without complaint, the good monk used his hematite once more, this time to lessen the wounds of the injured.

Elbryan gathered up Paulson and Chipmunk and called to Juraviel, the four moving out from the gathering to ensure the goblins were not rallying for any counterattack.

In more than an hour of searching, the foursome found only a pair of goblins hiding in one spot, and another running stupidly in circles.

So the ambush had worked, near to perfection, and the prisoners were free, but that left the ranger with a new dilemma and a new and unasked for responsibility.

"Belster is no doubt many miles to the south by now," Avelyn reasoned, "out of our leach. Even if I use the stones to contact him, we'll not easily get to him and hand off our new friends."

"They are, a tough lot," Pony added hopefully, "but inexperienced with goblins and the like."

Paulson gave her a sidelong, incredulous glance.

"With these goblins, at least," the woman corrected. "They've not battled the army of the dactyl before."

Paulson conceded that point,

"It would take us weeks to prepare them correctly, that they might have a chance of escaping on their own," the woman finished.

Elbryan absorbed all their words, sifted through their suggestions. After a moment, his gaze settled on Paulson and Chipmunk.

The big man understood that gaze well; Elbryan had never asked him and Chipmunk to come along, had, in fact absolved them of all responsibilities. But the ranger was about to place a new responsibility on the pair, Paulson realized. He wanted Paulson and Chipmunk to shoulder the burden of the new refugees and find a way to take them south. Paulson, full of anger at the loss of his dear friend, did not want to abandon this quest and neither did Chipmunk, but they would for the sake of the refugees. That realization struck the big man profoundly; for the first time in many years; he felt like a part of something larger, than himself, a cohesive circle of comrades, of friends. "There is another choice before us," Belli'mar Juraviel said from the low branches of a nearby tree. The elf had been keeping a low profile, not wanting to frighten the skittish refugees. The sight of Bradwarden had unnerved the folk almost as much as had the sight of the goblins, and the elf thought it better to hit them with one surprise at a time.

The group looked up to the elf, resting easily, his legs crossed at the ankles, feet dangling a few. yards above their heads.

"There is a place where they might know shelter, not so far from here," the elf remarked.

Hopeful nods came from every head, except for Elbryan. Juraviel's tone intimated something more profound to the ranger, that not only was there a mere place for shelter, but a very special place indeed. Elbryan remembered the run that had brought him to Dundalis, Nightbird's first journey. He had crossed the Moorlands, corning from the west. Now he and his troop were once again west of the Moorlands, though miles farther north.

"We can get them there, then, and continue on our way," Pony reasoned.

"Not we," Juraviel, replied, "but I alone. This place is not so far, but not so close, a week's march, perhaps."

"In a week, we could bring them almost all the way back to Dundalis," Bradwarden reasoned.

"To what end?" asked the elf. "No one remains, to help them there, and all that area is full of monsters. The place I speak of holds many allies, and there are no monsters, of that I am sure."

"You speak of Andur'Blough Inninness," Elbryan reasoned, and when the elf didn't immediately deny it, the ranger knew that his guess was correct. "But will your Lady accept so many humans into the elven home? The place is secret, its borders closed and well hidden."

"The times are not normal," Juraviel replied. "Lady Dasslerond gave a score of us leave to join in your struggles, to go out and take stock of the happenings in the wider world. She will not refuse entry to the humans, not now, with darkness all about them." The elf gave a smile. "Oh, do not doubt that we shall put enchantments over them, a bit of boggle in their meals, perhaps, to keep them disoriented that our paths remain hidden when they are turned out into the wider world once more."

"We should all go," reasoned Pony, who desperately wanted to view the elven home, who could sit for hours and hours to listen to Elbryan's tales of the magical place.

Elbryan, too, was tempted, would have loved to see Andur'Blough Inninness again, especially now, to bolster his resolve before he completed this all- important, perilous journey. The ranger knew better, though. "Every day we spend moving to the south, and every day it takes us to get back even to this spot: our enemies strike deeper into our homeland and more people die," he said calmly.

"I shall take them alone," Juraviel announced. "As you recognized your destiny, Brother Avelyn, so I recognize my own. You will introduce me to the folk in the morning and I will lead them away to safety."

Elbryan looked long and hard at his winged friend. He wanted Juraviel along on this journey, needed the elf's wisdom and courage to bolster his own. But Juraviel was right; he alone could take the refugees to safety, and though the quest to the Barbacan was paramount, the needs of so many innocents could not be ignored.

In the morning came the second painful parting.

"So there, you are at long last!" Tuntun cried to Symphony when she spotted the stallion trotting across, a field north of Weedy Meadow. Most of the elves were long gone, some shadowing the human band that had gone to the south, but most on the road back to Andur'Blough Inninness. Tuntun and a couple of others had remained in the area, though, to continue their survey of the invading army.

This wasn't the place where Tuntun wanted to be.

The elf had been searching for Symphony, her desires formulating into a definite plan.

She approached the horse tentatively, but soon found that she could indeed connect with the stallion. The turquoise was tuned to Elbryan, but Tuntun, with her elvish blood, could make some sense of it, could fathom the horse's greatest desires, at least, if, not his actual thoughts.

Symphony was apparently in complete agreement with her.

Tuntun had little trouble getting the great stallion to accept her, and Symphony leaped away as soon as the elf climbed atop him, running fast for the north and west.