The party was over and still the Guest of Honor hadn't shown up. People had begun milling about, mumbling about heading home and setting up rides or walking groups. One by one those who remembered came to say goodnight to the host.

"Smashing party," old man Winkler grinned as he shook my hand. "That bit with the tiger - lovely. Absolutely lovely." Someone vomited on the lawn, a shade in the light of the fountains.

"We try, what can we say?" said the Keeper. Keeper of the world, the ring that binds and holds, she that brought this party and all the rest together. It twists on her finger. There's a dent, it's been there so long; a depression in the skin, a pocket that my body made just for it. I, the Keeper who waits.

The place was dismal when the people left: there were too many wrappers and rinds of pork and orange, apple cores and napkins and peach pits and bottles and cartons. All of it made a sad mess under the light of the still-glowing lanterns. I looked at my friends and saw their faces, distorted and greenish by the unreal light, and suddenly wanted to just go home. We walked back in silence.

We came over the hill to see stars twinkling and I wondered at the exact route they'd taken, one we'd never manage. Stars didn't glow here till a few years ago, nor did the trees grow on my lawn, or on anybody's property. Nobody had property. But I'd give it all up to see him again, striding through the bloody sunset.

I remembered what he'd looked like, there on his dark horse, the dashing black cloak thrown over black leather boots. The hood covered his face so you could just see the twinkle of his eyes. He always did have a flair for the dramatic. When we kissed, when he held me, it was electric.

"Take this ring," he said to me that day under a sun that shone too brightly. He pressed the thing into my hand with an intense look, where it burned with his own heat. "Take it, guard it: it's very important, Gwen." The light of the sun glinted off the swords and the shields of his large army not far away. Banners fluttered. "Take it."

"All right," I whispered, feeling its weight on my palm. I managed a smile. "I'll consider it a wedding ring."

"And so it is, in a way." He touched his hand to my face for a moment, and then was gone, lost among the riders. My friends and I waved our handkerchiefs till all of them were gone, the last spear glowing in the light of the sun. Or maybe the army came afterwards and he rode away alone on his black stallion. I cannot remember clearly anymore.

Our little hamlet was across the bridge and under a wide, large hill. The moon, rising, had brought out the elves with their shrieking voices and pale, pale faces, the eerie sounds of those who did not belong here, illegal aliens. I looked up at the orb in the sky hating them and what they had brought. Below the stars twinkled the lights of my home, beyond that the castle where I could never go now. For a moment I could see them talking to each other in a way, the tiny lights: lights of the earth, made by hands, lights of the sky, made by spirits. I wondered if they knew how I had cursed the elves and their presence, how it was I who had caused the rampant fires in their fields, the angry weather that tore their precious tree homes apart. I and my ring and my hatred for what had been lost.

Over the tall, tall mountains my people had come when it was done, this war of men and magic, the survivors straggling back with a weird glow in their faces, their eyes. Pardoned, we've been pardoned, they said, sounding so surprised. Yes, I thought then, and you will hang for treason when the true king of this land returns, and he will pardon those who truly deserve it, those who did not give up on him and his cause. But he did not come. After the people came the elves and other colonists, foreigners who'd been given our land in which to live by the majesty of the king across the range. We'd seen the storm, heard his voice echoing like thunder from the great gulch and knew the world would be different from now on. And I spat into a little poppet and caused him headaches for months. I hoped.

That spring, the river that flows through our small land was full and wet like we'd never seen it, and grasses began to grow in through the rocks, between stones, taking over the thorn bushes. Roses bloomed here that my love had imported for me many times, back long ago. The elves and the others began to plant crops like we'd never seen, and these grew as well, till our people had more food than we could eat. Bribery, I thought and would have none of it.

That spring the wizard came to me. I was barefoot, weaving as I always have done, always will. But my house was only a shack out in the country, among the stones. I'd been running for months when he came and found me. He bowed before me and I knew him: friend of my enemy. I, lover of the former lord of this place, nodded back, concealing my fear. Now I was dead, they'd got me at last. "Do not be afraid," he said to me. "None will harm you. Not you." I spat on the sand.

"Why are you here?" I asked belligerently, arms folded over my chest as if to protect myself. "Come with a tally of the dead at last, come to mock me? Or perhaps you've come to steal what little I have now, to take my last memory of him? Go away, wizard. Go away."

He looked at me for a long moment: a gray and white man, fragile and strong in his bearing. I had a feeling he knew what had become of me in the past few months. Perhaps he'd heard how I'd fled the castle when I'd heard they were coming, and how I'd run hard as they came and burned away the last of my lord's followers that they could find who were still loyal. How I'd lived in the wild for a long time now, a wild like none I'd ever known, where even the plants seemed to be watching me.

"That which was made here," he said quietly, "that which is beginning, is because of you. I came because I was sent: sent by the new king to guard this place, but also sent by my own calling to help you."

"A new lord reigns," I said bitterly, "and all that I know is gone. Talk to him." The cousin of my love, a traitor whom I'd never bed.

"I know he does," said the wizard. "You and that which you have are more important. No, I do not want it! I have come to help you, to guide you in your new life."

I did not trust him then, so many years ago. I did not believe him as he told me and showed me how with the ring my love had made his army, how it was because of him that our land had been desert and rock for so long. "So where is his body now?" I asked angrily. But even that the wizard could not produce. My love had not been counted among the dead. The wizard would help me to look anew at the world, to become something and someone other than who and what I had been. And as time went on I began to soften towards this stranger. And still I waited.

He was there to greet me when we came home that night, ten years later, looked at me with concern and understanding in his eyes. For all this time I'd held my celebration in honor of my love, the man my people had mostly forgotten. I'd held it openly secret, pretending it only to be a festival of the equinox. None but myself and the wizard knew the truth, not even my friends who knew me but as someone else. I was mayor now, Ellie the mayor of the town, wealthy only in gifts. The concubine, love of the dark lord, was gone. "Someday," he said to me, guiding me inside.

"Look after me, Mama," I prayed to the night sky. It was the same prayer I'd made for so many years since his disappearance. After all, why pray for him; my lost love would either live or die, his future was simple. But no cards would read mine since he left me with the ring in my hand. "Help me get through this."

"She's listening, you know," the wizard said from my doorway. "Always listening. You will be all right."

"Well, I don't feel all right," I growled at him as I had many times. "What good is having this thing as only a memento? You keep telling me that I've helped cause the changes here, but I've done nothing."

"The ring sleeps right now," he agreed. "This is the land that this place would have become without its influence."

"He knew how to make things," I said bitterly.

"No, he only thought he did; the power of the ring moved from the thoughts of his heart."

Evil thoughts, then, they must have been. That was what he'd told me all this time. But I remembered him differently, as a strong man, a loving one. Could the same man who'd help me repair a broken wing be evil as well?

"A man may have many sides to him," I intoned before the wizard could. I looked at him. "Then so might a woman. If it was that dangerous, then it should have been destroyed long ago," I frowned.

"We tried -- we did not know he and his troops had it not."

"I don't believe you for a second." I never had fallen for this small excuse. A wizard would know where it was, I thought; rings of power were his province, were they not? "I think you've been baiting me all these years, all this time. I'm sick of it." Keeping me here, so that I could make the world that they wanted, create what could only be made otherwise in the span of many, many years. "What is it that you protect me from?"

"Yourself," he said softly. "Yourself. If you went out as the person who was, as your true self, you would be killed. We protected you."

"Better to take the ring and kill me that way."

"No."

"Then destroy the damned thing!" I cried. "You have me, you know where I am, so take it, destroy it."

He had no answer for that. I felt old. His own magics had disguised me, changed me before all. Gwendolyn, consort and head lady of the former lord of this land, had disappeared when all the other women were taken or killed by the new ruler.

"I had hoped that time would soften the force of the loss," he sighed. "Make you see what you had not seen all those years with him."

"What would that have been? That this is better? I miss my desert, call it foul if you will. My wide spaces, the dust in my face."

"You lived up in the palace, could be protected from the dust."

I wanted to throw something at him. "Before I was a concubine I did not. Don't speak of what you know nothing! He bade me promise to keep it for him, wizard. I have waited for a long time."

He knew I was going to go, then, no matter what he said. Ten years I'd been patient; now I must do this. "Promise me this, then," he said finally. "When you do go, take it with you."

"I would not do it any other way."

Days passed, and nights, and the moon went away and all I saw in the sky were the weird, weird stars, twinkling feebly. I lit my candle for the passage of shades and went to bed.

A shriek woke me, shattering in my ears. I caught a blurry vision of the maid running by, heard yelling that was as yet incomprehensible, till I looked in the mirror and saw myself. Me, as I had been, years go, me in my jewels and perfumes, my face pure as pearls of the ocean, soft and peachy, ringed by hair -- The ring!

At that moment there were steps in the hall, and I knew I must protect myself or die. Suddenly it was as if ten years had never passed; that same day of fear when I ran once before came flashing back to me, with all its sights and sounds, the scent of dogs and dust. With all my might, I willed the ring to hide me, to keep me safe. But no spell can protect against fear, and terrified I jumped out the window as fast as I could and began running.

The vision of beauty I'd seen in the mirror was long gone by the time I'd run a few blocks. All the trees seemed to be trying to catch me with their thorns and branches, the rain that was falling tried to drown me in puddles, make me slip. I was soon covered in mud and blood from many scratches to the skin, and my finery more ripped than any street woman's. A troupe of guards passing by did not even give me a second glance.

Slowly I made my way to the poorer ends of town, where the sewers ran out and rabble lived. Here was dirt to match my rags, blood for my blood. But here were also small homes, neatly done as best people could, of thrown-out furniture and old, old bits of houses, destroyed in the war. Here also lived a few remaining refugees of that desperate fight, some tired old soldiers who'd not come home to any welcome. In the deeper sewers it was said there were even small remnants of my lord's goblin armies, and a dark sorcerer or two. But they remained hidden, those last, and a hard warning marked the entrance to the area: five years before a group of them had attempted an uprising against our new king, curse his name, but the instant they ventured out into the light they inexplicably turned to stone.

I shivered, passing one of the ghastly statues now, a crow watching me with a bright eye from its perch on the thing's head. Harbingsrs of death are crows. But all it said to me was "caw," and flapped off on mighty wings of ebony into the gray, misty sky.

I found my grandfather down a little further in his usual place, near a sewer entrance. I'd often come here to meet him once I'd learned of his return: I would be dressed in rags, sneaking by night to honor this old soldier who had come across the mountains to make a last stand for his homeland. He had never recognized me in my disguise.

He knew me now, though. "My lovely!" he greeted me with a huge hug. "But you're all wet, come inside."

We crouched in the sewer pipe, listening to the drip of water and the talk of the other inhabitants of this area. "Something's happened, Grandfather." He was partly senile, didn't even seem to notice how long it had been since he'd last seen me, the real me. Or maybe he had just waited. I never knew with him.

He nodded wisely. "I felt it in the moon -- it's time, isn't it?"

HE'd been a shaman in his own lands, long ago. - a type of wizard, that was, far as I could ever tell - till he was captured by love's predecessor. Here he'd met a woman who bore my father who was killed in the war that was long ago, here he had grown to hate the man who had ruled then and to respect my beloved - when the time came, he had helped with the coup and grew to great status. He was the best advisor my dear could have had. Grandfather had introduced us.

I told him of my last meeting with the wizard, leaving out the ring. I wonder now if he knew about it anyway. I told him of that morning's events. "Why now, Grandfather? Why not years ago?"

"The time wasn't right just yet. You weren't right, maybe. What will you do now?"

"Find him," I said fiercely. "Wherever he may be."

"I will come with you." He rose up on his cane. "Don't try to stop me; I've waited a long time for this day. I have business to do before the end."

Business. That's what he called it, and so we went. A strange and unlikely pair we made, heading from and not toward our land. He'd even packed, and so I had a patched cloak to throw over my poor self, and some food before we left. And then, leaving the candlelit cheer of the rancid sewers, we set off towards the mountains.

Our land was once a dangerous place but beautiful. Pitfalls and rock messes that I had once known had glowed, shimmering weirdly under the hot sky, baring slow-moving lizards that you could roast, out of whose skin people made totems and amulets and bracelets, from whose poison the orcs made their medicine. There were spiders here once, weaving webs among the rubble, and brambles that would break free after a while, roll shakily across the sand and dirt, making clouds behind them. By the muddy rivulets people lived in squat houses, and out here and there were the smaller camps of orc and goblin, and other creatures whose name I didn't know. And out on the edges of the mountains were fortresses where darker, deeper creatures lived, and the goblins ate the flesh of any trespassers, among glades of poisonous flowers.

They were all gone, all of them, within two years after the war. Now, as we clawed our way through the seemingly endless woods outside of town, looking for a highway and trying to stay away from those looking for us, I wondered if this place that my land had become wasn't somehow even more treacherous. What had happened to our people, the pride, the toughness? I remembered the warriors' festival, when the soldiers, women and men and other creatures, would stomp-dance to the beating of drums, waving swords and shouting in hoarse voices. I recalled the fierceness of their eyes as we swirled among them, the war-cries of the goblin troops as they practiced their motions, the sound of shot and the screaming echoing over the canyons. We were fat now, all hard lines softened into pudge, the tattoos broadened along chunky bodies, and we waited no longer for war.

We passed through the edge of some farmland, watched the pale grains and grasses waving in the wind. In the distance stood the moutains that made our border: sharp and angry they had been in the drier days, now they poke out from the forest roof as if uncertain what to do, where to look next. I could feel their sorrow and confusion.

"We will find him," Grandfather said, squeezing my hand. "We will." But then what, I wondered.

Several days later we reached the edge of the crags. Rumor had it that some of our remaining creatures still lived up here, in the mountains' nooks and small crannies, in places too deep for others to touch. Deeper even than the tombs our priestesses had once guarded before they were destroyed by the invaders.

We camped beneath a ledge not far up from the mountains' foot. Below I could see my poor land, its new accursed railroad now stretched out across the border. Above loomed some of the nastier peaks of the mountains. If we could find a way through we'd make it. And there was always a chance...

"He might be there," said Grandfather, nodding. "A crafty man, he always was. And with the ring..."

"You know about that?"

He laughed a throaty sound from too much smoking. "Of course. If you're close enough a watcher, you'll see much, m'dear."

"Tell me how he got it, then, what it is - do you know?"

Grandfather nodded. "He told me once. Had to get it off his mind, it always bothered him, he said.

"He grew up in a land far away from here, m'dear, on the other side of these mountains. Didn't know his parents: when he was very young he was picked from the streets by a sorcerer named Foran to be his apprentice. For the first few years, he didn't do much but clean.

"Then one night, he went spying, saw the older apprentice returning from one of this nightly trips. In amazement, he watched while the sorcerer pried secrets from the boy, secrets that had been written on his tongue! He'd been spying on the other wizards of the town, you see.

"Well, the young man kept his peace, till one night he himself had to go out to bring the other back. But when he reached the docks, he found only a body: carved all over it were strange symbols, wax from a candle. From then on, he went out at night to steal spells in town, in the other's place.

"One night, at last, he heard what Foran had been waiting for. And the man said to him, 'Do this deed and you will be free to go. I will need you no longer.'

"He wanted a stone, m'dear - a very powerful stone. It came from Otherworld, they say, brought by a demon on Hallow's Even when the gates are more open. The creature was destroyed here, but the stone remained, bouncing from one owner to the next. It would give tremendous power, but it destroyed many fools who didn't understand how to use it. Foran wanted it.

"My lord remembers that day well," sighed Grandfather. "It was thundering, so he told me, as he waited beside the road far from he town of the wizard for the merchant. He'd tracked the man for a long, long time. And he vomited as he killed him: it was his first murder. But he did it for the stone, so he'd be free.

"Neither he nor the sorcerer had accounted for the power of the thing. As he made his way to a town, to get some rest, it was already changing him..."

"He used to tell me he'd see night as if day," I remembered. "He tried to explain it to me but I couldn't fully understand."

"That was the stone," Grandfather nodded. "And it kept on changing him. He saw people like they were walking corpses, saw strange symbols in the air. Under the sunlight, the things was less powerful so his vision went more or less back to normal. But by night, the things came back, till he was almost crazy with it.

"Well, the people of the town eventually caught and hanged him for the murder. That was when the true strangeness began! Just as he was dying, a bird came - large, blood-red, with wings of leather and a beak like a scythe. And he died, he that was, but lived on in a different form."

I tried to think of my lover, my love, as dead, a ghost. But his hands had been so real, his warmth so close and true. "No," I said, shaking a little. We who worship the moon understand death, know it well. But this could not be!

He took my hand. "Yes," he said softly. "Think of it this way; because of the stone he could live again, in a different way but still it was a type of life.

"So he learned to live this new way, learned the power of the stone that was his. The raven, a bird connected with the thing, taught him. Watch for ravens. They will help you as well, since you have it now. For he made the ring from the stone.

"The ring helped him conquer this land, make it his own. It called him his armies, built his empire."

"For me it made trees," I said bitterly. Trees to cover the land I'd always known as home, grass and water to displace my desert. "It has destroyed my land. The wizard told me it is sleeping, but how can that be? In only ten years' time, this place is covered. Magic, I say."

"I don't know, but I guess so," he said. "Then again, those were the words of a wizard of their land - what do you expect? Pah - he was probably just saying that, and all this greenery was made by them."

"The elves aren't that powerful, surely."

"Maybe, maybe not. But they have their own tricks. Maybe this is all an illusion, put here to confuse us."

I could see that; any minute now I'd wake up in the silent castle, look out the balcony and see him riding back, riding home from his long journey. How I wanted that!

A shadow crossed the sky and I remembered how he used to take me riding sometimes, on one of his air creatures. I wondered if that was the thing of which Grandfather had spoken and I shuddered. Would it tear out my own heart, too, then? Skittering behind me made me whirl, in time to see a small rockfall nearby.

Suddenly a horrible stench brought me to my knees, along with a rending pain. I screeched loud enough for the rocks to echo, as heavy wings bet at me, heaving. My grandfather was howling and I could smell blood as the thing moved above me. I saw a blur go by, through blood in my eyes, as I rolled away.

The stench lifted a bit, and I heard a horrible screaming, like nothing I'd known before. Dazed, I could only lie on the rocks, feeling nothing but pain as the screech came again from a distance. Then there was a crash and nothing more.

I blinked, slowly lifting my head. Several trees stood where I'd only seen rocks. They were thick, grayish trunks, and silvery gray leaves. Shadows moved among them. I blinked again and saw a woman, fading out from one of the trunks. It was hard to breathe.

Her face was gray as the bark of the trees, her eyes soft blue. Brownish gray hair flowed around her nude body that was speckled and marked as the trunk of a tree would be. She held her head to one side, considering me. "Are you all right?" It was more of a sensation than actual words; wind among leaves. She waved a hand slowly before my face.

I coughed, tasting blood from where I'd bitten my tongue when I'd fallen. "Yes," I croaked. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

She looked puzzled. "We live with the trees. We are the wood." Again it was like non-speech. "We were called to be here, grow here."

I suddenly realized she must be speaking of the ring. Blearily, I stared at my hand where it sat, looking plain as ever, simple ivory veined red. "You got rid of the - thing?"

"Thing?"

"It - had wings, and - claws," I said ruefully, feeling the sting of the gash on my shoulder, in other places. The blank stare remained on her face.

"There was a beast that would have hurt the trees," she remembered slowly. I nodded, my heart pounding.

"Have - you seen another person, like me?"

"There are no others like you."

A chill ran over me. I sat up, ignoring the slices of pain that ripped through me. "A man. Do you know what that is? Tall, slightly stooped, uses a cane. Old, like -- like rocks," I said, babbling a bit, trying to find a common ground, something she might be able to grasp.

At that moment, I caught sight of him there, among the trees, and I lost full control. The face that stared at me, twisted halfway around on a body that had been mangled, broken in several places, hung from a fat middle limb of one of the oaks. I couldn't take it anymore, I pitched forward vomiting, scrabbled my way up and began to run, to get away from there.

I ran, choking and gasping, scrabbling along the mountain side. From time to time I'd come out upon a hill top and collapse for a bit - once I tripped and lay exhausted, lay on the grass for a long while. Spirits danced beside me, and the wind seemed to be laughing at my predicament. Torn and bleeding, I staggered on till I collapsed for a final time to sleep.

I woke to find a wolf staring at me. Behind him ranged the pack, seven in all, several tearing at the flesh of a newly caught deer. The smell of blood reminded me of earlier events and I retched again, on an empty stomach.

"You might want to eat something, Mistress," a low voice startled me and I winced as a hand nudged my arm. I could only smell dog hair and blood. The man beside me was dark as the moon and it was his smell. But he looked at me, concerned.

"You've been called too, then," I gasped out, as my stomach kept heaving angrily. He smiled with a mouth full of teeth.

"Nothing calls us but the moon, Mistress. We have lived in these mountains for many sightings of her shiny eye." He nudged me again. "You should eat some grasses, they will help your stomach. And then food. A sickly one is no good for the Pack."

I shook my head stubbornly as he offered them. "But -- the lord, there were wolves among his troops, and werefolk as well."

"Yes," he answered softly. "He called them." He grinned again, fangs shining. "He is trying to call them now, too. But they won't go now. He is not Master now. Wolves only follow She of the sky, unless called by a Master below, a strong Master."

He didn't have the ring. My heart pounded achingly in my chest. "He's alive then, he's alive!"

The werewolf cocked his head, gave a sniff. "Yes, he lives. Many humans live. Not important to us. We live here, Mistress."

"If I called you, then, you would come," I said slowly. He nodded, looking reluctant.

"You are Mistress."

"But I didn't call you this time - nothing called you."

"Nothing but the Moon who is always there by night."

She was dark now, though, dark and gone in the sky, and only the stars and the spirits should be ranging around. But then that was the law of my homeland, these mountains were on the border, a place unto themselves. I closed my eyes a minute and sat up slowly, feeling dull aches around my body, dirt in all my pores.

My stomach was quieting a little now, at least. I was used to wolves and werewolves, things of the night in general: I'd known them all of my life. His presence was comforting to me, a bit of sanity. I wanted to keep him talking, keep him here.

"Did he -- you know my lord lives. Do you know where?"

"Not in our lands, Mistress," he chuckled. "We will look, if you tell us to. Otherwise he is just another human. But we feel him. We feel all magic, great and small."

I lay back, looking up at the dark sky. It was cloudy out, only bits of stars could be seen twinkling here and there. "What should I do?"

"Run on, see what you will find," he said indifferently. "There is no 'should,' only the future ahead: the next rain, new moon. Go on with it."

I wanted the wolves to stay with me, but I didn't command them to do so. I didn't want an army.

I lay for a long time, quiet, till I fell asleep again and was awakened by drops on my face. I let the rain wash me while I considered what to do.

He had been right, my love: everything did look different when you had the ring. I had never noticed it before in all these years. I certainly didn't see any of the living dead of whom he'd spoken to me, but for me things were sharper, clearer, as if I could understand the song of rain, pick out what words the wind was muttering to itself. And I also knew now that the wizard had done much more for me at home than to simply change my looks; he had shielded me somehow, so that the effects of the ring did not touch me. Probably so that I'd be more easily swayed, I thought bitterly. But some other part of my mind said no, there was something else going on, some other reason.

The sky was gray and muddy when I sat up at last, muddy myself, to find new visitors; gray wispy things in billowing cloaks, dark but light, blending as well with the wet world as the tree woman had with hers. And at first I thought they, like herself, must be elemental. Then they spoke.

"WE are here to take back the stone, stone, stone," they croaked at me, whistling around where I lay like clothing on a line in the wind. But no breeze blew. "Give us the stone."

"The stone is gone," I whispered. "It has - changed."

The sky became lighter and as it did I noticed that the creatures were fading. Their voices too were fainter when they answered me, just as the sun began to break through a pale, rosy dawn. "Yes - things change in your world as the circle goes round. But this is our thing, it belongs with us. It belongs to the night..."

And then they were gone, gone. But I knew now that I would not be safe anymore alone after dark.

I moved on slowly, feeling the aches in my body. My wounds had thankfully been more minor than they felt, and I managed to keep myself more or less warm as the sun slowly dried my muddy, dirty clothes. But I knew I must look terrible, and laughed at the thought half aloud as I climbed over stone and tree root. I, Gwendolyn, once concubine to the great lord, always scented and soaped and powdered and painted, dancing in my silks, singing with the sweet thrumming voice that had once tempted his hand. Look at me now. But then, the truth was, though I didn't fully know it, that woman had long been gone anyway.

The mountains rose and fell and so did I. I knew I was lost after only a short while, and then laughed at the thought: how can you truly be lost when you don't know where you are going? The bit of food Grandfather had brought for us had dwindled to crumbs and I felt lightheaded, but kept on. There was nowhere else to go but forward, certainly. So I conserved what little water was left and several days later caught a baby mountain goat with a broken leg, and was full again for a time.

It was not long after that I found a path. I'd cut around the side of a great wide cliff, fallen a few feet screaming to another and squeaked breathless by a small rockfall when I managed into a little plain. It was one of those small glens of the mountains where you find trees growing and perhaps a little rivulet. I was even luckier: this one had a pond.

I bathed, wincing at the sting on my cuts and bruises now opened again by my scrubbing, but glad to be at least passably clean once more. I laughed at my ragged reflection in the water: a stray desert spirit, far from home, run afoul of foreign creatures in an unknown land. But to be truthful, the body of the nymph was a bit softer than it had been, and small lines danced on my face that had once been smooth.

After a little rest, I took off along the path. It was very pretty here, little mountain blooms popping out all over the place. The trees bent and swayed cheerfully in a foggy wind that wasn't too cool, and the sun poked its head out of the clouds every so often.

I paused, rounding a corner, apprehensive at the sound of pipes. But then I heard goats bleating and realized it must be a simple mountain shepherd.

The path dwindled sharply as I came around a corner, and suddenly it became a ledge. And looking down from that, I saw a fortress. It was of stone and wood, this large building cut half in the mountainside, and rainbows danced all along its walls, caught on gems that sparkled everywhere. Bells tinkled in the wind. The place stuck out on yet another ledge farther down from the one where I crouched, but looking farther out I saw also that after it the mountains moved downward instead of up, rolling along, and I knew that at last I'd found another side.

Slowly, I made my way down the ledge, forgetting in my excitement my state of appearance or anything else. The voices that muttered in astonishment as I appeared reminded me.

"Oh my, a mountain ghost," said a young man, richly but warmly dressed, popping out from behind a rock. "And the prettiest I've seen yet."

"Or a sylph," remarked another from some unseen place. But though he spoke well, I noticed the first man held a knife in hand.

"Who are you, maid?" this one asked, coming closer slowly. I gulped.

"In such times -- you -- don't fear these things, surely," I stammered as he reached out to touch my cheek. He felt along a bruise there before moving back again. My skin tingled and my heart pounded; I had not been touched so in many years.

He scowled. "It is true, battles spark up every so often even now, and we have had our share of refugees and refuse come over this way and that, though none so lovely as yourself," he bowed slowly. "Wise ones know there is no end to such."

"Aw, leave her alone, poor thing's frightened," said the other voice, now behind me. "What'd become of you, Miss, run into a bear?"

"Wolves, most likely, from the scent of her," said the first, regarding me with steady, cool gray-green eyes, and an intense look. "It was wolves, wasn't it?"

Suddenly I recognized those eyes, belonging to the werewolf I'd spoken with only a fortnight ago. I nodded numbly. "You'll be all right here, Mistress," his companion said. And I didn't doubt it.

The ring weighed heavily on my hand as I was led inside, wrapped in his cloak. I felt like a beggar. His friend kept asking me questions about myself, but he himself remained quiet. "The accent -- I can't tell that one," he kept saying.

"Oh, I'm from a ways -- it's a little known land," I smiled politely.

"But touched by the war, I see," he said and sighed. "Not ten years past, and still it affects us. Folk below lock their doors now, as they never used to, and few will go out at night."

I nodded, trying to look sad. I was aware of the eyes of the werewolf upon me all the way in, as he called for a maid, as I headed to a room in a lower wing to bathe and dress.

The inside of the place was all mirrors, crystal and diamond that reflected and refracted the tiniest bits of light coming in from small, rectangular windows that followed all along the walls. But the room to which I was led had a little balcony, enclosed by stone carved fine as lace, and I had a wonderful view of a small town not far below. The bed was soft, soft, reminding me painfully of better times.

I bathed and changed, bypassing the perfumes and scents she would have put on me. It didn't feel right, somehow. Didn't fit me, myself who was now. I chose a plain gown to wear, and headed down the long, wide stairway to the gardens.

I was examining the flowers when he found me. "My lady, you look lovely," he smiled, bowing. I nodded graciously. "I am lord Giri Eaniri."

"Gwendolyn, Milord."

He also had changed, wearing now simple shirt and breeches. But the knife at his side remained. An earring twinkled in one ear. "Do you like the gardens? People come from miles around to see them."

"Oh yes - but you let commoners visit?"

"Only here," he smiled. "It brings us closer together. See here - this is my flower clock. Wondreful, isn't it? The petals turn with the hours." A fountain sang softly in the middle of the large circle of blooms. "Almost time for dinner."

"How long have you -- your family -- lived here," I managed, and his voice grew soft.

"We have been here many generations, Mistress. Many lives of man -- and wolf. We are fewer in number now than we were, but others visit."

"Is all the castle -- like you?" I asked. He stopped walking.

"No," he said slowly. "No, not all of us. We're a small mix. You need not worry for your safety by night, Mistress, no matter what else is in the world. Not from us."

"But -- from others," I looked at him. He nodded.

"There are things about by night, things that grow in number over time," he said. "They began to appear a year ago, now there are more. Most come only by night. They are not all of the same cause, but all are looking for you, for the ring."

"All?" I thought about the wizard, how he'd kept me in my land for so long, so long. Kept me until the forces of the night grew in number, until creatures like those I'd met in the mountains came forth in droves. I could suddenly see them attacking castles, ransacking towns, all in search of the ring, the ring. Why did he keep me, I wondered.

"All," said the werewolf. "We can feel it."

"I'm afraid," I whispered. "Who are they?"

He sighed. "Those of the dark world are looking to claim their own again, simply that and no more. They come for you because you have not shown yourself to be strong as he was. They think they can get it back from you, finally."

"But they attacked me," I said rubbing my cheek. "I thought all things bowed to the ring and those who carry it."

He inclined his head. "There are other powers in the dark lands," he said. "They will feel the pull of the ring, and all will come for it in different ways. Unless you rally them to your cause as he did, they will continue to come. My advice to you is to give it back to them; it does not belong to this world."

"I thought werewolves did not give advice," I smiled. "Anyway, who is its proper owner?" Though I knew I could never betray my love: as far as I was concerned, the ring was his and would always be so.

He shrugged. "There is no known real owner," said he. "My cousins from that world tell me that when the stone was there, it was fought over all the time as such things are. I think that is how it came over here, far as I can tell; someone was attempting to keep hold of it by bringing it across."

The bell rang, and we headed to dinner, where we spoke of more pleasant things. As the feast ended, there was singing in the hall to hear, songs to the moon, songs of the stars and the mountain folk. It was beautiful in that smoky, soft room, and I felt at home as I had not in a long time. When the werewolf sang, his voice was the voice of a mountain pool: soft and deep, throbbing low. Again I felt the same stirring as before, when he touched my cheek.

I excused myself after a time, feeling tired. Bells rang as I headed up the hall, like a ghost, my skirts rustling around me, my senses still tingling.

I was so tired that I could not sleep, I found. So I lay for a while simply resting, exalting in the sensation of a full stomach and a soft bed. Singing and laughter came to my ears from time to time, and I wished fleetingly that my werewolf would appear as well, as he had that night far away. And then I felt guilty for my wish, remembering that my love, my true love, was still alive and I had still a quest to fulfill.

In a bit, I rose, deciding to take a small walk. Something about the place had changed: I could feel a sort of charge in the air. I met no one as I rounded the staircase corner, headed down, but a lone guard on duty. A howl broke the stillness once and then fell silent again.

I ended up in the gardens once more, looking at the flowers and watching shadows. That was when I heard the shriek and whirled: it had come from an upper window. Running footsteps were heard as more screams came now from lower halls. I froze, uncertain what to do.

That was when I saw the creatures: goblin-esque, four of them came dancing at me out from the castle side door through which I'd come only a minute earlier. I heard a howl of wolves from inside and yelling of other sorts. But my oppressors approached warily, as if unsure just how to handle me.

A screech came overhead then and I whirled to see two flying beasts of no natural cause from here. That gave the goblins distraction; apparently at least two fronts were at bay tonight, and I recalled the words of the werewolf, how many different creatures of the night world had been seeking the ring, and me. I ducked as one of these lunged for me from above, and was caught by the other for only a moment as someone slashed at a wing. It crashed, screeching, right into the flower beds. I herd the snarl of a wolf nearby.

I ran right into yet another goblin and had to duck, running around him as yet another wolf lunged. The ring burned on my finger as I stumbled around the flower garden, half in ruins. Flames rose in the castle.

Suddenly I was grabbed from behind by strong arms, thrust back against a wall. A fierce whistle pierced the air. Something swooped down, fast on an impossible wind, and carried me off, flying at great speed. I hung on for dear life, not knowing what else to do.

"Look out!"

A large creature suddenly rammed into us from one side. I screamed, trying to keep my hold as I clutched at my rescuer-kidnapper, trying to hold on as the mount we rode swerved wildly. I tried not to think how high up in the air we were, or the nauseous feeling in my stomach from the scent of the creatures. I recognized that; they were both of the type that had attacked me before in the mountains.

With a savage squall, and a wrench that almost threw me off the side, the beast snapped at the neck of its assailant, breaking it. I felt an arm clutch me, pull me back to a full seat this time farther up the neck of the creature. The voice from before yelled something in a language I didn't understand, and we zoomed off at lightning speed.

We did not stop for a good long while, and I had not courage to look down. This was not at all like the pleasant rides I'd once had in the air with my love - what was worse, I seemed to have developed air sickness in all these years. I was trying not to think of who or what this new person might be, and what they might do to me. Please help me, I prayed to the moon, who was again hidden by clouds, though full, I had noticed earlier. It grew cold and I shivered, but the person now behind me had a tight grip that didn't falter as we coursed on through the night, and I didn't dare try to fight him in such a precarious position.

When we landed at last, I was exhausted and chilled. I almost fell as the person helped me climb down from the huge creature's back. But he was surprisingly gentle, and I felt something covering my shivering body.

"It's all right, all right," the voice soothed, now sounding vaguely familiar.

I turned and found my lost love standing there, for whom I'd taken this journey in the first place. He was thinner, more drawn, but those eyes were still full of fire and he still carried himself so tall and proud as before. "My butterfly," he said, reaching out to touch my shoulder as he used to do. "You have come to me at last."

Sobbing, trembling, I threw myself into his arms. "Where were you all this time? Who are these people?" Those were my first words to him after all the years of waiting. I was no longer the same simpering child he'd known. I felt tense and cold and all I wanted was to be at home with nothing to worry about but settling the squabbles of the people in town, and feeling my simple feather mattress at night.

But he kissed me, and for a fleeting moment I did remember that time long ago. I smelled the flowers, the exotic birds and creatures he'd imported for my enjoyment, the perfume of sage I used to wear on my wrists and neck, the scent of his musk and his sweat when I'd se him after battle practice, or a hard ride when we'd make love on the plain at a scrub oasis, rutting like animals for pure lust.

And then, just as quickly, that sensation was gone and I was just me again, mayor of a small town I didn't understand well, a simple woman who wore cotton and linen and wool, and who darned her own socks. "They are bad, bad, people," he said, stroking my hair, not noticing the change in me. "They have hunted for the ring for a long while. Do you have it?"

"Oh yes, it's safe." It did feel good to be held again, and by him who I'd loved so long. But it felt also like it was a different him, the arms were someone only somewhat similar, like a damaged copy. Suddenly I did not feel like telling him I had it with me, on my finger there at that moment. "They're hunting me because of it, I heard."

"You spoke with them?" He turned my face to his, held it in both hands, looking at me with concerned eyes.

"They came to me," I said, and could feel tears of fear boiling in me again. "They - they kept coming." Where was the bold girl who'd stalked the mountains, who'd run with Grandfather to try and find her love in defiance of the wizard? Where was she who'd ruled the town with such force and benevolence, somehow managing to keep it all together with the change of rulers, the new problems and old?

But perhaps that woman never really had existed at all, I thought, as he held my sobbing form. She'd only been a concubine, never trained for anything but being beautiful. She'd had to hide, to disguise herself when the man in charge disappeared, rather than ingratiate herself to the new lord for the sake of her safety. She'd been a slave to simple love for a man who may or may not have loved her. She'd been an idiot who'd run for her life.

"My poor, poor butterfly," he said soothingly, stroking my hair. "Of course you couldn't have known that if you speak to the powers of the night, they gain power over you." I felt so soft again, so secure in those arms as he kissed me again and again.

We lay together, clutching each other, holding one another. There was mixed in with the stirrings of latent passion an odd sensation about him of fear still, of unnaturalness. Like he wasn't a person really, but someone instead acting out a job. We did not make love, only lay in the night, trying to be warm. I felt the breeze above me and the trunk of a tree at my back, and wasn't' sure if it had been there before or not. Once I opened my eyes and saw another pair glinting at me from the shadows not far away.

That woke me a little further, enough to feel a hand casually settled around my neck. Suddenly my whole body was on alert, wondering what to do. I pushed away the turmoil in my mind and moved on purpose, yawning loudly as my arm snaked backward in a casual motion. The hand changed position, just as casually. He kissed my neck, murmuring something. They eyes had disappeared by the time I fell asleep again but I knew they were watching me.

Neither of us said a word in the morning about the stand of trees that had appeared in the night. I shivered, reminded again of the last sight I'd had of Grandfather. "Cold?"

"Yes," I said, though the weather was better today. I looked around seeing we were actually not far from the edge of a wood. There was no sign of the eyes from the night before.

"No, the bird isn't here," he remarked, misinterpreting my glance. "We're on foot, I'm afraid."

One of the final bits of magic he had left, I thought. I remembered the words of the werewolf, how he could feel my love calling for this, for that - for the ring? Probably, he had been, I realized. Which meant that he probably thought I'd come because of that.

I felt chilled. Had I? But no, I protested to myself as we walked: I'd been champing at the bit all these years, fighting the wizard because this was the man I loved and I knew, I just knew he hadn't died in the war.

How had I known?

We went on like this for several days, playing cat and mouse with each other by night, pretending innocence to each other. We lived on the food he had with him - very little, but every time it looked like it was about to run thin we'd come upon a copse of fruit trees, or a brook full of fish or an animal ready to be killed. And every night I saw the eyes and realized the wolf was still following us.

"So where are we headed?" I asked at last, one day when the mountains were looming at our backs. The weather was warmer here. We'd been skirting the eastern edge of the wood for almost a week, after following a brook out. He pointed to the north, where smoke rose.

"That way. But we need to be careful of the Fens. And there are towns along here." But I saw no houses, not even from the top of a hill a few days later. Instead the land was steadily flattening into a salt marsh, towards which the brook ran to meet a larger river that coursed right through it.

Two days later, right on the last edge of the woods, we were attacked by goblins. They came out of nowhere, jumping us by surprise. "Run!" he yelled to me, fighting one off. But I ran instead straight into a creature who threw a bag over me and tossed me kicking over his shoulder, till I passed out from lack of air.

I woke a couple of times, finding myself still in utter blackness that moved steadily. After a while I realized that we were on a boat, on the river going south that I'd seen before. I didn't hear a sound but the splash of water.

I lay, thinking. We must be headed toward one of the port towns that sat all along the coastline of this land. Perhaps even to the very one where he'd lived when young, with the sorcerer. Which meant the sorcerer must have been looking for us: me, to kill for the ring, my love to kill in retaliation for keeping it from him. I wondered what part of the ship he was being kept in.

I began to pray then, pray hard to every goddess I knew under moon and sky. Help me, help us, I prayed, not caring what would come this time, what would happen next. A tree in the middle of the river would be a boon right now. The boat began to rock. I heard yelling.

The ring burned and something roared, louder than a cannon. Footsteps sounded all around me as the craft tipped. I felt wet all of a sudden. Someone grabbed me just as I tipped over into the water.

I struggled, trying to breathe or not to breathe, trying not to die. Someone was ripping at the fabric of the bag - I exploded outward and up with a choking gasp, before falling back down into the water as a hand grabbed my hair. I clawed upward, smacking into the other person who finally managed to get a good grip on my waist. We dragged toward land, lays gasping. I threw up water and muck from the river, felt sand and dirt in my hair, my skin.

The goblins were nowhere to be seen. "Gone," I heard him say, weakly bitter nearby. He lay pale among the reeds. The boat was gone too, though looking back toward the river I saw pieces of wood floating down on the current.

"At least we're safe," I managed, thinking with irony that this was the second time I'd been caught out in my nightgown. Thankfully this one was a bit thicker than my previous garb, though waterlogged it didn't make much difference. "Where are we?"

"In the Fens." He opened an eye and looked at me. "Where we shouldn't be."

I nodded. "Are you all right?" I asked. "You don't look so well." He smiled wanly, shrugging.

"Caught off guard - you don't look any prize either, you know."

"You said there were towns here," I said, ignoring the sting of those words. He'd never said I looked bad before.

"There are - further north."

I frowned. "How far?"

"If you can find them," he said wearily, "there are towns in the Fens of Wush that no one knows of, and the great City, capital of the druids. I've been there before."

"Well, then, we should rest before we try to find anything," I suggested and he nodded. Cold and wet, I settled into uneasy sleep.

I woke just in time to see another attack - but this time, they knocked me out well before they took me. And that was that.

I found myself this time in a wide bed in a very strange room. The bed and its silky, shimmery strips of curtains were all emerald green. The room was painted black on all its walls, but with golden designs in various places running all around. And it had no windows and no door, seemingly, just an opening into another room and a hallway, stairs heading down into these.

As I sat there, feeling the silk I too was shrouded in, a figure filled the doorway. It was him, my love, all decked as he used to be, the lace blouse open a bit at his throat, black breeches over black boots. But all the same it was also not him, in the same way and more that it had not been he who had met me at the castle that night. He was gaunt, drawn, this man. His eyes stared at me strangely from their large sockets, those beautiful eyes I used to love. They looked very sad, those eyes.

"This is the house of a friend of mine."

"How did we get here?" I asked. "The last I remember..."

"Oh yes," he said, pacing the room, rubbing his head as if he had a headache. "Do you know how hard that was to do? You're different."

"I'm different? What about you?" I asked, trying to gather some logic together. He shook his head.

"Oh sure, of course I am. I need it, you see. It takes a lot of energy to do regular magic, I've found: an unbelievable amount. And finding you, that was harder. So hard," he said, his eyes huge as they stared at me. I felt cold. "So hard."

On my finger, I could feel the ring pulsing, but I didn't do anything. "But you didn't take it," I said and I realized that he couldn't. "And I came all this way looking for you. I held it for you all these years - do you know that? I - I waited, but you didn't come."

"I am here now, my love, and so are you," he held out his arms to me, but I now saw only a wraith, the creature he'd become. "My greatest thanks for what you have done. With the ring we will rule again."

I did not move. "Those of the otherworld are looking for me, for it. They will search for you, as well, when you get it. It belongs to them and their world."

"No, no," he laughed. "The ring is more powerful than they are. It is more powerful than the strongest sorcerer here - I killed him with it, long ago. Once I have it again, I can destroy all, become the final king."

But they were only words. When he saw I was not about to give it to him at once, he bowed graciously. "Dinner is almost ready," he said and whirled away.

I dressed slowly and went wandering. No one waylaid me I saw no one at all, heard nothing. The house was built maze-like, its rooms and halls twisting and turning in a circle, heading down towards a few lower inner ones that rambled on into each other and back again. The largest of these had huge windows and I stared out onto land I didn't recognize at all. And like I had in the home of the werewolf, I felt a pulse running throughout, though here it was different. Far, far in the distance I could hear chanting faintly as the sun set blood red.

"This is the capital of the druids," a voice beside me said. I tuned to see a wrinkled old man, his face twisted nastily, scarred as if from old burns. But he smiled in a friendly way.

"You're his friend, then," I said bitterly. "You helped him become - this."

"No," he replied surprisingly. "He managed that by himself. Come, let us eat."

I refused his arm heading down. We ate in silence, I was trying not to watch their faces reflecting weirdly by candlelight. What had I gotten myself into? Couldn't I just have destroyed the ring, or at least kept it at home as an heirloom, left it? Couldn't I have simply given it to the creatures I met in the mountains?

I excused myself when I could, wound my slow way along heading for the room I'd been in before, and quickly became lost along the dim corridors. At last I left them and fell asleep in a chair in a small study.

There are dreams and there are dreams. That night, I am not sure still what was real. I saw the room fade a bit, and the old man appeared. But now his face was less scarred, less marked, and I saw instead the wizard who'd kept me at home all these years.

"Why did you let me go?" I asked him plaintively. "I could have been happy."

"You would never have been happy, not while you thought he still lived, not while you still loved him." He sighed. And then he was young, a lord who I was entertaining - or perhaps he was entertaining me. We sat facing one another, in a room of mauve and brown, and the face before me now was that of my love my true love, one I'd known long ago.

I moved forward to touch his knee, and accidentally knocked into something on the table that tipped a bit. I turned to look at it, slowly, so slowly as moved the air at that moment, the world. A small statue of a castle, it was all of wood. And as I looked in I saw a scene that grew clearer, till I was a watcher but there at the same time.

The castle was burning, under attacked by goblins. Slowly, my vision caught sight of a woman lying on a table, shrieking as she was raped, over and over in hard thrusts by a demon who laughed and slapped her. I felt sick.

Then the door opened, and who but my love strode in. But he was also different, darker somehow than I remembered, and there was a sense of great power about him. All feared him. All would tremble at his presence.

He eyed the demon with a cold, calculated smile. "Ready yet?"

The creature grunted and slid off the woman, who fell to the floor, her neck snapping. He kicked her and she lay still, in the rushes. "Ay, m'lord." He grinned horribly.

"The troops are almost finished, then?"

"Oh, aye, m'lord. Just cleanin' up, as it was." Yelps and hoots came faintly through the doorway. "Havin' a bit o' fun - it's good for 'em."

The lord nodded in silence. They passed out of the chamber, leaving the lady lying there.

The scene faded to a small boatish craft, that was headed down a long river path. Children sat within, wise in their years but still with the merriment of the young. An old monk sat in a corner, and a pale, dark-haired girl with soft eyes that were wary, watched all like a cat.

"This is a good place, you'll learn much here," said the monk as they headed over a bridge of rainbows. And I remembered not trusting him, not trusting anybody who'd taken me from my home. It hit like a stone, the memory. Sitting in that boat-craft as we headed into the Fens that were half myth, half real to the people of my land.

I remembered the City then, this place where I was now, the pale halls, the open homes where you could see inside most rooms but some did still have a wall facing the street. I remembered dark houses, so thin, with odd candles in their doorway, the windows. And I remembered the circles of mages, young and old, chanting over and over in the streets, among the jugglers and the sellers of dragon and leopard, unicorn and harpy. It was old, the City, very old. And I was being brought home for safety from something I did not understand at the time.

The scene returned to the mauve and brown room, where a three-legged dancer flitted by. "I had forgotten," I said to the man across from me.

The wizard nodded. "You were made to forget. We tried to keep you safe, brought you to the city when he began to gain power. But he discovered you here, alas, and when he did it was thought best that you not know, that things go as they must. A different path happened than what was foreseen."

"Who am I?" I whispered. "Who are you?"

The dancer flitted between us and the thing broke into a million pieces. A sound of crystal shattering hit my ear, touched something within me. Over and over, crystal shattering. A voice murmuring hypnotically.

"Can you fix it?" asked my love, and I knew I would try, for him. I picked up the pieces, put them all together to make a small clock. I stared at the thing, uncertain, as he held out his hand to me. "Not bad work," he said, and I knew he would hold me all these years.

I woke in the green chamber again, questions unanswered floating around my head. I remembered the clock from long ago, as I hadn't in years, recalled the City: they were old, very old things from my youth. The room seemed small.

I did not see either of them that day. A gray waste hung in the sky, bit only by the pulse of a red, red sun. The City was on the edge of the otherworld, I remembered now; it had been built as a bar, to protect us all from that which existed over there. To maintain balance.

But he, the man I'd loved so long, had broken through the shield, turned the world to his own doing. They'd tried to kill him for it, but couldn't. could only do half the battle.

They must have discovered the existence of the ring somewhere after the war, maybe had known earlier. Or perhaps it was before that. Or maybe they truly had thought he was just another evil sorcerer, who'd managed to grow dangerous.

I sat on the steps, and wept, wept for all that was lost, all that had never really been. I felt very old, ancient and lost myself, alone in a world gone mad with nothing left.

Dinner came, and sleep without dreams and so passed the days. Every so often he would come to visit me in the room, or I would find him in a hallway somewhere. But he looked sicklier each time, and I knew his power was fading. All the same I also knew I could not do what was dearly needed: I could not kill him no matter what . Nor could I simply toss away the ring, or hide it. And here, here at the apex of sorcery, I dared not call whatever the ring might bring to my aid.

I woke in the middle of the night to find myself being choked, slowly but surely. We were not in the room, we were in a part of the house I didn't know. In the center of a Circle of black candles. I felt woozy: I'd been a little nauseous after dinner, had excused myself early on. Shadows watched from outside the circle.

His face was weird, frightening in the candlelight. I knew I needed to get away from it, to go away. But if I closed my eyes would I be able to remain awake, while he killed me? He moved slowly, seemed to be struggling with something and I knew it was the power of the ring. Everything about me was blurry.

"You'll be cursed if you take it from my dead body," I choked out.

He looked at me. "I've taken it from the dead before," he said, candlelight flickering in his eyes. I closed mine finally and could feel his small power, pulsing around me. I tried calling the trees, that had helped me before, the water spirit I knew now had drowned the goblins. He only laughed. "Not in here, you can't. Not within this circle. We are on the edge of light and dark, and I prevail here!"

I began to struggle then, and we wrestled there on the floor, me slashing at him as best I could as the drug he'd clearly put in my drink faded from my brain. He howled, bit at me like an animal, and I scratched at him but found his flesh caved in. He hit me and I screamed. "Wizard! Wizard! Whoever you are, come take it! Take it now! Come take the ring!!" I panted. "I call you, things of the night, of the otherworld, come take back what is yours!"

With a snarl he jumped me again but I was ready this time, and as we rolled we knocked over several of the candles, breaking the circle, breaking his spell. A great roar filled the air, his cries small within it.

I pushed him off me, threw the ring away, crouching into a corner. The house was burning, I could feel it. I would burn with it, I didn't care; the maelstrom whirled all round. Things blurred and changed, blurred and changed.

I realized that it had happened as it should have, as the wizard had said it would: as the monk had, as the old man at the house had, the old man who was my wizard, who had been the old sorcerer Foran, who had been the monk who'd helped me long ago. Such things I knew now, before I died. Such things I could now understand. The roaring filled my ears, smoke and ash filled my nostrils. I only barely felt something tugging at me.

I opened my eyes and found it quiet. The house was in ruins all about, still smoking but no longer dangerous, no longer filled with the power of the ring. The wizard, ashes covering his face, crouched over me. "That's the second fire I've been through," he said with a wan smile. An arm that was not his supported me. I turned to find the werewolf there, smiling at me.

"You -- found me," I choked.

"You called," he said softly. "We felt your call, heard it. When the Master of the ring calls, we come."

"But I did not call you with that." I frowned. "You told me that you and your people would only come if I called you."

"I did not come for the ring," he said and kissed me and I felt that tingling feeling again. This time, it was very real.