A Wizard's Wings by T. A. Barron Page A

just last year, near the Haunted Marsh.”
    “A nynniaw pennent ? A real one? You never told me!” Her gray-blue eyes widened for an instant. Then, just as quickly, her excitement faded. “You know how rare they are. I’ve heard only five or six are left on this whole island. And besides, they look just like any other tree. Even their name means always there, never found .”
    My hand moved down the ridges of the trunk, then dropped to her shoulder. “You could find them, Rhia. I know you could! And if you can reach them, they might know how to awaken the other trees.” I bent closer, gazing at her intently. “Think of it! A forest on the move, as you described last night! If Rhita Gawr’s army ever saw such a thing . . .”
    My words trailed off, but my gaze never slackened. “Remember? Like a mountain on the move, like a tide upon the land .”
    Running a hand through her curls, she stared at me, unconvinced. “It’s fine to imagine. But . . .”
    “What?”
    “Oh, I’m just not good at this kind of thing.”
    “Come on now. You confronted Stangmar in his own castle, didn’t you?”
    “Yes, and hated every minute of it.”
    “And you came with me into the dragon’s lair, didn’t you? It wasn’t our friend Gwynnia we faced there, but her father, three times bigger and a thousand times more wrathful.”
    Her face softened enough to show a spare grin. “That was the day you took a bite out of your own boot.”
    “ Mmmm ,” I said, pretending to chew on something impossibly tough. “Bring me,” chomp, chomp, “some more salt.”
    Her grin widened. “Not needed! There’s enough already from your sweaty feet.”
    At that, we both laughed, so hard that Scullyrumpus poked out his head, watching us in surprise. Seeing one of Rhia’s oatcakes resting unguarded on a root, he leaped down, snatched the morsel, and plunged back into the pocket before anyone could object.
    As we quieted, she looked at me long and hard. “You’re mad, Brother. Utterly mad.”
    I nodded.
    “And the whole idea is ridiculous. Not to mention dangerous, with both Stangmar and that sword-armed character roaming about.”
    I nodded again.
    She swallowed. “All right, I’ll do it.” Scowling at me, she added, “How do you ever talk me into these things?”
    “The same way you talked me into flying on that vine.”
    Her fingers drummed on the tilting trunk of the oak, already lined with dusky shadows. “Tell me what else you’re thinking. While I’m off trying to rouse the trees, what other allies do you hope to win?”
    “Well, the canyon eagles, as I said. They’re tricky to find, as you know, but I helped them long ago and I’m hoping they haven’t forgotten.”
    “Who else?”
    “The giants, as many as possible. Shim’s already taken on that task. But we’ll also need some help from the dwarves, fierce fighters that they are.”
    “That won’t be easy.” She popped her remaining berry into her mouth. “Your last encounter with Urnalda was about as tart as this berry.”
    My hand ran along the carved handle of my staff, resting beside me on the roots. “I know, believe me. But she’s more than just the dwarves’ leader, right? She’s an enchantress, a powerful one, with her own ability to see the future. It’s possible she already knows the dangers we’re facing. And if she could be persuaded—well, one angry dwarf is worth a dozen of Rhita Gawr’s warrior goblins.”
    “Wait, now. You can bet Rhita Gawr will have some help from the goblins, his old allies. But most of his army will be spirits, deathless beings. That’s what Dagda told you. How do you expect to fight them?”
    For several seconds, I listened to the slapping of the rivulet, bounding past the rims of ice along its edges. “I don’t know,” I said at last. “I really don’t know. We’ll just have to do our best.”
    Rhia chewed silently—not on any food, but on her lip. “We’ll need to contact the wind sisters somehow. I wish I