tarnished, the sword rusted; only the hoof-print was still sharp
and clear. The Forestmaster stared at the print, then looked thoughtfully around the
glade. There was not so much as a mound to show that anyone had died here, and even the
memory of the draconians was fading from those who lived in Shadow Wood.
The unicorn tipped her head up and quietly sang two stanzas she had heard recently, added
onto a very old ballad:
"THE SHADOWS IN THE WOODS ARE PLAIN AND MINGLE NOW WITH LIGHT; THEY FLOW AND PLAY WITH SUN
BY DAY AND DANCE WITH MOON BY NIGHT.
FROM DARKEN WOOD HAS SHADOW WOOD BEEN GRANTED ITS RELEASE, THOSE WHO WERE KILLED IN VOWS
FULFILLED HAVE THERE BEEN GRANTED PEACE."
She strode to the edge of the woods and thrust her horn in among the vines, circling it
quickly. Walking back to the statue, she lifted her horn to the stone and slid a floral
wreath onto it. It slid down too far; she moved parallel to the sword and adjusted it. For
a moment, sword and horn both pointed to the north star, faintly visible in the darkening
sky.
She stepped back. “Sleep well, beloved” She turned and was gone.
The wreath of Paladine's Tears stayed fresh a long time. Hide and Go Seek Nancy Varian Berberick For a long time Keli did not know where he was. Sometimes he smelled the forest and the
river, sometimes only dirt and rocks. Once the boy thought he heard thunder rumbling far, far away. Then, on the tenuous bridge between darkness and consciousness, he
knew with the flashing certainty of lightning's strike that it was not thunder he was
hearing.
It was the voice of nightmare: the voice of a goblin.
“Tigo, let's dump the little rat in the river. We have what we want.”
Keli expected to feel the goblin's huge gray hands drag him up and cast him into the river.
Far back in his mind he knew about the leather thongs pinioning his arms, binding him at
knee and ankle. Too, he felt the hard earth, the fist-sized rock digging into his ribs.
Pain, however, was not as immediate as death-fear.
A second voice, sounding like the rattling of old bones, growled, “Bring him over here,
Staag; see what he's carrying first.”
Someone shouted, then yelped. Keli's eyes flew open, his heart leaped hard against his
ribs. He was not alone in his captivity!
Bruised, pinioned, and bound as Keli was, his fellow prisoner was in a worse plight,
caught hard by the neck in the goblin's iron-fingered grip. He was small, but no child;
the cant of his ears as well as his slim build and small stature marked him as a kender.
Several pouches of varying sizes and materials bounced at the kender's belt each time
Staag shook him. And Staag, that slope-shouldered, gray- skinned nightmare, shook him
often and hard simply because it amused him to do so.
The kender, a game little fellow, hitched up his knees and drove them into the goblin's
belly. Had a mouse attacked a mountain the result would have been the same. Laughing,
Staag loosed his grip on the kender's neck and dropped him.
The kender writhed against his bonds. “Swamp- breathed, slime-brained bull,” he croaked.
Keli's heart sank. So much for the kender, he thought. Staag's going to kill him now!
But the goblin didn't. Tigo stopped him with a command.
If Staag, his arms too long, his legs too short, his skin the color of something a week
dead, was the nightmare, his human companion Tigo was reality gone twisted. Tall and lean,
bony-shouldered, with limbs that might have been stolen from a scarecrow, Tigo bore a
four-pronged grapnel where his right hand should have been. His eyes, muddy and brown,
held little sanity in them.
“I said bring him over here, Staag.” Tigo glanced at Keli, who shivered despite the close
heat of the summer morning. “And the boy, too.”
A bull, the kender had called the goblin, and bull-strong he was. He tossed the kender
over one shoulder, Keli over the other and, with no
and clear. The Forestmaster stared at the print, then looked thoughtfully around the
glade. There was not so much as a mound to show that anyone had died here, and even the
memory of the draconians was fading from those who lived in Shadow Wood.
The unicorn tipped her head up and quietly sang two stanzas she had heard recently, added
onto a very old ballad:
"THE SHADOWS IN THE WOODS ARE PLAIN AND MINGLE NOW WITH LIGHT; THEY FLOW AND PLAY WITH SUN
BY DAY AND DANCE WITH MOON BY NIGHT.
FROM DARKEN WOOD HAS SHADOW WOOD BEEN GRANTED ITS RELEASE, THOSE WHO WERE KILLED IN VOWS
FULFILLED HAVE THERE BEEN GRANTED PEACE."
She strode to the edge of the woods and thrust her horn in among the vines, circling it
quickly. Walking back to the statue, she lifted her horn to the stone and slid a floral
wreath onto it. It slid down too far; she moved parallel to the sword and adjusted it. For
a moment, sword and horn both pointed to the north star, faintly visible in the darkening
sky.
She stepped back. “Sleep well, beloved” She turned and was gone.
The wreath of Paladine's Tears stayed fresh a long time. Hide and Go Seek Nancy Varian Berberick For a long time Keli did not know where he was. Sometimes he smelled the forest and the
river, sometimes only dirt and rocks. Once the boy thought he heard thunder rumbling far, far away. Then, on the tenuous bridge between darkness and consciousness, he
knew with the flashing certainty of lightning's strike that it was not thunder he was
hearing.
It was the voice of nightmare: the voice of a goblin.
“Tigo, let's dump the little rat in the river. We have what we want.”
Keli expected to feel the goblin's huge gray hands drag him up and cast him into the river.
Far back in his mind he knew about the leather thongs pinioning his arms, binding him at
knee and ankle. Too, he felt the hard earth, the fist-sized rock digging into his ribs.
Pain, however, was not as immediate as death-fear.
A second voice, sounding like the rattling of old bones, growled, “Bring him over here,
Staag; see what he's carrying first.”
Someone shouted, then yelped. Keli's eyes flew open, his heart leaped hard against his
ribs. He was not alone in his captivity!
Bruised, pinioned, and bound as Keli was, his fellow prisoner was in a worse plight,
caught hard by the neck in the goblin's iron-fingered grip. He was small, but no child;
the cant of his ears as well as his slim build and small stature marked him as a kender.
Several pouches of varying sizes and materials bounced at the kender's belt each time
Staag shook him. And Staag, that slope-shouldered, gray- skinned nightmare, shook him
often and hard simply because it amused him to do so.
The kender, a game little fellow, hitched up his knees and drove them into the goblin's
belly. Had a mouse attacked a mountain the result would have been the same. Laughing,
Staag loosed his grip on the kender's neck and dropped him.
The kender writhed against his bonds. “Swamp- breathed, slime-brained bull,” he croaked.
Keli's heart sank. So much for the kender, he thought. Staag's going to kill him now!
But the goblin didn't. Tigo stopped him with a command.
If Staag, his arms too long, his legs too short, his skin the color of something a week
dead, was the nightmare, his human companion Tigo was reality gone twisted. Tall and lean,
bony-shouldered, with limbs that might have been stolen from a scarecrow, Tigo bore a
four-pronged grapnel where his right hand should have been. His eyes, muddy and brown,
held little sanity in them.
“I said bring him over here, Staag.” Tigo glanced at Keli, who shivered despite the close
heat of the summer morning. “And the boy, too.”
A bull, the kender had called the goblin, and bull-strong he was. He tossed the kender
over one shoulder, Keli over the other and, with no
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