The voice was not Ahrodie’s; it was masculine. He looked up to find three Companions standing beside them; Ahrodie, Elspeth’s Gwena, and leading them, Rolan. They had moved up on them without so much as a twig stirring. Behind them, at the edge of the enclosure that held Elspeth’s tent, were gathered more Companions—every Companion in the encampment, down to Cymry’s foal.

Rolan looked ghostlike, gaunt, and seemed to glow, and the back of Dirk’s neck prickled at the sight of him. He looked like something out of legend, not a creature of the solid, everyday world.

:You have the Gift and the will to use it. She has the Sight. We have the strength you need.:

“I—but—are you saying—”

:That we may yet save her, if our love and courage are enough. But—be prepared—if we succeed, it will not be without high cost to you. There will be great pain. You may die of it.:

Wordlessly, Dirk looked at Elspeth, and knew by her nod that Rolan had spoken to her as well.

Dirk looked into Rolan’s glowing eyes—and they were glowing, a sapphirine light brighter than the starshine. “Whatever the cost is, we’ll pay it,” he said, knowing he spoke for both of them.

They stood up and made room for the three Companions between them. They stood in a circle; Rolan, Elspeth, Gwena, Ahrodie, and Dirk. Elspeth and Dirk clasped hands and rested their arms over the backs of the Companions, obtaining the needed physical contact among the five of them in that way.

It was much easier for Elspeth to find her target the second time.

“I have her,” she said softly when she’d touched Talia again, then sobbed, “Dirk—I think she’s dying!”

Once more Dirk sent his own mind along the path Elspeth had laid for him, took hold, and pulled.

Then a second strength was added to his, and it built, and grew. Then another joined the second, and another. For one awful, pain-wracked moment—or was it an eternity?—Dirk felt like the object of a tug-of-war game, being pulled apart between two forces far greater than his own. Only his own stubbornness kept him to the task, as he felt his mind being torn in two. He held; then felt himself being stretched thinner and thinner, tighter, and tighter, quivering like a harpstring about to snap. All his strength seemed to flow out of him; he felt consciousness fading again, fought back, and held on with nothing left to him but his own stubborn will. Then, one of the two forces broke—and not theirs. And together they pulled their target toward them, cushioning and protecting it against further damage.

Their combined strength was enough. Barely, but enough.