There was a pause then, a long one.

“It may be,” the Dwarf leader allowed, his deep-set gaze scanning the small company. “Haomane’s Child. Do the Rivenlost venture in search of this thing?”

“We do, Earth-Tender.” Peldras the Ellyl bowed, light and graceful. “Will you not hear our plea?”

A hushed conference, then, among the four visitors. Carfax strained his hearing to no avail. “Uru-Alat!” A soft whisper sounded at his ear. “They’re so small! Are they Men, or children?” It was the boy, Dani, squatting fearless at his side, his dark eyes wide in the firelight. They tell him no more than they do me, Carfax thought, pitying the boy. What was Malthus thinking, to venture into the Unknown and drag the boy from his home, keeping him in ignorance? At least in Darkhaven, one knew the price of one’s bargain.

“No,” he said. “They are Dwarfs, Dani. A long time ago, they withdrew from the affairs of Men.”

One dark hand rose to clasp the flask at his throat, dark eyes bewildered. “What is it Malthus thinks they have?”

“I don’t know.” He wished he did.

A decision was made, and the Dwarf leader stepped forward. “There will be a hearing on the morrow,” he said. “In the orchards of Malumdoorn. Come in peace, or not at all.”

“It will be so,” Malthus said with dignity.

NIGHT.

It fell hard and fast in the swamps of the Delta. Turin hurried after the fleeting form of Hunric the tracker, falling and splashing and cursing his speed. Before them, the hummock of dry land loomed, elusive and retreating in the fading light. A last, dying spear of light lit the palodus tree that stood sentry over it.

“Come on!” Hunric shouted, scrambling up the hummock ahead of him, the slow-lizard’s carcass tied to a string about his waist. “Come on!”

Waist-deep in water at the foot of the hummock, Turin set his teeth and grabbed for a handhold. Shale rock, plates as broad as both his hands, slick and overgrown with moss. There would be nothing edible growing on this island. By main force he hauled himself, hand over hand, up the steep incline, his breath searing his lungs.

At the top, he bent double, panting.

“Look!” Hunric was grinning, arms open wide. “The heart of the Delta. Is it not a glorious thing?”

Turin could have wept.

There was nothing, nothing atop the hummock, only moss-covered black shale in articulated ridges that hurt his sodden feet, and a few fallen branches of palodus wood. He was tired and soaked and footsore, and his loins ached with gnawing desire.

“A freshwater spring would have been nice,” he said wearily, sitting down and removing his pack, beginning the tiresome process of peeling off his boots. “You’re sure this is the way out?”