“Well, maybe so, maybe not.” The mouth twisted. “We’ll ask another for advice on this.”

He motioned, and the skrails holding Kirisin marched him to the edge of the fire and forced him to his knees. For a single terrifying instant, the boy thought they were going to throw him in. But then the minder stepped to the very edge of the fire and tossed something else into the flames. The fire exploded in a shower of sparks and changed to a wicked green color that spread to everything around it—the minder, the skrails, the boy, and the closest of the trees. Even the night itself seemed changed. Then the minder began to gesture, chanting something in a language Kirisin had never heard. The skrails fell back, even the ones that had been holding his arms, and their squawking took on a new urgency. Kirisin was suddenly free, but he stayed where he was on his knees. He was surrounded by his captors, weakened to the point of collapse, wounded, and somewhere in the middle of country with which he was only marginally familiar. He might think of trying to flee, but such an attempt at this point seemed completely unrealistic.

He felt a presence at his shoulder. One of the skrails had moved closer again, perhaps sensing what he was thinking. His chance to escape, however slim, was gone.

His eyes shifted back to the fire. Something very strange was happening within its heart. A figure was taking shape, growing in size and rising out of the flames. At first it appeared to be a spirit formed of smoke and fire, peppered with ash and steaming from the heat. But then it began to take on definition, assuming the shape and visage of an old man cloaked in gray robes. Eyes as cold and implacable as a snake’s peered out of the haze of smoke and flames, shifting from the minder to Kirisin and back again. This is the one, the boy thought with a shiver that ran from his neck down to the base of his spine. This is the demon that leads all the others, the one that hunts the Elves and the Loden. The demon in the flames hissed softly.

–Is this the boy–“Yes, Master,” the minder answered, inclining his head slightly in deference.

–Did you take the Elfstone from him–The minder shuddered. “He didn’t have it on him.”

–Has he told you what he did with it–“No, Master.”

A long silence left the air stark and empty of life. The specter never moved as it regarded the minder carefully.

–Has he told you of the fate of our spies within the Elven city–The minder shook his head.

–Of Delloreen and her hunt for the Knight of the Word–The minder shook his head again, but less certainly this time.

–Of anything at all, you fool–“Master, I tried to—”