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Suddenly the only color left in Silvara’s face was the deep blue of her eyes. “But, that will mean—”

“Yes, Silvara,” he said. “It is up to you.” He kissed the girl on the forehead. “Farewell, Silvara.”

Turning, he looked back at the rest. “Good-bye, good-bye. Nice seeing you again. I’m a bit miffed about the chicken feathers, but—no hard feelings.” He waited impatiently a minute, glaring at Tasslehoff. “Are you coming? I haven’t got all night!”

“Coming? With you?” Tas cried, dropping Flint’s head back onto the stone floor with a thunk. The kender stood up. “Of course, let me get my pack …” Then he stopped, glancing down at the unconscious dwarf. “Flint—”

“He’ll be fine,” Fizban promised. “You won’t be parted from your friends long. We’ll see them”—he frowned, muttering to himself—“seven days, add three, carry the one, what’s seven times four? Oh well, around Famine Time. That’s when they’ll hold the Council meeting. Now, come along. I’ve got work to do. Your friends are in good hands. Silvara will take care of them, won’t you, my dear?” He turned to the Wilder elf.

“I will tell them,” she promised sadly, eyes on Gilthanas.

The elflord was staring at her and at Fizban, his face pale, fear spreading through his soul.

Silvara sighed. “You are right. I broke the oath long ago. I must finish what I set out to do.”

“As you think best.” Fizban laid his hand upon Silvara’s head, stroking her silver hair. Then he turned away.

“Will I be punished?” she asked, just as the old man stepped into the shadows.

Fizban stopped. Shaking his head, he looked back over his shoulder “Some would say you are being punished right now, Silvara,” he said softly. “But what you do, you do out of love. As the choice was up to you, so is your punishment.”

The old man stepped into the darkness. Tasslehoff ran after him, his pouches bouncing behind him. “Good-bye, Laurana! Good-bye, Theros! Take care of Flint!” In the silence that followed, Laurana could hear the old man’s voice.

“What was that name again? Fizbut, Furball—”

“Fizban!” said Tas shrilly.

“Fizban … Fizban …” muttered the old man.

All eyes turned to Silvara.

She was calm now, at peace with herself. Although her face was filled with sorrow, it was not the tormented, bitter sorrow they had seen earlier. This was the sorrow of loss, the quiet, accepting sorrow of one who has nothing to regret. Silvara walked toward Gilthanas. She took hold of his hands and looked up into his face with so much love that Gilthanas felt blessed, even as he knew she was going to tell him good-bye.

“I am losing you, Silvara,” he murmured in broken tones. “I see it in your eyes. But I don’t know why! You love me—”

“I love you, elflord,” Silvara said softly. “I loved you when I saw you lying injured upon the sand. When you looked up and smiled at me, I knew that the fate which had befallen my sister was to be mine, too.” She sighed. “But it is a risk we take when we choose this form. For though we bring our strength into it, the form inflicts its weaknesses upon us. Or is it a weakness? To love …”

“Silvara, I don’t understand!” Gilthanas cried.

“You will,” she promised, her voice soft. Her head bowed.

Gilthanas took her in his arms, holding her. She buried her face in his chest. He kissed her beautiful silver hair, then clasped her with a sob.

Laurana turned away. This grief seemed too sacred for her eyes to intrude upon. Swallowing her own tears, she looked around and then remembered the dwarf. She took some water from his waterskin and sprinkled it on Flint’s face.

His eyes fluttered, then opened. The dwarf stared up at Laurana for a moment and reached out a trembling hand.

“Fizban!” the dwarf whispered hoarsely.

“I know,” Laurana said, wondering how the dwarf would take the news about Tas’s leaving.

“Fizban’s dead!” Flint gasped. “Tas said so! In a pile of chicken feathers!” The dwarf struggled to sit up. “Where is that rattle-brained kender?”

“He’s gone, Flint,” Laurana