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Delrael began to feel confident again. As the giant forms loomed over him, he sensed their power, their invincibility.
    “We will disguise ourselves. A dim part of us remembers the silver belt you carry, remembers creating it as an ornament so long ago.”
    Delrael clenched the glittering belt self-consciously, wondering what they would do. Then he cursed his own selfishness.
    “Lay it on the ground,” the Earthspirits said. “We will meld ourselves to it, take substance in the metal. We can do little to assist you, though we can shield you from the manipulations of Scartaris once you get closer to him.
    “Carry this belt across the map. When you reach Scartaris, we will emerge. We will take him by surprise.”
    Silence settled down on the meadow. The white Spirits waited for Delrael.
    With trembling hands, he laid the shining belt down on the grass. The light from the Earthspirits glinted off the gems and the polished hexagonal sections of silver. He backed away, stumbling into a fallen tree. But he could not tear his gaze from the Spirits.
    The Earthspirits changed. They moved. Their light glittered and swirled in a funnel, pouring down into the metal of the belt. Dazzles of color floated in front of Delrael’s eyes. He shielded them, blinking, as the wind continued to howl, focusing downward. Leaves broke away from branches and swirled around his head.
    The Spirits streamed down into the silver links. Delrael tried to imagine how so much power could fit within the belt.
    Then the silver swallowed the last glints of white with an audible pop . The wind ceased. Torn leaves and broken twigs settled to the ground, and everything fell silent again.
    His ears ringing, Delrael crept forward. His feet were wet, along with the hem of his nightshirt. His eyes were wide and childlike when he touched the belt. For a moment it was blistering hot, then the silver grew bitterly cold before adjusting itself again. Tracings of frost etched across the gems before evaporating into the cool night.
    Delrael picked the belt up in his hands. The silver throbbed against his fingers, vibrating with a rhythm that faded toward stillness.
    He would have to be careful about what he said to anyone if the Outsiders truly were not aware of this quest. Not even the Rulewoman Melanie could know.
    Then Delrael smiled. At last they had their weapon. At last they had a way to win against Scartaris.
    He fastened the belt around his damp nightshirt. He didn’t feel tired anymore. He wanted to talk to Vailret and Bryl and Tareah immediately. They needed to set off as soon as possible. No more sitting around and talking.
    He looked up through the trees to see the silhouette of Steep Hill and the Stronghold. Delrael realized it would be a long walk barefoot back home.
    * * *
    Tareah sat back in the deep wooden tub, drawing her gangly legs up and tucking her knees close to her chin. The legs seemed so long to her, so awkward, as if they belonged to someone else. The rough surface of the wet wood rubbed against the bumps of her spine.
    Through half-closed eyes she saw wisps of steam rising from the bath. The warm water soaked into the throbbing in her joints. Old Siya argued with her that the water was too hot, but Tareah found that only this would help. When she climbed out, dripping, to dry herself, her skin would be angry red, but she would feel better, numbed for a while.
    Her muscles relaxed under the coaxing of the bath. She let her mind drift, her body drift. She felt painfully lonely, lost and unsure of anything. Her stable and predictable world had been thrown into chaos since Tryos the dragon kidnapped her, since her father died in the destruction of his Ice Palace, since she found out the Outsiders were trying to destroy Gamearth. Tareah’s new adult body was difficult to control, grown too fast. She seemed like a stranger inside herself.
    In the deserted bath chamber, after the others bedded down for the night, Tareah listened to quiet sounds,