rest it is subtle, just beyond the grasp of the imagination. And yet when it wakes, it is like lightening . . . blinding, perilous and unknowable. It reminds me of an old tale told in the Red Hills of a sleeping giant, who would right all the world's wrongs, if only we could wake it. I feel the forest to be the same."

"Similar tales are told of the Black Wood," said Palindor. "But its magic and its power are elusive, and it has nothing to do with us. The Marshes of Morag are another such place. But the Marsh has a voice."

"Lily," said Grol.

"Yes," said Palindor. "In a way, she is the soul incarnate of the Marsh, or rather, the springs that create it, as are her sisters."

"Lily has said they are enslaved," said Grol. "I wonder what has become of them?"

"`Twas the Demon King who took them," said Palindor. "Only he could delve so deep into the depths of the earth. Such is not the nature of Morlock's wizardry.

"As to the fate of the water-sprites, they were taken, helpless against the might of such evil. They have not the power of the Summoning Stone. Away from the springs of the Marsh, they would suffer Lily's fate . . . they would require something to sustain them.




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