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. It was S'sira-and it was not.
The form changed constantly, as if two forces sought domination
and could not successfully defeat one another, the commander
thought.
Disgusted, he pulled the sword from its sheath and forced
himself to stand over the shifting mass. One stroke cut off what
should have been the head. B'rak picked up a large piece of cloth,
intending to use it to clean his weapon. The cloth turned out to be
part of a dark robe which had once belonged to Vergrim. The
magic-user's charred body lay crumpled in a corner.
"The Queen's hold is too great." The voice was that of the mage,
but the form was that of an elf. Looking at him closely, feeling an
unreasonable fear creep over him B'rak saw that it was Eliyah . . .
and yet it wasn't Eliyah. "We should have never believed she
would honor an agreement."
"Some of us refused to believe there was no hope," the elf
continued. "We were determined to bring back our children. If the
Queen could turn them into hateful monstrosities, we could turn
them back."
The draconian captain stepped forward. "You are my prisoner,
old one! I have uncovered your trap! Even now, my men are
slaughtering your people and burning this mockery of a village."
Eliyah shook his head sadly. "I had hopes for you, especially. I
knew you for mine when I saw you. The same determination, the
same strength. The dream almost caught you. Just as it almost
caught the other one
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