He began to dream, the images floating before him, drifting around in steady cadence. They were of himself, watching everything from a bird’s-eye view, his senses strangely acute. They were of the past and present, revealing nothing of the future, only the things that had come to pass and the things that would pass right now. They were of certain key points in Ard Patrinell’s life, points that seemed to have nothing to do with the present but were somehow the ultimate link to it.
    The first part of his dreams were of his past, of times long gone and that could never be called back again. Tamis was in them, the small, pixie-faced Elven Tracker that he had once been in love with. She was the one that had found Castledown when the Jerle Shannara landed in this new place. Her skills were exceptional.
    His dream began at a point about five years ago from now, when he was still Captain of the Home Guard. Ard was remembering the argument they had, the argument that had broke them up. Tamis had wanted to become a member of the Home Guard, was almost desperate for it, but Ard had turned her down. She would serve her city better by becoming a Tracker, he had told her. She was very gifted and she should put that gift to use. Tamis had argued back, proving her fighting skills to him, stubborn to the last.
    As stubborn as Tamis was, Patrinell was so even more, and he had pointed out that while her combat skills were good, her tracking skills were even better. Once she had discovered a missing child that had somehow strayed from her family while they were visiting relatives in the Sarandanon. The girl had been wandering Drey Wood, lost and frightened, living off edible plants that every Elf knew about. Tamis had learned about her, discovered her tracks, and had found her all within a week. No one else could have done that, Ard had insisted. After a few more moments of persuading, Tamis finally backed off, hating Patrinell for rejecting her. The gap that had opened after that had taken a long time to close.
    The scene faded, and Ard Patrinell felt himself going even farther back in time, stopping about three years before his and Tamis’ dispute. He knew what this next part was going to be about at once.
    Eight years ago, there had been rumors of a silver fox haunting the small villages of the fertile Sarandanon, frightening the citizens and sometimes hurting them. The rumors had become real when it had reached the Elven city of Arborlon, slipping somehow by the sentries always posted at the gates, terrorizing the occupants. It was a huge fox, nearly four feet tall, and almost twice as long. There was a hint of magic in it, just a trace, nothing that was natural but instilled. By whom, no one ever found out. The Ilse Witch, Ard thought blackly now, surprised at how much it seemed to make sense to him, before returning to the dream. The fox had stalked Allardon Elessedil, Home Guard always stopping it, although there were close calls nonetheless. Finally, Allardon ordered Ard, who was a Captain of the Home Guard even then, to get rid of it. How, it did not matter. The only thing that counted was that it was destroyed.
    Patrinell knew that it would be too dangerous for the king and his subjects if the fox was to be killed in Arborlon, and so he and his Home Guard surrounded it one night, tied it up as best as they could, many of his men getting bloodied along the way, and dropped it onto the banks of the Rill Song from the seventh gate of the Elfitch. The fox had nearly worked free of its bindings even as it was falling, and therefore did not die as Ard had hoped. But his hopes did not matter at that moment, and so he had chosen Tamis to go with him to track the fox and to destroy it. Tamis had not been too eager to do so, not knowing the animal’s capabilities, unsure as to whether she could do it. It was an excellent challenge, one that she did not want to give up on so easily, but having doubts about nonetheless. Life is only so long, Ard had told Tamis. Make the most of it.
    He interrupted his strange dream again. Life is only so long. Make the most out of it. It seemed that he had followed his own advice. He had managed to be caught by Antrax and made over. Not everything had a chance to do that, did it? The thought was dripping with irony, and Ard Patrinell returned to his past.
    Tamis had finally agreed, leaving with him the next morning at dawn, the sky already bright and cloudless, a brilliant day for tracking. She found the fox’s tracks somewhere on the eastern banks of the Rill Song, its waters flowing south towards the expanse of the Innisbore. Ard’s quarry had gone into the river, swam upstream, and come back out again on the western bank, its footprints clear in the mud. Apparently, it was not traveling back to Arborlon.
    After that, the chase really began. Tamis and Ard had followed it all the way to the Hoare Flats, entering through the northern pass, Worl Run, before coming out again, this time through the more southerly one, Halys Cut. They tracked it along the edge of the Innisbore, followed it once more along the Rill Song, skirting the western side of the Matted Breaks, into the Pykon and out again, and almost catching it at the banks of the Mermidon River. Although the Mermidon’s current was strong, and the river was flooded, the fox had managed to cross it. The two Elves had been forced to build a raft so they could reach the other side safely, losing a day in the process. But they managed to find its tracks again, chasing it onto Whistle Ridge and then down into the Shroudslip. There they had caught up with it, and with the use of bow and arrow, pushed it back until the fox drowned in the marsh. After that, Tamis and Ard finally went back home to Arborlon. The whole thing had taken a month.
    There was a lull in his dreaming, and all Patrinell saw was that dark, unsure black. He found that he could think freely, as if he weren’t asleep at all, but still conscious, only with his eyes closed. Ard had no idea as to why he had dreamed about things that had already happened, more like recalling a memory rather than letting his imagination go free as in normal dreaming. He puzzled over it but could find no reasonable explanation. And both of the memories had been of Tamis.
   Tamis. The Elven Tracker’s name whispered softly in his mind, a reminder of times gone by. He constructed an image of her in his mind, her roundish, pixie face, her dark cropped hair, her gray eyes. Ard had been in love with her once. He paused in his thinking. He was in love with her now, he realized. Still. The knowledge of it streaked across his mind, hitting him full in the face. Ard brushed it away irritably.
    The images returned, his dreams come back to haunt him. He saw, heard, and felt once more. His senses were clear and unobstructed. A sheen of silver was present everywhere. He was dreaming about himself once more, but there was no Tamis this time. He was alone.
    Or, rather, his head and arm were alone, save for the presence of the metal machines. The sweepers.
    Ard Patrinell willed the images to come to him and was swept up in its embrace.
    But maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t.
 
 

He was looking at everything from a bird’s-eye view once again, seeing with eyes from the ceiling, taking as much as he could in. He was dreaming of his present state, the position that he had been in before his senses had been numbed. Ard saw his head in the glass case, his arm in another, larger one close by, and sweepers everywhere, counting out functions, arranging the metal pieces, watching.
    This dream, Ard Patrinell believed, was reality.
    He wanted to shut it out from his mind, to hide it somewhere where he could never find it again, but the images were persistent and they stayed with him.
    Something was going to happen to him now, and he did not want to see it pass. But his wants and needs had no part in the matter, and probably never would again, and Ard was forced to watch himself become something else.
    The sweepers began with his head, which had the invisible tubes as well, he noticed, taking it out of the glass container and laying it on the metal platform. The tubes were removed; almost at once he saw his features contort in pain and horror.
    Ard could feel it in his dream. It was a horrible, wracking pain, a dull throb that began at his neck but quickly worked its way upwards, worsening all the while. Just when he thought that he couldn’t stand it anymore, the pain lessened, if only slightly, and the former Captain of the Home Guard relaxed once more.
    A hollow half-sphere was brought up and fitted onto the top of his head, acting as a shield of sorts. Something drilled into the holes at its side, joining head and half-sphere as one. Patrinell felt an ache somewhere near his temples. He wished he could rub them and relieve some of it. But of course, he had no arms to do so.
    His face had begun contorting again, and one of the sweepers quickly injected the greenish liquid into him with a needle. He watched himself still, his senses in his body dulled, but his senses in his spirit sharp. Ard looked on.
    The biggest piece of all, a thick, rectangular box of metal blinking with multicolored lights and red, digital numbers, was brought up. There was a stout, cylindrical part at the center of one end, the sides sloping down until it merged with the rest of the box. Red and blue wires crisscrossed it all over, connecting one end to the other. It was laid on the platform directly below his head. Some sort of metallic ball was stuck in his neck, which in turn was slipped into the cylinder. The body, Ard realized. The cylinder was to protect his neck, apparently.
    Patrinell looked at his new body more closely, finding that small buttons were everywhere. At its sides were four rounded out dents. The holes on the vertical side were smaller than the ones on the horizontal side. He watched as three long, thin pieces of metal put together in a way so that they could bend at the center were attached to three of the dents in a ball-and-socket joint. At the end of one of the metal pieces was something that vaguely resembled a hand, and at the ends of the others were things that looked like squarish feet. They clattered when moved. The wires were everywhere.
    Ard shifted his gaze until it landed on his right arm. The one part of his new body that would be flesh and blood. A sweeper lifted it out of its glass case, removed the tubes, and injected the greenish liquid. The part where his arm should have connected to the shoulder was fastened onto the last remaining dent on the body’s right side, also in a ball-and-socket joint. Two pads were brought out from beneath the platform and fixed onto the metal feet so that they would not clatter. Then the sweepers that had been standing by crowded over the new Ard Patrinell, prodding the buttons, counting out functions.
   Don’t show me any more, he begged. But no one was there.
    Ard felt Antrax’s presence return, to look at its new grotesque creation, relishing its plans for him. He watched each sweeper spark suddenly in response to a command Antrax had issued, and waited to see what would happen. The biggest sweepers brought Patrinell and his new body into an upright position, so that he was standing. His eyes were still closed. His metal hand held a long knife while his other one, the one with flesh and blood, held a broadsword. His left arm had an oval shield attached to it.
    A gap appeared in the wall directly in front of him, hidden doors sliding back to reveal a tunnel. A way of escape, Ard thought.
    The lights on his metal body all flashed abruptly, and Patrinell felt himself returning to his body. Now we shall see.
    With a tremendous effort, Ard Patrinell opened his eyes and took his first step in his new body into the world beyond.