EIGHTEEN      

GHOSTS.

It was the name the old stories said the Hawk gave to the street children who followed him. A name out of their own history, repeated from generation to generation by those who had followed the boy leader into their valley home. Panterra and Prue both knew the name well; both had heard it many times.

Ghosts.

And so, closeted away in the shadowy, concealing confines of the tent, the activities of the Troll camp a distant rumble beyond the hide walls, they listened with rapt attention as Arik Sarn told them the strange story of his own people’s history.

“Some Ghost children were killed along the way. Some got safely to the place that became their home then and is yours now. We know this. But one who lived did not go with the others, did not want to come into the valley, did not want to be confined by walls. Better out in the open, no matter the risk. This one was named Panther. He met a girl with mutation sickness that turned humans into what used to be Lizards, and they went north where the fallout from the wars and poisons did not reach. Panther was still human, but the girl was changing. The old stories do not tell why they bonded. Perhaps love, as the legends say. Perhaps for convenience and sharing. But a partnership was made, and in the north Panther and the girl found others like themselves and formed a tribe, the Karriak. It was the first of the great Troll tribes, and Panther and the girl become its leaders.”

“I’ve heard the story of Panther and the girl from my mother,” Prue interrupted. “The girl was called Cat. They turned north, just as you’ve said, right before they reached the valley, and they were never seen again. The Hawk brought the others into the valley where we live, and the mists closed everyone away and kept us in and everything else out. So no one ever knew what happened.”

Sarn nodded. “Our stories are silent about those who went with Hawk except to say they found a place in the mountains that Panther and the girl left behind. So, we have different parts of the same story. But the Karriak tribe survived and grew strong in a place that sickness and firestorms passed by. The legends say that Panther became a Troll, the first after the girl, and named them so, said they are like Elves—like Faerie creatures of old in books—creatures that have strength and pride and stand upright and do not crawl like insects. Panther fathered children with Cat, and became the first Maturen of his tribe. His children followed him and their children after.”

He paused, considering. “All centuries back, a long time ago. The Karriak grew too large and split to form other tribes. The Drouj is one. In the beginning it was a lesser tribe, but it became the most powerful. Leadership changed in both tribes, new families took power. The Trolls number in the millions and hold the whole of the North Country from the Blue Divide to the Storm Seas. The other Races are still small, not so many members, Men, Spiders, and Elves—though hard to say about the Elves, who hid again after the wars. We don’t see them anymore. Most settled on the western coasts and out on the islands, far away.” He shrugged. “So they say. Other peoples survived, too—others than Elves and Spiders and Men. But mostly there are Trolls.”

He paused. He was struggling with his words now. “My family’s bloodlines are Panther’s, come down to me through generations. Others gave up caring about their ancestry. It is enough for them that they are Trolls. Not my family. Not me. I know the truth. I know that to be related is a difference. It is not meant for people to be apart and not care. The world is not a place where no one should care for anyone. It is a place where all are part of one family, all are related, all belong to what remains of what is long past, of what was lost to the wars.”

He looked at them in turn, measuring them. “It is my belief, but maybe not yours. But I think so.” He paused. “You say you know the story of Panther and the girl. Tell me if I am right. Were your ancestors called Ghosts at one time?”

Panterra and Prue exchanged a long look. It was hard to know what to do here, hard to be certain what should be revealed. Pan wanted to trust this Troll who had done so much to help them—or so it seemed, anyway—but was afraid that anything he gave away might come back to haunt him. In the end, he went with his heart.

“There is talk within our families, a claim made by those who feel most strongly about it, that both of us can trace our ancestries back to those who were called Ghosts,” Panterra ventured, choosing his words carefully. “Prue’s own claim is the stronger. She has the sight, the ability to sense danger when it cannot be seen. One of those children who traveled with the Hawk also possessed that sense. But there are no written records. No one can do more than make the claim. No one knows for sure.”

“Still, whether we are direct descendants or not doesn’t matter,” Prue added quickly, indicating the three of them. “You are right, Arik Sarn. We are still family. We come from the blood of the same small group of travelers. We are here because of them. We share a common history, a common story. Perhaps that is enough in a world where everyone is starting over.”

“Not for everyone,” the Troll said quietly. “Not for Taureq Siq. Or for his tribe. A year’s time among the Drouj taught me this. It is not the same with my people or the other Troll tribes. The Drouj think they are a people of destiny, meant to dominate the rest of us. Taureq’s private ambitions are these; I hear him speak of it many times. I listen, understand, say nothing. But there is no mistaking. His army will do to your people what it has already does to other Troll tribes. His conviction is that he must rule, and he follows that path.”

Panterra grimaced. “Where have we heard that before? That was the fate of the old world, the fuel that fed the fires of the Great Wars. Has no one learned anything? Those who ignore the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them in the future, but no one believes it.”

Sarn glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure they were still alone. “I choose to help you because the Drouj are wrong. My people are not strong; they give way to him. Maybe all the tribes together are not strong enough to stop him. But your people should not be destroyed. Maybe they can flee, maybe hide. They should be given the chance.”

“If we can get out of here and warn them, they will,” Panterra promised, wondering at the same time just exactly what they would do.

“We should start by finding Sider,” Prue started to say, stopping as she heard the sound of voices approaching from without.

The tent flap was thrown back, and Grosha stood in the opening. Arik Sarn was already on his feet and had assumed a position of dominance over the prisoners, as if he were in the act of questioning them. A fierce exchange took place between the cousins, the meaning of which the boy and the girl could not understand, but the tone of which was unmistakable.

“Stay here until I return,” Sarn advised them abruptly. “Do what you are told.”

He went out through the open flap without saying more, close on the heels of his cousin. Panterra and Prue felt their frail hopes of freedom go with him.

MORE THAN A MILE AWAY, safely removed from the sprawling Lizard encampment, Phryne Amarantyne crouched in the concealing shelter of a cluster of rocks atop a ridgeline that allowed her a perfect view of the camp below. The barren depression in which the Lizards had settled themselves was flat and wide and empty of any sort of cover. It told the brothers Orullian, who were familiar with this sort of thing, several important facts about the Lizards. First and foremost was that they considered themselves safe in an unprotected position, so they believed either that no enemy force large enough to challenge them was anywhere close, or that no such force even existed. Second, but of equal importance, this was an army on the move; even if something unexpected did threaten, the Lizards felt they were equipped to deal with it.

So any attempt at getting closer would be foolhardy, especially in daylight, which it now was and had been for the better part of six hours. A clear view of what was happening—of comings and goings that might involve their friends, in particular—was as much as they could hope for until it got dark.

Even then, Tasha allowed, it would be difficult to do much to help. Panterra and Prue were somewhere in the middle of thousands of armed soldiers, concealed in a sea of tents, and finding them under any circumstances was highly unlikely. The best they could hope for was that at some point the Lizards would attempt to move them again, and then a rescue of some sort might be mounted.

Or maybe flying sheep would swoop down and spirit the boy and the girl away and they would all go home happy, Tenerife added brightly.

But Phryne was not as pessimistic as her cousins, confident that an opportunity would present itself. They had gotten this far in spite of everything, tracking the caravan without difficulty through the night, reaching the encampment in time to see approximately where Pan and Prue were being taken. She was almost certain she knew the exact tent, although with time’s passage she had grown somewhat less sure about this. But whatever the case, she was determined to find a way to get their friends back. If not today, then tomorrow. Or the following day, or at some point soon, because she had meant it when she said she was not going back to Arborlon without them.

Restless and keyed up, she let the brothers sleep while she kept watch, eyes fixed on the encampment and its surroundings, waiting for the chance she was sure would come. Her experience at search-and-rescue missions was nonexistent, so her thinking was not hampered by practical considerations. Even so, she had enough of an understanding of how life worked to know that whatever they attempted would be extremely dangerous and could easily fail.

She continued to blame herself for what had happened to Panterra and Prue, unable to absolve herself of her guilt for pressing them to go when they clearly hadn’t wanted to. She hated herself for thinking that way because she wanted to believe what she had done was the right thing under the circumstances. That was why she needed to get them back, of course, because otherwise she would go on condemning herself over this business for the rest of her life.

She just wished something would happen. The hours dragged by, the day wore on, and they were no closer to rescuing the boy and the girl than before. Tasha had cautioned her that patience was necessary, that haste was what had landed them in the current mess. Her haste, he might just as well have said.

Which was true, so it was difficult to fault him for reminding her.

After a while, she found her eyes were growing heavy. She knew she should wake her cousins, but she hated asking them for anything and didn’t want to appear to need help of any sort. She dug her foot into the rocks and twisted until it hurt, bringing tears to her eyes but sharpening her senses anew. She thought about Pan, about how she was drawn to him, about how much she liked him even without knowing him any better than she did. It was extremely rare for Elven royalty to bond with a commoner—forbidden when the commoner was a human—but she liked the idea of doing something shocking. It was attractive to her; it sent a small tingle up her spine just thinking about it.

Anyway, she didn’t like doing what other people told her she had to do. Oh, it was one thing if it was her father, of course. He was the King. But not other people, and not when what they were telling her was tied to some outdated code of conduct that should have been cast out years ago. Not marry a commoner! What nonsense! She wasn’t even thinking about marriage. She was only thinking about spending time with him, about getting to know him better. He was interesting in his withdrawn, taciturn sort of way. She liked how he seemed so flustered when she talked boldly to him. She liked how it made her feel.

She looked off into the distance at the Lizard camp. Nothing. She dug at the rocky earth with her boot for something to do, but grew quickly bored. Her eyes were still heavy. She could close them just for a minute, couldn’t she? Why not? It wasn’t as if anything was happening or even likely to happen in the next few minutes. That was all she needed—just a few minutes.

The sun was hazy and the land barren as she peered first skyward and then out across the horizon. Everything was so bleak. It looked as if nothing lived there, even given the presence of the Lizards. It was an ugly, barren stretch, and she was sorry she had ever thought about going outside the valley. When this was over, they should all go back and stay there. This was no fit land for humans or Elves or anyone else.

She shifted to a more comfortable position and let her eyes close.

When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she realized she had been sleeping.

But it was too late to do anything about it by then.

DEEP INSIDE THE MAZE of Troll encampment tents, Panterra and Prue sat waiting for Arik Sarn’s return. They had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but to Pan it felt like hours. Little conversation passed between them as the minutes dragged on, most of it truncated and forced, a way to provide each other with some small measure of reassurance that whatever happened they were still together. They could hear the sounds of movement and voices from outside their enclosure, a rough-edged jumble unrecognizable as anything specific. It suggested things best not thought about too hard or long, and they did what they could to ignore it. Pan was less successful with thoughts of freedom; he could not stop having those, even knowing that escape was virtually impossible.

More mundane wishes intruded, as well.

He wished he could have a bath and a change of clothes.

He wished he could see the sun again.

He wished he had stayed inside his valley home.

He was wishing for a few other things when a stirring from outside their chamber brought his head up. His eyes fixed expectantly on Arik Sarn as the Troll reappeared. He came over to them without a backward glance at the tent flap—which was quickly closed by someone standing without—knelt where they sat, and bent close.

“Taureq Siq has decided. Your suggestion is accepted. You will go back to your people, back home.” But there was something wrong with the way he said it, something troubling. “You will be released, Panterra Qu, to speak to your leaders, to tell them of the meeting. Taureq will come to them at midday on the first day of the next full moon, to the place where we found you, and they will talk.”

Panterra grinned broadly, glancing over at Prue as he did so. He couldn’t believe it! They were going let them go! “You see,” he said quickly, working hard at keeping his voice low. “I told you that …”

But Prue had caught what he had missed. She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Only you are being set free. Not me. Am I right?” she asked, her eyes shifting to the Troll.

Arik Sarn nodded in agreement. “Only you, Panterra. Your friend will be held hostage to make sure you come back.”

The smile dropped from Pan’s face. “No,” he said at once. “We both go. Both of us. If not, I don’t go, either. Tell him that!”

But the Troll was already shaking his head. “Then you will both die. Taureq has decided. No argument is allowed. You will go, the girl stays.” He hesitated. “I will be going with you. To make sure you keep your word. Taureq says I must.”

Pan shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t mind if Sarn came along, but to leave Prue was unthinkable. “She’s only fifteen,” he hissed at the Troll. “She can’t be left here—”

“Pan!” she interrupted quickly, grabbing his arm. “Stop. Don’t demean me by arguing that I am a child. I am not. I haven’t been since I became a Tracker. I am as grown-up as you are and in some ways more so. There’s no point in arguing about this. Taureq has decided. You heard. I would have decided it the same way. He would be a fool to let us both go.”

Arik Sarn was nodding. “Listen. She knows.”

“You have to do this for both of us,” Prue continued. “If we both die here, nothing will have been accomplished. If you are free, at least you can warn everyone about what is happening, and maybe you can find a way to come back for me.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “I know you can do this, Pan. I believe in you.”

Panterra dropped his head, running his hand across his brow and through his hair in an unmistakable gesture of dismay. “I should never have suggested going back,” he muttered. “What a fool!”

Prue was having none of it. “You did the right thing and probably saved both our lives. Nothing else we said or did was going to make things any better. You can see that as well as I. This is the best way. I can wait for you; I won’t be hurt. They won’t do anything to me. Not until they know what’s going to happen with the meeting you suggested.”

Arik Sarn leaned forward. “We will come back for her,” he said. “You and I. I promise. We will come.”

Panterra Qu looked at them in turn, wishing he could think of something else to say, something that would change what was happening. But there was nothing to say, nothing to do. He knew that as well as they did. He took a deep breath. “They won’t hurt her?” he asked the Troll. “Are you certain of this?”

The other nodded. “I am certain.”

Pan shook his head one final time. “I don’t know. I just don’t.”

But he did know, and the matter was decided by then. Sarn had fresh clothes brought for him, released him from his chains, and gave him time to dress. When the Troll returned with packs of supplies for them, Pan could barely make himself look at Prue, still clothed in rags, still chained in place.

He knelt next to her and hugged her close. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She hugged him back. “You do what’s needed. I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll be ready when you come.”

He didn’t even consider mentioning the obvious, although they were both thinking it. If he did come; if he would come at all. But he had said he would, she was expecting him to keep his word, and so he had to. Nothing less was acceptable. It didn’t matter what obstacles he faced. He would not leave her here to die.

He rose and gave her a long look. He wanted to say more, couldn’t think what it should be, and so managed only a quick smile and good-bye before turning away so he wouldn’t see her cry. Or, if he were honest about it, so that she wouldn’t see him.

Arik Sarn led him through the tent flaps and back outside. He went obediently, as if walking in a dream. He could not seem to focus his thoughts, to gather his scattered wits. Everything felt surreal and disconnected. The day was winding down, the light gone gray and hazy east, the sunshine fading rapidly west, the surrounding land layered in shadows. He stood in the midst of the tents and the Trolls, a stranger in a hostile land, wondering how in the world he had gotten there. Sarn took his arm, guiding him through the tents, through a sea of watchful eyes and pointing fingers, the sounds of guttural Troll voices trailing after them, guilt and fear riddling him with wormholes that threatened to reduce him to dust.

“This feels wrong,” he said at one point, but his companion ignored him.

A little later, the Troll spoke softly and motioned to one side. Taureq Siq and his son stood watching them, their Troll faces impassive, their ridged bodies statues against the moving backdrop of the camp. Neither attempted words or gestures, but simply observed as Panterra and his minder passed by. Again Panterra felt something tug at him in warning, a chance missed, a mistake made, a hidden regret that later would become obvious to him. He tried to think what it could be, to see it behind its concealment, but nothing would come to him.

Then they were through the camp and outside its perimeters, walking away from all the activity, the eyes, the pointing, the whispers and shouts that trailed after.

From the guilt and from Prue.

Panterra knew she would not want him to think this way, but a voice inside his head kept whispering that he could not pretend he didn’t see the truth of things: that he was abandoning her, that he was leaving her to a fate he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

That he would never see her again.

THEY WALKED EAST FOR ALMOST A MILE without speaking, the darkness ahead growing stronger and deeper as the light faded away. Panterra walked without thinking about what he was doing, beginning to ponder instead how he was going to explain himself to those he had left behind, how he could possibly justify his actions. It didn’t matter to him what necessity required or common sense dictated or anything else that had to do with cause and effect. Seeking reason where there was no reason to be found was the last refuge of those who had acted inappropriately; that was what appeared to him to be true here. Nothing could explain leaving Prue. Nothing could make up for losing her.

Arik Sarn seemed to recognize what he was going through. The Troll walked apart and did not attempt to engage him in conversation. The trek occupied their efforts and kept them from needing to do more than to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, eating up the distance and time that remained between them and the mountains they were heading for.

Once, Panterra stopped completely, turned and looked back. “I can’t do this,” he said, as much to himself as to his companion.

He stood there in the ensuing silence, considering his options, weighing his chances if he turned around now and crept back under cover of darkness, sought out the tent in which Prue was imprisoned, broke apart her chains and set her free. It was possible, he thought. It was something he could do, an action he could take and complete.

He thought about it for a long time. Then reason intruded and prevailed.

The boy and the Troll walked on again.

They were still within sight of the camp as they climbed a rise through a scattering of large boulders and deep depressions when a cloaked form stepped from concealment and blocked their way. Panterra started wildly and Arik Sarn produced a short sword with serrated edges as if conjuring it out of thin air, but the appearance of a black staff carved through with runes froze both in place.

“Late for a twilight stroll, young Panterra,” the newcomer offered mildly. “Or have you secured your freedom? Is your unexpected companion friend or foe?”

Sider Ament! Pan practically fell over himself with relief.

“I thought I would have to come get you on my own, but you’ve saved me the trouble,” the Gray Man continued. “Your would-be rescuers and like-minded fools are back up in the rocks, waiting for us. We should join them.” He gave Arik Sarn a sharp look. “What’s become of Prue Liss?”

Panterra started to speak, couldn’t, gestured back over his shoulder at the Troll camp and shook his head.

“Like that, is it?” Sider Ament walked over and put an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll have to go get her back then, won’t we? But first you must tell me everything. Both of you. Come now.”

And turning away, he led them up into the rocks and out of view.