NINETEEN      

IT WAS A WEARY AND DISPIRITED LITTLE GROUP THAT walked on past midnight and well into early morning before reaching the base of the mountains that warded their valley destination. By then, everyone was exhausted, all but one of them having slept little or not at all for the past two days.

But more disturbing to Panterra Qu than their lack of rest was their barely concealed distrust of Arik Sarn.

“I don’t care what he did for you,” Tasha whispered at one point when they were walking apart from the others during their homeward trek, the sky gone black and star-speckled and the wind a low wail across the flats. “He will revert to his own kind at some point; it’s the nature of things. Don’t trust him. I’m warning you.”

“He troubles me,” Tenerife added. “He has a look. Darker than what he shows on the surface, rougher-edged. He’s hiding something.”

Phryne wouldn’t come close to either one of them, and even Sider Ament was not convinced. “You are right to feel grateful for his help,” the Gray Man said. “But temper your gratitude with caution and remember that things aren’t always what they seem. Remember that these are not people of the same sort as the ones you have known.”

The Troll didn’t do much to encourage them to feel differently. He barely spoke to any of them, relying on Pan to explain what had happened and make clear his part in the matter. He seemed wary of all of them, but particularly of Sider, from whom he continually shied away. Pan saw the way he looked at the black staff, saw the fear and uncertainty in his eyes, and realized that the Troll knew something of this part of their history, too.

When Pan asked him about it, the two of them briefly trailing the others, the Troll said, “You said nothing of a black staff wielder, of a user of magic. It is dangerous to be close to one. There are stories of them and their magic sticks, of fire that consumes, that burns everything to ash. They fought demons in the old days, the stories tell. All were supposed to be dead. Trolls don’t like magic or magic wielders. We don’t trust any of it.”

There was nothing for it, of course. None of them had been there to see how the Troll had protected him. He could hardly expect that they would become instant friends, since Sarn was allied with the bunch that had made Prue and himself prisoners in the first place. Such friendships took time and required trust not easily given. But they did not send him back; nor did he ask to go. An uneasy acceptance of the situation was reached, an accord that would at least allow them to travel together as their shared purpose required.

Which, of course, was Taureq Siq’s demand for a meeting. All involved clearly understood it to be a preliminary step to invading their homeland. But Panterra had not hesitated to tell them of it right from the start. It was necessary they know everything, that they be fully aware of what was at stake when they reentered the valley and stood before Oparion Amarantyne.

This was their intention, of course, agreed to from the beginning by all of them. The Elf King was the leader they had the best chance of convincing; there was no one better to approach. With Phryne and the Orullians spearheading the effort and the Gray Man and Panterra in support, the King would have to listen and consider. In the end, Panterra was willing to bet, he would have to act, as well. Oparion Amarantyne commanded the largest and most powerful fighting force in the valley; he could not just stand by if convinced of the impending invasion. And if he agreed to rouse the other Races to stand and fight with him, they had a chance of keeping Taureq Siq and his Drouj from the valley.

Of course, there was still the matter of getting Prue back safely, and their chances of doing that were less easily measured.

“Listen to me,” the Gray Man had said to Pan after all was revealed and the question of Prue’s fate was a cloud they could not get out from under. “Listen carefully, because this will not be easy for you to hear. We can’t go back for her just yet. No, say nothing until I finish. We cannot go back because we must first go to our people and set them to the task of saving themselves. It is the life of one girl versus the lives of thousands. We must act responsibly and choose the latter. Once we have done what we can in the valley, then we can act to save Prue Liss. She will not be forgotten or abandoned. But she must wait her turn, and you must be patient.”

There were a dozen arguments that Panterra could have made about this approach, though he knew that doing so would achieve nothing. The Gray Man was right about the importance of delivering a warning first. But Pan made up his mind that before any meeting with Taureq Siq and its inevitable fallout, he would go back for Prue. He didn’t know what he would do when he found her. He did not know if anyone would go with him or if he would end up going alone. He only knew that whatever the case, he was going.

Besides, he could not shake the nagging feeling that Sider Ament would do whatever was expedient in all matters, this one included. If it became impractical for him to do something about Prue, he would find an excuse for abandoning her. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean what he said or didn’t intend to do what he could; his work as a bearer of the black staff simply meant that he must always balance gains and losses in making his choices, and that sacrifices were inevitable. Panterra understood why this was so for the Gray Man. But he would not allow Prue to become one of those sacrifices.

When they stopped for the night—as Sider had decided they should, too much in need of rest to complete the journey on a single trek—Panterra took his doubts and his fears to one side, away from the others. He watched as the Orullians rolled themselves into their blankets and went straight to sleep. He watched Arik Sarn do the same. Phryne lay down close to him, her face turned away. Even Sider, positioning himself at the edge of their concealment where he could look back across the valley, found rest of a sort, his eyes fixed and staring, his gaze blank, his breathing slow and even in the silence. Pan needed to sleep, too, but he was still thinking of Prue, still caught up in his regret and shame at leaving her behind. Her skills and experience notwithstanding, she had been his responsibility in their partnership as Trackers and in their relationship as childhood friends, and he would never be able to get past that. It didn’t matter that she had absolved him and told him to go; the guilt was still there, a raw wound that would not close.

For the first time since he had returned, he thought about having to tell her parents what he had done. How could he do that? What could he tell them? Anything he said, unless it was a lie, would be devastating.

He sat staring out at nothing, lost in thought, wrapped in his remorse and dismay.

“I’m sorry I told you to go,” Phryne said suddenly, her voice not much more than a whisper.

He glanced down at her, startled. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have been so insistent. This is my fault; I know that. I wish I could take it back.”

“About Prue?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Mostly, it’s mine. I left her.”

“But you wouldn’t have had to do that if you hadn’t gone to look at that fire, and you wouldn’t have gone to look at that fire if I hadn’t insisted.”

Panterra edged over so that they were almost touching. He leaned down. “I made the choice to go, Phryne. I didn’t have to do so. I didn’t have to take Prue with me, either. So you don’t need to blame yourself, or apologize to me.”

“I feel like I do. I feel like I need to apologize to everyone.”

He smiled in spite of himself. “I feel like I need to crawl into a hole.”

She was silent a moment, retreating into herself. “I won’t be satisfied until we get her back, Pan. I’m going to tell my father everything and insist that he do something.”

“Well, I hope he listens to you. I hope he believes what you tell him.”

There was another pause. “I’ll find a way to make him believe.”

“I expect you will.”

She was silent for a long time then, and he was about to find a place to sleep—or at least try to—when she said, “Would you lie down next to me? Just close enough that I can feel you?”

She didn’t explain, and he didn’t feel that he should ask her to. He just did as she asked, sliding close as he lay down facing her back. Using her blanket, she reached back with the trailing edge and covered them both. She didn’t say anything more, but soon he could hear the regular rhythm of her breathing and feel the heat of her body.

He went to sleep not long after that.

WHEN HE WOKE, both Phryne and her blanket were gone, and he was lying on the bare ground, the chill of early morning stiffening his joints. He rose and stretched, finding the others grouped around a small collection of foodstuffs produced from someone’s stores, eating quietly. He joined them without comment. He was pleased to see that the Elves were sharing what they had with Arik Sarn. The Troll’s impassive face revealed nothing of what he was thinking, but he gave a quick nod as the boy sat down next to him.

Phryne Amarantyne never even glanced his way.

They set out again shortly afterward, but not until Sider had satisfied himself that no one was tracking them or trying to spy on where they were going. Even so, he took them on a circuitous route that wound through clusters of rock and deep ravines as they ascended the mountains, effectively hiding them from view almost all the way up to the entrance to Aphalion Pass. Once there, he paused them again, taking time to study the plains below. Only then did he allow them to enter the pass and make their way back into the valley.

They were all relieved to discover that the dragon they had encountered on their way out was nowhere to be seen.

“A creature mutated from the old days, before the Great Wars,” Sider opined when Panterra asked him about its origins. “Or, if you prefer something more magical, a creature that has survived from the time of Faerie, a mythical beast that was sleeping until we brought it awake again. Hard to tell without getting close enough to examine it. Difficult to tell even then.”

No one was going to suggest attempting anything like that, even if they somehow found the dragon again, so solving the mystery of its origin would have to wait.

“How did you find us?” Panterra pressed as they descended out of the pass, not having thought to question the unexpectedness of it until then.

“Magic,” the Gray Man deadpanned. Then he shrugged. “Or maybe something more like luck. I returned after chasing after that beast we fought, thinking to find you and see what success you’d had with the people of Glensk Wood. I spoke with Aislinne Kray and learned of your danger. She suggested I do something about it, since she felt I had caused the problem. So I went to Arborlon and discovered that you had gone up into the pass with the Orullians and Oparion Amarantyne’s daughter. I guessed at the rest when I found all of you missing and your tracks leading off into the wasteland. One thing led to another.”

“How do you know Aislinne?” The words were out before he could think better of them.

The Gray Man looked away. “I know her from a long time ago.”

There was more to it than that, Pan sensed, a great deal more, but he knew better than to ask. Whatever their relationship might be, or might have once been, Aislinne wielded considerable influence over Sider Ament if she could tell him to do something and the Gray Man would do it.

“She kept us safe when Skeal Eile would have seen us dead,” he ventured after a moment. Then he told the other about the assassination attempt and their escape from the village.

Sider Ament listened but said nothing, the subject apparently closed. Panterra knew enough to leave it there.

They walked on through the morning, and by midday they had reached the outskirts of the city of Arborlon, come into view of its heights and the ramp leading up. Once within the city, the little company went straight to the King’s home, quickly picking up an escort of Home Guard that had apparently been told to watch for them. Heads turned at the sight of Arik Sarn, but the presence of Lizards was not all that unusual in Arborlon, and so the gazes did not linger.

“Many Elves,” the Troll said quietly at one point. “Thousands?”

“Thousands and more,” Pan answered. “More Elves than Men in the valley. More than any of the other Races.”

The Troll nodded, looking uneasy. “Dislike Trolls?”

Pan shook his head. “They like them well enough. But the Trolls choose to live apart.”

Arik Sarn looked away. “Trolls always live apart.”

Their escort grew larger, walling them away from those who crowded close enough to shout questions or to have a cautious look. That the Princess was among the newcomers must have raised a few eyebrows, but no one tried to speak with her, not even those in the Home Guard escort.

They reached the palace and were taken into one of the reception rooms, a chamber situated well back in the complex, windowless and dark until the smokeless lights were ignited and dominated by a large table and some twenty seats arranged around it. The walls were draped with tapestries portraying Elven legends and flags embroidered with the personal insignias of the Kings and Queens. Light seeped through skylights glassed over and screened with fabric, and paneled walls and flooring gleamed with fresh polish. Panterra felt out of place, ragged and unwashed, but he took a chair with the others to wait.

The Home Guard left them, save two, who took up positions outside the double doors leading in. Sider made a point of asking Arik Sarn to remain in their company.

Only moments passed before Oparion Amarantyne appeared, storming through the doors and slamming them shut behind him. He moved to the head of the table and stood glaring at the assembled. But when he met Sider Ament’s gaze, he saw something in the latter’s eyes that caused him to tamp down his anger.

He shifted his gaze to his daughter. “I am going to assume that things were not exactly as you described them to me earlier, Phryne. I would appreciate an explanation for that and a full accounting of what has transpired.” His gaze shifted again as he took a seat. “My Elves, young Panterra, the Lizard visitor sitting outside the doors of this room, and the Gray Man. An odd company. And a story behind its making, I imagine. Sider Ament. Perhaps you should be the one to start?”

The Gray Man did so, telling the King everything. Pan saw Phryne wince once or twice at what she was hearing, and he would have winced, as well, if he hadn’t been so busy trying to think of what he could add that might make a difference in the King’s thinking. But Sider was thorough, and left nothing unsaid. The King did not interrupt, sitting back in his chair and taking in the story with rapt attention.

“There is no mistake about the protective barriers?” the King asked when the Gray Man had finished. “The walls are down? All of them?”

“All of them. The passes are open.”

The King looked dismayed. “And now we are threatened by a Lizard army. Excuse me. By a Troll army. So then. Today is the first appearance of the quarter moon in the cycle leading to full. We have perhaps twenty days in which to act. Not a lot of time.”

“Time enough,” Sider replied quietly. He looked around the room. “I’m done talking. Does anyone care to add anything?”

The Orullians and Phryne all started speaking at once, then sorted themselves out and took turns. Phryne took full responsibility for everything, blaming herself for what had happened to Prue. She begged her father in full view of all assembled for a chance to make it right. The brothers spoke at length about the threat from the Troll army and Taureq Siq, arguing for an immediate mobilization of Elven Hunters to defend the passes. Pan wanted to speak, to say that they had to do something about Prue, that they had to save her. But such a demand would have sounded selfish and redundant in light of what had already been said, so he kept quiet.

Instead, he watched the faces of the others. He noticed the surreptitious looks that passed between Sider Ament and the King, glances that were furtive and expressionless and seemed to escape the others.

He noticed that Sider, when not appearing to pay attention to the speakers, was watching him. Closely.

“Enough,” the King said finally, as the brothers Orullian repeated their argument for mobilization for what must have been the third or fourth time. “I think you’ve said all that needs saying and I have heard enough to give thought to what is needed.

“Phryne, clean up and wait on me. Tasha and Tenerife, take the Troll to your home and keep watch on him until I decide what needs doing. Eat, drink, and bathe yourselves. Better take Panterra Qu, as well. Go.”

He gestured them up from their seats and ushered them out the doors into the hallway beyond, where Arik Sarn was sitting and the Home Guard were waiting to escort them out. No one said anything. They barely looked at one another. There was a shared feeling of uncertainty and dismay as they departed the building and emerged outside once more.

Panterra noticed that Sider Ament did not come with them.

OPARION AMARANTYNE WAITED until the others were gone, and then he took the Gray Man out of the reception chamber and down the halls of the palace to the small library that served as his private reception room. It was not entirely unexpected. The looks they had exchanged earlier had told Sider that the King would speak to him alone when the others were finished. They were not friends in the common sense, but had grown up in their valley world at the same time and were of a like age. They had been boys when Sider had become bearer of the last black staff and Oparion had been made King. The deaths of a mentor and a father had brought them together under awkward and difficult circumstances, which they had managed to surmount. An unconventional friendship had developed, one founded for the most part on mutual respect and a willingness to meet halfway. That friendship had lasted now for more than twenty years.

Even so, the Gray Man could not be certain what stance Oparion would take in this business.

When they reached the King’s reception chamber, they took seats by a cold fireplace across from each other, sitting close in a wash of gray light that filtered through cracks in draped windows.

“I will tell you up front that I find this tale more than a little incredible,” the King began. “But not so incredible that I don’t believe it. Perhaps it is rather that I find it overwhelming. Five hundred years of safekeeping and now the protective walls are down. Without warning. Without apparent reason.”

“Not a reason we can discern, although the Seraphic will tell you it signals the return of the Hawk.”

The King made a dismissive gesture. “It signals the end of an age. It signals the beginning of a fresh struggle.”

Sider nodded. “That it does. What will you do?”

“In truth? I don’t know.” The King leaned back in his chair. “The boy’s promise to the Drouj that he would arrange a meeting is worthless. Even if I could identify who our leaders are, I could never manage such a thing. Most of them barely speak to one another. We’ll have to think of something else.”

“Agreed. The boy’s promise was made under duress. Given the circumstances, he gave the best response he could manage.”

The King shook his head. “Forgive me for asking, but is the threat from this Troll army as great as the boy thinks? Can we believe him?”

The Gray Man shrugged. “The threat is real enough. I saw the army, measured its size. It’s as Panterra Qu described. Still, it’s hard to be sure what to believe. The boy is young, and he doesn’t have the wisdom and experience to see things as clearly as I’d like. He sees too much with his heart. Losing the girl as he did makes his observations less than reliable. But he is no fool, either. On the face of things, what he’s told us makes sense.”

“But you are not certain?”

“I’m not.”

“About the Troll?”

“Not only the Troll, but the whole of what’s happened. The boy showed courage and quick thinking in making the Trolls think us much stronger and more united than we actually are. But he is still only a boy. He may be seeing things that aren’t really there, reaching conclusions that he shouldn’t. I don’t know. I’ll need to spend time with him to determine that. I’ll have to leave the valley again, as well. But first I’ll go south. I’ll take the boy with me.”

“To the villages of Men?”

Sider nodded. “I have an obligation to warn them. Whether they listen or not is another matter. But the passes must be fortified and defended, no matter the outcome of this business with the Trolls. Others will follow, sooner or later. It is inevitable. I’ll try to arrange for a defense of Declan Reach if you agree to send your Elves to Aphalion Pass. You had better fortify against an attack on your city, as well. Even if you can only manage to erect barriers on the ramp leading in, that will help. Send to the Lizards and Spiders, as well. Ask them to come join you. I don’t think they would do so for Men, but they might for Elves.”

The King smirked. “An irony that does not escape me.” He sighed. “I will have to tell the High Council of this. Some will doubt the need for what you are asking.”

“I won’t be the one asking. You will. They won’t challenge you.”

“Of course they will. They challenge me on everything. I let them because tolerance is necessary when you are King. I might have thought otherwise when I was young, but no more. Sometimes it’s like letting the fox into the henhouse.” He gave the Gray Man a look. “Your task seems the harder of the two. How will you make anyone believe you? Few believe you now. Some don’t even believe you exist.”

Sider Ament smiled. “That’s a problem. But we’ll need help from everyone if we are to survive. Prejudice and animosity will have to give way to expediency and common sense. A banding together of all the Races will be necessary. The Trolls are merely our first test in what I can only think of as a collision between two very different worlds. We have to prepare ourselves before it’s too late. Maybe I can make the councils of Men see as much.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” The King cocked a questioning eyebrow. “What about our visitor. What do you suggest I do with him?”

“What you have already done. Give him over to the care of the Orullians. Let them spend time together. Perhaps the brothers will learn something useful. But watch him, too. Just to be certain we haven’t made a mistake by bringing him here. I won’t be gone more than two weeks, time enough to return for the meeting with Taureq Siq.”

“That’s being optimistic. You won’t begin to reach all the southern villages before you have to come back.”

Sider shrugged. “Can’t be helped. I’ll try to arrange for others to act as messengers in my place. It’s the best I can do.”

The King rose. “Rest here tonight, then, and leave in the morning. You won’t be much good to anyone if you’re exhausted, and you look it now.” He sighed. “I have to have a talk with my impetuous daughter about the difference between the keeping and breaking of promises.”

The Gray Man nodded, rising with him. “Allow me one more question. We face great dangers in reemerging from our safehold, High Lord. Some of these may hark back to the time of the Great Wars. Some may possess magic. Once, the Elves had use of magic, too. Is there none at hand now that you can call upon? Do you know nothing of the whereabouts of the blue Elfstones?”

There was a tense moment of silence as the King faced him, his features tightening. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “The Elfstones were left in the hands of the Belloruus family, even after the Amarantynes became rulers of the Elves. As far as I know, that never changed. No one has heard anything of the Elfstones for years. Not since the Belloruusian line failed and the Amarantynes became rulers.”

“But you married into the family, didn’t you? Was your wife told anything about what happened to the Elfstones?”

“Not that she ever made known to me. By the time of our marriage, the Elfstones had long since gone missing. There was no reason to speak of them, no reason that anyone should bother.”

Sider shifted his rangy frame as if to get a better view of things. “Is it possible the Stones could be found now, that whoever has them might consider producing them, when the need for their magic is so great?”

Oparion Amarantyne held his gaze a moment longer before turning away. “Anything is possible. It would be up to whoever took them to give them back.” He gestured abruptly. “You had better rest now. You have much to do in the days ahead. I wish you luck.”

The Gray Man knew better than to say anything more, even though he would have liked to. The matter of the missing Elfstones was troubling, but not as much so as the King’s strange disinterest in their whereabouts. As if he couldn’t care less; as if he couldn’t be bothered. Such magic should not be dismissed so casually. Sider promised himself he would discover why Oparion Amarantyne seemed so willing to do so.

Later, when there was time.

Shouldering his black staff, he set the matter aside and followed the King from the room.