TWENTY-THREE      

WHEN THE OLD MAN RETURNS, ONLY A WEEK has passed, and yet to the boy it looks as if his mentor has aged a lifetime. He is grayer than before, weary around the eyes, and sad to the bone. The boy doesn’t need to ask if the old man’s visit was successful. He can tell at once that it was not.

“He would not heed me,” the old man tells him. “He barely listened to my advice and did not give even the smallest indication that what I said mattered. He smiled and changed the subject and without saying so dismissed me as surely as if I were no longer relevant.”

The old man shakes his head. “He has gone too far inward in his mind. He no longer sees the world as it is or even himself as he has become. He no longer understands what it means to carry the staff. He has forgotten the oath he took and the cause he embraced. He does not say so; he gives no hint of this. But it is there in his distancing, in the small span of his attention, and in his look. I cannot reach him.”

“What will happen now?” the boy asks.

The old man pauses, looking down at his hands and at the black staff he carries. “Nothing we can prevent,” he answers finally.

He says nothing more after that. The boy thinks to ask him of the details of what happened, but he knows the old man does not wish to speak of it. They go back to things the way they were before the old man left. The old man returns to teaching and mentoring, and the boy returns to his studies. The days pass as they once did, and life settles back to what it was.

Until, on a day so bright and clear it suggests that the boundaries of the valley no longer exist and the layers of mist and clouds and rain have dissipated forever, the bearer of the other black staff, the one who would not listen, comes to find them.

The boy and the old man are sitting on a hillside looking out over the valley, talking anew of the way that the power of the staff can alter the bearer’s thinking, a subject that seems to be ever present in the thoughts of the boy’s mentor these days. Power corrupts, and if not watched carefully, if not kept under control, it will come to dominate the user. This is the risk of wielding it; it is always a danger to the bearer. Caution is necessary, even in the smallest usages, because the power of the staff’s magic is an elixir that will build within the body and break down all resistance. Tolerance is possible, but a ready welcoming of the feeling it generates is anathema. It may not seem that there is any danger, especially in times like these, when use of the power is so seldom required. But an understanding of what it means to invoke the staff’s power will help keep the bearer safe and alive.

The old man finishes, looks off into the distance toward a forest down the hillside from where they have climbed, and gets to his feet.

“He is here,” he says.

At first, the boy does not know who he means. But seconds later a figure emerges from the trees, a gaunt specter bearing a black staff, and there is no longer any question. The Elf has the look of a man returned from the dead, clothes ragged and dirty, features scratched and bruised, shoulders bent as if he bears the weight of his own tomb. The boy stares in disbelief for a moment, not quite able to grasp yet what this unexpected appearance means. But his mentor already knows, and he is advancing to meet the other man, his own staff held at port arms before him.

“Greetings, brother!” shouts the tattered Elf, his voice as ragged and worn as the rest of him. He seems casual and relaxed, an old friend come to visit. But the boy senses instinctively that this isn’t so.

“I am not your brother,” his mentor replies. “Don’t call me that. Why are you here?”

“Because I’ve done what I said I would do? Surely you didn’t think I was lying!”

The old man shakes his head slowly. “No, I never thought that. I hoped you might instead come to your senses. I even warned the King, as I told you I would. It wasn’t enough, apparently. Why don’t you stop where you are?”

He makes it a command, and the Elf stops. “Nothing you could have done would have been enough, brother. Warning the King only made it harder than it might have been otherwise. But this was a test I sought. I needed to see if I was strong enough, to discover if my power was great enough. I was, and it was. Dozens of dead Elves would attest to this if they could speak from whatever resting place they’ve found. They came at me in waves once their King was dead. They came at me with everything they had, but it wasn’t enough to stop me. So here I am.”

“Do you believe yourself strong enough to kill me, as well?”

“I’ve come to find out.”

The boy goes cold at these words and immediately searches for a weapon. But he carries none. There is no need when he is with his mentor, who is a match for anything. Except, perhaps, this time. The boy rises, prepared to do whatever he can to help.

“Your pup would defend you, brother,” the Elf says lightly, happily. He almost laughs. “I think I must kill him, as well. I wouldn’t want him to come looking for me later, should he be rash enough to do so after I’ve finished with you. Revenge is such a tiresome business.”

“If revenge is so tiresome, you must be weary, indeed,” the old man says, shifting the black staff in his hands. “Why come searching for me, seeking my death, if revenge is all you expect to find?”

The Elf cocks his head and thinks on it a moment. “Revenge is not what I seek by killing you, brother. Peace of mind is what I seek. If you are gone and I alone remain, who is left to challenge me? I can be whatever I wish once you are dead. I can be leader of all the Races and reshape the world in whatever ways I see fit.”

“You lie even to yourself.” The old man’s words are so soft they are almost inaudible. “You care nothing for peace of mind. You are here because I would not join you. You seek to make me suffer for refusing your offer. I would not partner with you in your cause, and so now you would make me pay the price for my temerity.”

The Elf’s features tighten and his face undergoes a sudden transformation, changing from calm to tense, mirroring rage and frustration and despair all at once, emotions he has kept bottled up inside but now break free. He shifts the black staff in the same way the old man did only moments earlier.

“Shall we find out who shall be judged right and who wrong?” he asks. “Shall we settle this?”

The old man does not reply. “Stay where you are,” he says over his shoulder to the boy, his voice soft enough that his enemy cannot hear his words. “Don’t try to help me. Don’t interfere.”

The boy has been taught to obey the old man and not question his directives. But this time he does not think he can do so. He cannot sit by and let his mentor be killed if he can do anything to stop it. He does not like what he sees and hears in the voice of the Elf. He thinks that the old man is in danger. How can he ignore this?

The old man has turned back to face the Elf, who is advancing on him once more. “Do not do this,” he says. “We are the last of our kind, the last who bear the staff. Think what—”

But the runes carved into the dark length of the other’s weapon are already flaring to life with the power of the Word’s magic, and abruptly white fire lances out at the old man. He blocks the strike with magic of his own, but the force of the attack knocks him back two steps. The Elf’s laughter is high and shrill as he comes on, the magic preceding him in a steady stream, as if water jetting from a pump. There seems to be no end to it, its power undiminished by loss of either strength or determination in the bearer. The old man has taught the boy that usage of the magic in any single situation is finite, that the supply is not inexhaustible, that it must be expended judiciously. The strength and longevity of the Elf’s attack seem to suggest otherwise.

The Elf screams suddenly, an explosion of sustained madness released in primal form, and the magic of his staff grows brighter and its force stronger. The old man is down on one knee, fighting to keep his balance while he fends off the killing attack. The boy, watching, begins to search the empty ground for anything at all that might help, any weapon that he can use.

His eyes settle on a rock that will just fit within the palm of his hand. He picks it up and starts forward.

“You are finished, brother!” the Elf shouts wildly as he sees the old man falter. “Your life is mine to take!”

The fire breaks through and begins to burn the old man. But the boy’s mentor continues to fight back, and suddenly the killing fire falters—just a little, but enough that the boy notices. The old man struggles back to his feet, his staff erupting with white fire of its own, fire discharged in fits and starts that hammers into the Elf over and over. The Elf does not bother with defenses, his own attack commanding the whole of his attention. The fire from the old man’s staff engulfs him. He screams in pain, but instead of falling under the withering assault, he rushes forward as the magic of his own staff reignites, slamming into the old man with crushing force.

The two stand within six feet of each other, the killing fires of each threatening to destroy the other.

Frantic with the need to do something, the boy draws back his arm and flings the rock in his hand. His aim is true; the rock strikes the Elf in the head, a blow that knocks him backward and for just a moment throws off his attack and leaves him exposed.

The boy’s mentor doesn’t hesitate. Seizing his opportunity, he uses his magic to hold the Elf fast, sets him ablaze from head to toe, chars him to the bone, and drops him to the ground a blackened husk from which small tendrils of smoke rise like early-morning vapor in the heat of the dawn’s sun.

THE REVERIE LOST FOCUS and the memory faded. Panterra Qu, who was watching surreptitiously from where he had been gazing out the window toward the hills east of the castle, could tell. The thousand-yard stare shifted as Sider Ament looked down at the slow-burning fire in the old stone hearth of the reception chamber, and then glanced quickly at the boy. Pan pretended not to notice. The Gray Man preferred things that way. He did not like revealing too much of himself.

It was evening, the shadows lengthening with the sun’s departure, the air cool and the breezes dropped off into stillness. The Gray Man and the boy were returning from their weeklong pilgrimage to the villages and towns south and east of Glensk Wood. The response to Sider’s warnings had been much as expected. In some instances it was complete disbelief mixed with denial; in others, shock leading to vague promises of help. Most indicated that they would need to secure their own borders first, sending scouts into the passes south to determine if the walls had failed there, as well.

As if that would make a difference if the valley was already open to the north, Panterra thought darkly.

But Sider had warned him going in that help would not be given readily from any of these worthies. Their best chance for finding what was needed would be found where they were now, in the large, fortified town of Hold-Fast-Crossing where Hadrian Esselline ruled as King. An anomaly among the communities of Men, it was the only one that had embraced the Elven model of government by sovereignty. Esselline’s direct bloodline could be traced back two centuries, and before then through any number of divergent bloodlines that embraced offshoots of various sorts. The leaders of Hold-Fast-Crossing had settled on choosing a King within the first ten years after the Hawk had brought the survivors of the Great Wars into the valley. They had already seen what they perceived to be the benefits—leadership that promised stability, strength, and organization. The first hints of threats from neighbors had already surfaced, and they were a smaller community than several others living close by. What they lacked in numbers, they would make up for in training and skill. A King would lead and an army would protect. It was a form of government that had worked for the Elves, so there was no reason it could not work for them.

Hadrian Esselline was the sort of King that justified this line of thinking. A seasoned veteran of skirmishes with his neighbors, a warrior and a statesman, he embodied all the best of what people expected in a ruler. Esselline was the strongest of the southern community leaders and the one to whom the others were most likely to look for direction—which was why Sider Ament was here. If Esselline were to agree to send soldiers to help defend the pass at Declan Reach, the other communities would be more inclined to do the same.

And if he did not agree …

But Sider pointedly refused any consideration of that possibility, and so Panterra did, too.

Coming to Esselline last was a calculated risk, Sider admitted, confiding in the boy the nature of his strategy. It could be argued that going to Hold-Fast-Crossing first made more sense since its influence among the southern towns and villages was strongest. But Sider believed they would get only one chance at this, and he wanted to come to Esselline without any other commitment in place, giving the King the opportunity to lead by example. The King had a vain side, a sense of pride in his stature, and Sider wanted to play off that in making his case. Esselline would be given a chance at assuming the pivotal role in this matter; to a measurable degree, Sider believed, this would influence his decision, whether he recognized it or not.

But time was slipping away, and whatever impact Esselline might have on the leaders of the other communities must be brought to bear quickly. Still, some things could not be rushed. Having arrived at Esselline’s home and been placed in this room, which they had now occupied for the better part of two hours, the man and the boy could only wait patiently for the King’s appearance.

It came in dramatic fashion, with Hadrian Esselline bursting through the doors unannounced, robes billowing out behind him, arms extended in greeting.

“Sider Ament!” he boomed out, his voice filling the room. He went to the other man and embraced him warmly. “Look at you! No grayer than the day we met, in spite of all those ugly rumors of your association with wraiths! Sorry to keep you waiting! Matters of state keep me constantly occupied and much less pleasantly so!”

Hadrian Esselline was a big man, tall and broad through the shoulders, a shock of dusky hair falling down about his shoulders, a beard of the same color, eyes as quick and bright and lethal as arrowheads. He was wearing all black with the blood-red crest of his family’s coat of arms emblazoned on his chest. Everything about him was bigger than life and twice as real, and when he entered a room it seemed as if he took up all the available space.

“Thank you for agreeing to grant me an audience,” Sider replied, gripping the other in return. “I know you are busy.”

“Not as busy as you, from what my runners tell me.” He glanced over at Panterra. “Who is this boy you’ve brought with you? Word is, you always travel alone. Don’t tell me you’ve produced an issue?”

Panterra was mortified. He could feel the flush in his neck and cheeks. Sider was grinning. “No issue of mine, though I could do much worse. This is Panterra Qu; he’s a Tracker from Glensk Wood and a good one. He was the first to discover what sort of creatures we might be forced to deal with once the mists had failed. He and a friend were tracking two of them when I caught up to them.” He gave the King a look. “This boy was held captive by the Troll army that threatens us. He knows about them firsthand.”

Esselline gave Pan an appraising look. “Then he needs to be part of our discussion, I think. Is it true, then? Have the mists receded and the protective wall collapsed? Let’s sit while we talk of this. Take that chair by the boy. Tell me of the wall. I hear this is the message you have carried to some of the other communities.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Yet you didn’t come to me first? You went elsewhere, to those of lesser stature?”

“Knowing they would turn me down. I wanted to make clear to you when we met how desperately your help is needed. Others equivocate and dither. But you will not, once you hear what I have to say. If you act, they will come around. We are all in the same boat on a very dangerous ocean, Hadrian. As that old saying goes, if we don’t hang together, we shall all hang separately. That is what I need for you to believe.”

“Oh, I believe it all right.” The King nodded emphatically.

“Well, then? Do I have your promise of help?”

“Not so fast. There are other things to consider. Your plan is to keep the enemy out of the valley by bottling up the passes north and hoping the ones south remain undiscovered. I see problems with this. We might close him off from one entrance, but we cannot reasonably think the others won’t be found. We might be better off to let the Trolls come in and fight them on our own ground.”

“And lose how many of our people in the bargain?”

“Few. We take them all to the strongholds, like this one, and keep them safe until the battle is finished.”

“Assuming the battle ends quickly, which I doubt. You haven’t seen this army, Hadrian. I have. It’s big and well armed. Too many for any of us separately and maybe all of us together. We need to fight it from behind walls and in places like Declan Reach and Aphalion where it cannot bring its full strength to bear. You are a brave man and a skilled fighter. But most in this valley aren’t, not even within your own army. We haven’t fought a real battle against a real adversary since our ancestors came here. It won’t be easy.”

Esselline studied him. “So you would trap them in the passes and do battle there? From behind walls? That sounds like a siege to me, Sider. How much longer would that take than a direct confrontation? Besides, you undervalue not only my army, but those of some of the other southern strongholds and the Elves, as well. They will account themselves well if brought to the moment.”

“First, we do not simply fight them from behind walls in the passes. That is just where we begin.” Panterra watched as Sider leaned forward, assuming an almost confrontational posture. “They will divide their forces to come after us, choosing to attack more than one of the passes. But I don’t think they will take time to find the ones they don’t know about before they attack. They are impatient and confident in their strength of numbers. They will attack what they know and scout out other choices while they do so. That gives us a chance to slip out of the valley and get around behind them. It gives us a chance to trap them where they cannot defend themselves as they are used to.”

He paused. “I do not denigrate the fighting skills and heart of our people. But fighting is not our way of life as it is for these Trolls. You will have to take my word on this. And Panterra’s. These Trolls are not like anything we have seen before.”

Panterra straightened up as Esselline looked over at him. “What say you, boy? Does he speak the truth as you see it? Are these Trolls really so big and bad as he says?”

“Much worse,” Pan answered without hesitating. “They are armored, and they have creatures called Skaith Hounds to track down anything that tries to elude them. And there are more than you think. Five thousand would be a low estimate.”

“Yet you escaped them, did you not? Did you fight your way clear?”

Pan shook his head. “I was let go to come back here and arrange a meeting with the leaders of the peoples in this valley. It was a trick to find a way in, and I helped them make it work.”

There was a long silence. “Well, you show courage in admitting this, Panterra. And we have all been tricked in ways that make us look foolish, myself included. Although not lately.”

“The boy is still learning, but I think he is good at his studies,” Sider Ament offered suddenly. “I would not have brought him along if I did not value his advice and appreciate his insight.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Esselline said. He shifted his gaze back to the Gray Man. “You have settled on what needs doing, it appears. You seem to have thought it through carefully.”

“As carefully as I can,” the other replied. “Though I don’t claim your ability when it comes to tactics. I need your help, Hadrian. I can’t do enough to keep the enemy out by myself. Even with the northern villages and the Elves, we will be overrun. We need your army to aid us. We need everyone to stand together against this threat. Because, in all likelihood, it is only the first of many, now that the walls are down and we are exposed. We had better set a good example right away or we are likely finished.”

Esselline nodded slowly. “It will be done, then. I’ll dispatch a force to Declan Reach. I’ll lead it myself. I will do what I can to bring the others with me, but I can’t promise they will respond as you might like. They will want to make certain of the passes south, first. You know that.”

“I do. But if you come and no one else does, we are still a hundred times better off than otherwise.”

“Undoubtedly.” Esselline smiled. “Are you happy now?”

Sider glanced at Panterra and winked. “Happy enough,” he answered.

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, they were camped in a glen a day’s journey south of Glensk Wood. Twilight had settled in and the last of the day’s light was fading west as they went about preparing dinner. Sider arranged deadwood in a pit, thinking back to his meeting with Hadrian Esselline.

“Do you think any of them will come?” the boy asked suddenly, as if reading his mind. “Besides Esselline?”

Sider nodded absently, still looking away. “A few will be influenced by his decision; they might join him.” He shrugged. “Hard to say, though. Glensk Wood had better plan on defending its own boundaries.”

He glanced at the boy, who acknowledged his words with a cursory nod. “Seems they would want to do more. Why do they think we would go to all the trouble of coming down there to warn them if it were not as important as we say it is?”

Sider struck flint to stone, sparked the fire, blew gently on the tiny flame until the wood was burning, then rose and joined the boy where he was sitting. “It’s not that simple,” he said.

“Why not? It seems that simple to me.”

He’s so young, Sider thought, taking in the smooth face and strong features. Like I was when the old man came to me that first time. I didn’t know anything of the world, and this boy knows not much more for all that he is a Tracker and has the skills of a survivalist. He still doesn’t know how life can turn you around and twist you about and do with you what it will.

He folded his long, lean frame forward, looking down at his boots as he spoke. “Not much that seems simple ever is—more so here than in most cases, I might add. There are alliances, both public and secret, that dominate the thinking of the leaders of Men and Elves alike. There are antagonisms between families and towns that have not been forgotten even after centuries, and these play a part, too. What on the surface seems obvious and clear is mired in chains of details that are interlinked and sometimes unbreakable.”

He looked at the boy. “A danger from without threatens, a clear and present danger, and the need is apparent to those of us who live apart and can reason it through. But most don’t live like you and I. They are part of a larger community of family and friends and fellow citizens, and a wide range of considerations governs their actions. They are much more concerned about not doing the wrong thing than doing the right. They take their time because they are afraid of making mistakes that will undo them. As I said, it is complicated.”

The boy nodded, brushing at his lank hair where it fell across his face. “I guess.”

The Gray Man considered him. “How would you like to become someone who could make a difference in all of that?”

The boy blinked. “What do you mean? Make a difference how?”

“Place yourself in a position where you could speak to everyone about the things that need doing, that might have life-altering consequences for everyone, and see to it that the right choices are made. Would you be interested?”

“No one can do that. Not even you.”

Sider Ament smiled. “Sometimes, I can. And sometimes is enough to keep me trying.”

“But I’m not you. I’m just a Tracker.”

“Not just a Tracker, Panterra. You are much more than that. You are special at what you do; you are gifted and skilled. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Esselline I had good reason for bringing you along with me. I haven’t met another with your talent in all the time I’ve been walking the valley and warding its passes.”

The boy looked uncertain. “Prue is more talented than I am.”

“It might seem so, but she’s not. And she is too young. She relies on you. You rely only on yourself. Yours are the greater skills. Even if you don’t think so, it is true.”

“Well, I don’t see—” The boy stopped midsentence and stared at Sider. “What’s the point of this conversation? What are you trying to say to me?”

“I am trying to tell you that I think you should be the next to bear this talisman.” He lifted the black staff a few inches, drawing the boy’s eyes to its rune-carved length. “I think you should become my apprentice and train with me to take my place when I am gone.”

Panterra Qu smiled and almost laughed. Sider watched the laugh surface and then disappear as the boy suppressed it. “I don’t want to carry the staff,” the boy said quickly. “I just want to be a Tracker.”

“You would be a Tracker still. You would keep your skills and use them often. But you would do much more, too. You would serve a higher cause than Trow Ravenlock and the people of Glensk Wood.”

“No, that’s enough for me. Besides, there’s Prue. I have to look out for her.”

Sider took a deep breath. There it was—the crux of the matter. He gave the boy a smile. “Yes, there’s Prue. You consider her your best friend, don’t you?”

“I do. You know that.”

“Do you love her?”

He hesitated, caught off guard by the question. Perhaps no one had ever asked it. Perhaps he hadn’t even considered it. He didn’t seem to know what to say. “As I would a sister, yes,” he replied finally.

“Nothing more?”

“Not as I think you mean.”

“Does she love you?”

Again, the hesitation. “In the same way. As a brother.”

“Then there is no difficulty in doing what I suggest. You do not have to stop loving each other as friends and siblings, and you can still be together as much as you choose. Nothing about bearing the black staff prevents this. But …”

He held up one hand, palm open toward the boy, as if to stop something he might be about to say. “But something else might prevent it. Not just if you become my successor and the next bearer of the staff, but even if you choose to remain a simple Tracker from Glensk Wood. What you had once envisioned for both of you is finished. That future is gone. It left with the collapse of the magic that warded the valley. It left when the doors opened to the outside world and our survival became a much more perilous undertaking.”

The boy gave him a look, and he smiled in spite of himself. “I know how that sounds. But I don’t say these things only because the protective wall is down and the passes are open. I say them because I met a man while I was outside the valley, and he told me what the world was like. He described it in detail, and it is not a place that will tolerate weakness or indecision. It is populated by dangerous creatures and infused with the residue of the poisons and the resultant mutations of the Great Wars. Those of the human Race that survived did so by being tougher and stronger than those who did not. The Trolls who besiege the valley are indicative of what’s out there. But they are only one example.”

He paused, letting the boy think it through. “It isn’t hard to see what I am trying to say, is it? A battle for survival is at hand, and it will require more than any of us have considered giving in the past. Life will not be as simple or safe. It will be hard and dangerous, and it will demand a great deal of everyone. You already have a better chance of doing something about that than most. But that chance will increase a hundredfold if you accept my offer. Not only for you, but for those whom you choose to protect.”

The boy was silent for a while longer, and then he shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if I want to.”

Sider nodded. “I don’t know, either. Neither of us will know until the moment I pass the staff to you. All we can do until then is to try to prepare you for what having the staff means. We can talk about it. We can examine it. You can ask what questions you would, and I can answer them as best I know. This will give you a chance to see if it might be something that interests you—not in the abstract, but in the practice of it. I will try to convince you that you are the right man to bear it. But I will not force you to take it, and I will not expect you to force yourself. It has to be voluntary. You have to feel the need.”

The boy shook his head again. “I don’t like the idea of it. I don’t want to be responsible for so many people.”

“How is that different from what you do now? You act as surrogate to an entire village and by proxy for the entire valley in most cases. They depend on your Tracker’s skills to ward them, to keep them safe, to see them right. If you fail, many times your own number will suffer as a consequence. Many more lives are in your hands now than ever before because of the danger of an invasion. You cannot pretend that taking up the staff will in any measurable way increase the nature of your responsibility. What it will do is give you a better chance of doing your job as it needs doing.”

“Your argument suggests that as a Tracker I alone am responsible for everyone.” The boy was standing his ground, thinking it through. “There are other Trackers, equally qualified, equally responsible, and they share my burden. If I become the next bearer of the black staff, I will stand alone.”

“You will,” Sider agreed. “But how disagreeable do you find that? Do you not see yourself as standing alone even now? Isn’t that how you approach what you do—by telling yourself the responsibility is yours and it doesn’t matter if there are others who could do it equally well or who might be called upon to share your burden? You don’t think of it that way, do you? You think of it as yours and yours alone.”

He could see that he was right. He could see it in the boy’s eyes and feel it in his hesitation. “But it still isn’t the same,” the boy persisted.

Sider let the answer hang a moment, and then he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed softly. “Why don’t we leave it here for now? We can talk about it again later. You can think about what I’ve said. We should eat something and then sleep.”

The boy nodded but said nothing. Sider could tell he was already thinking it through.

THEY PREPARED THEIR DINNER, a rabbit cooked over a fire, some day-old bread they had been given before leaving Hold-Fast-Crossing, some root vegetables foraged and sliced to cook with the meat, and cups of cold springwater. They ate in silence as the last of the light faded from the sky and the stars began to come out.

“Tomorrow, we will reach Glensk Wood,” Sider said once the meal was done and they were sitting by the dying fire, listening to the sounds of the night as it closed about them. “I will leave you there and go on alone. I won’t be back for several days.”

The boy was silent for several moments. “Is this because I won’t agree to be your apprentice?”

Sider almost smiled, but managed with some effort to keep a straight face. “It has nothing to do with that. I am going out of the valley to find Prue and bring her back.”

The boy looked over quickly. “Then you have to take me with you. I can help.”

“Not this time. I know you want to come with me, but I will have a better chance of saving her if I go alone.”

The boy shook his head. “It doesn’t seem right letting you do this when I was the one who left her. I should be the one to go back.”

Sider leaned forward, wrapped his arms around his knees, and looked off into the trees. “You have to trust me on this. You have to defer to my judgment.”

He said it kindly, keeping his voice deliberately soft, but he could see the boy wince anyway. He was sorry he had to tell him like this, but time was running out for all of them, especially the girl. Taureq Siq would find out soon enough that no meeting between himself and the leaders of the valley was going to take place. When that happened, he would have no further use for Prue Liss and likely dispose of her quickly.

“What do you want me to do while you’re gone?” the boy asked finally.

This was the right question to ask, Sider thought. “I want you to go to Aislinne and tell her what’s happened so that she can pass the information along to Pogue. She must let him know that help is on the way. In the meantime, be certain that the pass at Declan Reach is being fortified against an attack. I expect it to come at Aphalion, but we can’t take that chance.”

The boy nodded. “Will you come back through Declan Reach when you find her?”

“I will.”

“Then I’ll be waiting for you there. I’ll work on the defenses with the others while I do.”

There was a momentary pause as the two stared at each other, neither knowing what more to say. “Don’t worry,” the Gray Man said finally. “I’ll bring her back safe and sound.”

The boy did not respond, but in the following silence Sider Ament could all but hear the words he was thinking.

You’d better.