TWENTY-FIVE      

TRUE TO HIS WORD, ON REACHING GLENSK WOOD at midday two days earlier, Sider Ament left Panterra behind and continued on alone for Declan Reach. He took time to reassure the boy that he would do whatever was necessary to recover Prue safely from the Troll camp and would bring her back as quickly as possible. He could read the dissatisfaction and frustration in the boy’s face. The boy wanted to go with him and be a part of whatever rescue effort he intended. But Sider had already determined that it would be more dangerous for all three of them if the boy came along and would add nothing to have him there.

“Just do as I asked you,” he repeated. “Tell Aislinne what has happened and make sure your report reaches Pogue and the other members of the village council. Confirm that the effort to fortify the pass is under way and if for some reason it isn’t, do what you can to change that. Wait for me there if you wish; I’ll come through on my return.”

Then he was gone, moving quickly away, fading into the trees and not looking back.

He walked the remainder of the day, ascending the steeper mountain slopes toward Declan Reach. By nightfall, he had reached a place at the upper edges of the thinning woods where he could see the entrance. He considered entering the pass itself. In the black silence of the night, he could hear the murmur of voices and see the dim flicker of fires burning within the cut. Someone was camped there, presumably those who had been sent to begin work on the fortifications, and he could have joined them. But he was by nature solitary, and he preferred to keep his own company.

So he stayed where he was, finding a spot where he could make his camp and keep watch. He ate his meal cold, did not start a fire, and long before midnight had wrapped himself in his cloak and blanket to ward against the night’s chill and was asleep.

His sleep was deep and dreamless, the first time in a long time, and he woke refreshed and reassured that he was doing the right thing. He hadn’t told the boy, but he had a plan. It wasn’t fully formed and it depended on the efforts of someone other than himself, but he believed it had a chance to work. Without it, in any case, there was probably little hope for the girl. He had not shared any of this, not wanting to give the boy anything further to think about, hoping his efforts with the fortifications would help take his mind off the matter.

Probably that wouldn’t happen, he acknowledged. Probably there was no diminishing the pain of what he was going through.

He departed at sunrise for the pass, gratified to discover that a sizable workforce was in the process of constructing the needed fortifications, a mix of Trackers and builders under the command of Trow Ravenlock. He stopped long enough to make a quick report to the Tracker leader and to reassure himself that Skeal Eile was not doing anything to interfere with his efforts at summoning help from the other communities, and then he moved on. Ravenlock wanted to know where he was going, but he said only that he was going out to scout the movements of the Troll army and left things at that.

He traversed the length of the pass and emerged into the outside world without incident. The landscape he remembered was unchanged, still a mix of barren rock and empty flats spreading away toward distant mountains west and patches of forest that mingled trees both fresh with new growth and withered with death’s approach, all beneath skies that were clear and bright and sun-filled. He stood at the opening for a time, just studying the sweep of the terrain, watchful for anything that looked odd or threatening. He saw neither, and even though he knew there would be hidden dangers he felt he was better prepared for them this time.

But he would still need help with the girl.

He reached into the pocket sewn on the inside of his belt and withdrew the tracking device given him by Deladion Inch. Just press the button until the red light comes on and I will know to come find you, Inch had told him. Sider had not thought he would ever have need of summoning the big man, but he had kept the device safe anyway.

He pressed the button now, waited for the red light to come on, tucked the device back in his belt pocket when it did, and set out.

What he had remembered even before he recalled the tracking device was Inch’s claim to familiarity with the Troll tribes and their movements. If nothing else, he would be able to tell Sider the best way to go about getting into the camp and finding the girl. He would likely know how they set watch and where a prisoner might be kept. Perhaps there were insignia on the tents that identified their usage. If Sider was very lucky indeed, the big man might even agree to help him get inside the camp by going with him. But he wouldn’t ask; that would be presuming on a friendship he wasn’t sure even existed.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a plan. But it would give him a better chance than anyone else, including the boy, of managing a rescue. Still, he had to act quickly. Only six days remained before the appointed meeting with Taureq Siq. Sider didn’t think the Troll Maturen would show much patience with his prisoner after that deadline expired.

He shook his head at himself. There were so many things that needed doing: rallying the defenders at Aphalion and Declan Reach, speaking with the different Races—he hadn’t gone to the Lizards or Spiders at all, leaving that to the Elves … But here I am, doing this instead. All because I promised Panterra Qu I would not abandon the girl, and if I am to have any chance of winning his friendship and trust, any chance of persuading him that he should become the next bearer of the staff, I must first prove that I can keep my word when I make a promise.

He walked on through the midday light, staying out in the open where he could see anything that approached and hopefully avoid the sort of ambush he had encountered the last time out, all the while moving in the general direction of Deladion Inch’s fortress keep. The terrain about him remained pretty much the same—bleak and ruined, stripped of grasses and trees, the earth still toxic from the Great Wars, stark and unwelcoming. Once, far off in the distance, he caught sight of a flat blue glimmer of water, a slender thread wending its way through the countryside, angling off into the haze west. But he couldn’t tell the condition of the water or its source. Here and there, clumps of trees grew as fresh and clean as they all must have grown at one time. But they were small islands amid an ocean of devastation, and the bulk of what the Gray Man saw showed little promise.

Once, not so far distant, he saw something much larger than himself shambling through a series of deep ravines, appearing and then disappearing like a mirage. But it was moving away from him, and after a while it was gone entirely.

He found himself wondering how the people of the valley would ever be able to acclimate and survive in this hostile environment. How could they adapt to what they would encounter when they had spent five hundred years closed away in a country where everything was naturally available and almost nothing threatened? He tried to envision how it would happen and failed. It would take new skills and hard-won experience to allow them to make the change. It would take a degree of cooperation and respect that was presently lacking. All the petty jealousies and rifts and differences would have to be bridged and healed.

He didn’t know if that was possible. Yet a way would have to be found if those brought out of the carnage of the Great Wars by the boy Hawk were to survive.

The hours slipped away, the afternoon crawling toward twilight, the bright orb of the sun advancing west in a sky that grew increasingly cloudy. Another storm was approaching, coming down out of the north. Sider checked the tracking device, worried that it might have failed. But the red light glowed steadily, so he kept moving ahead. He recognized almost nothing of the land he was traversing, but he carried a compass and his general sense of direction added to its readings told him he was still maintaining his intended course. He just hoped he would get to shelter before sunset or rainfall.

He needn’t have worried. He was climbing out of a series of deep ravines toward a line of dead trees and scrub when Deladion Inch appeared above him, clad in the familiar black leathers and metal trappings, the equally familiar Tyson Flechette strapped across one shoulder.

“Sider Ament!” the big man called out in greeting. “Come on up!”

He stood where he was, hands resting on his hips and a bemused expression on his bluff face, watching as Sider finished his climb up the rise and joined him.

“Hello, again,” Sider greeted him in turn.

The big man looked him up and down. “Didn’t expect to see you again quite so soon. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. I can always use the company of a fellow mercenary. Oh, wait—you don’t like it when I call you that. A fellow practitioner of the art of war? Is that better? Well, whatever, I’m glad you came. My tracking device works pretty well, doesn’t it? Got your signal on my receiver, and it brought me right to you.”

He was rambling a bit, but Sider didn’t mind. He was just happy the other man had actually chosen to come find him. “Couldn’t have been easier,” he agreed.

“Well, then, we’re not far from the old homestead, so it won’t be any harder from here.” Inch glanced at the skies. “I would have reached you quicker than this, but I was out foraging, gone the other direction, and I had to retrace my steps. Sorry about that. Are you hungry?”

Sider nodded. “Thirsty, too.”

“Got the cure for both. Come along now, no further delays. Tell me what brings you back out again after I warned you that staying where you were was the better choice. Not that I thought for a minute you’d listen. But I feel an obligation toward those possessed of less common sense than myself. Come, come.”

He led the way down the backside of the rise and onto flats that stretched away through miles of ravines and scrub and ruined woods, chatting as they went about what he had been doing since Sider had last seen him. Mostly, he said, he had been working on repairs to the tunnel system in the ruins that served as his shelter while waiting for a message from the tiny village south that had sought his services but was deliberating his price. He was animated and voluble, and he waved his hands with their missing fingers as he talked. Sider gave a mental shake of his head and wondered where all the energy came from.

It was nearing nightfall and the rain was just beginning to fall when they reached the ruins and climbed the stone steps to the rooms that Deladion Inch maintained for himself. They moved inside the buildings, navigating their corridors until they reached a room where there were chairs and a table set in front of a hearth. Within minutes, Inch had a fire going, the dry wood crackling and snapping cheerfully.

“Don’t you worry about smoke giving you away?” Sider asked.

The big man gave him a look. “Can’t worry about everything. In weather like this, it won’t be easy to sort out smoke from mist and rain in any case. Besides, no one could catch me in the maze of tunnels that honeycomb this place even if they wanted to. We’re safe enough, smoke or not. Glass of ale?”

They sat before the fire and drank down several glasses, not saying much, just enjoying the warmth and the company. Sider thought that he could live like this, cocooned away, protected from predators, able to come and go as he pleased. He might get the chance to find out since his days of warding the passes leading in and out of the valley were coming to a close.

“I need your help with something,” he said finally, setting aside his glass and leaning back.

The big man nodded. “Thought so.”

“Understand, I’m not asking you to get involved, only to give me enough insight into what’s needed so I might be able to avoid getting myself killed.”

Deladion Inch grinned. “In your case, Sider, that might take more than just a few insights. But go on, tell me.”

Sider nodded. “There’s a girl from the valley who’s being held captive in a Troll camp. She’s a hostage for something that isn’t going to happen, and I have to find a way to rescue her before the Trolls figure this out.”

“Sounds as if your valley sanctuary might not be so safe anymore. Too bad about that, but I warned you.”

“Too bad about a lot of things.”

Deladion Inch took a long pull on his ale. “What can you tell me about these Trolls? Do you know which tribe it is?”

“Drouj. Their leader is called Taureq Siq. They’ve got a camp north of here. They’re migrating, they claim, but once they found out about the valley they decided that maybe it might be the home they were looking for. They caught the girl and a boy who managed to get a little too close. A Troll visiting from another tribe made friends with the pair and got the boy out, but not the girl. So now I need to get the girl back. It’s more complicated than I’m telling it, but the rest doesn’t matter.”

“Not to me, anyway,” the big man agreed. “Taureq Siq, is it? Now, there’s a finely wrought piece of nastiness. Here’s what I can tell you. Taureq is not someone you can trust. The Drouj are the dominant Troll tribe in this part of the world. They’ve subjugated all the other tribes and made them accept Taureq as their Maturen. He’s got a serious problem with power, that one. Wants to dominate everything and everyone. If he gets into your valley, you better plan on finding a new home. You say he’s camped off to the north?”

“Was a week or two ago. He might have moved closer to the mountains by now. He’s expecting a meeting with us in about six days. The girl’s being held as insurance. Of course, holding her isn’t going to get him what he wants, but I can’t just leave her.”

“Sounds like you have a reason for rescuing this girl that goes beyond what you’re telling me.”

“I do. It has to do with the boy. I can explain it, if you want.”

Deladion Inch shook his head. “Don’t bother. I can get you past the watch and inside the Troll camp, but I don’t know about finding your girl. The Drouj are a big tribe—thousands strong. Finding where they’ve got her won’t be easy. You don’t happen to speak the language, do you?”

“Not theirs. Our Trolls speak something else.”

“Guess you can’t ask them where she is, then. Too bad.” He stood up. “Let’s have something to eat while I think about it.”

They set about preparing a dinner, Inch fixing the food while Sider set the table with plates and utensils. He was surprised to see that his host had a large collection of mixed pieces of china and glassware, salvaged somehow from the contents of these ruins or others, all of it neatly stacked and shelved. He wouldn’t have thought it of Inch, but then he’d always suspected that the big man was more than he seemed.

They ate, washing down the food with more glasses of ale. Sider was growing sleepy and changed out his ale for water. Deladion Inch laughed on seeing him do so, remarking that his guest had a low tolerance of spirits and common sense both.

“I’m curious about this Troll that got the boy free,” the big man said after they had set aside their plates. “How did he manage that?”

Sider shrugged. “According to the boy, he was part of an exchange of eldest sons. His father sent him to the Drouj in exchange for Taureq’s eldest. It was some sort of pact to solidify an alliance.”

Deladion Inch laughed. “That’s a new twist on things. Taureq normally doesn’t form alliances; he simply crushes his enemies. What tribe of Trolls did he make this alliance with?”

“Karriak.”

“Karriak?” Inch repeated carefully. “You must have heard wrong.”

“Maybe. I only heard the story once.”

“Reason I say that, the Drouj wiped out the Karriak several years ago. Every last one of them. Taureq and his sons saw to that. I remember hearing about it. Pretty ugly stuff.”

Sider stared at him, the first faint twinges of concern surfacing. “Maybe I misheard. Might be another tribe, then? I think Taureq and the Maturen of the other tribe were related. Or the one split off from the other some time in the past.”

Deladion Inch studied him wordlessly for a moment, his brow furrowing. “What’s the name of this Troll, Sider?”

The Gray Man saw it coming at him through a flash of understanding, but couldn’t do anything about it. “Arik Sarn.”

The big man nodded slowly. “Interesting. Something you should know. Taureq Siq has two sons. The younger is a bloodthirsty little weasel named Grosha. The older, the more intelligent and dangerous of the two, is called Arik.”

The two men stared at each in silence for a long moment, considering the implications. “Arik Siq,” Sider said quietly. “And we brought him back into the valley with us, to the Elven home city.”

Deladion Inch nodded. “A fox in the henhouse. Sounds like Arik’s way. I know them all, the whole miserable family. Grosha has Skaith Hounds for pets. Wanted to feed me to them once upon a time. Would have done it, too, but I had the flechette with me and warned him that his pets would be chopped meat if he set them on me. He hasn’t had a kind word for me since.”

“Describe the older son to me,” Sider said.

The big man did so. The description fit Arik Sarn perfectly. Sider thought it through. The Troll had tricked his captives into thinking he was a friend, using them to gain entrance into the valley, his intention all along. Holding Prue Liss hostage was just a subterfuge. What Taureq Siq needed was a pair of eyes and ears inside the valley to tell him what was going on. His elder son would gather what knowledge he could, and then he would use it against the defenders. He wasn’t waiting for a response to his demand. He was preparing for an attack.

Sider told Deladion Inch what he thought was happening, wanting to be certain he was right about this, needing another opinion that he could trust. It was quick in coming. “Always very smart about how best to do things, that one. His father relies on him for that. What are you going to do?”

Sider took a deep breath. “Go back on my word.”

“Which word would that be?” Inch looked vaguely amused.

“Promising not to ask you to get involved. Can’t keep that promise now. I need you to go into the Troll camp and bring the girl out.”

Deladion Inch shook his head, glanced down at his hands and then off into the far corners of the room. Sider waited patiently.

Finally, the big man looked over at him again. “You’ve got sand, Sider Ament, I’ll give you that. All right, I’ll go. I haven’t anything better to do. I’ll bring her out. Where do you want her?”

“I’ll draw you a map. Can you leave right away? Tomorrow morning?”

“I can leave now, if you want. What is it you plan to do? Go back inside the valley and find your lying friend?”

Sider nodded. “I don’t like the idea of him there another second longer than he has to be. I’m worried that he has something else planned. Maybe I can reach him before he manages to slip away.”

“Then we’ll both go.” Deladion Inch seemed almost eager. “You to your valley and me to Taureq Siq. But first we’ll share one last glass of ale, provide us with some additional fortification for what lies ahead. It’ll be cold and wet out there, Sider. And it’ll be dangerous.”

They drank their ale slowly, sitting together in silence, watching the fire die out as it turned slowly to ashes. Sider thought about how blind he had been to the possibility that Arik Sarn might have been using Panterra for his own purposes. He hadn’t considered things carefully enough, too wrapped up in the rush to get back into the valley and sound the alarm, too quick to act and not careful enough to think it through. Now he would pay the price. Or someone would. He didn’t like thinking about who that someone might be.

Deladion Inch drained the last of his ale and stood. “If you’re ready, let’s be off. We can take my crawler as far as you want. Then you can walk from there. Solar-powered, fully charged. A beast, left over from the old days. Still works. You should have one for your line of work, too. But mine’s the last, so I guess you’re out of luck. Ready?”

They walked from the room and down corridors and stairs toward the ground level. Inch was carrying his flechette and another short-barreled, black metal weapon that looked somewhat similar. He wore knives and bore packs whose contents were hidden from view and made no sound as they shifted about inside the canvas. Deladion Inch was a walking arsenal.

“One last thing,” the big man said as they stopped at the doorway leading out. “You watch yourself with Arik Siq. He might look harmless, might even seem so, but he’s very dangerous. Not impulsive and brash like his little brother. Be careful.”

Sider nodded. “I’ll do that. You better worry about yourself. You’re the one going into a camp filled with unfriendly Trolls. They might decide you’re not there for any good reason.”

“By the time they figure that out, I’ll be gone again. And the girl with me. What’s her name again?”

“Prue. Prue Liss.”

Inch stuck out his hand and gripped Sider’s firmly. “Good seeing you, Sider. It’s always interesting. Be looking for you down the road. We’ll tell our stories then over fresh glasses of ale.”

“We’ll do that,” Sider agreed.

The two men smiled at each other, broke their handshake, and went out the door into the night.

ONE THING EVERY ELF WHO KNEW XAC WEN had to admit about him, besides the fact that he was annoyingly omnipresent and intrusive: he didn’t miss much. If you wanted to know what was going on in a particular part of the city of Arborlon or even beyond, or if you were curious to know where someone had gone or why, he was the one to ask. His parents had given up trying to keep him under control years ago—forget about during the day when he was all over the place, but even at night when he should have been asleep. Xac Wen told everyone who asked that he didn’t need to sleep. A couple of hours were sufficient, and the rest of the time he wanted to be out looking around.

Which was what he was doing when he caught sight of Arik Sarn walking alone down a back road of the sleeping city shortly after midnight. He might have been out for a stroll, but Xac knew you didn’t carry a backpack and weapons when you were just taking the air. He might have been on his way to visit someone, but you didn’t often go visiting after midnight and you didn’t do it in a furtive way. Well, usually you didn’t. He was also alone, which meant that for some reason his Elven guards had failed in their duty to keep an eye on him at all times.

This was troubling to the boy, and he watched from the shadows as the Troll moved past, never once indicating that he knew the boy was there. But Xac knew that grown-ups were very good at pretending not to have noticed you when in fact they had. So he waited until the Troll was out of sight, ducked back behind the buildings, and moved through the trees along a little-used path that would bring him out where the road the Troll was following would converge with a larger one.

But Arik Sarn failed to appear. Xac waited until he was sure the Troll wasn’t coming, thought about it a moment, and then hurried off to the Carolan to have a look around. He went swiftly, angling away from where he was certain the Troll must have gone, small and silent as he sped through shadowed trees and down narrow lanes, avoiding houses and people, staying out of the light. When he reached the gardens and the bluff edge, he was winded and breathing heavily. Without showing himself, he dropped down while still out of sight, crawled into the flowering bushes, and lay flat against the ground, listening. He wanted to lift his head for a look, but his instincts warned him against it.

He waited a long time.

Then he heard the soft pad of footfalls from not very far away. They would start up and stop and then start up again. Someone was searching through the gardens and taking their time doing so, looking down every row carefully.

Searching for what?

For him?

He felt chills ripple down his spine at the possibility and inched closer to the bushes next to him, slowly wedging himself under them until they covered him completely. He tucked in his arms and legs. He tried to will himself to disappear.

He waited some more.

Suddenly the Troll appeared at the head of the row of bushes in which he hid, a long knife in one hand as he peered left and right, studying everything. Xac Wen quit breathing. He fought down the urge to jump up and run. He had been right not to risk showing himself, but maybe wrong in coming here at all.

After a long time, the Troll moved away.

Xac waited, still barely breathing, still pressing himself against the earth. He could almost feel the Troll’s eyes watching him, could imagine the big hands fastening on his shoulders and yanking him to his feet. He could imagine that and a whole lot more he didn’t want to dwell on.

When enough minutes had passed that he felt safe again, he cautiously inched out from under the bushes and began crawling toward the bluff edge. It took him a long time, and by the time he had completed his journey his clothes were torn and filthy.

From his hiding place at the Carolan’s rim, he could look down the switchback length of the Elfitch. Nothing looked out of place. The watch was on duty, the torches that lit the ramp were burning, and the ramp itself was otherwise deserted. He glanced from right to left along the edge of the bluff. Nothing in either direction.

He took a deep breath and wondered what he should do.

Then he caught sight of something moving. Below the Elfitch, not far from where the northern boundary of the tree line began, a solitary figure slid through the shadows.

It was the Troll.

Xac Wen watched him until he was out of sight, and then he got to his feet and stood looking down at the darkness, wondering whom he should tell.