THIRTY      

MILES AWAY, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAINS, the Gray Man was trekking west toward the pass at Declan Reach. It was night and he was traveling quickly. He was no longer tracking Arik Siq; his quarry’s destination already known, his course fixed. Matters had taken an unexpected turn here, too, and here, too, time was running out.

When he had left Arborlon in pursuit of the deceiver, he had begun tracking him under the assumption that he was escaping the city with the intention of going back through Aphalion Pass. If his purpose in coming into the valley in the first place was to gather information that would aid the Drouj in their planned invasion, he would be anxious to impart to his father what he had learned before his duplicity was discovered. In order to do that in the fastest way possible, he would take the shortest route out of the valley, and that meant going through Aphalion.

So Sider had set out in that direction, not bothering with trying to pick up the Troll’s footprints, choosing instead to sacrifice caution for speed in order to reach the pass quickly. He did so, only to learn from the Elves on watch that no Trolls had passed that way in the past week. The Orullian brothers, in particular, were adamant that no one could have gotten past the watch they had set at both ends of the pass without someone finding out. Since no sightings or incidents had been reported, Arik Siq must have gone another way.

It was a disturbing discovery, and after doing his own reconnaissance of the terrain surrounding the pass, the Gray Man went back down the interior slopes of the mountains toward Arborlon, this time checking carefully for some indication of where the elusive Troll had gone.

He found it when he was almost all the way back to the Elven city and scouring the terrain above the forest where the boy Xac Wen had last seen the Troll going down the Carolan. The tracks he found were clearly made by a Troll, so the Gray Man was able to follow them easily enough. To his surprise, they led northwest upslope into the foothills for only several miles before turning directly west.

Shortly after that, in a dense forest formed by a mix of hardwoods and conifers grown so thick it was impossible to see much of anything once you were in their midst, he found something that caused him both confusion and concern. In a clearing ringed by spruce, he discovered tracks made by dozens of Trolls and a handful of four-footed beasts that had come down out of the high country west of Aphalion. Having joined up with Arik Siq, the entire bunch had set out west along the high slopes, carefully keeping to the shelter of the ridges and forests below the snow line.

At first, Sider couldn’t figure out what all the Trolls and their beasts were doing. The pattern of the tracks seemed to indicate that they knew Arik Siq was coming and had waited for him. There were no indications of a disturbance, nothing to show that his arrival was unexpected. But if the Trolls were Drouj, how had they managed to get into the valley without being seen? How had they managed to communicate the details of this meeting with Arik Siq without speaking to him directly?

Sider couldn’t be sure of the answer to the latter question, but he deduced an answer to the former pretty quickly. The beasts accompanying the Drouj were Skaith Hounds, which explained almost everything. When he had brought Arik Siq into the valley, there were no defenses in the pass, nothing to prevent anyone living outside from entering. The assumption was that no one could find a way in because no one knew where the passes were. But they had all overlooked the obvious. Simply by returning, they had left a trail. Skaith Hounds could track a quarry anywhere, as Deladion Inch had told him earlier, and since Arik Siq was already planning to betray the valley’s secrets, he had simply arranged before leaving camp to have the hounds set on their trail as soon as they were safely out of sight.

Which meant that the Trolls who had gathered to meet with Taureq’s duplicitous son could have found Aphalion Pass easily and gotten safely inside the valley long before the first Elves arrived to set watch and build their defenses. They could have prearranged a meeting and waited for its time to roll around by hiding out somewhere high up in the rocks where they would be safe from discovery. How they had managed to decide when and where the meeting was to take place remained a mystery, but it seemed clear to the Gray Man that this was what had happened.

But now that they had joined up, where were they going? What was their purpose?

Sider thought he knew, and it sent a cold spike through his heart. There was only one logical answer. Knowing that the Elves had dispatched a heavily armed force to Aphalion Pass, which very likely would be keeping watch in both directions, Arik Siq had chosen to take a less difficult route out of the valley. The men of Glensk Wood would be working at Declan Reach. They were neither as well trained nor as experienced as the Elves. Declan Reach would offer the Trolls the path of least resistance.

If the Drouj had gone that way, time was precious. They already had the better part of a day’s lead on him, so Sider knew he had to hurry if he was to arrive in time not only to prevent their escape but also to save the men who otherwise would have the thankless task of trying to stop it by themselves. In truth, he did not think they were up to it. Even if they were not caught by surprise—which was something of a stretch, given the cunning of Arik Siq—they were not trained fighters.

He also knew there was a good chance that Panterra Qu would be among those working in the pass. He would be at risk along with all the others, but unlike all the others his life had special value.

It was a harsh way to look at things, but Sider Ament could not afford to think of it in any other terms. The boy was the one he had been searching for, the one who would best serve to carry the black staff after him. Panterra Qu might not realize it now, might not accept that it was so, but that didn’t change the fact of it. Given time, Sider would be able to persuade him that committing to serve after him and learning how the staff and its magic could help the people of the valley survive was his destiny. He might resist it at first, but in the end he would come to understand that it was the right thing to do.

But any possibility of that happening would be lost if the boy was killed in an attack on the workers at Declan Reach. There was no way to get word to them in time, no possibility of warning them if he didn’t do it himself.

A long shot, at best, he admitted. He might already be too late. He might have squandered his chances by assuming that his quarry had gone through Aphalion.

But he couldn’t afford to think that way, and so he didn’t.

He simply pressed ahead all the harder, his determination sheathed in iron.

PANTERRA QU WAS SLEEPING, rolled up in his blanket, assailed by troubling dreams that ate away at his rest like termites did wood. The dreams were all of Prue, alone among the Trolls, helpless and afraid, fighting to stay calm in the face of catastrophe. She was a prisoner, then an escapee, then a prisoner once more, and so it went, on and on. Her struggles were all the same—desperate, hopeless attempts at finding freedom when she knew no one was coming to save her. He tried to tell her it wasn’t so; Sider Ament was coming, and failing that Pan himself would come. He tried to tell her, but he could not speak the words, his voice frozen. He gestured wildly, frantically, attempting to draw her attention, to make her understand he was there for her, but she did not see him. She looked everywhere but where he was, unaware of his presence. He was mad with the need to let her know she was not forgotten or abandoned. But he could read in her face the fear and despair that was slowly, steadily overwhelming her.

As he watched, she began to disappear. It felt as if she were right next to him when it happened. He wanted to scream in warning or snatch her away to safety, but he couldn’t move or speak.

Suddenly he couldn’t even breathe.

He jerked awake, knowing instantly that something was wrong, his dreams banished in an instant. He stood, stared into the darkness around him, and listened. Nothing. He glanced down. Andelin and Russa were asleep nearby. Parke and Teer were on guard farther up the pass, close to where it opened out onto the rugged slopes of the outside world. The others were sleeping on the valley side of the defensive barriers on which they had all been working for the better part of a week. Overhead, the sky was filled with stars, but he could discern a faint wash of silver light to the east. Dawn was breaking.

Everything seemed all right.

But something felt wrong anyway.

He walked the length of the pass to its far end and spoke with Parke and Teer. There was nothing out of sorts happening there. The world beyond the pass was dark and silent. He shook his head in confusion and moved back down the split to where Andelin and Russa were still sleeping, stopping at the last minute to pick up his bow and arrows, and from there walked on to the defensive barriers. Ladders were propped against the stone and timber walls at a narrows where the pass sloped downward in his direction and leveled out behind where the other men slept. The choice of terrain gave the defenders an advantage in the event of an assault, putting them above their attackers who must come at them over uneven ground. Most of the work was already done. By the end of tomorrow, the wall would be finished and manned by a permanent company of Trackers and others. Trow Ravenlock had already designated those he wished to serve in that capacity. He had done the best he could in making his choices, but the men of Glensk Wood were poorly trained for service as soldiers and fighters.

Shouldering his bow and arrows, Panterra climbed one of the ladders to the top of the wall and stepped over onto the narrow walkway that ran its length. He looked down on the sleeping men. Nothing out of place here, either. He stood where he was, searching for even a brief twinge of the feeling that had brought him awake, trying to make sense of it. If Prue were there, she would know. He did not. His instincts weren’t as sure as hers.

But that didn’t mean he should ignore them.

He looked for the guard who should have been on post below him and found him standing off to one side in the rocks near the tree line, nearly invisible in the dark, a silent shadowy presence perhaps fifty yards downslope from the sleeping men.

A second later the guard disappeared.

Panterra blinked. It happened so fast that he thought he must be mistaken and kept trying to find him. Then he caught a glimpse of the man’s legs kicking wildly as he was dragged back into the deeper shadows.

An instant later shadowy forms emerged from the rocks all across the slopes leading up to the entrance to the pass and crept toward the sleeping men. Some walked upright on two legs and some slouched forward on four.

Trolls and Skaith Hounds.

The Drouj.

He had no idea how they had gotten behind them, but he knew at once who they were. “We’re attacked!” he shouted in warning, banging a metal bar on a wooden barrel. “Wake up!”

The response was instantaneous from both sides. The Glensk Wood men rolled out of their blankets, some still sleep-fogged and confused, some quick to snatch up their weapons and defend themselves. But the Trolls and Skaith Hounds were quicker and more focused, attacking up the slope as soon as the warning was given, closing the distance between themselves and their victims in mere seconds. Half the defenders died in the first two minutes, torn apart by the hounds or run through by the Drouj. Panterra tried to slow the attackers, firing arrow after arrow into their midst, killing a couple and wounding as many more. But it wasn’t nearly enough. There were too many, and it was still too dark to be accurate with a bow.

Slowly, the survivors fell back toward the defensive bulwarks, searching for a way to escape.

“Up here!” Pan called down to them, drawing their attention. “Climb the ladders!”

A few made it up, quicker than the rest. Most fell in the attempt and were lost. There were perhaps two dozen Trolls and three Skaith Hounds. Panterra concentrated on the latter, trying to bring at least one of them down. But the beasts were agile and quick, and their thick fur was resistant to his arrows.

Russa and Andelin had joined him by now, and were using their own bows. As many as six of their companions had gained the momentary safety of the walls while a handful more still fought to reach them from below. But the Trolls were relentless in their attack, overpowering all resistance. A pair of them reached one of the ladders, forcing the defenders to kick it away. The Skaith Hounds leapt for the ramparts in furious bounds, trying to gain purchase. The men on the walls fell back quickly in an effort to avoid those jaws.

Two more defenders made it up the last of the ladders, and then Russa pushed it away. The Trolls clustered below, shielding themselves from the barrage of arrows raining down on them, searching for another way up. A handful started to build a ramp out of supply boxes and pieces of lumber while the rest hauled out bows of their own and began shooting arrows into the defenders. The men on the walls were exposed and vulnerable. Three of them were killed outright before the rest scrambled over the walls and down the ladders on the other side, abandoning the defenses.

Panterra searched quickly among the survivors for Trow Ravenlock and couldn’t find him. Dead, he assumed. Killed in the initial attack.

“Haul those ladders down!” Russa shouted at those with him, not bothering with trying to determine who should be in charge. “We’ll fall back to those rocks at the next narrows. If we can, we’ll try to stop them from coming over the walls.”

No one argued. They raced down the pass perhaps a hundred yards to where an old rockslide formed a second narrows, providing some cover. They numbered seven now, including Teer and Parke, who had finally arrived from their place of watch at the far end of the pass. Fear and confusion showed on the faces of all six of his companions. None of them knew what was happening.

“Listen to me,” he said suddenly. They looked at him in surprise, all breathing hard, covered in sweat and blood, their eyes wild. “These Trolls are part of the army that wants to take the valley from us. If they get past us here, they will tell the others how to get in. If that happens, everyone in the valley is at risk. We can’t allow that.”

“We can’t stop them!” one of the men snapped. “Did you see what they did to us?”

“We weren’t ready for them before. Now we are. They’re dangerous—especially the Skaith Hounds—but they can be killed.”

“We’ll stop them!” Russa declared. He was a big man with hard features and tree-trunk arms. He looked at the others. “Who’s with me?”

Everyone nodded, and the fear and confusion seemed to lessen. “How do we do this?” Andelin asked quickly.

“Block the pass, here at the narrows,” Russa declared. “Take positions to either side. Shoot them coming over the wall. Stand until we can’t hold. Then fall back to another position. Do it again, if we need to, until they’re all dead or we are!”

No one said anything. Nothing needed saying. They would fight to the last man, until they were all killed. Everyone knew the odds against anyone coming to their rescue. No new work parties were due for two days.

“Maybe we can find a way to slip by them,” Andelin suggested, looking hopeful. “There are Elves building the defenses at Aphalion Pass. They might send help if someone could reach them.”

Russa turned to Pan. “You should go. You’ve worked with the Elves; they know you. You’ve been outside the valley, too. None of us has. You’ll know better what to watch out for.”

Panterra shook his head. “It’s too far. I can’t get there and back in time to save anyone. Better that I stay with you. If we can’t stop them here, maybe I can lead you to Aphalion.”

He was thinking suddenly that Sider Ament might come. Perhaps he had rescued Prue by now and was returning with her as he had promised he would, by way of Declan Reach. It was a long shot, but it was the best he could hope for.

Still, he said nothing of this to the others. They had no reason to believe that the Gray Man would help them.

“We’ll have a better chance if we stay together,” he finished.

Already there were sounds of activity on the walls. Panterra peered around the rocks and saw the Trolls gathering on the ramparts, hauling up the ladders from the far side in preparation for lowering them on the near. A Skaith Hound reared up, its shaggy head swinging right and left, its yellow eyes searching. It lifted its head and howled.

“Here they come!” Russa snapped, his blunt features tightening. “Remember our plan, boys.”

Panterra Qu notched an arrow in place and drew back slowly on his bowstring.

DAWN HAD BROKEN by the time Sider Ament approached the pass at Declan Reach. He had been traveling all night, pushing the pace, trying to make up time and ground on Arik Siq and the Drouj. He was bone-weary and hungry, having eaten nothing since setting out. But his sense of urgency and his determination to reach the pass in time drove him to keep going when common sense would have persuaded another man to rest.

Now that he was here, though, with the pass just ahead, he was aware of the price he had paid for his urgency. If he had to fight now, he might not be as strong as he needed to be.

He trudged up the slope through the scattering of conifers and boulders, wending his way cautiously, listening for sounds that would give away anyone in hiding. He heard nothing. Everything was still. As he drew closer, the dark entrance to the pass visible, he saw the first of the bodies. Trolls and Men both, their bodies twisted in death. He walked up to them, scanning the ground, assessing the visual evidence of what had happened. The Trolls had attacked, caught the Men mostly unawares, and killed many of them while they were still trying to wake up. Some had fought back, but the numbers of dead on each side suggested that the Trolls had gotten the better of things.

He walked past the dead to the bulwarks and stopped. A terrible struggle had taken place here, as well. Arrows sprouted not just from the bodies but from the earth all around them and the timbers of the defensive wall. No one had been left alive on this killing ground.

He saw Trow Ravenlock, lying off to one side, spitted on a Troll lance, his sword still in his hand. Trackers and builders had made a desperate stand against trained Drouj soldiers. Men whose lives revolved around the crafts of reading sign and building homes had failed to find a way to survive.

He took time to look carefully at the faces of the dead, and then scoured the surrounding terrain to make certain he had missed nothing. Panterra Qu was nowhere to be found.

Sider took a deep, steadying breath and exhaled slowly. Perhaps the boy had never been here. Perhaps he was still down in Glensk Wood.

He returned to the wall, propped up a fallen ladder against the ramparts, and climbed to the top. From there he looked over the wall and found more of the Trolls and one of the Skaith Hounds lying dead on the ground below, all of them killed climbing over or within twelve feet of landing. He peered down the shadowy length of the pass for as far as he could see. There were more bodies at a narrows a short distance away.

He descended into the pass using a second ladder, one that had been used by the attackers in going after those defenders they had not killed in the first assault. He moved ahead, more cautious now, taking time to study those sprawled on the ground, not wanting to mistake a live Troll for a dead one. But the three he found at the narrows and the two Men lying next to them—one still clutching a Troll in a death grip—were empty vessels.

There was still no sign of Panterra Qu.

He almost turned back, certain now that the boy either had not come there or had gotten away during the fighting. Instead of wasting his time like this, he should go for help. Someone was needed to man the empty walls of the defenses against a probable attack from the Drouj army. Catching up with Arik Siq no longer seemed likely, and there was nothing to be gained by continuing on.

Yet he did.

Just in case he was wrong, he told himself. Just in case the boy was still at risk.

He proceeded to walk the length of the pass, finding along the way the bodies of two more of the Drouj, another Skaith Hound, and three more of the defenders. All had died fighting, mostly on the run. He checked the faces of the dead, determined that they did not belong to the boy, and then bent down on one knee to read the tracks that continued ahead. Most of them were old, two days or more. But he found the tracks of two men that were new, one following the other, running hard. A handful of Trolls and a Skaith Hound appeared to be following them.

He stood up and continued on.

The pass was still deeply shadowed, but fringes of sunlight were creeping over the peaks and down the narrow draws, seeking out the darker corners. Sider worked his way ahead carefully, still believing that he was too late to help anyone. The fighting must be over, and if any of the defenders were left they had fled to safer places. He regretted that he had failed to catch up to Arik Siq, but consoled himself with a promise that one day he would atone for that.

He was almost to the far end of the pass when he heard something. He stopped where he was and listened. A forlorn voice was crying out weakly. It was distant still, perhaps outside the pass itself, perhaps downslope in the rocks beyond. He started ahead again, listening for more. But the voice had gone silent.

He reached the end of the pass, dropped into a crouch against one wall, and carefully crept forward to where he could see a narrow stretch of rock-strewn slope. He scanned it slowly, searching for whoever was out there.

Nothing.

He hesitated, uncertain what to do. It was dangerous to expose himself without knowing more, but he couldn’t stay where he was if he wanted to find out what was happening.

Even so, he hesitated a long time. Then cautiously, he eased his way forward along the rough surface of the rock, inching toward the sunlight. He was just at its edge when he saw a body lying facedown in the rocks, blood everywhere, arms and legs akimbo.

Was it the boy?

He wasn’t sure. It was the right size and build; it might be. Then one arm moved just enough to reveal that there remained a small spark of life.

Sider reacted instinctively. He bolted from the pass into the sunlight and raced toward the body. But in his haste, consumed by his fear for the boy, he forgot to summon the protective mantle of the black staff’s magic.

He heard someone scream his name and felt a pair of sharp stings on his neck and hand.

An instant later, a Skaith Hound slammed into him from behind, come from out of the rocks in which it had been in waiting, claws and teeth tearing at him. The magic of his staff responded instantly to his summons, keeping the beast from his face and throat. But the magic was weak, a consequence of his own weariness, and the Skaith Hound broke through its protective shield and clamped its jaws on Sider’s arm. Sider struggled to break free but could not. Together man and beast tumbled down the rock-strewn slope past the body that wasn’t Panterra Qu’s—the Gray Man caught just a glimpse of the other’s face—and crashed into a pile of boulders. There, on impact, the beast lost its grip. Sider leapt up, deflecting a hail of arrows directed at him from both sides, drove the black staff into the Skaith Hound’s chest, sent an explosion of magic down its length, and burned the beast to a blackened husk.

He wheeled back as three of the Drouj careened into him, spears seeking to pin him to the rocks. He blocked their efforts, knocking them aside—first one, then the other two—his body twisting away as he used his magic to shield himself and his staff to crack their bones. But the Trolls were toughened fighters and two of them were back on their feet quickly, in spite of their injuries, swords drawn. Sider used his magic, lashing out at them, turning them aside, and he was on top of them before they could recover. Swiftly he dispatched them.

He faltered then, his muscles gone weak and unresponsive. He was aware of burning sensations where he had felt the stings earlier. He glanced down at his hand and saw what appeared to be a bruise. Then he probed his neck and found a tiny dart protruding from his skin. He had just pulled it free and was examining it when he was struck again, this time in the face.

He dropped into a defensive crouch, pulling out the dart immediately. He saw Arik Siq then, standing in the open now, come out from wherever he had been hiding, a blowgun in his hand.

A single word surfaced in his mind.

Poison.

He fought back, using his magic to slow its spread, armoring himself for what was needed. Then he went up the slope in a rush. Arik Siq put the blowgun to his lips and used it again. But by now the magic was firmly in place and deflected the darts. Twice more the son of the Drouj Maturen used the blowgun before accepting that it was useless. He realized at the same moment that he should have been making his escape. But by now, he was trapped near the mouth of the pass, pinned back against its dark opening, and it was too late to escape the way he had intended. He hesitated only a moment before turning into the pass and fleeing back down its shadowy corridor, back the way he had come, toward the valley.

Sider Ament chased him until his strength gave out and he dropped to the ground, exhausted, his body growing numb as the poison continued to spread. He tried one last time to stop it, to negate its effects, to keep it from his heart.

But it was too late, he realized. The poison was in too deep.

He found himself wishing, as he accepted the inevitable, that he could have told Aislinne good-bye.