Tanequil

Twelve

Pen Ohmsford and his companions sailed theSkatelow through the northeast skies over the foothills fronting the Charnal Mountains in search of the village of Taupo Rough and Ker–madec. Finding the former would provide them with a temporary haven, — the latter, with the guide they needed to reach Stridegate. As Maturen of the Taupo Rough Rock Trolls, it was within Kermadec's power to give them the aid they required in their search for the Ard Rhys. The Trolls might be reluctant to help outlanders in most situations, but where it concerned Grianne Ohmsford, Kermadec would see that an exception was made.

It took them the remainder of the night, but they were sailing at quarter speed, slow enough that they could track movement on the ground and watch the horizon for shadows that didn't belong. Caution was needed, for there were things hunting them besides the Druids, and they were all too aware of how desperate their circumstances had become. They were lucky to have escaped the creature that had killed Gar Hatch and his Rovers and taken Cinnaminson as prisoner, and they were reasonably sure it was not done tracking them. But even if they avoided that particular monster, there was nothing to say that others hadn't been sent to hunt them, as well. At flight from a world in which all the safety nets they had once relied on had been taken down, they could not afford to make a mistake.

The boy came back on deck after Cinnaminson was asleep and, with Khyber's help, took down the bodies of Gar Hatch and his Rover cousins, wrapped them in sheeting, and stowed them below–decks for burial at a later time. Then he relieved Tagwen at the helm. While he checked theSkatelow's course and speed, he repeated to the Dwarf and the Elven girl what Cinnaminson had told him. For a while afterwards, no one said much of anything. Tagwen offered to take the wheel back so that Pen could get some sleep, but the boy insisted on staying at the helm through the night, just in case his flying experience might be needed for evasive action. Having gotten Cinnaminson back in one piece, he was not about to chance losing her again to carelessness of his own making.

So Khyber and Tagwen slept instead, and Pen was still at the helm when dawn broke in a slow brightening of the skies through gaps in a wall of massive peaks that rose before them. The stars and moon had gone, and the darkness was receding west, the new day a promise of the possibility, at least, of something better and safer. Pen's eyes were gritty and blurred by then, and his need for sleep was acute. When Tagwen appeared with a simple breakfast of bread and cheese he had scavenged from the supply room below, the boy was so grateful he could barely speak. He ate ravenously and, after looking in on Cinnaminson to be sure she was all right, went off to bed.

He awoke near midday when Khyber shook his shoulder and told him to come on deck. «1 think we've found Taupo Rough," she announced with a grin. «Come see.»

He rose and went topside, finding Cinnaminson there, as well, come awake a few hours earlier to join the Elven girl and the Dwarf in the pilot box. Looking out over the ship's bow to the landscape below, he saw a cluster of dark stone buildings and walls stacked in close proximity to one another on a low bluff and backed up against a cliff face that was riddled with caves connected by ladders and walkways. His initial impression was of a warren that probably ran as deep into the mountain as it extended out from it. Trolls of all sizes and shapes were moving about, but there seemed to be little interest in theSkatelow's approach. No defensive maneuvers were being undertaken, and from what Pen could make out, there were few guards of any sort.

The boy knew almost nothing about Trolls. He had seen a few in his life, some of them had come to Patch Run to employ his parents. But his travels had not taken him into the deep Northland, where the tribes made their homes, and Trolls by and large did not venture south of their traditional homelands. He thought that he had heard his mother speak in the Troll tongue once or twice, but he couldn't be sure.

«Can we communicate with them?» he asked impulsively.

«I can speak a little of their language," Tagwen ventured. He shrugged. «It won't matter, once we find Kermadec.»

If this is Taupo Rough and if Kermadec is here,Pen thought without saying so.

As he brought the ship slowly around toward the village, he called to memory what little he knew about the inhabitants. Trolls were nomadic by tradition, and frequently resettled themselves when their safety was compromised or their dissatisfaction with local conditions grew sufficiently strong. But because they were tribal, as well, they established territorial boundaries within the regions they traveled, and one tribe would never think of invading another's domain. Of such trespasses had the worst of the Troll Wars been born, wars that had died out years ago in the wake of the establishment of the First Druid Council. Galaphile and his Druids had made it their first priority to stabilize relations within the Races. They had accomplished that by setting themselves up as arbitrators and peacekeepers, developing a reputation for being fair–minded and nonjudgmental. The Trolls, who were the most fierce and warlike of the Races in those days, had accepted the Druids as mediators with surprising enthusiasm, anxious perhaps to find a way to put an end to the tribal bloodshed that had plagued them for so long. Trolls were creatures of habit, Pen's father had told him once. They embraced order and obedience within the tribal structure as good and necessary, and self–discipline was the highest quality to which a Troll could aspire.

There was more than one species of Troll living in the Northland, but by far the most numerous of the tribes were Rock Trolls. Physically larger and historically more warlike than the other tribes, they were found principally in the Charnals and the Kensrowe, preferring mountainous terrain with caves and tunnels rather than open encampments as safeholds. The Forest and River Trolls were smaller in size and numbers, and they were not nomadic in the way of Rock Trolls. The differences went on from there, but Pen couldn't remember them all. What he mostly remembered was that Rock Trolls reputedly made the finest weapons and armor in the Four Lands, and they knew how to use both when provoked.

«Someone's noticed us now," Khyber announced, nodding toward a handful of Troll warriors walking out to meet them.

Pen let the airship settle to the earth in an open space at one end of the plateau, well away from the village and its fortifications. Whatever happened, he did not want to give an impression of hostility. He shut down the thrusters, closed off the parse tubes, walked to the railing, tossed out the rope ladder, and climbed down to set the anchors. The others followed, with Tagwen in the lead, looking bluff and officious.

The Trolls came up to them, huge and forbidding giants, their barklike skin looking like armor beneath their clothing, their strange, flat–featured faces devoid of expression, but their eyes sharp and watchful.

One of them spoke to Tagwen in deep, guttural tones, a query of some sort, Pen thought. The Dwarf stared at the speaker blankly, then glanced hurriedly at Pen. The boy shook his head. «You're the one who says he speaks the language. Say something back to him.»

Tagwen gave it a valiant try, but it came out sounding a little as if his last meal hadn't quite agreed with him. The Trolls looked at one another in confusion.

«Just use whatever Troll–speak you possess and ask him if Ker–madec is here," snapped Khyber, impatient with the whole business. «Ask if this is Taupo Rough.»

The Dwarf did so, or at least appeared to do so. Pen caught the wordsKermadec andTaupo Rough amid all the garble, and the reception committee seemed to do the same. One of them nodded, beckoned for them to follow, and turned back toward the village. The other three fell into place about them like a stockade.

«I hope we haven't made another mistake," Khyber muttered to Pen as she glanced about uneasily.

Pen took Cinnaminson's hand and held it firmly in his own. The Rover girl did not pull away, but moved closer to him. «It doesn't look it, but this village is heavily defended," she whispered to him. «We can't see most of it. Most of it is hidden inside the mountains. I can feel the heat of furnaces and forges. I can feel movement in the earth radiating out from the rock.»

The boy exhaled sharply. «Are these Trolls enemies?» he asked. «Are we in danger?»

She shook her head. «I can't tell. But they are prepared to do battle with something, and whatever it is, they mean to see it destroyed if it tries to attack them.»

Pen nodded. «If we have to flee, I will stay right beside you.» She said nothing in reply, but squeezed his hand tightly. They moved through the heavy stone walls that formed the outer fortifications into the village itself. Trolls turned to look at them, Trolls of all sizes and shapes, but their gazes were brief and didn't linger. A few young Trolls, barely five feet tall yet—though big when compared to Tagwen, who was not much more than that himself—fell into step beside them, casting interested glances at the outlanders. No one tried to speak to them, and no one did anything threatening. Pen studied the buildings as he walked, comparing them with those of Southland villages. The biggest difference was in the construction, which was almost entirely of rock and suggested that every building provided its own defense. Each unit had heavy iron–bound wooden doors and shutters, and weapons ports had been cut into the walls for use by the defenders. It had taken a lot of work to build the homes, and it seemed in direct contradiction to the nomadic tradition of the people who occupied them.

«We didn't do anything to protect the airship," Khyber whispered to him suddenly, a frown crossing her dark features.

Pen nodded. «I know. But what could we have done?»

«Sent Tagwen on ahead alone until we knew what to expect," she replied. «We aren't being very smart about this.»

Pen didn't respond. «I don't sense any hostility," Cinnaminson said quietly. «We aren't threatened.»

Khyber rolled her eyes as if to suggest that a blind Rover girl might not be the best judge but didn't pursue the matter.

They had just rounded the corner of a massive building that looked to be a storehouse rather than a home when a huge Rock Troll appeared in front of them, arms outstretched and voice booming out in familiar Dwarfish.

«Bristle Beard, you've found your way!» the Troll shouted, reaching down to pick up Tagwen and hold him out at arm's length as if he were no more than a toy. «It's good to see you safe and sound, little man!»

Tagwen was incensed. «Put me down at once, Kermadec. What are you thinking? A little decorum would be appreciated!»

The big Troll set him down at once, drawing back. «Oh, well then, sorry to have distressed you. I was only expressing my great joy at finding you in good health. It hasn't been a good time at Paranor, Tagwen.»

«This does not come as news to me!» the Dwarf snapped. He cleared his throat officiously. «Here, let me introduce the others.»

He did so, giving a quick explanation of who his companions were without yet getting into why they had all come together. Kermadec nodded to each at the mention of their names, his flat features somehow reflecting the pleasure he took in meeting them. There was an exuberance and expansiveness to the big man that transcended what Pen had heard of the Troll character, and he found himself liking their host right away.

«Penderrin," Kermadec said, taking the boy's hand in his own. It was like shaking hands with a rough piece of wood. «Your aunt and I are great friends, friends from as far back as the coming together of the Druid order, and I regret what has happened deeply. Your presence indicates that you intend to join me in doing something about it. You are most welcome.»

He turned to Tagwen. «Now you must tell me all about what has happened since our parting at Paranor, and I will do the same. Come with me to my home, and we will have something to eat and drink while we talk. Is that an airship you flew in on, Bristle Beard? I thought you hated airships!»

Dismissing the Trolls who had guided them in from theSkatelow, Kermadec led them on through the village until they were almost to the cliff face against which it was backed. At that distance, Pen could see clearly the sophisticated network of walkways and ladders connecting the village to the caves and tunnels that riddled the cliff. He could also hear, for the first time, the sounds of hammers striking anvils and smell the fires of the furnaces that serviced them. What was odd was that he couldn't see any smoke or ash. He asked Kermadec about that, and the Troll pointed skyward. «The residue of the furnace fires goes into a vent system that carries it out the other side of the near peaks. It helps keep the air we breathe out here in the village clean. It also helps disguise what we do. You can't be sure where we keep the furnaces until you get this close. The furnaces are our lifeblood. Without the furnaces, we can't make the weapons and metal tools we trade to the other Races for the goods we need. Without the furnaces, we would revert to what we once were—raiders and worse. If anything happens to them, we are left without a way to make a living.»

«What do you do with the furnaces when you move to another site?» the boy pressed. «You don't take them with you, do you?»

Kermadec laughed. «That would be a neat trick, young Penderrin. The furnaces are built right into the rock of the mountain. No, we shut them down, cool them off, and conceal them. We close off the entrances that lead to them, as well. And we set traps to discourage the uninvited. As long as I can remember, no one has ever bothered our furnaces.»

«And there are those who would, I can promise you," Tagwen declared grimly.

Kermadec clapped him on the shoulder so hard he almost knocked him off his feet. «If they could, Bristle Beard. If they could.»

«So you have other furnaces in other places?» Pen pressed.

«Half a dozen that have been constructed over the years, more if you count the ones we have abandoned as unsafe. We are a mobile people, but our villages are well established. We simply move back and forth among them, choosing the one that seems most advantageous with each migration. Just now, we are concerned about uninvited guests and so have chosen this village, with its superior defensive positioning.»

Khyber glanced about. «You don't look all that ready to go to ground if you are attacked. No guards, no sign of anything out of the ordinary. We just sailed right in on theSkatelow.»

«Only because we saw you coming from five miles off and identified your sloop as harmless.» The dark eyes swept back to her and away again. «Don't mistake what you see, Khyber Elessedil. We keep close watch in all directions. We won't be easily surprised. If we are threatened, we can disappear into the caves behind the village in a matter of minutes, much quicker than an enemy can reach them. Once inside, we can survive for months on the provisions stored. Or we can escape through any number of back doors. And there are extensive fortifications inside the caves as well, in case an attack is pressed. Believe me, things are not entirely as they seem.»

Which was in keeping with most of what they had encountered on their journey to reach Taupo Rough, so his guests decided to take him at his word.

A few minutes later, they were settled inside the big Troll's home, a sprawling affair occupied by his brothers, sisters, parents, and grandparents, as well as a child or two somehow connected with the rest. Kermadec explained, on completing introductions, that Trolls tended to house together in families, often living that way the whole of their lives. The house his family occupied had once belonged to another family, but that family had lost enough members over the years that they no longer needed anything quite so large. Since Kermadec's family had grown, they were offered the other family's home in exchange for their smaller one.

It was an odd approach to determining living conditions, but one that the Trolls seemed quite used to. Homes didn't seem to belong to any one person or family, but to the entire community. Pen thought that perhaps because Rock Trolls moved so often, they weren't quite so attached to their possessions, homes included, and were therefore able to share more freely.

Still, he was curious about all those people living together under one roof, and after being served a cold drink of black tea and herbs, he asked what determined if any member of the family moved away. Or didn't they? This produced an even odder and more complicated explanation of the Troll lifestyle. Trolls, Kermadec offered, did not maintain family units in the same way as the other Races. Trolls started out life as children in one family, but often ended up as children or even adults in another. When sickness or death rendered parents unable to raise their children, other parents stepped in. When a child or adult grew dissatisfied with a family situation, he or she could petition to move elsewhere, and frequently the move was allowed. It was thought better to accommodate that individual and try to ease the source of dissatisfaction than to allow the problem to fester. The move didn't happen until a thorough effort had been made to resolve the conflict.

Moreover, Troll parents did not regard their children as the exclusive property of the family and were not possessive of the responsibility for raising them. The care, nurturing, teaching, and disciplining of children was the responsibility of the entire village, and everyone was involved in the rearing process. Successes and failures were always shared, — decisions and pronouncements were never left to one person. A Troll child started out life as the result of the union of two people, but reached adulthood as the result of the efforts of many.

«Well, that's enough for now about the social structure of Rock Trolls, young Penderrin," Kermadec declared, seating himself across from the boy and the others. «Tell me everything that's happened. Bristle Beard, you begin. Right from the time I left you at Paranor. Tell it all.»

So they did, each of them speaking in turn, each of them adding a piece to the larger puzzle. Tagwen told of coming to find Pen's parents at Patch Run and finding only Pen. The boy related the details of their escape from Terek Molt, the subsequent encounter with the King of the Silver River, and the task he had been given—to travel to the ruins of the ancient city of Stridegate and the forest island of the tanequil. Tagwen then picked up the story once more to tell of their decision to seek help at Emberen from Ahren Eles–sedil. Much of it was difficult, especially Khyber's recitation of the events surrounding her uncle's death in the Slags. When it came Cinnaminson's turn to speak of the creature that had killed her father and her cousins aboard theSkatelow, she was forced to stop and compose herself several times. But both Elf and Rover made it through their tales, through the dark and terrible hurt they had experienced, to emerge, Pen thought, a little stronger than when they had started out.

Kermadec listened carefully and, when they had finished, shook his head in a mix of disgust and disbelief. «I knew our Grianne had placed too much faith in her ability to keep those Druid sorceresses from reverting to kind, Tagwen. Even an Ard Rhys can do only so much with black hearts and foul schemes.»

He sighed. «But losing Ahren Elessedil? I never thought I would live to see that. I never thought anything could happen to him, as much as he had survived already. He was the best of them, Khyber, your uncle. The best of them all.»

She nodded in acknowledgment of the kindness of his words. «I appreciate hearing that.»

«And Cinnaminson.» He turned to the Rover girl. «I am sorry for the death of your father, whatever the circumstances that brought it about. Your father is an irreplaceable loss. You have shown great courage and presence of mind in surviving the madness that consumed him. I will send my Trolls to see that he and his cousins are given burial.»

He leaned forward. «Now, then. You have told me your tale, — let me tell you mine. Maybe we can make some sense of this business once I do.»

After leaving Tagwen at the Druid's Keep, Kermadec had traveled north on foot out of Paranor and across the Streleheim to the ruins of the kingdom of the Warlock Lord. He did not want to do this, but he had no better idea of where to begin his search for Grianne Ohmsford. Days earlier, he had accompanied the Ard Rhys to investigate rumors of apparitions and strange fires within those ruins and had encountered an impossibly dark and evil presence. The Ma–turen felt certain that there was a connection between that presence and the disappearance of the Ard Rhys, and he was hopeful that by taking a closer look at the site where the presence had revealed itself, he might discover something useful.

It was a long shot at best, and as Kermadec had made clear to Tagwen, the Troll people did not go into the Skull Kingdom for any but the best of reasons. Kermadec was brave, and there were few dangers that could turn him aside, but that was one of them. Rock Trolls had an inbred fear and distrust of the land where the Warlock Lord had ruled and been destroyed. Rock Trolls, in that time and place, had served the Warlock Lord, slaves and soldiers to help in the conquest and subjugation of the Four Lands. It had taken many years for the Trolls to recover from those monstrous times, years for them to be accepted again by the other Races. Grianne Ohmsford had done much to make that possible. If a journey to the forbidden land was what it would take to help her in turn, then so be it.

Nevertheless, he had determined that he would not go back there alone.

So he traveled first to a Gnome village situated below the River Lethe on the western borders of the Knife Edge, seeking a man he believed would know better how to protect against the danger he expected to encounter in the ruins. The man's name was Achen Wuhl, and he was a Gnome shaman of some repute in the tribe to which he belonged. He was old, perhaps ninety, and he had been a shaman the whole of his life, living with the Warst, a tribe that migrated across the Streleheim between the Kensrowe and the Charnals.

Kermadec had met Achen Wuhl twenty years before on an outing that had brought a company of his Trolls in contact with the Warst while the latter were under attack from Mutens. In most circumstances,

Rock Trolls would have nothing to do with Gnomes because the two Races were traditionally at odds over territorial rights and migratory routes. But the Trolls hated Mutens worse than anything. Voiceless, soulless remnants of the Warlock Lord's dark magic, the Mutens survived in the Knife Edge in much the same way as the Werebeasts did within Olden Moor—by preying on the Gnomes who worshiped them as sacred spirits.

So Kermadec had broken the unwritten rule that forbids Trolls from interfering with the lives of Gnomes, and his company had come to the aid of those unfortunates who were being butchered by the Mutens because they had ventured too close to the monsters in a misguided effort to appease them. Among those rescued were women and children and the shaman, Achen Wuhl, who accepted the gift of his life from the Trolls with a promise that some day he would repay the favor. Kermadec had not claimed that promise before. He chose to claim it now.

With Achen Wuhl in tow, he journeyed back through the Knife Edge, carefully avoiding the caves of the Mutens, until he was back within the ruins of the Skull Kingdom at the site where Grianne Ohmsford and he had encountered the strange fires and the apparition. Without revealing the involvement of the Ard Rhys, he recounted to Wuhl the events of his earlier visit, suggesting that the apparition had appeared unbidden and that he was searching for its source. Together, they combed the ground surrounding the cold and blackened fire pit that had given birth to the presence, looking for something that would reveal its source. They found nothing. As nightfall approached, Kermadec suggested they leave and come back in the morning. But Achen Wuhl insisted that they stay. Once it was dark, the shaman would try to summon the apparition himself.

Kermadec felt that was a dangerous undertaking and that he should put a stop to it. But he was desperate to discover what had become of the Ard Rhys, and the shaman was still the only chance he had to unlock the secret. Achen Wuhl was a skilled conjurer and an experienced shaman. He would not be careless in his efforts. He might accomplish what Kermadec could not: find a link between the apparition and the Ard Rhys. Ignoring his instincts, which were screaming at him to get out of there, Kermadec convinced himself that the risk was necessary.

So they sat together in the growing dark, the old Gnome and the Troll Maturen, watching and waiting for something to happen. Darkness fell, and nothing did. Midnight came and went. The mountains were still and deep and seemingly empty of life.

Finally, with the moon down and the stars layered across the black firmament like scattered grains of brilliant white sand, the shaman rose from his place in the rocks. Motioning for Kermadec to remain where he was, he moved forward to where the fires had appeared last.

«I had a bad feeling about it right away, but I kept still," the big Troll told Pen and his companions. «I could still remember how that apparition made me feel, how dark and terrible was its visage, and I thought it would be better if we didn't see it again, ever. But the little man was determined; he had courage. So 1 let him go. I was thinking that this was the way 1 would reach your aunt, Pen. I was thinking that this was how 1 would discover where she was.»

He shook his head at the memory. «Achen Wuhl brought up the fires right away, as if all he had to do was reach down to wherever they were hidden and summon them up. The fires flared and hissed right in front of him, bright flames burning with such intensity I could feel the heat from where I was sitting a dozen yards away. 1 heard the shaman muttering, saw the movement of his hands. I peered through the darkness to the flames, watching.This is what I've been hoping for, 1 kept thinking.I'm going to find her, after all.

«But then all of a sudden the flames just exploded. It was as if they found a fresh source of fuel, though there wasn't anything but the darkness for them to feed on. They shot upward a hundred feet, maybe more, all brilliant orange and yellow–tipped, crackling and hissing. It surprised me so, I almost fell over. But here's the odd thing. There wasn't any new heat. The fire burned with the same intensity, at the same temperature as before. Like magic.»

He exhaled softly. «Something reached out of the flames and wrapped itself about the old man. I don't know what it was. A part of the fire itself, I guess. It snatched him up and it pulled him in. He was gone in an instant, so fast I barely saw it happen. He never made a sound. He just disappeared. The flames consumed him. There was nothing left.

«Then I saw that face, the one the Ard Rhys and I had seen days earlier. I saw it in the fire, just for an instant. It was a dark and twisted thing, its eyes like a cat's, only blue and freezing cold. Those eyes were searching the darkness beyond the fire, hunting. I stumbled over myself trying to hide from them. I flattened myself against the rocks the best way I could. I never thought to do anything else. It was instinct that drove me, that warned me that if the eyes found me, I would go the way of the old man.

«So I hid. The face was there, the eyes searching for a moment more, and then both were gone. A second later, the flames were gone, too, collapsed into a black smear of ash burned into the stone of the pit. The heat died with the flames, and the night turned still and empty again.

«I stayed where I was for a few minutes more, then came out to look around. In the starlight, I could see what was left. Nothing. Nothing at all.»

His voice trailed off and his gaze dropped to where his big hands knotted in his lap. In the silence, Pen could hear himself breathe.

It was a trap," Kermadec said quietly. «It was a trap set to snare anyone who dared to search for the Ard Rhys. It got the old man. It could have gotten me just as easily. I came back to Taupo Rough alone. I will never go back to that place again.»

«Does this mean you won't help us?» Pen asked him, impatient to know where Kermadec stood on the matter.

«Did I say that?» the Rock Troll exclaimed. «Did I say I wouldn't help you find this tree so that you can fashion your darkwand? Did I say I wouldn't help you reach the Ard Rhys and bring her out of the Forbidding? Shades, young Penderrin! Of course, I will help you! If I have to carry you to Stridegate and back again on my own shoulders, I will do so! All the Rock Trolls of Taupo Rough will carry you, if that's what's needed. We owe more than a little to your aunt for bringing us back into the mainstream of the Four Lands. She gave us trust and recognition when no other would, and we won't let that gift be for nothing. Whatever those black hearts at Paranor might pretend, we are still the Ard Rhys' protectors, and we will see her safe again or know the reason why!»

He stood up suddenly. «But I need to think on this a bit. The country into which you must go is dangerous—not that the rest of the Four Lands isn't, so long as Shadea a'Ru is acting Ard Rhys. But it's treacherous country all on its own, made more so by the presence of Urdas and some other things that have no name. We must make certain we keep you safe in your travels, those of you who decide to go.»

He glanced sideways at Cinnaminson. «But there will be time for that later. For now, eat and rest. I'll set sentries to keep watch for the dark things tracking you, and I'll start the process of outfitting an expedition. But how will we travel? It's safest if we go on foot. Airships have difficulty getting through these mountains. The winds are unpredictable, — they can send airships into the rocks as if they were pesky insects. But time is important, too, and travel afoot is slow.»

He shook his head worriedly and went toward the door. «I'll think it through. Just ask, if you need something. There's plenty who speak the Dwarf tongue here. We'll celebrate your safe arrival tonight.»

Then he was out the door and gone.

I don't want you to leave me behind, Pen," Cinnaminson told him as soon as they were alone.

They had eaten, and Khyber and Tagwen had gone out to look around the village. The boy and the girl sat together in Kermadec's home, the other members of the big Troll's extended family coming and going silently about them, engaged in tasks of their own. It was after midday, and Pen was feeling the need to sleep again. But he couldn't sleep until this conversation was finished.

«I can't be responsible for putting you in any further danger," he replied, deliberately keeping his voice down so as not to attract attention.

Her face was anguished. «The thing that killed Papa still tracks us. It didn't die back there in that meadow. It will come after us. If it finds me, it will use me to find you—just like before. How can that be any less dangerous than what you might find where you are going?»

«You will be safe here," he insisted. «Kermadec's people are too well armed and this village too well fortified for anything to get to you. Even that thing we escaped. Besides, you don't know that it's still coming.»

She kept her empty eyes fixed on the sound of his voice, as if she could actually see him speaking. «Yes, I do. It's coming.»

He rose and walked to the open doorway of the room, stood there thinking, then came back to sit beside her.

«I'll have you sent home aboard theSkatelow. Someone in this village must know how to fly an airship. They will take you back into the Westland, to wherever you need to go. Kermadec will arrange it. I'll ask him to see that you are protected.»

She stared at him for a long time, as if perhaps she hadn't heard right, then shook her head slowly. «Do you wish to be rid of me, Pen? Do you no longer need me in your life? I thought you said you cared about me. No, don't speak. Listen to me. You cannot send me home. I don't have a home to go back to. My home was with Papa, aboard theSkatelow. There isn't anyone else who matters now. Only you. My home is with you.»

He looked down at his hands. «It's too dangerous.»

She reached over and touched his cheek. «I know you are afraid for me. But you don't need to be. I'm blind, but I'm not helpless. You've seen that for yourself. You don't have to make me your responsibility. You only have to let me come with you.»

«If I let you come with me, I make you my responsibility whether I like it or not!» he snapped. «Can't you see that?»

«What I see is that I can be of use to you.» Her voice was desperate, almost pleading. «You need me! I can guide you where you are going in the same way I guided you across the Lazareen and through the Slags. No one else can see in the dark the way I can. No one else has my sight. I can help, Penderrin. Please! Don't leave me behind!»

«Of course, you're coming," Khyber Elessedil said quietly.

The Elven girl was standing in the doorway, watching them. They had been so wrapped up in their conversation, they hadn't heard her come back in.

«Khyber, you're not helping—"

«Don't lecture me, Pen. We don't need lectures, she and I. We share something that puts us in a better position to see what is needed here than you do. We've both lost someone important to us on this journey. We've lost a part of our family and, therefore, a part of ourselves. We could be diminished by this, but we won't let that happen, will we, Cinnaminson? We will use it to make us stronger. Neither of us would consider for a moment being left behind. If you think that I am better equipped to handle what lies ahead because I have the use of the Elfstones or that Cinnaminson is less able because her talent lies only in her mind–sight, then you need to think again!»

She was so vehement that Pen was left speechless. Of all the people he had expected to agree with him on the matter, Khyber was at the top of the list.

«Get out of here, Pen," the Elf girl ordered, gesturing toward the door. «Go find something to do. Cinnaminson and I need to talk. While we do, you think about what I just said. You think about whether what you are asking of her is reasonable or not. You think about everything that's happened while you're at it. Use your brain, if you can find a way to it through all your wrongheaded opinions.» She was angry, her face flushed and her gestures curt and threatening. Pen stood up slowly and glanced down at Cinnaminson. She was staring straight ahead; tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes, streaking her smooth face. He started to say something, then stopped himself.

As he left the room, he felt Khyber Elessedil glaring at him. He walked through the house, past the surreptitious glances of the Trolls, his gaze directed straight ahead. When he was outside again, he stopped and stared into space, wondering exactly what had just happened.