"You have to do this for both of us," Prue continued. "If we both die here, nothing will have been accomplished. If you are free, at least you can warn everyone about what is happening, and maybe you can find a way to come back for me." Her grip on his arm tightened. "I know you can do this, Pan. I believe in you."

Panterra dropped his head, running his hand across his brow and through his hair in an unmistakable gesture of dismay. "I should never have suggested going back," he muttered. "What a fool!"

Prue was having none of it. "You did the right thing and probably saved both our lives. Nothing else we said or did was going to make things any better. You can see that as well as I. This is the best way. I can wait for you; I won't be hurt. They won't do anything to me. Not until they know what's going to happen with the meeting you suggested."

Arik Sarn leaned forward. "We will come back for her," he said. "You and I. I promise. We will come."

Panterra Qu looked at them in turn, wishing he could think of something else to say, something that would change what was happening. But there was nothing to say, nothing to do. He knew that as well as they did. He took a deep breath. "They won't hurt her?" he asked the Troll. "Are you certain of this?"

The other nodded. "I am certain."

Pan shook his head one final time. "I don't know. I just don't."

But he did know, and the matter was decided by then. Sarn had fresh clothes brought for him, released him from his chains, and gave him time to dress. When the Troll returned with packs of supplies for them, Pan could barely make himself look at Prue, still clothed in rags, still chained in place.

He knelt next to her and hugged her close. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She hugged him back. "You do what's needed. I'll be waiting for you. I'll be ready when you come."

He didn't even consider mentioning the obvious, although they were both thinking it. If he did come; if he would come at all. But he had said he would, she was expecting him to keep his word, and so he had to. Nothing less was acceptable. It didn't matter what obstacles he faced. He would not leave her here to die.

He rose and gave her a long look. He wanted to say more, couldn't think what it should be, and so managed only a quick smile and good-bye before turning away so he wouldn't see her cry. Or, if he were honest about it, so that she wouldn't see him.

Arik Sarn led him through the tent flaps and back outside. He went obediently, as if walking in a dream. He could not seem to focus his thoughts, to gather his scattered wits. Everything felt surreal and disconnected. The day was winding down, the light gone gray and hazy east, the sunshine fading rapidly west, the surrounding land layered in shadows. He stood in the midst of the tents and the Trolls, a stranger in a hostile land, wondering how in the world he had gotten there. Sarn took his arm, guiding him through the tents, through a sea of watchful eyes and pointing fingers, the sounds of guttural Troll voices trailing after them, guilt and fear riddling him with wormholes that threatened to reduce him to dust.

"This feels wrong," he said at one point, but his companion ignored him.

A little later, the Troll spoke softly and motioned to one side. Taureq Siq and his son stood watching them, their Troll faces impa.s.sive, their ridged bodies statues against the moving backdrop of the camp. Neither attempted words or gestures, but simply observed as Panterra and his minder pa.s.sed by. Again Panterra felt something tug at him in warning, a chance missed, a mistake made, a hidden regret that later would become obvious to him. He tried to think what it could be, to see it behind its concealment, but nothing would come to him.

Then they were through the camp and outside its perimeters, walking away from all the activity, the eyes, the pointing, the whispers and shouts that trailed after.

From the guilt and from Prue.

Panterra knew she would not want him to think this way, but a voice inside his head kept whispering that he could not pretend he didn't see the truth of things: that he was abandoning her, that he was leaving her to a fate he couldn't even begin to imagine.

That he would never see her again.

THEY WALKED EAST FOR ALMOST A MILE without speaking, the darkness ahead growing stronger and deeper as the light faded away. Panterra walked without thinking about what he was doing, beginning to ponder instead how he was going to explain himself to those he had left behind, how he could possibly justify his actions. It didn't matter to him what necessity required or common sense dictated or anything else that had to do with cause and effect. Seeking reason where there was no reason to be found was the last refuge of those who had acted inappropriately; that was what appeared to him to be true here. Nothing could explain leaving Prue. Nothing could make up for losing her.

Arik Sarn seemed to recognize what he was going through. The Troll walked apart and did not attempt to engage him in conversation. The trek occupied their efforts and kept them from needing to do more than to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, eating up the distance and time that remained between them and the mountains they were heading for.

Once, Panterra stopped completely, turned and looked back. "I can't do this," he said, as much to himself as to his companion.

He stood there in the ensuing silence, considering his options, weighing his chances if he turned around now and crept back under cover of darkness, sought out the tent in which Prue was imprisoned, broke apart her chains and set her free. It was possible, he thought. It was something he could do, an action he could take and complete.

He thought about it for a long time. Then reason intruded and prevailed.

The boy and the Troll walked on again.

They were still within sight of the camp as they climbed a rise through a scattering of large boulders and deep depressions when a cloaked form stepped from concealment and blocked their way. Panterra started wildly and Arik Sarn produced a short sword with serrated edges as if conjuring it out of thin air, but the appearance of a black staff carved through with runes froze both in place.

"Late for a twilight stroll, young Panterra," the newcomer offered mildly. "Or have you secured your freedom? Is your unexpected companion friend or foe?"

Sider Ament! Pan practically fell over himself with relief.

"I thought I would have to come get you on my own, but you've saved me the trouble," the Gray Man continued. "Your would-be rescuers and like-minded fools are back up in the rocks, waiting for us. We should join them." He gave Arik Sarn a sharp look. "What's become of Prue Liss?"

Panterra started to speak, couldn't, gestured back over his shoulder at the Troll camp and shook his head.

"Like that, is it?" Sider Ament walked over and put an arm around the boy's shoulder. "We'll have to go get her back then, won't we? But first you must tell me everything. Both of you. Come now."

And turning away, he led them up into the rocks and out of view.

NINETEEN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He glanced down at her, startled. "What?"

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

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

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

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

"I feel like I do. I feel like I need to apologize to everyone."

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

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

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

There was another pause. "I'll find a way to make him believe."

"I expect you will."

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

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

He went to sleep not long after that.

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

Phryne Amarantyne never even glanced his way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Troll nodded, looking uneasy. "Dislike Trolls?"

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

Arik Sarn looked away. "Trolls always live apart."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All of them. The pa.s.ses are open."

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

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

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

Instead, he watched the faces of the others. He noticed the surrept.i.tious looks that pa.s.sed between Sider Ament and the King, glances that were furtive and expressionless and seemed to escape the others.