«Too many ships for that,' Kermadec advised. «If they were friends, they would come in one ship, not in a dozen. They would send a representative ahead to announce their intentions. No, this is an assault force, come for a specific purpose.» He glanced around. «Where are young Penderrin and the girl?»
Khyber stared at Tagwen. The Dwarf shook his head. Neither one had a clue.
Kermadec glanced skyward. «Too late to search for them now. Come with me! Hurry!»
At the sound of the battle horns and drums, Pen dropped off theSkatelow's decks to the ground and began to run. He needed no time to consider what he was doing or where he was going. He had left Cinnaminson inside the Gathering Place. She might still be there, alone and unprotected. She would not know what was happening. She would not know where to run.
He went through the south gates just as they were closing, bursting through the knot of Troll warriors bunched at the opening, huge armored shoulders and wide backs straining against the ironbound barriers and massive locks. Trolls were running everywhere, and the passageways of the village were all but completely blocked by Trolls hurrying toward the walls. Pen dodged past them, heading for the amphitheater and Cinnaminson. Shouts and cries rose all around him, their intensity and tone confirming what he already instinctively knew—the village was under attack. He would have liked to find Khyber and Tagwen to know more, but he would have to track them down later. First he had to reach Cinnaminson.
He gained a side street that was mostly deserted and led straight to his destination. He was running hard now, flushed with the heat of his efforts, a frantic warning sounding in his mind.Don't lose her! Don't let anything happen to hen Ahead, the walls of the amphitheater loomed darkly through the ring of trees that surrounded the interior bowl. There was no movement at the entrance, no sign of life. Perhaps she had already gotten out. Perhaps one of the others had come to find her.
He glanced over his shoulder at the village walls, where Trolls were taking up positions all along the ramparts and at the gates. The central point of defense seemed to be the gates he had just passed through, the ones facing south down the broad corridor between the Razor Mountains west and the Charnals east. The reason for this became immediately apparent when he glanced skyward. A dozen black warships filled the horizon, flying down the gap directly toward Taupo Rough.Shades!
He breathed the word in a whisper of fear as he burst into the tunnel leading into the amphitheater and nearly collided with Cin–naminson, who was trying to make her way out from the other end. She was careening from wall to wall, her hands clutching her ears to block out the sounds of the horns and drums.
«Cinnaminson!» he shouted as he reached her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her against him.
«Pen!» she gasped in reply, burying her head in his shoulder. Her weaving materials and loom were gone, and he could feel her heart pounding. «I couldn't find my way out. The sounds disrupt my mind–sight. It was too much for me.»
«It's all right,' he said, stroking her hair. Her breath was coming in quick, frantic bursts. «I'll get you back to the others. They must have gone into the mountains to hide. The sky is full of Druid warships, right outside the walls. We have to go. Can you walk?»
She nodded into his shoulder, then lifted her face to his. «I knew you would come for me.»
He kissed her impulsively. «I'll always come for you. Always. Come on. Run!»
They hurried back through the tunnel to the streets outside. But as they reached the far end, Pen drew up short and pulled her back against the passageway wall, keeping hidden in the shadows.
One of the Druid airships was hovering just outside the village wall and across from their hiding place. Any attempt at escape would require them to cross open ground, where they would quickly be seen.
Pen bit his lip in frustration. They were trapped.
Khyber Elessedil crouched with Tagwen on the roof of a building some fifty yards back from the south gates. Both wore dark robes drawn close and hoods pulled up. They hid behind a half–wall facade that rose in front of them, situated where they could see and hear what was about to happen.
Kermadec stood on the ramparts above the south gates, surrounded by a squad of huge Trolls wearing body armor and insignia–crested helmets. The Maturen was watching as the Druid airships—their flags clearly visible now—formed a line just beyond the outer wall, intimidating black hulks hanging over the village like birds of prey. There was an unmistakable arrogance to their positioning, as if they were disdainful of anything the villagers might try to do to harm them. No attempt was being made to suggest that this was a friendly visit. Kermadec had been right: The Druids had come to threaten.
After the foremost airship had dropped almost to the ground, a single Druid descended the rope ladder and walked forward. He was a big man, and as he approached, he lowered his hood to reveal his face, a gesture clearly meant to identify himself to the Trolls.
«Traunt Rowan,' Tagwen whispered to Khyber. «One of Shadea's bunch.»
She watched the Southlander come almost to the gates before stopping, his eyes fixing on the Trolls standing atop them.
«Kermadec?» he called, his voice clearly audible in the near silence.
«I'm here, Traunt Rowan,' the Maturen called back.
«Open your gates to us.»
«I don't think so.»
«Then bring out the boy, Pen Ohmsford, and you do not need to. Just the boy. The others can remain, if you want them to.»
«You are a bold man, coming into our country and making demands as if it were your own.» Kermadec's voice had taken on a decided edge. «You might want to give some thought to where you stand before you say anything else.»
«Is the boy here?»
«What boy?»
There was a measured silence. «You are a fool to challenge us, Kermadec.»
«The only fool I see is the one who serves Shadea a'Ru. The only fool I see is the one who betrayed the Ard Rhys in a way so foul and indefensible that it will surely lead to his destruction. Don't threaten me, Traunt Rowan! Don't threaten the Trolls of Taupo Rough! We were the defenders of the Druids for almost twenty years, before this dark time in your history, and we will one day be defenders of the Druids again. We know enough about you to be able to challenge you, if that is what is required. Turn your ships around and fly out of here while you still can. Don't mistake where you are.»
Traunt Rowan folded his arms. «We have the boy's parents, Kermadec. We know that Ahren Elessedil is dead. You have no one who will stand with you in this. You are alone.»
Khyber and Tagwen exchanged a quick, shocked glance. The Druids had Bek Ohmsford and his wife? How had that happened?
«He's lying,' Tagwen hissed.
«Alone?» Kermadec laughed. 'The Trolls are always alone. It is a condition of life to which we are not only accustomed, but one that we prefer. Threats of the sort you seem intent on making don't frighten us. If you have the parents, you don't need the boy, do you? Can the parents not give you everything you need? What is it that you need, by the way? You haven't said. What is it that a boy can give you that his parents can't? You speak as if you know, but I think, in fact, you don't. Explain yourself, and maybe I can be persuaded to do as you say.»
Traunt Rowan stood unmoving on the flats, dark and solitary, anger radiating off him like heat. «We are to raze your village and kill you all, Kermadec, if you resist us. Those are my orders. I have brought Gnome Hunters to carry out those orders. I have brought Mutens, as well. Do you wish your village and people destroyed? Is that your intent?»
Kermadec seemed to be thinking it over. «My intent, Traunt Rowan,' he said finally, his rough voice so dark with menace that Khyber immediately tensed, «is to see you and your raiders and your airships consumed by the fires of the netherworld that spawned you.»
His arm swept up. Instantly, a hail of fire–tipped arrows arced out of the village and fell all across the flats beyond. In the next instant the flats exploded in gouts of fire that spread quickly down concealed channels in a crisscross pattern that blanketed the earth for two hundred yards. The flames leapt so high that one of the airships caught fire and was consumed immediately, the fire spreading up the bottom of its hull to find added fuel in yards of light sheaths strapped to its gunwales. The ship heaved in response to the blaze that consumed it, tried futilely to rise into the sky, then shuddered, blew apart, and fell in ruins onto the flats.
