that his companions had seemingly fared no better than he had within the tunnels and the dark.
Kermadec nodded. «We'll go on in a few minutes. We have to cross the valley floor before nightfall to be certain we're safe enough to get some sleep. Drink plenty of water. The air is dry here. You won't notice it until you pass out.»
Pen and his friends did as the big Troll instructed, casting uneasy glances back at the opening to the tunnels from which they had emerged, then at the sky overhead where searching airships might appear at any second.
«It will take them a day or two just to discover we're gone,' Tagwen announced confidently.
«Only if they are exceedingly stupid,' Atalan shot back, overhearing as he walked past. He gave a dismissive shrug. «The fortifications will have been abandoned by now and our people moved on. We're being hunted already, little man.»
Tagwen scowled deeply, not at all happy with being addressed in such familiar terms by the young Troll. After Atalan had moved away, Pen said quietly to the Dwarf, «His name is Atalan. He claims he's Kermadec's brother.»
Tagwen shook his head. «Kermadec never spoke of a brother. He never spoke about his family at all. Whoever this fellow is, he's in need of some manners.»
«I don't think he's overly fond of Kermadec, from what he said earlier. I think he resents Kermadec's position as Maturen.»
The Dwarf snorted. «Kermadec is a force to be reckoned with, make no mistake. If we're to complete this journey in one piece, he is the one who will make it possible. His brother, if that's what he is, ought to know as much.»
At Kermadec's command, they began walking east through the trees. Because they were already on the valley floor, travel was smooth and steady. The Trolls set the pace and chose the way, finding paths where there didn't seem to be any, moving everyone along, keeping watch on all sides. Pen felt much better out in the open again, and his earlier discomfort subsided and eventually disappeared. Things didn't seem so impossible when he didn't have an entire mountain pressing down on him. He gazed skyward and thought wistfully that if they could find an airship to convey them the rest of the way, things would be perfect.
But there would be no airships, of course. Kermadec had made it clear that airships were at risk in those mountains, and that travel afoot was much safer if their intent was to remain safely concealed from would–be pursuers. It was a choice that Pen might not have made, but they were in Kermadec's country, and the Rock Troll would know the best way to get to where they were going. Whatever else happened, Pen did not care to experience another encounter with the Druids who hunted him.
Ahead, the trees thinned as the valley floor opened up before them, and they crossed the central flats under a cover of clouds and mist and growing darkness. Diffuse and silvery, light from moon and stars began to filter through the haze, lending just enough brightness to enable the company to pick its way ahead without groping. Judging from the pace that Kermadec was setting, the Trolls knew the country well, — there was no suggestion of hesitation as they progressed.
When they stopped to rest, just inside a thick stand of fir midway across the valley, Tagwen sat down next to Pen and leaned close.
«This is what you need to know about Kermadec, young Pender–rin. It isn't the only story about him, but it is the one that I think says the most. Some years ago, when he was still a boy, he was taken on an outing with two dozen other young Trolls who were in the training stages of their wilderness survival education. All young Rock Trolls are given this instruction, boys and girls alike. Because they are a migratory people, it is presumed that at some point each of them will become separated from the tribe and be forced to find the way back alone, perhaps through dangerous country. Young Trolls are taken out twice a year beginning at the age of six or seven in order to learn what they need to know about doing so. The group in which Kermadec was included consisted of all ages and both sexes. For some, the littlest, it was the first time. It was autumn, and the green of summer was just changing to the bolder colors in the broad leaves. There was a bite to the night air.»
His head lowered into shadow, Tagwen rubbed his beard. «Three handlers managed the two dozen, about average for a class of that size. They were hiking through the Razor Mountains across the valley from one of the villages several miles below the Lazareen. A two–week outing, give or take a few days—that was the intended duration. The country was familiar to them, mostly uninhabited, forested low mountains, some small lakes, streams, typical for the middle Northland and safely above the Skull Kingdom. Nothing too dangerous.
«Except that the unexpected happened. A band of renegade Forest Trolls, traditional enemies of the Rock Trolls and dangerous in their own right, stumbled across the group while it was descending a steep slope and recognized it for what it was. They began tracking it, deciding they would wait until their quarry was sleeping, kill the handlers, steal their supplies and weapons, and take the smallest children as slaves to sell to those who use children in that way. It wasn't much of a reason for such slaughter, but renegades don't usually need much of a reason to justify what they do.»
He paused as Atalan stalked past, ignoring them as he had ignored them all day. Without a word of greeting, he moved over to talk with Kermadec. Tagwen glared at him balefully then sighed. «I wish I could think better of him. I wish he would give me a reason.»
He shook his head. «So, the Forest Trolls had their plan. But it failed because they weren't careful enough. The handlers spotted them and set about making an escape. That, too, failed. The Forest Trolls attacked, a dozen strong, and the two male handlers were killed along with one of the boys. Kermadec and the female handler managed to hide the rest of the children in a dense wood just as the sun was setting. The Forest Trolls spent all night hunting them, combing the wood in the dark. If they had been smarter, they might have thought better of the idea. But there were nine of them still alive after the battle with the handlers, and they thought there was safety in numbers. After all, these were only children they hunted.»
He smiled. «I would have liked to have seen their faces when they found out otherwise. Kermadec was less a child than they thought, already big and strong, already as skilled as the adults. When he realized that the renegades weren't giving up, he slipped away from the other children and the woman handler, who was badly injured in the earlier skirmish, and began stalking the Forest Trolls. He caught them by surprise, and one by one, he killed four of them before the rest realized what was happening and backed off. But still they didn't give up. These were only children, after all. They waited until dawn, and they began to hunt again. A reasonable idea, but not when you're dealing with someone like Kermadec. He was waiting for them. He ambushed them and killed two more. This time, the rest fled for good.
«But that wasn't the end of it. Kermadec's little group was deep in the Razors, miles from their own tribe, and the woman handler was so weak she could no longer walk, let alone act as guide. So Kermadec led the rest of the children out of those mountains and back to the tribe. It took them four days. He carried the handler on his back the entire way, more than fifty miles. No one was left behind. All of them arrived home safe.»
He paused. «Kermadec was fourteen years old when he did this.» He arched one eyebrow at the boy. «That's the sort of man you've placed your trust in, should you be in any doubt about the matter.»
They set out again shortly afterwards and walked the rest of the way across the valley into a deep wood that ran up the flank of the mountains and into the valleys and defiles in dark green fingers. The last of the light faded, and night drew in about them. By then, Kermadec had brought the Trolls and their charges to a grassy clearing by a stream that tumbled down out of the rocks into a high–banked pool that then spilled over to meander on across the valley west. They set camp, putting themselves safely within the cover of the fir and spruce and forgoing any sort of fire. They ate their dinner ration cold and rolled into their blankets to sleep without wasting further time.
But before they fell asleep, Khyber eased over next to Pen. Even in the darkness, he could see the troubled intensity of her dark eyes. «I've something to tell you, Pen. I'd forgotten earlier, in all the chaos, and when I remembered, I couldn't decide right away whether you should know. But I guess you should. I can't be sure if it's true, but Traunt Rowan told Kermadec that the Druids have made prisoners of your parents.»
Her dark eyes studied him carefully. «I'm sorry. Especially if I made a mistake in telling you. Are you all right?»
He wasn't, of course. He wasn't anything close to all right. He felt hollowed out, drained of any good feelings he might have salvaged from their escape from Taupo Rough. It was bad enough that he carried the weight of his guilt from all of the others who had suffered on his behalf. He had thought his parents safe. The King of the
