Nor did they see anything further of their Druid pursuers, although Tagwen was quick to point out, when the subject was raised, that not seeing them didn't mean they weren't out there. Once before they had thought themselves safe, only to discover how badly they were mistaken. If the Druids hunting them were doing so on orders from Shadea a'Ru, they were not likely to give up easily, the Dwarf insisted. But it was the use of the Elfstones that had brought Terek Molt and theGalaphile down on them in the Slags, Pen thought. As long as they were able to refrain from using the Stones, they should be able to keep Traunt Rowan and theBallindarroch from finding them here. After all, he reasoned, if the Druid and his cohorts had magic that would enable them to find the little company, they certainly would have done so already. That they hadn't shown themselves even once suggested they were hunting blind.
Nevertheless, as the little company pressed on through the mountains, Pen found himself glancing skyward periodically to make certain he was not making a mistake.
It was late in the day, the sun already sinking into the jaws of the peaks west, when they climbed through a particularly nasty tangle of switchbacks to a ledge that overlooked the broadest, darkest valley Pen had ever encountered. It was difficult to judge exactly how big the valley was, — from so high up there was no point of reference by which to measure accurately. Hundreds of square miles, perhaps? Even more? It sprawled in all directions, spilling out from its central cradle into passes and canyons like the fingers of a giant's spread hand. At its eastern end, farthest from where they stood, it simply disappeared into mist and twilight, so densely packed with trees and brush that its shadows overlapped to create the impression of a lake thick and black with deadwood and weeds.
Anything might live in a place that looks like this,Pen thought, and he shivered in spite of himself.
«The Inkrim,' Kermadec announced, his voice flat and unemotional, a perfect match for his stolid Troll face. «Some say it is as old as the Races, and that the things that live there are older still. Some say there are things living down there that are as old as Faerie.»
«Trees and dirt,' Atalan muttered from behind Pen. «Nothing we haven't encountered before.»
«And Urdas.»
Atalan snorted. «Savages.»
It seemed to Pen an odd comment coming from someone who looked vaguely like a walking tree stump, all bark and rough surfaces, as brutish and forbidding as anything that walked the Four Lands.
Kermadec must have thought the same. He looked at Atalan carefully. «Savages to us, but who are we to judge? In any event, I wouldn't be too quick to dismiss them. Urdas have lived in this valley since the destruction of the Old World. This is their ancestral home, and they regard it as sacred. Especially Stridegate. They will fight to protect it from outsiders. Like the Spider Gnomes on Toffer Ridge, they worship the creatures that share their abode, a symbiotic relationship, however one–sided, that influences their attitude toward intruders like us.» He paused. 'There are a lot of them down there, brother.»
«Not enough to stop us,brother,' Atalan replied, giving an edge to the last word that left no doubt about how he viewed the relationship. «We are the stronger force, no matter how few we are.»
There was a hint of anger in Kermadec's eyes and a muttering among the other Rock Trolls. «You have never been down there,' the Maturen said quietly. «I have. It isn't just trees and dirt. It isn't just Urdas, either. It is darkness of a different sort. Too many who thought as you do have disappeared into that darkness. If we are careless, we could end up the same way.»
Then we won't be careless, will we?» Atalan declared. His eyes flicked from his brother to Cinnaminson and Pen. «Lucky we have just the little people to help us. A blind girl who sees and a boy who speaks with lichen. What have we to fear?»
He shouldered his way forward and started down off the ledge, not bothering to see who might follow. Kermadec watched him go for a moment, then glanced back at the rest of the company and motioned them ahead.
The descent into the Inkrim was accomplished without incident. The trail down was not steep, though it was narrow and twisting, and at times even Pen, who was among the smallest, was forced to hug the cliff wall. The twilight deepened steadily all the while, and as it did so the valley came alive. Hushed before the change of light to dark, it began to hum and buzz with insect life. Night birds called out, their cries piercing and shrill as they took to the air in shadowy flocks, and Pen could hear grunts from ground animals, some recognizable, some not. He listened carefully as he walked and tried to sort them out. He searched for what sounded familiar amid the cacophony and failed.
At the bottom of the trail, the company made camp in a stand of fir. Even though they had reached the valley floor, they were still several thousand feet above sea level, cradled by the peaks of the Klu, and the air was clear and cold and the sky brilliant with stars and moonlight. As on past nights, Kermadec would not allow a fire. «Tomorrow,' he promised. By then they would be deep enough into the territory of the Urdas that a fire would not draw Druid notice or, if spied, would not seem unusual to anyone searching for them. They would be risking discovery by the Urdas, of course, but that was a risk they were taking just by being there.
«The ruins of Stridegate lie much deeper in this valley, Pen,' he told the boy later, when dinner had been consumed and they were sitting alone at the edge of the encampment. His blocky features were inscrutable, but his eyes were intense. «Two more days at least, and that's if we press ahead at a steady pace. I've been there, the one time I was in this valley before. I remember their look. It isn't a sight you are likely to forget.»
«And the island?» Pen pressed. «The one that contains the tane–quil?»
Overhearing their conversation, Khyber, Cinnaminson, and Tag–wen had wandered over to join them. They sat down in a close circle, silent and attentive. Behind them, a pair of sentries had taken up positions just out of sight in the darkened trees. The rest of the Rock Trolls were settling in for the night, bulky forms lumbering through the darkness, the heavy clank and rasp of their weapons audible. Atalan was sitting not far away, hunched and unmoving, his back to his brother, his gaze directed into the forest dark.
«It is not an island of the sort you might imagine. It is surrounded not by water, but by a deep ravine choked with vines and trees. A single bridge spans its width, an ancient stone arch thousands of years old. It offers the only passage to the other side. But no one I know has ever crossed it.»
«Why not?» Khyber asked at once.
Kermadec shook his head. «I am not superstitious in the manner of the Urdas, but I know the nature of the things that live within the Inkrim and I respect the power they wield. A warding stone placed on the near side of the bridge forbids passage. I try to pay attention to such things, when I can.»
He paused. «I was told that others did not. Some attempted to cross anyway. There were rumors of a great treasure. A few used the stone arch. A few went down into the ravine with the intention of climbing out the other side. None were ever seen again.»
'Then how are we to cross?» Khyber sounded suspicious and didn't bother keeping it from her voice. «Why are we any different than these others who couldn't?»
Kermadec shrugged. «I don't know that we are. I only know that we have to find out.» He nodded toward Pen. «It is what is needed if we are to save the Ard Rhys.»
He rose and walked back toward his sleeping Trolls. As he passed Atalan, he reached down and touched his shoulder. His brother glanced up and said something. Kermadec kept walking. A moment later, Atalan rose and followed him.
Khyber glanced at Pen and Tagwen, her brow furrowed. «I don't remember the Elfstones showing us anything about a bridge. I don't remember being warned about not being able to cross one.»
«They don't always show you everything, do they?» Pen asked.
«I just think it odd that we're hearing about this for the first time now.» She looked angry. «Did the King of the Silver River say anything to you about this?»
Pen shook his head. «Nothing.» He wasn't any happier than she was about the bridge and its warning. «He told me to find the tanequil and ask it for a limb from which to fashion the darkwand, then to take the darkwand back to Paranor and use it to cross over into the Forbidding.» His lips compressed. «Nothing about a bridge that no one is supposed to cross.»
«What are the Trolls doing?» Cinnaminson asked suddenly, her blind eyes directed toward the encampment.
The other three turned to look. The Trolls were gathered in a circle, all of them, including Kermadec and Atalan. They were down on one knee, their blocky heads lowered, their palms flat against the ground, murmuring
