The Maturen glanced over. His barklike features made him seem one with the trees. «They want to know what we are doing here. They will stay with us until they are sure.»
Pen dropped back again, falling into step with Cinnaminson. «He says he knows about them. He says they are just watching us.»
The Rover girl smiled. «Someone is watching them, too.» Her blind eyes shifted to find his. «The spirits of the air didn't leave, after all. They are still out there.»
The morning passed away, and the clouds massed and darkened overhead. A storm was blowing in, and it would bringa heavy rain. Kermadec began to look for shelter, but there were no caves or rocky overhangs to keep them dry. Instead, they crawled beneath the protective boughs of a huge fir, hunkering down when the cloudburst struck, staying put until the rains had slowed to a drizzle, then crawling out again, dampened and chilled, to begin walking once more.
That night, they camped in the lee of a lightning–split hardwood that had once risen hundreds of feet into the air and was now as dead as old cornstalks. Its leaves were gone and its limbs blackened and bare, charred bones on a skeleton. All around its shattered trunk, the ground was burned and denuded as well, and their fire cast its broken giant's shadow into the enfolding darkness. Kermadec doubled the watch, and Pen hardly slept at all. Overhead, clouds scudded across the stars and bats darted through the night like wraiths.
The third day dawned gray and damp, but the rains did not return. The company set out at daybreak, the Urdas tracking it from somewhere in the trees where Pen still could not see them, even if Kermadec could. Pen was tired and irritable from a restless night, and he was unnerved by the constant, unseen presence. His spirits lifted only marginally when Kermadec assured him that they were getting closer to their destination; seeing would be believing.
By midmorning, the look of the Inkrim had undergone a noticeable change. The trees had become massive and twisted, a forest of ancient behemoths that crowded out everything smaller and left the valley floor barren and stark. The gray light filtering through the clouds was diffused further by the canopy of leaves and branches. The forest was shadowy and gray at every turn, and the air had grown thin and stale. Birdsong and insect buzzing disappeared, and the ground animals faded away. There was a hushed quality to the landscape that reminded the boy of places where only dead things were found. He heard the sound of his own breathing as he walked. He could hear the beating of his heart.
«I don't like this place anymore,' Cinnaminson whispered to him at one point, and took his hand in her own.
Sometime around midday, Pen saw the Urdas for the first time. They appeared all at once, coming out of the shadows, sliding from behind tree trunks, materializing out of nowhere. Even though he had never seen one before, he knew what they were immediately. They had a primitive, dangerous look to them. Physically, they appeared to be a cross between Trolls and Gnomes. Their bodies were small and wiry like those of the latter, but their skin was thick and barklike and their faces blunt and flat like the former. They were covered in a tangle of wiry hair, their Trollish features flat and expressionless. Short, muscular legs and long arms allowed them to move sideways in crab fashion as they shadowed the company on both sides through the ancient trees.
«Stay together,' Kermadec called back over his shoulder. «Don't provoke them. They're only watching.»
But more were appearing at every turn, gathering at the fringes of the hazy light in large clusters. Gradually, they began to surround the company. For the first time, Pen noticed the nature of the weapons they carried, a mix of short spears and odd–shaped flat objects that were hooked and sharpened on their ends and appeared to be designed for throwing.
«How far do we have to go?» Atalan called to his brother from his rear–guard position.
Kermadec glanced back and shook his head. «I'm not sure. It's been a long time. Another few miles, maybe. This forest runs all the way to the ruins of the city. Keep moving.»
Moments later, more Urdas appeared directly in front of them, narrowing the way forward even farther. They were beginning to close in, Pen realized. He did a quick count; more than a hundred were set to block the way. The flat, dark faces were expressionless, but the way they hefted their weapons and the deliberate stances they had assumed suggested the nature of their intentions.
«Khyber Elessedill!» Kermadec called out. He beckoned her forward. The rest of the company closed in behind them, sensing that things were about to change. «Can you work a little Druid magic to make them move back?» the Maturen asked.
She frowned. «I can. But if I do that—'
«Yes, it may give us away to the Druids,' he cut her short. «But if you don't, the Urdas are going to try to take us prisoner. They have made up their minds that we intend to invade the ruins, and they won't allow it. There are too many to fight. Magic offers us our best chance of escaping, even if you use just a little of it. They are afraid of what they don't understand.»
She glanced back at Pen, giving him a look that suggested this was all his fault. «All right,' she agreed. «I can scare them. Then what happens?»
Kermadec shrugged. «Then, we run. If we can get to the ruins, they won't follow us in. The ruins are sacred ground, forbidden to them. They'll leave us to the spirits.»
Ofwhich we already know there are some, Pen thought. But he understood they hadn't any better choice.
«Stand ready,' Khyber said, her hands already beginning to weave in small circles.
An instant later, the air was filled with bits of fire that screamed and flew in all directions, a cloudburst of sound and light that sent the Urdas scrambling away in terror.
«Run!» Kermadec shouted.
The Trolls and their charges raced ahead through the trees and shadows. Kermadec led the way. As big as he was, he moved like a deer, leaping and bounding past scrambling Urdas and around ancient trunks with his war club swinging. Cinnaminson ran with Pen, holding his hand, letting him lead the way. The forest was open enough that she could do so, and he matched his pace to hers, quickly discovering she was almost as swift as he was.
Behind them, Tagwen lumbered mightily, his breath coming in short gasps, his stubby legs churning.
The whirlwind of fire darts lasted another few minutes, and then it faded, leaving a residue of smoke trails that lifted toward the canopy like tiny butterflies. It took a few minutes for the Urdas to collect themselves, and then they were in pursuit. They came through the trees in droves, small, wiry bodies leaping and scrambling, calling out in sudden, high shrieks that cut to the bone. Seconds later, their strange throwing weapons began to whiz through the air with deep humming sounds, slicing off small limbs and burying themselves in tree trunks. Had Pen and his companions been in the open and standing still, they would have been cut down in moments. Moving through the woods, they were less easy to hit. Nevertheless, Pen found himself running faster.
The chase wore on for a mile, then two. The Trolls were tireless, and Pen and his companions were driven by fear, so they managed to keep just ahead of the Urdas. When Tagwen faltered, one of the Trolls snatched him right off his feet, tucked him under one arm, and kept running. But the distance between hunter and hunted was closing fast. When Pen finally risked a quick glance over his shoulder, he found the Urdas right behind Atalan and the other two Trolls who were acting as rear guards. The throwing weapons mostly bounced off the Trolls like sticks, but Pen could see blood showing through rents in the leather tunics.
Then one of the Trolls running with Atalan caught a spear in the back of the neck above his protective vest, and he went down in a heap. Kermadec's brother turned instantly, shouted for help, and charged back into the pursuing Urdas with such ferocity that they were bowled over and scattered. Khyber wheeled around as well, words of magic tumbling from her lips, hands weaving. A fresh assault of fire darts flew at the Urdas, shrieking and burning. But this time the Urdas didn't flee. Ducking behind trees and flattening themselves to the ground, they simply waited out the barrage.
Atalan bent quickly over the fallen Troll. A moment later, he was back on his feet.
«Dead!» he snapped at no one in particular. Then, seeing Pen and Cinnaminson frozen in place and staring at him, he shouted, «Run, you fools!»
Everyone turned and began to race ahead once more. But the members of the company were winded, worn down by the chase and the never–ending number of pursuers. Already, more Urdas were after them, ignoring the fire darts, tearing through the trees and flinging their weapons with wild shrieks.
