Then one of those weapons found Pen, catching him just behind the knees and toppling him in a wash of pain and blood.
It happened so fast that he was down on the ground almost before he realized what was happening. He had the presence of mind to let go of Cinnaminson as he was struck, so that she was not pulled down with him. But he tumbled hard, and when he tried to rise he found his legs would not work. Lying crippled on the ground, he would have died then if not for Atalan. The burly Rock Troll swept him up as he charged past, tucked him under his arm, pounded up to where Cinnaminson stood staring in petrified disbelief thinking she had lost Pen, and snatched her up as well.
«Can't be losing you now, little man,' he hissed at Pen, racing after the others as missiles flew all around them. «Not after all the trouble you've caused us.»
Somehow he eluded the Urda weapons flung at him, caught up to the others in the company, and matched their pace. Jounced and shaken in the crook of Atalan's arm, Pen was aware of how hard carrying him must be, how much strength it must require. But the Rock Troll didn't seem winded, just angry.
Ahead, more Urdas appeared, closing ranks in a line of dark, gnarled bodies. Beyond, the trees thinned, and the remains of rock walls and stone columns lifted against a backdrop of trees and mountains, their colors hazy in the grayish light. Kermadec yelled to his Trolls, and five of them joined him in a tight formation of armored bodies and heavy clubs and axes. The rest of the company, including Atalan, fell into place behind him. There was no time to think about what they were doing, — they were on top of the Urdas almost before Pen realized what they intended. The Trolls went through the Urda ranks as if they were made of paper. Weapons slashed and cut, but the Trolls fought past any resistance with ferocious purpose, and in seconds the entire company was through.
Again, the razor–sharp missiles flew after them, but this time they were thrown halfheartedly and to little effect. The effort to keep the intruders from the ruins had failed. Prevented by their beliefs from pursuing further, the Urdas clustered at the edge of the trees and screamed in fury. But by the time Kermadec and his Trolls had collapsed inside the first set of crumbling walls, putting Pen and his companions safely behind the protective stone barriers, the screaming had stopped.
In the ensuing silence, Pen Ohmsford listened to the pounding of his heart.
Twenty–two
Lying on the ground beside a clearly winded Atalan, Pen managed to lift his head far enough to look back at his pursuers. A sea of staring eyes, the Urdas were hunkered down in knots all along the edge of the forest. The sudden silence was unnerving. It was as if they were waiting for something to happen, something they knew about that Pen and his companions did not. Pen looked over his shoulder into the ruins. Other than rubble, weeds, and a scattering of saplings that fronted the sprawl of walls of columns beyond, there was nothing to see.
«Savages,' Atalan muttered.
Pen gave up on the Urdas and looked down at his legs. There was blood all over where the skin had been broken and the flesh gouged by Urda weapons. Cinnaminson moved over beside him, running her hands over his calves, exploring the wounds, her touch so gentle he could barely feel it. He marveled anew at how she could see so clearly what to do when she was unable to use her eyes. Her blind gaze found his face, as if she knew what he was thinking, and her sudden smile was so dazzling that it took his breath away.
«It doesn't feel as if the tendons have been severed or the bones broken,' she said.
Beyond the walls of their shelter, the Urdas suddenly began to chant, breaking the momentary silence. The words of the chant were indistinguishable, but their purpose was clear.
«Look at them,' Atalan growled. «Afraid to do anything more than stand out there and hope that by calling on their spirit guardians something bad will happen to us. Stupid.»
«They do the only thing they know to do,' Cinnaminson said quietly.
The Rock Troll glanced over at her, his gaze flat and unfriendly. «Don't make excuses for them, blind girl. They don't deserve it. They would have killed you.»
«A blind girl understands something about the need for excuses,' she replied, turning her empty eyes toward his face. «A blind girl perceives savagery differently than you do, I think.»
Kermadec appeared and knelt down beside them. Without a word, he took out his hunting knife, cut off Pen's pant legs, and used the scraps of cloth to bind the wounds. «You can wash and dress this later, once we are deeper into the ruins and safely away from the Urdas.»
Pen nodded. «I'll be all right.»
Kermadec moved away again, and Pen looked over at Atalan. «I owe you my life,' he said.
The burly Troll glanced at him, startled. His blunt features tightened. «You don't owe me anything, little man,' he replied.
Then he rose with a grunt and walked away.
Perplexed, Pen stared after him. «What is wrong with him? Why is he so unfriendly?»
«He isn't sure how he feels about what he has just done,' Cinnaminson answered. «He doesn't know why he did it.» She touched his shoulder. «This doesn't have to do with you, Pen. It has to do with his brother and himself. I think almost everything does.»
Pen thought about that for a time, sitting with his back to the wall and listening to the Urdas chant, and decided she was probably right. Atalan's relationship with his brother was complex and disturbing, and he didn't think there was much point in trying to understand it without knowing a good deal more than he did. He glanced over at Khyber Elessedil, who was sitting by herself, looking off into the ruins, and then at Tagwen, who sat with his head between his legs, as if he was sick to his stomach. Pen didn't like it that the four outlanders had become so dependent on the Trolls. He couldn't put his finger on why that bothered him so, but he thought it had more than a little to do with his uncertainty about Kermadec and Atalan. Rock Trolls were strange enough in their own right without the unwelcome addition of sibling conflict, — it only heightened his uneasiness to think that at some point their safety might depend on how well the brothers could manage to get along. He knew how highly Tagwen thought of Kermadec, but Kermadec was only one man. They would have to depend on the other Trolls, as well, and that included Atalan.
How much did Atalan care about what happened to them? It was an unfair question, of course. Atalan had just saved his life. There was no reason for him to be suspicious. Nevertheless, he was.
Kermadec allowed them a short rest, then gathered them together again. They knelt behind the wall at the edge of the ruins, listening as the Urda chant rose and fell in a steady, monotonous rhythm.
«We're going now,' he said quietly, ignoring the wailing. «I want us to be at the bridge by nightfall. We will make camp there, then cross in the morning, when it is light and we can see clearly. I don't think the Urdas will come after us. They are afraid of the spirits and won't chance angering them, no matter how badly they want to get their hands on us. They will rely on the spirits to punish us for them.»
He paused. «Still, I don't want to take anything for granted. So we will leave quietly and in secret, just two or three of us at a time.» At the mention of spirits, Pen glanced at Cinnaminson, but the Rover girl was staring straight ahead.
«Young Penderrin,' Kermadec said, causing Pen to jump. «You and your Rover girl will go first. I want you to keep a sharp watch for anything moving once we start inside. I've been here only once, years ago, and I barely got past these walls. What I know, I've heard from others, and none of it is reliable. I know of the bridge and the island. I know of the thing that sleeps in the ravine. But there may be other dangers, and I depend on you, with your special talents, to warn us of them.»
Pen nodded. He noticed that Khyber looked relieved. The onus of having to risk using her Druid magic again had been lifted for the moment. As Kermadec finished his instructions to Pen and Cinnaminson and turned his attention to his Trolls, Pen moved over to the Elven girl. «Well done, Khyber,' he said. «That was a clever bit of magic back there. You saved us all.»
She nodded. «At a cost I don't care to contemplate.»
«You think you gave us away? You think we were detected?»
She shrugged. «I don't know. I didn't use much magic, and what I did use is not so different from what can already be found in this valley. Elemental magic, in its purest form. The Inkrim is known to the Druids as a place of
