thanked her. Then he glanced up at the Rover once more.
«A safe journey, Cephelo.»
The big man nodded. «And a quick one to you, Healer. Farewell.»
Wil took Amberle’s arm and led her through the gathering of horsemen to the crossroads. Eretria sat astride her bay, black hair blowing wildly as the wind swirled past her. When the Valeman reached her side, he stopped momentarily and extended his hand.
«Good–bye, Eretria.»
She nodded, her dark face expressionless, cold, and beautiful. Then without a word, she rode back to join Cephelo. The Valeman stared after her a moment, but she did not look at him again. He turned to the pathway leading south. Dirt blew into his eyes, and he shielded them with his hand, squinting into the gloom. With Amberle beside him, he started ahead.
Hebel spent the morning at his workbench behind the little hut, hunched over a carving of a swamp cat. As he worked, his mind drifted back to the events of the previous night, to the Elflings and their strange quest, and the warning he had given them which they had ignored. He could not understand it. Why had they refused to heed him? Certainly he had made it clear enough that it was death to go into the Hollows. And certainly he had made it clear as well that the domain of the Witch Sisters could not be violated. What was it then that could prompt this brother and sister to go there for nothing more than some obscure root medicine?
Then it occurred to him that perhaps there was something more. He thought about that for a moment and the more he thought about it the more plausible it seemed. After all; they would not be so foolish as to entrust a rogue like Cephelo with the truth; no, not that young man — he was too quick for that. Safehold lay within the depths of Spire’s Reach; what sort of root would grow deep within a mountain where no sunlight could ever reach to nourish its growth? But magic had once been done within Safehold, the Witch Sister had whispered to him — magic from another age, lost and forgotten. Did the Elflings hope to discover it again?
Overhead, the sky darkened further as the storm rolled out of the far country, the howl of the wind in the trees rising to a higher pitch. The old man paused in his work and looked up momentarily. This would be a big one, he thought idly. Another bad sign for those Elflings who would be caught in the open, for the storm would overtake them before they reached the Hollows. He shook his head. He would go after them if he thought it would do any good, but their minds were obviously made up. Still, it was too bad. Whatever they hoped to find within Safehold, be it root medicine or magic, they would have been better off to have forgotten it entirely. They would never live to use it.
At his feet, Drifter lifted his shaggy head and sniffed the wind. Then abruptly the dog growled, low, deep, and angry. Hebel stared down at him curiously and glanced about. Shadows fell across the clearing from the forest trees, but nothing moved.
Drifter growled again and the hackles on the back of his neck rose. Hebel looked around guardedly. There was something out there, something hidden back to the gloom. He stood up, reaching for the broad axe. Cautiously, he started toward the trees, Drifter crouched beside him, still growling.
But then he stopped. He did not understand why he stopped except that suddenly he felt something cold slip into his body, chilling him so badly that he could barely stand. At his feet, Drifter lay on his belly and cried as if he had been struck; his great body cringing. The old man caught a glimpse se of something moving — a shadow, massive and cloaked, there one moment and then gone. A fear passed through him, so terrible that he could not find the will to thrust it from him. It gripped him cruelly and held him fast as he stared helplessly at the dark forest and wished with everything that was left him that he might turn and flee. The axe fell from his hands and tumbled to the earth, useless.
Then the feeling slipped from him, gone as quickly as it had come. All about him the wind howled, and a spattering of rain struck his leathery face. Drawing a deep breath, he reached down for the axe and, with Drifter close against him, backed slowly away until he felt his legs brush up against the workbench. He paused then, one hand gripping the neck of the big dog to keep himself from shaking. With frightening certainty he knew that in sixty years of struggling to survive the dangers of the valley, never before had he come so close to dying.
Wil and Amberle had walked for less than an hour when the storm overtook them. A sprinkling of heavy drops that slipped teasingly through the dense canopy of trees turned quickly to a downpour. Sheets of rain swept across the pathway, driven by a west wind, and thunder boomed and reverberated through the sodden forest. Ahead, the gloom of the narrow trail darkened further with the rainfall, and water–laden tree limbs began to droop about them in damp trailers. They were soaked in minutes, bereft of the travel cloaks which they had failed to recover from the Rovers along with the rest of their clothing. The light garments they had been fitted with in their stead clung to their bodies. There was nothing to be done that would ease their discomfort, however, so they simply put their heads down and walked on.
For several hours the rain continued to fall at a steady pace, save for occasional brief lulls that gave false promise of an end to the storm. Through it all, the Valeman and the Elven girl trudged on, water dripping from their bodies and their clothing, mud caking on their boots, their eyes fixed on the rutted path ahead. When at last the rain did slow and the storm moved eastward, mist began to seep out of the forest to mix with the deep gloom. Trees and brush shone dark and shiny through the haze, and water dripped noisily in the sudden stillness. Overhead, the sky stayed clouded and dark; to the east thunder rumble distant and lingering. The mist began to deepen, and the pace of the travelers slowed.
It was then that the pathway began to slope downward, a slit dropping off that at first was barely perceptible, but gradually dually increased. Valeman and Elven girl slipped and skidded in the muddied earth as they followed it down, peering hopefully into the gloom ahead, yet finding nothing more than the dark tunnel of the road and the closure of the trees. The stillness had grown even more pronounced. Even the faint sounds of insects singing at the passing of the storm had faded into silence.
Then suddenly, so suddenly that it was as if someone had removed a veil from before their eyes, the trees of the woods split apart, the slope dropped away, and the great, dark bowl of the Hollows lay spread before them. Valeman and Elven girl stopped where they were in the center of the muddied trail and stared down into the awesome expanse. They knew at once that they had found the Hollows; this massive pit of black forest could be nothing else. It was as if they had come upon some monstrous dead lake, still and, lifeless, its dark surface grown thick with vegetation so that what lay beneath its waters could only be guessed at. From its shadowed center rose Spire’s Reach, a solitary column of rock thrusting up into the gloom, barren and pitted. The Hollows were bleak like an open grave that whispered of death.
The Valeman and the Elven girl stood silently upon the rim, fighting a sense of revulsion that grew with each passing moment that they gazed down into the soundless gloom. Nothing that either had ever encountered had looked so desolate.
«We have to go down there,” Wil ventured finally, hating the idea.
She nodded. «I know.»
He cast about hopefully for a way to proceed. Ahead, the trail appeared to stop altogether. Yet when the Valeman walked forward a bit, he saw that it did not end after all, but split to either side to wind downward into the shadows below. He hesitated a moment, studying the two paths, trying to decide which would provide the easier descent, then chose the one that ran left. He held out his arm to Amberle and she gripped it firmly. Leading the way, he started down, feeling his boots slide as the damp earth and rock gave way in clumps. Amberle stayed close, leaning heavily on him for support. Cautiously they moved ahead.
Then abruptly Wil lost his footing and went down. Amberle fell with him, tripping forward across his legs, tumbling headlong from the muddied path to disappear with a sharp cry into the wooded darkness. Frantically, Wil scrambled after her, pushing his way through heavy brush that ripped his clothing and cut his face. He might not have found the Elven girl at all but for the bright silk of her Rover clothing, a splash of red against the dark. She lay lodged against a clump of scrub, the breath knocked from her body, her face smeared with mud. Her eyes flickered uncertainly as he touched her.
«Wil?»
He eased her into a sitting position, cradling her in his arms. «Are you all right? Are you hurt?»
«No, I don’t think so.» She smiled. «You’re pretty clumsy, you know that?»
He nodded, grinning with relief. «Let’s get you up.»
He put his arm about her waist and lifted her clear of the scrub, her small frame feather–light as he set her back on her feet. Instantly she cried out and dropped back to the earth, reaching for her ankle.
