girl and the thing tracking her are keeping company with one of the Sisters — that or they’re dead.»
Wil went white. «Would the Witches kill them, Hebel?»
The old man seemed to think it over. «Oh, not the girl, I’d guess — not right away. The thing they would. And don’t think they couldn’t, Elfling.»
«I don’t know what to think anymore,” Wil replied slowly. He gazed down into the blackness of the Hollows. «I do know this much — I am going down there and I am going to find Amberle. Right now.»
He started to say something to Eretria, but the Rover girl rut him short. «Don’t waste your breath, Healer. I’m going with you.»
The way she said it left little room for argument. He glanced at Hebel.
«I’m coming, too, Elfling,” the old man announced.
«But you said yourself that no one should go into the Hollows,” Wil pointed out. «I don’t understand why you’re even here.»
Hebel shrugged. «Because it doesn’t matter where I am anymore, Elfling, and hasn’t for a long time. I’m an old man; I’ve done in this life the things I’ve wanted to do, been where I wanted to go, seen what I’ve wanted to see. Nothing left for me now — nothing except for maybe this one thing. I want to see what’s down there in those Hollows.»
He shook his head ruefully. «Thought about it for sixty years, off and on. Always told myself that one day I’d find out like thinking about a deep pool; you always wonder what’s at the bottom.» He rubbed his bearded chin. «Well, a sane man wouldn’t waste his time with a thing like that, and I was a sane man when I was younger, though I guess some thought different. Now I’m tired of being sane, tired of just thinking about going down there instead of doing it. You made me decide. When you first told me what you intended, I thought to persuade you otherwise — just as I’d persuaded myself. I was certain that you would lose interest quick enough when you heard what I had to say. I was wrong. I saw that whatever it was that you were looking for was important enough that being afraid didn’t matter to you. So why should it matter so much to me, I thought? Then after that Reaper thing passed me by and left me knowing how close I’d come to dying, I realized it didn’t. All that really mattered was finding out about those Hollows. So I came after you. I decided that we should go looking together.»
Wil understood. «Let’s hope that we both find what we are looking for.»
«Well, maybe I can be of some help to you.» The old man shrugged. «This is Mallenroh’s end of the Hollows. She might remember me, Elfling.» For an instant his thoughts wandered, then he glanced at Wil. «Drifter can track for as long as it’s needed.» He whistled. «Take us down, dog. Go, boy.»
Drifter disappeared over the rim of the Hollows. Eretria stripped saddles and bridles from the horses and slapped them sharply to send them galloping back through the forest. Then she joined Wil and the old man. In a line, they started down into the Hollows.
«Won’t have to rely on Drifter very long,” Hebel declared firmly. «Mallenroh — she’ll find us quick enough.»
If that were so, Wil found himself thinking, then he hoped that she would find Amberle as well.
Amberle came awake in the darkness of the Hollows forest. It was the slight swaying, jostling motion of being carried that awoke her, and for an instant she panicked. Gnarled fingers held her fast, locked tightly about her arms and legs, her body, even her neck and head — fingers so rough they felt as if they were made of wood. Her first reaction was to want to break free, but she resisted it with a desperate effort and forced herself to remain still. Whatever had her did not yet know she was awake. If she were to have any advantage at all, it lay in this. For the moment, at least, she must continue to feign sleep and learn what she could.
She had no idea how long she had slept. It might have been minutes or hours or even longer. She thought, though, that it was still the same night. Logic told her it must be. She thought, too, that whatever it was that had her, it was not the thing that had pursued her into the Hollows. Had that thing found her, it would simply have killed her. This, therefore, must be something else. The old man, Hebel, had told Wil and her that the Hollows were the private domain of the Witch Sisters. Perhaps it was one of them that had her.
She felt somewhat better, having reasoned that much through, and she relaxed a bit, trying to make out something of the terrain through which she was moving. It was difficult to do this; the trees shut away even the smallest trace of stars and moon, leaving everything shrouded in deepest night. Were it not for the familiar woodland smells she might not have known there was a forest about. The silence was intense. The few sounds were distant and brief, cries that came from the wilderness beyond the Hollows.
Yet there was another sound, she corrected herself, a sort of skittering noise like the chafing of limbs in a breeze — except that there was no breeze, and the sound came from beneath her; not from above. Whatever it was that earned her was making the noise.
The minutes slipped by. She thought briefly of Wil, trying to imagine what he might do in her place. That made her smile in spite of herself. Who could tell what wild stunt Wil might try in such a situation? Then she wondered if she would ever see him again.
Her muscles were beginning to cramp, and she decided to see if she could do something to ease the discomfort without giving herself away. Experimentally she stretched her legs; pretending to stir in her sleep, testing the fingers that held her. They moved with her, but did not release. So much for that.
The sound of running water reached her, growing stronger with each passing second. She could smell it now, fresh and scented with wildflowers — a stream that twisted and churned in the quiet of the forest. Then it was beneath her, and the rustle of the sticks and the night sounds faded in its rush. Footsteps echoed hollowly on wooden planks, and she knew she had been carried over a bridge. The gurgle of the stream faded slightly. Chains clanked and rumbled as if being gathered in, and there was a dull thud. Something had closed behind, a door — a very heavy door. An iron bar and locks snapped into place. She heard them clearly. Night air washed about her as before, but it carried with it the unmistakable smell of stone and mortar. Fear welled up within her once more. She was inside a walled area, a courtyard perhaps, being taken, she now believed, to some sort of confinement, and if she did not break free at once, she would not break free at all. Yet the fingers that constrained her showed not the slightest hint of loosening, and there were many of them. It would take a tremendous effort to wrench free, and she did not believe that she had that kind of strength left in her. Besides, she thought dismally, even if she were to break free, where would she go?
Ahead, another door opened, creaking slightly. Still no light came to her; there was nothing but blackness all about.
«Pretty, thing,” a voice said suddenly, and the Elven girl started with surprise.
She was carried ahead. Behind her, the door closed and the smells of the forest disappeared. She was inside — but inside of what? Twisting and turning, her captors carried her along passageways that smelled damp and musty; yet there was another odor, a kind of incense, a perfume. The Elven girl breathed it deeply and it left her head in a momentary spin.
Then at last there was a light, suddenly, unexpectedly, glimmering just ahead from within a tall archway. Amberle blinked at the unfamiliar brightness, her eyes still accustomed to the dark. She was carried through the archway and down a winding stair. The light blinked above her, fell behind momentarily, then followed after, weaving and bobbing against the dark.
Her forward motion stopped. She felt herself being lowered onto a thick, woven matting, and the wooden fingers slipped free. She raised herself up on her elbows and squinted toward the light. It hung there before her for just an instant, then retreated slowly behind a wall of iron bars. A door swung shut and the light was gone.
But just before it disappeared, the Elven girl caught a glimpse of her captors, their slender forms outlined clearly in the white glow. They appeared to be made out of sticks.
On the floor of the Hollows, Wil called a halt. It was so black that he could barely see his hand in front of his face; he could not see Hebel or Eretria at all, nor they him. If they attempted to proceed under these conditions, they would soon become separated and hopelessly lost. He waited a few moments for his vision to sharpen. It did, but only slightly. The Hollows remained a dim, barely perceptible mass of shadows.
It was Hebel who came up with a plan to resolve their difficulty. Whistling Drifter to him, he produced a length of rope from the sack he carried, and bound one end to the dog; the rest he fastened about his waist and to the waists of the Valeman and the Rover girl. Thus tied, they could follow after one another without risk of separation. The old man tested the line, then spoke softly to Drifter. The big dog started ahead.
It seemed to Wil as if they walked the Hollows for hours, stumbling through an endless maze of trees and brush, nearly blind in the impenetrable blackness, trusting to the instincts of the dog that led them. They did not
