"I don't know what stands to reason." Tenerife shook his head. "It seems risky."

"Oh, and none of the rest of what we're doing is?" Phryne laughed. "That's very funny, cousin. What do you have to say on the matter, Tasha? Are you for turning back, as well?"

"There is a sound argument for doing so," the other replied, running his fingers through his long black hair. The scarf that had tied back his hair seemed to have disappeared. "But I see the merit of your argument. And I, too, would like to see what lies at the end of the pa.s.s. I'll go with you. The rest can go back, and no blame will attach to them for doing so. Brother? Pan? Little sister?"

"I'm going," Tenerife declared grudgingly. "I guess."

Prue grimaced. "I go where Pan goes."

They were all looking at Panterra now, so he shrugged away his discomfort with an irritated gesture. "Let's stop talking about it and just get it done."

They set out again quickly, keeping close to the cliff wall on the left side of the pa.s.s, looking skyward at every opportunity. No one was sure of anything after the unexpected appearance of the dragon, and no one wanted to be caught off guard again.

As they advanced, Pan moved up beside Prue. "That was pretty awful, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "It makes me wonder what else is out there. If I hadn't sensed the danger, we might have walked right into that thing."

"I saw you react. That was quick thinking. You saved us all."

"This time I did." She looked decidedly unhappy. "But maybe I won't the next. You should have said something back there when Phryne insisted on going ahead. She seems to think this is all a game. She might have listened to you."

She gave him a look and abruptly rushed ahead, rejoining Tasha. She was angry and no mistake. But he didn't know what to do about it. He wasn't responsible for Phryne; it hadn't been his suggestion that they keep going instead of turning back. Prue was being unreasonable, and that wasn't like her.

They slogged on through the steady rain, all of them on edge. Shadows, fluid and elongated, chased one another along the walls and floor of Aphalion Pa.s.s, seeping off rocky outcroppings, and the five companions constantly found themselves searching for things that weren't there. The wind continued to howl mournfully as it whipped across gaps in the peaks, its whistle shrill and unrelenting. Ahead and behind, the darkness had closed away all traces of where they were going and where they had been.

The pa.s.s wound through the mountains for a much longer time than Panterra had supposed it would, but after a while it narrowed to a width of less than twenty feet and began to angle first one way and then another. No dragon of the size they had encountered could hope to get through at this juncture, Panterra thought, taking some comfort from the fact. But he was bothered that his sense of direction had failed him some time back, and he had no clear idea where they were.

Finally, when it seemed there would never be an end to their trek, the way ahead brightened, the rock walls opened up, and the members of the little company found themselves climbing a slope of loose rock to a broad ridgeline swept by long streamers of rain and mist. Hunkering down within their travel cloaks, they stood together on the ridge and peered out into the grayish haze beyond. Clouds roiled across a patchwork collection of streams and rivers carved out of the earth by time and weather, waterways that interconnected and spread over terrain both blasted and barren. What trees there were looked stunted or dead, their branches withered and their greenery gone, bearing silent witness to the cataclysm that had destroyed the old world centuries ago. There was nothing for as far as the eye could see but dead things. Bare earth and rock, ruined forest and erosion, it was a more stark and empty landscape than Panterra would have imagined possible.

"Shades," whispered Phryne, standing next to him.

"Everything's dead." Prue voiced Panterra's unspoken thought. "Everything."

"Not quite," said Tenerife, pointing.

Far off in the distance, well beyond where specific details could be determined, dozens of columns of smoke rose through the deep gloom. With the weather as bad as it was, it was impossible to be certain, but that was how it appeared to them. They stood together staring at the smoke for a long time.

"I can't be sure what I'm seeing," Tasha said finally.

His eyes were the best of the five, so the others accepted that they would find nothing, either. "We should go find out," Phryne said suddenly. Again, she saw the looks on their faces. "We've come this far; why not go a little farther?"

"Because now we are setting out across country we know nothing about," Tasha pointed out. "That makes exploring a whole lot more dangerous. I can't imagine that your father would have much good to say about us if we follow your suggestion. I think we've done as much as we can. It's time to be going back."

"But what if those are people out there? What if they can tell us something about what's happened to the world?"

"What if they aren't and they can't and they only want to eat us?" Tenerife asked with a grunt. "Let it go, cousin."

She wheeled on him. "I don't want to let it go! I want to have a look for myself!"

Without a word, Tasha scooped her up in his long arms and threw her over his shoulder. "Time to be going, Princess. Satisfying your curiosity will have to wait for another day."

She struggled against him, demanding that he put her down, beating at him with her fists. Panterra had never imagined that a Princess would behave this way, and he didn't like how it made him feel. Clearly, Phryne Amarantyne was someone who was used to getting her way and didn't like it a bit when she didn't.

"This is foolish!" she snapped, continuing to thrash from her perch atop her cousin's broad shoulder. "We're supposed to be exploring! We're supposed to discover as much as we can!"

"We can come back and do that another time," Tenerife replied, walking alongside Tasha but staying out of range in case Phryne decided to take a swing at him. "When we're better prepared."

"When we have more men and more weapons and less confusion," Tasha added. "Stop struggling, will you?"

She stopped then, going limp, as if suddenly drained of the energy to resist. She hung there for a moment, and then said, "Put me down."

Tasha hesitated, but finally he lowered her to her feet and stepped back. "We came to find out about the barrier that wards us from the outer world, Phryne. We've done that. Now we need to go back and let your father and the High Council decide what is to be done about it."

"I know," she said, straightening her rumpled clothing and brushing herself off. "I just thought that since we were already here ..." She trailed off. "I just thought we might do a little more, learn a little something else. But I understand your point, Tasha. I'll let it go for now. But I'm coming back."

"And we'll come with you," Tasha a.s.sured her.

Panterra hoped the big man didn't think he was speaking for all of them, because he wasn't at all sure he and Prue would be coming back. Having seen what they'd seen, he was inclined to believe that his own duty lay in reporting back to Pogue Kray and the people of Glensk Wood. It might not be easy to accept, but now they knew for sure. Everyone in the valley would have to be made aware that the barrier was down and the valley was open to the rest of the world. It would take time for people to get used to the idea, and the sooner they got started doing so, the better.

All of a sudden he caught sight of something he had missed before. Off to the left, close against the wall of the cliffs, a single column of smoke rose into the damp air. A solitary campfire, he decided instantly, not a quarter mile distant.

"Look there," he said to the others, pointing.

They peered through the gray twilight with him and spied the smoke immediately. "A campsite ..." Tenerife said quietly, the words trailing off.

"Now we have to have a look!" Phryne insisted at once. "That's not too far for us to go! Is it, Tasha? It's not, is it?"

Her cousin did not reply at once. Panterra could tell that he was thinking it over. "It's not what we came to do, cousin," he repeated. "I don't know."

But he was clearly hesitating, and this did not escape Phryne. She turned to Pan. "We can go over there and take a quick look and come right back and go home. It won't take us that far out of our way and it won't use up hardly any time at all. You tell him, Pan. We can do this and maybe learn something important. Don't you want to know who's living out here after all these years?"

Pan did want to know, but he also didn't want to take one too many risks. They still had no idea how dangerous it was in this new world, and he didn't want to find out the hard way.

"We can go," Phryne pressed. "You and I. The others can wait here for us."

Prue stepped forward at once, her small frame stiff and her face set. "I will go with Pan," she declared. "He is my partner, and we know best how to look after each other." She took Panterra's arm. "Come on, let's get this over with. It's clear that you've made up your mind."

"Go on, then," Tasha called after them. "But watch yourself, the both of you!"

"Nothing will happen!" Pan called back bravely.

Prue dug her fingers into his arm so hard he flinched. "Not now, it won't," she muttered as she dragged him along.

PANTERRA WAITED JUST LONG ENOUGH to be certain they were out of hearing before wheeling on her. "Why are you acting like this?" he asked, careful to keep his voice low.

Her green eyes fixed him with a frosty glare. "Acting like what, Pan?"

"Like you're angry with me. Like it's somehow my fault. Why are you even going with me, anyway? You know you don't want to. You don't want anything to do with this!"

"True enough. But if I don't come with you, you'd go with Phryne and she might get you killed!"

He stared in shock. "Why do you say that? I'm not going to let anyone get me killed! I can take care of myself. Besides, who says I would go with Phryne?"

"You don't know yourself very well, do you? Not as well as I do, anyway. Trust me. You would go."

She turned away, as if dismissing him. He followed her in silence, seething. She was wrong, of course. He hadn't had any intention of going with Phryne, no matter what she thought. At least, he didn't think so. He would have told her no, and they would have turned back into the pa.s.s and started home. Even if she had insisted on going alone, he would have stopped her. Or Tasha would have. Even though he was interested in the source of the smoke and the possibility of contact with people living outside the valley, he wouldn't have gone. Prue was just wrong.

Yet now here he was, going with her instead of with Phryne. And he hadn't tried to stop her, either. What did that say about him?

He shrugged the matter off. It was too late to do anything about it now. Neither one of them would turn back at this point. They would have to sort it out later.

They stayed close to the rock walls of the cliffs as they made their cautious way toward the smoke, using clumps of scrub, piles of deadwood, and cl.u.s.ters of rock as cover, staying down in the gullies and ravines when they could. It was slow work made more difficult by the need to mask all sounds and keep their exposure to a minimum. They watched closely for unexpected dangers, aware that in this country there would be things they hadn't seen before, traps and pitfalls and predators they might miss if they weren't careful. They didn't talk anymore, but concentrated on the task at hand.

It took them less than an hour to reach a point where they were near enough to their destination to get a good look at the source of the smoke. Hidden in a shallow ravine grown thick with scrub, they were able to peer over the ravine's lip to where the smoke curled lazily out of a campfire smoldering in a ring of stones not fifty feet away. Packs of some sort were stacked to one side, and blankets lay neatly folded next to them. The camp's occupants were nowhere to be seen. Panterra cast an anxious glance in all directions, not liking that no one was visible and they couldn't be sure if anyone was close.

He looked over at Prue, and she shrugged. It was impossible for them to determine much of anything from the little they could see. He felt a keen sense of disappointment. This whole effort had been a waste of time. There was nothing they had learned by coming here that they didn't already know.

Except for one thing, he thought suddenly. They had determined that someone like them was alive out here, someone who carried packs and used blankets, which meant the world was still inhabited by beings like themselves and not just the beasts and dragons they had encountered.

They remained where they were, undecided about whether to stay or go, studying the camp, still hoping they would learn something more. Time pa.s.sed, and the darkness deepened. Nothing showed itself, nothing moved, and no sounds broke the stillness save once when a creature cried out sharply far off in the dark. The outside world felt huge and empty.

Finally, Pan reached over and touched her arm.

We need to get out of here, he mouthed.

She nodded, and they began backing down the slope of the ravine, intending to retrace their steps. But they had gotten only a few feet when Prue suddenly grabbed him and shook her head sharply, warning him to freeze. Something was wrong. She mouthed a silent explanation, but he couldn't make out what it was. She was looking everywhere, sensing danger but unable to pinpoint its source. Panterra searched the shadows with her, but the shadows fell in layers that filled the ravine. He couldn't see anything. He glanced back at her, wanting her to tell him if they could go, if they should flee, but Prue was still searching the darkness.

He dropped slowly into a crouch, steeling himself, trying to decide what to do.

Then a huge shadow fell over him, crashing down on him like a great weight and collapsing his world, and it was too late.

FIFTEEN.

HE IS SIXTEEN, LITTLE MORE THAN A YEAR OLDER than when he fell in love, when the bearer of the black staff comes to him. The appearance of the old man is entirely unexpected. Sider Ament knows who the bearer is and has even seen him now and then, but he has never spoken to him, has never even come close. Nor has the old man ever approached him as he does now, coming out of the trees.

Sider's first thought will haunt him for the rest of his life.

What does he want with me?

It is a question, he will think later, that he should never have asked.

It has been a wondrous year for the boy. The days have been filled with dreams of the girl from Glensk Wood. When they are together, some of those dreams are realized. But this happens all too infrequently, for he still lives on his parents' farm and must still find excuses to go down into the valley to see her. Yet when he cannot be with her, he thinks of her constantly. He imagines a life together, married with a home and children, inseparable. He knows it will happen one day, and he is impatient for it. He is consumed by his dreams and his expectations, and lost to everything else.

And now the old man comes to him.

It is an ordinary day, and he is working in the north pasture repairing the fencing where the livestock had broken through some days earlier, forcing him to collect them and bring them home. It is mindless work, and he is free to dream of what really matters to him. He knows he will see her again in less than a week's time, a visit to the village for supplies and materials already planned, the opportunity he needs. She will be waiting for him; she is always waiting for him. From the first time he was with her, he knew what their future would be. And though she did not say so, he could tell that she knew it, too.

He turns from his work and stands waiting as the old man comes up to him. He has known of him from the time he was a small boy. His father has told him of the bearer of the black staff, of his solitary life as guardian of the people of the valley. He has told him of the old man's legacy, of the history of his staff and the Knights of the Word. It is not common knowledge, but somehow his father knows. Perhaps he learned it from the travelers who sometimes pa.s.s through, the men and women of the high country who live apart from the rest of the world. Perhaps the old man himself has told him.

Either way, Sider has given the matter little thought. It has nothing to do with him.

"Sider Ament?" the old man asks, stopping a few feet away. He is leaning on the black staff, gripping it tightly with both hands. He looks tired. Even more, he looks haunted. It is there in his eyes, in the lines of his face, in the way he holds himself.

Sider nods but says nothing.

"You and I must talk," the old man declares. His voice is surprisingly gentle. "Walk with me."

Together they set out across the gra.s.sy slopes of his farm, a slow, meandering wander that lacks discernible purpose and destination and, in the end, needs neither. The day is warm and the air smells sweet, and it feels as if time has slowed. The old man's voice is rich and full, and while he looks weary, he sounds strong.

"I have been watching you," the old man says. "When I find time, when it is possible. I have been measuring you. I like what I see. Others speak well of you, your father especially. You have a direct and purposeful way that reflects your character. When you are given something to do, you see it through. You make no excuses for yourself. You accept work as a part of life and self-sacrifice as a part of work. You will make a fine life on this farm one day, should you choose to do so, but I think you are made for other things."

Sider does not understand what the old man means. He looks at him curiously, but the old man does not look back.

"This world we inhabit, here in the valley, is mostly good and nurturing, but it is fragile, too. It feels as if it will last forever, but it will not. No one wants to acknowledge this; no one ever wants to believe that what he has will not endure. This home was given to us as a safehold against the destruction of the old world, of the apocalypse that ended a civilization. It was given to us as a place in which we could survive until it was time to leave. That time approaches."

Now Sider is beginning to see what the old man means, but he cannot accept it. It makes no sense. "What are you saying?" he asks.

"I am saying that the end of our stay in this valley is coming, perhaps in your lifetime, and we must all prepare for it."

Sider shakes his head in disbelief. "How do we do that?"

"The transition will be difficult and not without cost. Coming into the valley was dangerous; leaving will be no less so. Almost no one will want to accept that it is necessary. But if they do not, it will be made clear to them in ways that are not pleasant. The outside world will not be as hesitant as they. The outside world will begin to encroach, and what lives there survived an almost total annihilation of life. Think what sort of creatures could manage to do that."

Sider does, and the images are not ones he cares to examine too closely. But he still does not see what the old man wants. "Shouldn't you discuss this with my father? He is a reasonable man. If you tell him what you have told me, I am sure he will do what he must to prepare our family."

He sounds so grown-up when he says it, as if he is the elder speaking to a young listener. The old man smiles. "Good advice. But that is not the reason I have come to you."

Sider studies the other quizzically. "Am I missing something?"

"Everything. But I find no fault in you for that. Why should you see so clearly in a matter of minutes what I have lived with for years? It will not be easy for you now or later. It will never be easy. But it will be important. It will matter."

He stops where he is and turns to face the boy. "This," he says, holding out the black staff, "is why I have come to you."

Sider looks at the staff, and then looks at the old man again. There is something in the other's eyes that borders on dangerous, but mostly there is that immense weariness, deep and abiding.

"Take it," the old man tells him. When Sider hesitates, he adds, "It will not harm you. But I want you to see what it feels like to hold it. There is a reason for this. Please do as I ask."

Sider is not afraid, but he is wary. He does not know the old man well enough to trust him completely. Nevertheless, he does not feel threatened by the request and does not want to refuse when there is no solid reason for doing so. He reaches out his hand and takes the staff.

As he does so, strange things begin to happen almost immediately. They are not so frightening or intimidating that he releases his grip, but they are both startling and unexpected. When he takes the staff from the old man, he finds it immensely heavy, as if it were cast in iron rather than carved from wood. But its weight changes almost immediately to something much lighter and more manageable. His grip, when he first grasps the staff, is uncertain and feels odd. But that changes, as well, and within seconds it feels comfortable, as if the staff is an old friend, as if it's something he has carried around for years and can't imagine being without.