Faster, she urged herself silently. Or maybe she was urging him. Run faster!

When Arling was forced out of Safehold's dark entrance and back into the deeper blackness of the tunnels, she was already preparing to break free. She couldn't expect help from Aphen and Cymrian-not realistically-so she would have to provide the help she needed herself. It was scary to think of trying to do much of anything with a knife at her throat and her hair clutched in Edinja's fist, but there was no other choice if she wanted to avoid being hauled off to Arborlon and sacrificed not for the good of the Elves and the other Races, but to serve Edinja's twisted purposes.

The distinction was clear in her mind. The end result might be the same, but the means and the intent were decidedly different. She didn't want for any of what was foreordained to transpire without Aphenglow beside her. She would need her sister's strength, and she was determined she would have it. What she would do when she reached Arborlon, she would do only on her own terms.

Edinja had gotten her the largest part of the way back to the opening into the Hollows when she gave a terrible scream-a sound that lay somewhere between rage and despair. For an instant she relaxed her grip on Arling, dropping to her knees as if stricken. Arling, seeing her chance, twisted free and fled through the tunnels toward freedom.

She was halfway across the clearing that separated the entrance to the tunnels beneath Spire's Reach from the surrounding woods when Edinja caught up to her. A tangling of her legs from an unseen force was her first indication of the other's presence, a magic spell used to bring her down. She collapsed helplessly, and then the sorceress was on top of her, dragging her back to her feet by her hair.

"They've killed her!" Edinja Orle screamed, the words an earsplitting shriek that reverberated through the mist-shrouded air. "My Cinla!"

An instant later Cymrian burst through the opening into the caves and came for them. He did so at a dead run, no slowing, no equivocation. Blood was sheeted across the entire front of his tunic, and his white hair was wild and loose about his face. Edinja started to turn when she heard him, but hesitated just a fraction of a second. It was enough. Arling grabbed onto the other's knife arm, slammed the back of her head against her captor's exposed face, and wrenched free of the grip on her hair. Edinja screamed, broke the girl's hold on her arm, and slashed at her. A deep rent opened across Arling's chest, and blood turned her tunic crimson.

Then Edinja turned on Cymrian, both hands raised in a warding motion. Whatever magic she had invoked, it threw the Elven Hunter off his feet and sent him tumbling backward. But Arling flung herself on the sorceress once more, ignoring the pain of her wound and the sight of blood soaking through her tunic. She grappled with the witch, trying to pin her arms, to throw her to the ground. But even though Edinja was smaller than Arling, she was unexpectedly strong, and quickly broke her grip.

By now Cymrian had struggled back to his feet. He threw himself on Edinja, tearing her away from Arling and bearing her to the ground. Arling heard the force of the impact as they collided, saw Edinja's knife flash into view, and then Cymrian was on top of her with his hands around her throat. She thrashed wildly, trying to break free. But the knife had disappeared, and her hands were empty. Her arms and legs flailed as she tried to throw him off, but he was too strong. She attempted to summon her magic, but her voice was choked off and her hands flapped uselessly. Cymrian kept his grip on her throat and did not loosen it until she went limp and her breathing was stilled.

But when she was dead, he slumped forward and rolled onto his back, and Arling saw Edinja's knife buried in his chest.

Aphen burst into view, saw the blood from Arling's wound, and rushed first toward her. But Arling, struggling to rise, motioned frantically toward Cymrian, and after a quick glance Aphen changed directions. By the time Arling had torn off the sleeves of her tunic and used the folded cloth to stanch the flow of blood from her knife cut, her sister was already at the Elven Hunter's side, bending over him. Dragging herself closer, Arling could hear them whispering.

"Hold on," her sister was urging. "Let me help you. I can use healing magic. I can mend your wounds. I just need a little time ..."

His hand lifted to take hold of hers. "Just ... remove the knife."

She hesitated, but then fastened her hand about the handle of the blade and pulled it free.

"Better. I don't want ... to die with that sticking out of me."

His voice was strong in spite of his injuries. There was blood everywhere. Where the knife had been extracted, it bubbled from his chest.

"Arling?" he asked.

"Just a superficial wound." Aphen glanced over, making sure, and Arling quickly nodded in reassurance. Aphen turned back. "I can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"Just stay with me. It won't ... be for very long."

She was crying freely. "You should have waited for me!"

"There wasn't time. Besides, the moor cat ..." He trailed off. "Things were ... already decided."

Aphen put her hands over her face, ignoring the blood that streaked them.

"Take Arling ... home," Cymrian said. "Don't let ... anything stop you. Arling is decided. She knows. Don't ... make her doubt herself. Help her ... stay strong."

Aphen nodded, her mouth a tight line. She took her bloodied hands away from her face and placed them over his.

"I wish I had more time ..."

"You know I love you," she interrupted.

His eyes steadied on hers. "I know."

"I should have said it more often. I should have done more for you."

"You did enough. Don't question it. Just remember ..."

He coughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth. Aphen bent down quickly and they whispered hurried words to each other that Arling couldn't hear. Aphen clutched at him as if to hold him back from what was coming. It wasn't enough. Seconds later, he sighed and went still.

When Aphen lifted away from him, she had a look on her face that Arling had never seen before.

It was a look of utter despair.

That night, as Aphen lay wrapped in her grief, unable to think or act, Arling asked her sister what she had said to Cymrian. The Elven Hunter's body lay wrapped in blankets and sheeting at the rear of the vessel's cockpit. Aphen had refused to leave him, even though he had asked her to, telling her not to waste time but to just go.

"He never thought of himself," she said. "Not once."

"He didn't love himself like he loved you." Arling waited a moment before asking again. "What did you say?"

Aphen looked down at her blood-streaked hands. She had done a poor job of cleaning them, but she didn't seem to care. "I told him I loved him enough that one day I would find him again. I would come for him wherever he was and we would be together." She paused, shaking her head. "Stupid words. Foolish promises. But I meant them."

"What did he say?" Arling pressed.

Her sister began to cry. "He said he would be waiting."

CHAPTER Twenty-seven

Their journey to reach the huge pit that occupied the center of the valley required Redden Ohmsford and his companions to proceed much more slowly than they wanted to. Huge cracks split the floor, some of them hidden by brush and rock until they were right on top of them. In daylight-or as much daylight as there ever was within the Forbidding-it would have been an acceptable risk. But with nightfall coming on and the already weakened light rapidly giving way to treacherous shadows, it became especially dangerous.

At the same time, none of them wanted to be caught out in the open after darkness where they would be exposed and vulnerable to predators.

If not for Tesla Dart, the boy and the shape-shifter would have been hopelessly handicapped by their unfamiliarity with the terrain and their inability to cover the distance demanded of them in time. But the Ulk Bog had no trouble finding her way even in the closing dark and kept them moving steadily across the valley floor toward their goal, urging them on with hisses and grunts and anxious movements of her head, all the while warning of unseen dangers and potential pitfalls. She scampered and darted as if possessed, a mirror image of the Chzyk Lada, who by now only appeared in flashes of muted color when coming back to speak with his mistress. The odd procession snaked its way across the blasted earth in short, choppy bursts and with constant shifts of direction, led mostly by the small lizard.

"It would help if we were Chzyks, too," Oriantha observed at one point.

It was almost completely dark when they reached the edge of the pit, the skies overcast with high clouds and low-hanging layers of mist, the air dry and murky within the vast cup of the valley's walls. On reaching their goal, Tesla brought them to a halt and pulled them close.

"Now we choose. Go down in dark or wait for light. Sleep until sun or use torch."

"Which do you think?" Oriantha asked.