"No!" she hissed. "It isn't them! Don't shoot-"
Startled, the rider below her swung his bow up and fired. Dezra ducked, twisting aside-and lost her balance as the shaft missed her completely. She dropped her dagger, wind-milled her arms, and toppled off the ledge, onto the fat rider. His bow went flying as he tumbled from his saddle, landing with a crash of armor. Dezra sprawled across the saddle, shaken but unhurt.
The horse, already skittish in the darkness, went completely berserk. Screaming, it reared and threw her off, then bolted back up the road. As it passed, the third horse followed suit, throwing its rider-the small, wiry one-as well. Only the first man, the muscular one, stayed upright. He turned, fumbling for a weapon.
"Don't," Trephas told him, rising from behind the log. "There's an arrow aimed at thy heart."
"Caramon?" the muscular one asked, his voice edged with fear. "Can you see her?"
Dezra had landed on top of the fat rider. He grunted and pushed her off, then stood up stiffly. "More or less," he said.
Dezra stared. "Father?"
Behind her, the wiry man groaned, lurching to his knees. "What in the blue Abyss is going on?"
"It's all right, Bor," said Caramon. "We found them. Or they found us. Or something."
He extended his big, meaty hand. She took it, and he hoisted her to her feet. She glanced at the wiry man-it was Borlos, the bard from the Inn-then at the muscular one who'd kept his horse. "Who's he?" she asked.
"That's Uwen," replied Caramon.
It took her a moment to put a face to the name: the oafish farmboy who'd saved her from falling off the bridge. The one who'd looked at her with those dumb, lovestruck eyes. She groaned.
"It's all right, Dezra," Uwen vowed. "You're safe now."
Dezra laughed scornfully and turned toward Trephas.
"Hear that? I'm safe. You can put down the bow."
Slowly, the bowstring relaxed. They all stood quietly, looking at one another. Dezra cleared her throat and looked at her father.
"So," she asked, "what in the Abyss are you doing here?"
It took a while to get sorted out; everyone was confused, and the darkness didn't help. Uwen retrieved the horses, and they continued afoot, leading the animals out of Shadow Canyon. The sun had set; the clouds glowed gold and rose as they wended toward the lowlands. Trephas led the way, bow in hand. Borlos and Uwen followed. Both were dad in plain leather armor. The bard wore a round-headed mace on his belt; the farmboy carried a stout axe. Behind them, separated by a fair distance, came Caramon and Dezra.
"I didn't come to rescue you," Caramon said.
Dezra nodded at Uwen. "He seems to think you did."
The farmboy was glowering at Trephas. She and the centaur had both explained that Trephas hadn't abducted her, that Dezra had accompanied him freely. Still, Uwen remained suspicious.
"If this isn't some dim-witted idea of a rescue," she pressed, "then why'd you come after me? Last night you never wanted to see me again."
Caramon's mouth was a hard line. "Your mother sent me. She's wants you to come home. I don't really care what you do."
"Good," Dezra snapped. "Because unless you conk me on the head and carry me back, I'm going on."
"Into Darken Wood." Caramon bared his teeth. "Why?"
"Because it isn't Solace."
Scowling, Caramon nodded ahead, at Trephas. "Tell me, girl-do you even know why that one wants your help?"
Dezra realized she wasn't sure. The story about a simple problem with rebels rang false, now that she knew the horsefolk were at war. The troubles in the forest ran deeper than Trephas had told her.
"That doesn't matter," she said stubbornly. "I've only agreed to go to this Ithax place to find out what the Circle wants. If I don't like it, I'll leave."
Caramon's brow creased. "You really think it'll be that easy?"
She bit her lip. "I'm getting paid for this," she growled.
"Oh," he said knowingly. "I'm sure the money will be a great comfort when you get yourself killed."
She glared at him. "Go home, Father. Take Borlos and that clod"-she jerked her thumb at Uwen-"with you. I don't want your help."
Before he could reply, she picked up her pace, striding quickly ahead. He took a few steps after her, then relented, watching her shove Uwen aside to join Trephas at the fore. He shook his head.
"Sure, Dez," he mumbled. "Don't worry about that."
10
The view from the Haven Road was spectacular, they were still high up in the hills, and the forest stretched out below them, the trees crowded together with little space between. The breaks among them were small and few: here a gap marking a meadow, there a snaking line where a stream flowed. The rest was a verdant ocean, rippling as the wind hissed through the leaves. It was the witchery of the place that made it lush when Solace's vallenwoods were still budding. The trees looked ordinary-aspens on the hills, dark oaks below-but something about them exuded a wild, deep power that was more felt than seen.
"Are we going to stand up here forever?" Dezra asked. "Or can we go down now?"
"D-down?" Uwen blurted, wide-eyed with awe.
"You're not scared, are you?" Dezra scoffed. She laughed as the farmboy's face reddened.
Borlos glared at her. "Have done, Dez. There's enough stories about Darken Wood to shiver a kender's skin."
"Ghost stories, you mean." She nodded at the trees. "The dead don't walk there any more."
Caramon nodded. "True. But what about those things who attacked you at Prayer's Eye?"
"The Skorenoi won't trouble us," Trephas declared. "These lands still belong to my people. But even so, we'll camp outside the Wood until morning."
Uwen let out a thankful sigh, and even Borlos and Caramon looked relieved. Dezra, however, eyed the centaur skeptically. She picked up an aspen leaf and began to rip pieces off it.
"What now, then?" she asked.
Caramon nodded down the slope. "We camp. There's a spot down there, at the wood's edge."
They followed his gaze, seeing a green sward, dotted with wildflowers, down by the tree line. A creek wended through it, forming a pond at the forest's rim.
"S-so close?" Uwen asked nervously. "Isn't there somewhere else?"
"You can stay in the middle of the road, if you want," Dezra snapped.
"Dezra," Borlos interjected. "Leave the kid alone."
She shot him a scathing look. "Why don't you go play your lute?" Turning, she started downhill.
It was a hard climb. The ground was loose and gravelly. The horses flared their nostrils, shying back when Caramon and the others tried to coax them down the slope. Finally Trephas, who'd followed Dezra partway down the hill, turned and climbed back up. He strode from one fidgeting horse to the next, making strange sounds. He blew out his lips, pranced sideways, and shook himself, whickering. The horses eyed him, then lowered their heads.
"Release the reins," he said. "Leave them to me."
Astonished, the others did as he bade. When he started back down the hill, the horses followed. The others gaped.
"Did he just do what I think he did?" asked Borlos. "Did he talk to them?"
"Why not?" Dezra called up. "He's at least as much horse as man, and he can speak our language well enough."
Down in the sward, Caramon and Uwen tethered the horses while Trephas walked in a broad circle, flattening the grass. Borlos sat on a log, tuning his lute. Dezra went to the creek and filled her waterskin.
It was dark when she returned. Caramon and Uwen walked toward the camp from the tree line, carrying armloads of dry, gray wood. "Don't worry," Caramon told Trephas. "It's all windfall-we didn't cut any. My brother Raist warned me never to harm anything in Darken Wood."
"I've heard tales of thy brother," Trephas said. "His wisdom is renowned, but in this case he overstated. It isn't forbidden to cut timber in Darken Wood, or gather berries or nutmeats… or even hunt. The only law is not to take more than we need. It's the way of Chislev: We don't mourn that which dies fulfilling its purpose in this world."