Panic seized the horsefolk. Yelling, they pelted onward. An arrow grazed Arhedion's shoulder, drawing a line of blood; another shattered against his war harness. He ran on, heedless.
When the arrows finally stopped and the centaurs dared slow their pace, half the party was gone-including Iasta. Arhedion felt sick at this, but resisted the temptation to go back. Several of the other centaurs started to turn, clearly having the same urge.
"No!" he snapped. "They're gone! Get back to the others!"
They did, hearts hammering, pausing briefly to gather the rest of the party before plunging on. Finally, after they'd been galloping for more than an hour, they slowed their pace.
"We lost them," said one of the scouts. "They gave up the chase!"
Arhedion shook his head. "No. They'll come, sooner or later, all the way to Ithax. This is just the beginning."
25
Like the cave where the dryad had left them, there were no doors or tunnels leading out of the sprites' cavernous prison. Fanuin and Ellianthe solved the problem by flying up to a wall and parting the stone. A passage opened with a loud scraping sound.
Unlike the way Pallidice had taken them, the passage was solid granite, shot through with white crystals that glittered in the bug-lamps' light. It was cold, and their footsteps echoed eerily. Behind them, the stone sealed shut again, grinding noisily.
Caramon and Dezra shared Trephas's impatience. With the time they spent here multiplied thirtyfold in Darken Wood, even the passage of minutes became dreadful. Only Borlos seemed at ease, sharing stories with the sprites as they walked. The fey folk had an insatiable appetite for tales, and for them, even the War of the Lance was little more than a year in the past. There was much they hadn't heard. In turn, they told Borlos of times long past. Though Fanuin and Ellianthe were young, they remembered the glory of Istar and other ancient realms. Borlos listened to their stories, his gaze distant, a bemused smile curling his lips. It was a simpleton's grin, the same look he'd had after the dryad pulled him into her tree.
The gray stone surrounding them yielded, more and more, to shining crystal. The air grew warmer. Then, with no more warning than a sudden blast of wind, the tunnel ended in open air and a dark, starry sky. The sprites flew out of the passage; Borlos nearly followed, but Trephas pulled him back.
"Careful," the centaur warned. "Another step, and thou would have regretted it."
Borlos looked down, past his feet, and gasped.
"What's the matter?" Caramon asked, craning to see.
Dezra elbowed forward and followed Borlos's gaze down. She caught her breath, her eyes wide. "Huma's wooden teeth," she swore.
The tunnel had opened in the middle of a sheer cliff of white crystal, high above the ground. They were somewhere in the mountains-that much was clear from the shadowed crags before them-but that was all Dezra could tell. "Oh," she grumbled. "Well, that's just marvelous."
"Where are the sprites?" Caramon asked.
"Gone. Bloody bugs stranded us here," Dezra said. She threw up her hands. "What do we do now? Grow wings?"
Trephas chuckled. "That's what I said yesterday, when they took me to the Laird. Don't fret: they'll come back."
A brief eternity later, they heard a familiar sound: the flutter of wings. The sound grew steadily louder, then a broad, flat shape emerged from the darkness.
Caramon squinted, trying to make it out. "It looks like a blanket."
They saw, as it got closer, that it was just that: large enough to cover a king's bed, and well-woven in blue and gold. Several dozen sprites carried it toward the cliff, pulling it taut as they approached. They swooped down out of sight, then rose back up, coming to a hovering stop a yard past the tunnel's end. Fanuin and Ellianthe flew forward to float before the companions.
"It would be best," said Ellianthe, "if ye take off yer boots afore ye climb on the lugruidh."
The companions stared at the blanket, their faces the color of whey. "It'll never hold us all," Caramon hissed. "Even if it was just Trephas or me-"
"It was just me, yesterday," the centaur put in. "And earlier today, when I came back to fetch thee. Besides, we don't have much choice-this is the only way to go."
"All right," Borlos said. "I'll go first."
He pulled off his boots, then tossed them and his packs over. Holding his breath, he sprung forward, into the void. The lugruidh dipped slightly as he landed, then the sprites recovered and lifted it back up again. Borlos turned back to the others and grinned.
"It's fine," he said. "Come over."
Trephas followed, then, reluctantly, Caramon stepped across the gap. He let out a yell, the lugruidh dropping several feet, then sat down heavily as the sprites again arrested its fall. Dezra wrung her hands, staring at it in disgust.
"Come on, Dez," Caramon said. The lugruidh wobbled as he got to his feet. "I'll catch you."
"No," Dezra insisted. "I'll do it myself."
They gave her room, clearing as large a space as they could. She tossed her boots to Trephas, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Just then, she heard the scraping sound of the stone against stone. She didn't need to glance back to know the tunnel was closing behind her. She leapt, and the passage sealed shut, as if it had never been.
"Do you have any idea where we are?" Caramon asked Borlos as they glided among the mountains. He and the bard sat together, hunched in their cloaks to ward off the cold wind. Dezra and Trephas stood at the lugruidh's forward edge, talking with the sprites.
Borlos snorted. "Are you kidding? Even if it were daytime, I don't think I'd have a clue. I wouldn't even wager we were on Krynn at all, except for the stars."
Caramon glanced up. Sure enough, the stars were all there, even the red one that always shone in the north. "Well," he allowed, "I guess that's a relief."
The miles slid by, the lugruidh moving with surprising speed. The sprites didn't seem to tire, and passed the time by singing in their lilting tongue. The melody was strange, mixing joy and melancholy in a manner an elven harper would have envied. Borlos tried to play along on his lyre, but his deft fingers proved too clumsy to capture the song's unearthly beauty. He put the instrument away.
After an hour-more than a day in the outside world-a distant light appeared. It was a bluish glow, like the bug-lamps, coming from behind a ridge between two snowy mountaintops. Fanuin and Ellianthe called out, and the sprites' song changed to a simpler, brighter tune. The lugruidh turned toward the light, picking up speed. Now they were three miles from it, now two, now one… .
Then, suddenly, there were sprites all around them, bows drawn. Caramon regarded them warily. He had a feeling their arrows weren't tipped with harmless sleep-poison.
"Keep still," he told Borlos.
"I couldn't move if I wanted to," the bard replied tensely, staring at the sprites.
Fanuin and Ellianthe buzzed forward to speak with the leader of the archers. After a quick, unintelligible conversation, the commander yelled to his bowmen. “Nadh mhoirra!" he called. "Fin oc Guithern."
The archers lowered their bows, falling in on either side of the lugruidh as it moved on, toward the ridge.
Fanuin flitted over to the humans, doffing his cap. "I'm sorry if we frightened ye. Goidrach there-he's the one we talked to-is in charge of making sure no one intrudes on my father's court. He's quite good at it, as ye saw."
"But how'd they sneak up on us?" Dezra asked. "I didn't see them coming-they were just there, all of a sudden."