“I wish you would tell me how you came by that sorcerer’s bag, Rye,” Dirk said quietly.
Rye jumped as his brother’s voice broke into his thoughts. Dirk had turned to look at him and was eyeing the brown bag uneasily.
“Why will you not tell me?” Dirk persisted. “Did you steal it?”
“Of course not!” Rye protested, feeling the heat rise into his face. “But I swore I would not tell how I came by it, and I cannot break my promise. It is like your being unable to tell Faene about Weld, Dirk, because of the volunteers’ oath of secrecy.”
Dirk frowned. It infuriated him that because of his oath to the Warden it had been left to Sonia to tell Faene about Weld, about the skimmers, about the three magic Doors — gold, silver, and wood — that were the only way through the Wall.
“I swore no oath,” Sonia had said. “And even if I had, it would not have stopped me telling you, Faene. After all, we are taking you to Weld! It is absurd not to talk about it. But Dirk and Rye are very law-abiding. People in Weld are, you will find. They like to follow rules. It is very tedious.”
Faene had smiled uncertainly. Her soft blue eyes were wide — and no wonder! Like the people of Oltan, Faene had thought that Dirk, Rye, and Sonia came from the exiles’ secret camp in the east. She had been prepared to follow Dirk there. Now she found that his home was an old, forgotten city that could only be reached by traveling through the forbidden forest she had feared all her life.
“But — why do you have to go back into Weld at all?” she had asked. “Why not just begin your search for Sholto and the skimmers from here?”
Dirk sighed. “I considered that. But I wished to see you settled safely in the Keep of Weld before I left you again, Faene. And Rye has persuaded me —”
“The Doors are magic, Faene,” Rye broke in as the young woman turned her reproachful blue gaze on him. “They could lead … anywhere. The golden Door led Dirk here. But I am certain that Sholto would have chosen the silver Door. So to be sure of picking up his trail, we must go through the silver Door ourselves. Do you see?”
Faene looked doubtful. She glanced at Sonia, who cheerfully proceeded to make things worse.
“Of course, we will have to keep our return secret,” Sonia said. “I cannot imagine what the Warden would do if he heard we had brought a stranger through the Wall! He thinks you are all barbarians out here — and everyone else in Weld thinks so, too.”
She shrugged at Faene’s startled expression. “Of course, we know better now,” she went on. “But the Warden will not listen to us. And, more important, he would certainly forbid Rye and Dirk to leave Weld again. He is obsessed with safety and would not allow them to risk their lives a second time. So we will climb up the chimney from the Chamber of the Doors, and I will lead you to a safe hiding place.”
“Chimney?” Faene repeated blankly. Dirk scowled at Sonia, who grinned, but wisely said no more.
Faene had been very quiet ever since that conversation, and Dirk, Rye knew, feared that she was changing her mind about going to Weld. Rye suspected, too, that the nearer to the Fell Zone they came, the more Dirk wondered if he should be asking Faene to face its terrors. Dirk’s only weapon, the great skimmer hook he had brought from Weld, had been taken from him after his capture in Olt’s fortress. He had learned to trust Rye’s speed ring and concealing hood. But would they be enough to keep Faene safe?
Looking at his brother’s worried face now, Rye was tempted to tell him that the Fell Zone might not be the problem they feared. But as he hesitated, Faene stood up from the grave, Dirk went to meet her, and the moment passed.
It was just as well, Rye thought, following them from the courtyard with Sonia. He had not tested his idea. For all he knew, it was quite wrong. It might have been cruel to raise Dirk’s hopes.
As they left the guesthouse, Faene glanced around as if she was searching for something. But there was nothing out of place. Everything was clean and bare. Outside, the stream that ran by the road babbled and sang on its way to the coast. The sound seemed very loud in the silence.
Faene turned to Dirk, her eyes swimming with tears. “I thought they might have left a message for me,” she murmured. “Just in case I returned …”
Dirk put his arm around her. “They thought you were dead, Faene.”
She nodded and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
Rye turned quickly away and pretended to be interested in the scrawl on the welcome board.
Rye grimaced. The words barely made sense. The untidy writing, with its jumble of large and small letters, looked like the work of an overexcited child.
It was strange. Everything else in the deserted town had been left in perfect order. This sign was the only jarring note.
Something occurred to him. He looked at the words again, more closely. Then he laughed aloud.
Faene’s head jerked up. She stared at Rye in hurt confusion. “I am sorry,” she said rather stiffly, wiping her eyes. “I am being foolish, I know. But —”
“No, Faene!” Rye cried, stabbing his finger at the board. “Look! Nanion and the others did not forget you. They did leave you a message! But they disguised it! They must have felt they had to, for safety. They did not know Olt would die! Read the capital letters — just those!”
Faene blinked at the board.
“F-A-E-N-E …” Her jaw dropped.
Dirk whooped. Sonia exclaimed and clapped her hands.
Faene’s face was a picture of wondering joy.
“FAENE!” she read. “GO TO FITZFEE.”
After that, Faene was as keen as everyone else to hurry on. But it was not because she wanted to reach the Fell Zone. It was because the FitzFee goat farm lay in the same direction.
“Why did I not think of FitzFee before?” she called to Dirk as they sped through the range of low hills beyond Fleet. “He was Nanion’s good friend. And he was the one who brought you to us, Dirk, barely alive after the bloodhog attack. If it had not been for him, we would never have met!”
She seemed to have no doubt that they would go to the farm — even stay there for a day or two. And plainly Dirk thought there would be no harm in the delay, if it pleased Faene.
Rye felt very differently. Sorry as he was for Faene and happy as he would be to see Magnus FitzFee again, a feeling of urgency was growing within him. With every step, the feeling became stronger. He had the sense that time was running out, and that every moment’s delay was dangerous.
Dangerous for Sholto. Dangerous for Weld itself.
Rye was sure that Sonia felt the same way. She kept shooting frowning looks in his direction as if she was willing him to speak. But how could he ask Faene to ignore the message that had meant so much to her?
So he just ran on, past green fields and tiny villages, trying not to think, refusing to meet Sonia’s eyes.
By the time the giant trees of the Fell Zone were looming ahead, however, his feeling of urgency had become almost unbearable. And as the companions turned to the left, where the Oltan road met the rutted track that ran beside the forest fringe, Sonia took matters into her own hands.
“The bridge that crosses the stream is ahead,” she shouted over the sound of the wind. “That is where we left the Fell Zone. So that is where we should enter it, to return to Weld. Do you agree, Dirk?”
“Oh yes,” Dirk answered stiffly, tightening his grip on Faene’s hand. “When the time comes.”
Sonia drew breath to reply. Rye slowed, pushed back the hood, and braced himself for an argument. And at that moment, a green cart drawn by an old brown horse rattled across the bridge and began trundling toward them.