Tanglemane nodded and knelt, motioning for Arvin and Karrell to get on his back. Arvin started to climb on then heard the creak of a bow being drawn. He turned his head just in time to see one of the satyrs-the one who had dragged Theyron's body back-standing inside
the brambles with a bow held at full draw. Arvin ducked as the satyr let his arrow fly.
The satyr wasn't aiming at Arvin however, but at the wolves. One of them yelped as the arrow struck it.
"Let's go," Arvin shouted, boosting Karrell onto Tanglemane's back.
Tanglemane, however, crumpled to his knees, spilling her to the ground. The centaur staggered to his feet a moment later, clutching his chest. A thin line of blood trickled out from beneath his hands.
"Tanglemane," Karrell said, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
Even as she asked the question, Arvin realized the answer. The arrow had struck White Muzzle, and the fate link had caused Tanglemane to suffer an identical wound.
The satyr shot another arrow. This one struck another wolf in the head, instantly killing it.
The pack bolted, White Muzzle in the rear, limping.
Arvin silently cursed his stupidity; he should have guessed that the satyr would pick up another bow when he returned to the camp.
The satyr nocked another arrow. This time, he turned toward Arvin as he drew his bow.
"Wait!" Arvin shouted. "If you shoot me, you'll never get these back." He flourished the pan pipes then vanished them into his glove.
"The pipes are inside my glove," he told the satyr, splaying his fingers wide to show that they had truly vanished. "And I'm the only one who can work the glove's magic. Kill me, and you'll lose the pipes forever." He paused to let that sink in then added, "Let us leave the forest, and I'll give the pipes back to you. They're useless to me-I have no interest in keeping them. I'll leave them at the forest's edge for you. Do we have an agreement?"
The satyr lowered his bow a fraction and turned to speak to his fellows. Low murmuring followed. As the satyrs conferred, Arvin glanced at Tanglemane. The centaur's face was pale; his legs trembled. Only a trickle of blood seeped from the wound; the arrow must have still been buried in White Muzzle's flesh. Given her limited, animal intelligence, she would probably flee from the pain until she dropped, until she died.
"Agreed!" the satyr shouted back. "You may leave."
Cautiously, Arvin and Karrell backed away from the brambles, leading the injured Tanglemane. The satyr held his fire.
Tanglemane was able to walk, but he gasped with each breath.
Arvin touched the crystal at his throat. "Nine lives," he pleaded.
Tanglemane was going to need them. Even if the satyrs kept their end of the bargain, the centaur was unlikely to make it out of the woods.
CHAPTER 13
Arvin squatted beside Tanglemane, gently repositioning the blood-soaked bandage he'd made earlier from pieces torn from his shirt. The centaur had proved stronger than Arvin expected; he'd walked for some distance through the forest before crumpling to his knees. Karrell had cast a healing spell on him just after they'd left the satyr camp, but it had only helped a little bit. The wound in the side of his chest was still open, still seeping blood. It was a hollow hole that, on White Muzzle, would have been filled with an arrow shaft. It was a wonder the wolf had survived this long, with an arrow still in her. Every now and then the flesh around the puckered hole quivered; Arvin realized that White Muzzle must have been licking her wound, jostling the arrow around.
He hoped that meant she had found somewhere safe to hole up-somewhere predators wouldn't find her.
"Hang on, Tanglemane," Arvin urged, one hand on the centaur's shoulder. "It's almost sunset. The fate link will end soon." For the hundredth time, he wished he could dispel the power, but once manifested, a fate link endured for its full duration.
The centaur's breathing was labored now. He sat with head bowed and eyes screwed shut, as if trying to block out the pain. Had he been human, Arvin and Karrell might have carried him, but the centaur must have weighed three times their combined weight.
Karrell beckoned Arvin to her and nodded at the darkening forest. "The satyrs are still following us."
"It's not the satyrs I'm worried about," Arvin said. "I keep wondering where Naneth is-why she hasn't teleported back to squeeze more information out of me."
"She would have to find us first."
Arvin jerked a thumb in the direction of the dark shapes flitting through the forest. "Easily done. She just has to ask them where we are."
"Perhaps," Karrell said in a low voice, "that is what she is doing. She must hope we will lead her to Glisena."
Arvin nodded. It made sense for Naneth to allow them to think they had escaped. While the satyrs kept an eye on them, she could check up on the story Arvin had told her. But for all Naneth knew, Arvin might have teleportation magic-magic he'd used to spirit Glisena away. She was taking a big risk-for all she knew, Arvin might just vanish from the forest.
He paused to rub his forehead; his wound was itching again. The lapis lazuli was still in place; he'd used it just after they left the satyr camp to let Tanju know that Glisena had been found, that there was a demon inside her-and that Sibyl's plans had been thwarted. Tanju had commended Arvin for a job well done. After speaking to his mentor, Arvin had left the lapis lazuli where it was; removing it would have meant tearing open the scab that had already formed over it. Now he wondered if that had been wise. On two other occasions during their flight through the forest he'd felt a peculiar sensation behind the stone, deep in his "third eye"-a soft fluttering, like an eyelid rapidly blinking. He felt it again now. It was almost as if his third eye were trying to focus on something it couldn't quite see.
Along with it came an uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Arvin had assumed this was because the satyrs were following them, but now he began to wonder if there was something more to it. Was someone trying to manifest a sending?
No, that wasn't quite right. A sending created, in the recipient's mind, a mental image of the person dispatching the image. A failed sending produced no sensation at all. It simply… failed. This was somewhere between the two. It was almost as if someone had manifested the link that made a sending possible… without conveying any message.
Suddenly, Arvin realized the cause: Naneth was using her crystal ball to spy on them.
A chill ran through him as he wondered what he'd already given away. Had he said anything that would indicate the baron had teleported Glisena back to Ormpetarr while Naneth had been scrying on them? He hoped not.
Karrell was staring at Arvin, her brow creased. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"The satyrs," Arvin told her in a low voice-one just loud enough for Naneth to also hear. "They're listening. Say nothing, or Wianar will have our heads. And keep up the pretense in front of the centaur. Pretend that we're headed for Ormpetarr; if the satyr lives, he'll help throw Foesmasher off the scent."
Karrell's frown deepened, and for a moment Arvin worried that she was going to blurt out something that would give the game away. Then she nodded-though there was still a hint of confusion in her eyes.
A moment later, Arvin felt the fluttering in his forehead fade away. He waited, making certain it was gone, then whispered urgently to Karrell. "Naneth was just scrying on us. I can sense when she's doing it. If it happens again, I'll signal you. If 1 do this"-he formed a V with the first two fingers of his right hand and touched his shoulder: the sign, in silent speech, that someone was spying-"it means Naneth is listening. Be careful what you say."
"I will."
Behind them, Tanglemane gave a loud groan and tried to rise to his feet. Arvin and Karrell hurried to his side.