Kerian glanced back, but Sa’ida’s lined, brown face betrayed no humor.
Several small, bright lights appeared on the ground ahead of them. Kerian tensed. Sa’ida wondered if they were the will-o’-the-wisps she’d mentioned. A few worried seconds later, the priestess felt her relax.
“They’re our campfires. Hold tight, Holy Mistress! We may arrive in time to discuss breakfast!”
This bit of irony was lost on Sa’ida, but she would understand soon enough. Food was so scarce in the valley many elves “discussed” meals rather than ate them.
Sa’ida held on as Eagle Eye lowered his head and dived toward the distant fires.
Robien the Tireless was once more on the trail but proceeding with greater caution. He’d had little respect for magic prior to Faeterus’s attack. Now, he knew to be more careful. The obvious trail left by the sorcerer also made him wary. Faeterus might be careless because he thought Robien dead, or he might be leading the hunter into fresh traps. Robien knew just how subtle such traps could be.
After his rescue by the elf warriors, he returned with them to their camp but slipped away unnoticed almost immediately. A party of explorers had found its way out of the tunnels, and the excitement over their return provided a perfect diversion. Although grateful to General Taranath
He donned his yellow spectacles and surveyed the terrain ahead. Two sets of footprints were plainly visible, glowing faintly green even where the trail crossed rocks. The tracks ascended the slope in short, stuttering strides. They were two days old, but Robien would not rush. The day was young yet. It would be better to overtake the sorcerer at day’s end. Faeterus would be tired from the long climb, and the setting sun would be behind Robien and in his quarry’s eyes.
When he pocketed his spectacles again, he was taken aback to find himself surrounded by elves. At first he thought them the Speaker’s people, but then he saw they had no legs-long, tangled hair and tattered clothing, and no lower limbs at all.
Ghosts.
He did not fear the dead. He’d been many places and seen many things, and all the ghosts he’d heard of seemed to him sad creatures, deserving more pity than fear. He made straight for those who stood in his path. The spirits raised no hand against him, but when he drew abreast of them, his arms and legs began to tingle. The sensation was not pleasant. Taking heed of the obvious warning, he drew back a few steps.
“Stand aside,” be commanded.
The ghosts reacted not at all, only stood silent and immobile. He started forward again. The effect was stronger and sent him stumbling backward, hissing in pain.
The line of spirits extended as far as he could see to left and right. He could not go around them. His sword passed through the ghosts without hindrance. He sheathed it again, frustrated.
“I must get through,” he said, and charged.
The shock hurled him to the ground and left him badly dazed, although only for a moment. When his head cleared, he no longer lay on the ground. He was being carried. The spectral figures were far more substantial than when he’d first seen them. Four had lifted him, and the others streamed ahead and behind. Their progress was silent as the sunlight.
Half-formed legs passed through the grass without shifting it at all. The ghosts were insubstantial as smoke, yet their grips on him were solid enough.
The bizarre procession passed between standing stones, their white surfaces washed golden by the morning sun. Robien craned his head up to see forward. Thus far, he’d felt only bemusement. A hunter of long experience, he sensed no menace in the creatures—a great and aching sadness but no menace. When he saw where they were taking him, bemusement vanished and he tried to fight.
A white stone monolith hovered above the ground. Twenty feet in length, it floated as though anchored in the air. Beneath it, a hole gaped. A crowd of ghosts stood around the hole, their empty eyes fixed on his approach. His limbs had gone numb and he had no strength. Attempts to shout met with the same lack of success.
Without a single word spoken, the ghosts dropped him into the hole. He fell eight or nine feet then hit bottom hard. His head swam but he had no trouble seeing the monolith descend, sealing him into the cold, black ground.
For all its evocative name, the Stair of Distant Vision was a great disappointment to Favaronas. The view was fine but hardly the revelation he had expected.
