Farilane thought a moment. It was not an easy shift. She felt as if she had been sprinting hard and then asked to immediately run in the opposite direction—backward. She would have stumbled even with her inherited elven traits if this were a physical challenge. But Farilane was practiced in mental gymnastics. For years, she had enjoyed playing games of strategy, and as few could challenge her, she played against herself. This was like that, and it took only the span of a deep breath to reorient.

“All right, if this is an illusion,” Farilane said in a tone that let them both know she did not agree with this premise at all, “something must have created it. If something created it, there must be a reason. Murder comes to mind, but as there are so many easier and more direct means of killing the three of us, I would rule that out. Manipulation then becomes the obvious answer. This comes in two flavors: to make us do something we wouldn’t normally, or to prevent us from acting on a plan. Since we’ve been stuck in a circle, it seems likely that someone is trying to stop us from either passing through this forest in general, or it is possible the intention is more specific and trying to stop us from finding Dibben Monastery.” She looked at the two sides of the path. “A monster on this side and a pretty light on that one suggests that whoever is creating these things doesn’t want us to go in the direction of the red-eyed tabor. Which of course means that’s the way we should go. But if all this were true—if magic does exist—I would expect to encounter another illusion stopping us.”

“Agreed.” Kile adjusted his pack, took a deep breath, and stepped off the greenway into the trees on the monster’s side.

“But magic doesn’t exist!” she shouted after him.

This did nothing to halt his determination, and Farilane was forced to follow him or face the possibility of their becoming separated. Sheldon, confronted with the same dilemma, chased after her, and soon they were all deep in the trees. They had only gone a few hundred feet when they reached an impressive cliff. The forest floor fell away into a sheer rocky precipice that plummeted a dizzying two hundred feet, at least. At the bottom, Farilane could clearly see jagged rocks protruding like fangs.

“What do you think, Mister Faust?” Kile asked, placing a foot on the edge. “More fog?”

Sheldon nodded. “It’s not real. It can’t be.”

“What are you talking about?” Farilane said. “Why can’t it be real?”

Kile shifted forward.

Farilane grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

“It isn’t real. Mister Faust just said so.”