“I know it seems unusual, but he is telling the truth,” Foxpaw stuttered, seeing none of them make a move toward the trunk. “I’ve traveled in this manner myself once. It’s not uncomfortable. You should hurry though; go, before his patience runs out.” With herding motions, Foxpaw tried to get them to move toward the tree. All resisted him.

“No,” Five said simply. “This has gone far enough. You’re both liars and I’m not traveling a single step farther with you. Not without trust.”

“Trust?” Six asked darkly, eyebrows raised, his mouth pressed into a line. Spots of high color returned to Five’s cheeks.

“Aaargh!” Foxpaw cried, dancing from one foot to the other. “He’s closing the door—you must go now, or never find your friend’s trail.”

Sure enough, in front of them, Oakhammer’s mouth was closing, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“Forgive me,” Foxpaw cried, “but I can’t let you waste this opportunity when you’ve come so far.” He raised his hands, quickly sketched a bewildering profusion of patterns in the air, then shouted a word that slipped through Twelve’s senses and vanished. Before any of them could object, or even make a sound, the whole group was flung bodily into Oakhammer’s mouth, leaving Foxpaw alone in the Heart Grove.

Twelve tumbled through absolute darkness, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm. Desperately, she tried to find something to grab on to, but there was nothing. Then suddenly she was facedown on the ground, her nose and mouth filling with powdery snow, Widge’s claws digging into her painfully.

A scream dragged her to her feet, her senses reeling. Six was on his knees a few paces in front of her, his shoulders shaking. Twelve staggered forward and froze, unable to comprehend what she saw.

The group was on a snow-covered ridge. In the distance, its red stone walls unmistakable, stood the Hunting Lodge.

Oakhammer had tricked them.

They were back where they’d started.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

“I . . . I don’t understand.” Five’s face was a sickly white.

“Oakhammer lied to us,” Twelve snarled. “After all that, after . . .” Her voice wobbled and she stopped speaking. Widge crept out of her furs. Even his whiskers were trembling.

Six was still on his knees, shaking his head silently.

Dog went to him. “Get up, Six,” he said, his voice gentle. “Grab my fur.” Six stood, as unsteady as a newborn frost-deer.

“Are you all right?” Dog asked, nudging him with his nose.

Six turned staring eyes onto the Guardian. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” he whispered, desolate. “We’ll never find her now.”