He sniffed, able to smell the magic’s residue even now, pungent and raw. He stared off into the darkness. Even without light, he could see perfectly well—but of course there was nothing to be seen. He was alone, back where he had started when he stumbled on the Trolls trying to break into this aged fortress.

He licked out with his tongue, tasting the stale air. What should he do about the girl? What should he do about finding the one who carried the black staff, the one he had come to find? He shook his head, mulling his choices.

Grosha had said something about a valley. This was where the girl had come from. Which meant that the bearer of the black staff might come from there, as well. He nodded to himself. He had his starting point.

Turning around, he began retracing his steps, intent on retrieving the collection of scraps he had dropped outside. It wouldn’t do to leave his memories. The dead needed their due. Yes, he was impatient, but good things come to those who wait.

As he walked, he hummed and then began to sing.

Ragpicker, ragpicker, take your time.

There are plains to walk and mountains to climb.

Ragpicker, ragpicker, find your way.

The black staff’s bearer comes closer each day.

He smiled eagerly as he disappeared into the darkness, anxious to resume his long search for the one he had come to kill.

Chapter Four

PANTERRA QU KNELT BESIDE SIDER AMENT, ONE hand resting on the dead man’s chest, looking off toward the pass at Declan Reach. Time didn’t have meaning for him. Time had come to a standstill, the world stopped where it was, everything as still and immutable as the mountains and the sun in the sky.

Take the staff.

Sider’s words echoed in his mind, the last spoken by the Gray Man before he died, a plea to Pan to accept responsibility for what needed doing. A bearer for the black staff must be found—a protector for the people of the valley, a wielder of magic who could withstand the demands that would be laid upon him. It was easy to forget, in the crush of things that had transpired since the agenahls had broken through Sider’s wards and come into the valley to kill Bayleen and Rausha, that five centuries of knowing their world was safely locked away from the devastation of the Great Wars had come to an end.

Take the staff.

A bird cried out from somewhere high up in the mountain peaks, and Pan’s eyes shifted skyward. A sleek winged predator was hunting, sweeping in wide circles across the open skies. Pan watched its flight, suddenly fascinated. A hawk, he thought. Maybe it was an omen. Maybe it was the spirit form of the boy who had saved them all those years ago, looking down on them.

Looking down on him.