“Trees and dirt,” Atalan muttered from behind Pen. “Nothing we haven’t encountered before.”

“And Urdas.”

Atalan snorted. “Savages.”

It seemed to Pen an odd comment coming from someone who looked vaguely like a walking tree stump, all bark and rough surfaces, as brutish and forbidding as anything that walked the Four Lands.

Kermadec must have thought the same. He looked at Atalan carefully. “Savages to us, but who are we to judge? In any event, I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss them. Urdas have lived in this valley since the destruction of the Old World. This is their ancestral home, and they regard it as sacred. Especially Stridegate. They will fight to protect it from outsiders. Like the Spider Gnomes on Toffer Ridge, they worship the creatures that share their abode, a symbiotic relationship, however one-sided, that influences their attitude toward intruders like us.” He paused. “There are a lot of them down there, brother.”

“Not enough to stop us, brother,” Atalan replied, giving an edge to the last word that left no doubt about how he viewed the relationship. “We are the stronger force, no matter how few we are.”

There was a hint of anger in Kermadec’s eyes and a muttering among the other Rock Trolls. “You have never been down there,” the Maturen said quietly. “I have. It isn’t just trees and dirt. It isn’t just Urdas, either. It is darkness of a different sort. Too many who thought as you do have disappeared into that darkness. If we are careless, we could end up the same way.”

“Then we won’t be careless, will we?” Atalan declared. His eyes flicked from his brother to Cinnaminson and Pen. “Lucky we have just the little people to help us. A blind girl who sees and a boy who speaks with lichen. What have we to fear?”

He shouldered his way forward and started down off the ledge, not bothering to see who might follow. Kermadec watched him go for a moment, then glanced back at the rest of the company and motioned them ahead.

The descent into the Inkrim was accomplished without incident. The trail down was not steep, though it was narrow and twisting, and at times even Pen, who was among the smallest, was forced to hug the cliff wall. The twilight deepened steadily all the while, and as it did so the valley came alive. Hushed before the change of light to dark, it began to hum and buzz with insect life. Night birds called out, their cries piercing and shrill as they took to the air in shadowy flocks, and Pen could hear grunts from ground animals, some recognizable, some not. He listened carefully as he walked and tried to sort them out. He searched for what sounded familiar amid the cacophony and failed.