“Khyber Elessedil!” Kermadec called out. He beckoned her forward. The rest of the company closed in behind them, sensing that things were about to change. “Can you work a little Druid magic to make them move back?” the Maturen asked.

She frowned. “I can. But if I do that—”

“Yes, it may give us away to the Druids,” he cut her short. “But if you don’t, the Urdas are going to try to take us prisoner. They have made up their minds that we intend to invade the ruins, and they won’t allow it. There are too many to fight. Magic offers us our best chance of escaping, even if you use just a little of it. They are afraid of what they don’t understand.”

She glanced back at Pen, giving him a look that suggested this was all his fault. “All right,” she agreed. “I can scare them. Then what happens?”

Kermadec shrugged. “Then, we run. If we can get to the ruins, they won’t follow us in. The ruins are sacred ground, forbidden to them. They’ll leave us to the spirits.”

Of which we already know there are some, Pen thought. But he understood they hadn’t any better choice.

“Stand ready,” Khyber said, her hands already beginning to weave in small circles.

An instant later, the air was filled with bits of fire that screamed and flew in all directions, a cloudburst of sound and light that sent the Urdas scrambling away in terror.

“Run!” Kermadec shouted.

The Trolls and their charges raced ahead through the trees and shadows. Kermadec led the way. As big as he was, he moved like a deer, leaping and bounding past scrambling Urdas and around ancient trunks with his war club swinging. Cinnaminson ran with Pen, holding his hand, letting him lead the way. The forest was open enough that she could do so, and he matched his pace to hers, quickly discovering she was almost as swift as he was.

Behind them, Tagwen lumbered mightily, his breath coming in short gasps, his stubby legs churning.

The whirlwind of fire darts lasted another few minutes, and then it faded, leaving a residue of smoke trails that lifted toward the canopy like tiny butterflies. It took a few minutes for the Urdas to collect themselves, and then they were in pursuit. They came through the trees in droves, small, wiry bodies leaping and scrambling, calling out in sudden, high shrieks that cut to the bone. Seconds later, their strange throwing weapons began to whiz through the air with deep humming sounds, slicing off small limbs and burying themselves in tree trunks. Had Pen and his companions been in the open and standing still, they would have been cut down in moments. Moving through the woods, they were less easy to hit. Nevertheless, Pen found himself running faster.