Somehow he eluded the Urda weapons flung at him, caught up to the others in the company, and matched their pace. Jounced and shaken in the crook of Atalan’s arm, Pen was aware of how hard carrying him must be, how much strength it must require. But the Rock Troll didn’t seem winded, just angry.

Ahead, more Urdas appeared, closing ranks in a line of dark, gnarled bodies. Beyond, the trees thinned, and the remains of rock walls and stone columns lifted against a backdrop of trees and mountains, their colors hazy in the grayish light. Kermadec yelled to his Trolls, and five of them joined him in a tight formation of armored bodies and heavy clubs and axes. The rest of the company, including Atalan, fell into place behind him. There was no time to think about what they were doing; they were on top of the Urdas almost before Pen realized what they intended. The Trolls went through the Urda ranks as if they were made of paper. Weapons slashed and cut, but the Trolls fought past any resistance with ferocious purpose, and in seconds the entire company was through.

Again, the razor-sharp missiles flew after them, but this time they were thrown halfheartedly and to little effect. The effort to keep the intruders from the ruins had failed. Prevented by their beliefs from pursuing further, the Urdas clustered at the edge of the trees and screamed in fury. But by the time Kermadec and his Trolls had collapsed inside the first set of crumbling walls, putting Pen and his companions safely behind the protective stone barriers, the screaming had stopped.

In the ensuing silence, Pen Ohmsford listened to the pounding of his heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-TWO

Lying on the ground beside a clearly winded Atalan, Pen managed to lift his head far enough to look back at his pursuers. A sea of staring eyes, the Urdas were hunkered down in knots all along the edge of the forest. The sudden silence was unnerving. It was as if they were waiting for something to happen, something they knew about that Pen and his companions did not. Pen looked over his shoulder into the ruins. Other than rubble, weeds, and a scattering of saplings that fronted the sprawl of walls of columns beyond, there was nothing to see.

“Savages,” Atalan muttered.

Pen gave up on the Urdas and looked down at his legs. There was blood all over where the skin had been broken and the flesh gouged by Urda weapons. Cinnaminson moved over beside him, running her hands over his calves, exploring the wounds, her touch so gentle he could barely feel it. He marveled anew at how she could see so clearly what to do when she was unable to use her eyes. Her blind gaze found his face, as if she knew what he was thinking, and her sudden smile was so dazzling that it took his breath away.