Iome listened, held her breath. She expected to hear the baying of war dogs, or cries of pursuit, but she could hear nothing. Only wind on the ridge above them, suddenly gusting through yellow birch leaves.

“I hear nothing,” Iome admitted. “Your ears must be stronger than mine.”

“No—listen, up there in the trees! Can you hear it?” He pointed to the ridge above them, to the north and west.

The wind suddenly stilled, the leaves quit twisting. Iome strained to hear something—the snap of a twig, the sound of stealthy steps. But she discerned nothing.

Gaborn suddenly stood up in his stirrups, taller in the saddle, gazing into the trees.

“What did you hear?” Iome whispered.

“A voice, in the trees,” Gaborn said. “It whispered.”

“What?” Iome urged her horse forward, studying the copse he spoke of, trying to see it from a different angle. But she could see nothing—only the white bark of trees, the green and golden leaves fluttering, and the shadows deeper within the grove. “What did it say?”

“I’ve heard it three times today. At first I thought it called my name, but this time I heard it clearly. It called ‘Erden, Erden Geboren.’ ”

A chill ran down Iome’s back.

“We’re too far west,” she hissed. “There are wights here. They’re speaking to you. We should go south, now, before it gets dark.” Darkness would not come for another three hours, but they had come too close to the Westwood.

“No!” Gaborn said, and he turned to Iome. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as one half-asleep. “If it is a spirit, it wishes us no harm!”

“Perhaps not,” Iome whispered fiercely, “but it is not worth the risk!” She feared the wights, her father’s assurances aside.

Gaborn gazed back at Iome, as if for a moment he’d forgotten she stood there. On the hill, the birch leaves shivered again. Iome looked toward the grove. The skies were drizzling, a slight gray rain that fell evenly, making it hard to see deeply into the grove.

“There, it comes again!” Gaborn shouted. “Do you not hear it?”

“I hear nothing,” Iome admitted.

Gaborn’s eyes suddenly blazed. “I see it! I see now!” he whispered urgently. “ ‘Erden Geboren’—that is the old tongue for ‘Earthborn.’ The woods are angry with Raj Ahten. He has abused them. But I am Earthborn. They wish to protect me.”