“All set!” cried Tas. His shrill voice echoed weirdly in the fog, and he had the distinct feeling he’d disturbed something. “I’m sorry.” he said, cringing. “Gee.” he muttered to Flint, “it’s like being in a temple.”
“Just shut up and start moving!” the dwarf snapped.
A torch flared. The companions started at the sudden, blinding light that Silvara held.
“We must have light,” she said before any could protest. “Do not fear. The vale we are in is sealed shut. Lang ago, there were two entrances: one led to human lands where the knights had their outpost, the other led east into the lands of the ogres. Both passes were lost during the Cataclysm. We need have no fear. I have led you lay a way known only to myself.”
“And to your people,” Laurana reminded her sharply.
“Yes-my people . . .” Silvara said, and Laurana was surprised to see the girl grow pale.
“Where are you taking us?” Laurana insisted.
“You will see. We will be there within the hour.”
The companions glanced at each other, then all of them looked at Laurana.
Damn them, she thought. “Don’t look to me for answers!” she said angrily. “What do you want to do: Stay out here, lost in the fog-”
“I won’t betray you!” Silvara murmured despondently. “Please, just trust me a little further.”
“Go ahead.” said Laurana tiredly. “We’ll fallow.”
The fog seemed to close around them more thickly, until all that kept the darkness at bay was the light of Silvara’s torch.
No one had any idea of the direction they traveled. The landscape did not change. They walked through tall grass. There were no trees. Occasionally a large boulder loomed out of the darkness, but that was all. Of night birds or animals, there was no sign. There was a sense of urgency that increased as they walked until all of them felt it, and they hurried their steps, keeping ever within the light of the torch.
Then, suddenly, without warning, Silvara stopped.
“We are here.” she said, and she held the torch aloft.
The torch’s light pierced the fog. They could all see a shadowy something beyond. At first, it was so ghostly materializing out of the fog that the companions could not recognize it.
Silvara drew closer. They followed her, curious, fearful.
Then the silence of the night was broken by bubbling sounds like water boiling in a giant kettle. The fog grew denser, the air was warm and stifling.
“Hot springs!” said Theros in sudden understanding. “Of course, that explains the constant fog. And this dark shape-”
“The bridge which leads across them,” Silvara replied, shining the torchlight upon what they could see was a glistening stone bridge spanning the water boiling in the streams below them, filling the night air with its warm, billowing fog.
“We’re supposed to cross that!” Flint exclaimed, staring at the black, boiling water in horror. “We’re supposed to cross-”
“It is called the Bridge of Passage.” said Silvara.
The dwarf’s only answer was a strangled gulp.
The Bridge of Passage was a long, smooth arch of pure white marble. Along its sides-carved in vivid relief-long columns of knights walked symbolically across the bubbling streams. The span was so high that they could not see the top through the swirling mists. And it was old, so old that Flint, reverently touching the worn rock with his hand, could not recognize the craftsmanship. It was not dwarven, not elven, not human. Who had done such marvelous work?
Then he noticed there were no hand-rails, nothing but the marble span itself, slick and glistening with the mist rising constantly from the bubbling springs beneath.
“We cannot cross that.” said Laurana, her voice trembling. “And now we are trapped-”
“We can cross.” Silvara said. “For we have been summoned.”
“Summoned?” Laurana repeated in exasperation. “By what? Where?”
“Wait.” commanded Silvara.
They waited. There was nothing left for them to do. Each stood staring around in the torchlight, but they saw only tile mist rising from the streams, heard only the gurgling water.
“It is the time of Solinari.” Silvara said suddenly, and swinging her arm-she hurled her torch into !the water.
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