hand on his arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Triss. I promise I
won’t run away. Ever.”
She left him then, went over to where Garth slept and curled
up next to her big friend, needing both his warmth and bulk for
comfort this night, wanting to retreat into the past, to recover
the protection and safety it had once offered, to recapture what
was irretrievably lost. She settled instead for what was there and
finally slept.
At dawn she was awake, more rested than she had a right to
expect. The light was faint and gray through the haze, and the
world about them was still and empty feeling, smelling of rot.
Killeshan’s rumble was distant and faint, yet steady now for the
first time since they had begun their journey, a slow building of
tremors that promised bigger things to come. Time was running
out, Wren knew-quicker now, swifter with the passing of each
hour. The volcano’s fire was beginning to build at the core of
the island toward a final conflagration, and when it exploded
everything would be swept away.
They set out immediately, Stresa leading, Garth a step be-
hind, Wren following with Faun, and Triss trailing. Wren was
calmer now, less distraught. Gavilan, she reasoned, had nowhere
to go. He might run for the beaches in search of Tiger Ty and
Spirit, but how likely was he to find his way through the In Ju?
He was not a Tracker and had no experience in wilderness sur-
vival. He was already half mad with fear and despair. How far
could he get? He would likely travel in circles, and they would
find him quickly.
Yet in the back of her mind lurked the specter of his some-
how managing to get clear of the jungle, finding his way down
to the beach, convincing Tiger Ty that everyone else was dead,
and having himself and the Ruhk Staff carried safely away while
the rest of the company was left behind. The possibility infuri-
ated her, the more so when she considered the possibility that
Gavilan didn’t really think her dead at all and had simply de-
cided to strike out on his own, convinced of the rightness of his
cause and the inevitability of his rule.
Unable to ponder the matter further, she brushed it roughly
aside.
Blackledge began to drop away from the Harrow almost im-
mediately, but it was not as steep here as where Garth and she
had climbed up. The cliff face was craggy and thick with veg-
etation, and it was not difficult for them to find a pathway down.
They descended quickly, Stresa keeping Gavilan’s scent firmly
before them as they went. Broken limbs and crushed leaves
marked clearly the Elven Prince’s passing; Wren could have fol-
lowed the trail alone, so obvious was it. Time and again they
discovered places where the fleeing man had fallen, apparently
heedless of his safety, anxious only to escape. He must be fran-
tic, Wren thought sadly. He must be terrified.
They reached the edge of the In Ju at midday and paused
to eat. Stresa was gruffly confident. They were only a few
hours behind Gavilan, he advised. The Elven Prince was
staggering badly now, clearly exhausted. Unless something hap-
pened to change things, they would catch him before night-
fall.
Stresa’s prediction was prophetic-but not in the way they
had hoped. Shortly after they resumed tracking Gavilan’s futile
efforts to circumvent the In Ju, it began to rain. The air had
grown hotter with the descent off the mountain, a swelter that
built slowly and did not recede. When the rain commenced, it
was a dampness that layered the air, a thick moisture that hung
like wet silk draped against their skin, beading on their leather
clothing. After a time, the dampness turned to mist, then driz-
zle, and finally a torrent that washed over them with ferocious
determination. They were blinded by it and forced to take shel-
ter beneath a giant banyan. It swept through quickly and took
Gavilan’s scent with it. Stresa searched carefully in the after-
math, but all trace was gone.
Garth studied the damp green tangle of the jungle. He beck-