Finally Moira halted and pointed. Wiz followed her finger and saw the Forest Gate.
Ahead the canyon narrowed into a gorge. At the bottom it was only wide enough for the road and a rocky stream. The gray stone walls rose sheer for a hundred feet or more before the canyon widened out and the trees grew on the slope, which rose for hundreds of feet.
And the gate was guarded. Wiz saw four men on the road and one more sitting on the cliff edge. Their manner left no doubt there were more men on down the gorge or hidden by the trees.
“I don’t suppose we could use magic to get through?” Wiz whispered.
Moira surveyed the scene and bit her lips. “It is a trap. Those men are out in the open in hope that we will try something like that. Make no doubt there are magicians waiting to pounce.”
“What then?”
“We thread our way between them. I hope they are not too thick along the slopes. Now be quiet.”
They were higher on the mountainside than the walls of the gorge, a good 200 feet above the place where the trees began. If most of the robbers were down on the road and there weren’t too many sentinels on the heights and the robbers weren’t too alert, they should be able to work their way along the slope without being seen.
And if frogs had wings they wouldn’t bump their asses every time they took a step, Wiz thought sourly.
With agonizing caution they worked their way forward. In spite of their steepness the slopes were thickly wooded and well-grown with brush. Most of the time they could see only a few yards in any direction. Wiz kept his eyes on the ground, putting his feet down as carefully as he could. Every time he scuffed the leaves the sound rang in his ears. He was certain the noise they made echoed off the walls of the canyon. Every few yards they halted for a long minute to listen.
Luck seemed to be with them. It was a hard climb up to the slope from the road and few of the robbers were inclined to make it. Those that did were more interested in looking down the road than they were in checking the mountainside. Moving with exquisite care, Wiz and Moira passed the watchers, sometimes so close they could see them through the trees.
The mountainside grew steeper and the ground became more rocky. Trees were scarcer and the brush thicker. The terrain forced them closer and closer to the cliff edge. Below them they could see the gorge curve sharply in a hairpin bend and beyond that the land widened out again.
Finally, at the very point of the hairpin, the wood narrowed to a thin band. And at its narrowest point there was a man sitting on a rock.
He was at his ease, hands clasped around one knee and the other leg dangling. Like his fellows he was looking over the canyon. Obviously the last thing he expected was to find his quarry on the slopes. There was a leather patch over his right eye, the eye closest to Wiz and Moira.
But to get by him they would have to pass scant feet from him. In the movies this is always where they jump the sentry, Wiz thought. This wasn’t a movie and Wiz wasn’t a trained commando. The man was at least a head taller than he was and heavily muscled. He was wearing a broadsword, while their only weapon was Moira’s eating knife. The last thing Wiz wanted to do was make like Bruce Lee.
Moira obviously agreed. Crouching low, she began to work her way forward, keeping as much brush as she could between her and the man on the rock. Crouching even lower, Wiz followed.
Moira was almost behind the man when Wiz stepped on a loose rock.
With a crunch and a clatter the stone went rolling down the slope, taking several others with it. The sentry’s head whipped around and he saw Moira behind a bush not six feet from him.
“Hey!” he shouted and sprang to his feet, grabbing for his sword. Moira cringed and made ready to run.