Perkar urged his mount ahead, angry and confused. How dare the old fool question him, when it was Mang who rode for the Changeling—the enemy of them all.

Ngangata was pacing close behind; their horses broke from run to canter and back as the leaves slapped at them. Perkar was vividly reminded of the last time he had ridden these ridges, fleeing the Huntress. Then, of course, they had been fighting to escape Balat and its mysteries; now they strove to reach its heart.

“Our pursuit is gaining more quickly than I thought they could,” Ngangata yelled over to him. “I think they split even before we saw them.”

“How many, can you tell?”

“Many. Hundreds, coming from possibly three directions.”

“How far do we have to go?”

“Too far, from Karak's description.”

Perkar smiled savagely. “How long have you known who our friend 'Sheldu' really is?”

Ngangata laughed coarsely. “Almost since you have. I read it on your face. And you've gone fey again.” He stabbed his finger at Perkar. “You aren't thinking of riding back against them?”

Perkar shook his head. “No. I mean, I did think about it, but what would be the point? Most would just go around me. If there were a narrow pass to hold, or if I could reach their head—Moss, or that—thing …” He turned fiercely in his saddle. ”I will warn you of this, my friend. If I see an opportunity to slay the creature from Nhol, I will take it. Do you understand that?”

“No,” Ngangata replied frankly, “but I can accept it.”

“Good.”

Perkar spent the next hundred heartbeats fighting his way to the front of the column. Hezhi still looked dazed, but Tsem's horse could not bear even her tiny additional weight, and so she rode up behind Yuu'han. In fact, the Giant's massive charger quivered so that Perkar feared it would collapse any moment. Then what would Tsem do? Of course, soon all of the horses would be useless enough to any of them; even T'esh was near exhausted. And Sharp Tiger, pacing placidly and stubbornly behind him, would be no help to anyone.

The howls behind him were drawing nearer.

Even Karak seemed concerned, glancing nervously around.

“You could stop them,” Perkar pointed out.

“That isn't my place,” the Raven answered testily. “We are too close to our goal now. I can almost taste our victory. If I reveal my power, if I uncloak myself here, now, Balati might notice all of this going on. Who knows what he would then do? I don't.”

“If we are all slain—” Perkar began.

But Karak interrupted. “You and the rest could purchase some time for me and Hezhi,” he said. “She is the crucial one. Only she matters.”

“There aren't enough of us,” Perkar snapped. “They would flow around us like the River they serve. My companions and your men together would slow them down not at all.”

“It will come to it soon enough. Then I may have to reveal myself,” Karak said. “But I won't until I must.”

“You mean until the rest of us are dead and yoxxfly with Hezhi from here.”

“Yes, now that you mention it, that is what I mean. But let us hope it doesn't come to that.”

At that moment, Ngangata raised his bow and shrieked, and his cry was echoed by a half score of Karak's men. For a moment, Perkar feared that the Mang had caught up with them, but then he saw the truth; ahead of them, the trees bristled with spears and bows. The dark, lean forms of wolves coursed between the great trunks restlessly, and more warriors than could easily be counted. They stretched out along the ridge as far as Perkar could see, utterly blocking their way.

GHE dug his talons into his palms, calling on all that remained of his self-control. The outriders had discovered Qwen Shen and Bone Eel. He could be upon them in instants, if he wished, take himself up on pinions of wind. Yet Moss warned him not to, and with greatest reluctance he conceded the young shaman's expertise. Though he felt that nothing could resist his power, Moss assured him that such was not the case—and indeed, whatever black arts Qwen Shen and her doltish husband controlled had not only concealed them and allowed them to steal Ghan away, but it had also made them exceedingly difficult to follow. Even now he could not sense where they were, though Moss assured him that they were not far, that before the day was done his army of Mang would encircle the whole lot of them, Hezhi and her pet demon included. Then there would be fighting enough.

“What we cannot do,” Moss had insisted, “is allow our eagerness and anger to separate us. My spirits and I have woven a hundred spells to keep from awaking the Forest Lord and to protect us from the other things that haunt this wood. If you go off alone, you will only have your power to protect you. You have much raw strength, but there are gods here who have more, gods you will not easily dispense with. Together we have a chance, you and I.”

So even though Hezhi was so near, he must cultivate patience.

Death came to him on the breeze: Mang warriors, bravely daring the winding trail up which Qwen Shen, Bone Eel, and Ghan had fled. At the top, someone was defending the precarious pathway. He felt their lives flicker and go out, and amongst them—someone else dying—someone familiar.

“Worry not, Moss,” he told his companion. “I'll go no farther than the outriders. But there is something ahead I must see.”

“Have a care,” Moss cautioned. “Whatever you sense, it could well be a trap.”

“I know. But somehow I don't think so.” He dismounted and, like a hound following a familiar scent, raced off into the scrubby, evergreen foliage of the slope. Whatever it was was fading, fading, and almost it was gone before he reached it. Yet it was stubborn, and when he found the source he knew he should have recognized it by that alone.

Ghan's broken body lay curled around a tree in a sort of reverse fetal position, his back bent completely the wrong way. One eye stared open and empty and the other was closed by the crushing of one side of his skull. Only within him was there any sign of his life, the filaments of his ghost even now fading and detaching from his ruined flesh. Ghe stared, wondering that he could feel any sorrow at all for such an annoying, dangerous old man, but he did. It was a sight that made little sense, the dignified scholar whose pen formed such esoteric and beautiful characters lying here, hundreds of leagues from any writing desk, in a forest, broken and arrow pierced.

Gingerly he reached out and tugged at the strands, pulled them free of a body that would serve now only to feed beasts and the black soil. He took the ghost and settled it into its own place amongst the august company of gods, an emperor, and a blind boy.

There, old man. At last I have you.

What? the spirit feebly replied. What has happened? Where is Hezhi? I just saw her…

Hush, Ghe told him. Rest there, and I will explain all to you later. Then he closed up the doors on Ghan, for the fear and panic of the newly captured wore poorly on him, and he could not afford now to be distracted. But it would please Hezhi, he knew, that he had saved the old man. For her, he would even let the scholar speak to her through his mouth. Yes, she would be happy and grateful when he did that.

He turned; Moss had come up behind him.

“I'm sorry, old man,” the shaman told the corpse. “If you had only told me of them sooner…”

Ghe smiled sardonically. “He kept one secret too many, and now he has none at all.”

Moss shrugged, and then his eyes cleared and he gestured up the ridge with his chin. “My spirits have slain those who held the trail, and a third of my force is approaching the ridge from another direction. We'll have them soon, unless something else goes awry.”

“When we do capture them, Qwen Shen is mine,” Ghe stated flatly.