Pan shook his head, giving the other a long, steady look that pinned him against the darkness. “You had better hope that’s not true. Getting her back is all that’s keeping you alive. Your life for hers—I think your father will be happy to make the trade.”
Arik Siq laughed. “My father won’t spare her for me. He will kill her outright the
moment he knows the arrangement you made with him is a sham. You don’t know him.
He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
Pan ignored him and went back to working on a repair he was making to one boot.
The binding had broken near the sole, and he was stringing new leather through the sole. He let the silence build.
“Where are you taking me?” His prisoner sounded bored, irritated. “Back to my father, so that you can make this exchange that won’t happen? Back to the Drouj so that you can be killed, too?”
Pan didn’t respond.
“To the Elves, then? They will want to see me dead, as well.”
Pan shrugged.
“The old man died, didn’t he? The poison was too much for him. He should have left me alone. Coming after me like he did was foolish. One man, bearer of a black staff or not, is no match for so many.” He leaned forward. “I knew he was coming, you know. I left someone on watch in the pass, just in case. The old man walked right into the trap I set for him.”
He stopped talking, looking down at his hands. “It was all for nothing. He died for nothing.”
Pan kept his gaze lowered. “He kept you from escaping, didn’t he?”
Arik Siq raised his hands to his face and wiped away a streak of dirt mixed with blood.
“To what end? Another of the Drouj went on without me to give my report. My father already knows everything about the valley. He probably marches on the pass at Aphalion right now. Stopping me accomplished nothing. You are as stupid as you look.”
Pan finished tying off the leather binding and held it up for the Drouj to examine.
“There you are. As good as new.” He pulled the boot back on, testing his weight on the sole, walking around a few paces before reseating himself. He gave Arik Siq a smile.
“Your father doesn’t know anything. No one made it out to tell him. Your companions all died at the head of the pass. I saw it all; I was watching.”
The Troll went silent, looking off into the dark. “Others will come looking for me. You don’t have that old man to protect you now. How will you save yourself when they catch up to you?”
Pan studied him a moment, and then he reached down for the staff and held it up for the other to examine. “With this,” he said.
He caught a glimpse of surprise in the other’s yellow eyes, a surprise that was reflected in his blunt features, as well. It was only there for an instant, but Pan didn’t miss it.
“Those others you think might be coming to rescue you,” he said, “had better hope they don’t catch up to me.”
Arik Siq’s features hardened. “You’re a boy! How old are you? Fifteen, maybe? How well do you think you can control the magic of that staff? You don’t even know how to use it, do you? That old man didn’t teach you anything. You know just enough to get yourself killed. Which is what will happen, soon enough.”
Pan nodded. “Not soon enough to save you, however. Your father will come for you or come for whatever he thinks is inside this valley or come because he can’t help himself.
But we will be waiting for him. All of us who live in this valley—we will be waiting for him. We will trap him in the passes or on the open slopes or wherever we find him, and we will cut him and all those with him to pieces.”
He pointed at the Drouj with the tip of his staff. “And you’ll be right there to watch it all if anything happens to Prue.”
“Boy, I will skin you alive myself!” Arik Siq sneered. “You will beg for me to kill you before I am finished!”
Panterra Qu climbed to his feet, tossing aside the remains of his repair work. “Get up.
We’re going for a long walk, so you better save your strength. You might be the one begging before we get to where we’re going.”
They set out for the valley floor, Panterra leading the Drouj by the length of chain, which he had removed from the other’s ankles and tightened in a rough slipknot about his neck. The boy walked just fast enough that his prisoner, encumbered by the chain and the ropes about his wrists and shoulders, had to struggle to keep up. Arik Siq trudged along with his head lowered and his eyes on the path, forced to keep close watch on where he put his feet so he wouldn’t trip. Dawn had not yet broken, and the land lay under a gloomy shroud of clouds and mist. Morning was only a thin silver line, jagged and washed out, behind the craggy summits of the mountain peaks east, and the air was thick with cold and damp. Panterra was used to it; his life as a Tracker had trained him to tolerate the cold. But his prisoner, for all that he had the armor of his bark-like skin to protect him, did not seem happy.