Furiously, she hauled herself up. She heard a low whistle, felt a rush of air just beneath her. The golem was under her now, swinging its remaining arm. Its fist swiped empty air; unable to reach her. She hauled herself onward, grinning, shuddering with relief. She'd escaped! She had the axe, and had eluded the Guardian. Fifty feet up, she paused to catch her breath.
Then, beneath her, she heard the sound of stone bursting. She glanced down, and her heart clenched.
The golem was starting to climb.
It had driven its remaining fingers into the wall of the shaft, punching through the flagstone. Now it did the same with one of its feet, kicking a hole in the wall, making its own toehold. Its half-head looked up at her, the carven face maddeningly calm.
She screamed. The torch tumbled from her mouth, clattered on the stones, and went out. She didn't care.
She climbed, faster than she'd ever climbed before.
Caramon and Borlos crouched over the narrow opening, staring down at the darkness. Trephas tensed where he stood, the yoke still on his shoulders, waiting for the sign to start pulling again.
Cupping both hands around his mouth, Caramon yelled into the pit. "Dezra? Where are you?"
The reply was closer than he'd expected, though still a ways down: seventy feet, or about. She was climbing quickly, her voice frantic:
"Move the thrice-damned slab! It's after me!"
Caramon looked at Borlos, the color draining from his face. "Oh, gods," he murmured. He turned to Trephas. "Hurry! Lift the stone!-"
Trephas was already moving. He lunged forward, hauling on the ropes. He strained, groaning. It didn't budge.
"Move it!" Dezra yelled.
She was forty feet down now. Through the gap, Caramon saw her, faintly, against the darkness. There was something else, too: a mote of green light, beneath her, flaring in the gloom.
"Trephas!" Borlos yelled. "It's right behind her! Lift the bloody stone!"
Tears spilled down the centaur's cheeks. It wasn't working, it wouldn't move. His whole body burned; his muscles bunched hard as iron. "Come on," he growled through teeth clenched so hard, he thought they'd splinter.
She was twenty feet down and still coming, the terror plain on her face. The green eye-from the shadows, it was part of something very large-glinted even closer.
"Come on… ."
With a loud crack, the slate jerked upward, rising a foot in an instant. Trephas stumbled, fought to keep his footing, keep raising the stone.
Caramon thrust his arms down into the shadows, grasping for his daughter's hands. For what seemed like forever, she stayed just beyond reach. Sobbing, she pulled herself up, and Caramon caught her wrists. With a mighty heave, he yanked her up, out of the hole. "Trephas!" he roared. "Put-"
Before he could say more, a massive stone hand emerged from the gap and grabbed for Dezra's leg. It missed, saving her from a crushed ankle or worse, but its fingers caught her trouser-leg. Down beneath the slate, the malachite eye glowed as the Guardian dragged Dezra back into the gap.
"Don't drop the stone!" Borlos yelled. "She's under it again!" The bard glanced at Trephas, swallowing. The centaur's strength was clearly flagging. Above Dezra, the slab trembled.
Meanwhile, Caramon too was straining, against the might of the golem. He was losing: the Guardian was too strong, dragging his daughter back into the shaft with it.
"The axe! Use the axe!" Dezra bawled.
Borlos saw the bright gleam of steel at her belt, caught his breath, then dove for the shaft, slipping on loose slate and nearly sliding right past Dezra into the pit. He fumbled for Soulsplitter, fighting to undo the knots she'd tied to bind it to her belt. After a moment he gave up, drew his knife, and cut the cords. He grabbed the weapon as it fell away from her, then pushed back and knelt above Dezra and the Guardian. He raised the axe.
"Do it!" shouted Dezra, Caramon and Trephas, almost all at once.
Soulsplitter came down, chopping off the Guardian's remaining arm. Stone splintered, sparks flew. The golem jerked back, hung in space for an eyeblink, then plummeted soundlessly out of sight. Caramon fell back, hauling Dezra out of the shaft.
"Drop the stone!" he bellowed.
With a groan of relief, Trephas relaxed his pull. The slate slab came down with a final boom that made the earth tremble. A second crash echoed it, far below, as the Guardian struck the floor of the shaft.
Dezra laughed wearily, leaning against her father. "See… how easy… that was?" she gasped.
Then her eyes closed and she slumped, unconscious, in Caramon's grasp.
29
"You don't understand," Caramon protested. "We don't have time to waste, waiting here with your people. The centaurs need Soulsplitter now!"
Laird Guithern shook his head. "I know. But there's naught I can do to get ye back to Darken Wood faster. I sent a messenger to the dryads after ye left for the tower, but 'twill take time afore Pallidice returns to guide ye back. Ye may have been nearly a day outside the vale, but here ye were gone less than an hour."
"How long must we wait?" Trephas asked anxiously. Soulsplitter, secured to his war harness, gleamed in the sunlight.
Guithern thought a moment. "About a day, I reckon."
"But that's another whole month, outside this place!" Dezra exclaimed. "At that rate, there might be nothing to get back to!"
"I'm sorry," Guithern repeated. Though his words were contrite, there was an unmistakable crispness to his voice. "I can't change how quick or slow the river of time flows. It's best ye forget yer cares for now. I'll summon food, and mead and music-"
Caramon shook his head. "No. Bring us one of those flying blankets, so we can leave. We can go as far as those caves in the mountains. No offense, Highness, but I'd feel better waiting there."
The Laird bowed, acquiescing, and took his leave. The other sprites swarmed with him up to the palace at the top of the fir tree, leaving the companions alone.
Caramon cleared his throat. "I'll check on Borlos."
The bard sat at the edge of the spire-stone, staring out across the tarn. In the distance, the sprites' wings made the air over Gwethyryn sparkle. He held his lyre across his lap, plucking a quiet, sad melody. He didn't turn at Caramon's approach.
"Well?" Caramon asked. "Are you coming with us, or is this good-bye?"
The bard sighed slowly. "I want to stay," he murmured. "I can't bear to leave."
"It's witchery, Bor," Caramon said, gesturing at the lake. "This place has worked some kind of magic over you. I look at it and I see beauty, but I'd never dream of not going back."
"Of course you wouldn't," Borlos stated. "You have a family to go home to, an inn to run. What do I have? Clemen and Osier? How many years have I wasted playing cards with them, night after night?"
"So you're staying." Caramon couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice.
"Let me finish." Borlos laid a hand across his strings. "I could stay, but I'd always wonder if I could have done more to help the centaurs. I'd never be happy, no matter how beautiful this place is, or how much pleasure I find with Pallidice."
Caramon coughed. "So what you're saying is…
"I'm leaving," Borlos said. He took a deep breath, then let it out.
"Sure, Bor," Caramon said. He patted the bard's arm, then, sensing he wanted to be alone, turned and walked back to join the others.
Borlos turned back toward the tarn, staring across the water. His fingers strayed back to his lyre. The wind caught the chords he plucked and snatched them away.
The lugruidh carried them back the way they'd come, Fanuin and Ellianthe flying beside it. It soared over the tarn and Gwethyryn, crested the ridge at the crater's south edge, and sailed on, among the looming peaks. In time a glint of light appeared in the distance. The companions watched as the crystal cliff grew closer, winking like a diamond in the sun-all of them, that is, save Borlos. The bard stared back, clutching his lyre to his chest.