Taking a moment to adjust his hood, Ryld set out again, trying hard not to hurry his steps too much. He would not be much of a rear guard if he closed up right behind the others, but on the other hand, the last thing he wanted to do was fall so far behind that he missed an innocent turn of the trail and wandered off alone into the endless woods. If Halis-stra wasn't worth going back for, he was under no delusions as to what would happen if he managed to become separated from the rest of the company. He tramped on for quite some time, pausing every few dozen yards to listen and scan the forest.
Soon he became aware of the louder, more insistent sound of water in motion - a swift forest stream, dark and wide, that sluiced through muddybanks covered in thorns and bracken. A large log had been felled to cross the stream, its upper surface sawn flat to form a reasonably secure bridge. Quenthel and the others waited there, silently watching their surround-ings. Ryld noted the crossbows pointed in his direction, and the acute at-tentiveness of his companions. Clearly the running battle with the surface folk had taught his comrades to be wary of the woods.
"Hold your fire," he called softly. "It's Ryld."
"Master Argith," Quenthel said. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost the trail."
Ryld bowed toQuenthel and joined the others. He took a moment to sit on the stump of the log, fishing in the pockets of his cloak for a small flask of duergar brandy. Normally he wouldn't risk diluting his senses with alcohol, but hours of marching in cold rainhad soaked his clothing and left him chilled to the bone. The liquor brought a hot glow to the middle of his body with one good mouthful.
"Is this your stream?" he asked Pharaun.
"Yes," the wizard said without hesitation. "Here, we cross and turn to the south, following the river upstream. House Jaelre is not more than a couple of miles away."
He pointed at Ryld with one finger and muttered a magical syllable. The flask rose up from the weapons master's hand and bobbed through the air to the wizard, who promptly helped himself to a healthy swallow.
"My thanks," said Pharaun. "The gray dwarves may be odious churls, but they distill a good brandy."
"Don't drink too much," Quenthel said. "The Jaelre are as likely to shoot us as look at us. I need you alert and sharp-witted, wizard. Master Argith, keep up close with the rest of us from this point on. I'm more worried about what lies before us now than behind."
"As you wish, Mistress," Ryld said.
He held out his hand to Pharaun, who took one more small swallow and tossed the flask back to Ryld. The weapons master stood, shouldered his pack, and led the way across the bridge. The surface of the log was slick and uneven, and doubtless would have been trouble for a clumsy dwarf or awkward human, but the dark elves negotiated the crossing with ease.
On the other side, they found the overgrown remnants of an old stone road, cracked and broken by the twisting roots of countless trees and hundreds of years of frosts and thaws. Smooth white stone, expertly joined, marked it as the work of the ancient surface elves who once in-habited the forest. Ryld was not so poorly educated that he had not heard of Cormanthor, the great forest empire of the surface elves, or the fallen glory of its legendary capital city of Myth Drannor. Other than the names, though, he knew very little of who the builders of the forest empire had been and what had befallen them.
Moving slowly and carefully, the company advanced in an open skir-mish line, prepared to defend themselves against any attack. They followed the old road for more than a mile, just as Pharaun had said they would, and they came upon the wreckage of old walls and battlements ringing some ancient stronghold. Green vines wreathed the walls, thriving despite the winter season, but the wall was cracked and holed in a dozen places. A rusted iron gate lay across the road where it pierced the walls, a barrier that had long since fallen into uselessness. Beyond the walls, a small stony tor rose from the forest floor, crowned by a large pentagonal keep of white stone. At first Ryld thought the place was whole and intact, but as he stud-ied it, he