CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Lin’s legs felt watery as they climbed down from the Palisade, fox, girl, and vole. Every few breaths a new, shivering howl rose from the Nightmares out in the pass. She still couldn’t believe it. Nightmares were creatures made from the secret fears of children, and some of those fears were her own.

“Those are really trolls out there?”

“Snow trolls,” Teodor said. “Our local tribe. Dumb brutes, but deadly.”

“But that was a troll-hunter signal by those rocks!” Rufus said, edging his way across a platform. “Who else is out there?”

“I don’t know, Rufocanus!” Teodor barked. “If I had every answer to every question, I would not have to deal with the likes of you!” He forgot all about his old man’s bones and jumped the final ladder to the ground.

“Fabian,” he called, stalking over toward the little horse and Ursa Minor, who stood huddled behind a big branch. “You must prepare yourself. We are going through the gate.”

Fabian’s nostrils flared with fear. “But there must be dozens of trolls out there! No one can last against a whole pack of Nightmares. Not in the open. Not at night.”

“I know,” Teodor said. “Yet we have no choice. If the Twistrose believes that Isvan is out there, then that’s where we must go.”

“We have pulled many wild stunts, but this . . .” There was resignation in Fabian’s voice. As if he had no hope that they would make it. He scraped a shoe against the frozen earth. “It shall be as you say, old friend. But hooves are not much use against trolls.”

• • •

Which was true. There was only one weapon that could kill a troll outright, and Lin didn’t have any. Bane.

“Teodor,” she said. “What is the bane of snow trolls?”

“Silvercone seeds.” He fished a small lozenge box from his pocket. It was half full of pearly grains. “This is the reason I returned to the Hearth of Flame—we keep our stores there. But this year, somehow the silver firs did not yield any cones. These are all we have left.”

He tossed the lozenge box to Lin.

“You’re giving all of them to me?” she said.

Teodor inclined his head. “When the Rosa torquata brought the Twistrose Key to you, it knew you are not only a riddle-cracker of some skill. You’re an expert troll hunter, too. In this, we will follow your lead.”

They all watched her. Fabian with his serious, sad eyes; Ursa Minor with his close-set gaze; Teodor with a sly glint. And Rufus, whose eyes were bright with pride. All four of them were ready to follow her into the Nightmare realm. Lin swallowed. She was an expert, all right, an expert at making the trolls terrible and dangerous, because that made the hunt more thrilling. She had never imagined that she would actually encounter them. And until now, she hadn’t truly understood Teodor’s words: Tonight, young Rosenquist, you will find that some games are real.

“First of all,” she said slowly, trying her best to appear collected and calm, “we can’t just go blindly into enemy territory. We have to know where we are headed.”

Teodor grunted. “I’ve witnessed Clariselyn Winterfyrst leave for the Well and return within two hours. The Well has to be near the Cracklemoor. Yet I have never seen any well-like formation in these parts, let alone glacial cathedrals.” He clicked his tongue. “I wish I’d had the foresight to bring a map.”

Rufus looked from one to the other. “Oh, fine,” he muttered, picking a roll of paper out from one of his scarf pockets. His “Comprehensive Chart of Sylveros and All Its Lands.” They unrolled the map between them. At the end of the Sylver Vale, there was a bit of map that Rufus hadn’t revealed until now: The Whitepass and the Cracklemoor.

“Where did you get this?” Teodor said.

Rufus gave a pursed-lip shrug.

“You have been in the Cartography Chamber.” Teodor shook his head in disgust. “I suppose it takes courage of some sort to trespass and steal right under the nose of your superior.”

It did, Lin thought, but it took even more courage to own up to it. She leaned close and whispered, “One point to Rufus of Rosenquist.”

The Cracklemoor was a wide, shallow basin, like a sheet tethered between mountain peaks. The Caravan Road cut a brave line straight eastward, toward a range of craggy peaks called the Shatterjaws. To the north lay the tall Towerhorns, from which the Crackle Creek flowed across the moor to the Grieve Cleft.

“I remember something Lass the gatherer said. She found Frostfang in a rimedeer carcass near the spring of the Crackle Creek. Which should be here.” Lin pointed to the northernmost end of the stream. “It’s no guarantee the Winterfyrst Well is in the Towerhorns, but it’s the best lead we have.”

“If we want to go there, the Crackle Creek is our only hope,” Fabian offered. “It runs through a dell of shrubs and trees. Snow trolls don’t have much of a sense of smell, so if they can’t see us, we might stand a slim chance.”

“Good idea,” Lin said. She drew a line from the pass to the stream. “Once we’re out on the moor, we’ll head for the Crackle Creek dell and keep our heads down. But that won’t work in the pass. In the pass we have to outrun them.”

Outside the Palisade a new wave of howls rose, setting everyone’s fur on end. Fabian nickered, and Lin could see the white at the edges of his eyes. Teodor frowned at the moaning, swaying, slicing hedge. “Something is not right here,” the old fox said. “Snow trolls are loners. They have been known to attack one another on sight. Yet here they are, crammed together in the Whitepass, thick as lice. And that signal we saw—I cannot think of any other explanation than that the trolls sent it.”

Rufus snorted. “Trolls making troll-hunter signals? That doesn’t seem very likely, unless they’re trying to lure us out through the gate. I thought you said Nightmares don’t deal in plots or plans.”

“Wait,” Lin said. She heard a wheezing, grating voice in her head, clipped into pieces and deadened by static, but still as clear as ice. On Wanderer’s Eve, I shall have the Nightmares ready.

Rufus smiled. “The quizzy face! Lin, do you have a theory?”

“What do you know?” Teodor’s eyes blazed with impatience. “For the love of the Flame, Twistrose, our lives are at stake here! I cannot help you if you keep me in the dark!”

“I think the trolls are being controlled.” Lin picked the falcon cylinder out of her boot and pried out the letter. “‘The Margrave’s Song’ is not about a star, it’s about a person. We found a second verse in Figenskar’s office. He stole it from a falcon messenger.”

Teodor snatched the song out of Lin’s hands. “This message is for me! I am Vulpes of Lucke.”

“You are?” Rufus gathered his whiskers in suspicion. “How convenient.”

“My last name is Lucke, and Vulpes means ‘fox.’ Something for you to ponder, Rufocanus.”

Rufus glared at him, but Fabian nipped gently at Rufus’s scarf. “It’s not intended as an insult,” the horse said. “Merely as a reminder. Right, Teodor?”

Teodor didn’t reply. He had his grizzled snout in the Queen of Soothsinger’s letter, as if bringing it close would help him decipher the words. “A new lord on Wanderer’s Eve. A powerful lord. A Blood Lord.” He clicked his claws against the parchment. “Margrave means ‘lord of the border.’ And the border is under attack from the Nightmares. Nightmares that do not behave as Nightmares.”

“That’s what I was thinking about,” Lin said. “I found something else in Figenskar’s office. A recorded message from the Margrave. He said he would have the Nightmares ready, for Wanderer’s Eve. That they were set for some plan they call Operation Corvelie. We don’t know exactly what it is, but they’re covering their . . .”

“Corvelie?” Teodor interrupted. “Corvelie, you say? But that means . . .”

The old fox licked his lips. “Oh dear. I have been looking at this puzzle from the wrong side. Yes, Margrave means ‘border lord,’ but it also another name for the Wanderer. For someone who is a long way from home. A very long way.”

He turned abruptly and climbed onto Fabian’s back, wheeling him around. “Lin. Rufocanus. May the Flame forgive me, but you will have to brave the Cracklemoor alone.”

“Alone? You’re not coming with us?” Rufus cried.

“I cannot.” Teodor had the decency to look ashamed. “I do not know how you will fare out there alone, but I have no choice but to leave you. Remember, Lin. We trust in your gifts, and so must you.” He whispered something into Fabian’s ear, and the Hoof threw himself into a run.

“At least tell us where you are going!” Lin called after their whipping tails.

“The final guard rune!” Teodor cried. “I must find and protect the final guard rune!”