Tahngarth remained deep in thought for several minutes. Then he clapped Hanna on the shoulder. "Perhaps I have been brooding too much on this matter."

The conversation was ended abruptly by the arrival of Takara. "Tahngarth, Gerrard wants you and Sisay. He's ready to form up the troops for inspection. He's ready to march to the Rushwood."

Dust was everywhere. Grit filled sky and earth. It stung eyes and scoured noses. It clung to teeth and poured into ears. It clogged pores and tickled in necklines and filled the shaggy pelts of Jhovalls.

Mercadian dust-magic moved whole armies rapidly across the plain, but they arrived looking like dirt clods.

Riding a great rust-colored Jhovall, Gerrard led the Mercadian Imperial Guard Fifth Regiment through the dust cloud. To his right hand rode Takara, wrapped in a sandy scarf. To his left were Sisay and Tahngarth. Gerrard wanted his crew members beside and behind him-the best and most loyal fighters in his elite division. At their backs rode one hundred highly trained Mercadian warriors. Though grit covered their faces, they rode in even ranks. Amid swirling dust, the troops were mere shades of brown, yellow, and gray, but their weapons gleamed. Behind these riders came the most fearsome troops of all-caterans. The mercenaries were a motley and bloodthirsty band, some human but most inhuman, monstrous. They were cruel and unruly, loyal to Gerrard only through their commander, Xcric.

Gerrard whistled a distinctive trill. Out of the blinding cloud behind him rode Xcric. He was a cateran enforcer much like the one Squee had cowed in the marketplace that first day. Demonic eyes gleamed in his bulbous skull. Four mandibles plucked sand from a fangy mouth. Four arms jutted from his twisted shoulders. Clawed hands clutched the beast's reins, and barbed nubs held a lizard-skin cloak tight to his back. This taloned horror was no more than a brigand-and yet the Mercadians had hired him and insisted that he and his gang accompany the crew. Gerrard couldn't refuse.

"How close are we to the Rushwood?"

"Close." The creature's face was a mask of brown dirt. "Between a half mile and a quarter mile."

Gerrard nodded. "All right. Tell your people to fight only on my orders. We're counting on surprise and skill at arms, not brute force."

The fangy smile on Xcric's face was indecipherable. "Oh, yes. I'll tell them." He reigned in his Jhovall and dropped back through the ravening storm.

Takara leaned toward Gerrard, putting a hand on his knee. "You'd better be ready to fight, Gerrard."

"I don't trust the caterans," Gerrard replied. "They could just as easily kill Orim as the Cho-Arrim."

"And if the Cho-Arrim have already killed your friend- our friend-what then?"

Gerrard's smile was humorless. "Then I'll let the caterans kill as many as they want."

The dust cloud suddenly thinned and fell away entirely. The ever-present shroud of tan dissipated, replaced by a searing yellow sky, parched brown soil, and the vast green wall of the Rushwood.

The ancient forest was an imposing sight. Tree trunks, as wide around as mansions, reached to the sky. They were packed as tightly as teeth in a titan's smile. The lower boles and root bulbs had fused together into a smooth and sloping wall a hundred feet high. Above it, trunks divided and soared straight up, mossy columns in a colossal temple. They supported a lofty and dense ceiling of foliage and vines. Trees receded into dim infinity.

"Is this the right spot, Sisay?" Gerrard asked.

She nodded grimly, staring at a small map scroll. "Yes, if Mercadian cartography can be trusted." Sisay wiped dust from her face. The beautiful sheen of her skin appeared beneath it. She stared at the dark forest ahead. "It's another world in there, Gerrard. Outsiders are not welcome. It's no wonder the caterans before us got slaughtered."

Takara studied Sisay. "Those Cho-Arrim survive in a forest where caterans don't."

"Perhaps they survive because the forest wants them to," Sisay replied. "Stories in the Mercadian libraries tell that the Rushwood is a living entity, a great thinking thing. It will know we enter it. It will marshal defenses."

Gerrard nodded. "Then let us enter respectfully. Fight only if you are attacked. Relay the word." He set heels to his Jhovall's flanks.

He rode up the slanting ground beneath the forest wall. His tawny mount flung back the bank easily. It bounded, weary of dust flats and eager for woodlands. The Jhovall's claws sank in the loamy soil.

Takara, Sisay, and Tahngarth followed in his wake, and the Mercadian Guard and caterans brought up the rear. Though individually soft-footed, en masse the Jhovalls made a vast rumble on the sloping ground.

Gerrard's mount reached a wooden wall and climbed. Claws gripped ancient bark. The beast hurled itself upward. Gerrard leaned forward in the saddle. With its six legs, the Jhovall ascended with greater ease than a typical cat. In moments, it topped the forest wall and entered the cool, wet space between trees. Bounding over lichen and spongy humus, the tigercreature led the mounted corps into the forest.

"So," Gerrard murmured to himself, "this is the Rushwood."

Glaring dust gave way to damp murk. Sweat turned cold on necks. Shouts and rumbling footfalls were swallowed in a preternatural hush. The forest seemed to hold its breath as the army charged inward.

Gerrard motioned Sisay up beside his surging steed. Her mount matched his stride for stride. So quiet were their footfalls across moss and mushroom that the two old friends could speak to each other in hushed whispers.

"Where from here?" Gerrard asked.

"You should have brought your navigator," Sisay replied with a wry smile. "Though I wouldn't have flung Hanna into these fights, either." She consulted the map scroll. "We head southeast from here to the river. After we cross it, we head due south to reach the center of the wood. Then, of course, we hope Weatherlight is there."

"She's there, all right." Gerrard's eyes were faraway. "Does she call to you?"

"What?"

"Weatherlight. Does she call to you?" Gerrard asked.

Sisay blinked. "Maybe. Maybe I've just never listened…"

"She calls to me," Gerrard said, his voice husky among the rushing boles. "Even when I fled away from her, Weatherlight called to me."

Sisay shrugged. The green murk grew deeper around them, and a ghostly silver glow shone among the vast trees. "That's why I'm Weatherlight's captain, and you're her comrade, her destiny."

"She's there, all right," Gerrard repeated, gazing into the darkness. "She's in the center of the forest. The ChoArrim took her there."

A speculative look crossed Sisay's face. "I think Takara's been listening too much to these Mercadians-all this inhuman monster nonsense. Those weren't monsters we fought at the farm. The way they appeared and took Weatherlight- it was like the ship called to them too." Hesitantly, she ventured, "Perhaps she is part of their destiny too."

A muscle in Gerrard's jaw leaped. "We'll see, soon enough. We'll ride until dark and then set up camp. No fires tonight. Nothing that might… offend the forest."

Sisay gave an appraising nod. The forest scrolled dizzily past her mount. "Yes. I think Weatherlight does call to you."