Morgawr (6 page)

They were close to the edge of the forest when he heard movement ahead. It was soft and furtive, the kind that comes from someone trying not to be discovered. Ahren dropped into a crouch, pulling Ryer down with him. They were deep in the shadows of a wall, so they would not be easily seen. On the other hand, it was slowly growing lighter and they couldn't stay where they were indefinitely.

He motioned for her to keep silent and follow his lead. Then he rose and began to make his way forward, but more slowly. Moments later, he heard the noise again, a scraping of boots on stone, very close now, and he dropped back into the shadows once more.

Almost instantly, a Mwellret slid out of the darkness and made its way across the open ground in front of them. There was no mistaking what it was or its intent. It carried a battle-ax in one hand and a short sword strapped about its waist. It was searching for someone. It might not be them, Ahren accepted, but that wouldn't help them if they were found.

He waited until the ret was out of sight, and started ahead again. Maybe they could get behind it. Maybe there was only the one.

But as they angled left, away from the first, they encountered a second, this one coming right for them. Ahren ducked back into the cover of a building's roofless shell, then led Ryer across the open floor to another exit. He picked his way carefully over piles of debris, but his boots made small scraping sounds that he could not seem to avoid. Outside again, he scuttled in a crouch to another building, Ryer at his heels, and made his way through. Enough dodging, he hoped, would lose any pursuers.

Outside, he stopped and looked around. Nothing was familiar. He could see the outline of the treetops some distance off, but he had no idea in which direction he had been going or where the Mwellrets were. He listened for sound of them, but heard nothing.

“There's someone behind us,” Ryer whispered in his ear.

He tugged her forward again, making for the cover of the trees, hoping that they could reach it in time. It was steadily growing lighter, the sun just beginning to crest the horizon, leaving the ruins bathed in a dangerous combination of light and shadows that could easily deceive the eyes. Ahren thought he heard a sudden grunt from somewhere close, and he wondered if they had been discovered after all.

Maybe he should use the Elfstones, even if they gave him away. But the magic wasn't any good against rets or any other creatures not motivated by magic. Nor would it respond if he wasn't physically threatened.

He put his free hand on the handle of his long knife, his only other weapon, hesitating. He was deliberating over what to do when a movement off to his right stopped him. He faded back against a wall with Ryer, holding his breath as a cloaked form shouldered into view through the buildings. He could not make out who it was. Or even what, human or Mwellret. Ryer was pressed so close against him he could feel her breathing. He tightened his grip on her hand, feeling nothing himself of the reassurance he was trying to convey to her.

Then the cloaked form was gone. Ahren exhaled slowly and began to move ahead again. It wasn't far to the trees. Beyond the ruins, only a hundred yards or so away, he could make out limbs and clusters of leaves in the new light.

As he stepped around the corner of a partially collapsed wall, he glanced back momentarily at Ryer to be certain she was all right. The look in her eyes changed just as he did so, her wariness giving way to outright terror.

Quickly he looked back, but he was too slow. Sudden movement confronted him.

Then everything went black.

Six

When he saw Truls Rohk move toward his sister, Bek Ohmsford didn't take time to consider the consequences of what he did next. All he knew was that if he failed to act, the shape-shifter would kill her. It didn't matter what the other had promised earlier, in a moment of rational thought, away from the carnage in which they found themselves now. Once Truls saw her kneeling at the side of the fallen Walker, the Sword of Shannara in hand and blood everywhere, that promise might as well have been written on water.

If Bek had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, perhaps he would have reacted the same way as Truls Rohk. But Bek could see from his sister's face that something was very wrong with her. She was staring skyward, but she wasn't seeing anything. She held the Sword of Shannara, but not as if it was a weapon she had just used. Nor did he think she would rely on the talisman to take the life of the Druid. She would rely on her own magic, the magic of the wishsong, and if she had done so here, there would not be this much blood.

Once he got past his initial shock, Bek knew there was more to what he was seeing than appearances indicated. But Truls Rohk was behind Grianne and couldn't see her face. Not that it would have mattered, since he was not inclined to feel the same way Bek did. For the shape-shifter, the Ilse Witch was a dangerous enemy and nothing less, and if there was any reason to suspect she might harm them, he wouldn't think twice about stopping her.

So Bek attacked him. He did so in a reaction born out of desperation, intending to hold the other back without really harming him. But Truls Rohk was so enormously strong that Bek couldn't afford to employ half measures when calling up the power of the wishsong. He hadn't mastered it yet anyway, not in the way that Grianne had, having only just discovered a few months earlier that he even had the use of it. The best he could do was to hope it had the intended effect.

He sent it spinning out in an entangling web of magic that snared Truls and sent him tumbling head over heels through the wreckage of the chamber. The shape-shifter went down, but he was back up again almost at once, throwing off his concealment, revealing himself instantly, big and dark and dangerous. With the long knife held before him, he rushed Grianne a second time. But Bek knew enough by now to appreciate how strong Truls was, and he had already assumed his first attempt at slowing the shape-shifter would fail. He sent a second wave of magic lancing out, a wall of sound that snared the other and sent him flying backwards. Bek cried out, but he did not think Truls even heard him, so caught up was he in his determination to get at Grianne.

But Bek reached her first, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms about her protectively. She did not move when he did so. She did not respond in any way.

“Don't hurt her,” he started to say, turning to find Truls Rohk.

Then something hit him so hard that it knocked him completely free of Grianne and sent him sprawling into the remains of a shattered creeper. Stunned, he dragged himself to his knees. “Truls . . . ,” he gasped as he peered over at Grianne helplessly.

The shape-shifter was bent over her, a menacing shadow, his blade at her exposed throat. “You haven't the experience for this, boy,” he hissed at Bek. “Not yet. But that doesn't make you less of an irritation, I'll give you that. No, don't try to get up. Stay where you are.”

He was silent a moment, tensed and ready as he leaned closer to Bek's sister. Then the knife lowered. “What's wrong with her? She's in some sort of trance.”

Bek climbed back to his feet in spite of the warning and stumbled over, shaking off the disorienting effects of the blow. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“I did if I wanted to be certain you would remember what it meant to use your magic against me.” The other shifted to face him. “What were you thinking?”

Bek shook his head. “Only that I didn't want you to hurt her. I thought you would kill her outright when you saw Walker. I didn't think you could see her face, so you wouldn't know she couldn't hurt us. I just reacted.”

Truls Rohk grunted. “Next time, think twice before you do.” The blade disappeared into the cloak. “Take the sword out of her hands and see what she does.”

He was already bent over the Druid, probing through the blood-soaked robes, searching for signs of life. Bek knelt in front of the unseeing Grianne and carefully pried her fingers loose from the Sword of Shannara. They released easily, limply, and he caught the talisman in his hand as it fell free. There was no sign of recognition in her eyes. She did not even blink.

Bek laid down the sword and moved Grianne's arms to her sides. She allowed him to do this without responding in any way. She might have been made of soft clay.

“She doesn't know anything that's happening to her,” he said quietly.

“The Druid lives,” Truls Rohk responded. “Barely.”

He straightened the ragged form and tore strips of cloth from his own clothing to stem the flow of blood from the visible wounds. Bek watched helplessly, appalled by the extent of the damage. The Druid's injuries seemed more internal than external. There were jagged wounds to his chest and stomach, but he was bleeding from his mouth and ears and nose and even his eyes, as well. He seemed to have suffered a major rupture of his organs.

Then abruptly, unexpectedly, the penetrating eyes opened and fixed on Bek. The boy was so startled that for a moment he quit breathing and just stared back at the other.

“Where is she?” Walker whispered in a voice that was thick with blood and pain.

Bek didn't have to ask whom he was talking about. “She's right beside us. But she doesn't seem to know who we are or what's going on.”

“She is paralyzed by the sword's magic. She panicked and used her own to try to ward it off. Futile. It was too much. Even for her.”

“Walker,” Truls Rohk said softly, bending close to him. “Tell us what to do.”

The pale face shifted slightly, and the dark eyes settled on the other. “Carry me out of here. Go where I tell you to go. Don't stop until you get there.”

“But your wounds—”

“My wounds are beyond help.” The Druid's voice turned suddenly hard and fierce. “There isn't much time left, shape-shifter. Not for me. Do as I say. Antrax is destroyed. Castledown is dead. What there was of the treasure we came to find, of the books and their contents, is lost.” The eyes shifted. “Bek, bring your sister with us. Lead her by the hand. She will follow.”

Bek glanced at Grianne, then back at Walker. “If we move you . . .”

“Druid, it will kill you to take you out of here!” Truls Rohk snapped angrily. “I didn't come this far just to bury you!”

The Druid's strange eyes fixed on him. “Choices of life and death are not always ours to make, Truls. Do as I say.”

Truls Rohk scooped the Druid into the cradle of his arms, slowly and gently, trying not to damage him further. Walker made no sound as he was lifted, his dark head sinking into his chest, his good arm folding over his stomach. Bek strapped the Sword of Shannara across his back, then took Grianne's hand and pulled her to her feet. She came willingly, easily, and she made no response to being led away.

They passed out of the ruined chamber and back down the passageway through which they had come. At the first juncture, Walker took them in a different direction than the one that had brought them in. Bek saw the dark head move slightly and heard the tired voice whisper instructions. The ends of the Druid's tattered robes trailed from his limp form, leaving smears of blood on the floor.

As they progressed through the catacombs, Bek glanced at Grianne from time to time, but never once did she look back at him. Her gaze stayed fixed straight ahead, and she moved as if she was sleepwalking. It frightened the boy to see her like this, more so than when she was hunting him. She seemed as if she was nothing more than a shell, the living person she had been gone entirely.

Their progress was slowed now and again by heaps of stone and twisted metal that barred their passage. Once, Truls was forced to lay the Druid down long enough to force back a sheet of twisted metal tightly jammed across their passage. Bek watched the Druid's eyes close against his pain and weariness, saw him flinch when he was picked up again, his hand clawing at his stomach as if to hold himself together. How Walker could still be alive after losing so much blood was beyond the boy. He had seen injured men before, but none who had lived after being damaged so severely.

Truls Rohk was beside himself. “Druid, this is senseless!” he snapped at one point, stopping in rage and frustration. “Let me try to help you!”

“You help me best by going on, Truls,” was the other's weak response. “Go, now. Ahead still.”

They walked a long way before finally coming out into a vast underground cavern that did not look as if it was a part of Castledown, but of the earth itself. The cavern was natural, the rock walls unchanged by metal or machines, the ceiling studded with stalactites that dripped water and minerals in steady cadence through the echoing silence. What little light there was emanated from flameless lamps that bracketed the cavern entry and a soft phosphorescence given off by the cavern rock. It was impossible to see the far side of the chamber, though bright enough to discern that it was a long distance off.

At the center of the chamber was a huge body of water as black as ink and smooth as glass.

“Take me to its edge,” Walker ordered Truls Rohk.

They made their way along the uneven cavern floor, which was littered with loose rock and slick with damp. Moss grew in dark patches, and tiny ferns wormed through cracks in the stone. That anything could grow down here, bereft of sunlight, surprised Bek.

He squeezed Grianne's hand reassuringly, an automatic response to the encroachment of fresh darkness and solitude. He glanced at her immediately to see if she had noticed, but her gaze was still directed straight ahead.

At the water's edge, they stopped. On Walker's instructions, Truls Rohk knelt to lay him down, cradling him so that his head and shoulders rested in the shape-shifter's arms. Bek found himself thinking how odd it seemed, that a creature who was himself not whole, but bits and pieces held together by smoky mist, should be the Druid's bearer. He remembered when he had first met Walker in the Highlands of Leah. The Druid had seemed so strong then, so indomitable, as if nothing could ever change him. Now he was broken and ragged, leaking blood and life in a faraway land.

Tears came to Bek's eyes as swiftly as the thought, his response to the harsh realization that death approached. He did not know what to do. He wanted to help Walker, to make him whole again, to restore him to who he had been when they had first met all those months ago. He wanted to say something about how much the Druid had done for him. But all he could do was hold his sister's hand and wait to see what would happen.

“This is as far as I go,” Walker said softly, coughing blood and wincing with the pain the movement caused.

Truls Rohk wiped the blood away with his sleeve. “You can't die on me, Druid. I won't allow it. We've too much more to do, you and I.”

“We've done all we're allowed to do, shape-shifter,” Walker replied. His smile was surprisingly warm. “Now we must go our separate ways. You'll have to find your own adventures, make your own trouble.”

The other grunted. “Not likely I could ever do the job as well as you. Game-playing has always been your specialty, not mine.”

Bek knelt beside them, pulling Grianne down with him. She let him place her however he wished and did nothing to acknowledge she knew he was there. Truls Rohk edged away from her.

“I'm done with this life,” Walker said. “I've done what I can with it, and I have to be satisfied with that. Make certain, when you return, that Kylen Elessedil honors his father's bargain. His brother will stand with you; Ahren's stronger than you think. He has the Elfstones now, but the Elfstones won't make the difference. He will. Remember that. Remember as well what we made this journey for. What we have found here, what we have recovered, belongs to us.”

Truls Rohk spat. “You're not making any sense, Druid. What are you talking about? We have nothing to show for what we've done! We've claimed nothing! The Elfstones? They weren't ours to begin with! What of the magic we sought? What of the books that contained it?”

Walker made a dismissive gesture. “The magic contained in the books, the magic I spoke of to both Allardon Elessedil and his son, was never the reason for this voyage.”

“Then what was?” Truls Rohk was incensed. “Are we to play guessing games all night, Druid? What are we doing here? Tell us! Has this all been for nothing? Give us something to hope for! Now, while there's still time! Because I don't think you have much left! Look at you! You're—”

He couldn't make himself finish the sentence, biting off the rest of what he was going to say in bitter distaste.

“Dying?” Walker spoke the word for him. “It's all right to say it, Truls. Dying will set me free from promises and responsibilities that have kept me in chains for longer than I care to remember. Anyway, it's only a word.”

“You say it, then. I don't want to talk to you anymore.”

Walker reached up with his good hand and took hold of the other's cloak. To Bek's surprise, Truls Rohk did not pull away.

“Listen to me. Before I came to this land, before I decided to undertake this voyage, I went into the Valley of Shale, to the Hadeshorn, and I summoned the shade of Allanon. I spoke with him, asking what I could expect if I chose to follow the castaway's map. He told me that of all the goals I sought to accomplish, I would succeed in only one. For a long time, Truls, I thought that he meant I would recover the magic of the books from the Old World. I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I thought that was the purpose of this voyage. It wasn't.”