Straken (15 page)

When she was around the corner and out of their sight, she wheeled on Pen. “Don’t worry, we’re going back. But we need a plan for this. It won’t help if we’re injured or killed—especially you. You’ll have all you can do just to stay alive on the other side.”

“I can manage,” he said.

She gave him a long, hard look. “I have to say this before the time to say anything has run out. What you encounter inside the Forbidding will be much worse than what you’ve encountered here. You will be all alone, and I haven’t any idea how you will protect yourself from the things imprisoned in there. I can help you. I’m not Ahren, but I do have training in the use of Druid magic, enough so that I can be of use. More important, I have the Elfstones. I think you should take me with you.”

He shook his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I know you
think
you can’t. I know you were told you couldn’t. But maybe we need to test what you were told. The King of the Silver River has misled you more than once. You have already sacrificed yourself in ways that you weren’t expecting. What might you be expected to sacrifice this time? Maybe I can keep that from happening.”

“No, Khyber,” he said firmly. His mouth tightened into a thin line. “If you come with me—if you even can—no one will ever know what has happened to either one of us if I fail. But if you stay behind, you might be able to change things without me. You might find a different way to help, a better way.”

She snorted. “There is no other way. You know that.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything. Neither do you. We’re still learning what’s possible.” He paused. “I do know this much. The staff and I are bonded in a way that makes it very clear to me that in this one instance, at least, the King of the Silver River was right. I have to go alone. No one else is going to be allowed to go with me.”

She stared at him. “You are so stubborn, Penderrin.”

“You should know, Khyber. Who is more stubborn than you?”

“I wish you would change your mind.” She folded her arms and waited, then gave him a cryptic nod. “Just remember not to put yourself in danger needlessly. Remember to be patient when you come up against things you can’t get past. Don’t be reckless, Pen. You are, sometimes. But you can’t be in there.”

She waited on his response. “I know,” he said.

“You say it, but I’m not sure you mean it.”

His lips tightened. “I mean it. I know what it will be like. I know it will be bad. But I have to think I have a chance or the King of the Silver River wouldn’t be sending me in the first place. Maybe the darkwand will help protect me. In any case, I promise to be careful, Khyber. You’d do better to worry about yourself. You won’t be much better off than me.”

He was right. She would be alone in the Druid’s Keep with no way out. She would be in as much danger as he was.

She put the matter aside. There was nothing either of them could do about what lay ahead. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have a plan, Khyber?”

“Just stick close.”

With Pen at her shoulder, she moved back to the bend in the corridor and stopped just out of sight of the Gnome Hunters. She glanced both ways to be certain they were alone, then summoned magic in the form of a spark of light no larger than a firefly. It flared to life then danced in the palm of her hand. She held it for a moment, looked at Pen to be certain he was ready, then stepped out into the hallway and threw the spark at the Gnomes.

The spark flew down the corridor so quickly that it was on them before they knew what it was. One or two had just enough time to
glance up before the spark exploded in a ball of fiery light that consumed them. But nothing burned. Instead, weapons, armor, iron stays, and clasps were turned to magnets that locked together instantly, becoming a clutch of metal pieces, pulling all six guards into a struggling heap.

“Now,” Khyber hissed, yanking Pen out of the shadows.

They raced for the stairway, black robes flying out behind them, watching as the pile of hapless Gnome Hunters rolled and thrashed about the floor, trying to free themselves from one another. One or two saw the pair run by and yelled in warning, but could not do anything about it. Before even one of them had regained his feet, Khyber and Pen were past them and racing up the stairs.

By the time they reached the upper floor, Pen was leading the way, flying up the steps and across the floor as he turned down the hall. Rounding the corner of the stairwell, Khyber glanced back over her shoulder. No one was following, but the guards were cursing and screaming and the sporadic flash of her entangling magic revealed that it was still holding them fast. Help would arrive quickly, though. She ran after Pen, who was pulling futilely at the iron handles of a pair of wooden doors that were carved with intricate symbols.

“Locked!” he screamed in frustration.

Khyber pulled him aside, took a moment to study the locks, found the magic that bound them too much for her, and stepped back, motioning Pen behind her. Using a skill Ahren had taught her long ago, she attacked the fastenings on the hinges, where the securing magic was weakest, loosening the bolts that held them, ripping free the outer stays. In moments, the doors had collapsed in a thunderous crash, giving them access to the room beyond.

They rushed into the chamber, Pen wheeling left and right, desperately searching for the missing staff. “Khyber, I don’t see it!”

“There,” she said, pointing toward the ceiling.

The staff hung suspended from a hook, threaded through with ropes of magic, bound securely in place and out of reach.

“Can you get it down?” the boy pleaded.

She shook her head. She could feel her heart pounding as desperation flooded through her. “The magic is too strong for me, too complex. I’m not skilled enough to break it.”

In frustration, he leapt for the staff, snatching at it with both
hands. As he did so, the runes glowed like bits of fire, as if live coals were embedded in the polished wood. They were responding to his efforts to reach him, anxious for him to succeed.

“Pen, stop!” she exclaimed. “Let’s try something.”

She positioned herself beneath the darkwand, locked her hands together in front of her, palms-up, to form a cup, then said, “Step into my hands and I’ll boost you up. Grab one end of the staff and whatever happens, don’t let go.”

He did as she asked, waiting until she had braced herself, then stepping into her locked fingers. He was much heavier than he looked, and it took all her strength to boost him up and then hold him in place as he groped for the staff.

“I have it!” he shouted after what seemed an endless amount of time.

She released him with a gasp and left him dangling from the ceiling, both hands holding on to the staff. The runes were burning so fiercely it looked as if the wood might spontaneously ignite. But Pen did not seem to feel any pain, and the threads that secured the staff were beginning to shimmer and lose their brightness.

“It’s weakening, Pen! It’s giving way!”

There was a flurry of movement and the sound of boots in the hallway beyond. She whirled, summoned her magic almost without thinking, and turned it on a rush of Gnome Hunters who suddenly appeared in the gap where the doors used to be. A burst of wind materialized right in front of them, a huge gust that caught them up and sent them tumbling back down the hallway in a jumble of grunts and cries.

Behind her, in the face of the talisman’s need to serve Pen, the magic that chained the darkwand failed and the boy crashed to the floor. He scrambled up again almost at once.

“It worked, Khyber!” he exclaimed, beaming with excitement.

“Go,” she told him, gesturing. “Do what you have to, but go now. They’re coming.”

She turned back to the doorway, stepped to the opening, and sent another gust of wind sweeping down the hall toward the Gnome Hunters and a single black-cloaked Druid who had joined them.

When she glanced over her shoulder, Pen was running his hands up and down the staff as the glowing runes radiated spears of brilliance
that chased back the darkness in all directions and surrounded the boy in a halo of fire. “It’s working, Khyber!” he shouted. “I can feel something pulling at me!”

She wasn’t sure what he meant or even if he understood what was actually happening, but she couldn’t do anything to help him in any case. Her attention reverted to the hallway, where something new was developing. A regrouping was taking place just out of her line of sight. She stepped to one side of the opening, trying to find shelter. She scanned the torchlit darkness beyond their refuge, searching for movement, readying herself for whatever was coming.

“Hurry, Penderrin!”

There was no response. When she glanced back to see what he was doing, he was gone.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

In the next instant, something that might have been a huge fist slammed into her and sent her flying backwards through the last of the fading streaks of light from the darkwand’s runes. All the breath went out of her as she struck the far wall and collapsed in a stunned heap.

Use the Elfstones
, she thought, fumbling through her clothing for them.

Then the fist struck her again, exploding out of the darkness of the corridor through the gap in the wall, hammering her back a second time. She fell away from the blow like a rag doll, and all the light and sound went out of the world.

I
n a second, much darker world, in a stronger, more heavily warded Keep, in a place and time where life was measured by the thickness of sinew and iron and the durability of hope was as ephemeral as mist, another attempt at escape was hanging by a thread.

Grianne Ohmsford lay motionless on the floor of her cell, a ragged, broken creature, listening to the sounds of an approaching Goblin’s heavy breathing. The guard it had come to relieve was dead, and in its place, sitting cloaked and hooded not ten feet from her cell door, was Weka Dart. Her would-be rescuer and the one creature in that wretched world who had demonstrated any compassion for her, he was also her betrayer and a liar of such monstrous proportions that it was impossible for her to know his intentions from one moment to the next.

Grianne Ohmsford, Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Order, had been reduced to a place in life where reliance on betrayers and liars was the best she could expect. How she had come to that end was still something of a mystery, although she knew the identities of those responsible. She knew, too, what was at stake, and it tethered her sanity and resourcefulness directly to a driving need to get clear of the dungeons and find her way back to her own world.

But once the Goblin caught sight of the poorly concealed Weka Dart—which it surely must—the alarm would be given and her last hope of ever escaping would be ended. She could not let that happen.
Whatever her misgivings about the Ulk Bog, however uncertain his loyalty, he remained her one chance. Her expectations were reduced to little more than gambling on the mercurial nature of a creature she barely understood. It would have to be enough. Weka Dart would have to do.

She stirred, deliberately drawing the Goblin’s attention. It turned toward her, hearing her scuffling sounds, her whimpers, her sudden gasps, watching her attempts to rise from the floor on which she had lain by then for the better part of three days. It grunted something at her, taking hold of the bars to the cell, leaning forward and peering in. She was an amusement that could keep it entertained during the long hours ahead, a curiosity to be enjoyed and, perhaps, even teased. She could see it in the Goblin’s eyes. She could read it in the look on its face.

Then a shadow slipped behind the gnarled figure, swift as smoke on wind, and the Goblin inhaled sharply as a knife blade thrust through its throat and pinned it against the bars. Weka Dart held the Goblin in place until it was limp, then dropped it on the dungeon floor and kicked the body aside.

“They should all go the same way,” the Ulk Bog hissed. There was a look in his eyes that Grianne hadn’t seen before and wasn’t sure she wanted to see again.