Straken (2 page)

The taller Druid finished conferring with his companion and looked over. “All right, Pen. We’ll let you speak with Tagwen. But no tricks, please. Anything that suggests you are acting in bad faith will put your Troll friends and your parents at risk. Don’t test our limits. Have your talk, and then do what you know you have to do and surrender yourself to us.”

Pen didn’t know if he would do that or not, but it would help if he could talk with Tagwen about it first. He watched the Dwarf rise on the taller Druid’s command and walk to the head of the bridge. He watched the Druids move back, signaling the Gnome Hunters to do the same. Pen waited until the area in front of the bridge was clear of everyone but the Dwarf, then stepped out onto the stone arch and walked across. He used the darkwand like a walking staff, leaning on it as if he were injured, pretending that was its purpose. Maybe they would let him keep it if they thought he had need of it to walk. Maybe pigs would learn to fly. He kept his eyes open for any unexpected movement, for shadows that didn’t belong or sounds that were out of place. He used his small magic to test for warnings that
might alert him to dangers he couldn’t see. But nothing revealed itself. He crossed unimpeded, captives and captors staying back, behind the fire, deeper into the gardens, away from the ravine’s edge.

When he was at the far side, he dropped down into a crouch, using the bridge abutments as shelter. He didn’t think they intended to kill him, but he couldn’t be certain.

Tagwen moved close. “They caught us with our pants down, young Pen. We thought we were watching out for you, but we were looking too hard in the wrong direction.” His bluff face wrinkled with distaste. “They had us under spear and arrow before we could mount a defense. Anything we might have done would have gotten us all killed. I’m sorry.”

Pen put his hand on the Dwarf’s stout shoulder. “You did the best you could, Tagwen. We’ve all done the best we could.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound convinced. His eyes searched the boy’s face. “Are you all right? Were you telling the truth about that thing that was tracking us? Was it really over there with you? I thought we’d lost it once and for all when we entered the mountains. Is it finally dead?”

Pen nodded. “The tanequil killed it. It’s a long story. But anything that crosses this bridge is in real danger. I’m alive because of this.”

He nodded down at the darkwand, which was resting next to him on the bridge, flat against the stone, tucked into the shadows.

The Dwarf peered at it, then caught sight of Pen’s damaged hand and looked up again quickly. “What happened to your fingers?”

“The tree took them in exchange for the staff. Blood for sap, flesh for bark, bones for wood. It was necessary. Don’t think on it.”

“Don’t think on it?” Tagwen was appalled. He glanced quickly over Pen’s shoulder into the darkness of the tanequil’s island. “Where is Cinnaminson?”

Pen hesitated. “Staying behind. Safe, for now. Tagwen, listen to me. I have to do what they want. I have to go with them to Paranor.”

Tagwen stared. “No, Penderrin. You won’t come out of there alive. They don’t intend to let you go. Nor your parents, either. You’re being taken to Shadea a’Ru. She’s behind what’s happened to the Ard Rhys, and once she’s questioned you about what you are doing and you tell her—which you will, make no mistake—you and your parents are finished. Don’t doubt me on this.”

Pen nodded. “I don’t, Tagwen. But look at how things stand.
We’re trapped here, all of us. Even without the Druids to deal with, we’re stranded in these ruins, surrounded by Urdas. I have to get out if I’m to help my aunt, and the quicker the better. It’s already been too long. If I don’t get to Paranor and use the darkwand soon, it will be too late. And now I have a way. The Druids will take me faster than I could get there on my own. I know it’s dangerous. I know what they intend for me. And for my parents. But I have to risk it.”

“You’re risking too much!” the Dwarf snapped. “You’ll get there quick enough, all right. And then what? They won’t let you into the chamber of the Ard Rhys. They won’t let you make use of that talisman. Shadea will see you for the threat you are and do away with you before you have a chance to do anything!”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He looked off into the gardens, into the pale, shifting patterns of color and the dappled shadows cast by the Druids and Gnome Hunters in the firelight’s glow. “In any case, it’s the only choice that makes sense.” He turned back to Tagwen. “If I agree to go with them, will that tall Druid keep his word and let you go? Is his word any good? Is he any better than the rest of them?”

Tagwen thought about it a moment. “Traunt Rowan. He’s not as bad as the other one, Pyson Wence, and certainly not as bad as Shadea. But he joined them in the plot against your aunt.” He shook his head. “She always thought he was principled, if misguided in his antipathy toward her. He might keep his word.”

Pen nodded. “I’ll have to chance it.”

The Dwarf reached for him with both strong hands and gripped his shoulders. “Don’t do this, Penderrin,” he whispered.

Pen held his gaze. “If you were in my shoes, Tagwen, wouldn’t you? To save her from the Forbidding, to give her a chance, wouldn’t you do just what I’m doing?” Tagwen stared at him in silence. He gave the Dwarf a quick smile. “Of course you would. Don’t say anything more. I’ve already said it to myself. We knew from the beginning that we would do whatever was necessary to reach her, no matter the risk. We knew it, even if we didn’t talk about it. Nothing has changed. I have to go to Paranor. Then into the Forbidding.”

He closed his eyes against the sudden panic that the words roused in him. The enormity of what he was going to attempt was overwhelming. He was just a boy. He wasn’t gifted or skilled or anything useful. He was mostly just there when no one else was.

He took a deep breath. “Will you come after me? In case I don’t
find a way to get through? In case I get locked away in the dungeons and don’t get my parents out? Will you try to do something about it?” He exhaled sharply. “Even if I do get through and find her, the Druids will be waiting for us when we get back. We’ll need help, Tagwen.”

The Dwarf tightened his grip. “We’ll come for you. No matter how long it takes us, no matter where you are. We’ll find a way to reach you. We’ll be there for you when you need us.”

Pen put his hands over those of the Dwarf’s, pressing them down into his shoulders. “Get out of here any way you can, Tagwen. Don’t stop for anything.” He hesitated. “Don’t try to reach Cinnaminson. She has to wait for me. She can’t leave until I come back for her.” He shook his head quickly, fighting back tears. “Don’t ask me to explain. Just tell me you’ll do what I’ve asked. All right?”

The Dwarf nodded. “All right.”

“I can do this,” Pen whispered, swallowing hard. “I know I can.”

Tagwen’s fingers tightened. “I know it, too. You’ve done everything else. Everything anyone could have asked of you.”

“I’ll find a way. Once I’m there, I’ll find a way.”

“There are some still loyal to your aunt,” Tagwen said. “Keep an eye out. One of them might come to your aid.”

Pen glanced down again at the darkwand. “What can I do about the staff? It’s too big to hide, but I have to take it with me. I know they won’t let me keep it, if they see it. But I can’t afford to give it over to them, either.”

From back in the shadows, the taller of the two Druids called out, “You should have said everything you intended to say by now, Pen. You should be finished and ready to honor your promise. Tell Tagwen to step back, and then you come forward to us!”

Pen stared toward the firelight, to the cluster of Troll prisoners huddled together, to the shadowy forms of the Gnome Hunters surrounding them, to the cloaked forms of the Druids. It had the look of another world, of a place and time he could barely imagine. He was still enmeshed in the world of the tanequil, of orange-tipped leaves and mottled bark, of massive limbs and roots, of a sentient being older than Man. His memories of the past two days were still so painfully fresh that they dominated his present and threatened to overwhelm his fragile determination.

He despaired.

“That’s a pretty piece of work,” Tagwen said suddenly, nodding down at the darkwand. “It might help if it wasn’t so shiny.”

He eased back on his heels and reached behind him for a handful of damp earth, then rubbed it along the length of the staff, clotting the runes, dulling the surface. He worked in the shadows, shielding his movements.

“If they take it away from you,” he said, finishing up, “tell them you found it in the ruins. Tell them you don’t know what it is. If they think it was given to you to help the Ard Rhys, you’ll never see it again. You might keep it long enough to use it if they don’t suspect what it’s for.”

Pen nodded. He stood up, one hand gripping the staff. He leaned on it once more, as if he needed its support. “Go back to them. Tell Kermadec to be ready. Khyber is still out there, somewhere. I saw her while coming back to you. She should have been here by now. She might be watching all this, and I don’t know what she will do.”

The Dwarf took a quick look around, as if thinking he might see her in the darkness, then nodded and rose, as well. Saying nothing, he returned to the Gnome Hunters and the encircled Rock Trolls, his head lowered. The Trolls watched him come, but did not rise to greet him. Pen waited until he was seated among them again, then looked over at the Druids, who were standing to one side.

“Do you promise my friends will not be harmed?” he asked again.

“Not by us or those who travel with us,” the taller Druid replied, coming forward a step. “We’ll leave them here when we depart. What happens to them after that is up to them.”

It was the best Pen could hope for. He would have liked to have found a way to get them back to Taupo Rough, but he couldn’t chance trying to make that happen. Kermadec was resourceful. He would find a way.

Pen glanced down at the darkwand. The dirt and mud that coated its length mostly hid its runes. Its smooth surface was dull. If he was lucky, they would not pay close attention to it. If they took it, he would have to find a way to get it back later.

His gaze shifted to the island of the tanequil, to the dark silent wall of the forest that concealed the sentient tree. He was leaving things unfinished here, he knew, and he might never have a chance to come back and set them right. The urge to act immediately threatened
to overpower him, to turn him from his path to the Ard Rhys. He knew her so little, and Cinnaminson so well.

He took another deep, steadying breath and looked back at the waiting Druids. “I’m ready,” he called out in what he hoped was a brave voice.

Then, using the staff as a crutch, he began to walk toward them.

F
rom deep in the shadows at the edge of the gardens, Khyber Elessedil watched the drama unfold with a mix of anger and indecision.

“Oh, no, Pen,” she whispered.

She had returned before him, seen the Druid airships hanging over the gardens like spiders from an invisible web, the Gnome Hunters ringing the captive members of her little company, the Druids watching the bridge, and she had determined that she must do something to warn the boy.

But she was too late. He appeared abruptly, incautiously revealing himself before he could think better of it and before she could stop him. She held back then to see what would happen, thinking that she must not act too hastily, that she did not know yet what to do. She could save one—the boy or the rest of the company—but not both, not without a great deal of luck she could not depend upon. Two Druids were more than she was able to handle on her own; her skills were too rudimentary, her knowledge too shallow. She would catch them unawares, but that would not give her enough of an edge to guarantee success.

No, she must wait.

She must bide her time.

And so she did, listening to the conversation that ensued between Pen and Traunt Rowan. She could divine the nature of their
maneuverings, of their hidden intentions, from what they said and how they moved. She understood what was at stake, but not how the matter would be resolved. Desperately trying to concoct a plan that would allow her to act, knowing that sooner or later she must, she waited them out. When Tagwen was allowed to confer with Pen in private, she thought that then was the time to do whatever she could, but she was unable to make herself do so. Everything she considered promised to end badly. Everything depended on help that wasn’t available. She prevaricated and waffled. Indecision froze her.