Straken (3 page)

Until, finally, it was too late. Pen was coming down from the bridge to give himself up, counting on Traunt Rowan to honor his word about Tagwen and the Trolls, giving himself over to a fate he had already determined he must embrace. Anything to get to Paranor, he was thinking. She knew it without having to be told.

She watched him limp forward, leaning on his staff, his young face etched with lines of determination. He was sacrificing himself. For the Ard Rhys. For Tagwen. For Kermadec and his Rock Trolls. Even for her. He did not know where she was, only that she was out there somewhere, still free, perhaps still able to do something to help. But he wasn’t looking for that help just then. His intention was to get to Paranor and hope that help could be found there.

The staff drew her attention. She had seen it before, when he was scurrying through the woods on the island of the tanequil. But then it had looked much brighter and better kept. She had thought it was the darkwand, the talisman he had come to find. The tree would have given it to him, persuaded in a way that only he knew, a way that the King of the Silver River said he would find when it was time. If it was the talisman, in fact. If …

But it was, of course. He had muddied the surface and was using it as a crutch to disguise what it really was. He was taking a desperate chance that neither of the Druids would think it anything more than a length of old wood. He could not go to Paranor without it, and go to Paranor he must, of course. That was his intention in giving himself up.

She saw it all clearly, a conclusion about which she felt so certain that she never questioned it. Brave Pen.

Seconds later, she was moving, sliding along the edge of the trees, making her way toward the closest of the airships. She must do what she could to help him, and to help him she must go where he
was going. She must get aboard the airship, travel hidden to Paranor, then disembark in secret and find him before they discovered his intentions and put an end to them. Because they would, she knew. He was not clever or strong enough to fool them all. One of them would see through him.

Within the circle of light cast by the fire, the Druids had moved forward to intercept Pen. He did not resist them as Traunt Rowan took Pen’s arm and guided him toward the
Athabasca
. Rowan’s actions were almost paternal. He spoke softly to the boy, walking beside him in a way that suggested good intentions. He had not bothered yet with the staff, did not seem to care much about it at all. Pen was still limping, perhaps causing the Druid to think he was indeed injured and in need of support. The other one, his sly eyes fixed on them, trailed purposefully, and Khyber did not trust anything about him. If he had been the one to make the promise to release Tagwen and the Trolls, she would have acted at once, she told herself. There would have been no hesitation.

She reached the rope ladder that dangled from the airship she had chosen—not the one Pen was boarding, unfortunately—and went up it in a rush, not bothering to look back until she was aboard. There were Gnome Hunters forward against the railing, but their attentions were occupied with the events taking place below, and they took no notice of her. She slipped into the shadow of the mainmast, then over to the shelter of a rail sling set in place to port. From there, she could see Pen being led to the ladder of the other ship, the Druids shadowing him watchfully. She watched the Gnome Hunters drift through the light toward their ships like wraiths to their haunts. She saw Tagwen’s rough features, sad and desperate, peer upward as Pen climbed the ladder. She saw Kermadec’s strong hands knot together in a promise of certain action.

She could still stop it, she told herself. She could fling Druid Fire or elemental winds all through those Gnome Hunters and knock them sprawling. She could separate Pen from those Druids, burn away the ladder from below where he climbed, and give him a chance to flee. But it would not be settled then and there, and the consequences for those Trolls too slow to reach the shadows or the weapons of which they had been stripped would be ugly.

Remember. Pen is not trying to escape. He is trying to reach Paranor. He has made up his mind
.

She pictured him anew as she had seen him from across the chasm not two hours earlier. She saw the monster Traunt Rowan had named Aphasia Wye. She saw Pen prepare to do what he could to stop it, even when there appeared there was nothing he could do. Facing what must have seemed to be certain death, he had not tried to flee or hide. He had stood there to meet it.

And would have, had she not been there to give him aid.

Perhaps he was relying on her now.

Perhaps he knew she would not abandon him; that because she had saved him once, his life was her responsibility. Old legends said that this was so. She had never believed it.

But somehow, at that moment, she did.

“A
re you injured?” Traunt Rowan asked pleasantly, supporting Pen under his free arm, not looking at him as he talked, moving him steadily along toward the
Athabasca
.

Pen shrugged. “Nothing serious.”

“Aphasia Wye?”

“I hurt it trying to get away from him.”

“But no broken bones?”

Pen shook his head.

“You’re lucky. If you hadn’t gotten away from him, broken bones would have been the least of your problems.”

The second Druid, the one Tagwen had named Pyson Wence, moved up suddenly on Pen’s other side. “How
did
you get away from him?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He risked a quick look at Traunt Rowan, seemingly the friendlier of the two. “Not until we’re away.”

Pyson Wence seized his arm, the blunt fingers squeezing so hard he flinched. “I don’t like your tone of voice, little man,” he hissed. “What you want in this matter is of no concern to us.”

Pen shrank from him. “I want to know my friends are safe before I tell you anything.”

“Let him go, Pyson,” the taller one whispered. “Unfriendly eyes are watching. We can wait.”

The one called Pyson let him go. Pen tore away from Traunt Rowan and rubbed his injured arm. He kept his head down and his eyes averted. He didn’t want to do anything to aggravate them until
the airships were aloft and his friends free. He didn’t know what to expect then, but he would have a story in place to tell them that might buy him some time.

They reached the ladder, and as he made an attempt to climb it while still holding the darkwand, Pyson Wence snatched it away and cast it aside. “You won’t be needing any crutches from here on,” he said.

Pen froze, hands on the ladder, one foot on the first rung. He couldn’t leave the talisman behind.

Then Traunt Rowan walked over and picked it up. “He might have need of it, Pyson. I’ll carry it up for him. Go on, Pen.”

Pen exhaled sharply and began to climb, taking care to favor his supposedly injured leg as he went. He did not look down at the Druids. He did not slow until he was aboard the airship, when he turned to wait for them. They were aboard quickly, dark faces shadowed and unreadable in the faint diffusion of the now distant firelight. Below, the Gnome Hunters were moving to follow, all but those who ringed the prisoners.

Traunt Rowan moved over to Pen and handed him back his staff. “You wouldn’t consider trying to use this as a weapon, would you?” he asked with an edgy smile.

Pen shook his head.

“Good. Now let’s go below and get you settled in.”

Instantly, Pen moved over to the railing, away from everyone. “Not until I see that my friends are going to be all right,” he said. “I want to watch what happens next.”

Pyson Wence’s Gnomic features were dark with anger, but Traunt Rowan merely shrugged. “Stay where you are then.”

He turned to Wence and nodded, and the latter issued orders to the Hunters who crewed the airships. The Hunters began scurrying about the decks and up the rigging, preparing the three ships to sail. With a last, dark look at Pen, Pyson Wence moved into the pilot box to stand next to the
Athabasca
’s Captain, his face turned away from the boy.

Now only the few Gnomes guarding Tagwen and the Trolls remained, and one by one, weapons held at the ready, eyes fixed on the prisoners, they began to drift back toward the airships as well. Pen’s companions sat quietly and watched their captors withdraw, making no attempt to stop them. Atalan was staring up at Pen, a strange look
on his fierce face, one that suggested he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Tagwen was whispering to Kermadec, his head bent close to that of the Troll, their faces dark and intense.

Pen scanned the grounds at the edges of the firelight, where the walls caught the last of the flickering yellow glow, where the shadows encroached from the woods beyond. No sign of Khyber. But she had to be there. She had to be watching.

Then the
Athabasca
was lifting away, the other two airships following close behind, and the ruins of Stridegate were shrinking into the darkness. His former companions came to their feet and stood close together, looking after him. Quickly, their faces turned small and indistinct, and then disappeared. The ruins faded, as well, until all that remained was the tiny dot of the fire’s heart.

When that disappeared and the island of the tanequil was nothing more than a dark lump silhouetted by starlight against the horizon, Traunt Rowan appeared at his side to take him below.

O
n the deck of the ship flying to starboard, Khyber Elessedil sat quietly in the concealing shadow of the aft port rail sling, watching the
Athabasca
. Pen had gone down the main hatchway and was no longer in view. The ruins of Stridegate had disappeared into the distance, and her companions with them. The glow of the fire had faded, and the position of the stars told her they were flying south along the edge of the Klu toward the Upper Anar, the vast sprawl of the Inkrim a dark lake below.

There was nothing she could do but wait.

When she was twelve, she had run away for the third time. On that occasion, intent on escaping her family and their dictatorial ways, she had stowed away aboard an airship flying to Callahorn. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them. It was that she didn’t love what they had planned for her. Her brother and her father before him had very definite ideas about the ways in which an Elessedil Princess should conduct herself, and Khyber had trouble even seeing herself as a Princess. Her station in life was an accident of birth, and she could never quite bring herself to accept it as her due. She was always more comfortable with being someone and something else. Her family didn’t like that. Her family let her know that rebelliousness would not be tolerated.

Her response had been to run away. She started at eight. At twelve, after two failed attempts, she had determined that this time she would succeed, that she would put herself permanently beyond their reach. Callahorn was Free-born land, and people of all Races were welcomed and accepted no matter who they were or where they came from. Everyone was treated the same. Royalty had been gone from the Borderlands for hundreds of years and wasn’t likely to be coming back anytime soon. If she could get that far, she could disappear into the mix and never be found. At least, that was the way she saw it at twelve.

She got as far as her destination, but she was discovered by the Captain before she could disembark and was hauled back kicking and screaming yet again to her family. It was not a pleasant reunion. But she learned something valuable from that effort. She learned how to hide in plain sight. She learned that if you looked enough like you belonged, you stood a pretty good chance of being accepted. On that outing, she took on the look of a cabin boy or a very young crewmember, and to her surprise the crew never stopped to consider that she might be something else. Admittedly, she kept her exposure to a minimum, staying out of sight most of the time. But when she did surface, for food and water or just to breathe fresh air, she was able to move about without being stopped or questioned.

Aboard the Druid airship, she resolved to put this knowledge to good use. She had already appropriated one of the short cloaks worn by the Gnome Hunters who served as crew, using its hood to conceal her face. At night and in the absence of close scrutiny, she looked like one of them. She had already determined that by day, she would hide below, somewhere out of the way, somewhere the crew didn’t often go. There were no Druids aboard the ship, so she had only the Gnomes to worry about. She knew airships well, and the configuration of the one she was on was familiar to her. Because the
Athabasca
was a warship, she offered plenty of hiding places. Because she was a Druid ship, everyone was trained to do their job and not ask questions.

Sitting by the rail sling as the ship flew into the night, pretending at inspecting its mechanism as the Gnome Hunter crewmen went impassively about their business, she considered her resources. She had the use of her Druid magic, although she possessed only a small
arsenal and was largely unskilled in its use. She had the Elfstones, too. But, although powerful, they were of limited use. Mostly she had her wits and her determination, and she thought that those would probably end up serving her best.

Around her, things were settling down. The ship’s course was set, her sails aloft, her rigging in place. Night enfolded all three vessels, rendering them starlit silhouettes against the horizon. She wished she were aboard Pen’s ship so that she might reach him long enough to let him know he was not alone. But she knew that she was not likely to see him again before they reached Paranor. Even then, getting to him would be problematic. He would be celled and guarded, and he would be taken before Shadea a’Ru quickly once she knew he was there.

She leaned back against the rail sling. She realized she would have to reach Pen quickly once they landed or it might not be worth trying to reach him at all. The Druids would discover what he was up to, what he had come north to accomplish, and it would all be over quickly.

If he lived that long. Traunt Rowan and the other Druid might decide to dispatch him while they were returning. They might even have orders to that end.