Straken (45 page)

Atalan was on top of them quickly, and three were dead before they could defend themselves. The remaining two fled, and Kermadec called his brother back so that they could do the same.

“Where can we go?” he shouted at Trefen Morys as they ran down the corridor toward a stairway leading up.

They rounded the corner of the stairway and were immediately in a second fight, this one with a much larger party. The Gnomes drove the Trolls and the young Druids backwards into the corridor, calling for reinforcements as they did so. Bigger and stronger, and with a great deal more to lose, the Trolls fought back and, after a concerted rush, broke through the Gnome crush and charged up the stairway to the next floor.

“Keep going!” Trefen Morys shouted, pointing to the next set of stairs. “Two more floors!”

They did as he directed, rushing ahead heedlessly, trusting that he knew what he was doing. At the top of the third set of stairs, he reached out and grabbed Kermadec’s arm, pointing to a wide set of double doors.

“In there!”

The entire party rushed into a cavernous meeting room filled with chairs and tables stacked all about, the ceiling high and dark with shadows, the room brightened only by a pair of narrow windows on their left.

The young Druid went straight to the windows and released the catch on the nearest. “Go outside,” he told them as they rushed up to him. His breath came in short gasps, and there was blood on one arm. “Follow the ledge to the third set of windows. Inside the room beyond, you will find a door that opens onto a narrow stairway. It leads directly down two flights to the base of the north wall. You will know where your gate is once you get there.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Kermadec asked, realizing what the young Druid had decided.

Trefen Morys shook his head. “We’re of no further use to you, Bellizen and I. We’re not fighters; we’ll just hold you back. Maybe we can do something from up here. Another distraction, perhaps.” He stretched out his hand. “Don’t fail us, Kermadec. Don’t fail our mistress. She isn’t the monster they try to make her seem. She has done much good with the order. We need her back.”

The Maturen gripped his hand tightly. “Get out of this room, Trefen. If they find you somewhere else, they might think you are just another pair of Druids.”

“They’re coming,” Bellizen hissed from where she kept watch at the door.

“Keep safe,” Trefen Morys said. He released the big Troll’s hand and hurried over to stand next to her.

Kermadec climbed through the window without another word, the other Trolls following, and disappeared onto the ledge.

W
ith Rue Meridian and Tagwen keeping watch from just down the darkened passageway, Bek Ohmsford and Khyber Elessedil
placed themselves, one on each side of the hidden door, keeping clear of the greenish glow that seeped from the sleeping chamber, staying back from the opening itself. They were going to have to use their magic in entirely new ways. Bek, in particular, was going to test himself as he never had. The wishsong was a powerful magic, and he had never spent much time trying to master it. Now he was going to attempt something that even a practiced user would have thought twice about.

But he had no choice if he wanted to save his sister and his son.

“Are you ready?” he asked the Elven girl.

She nodded, and he released the catch that held the door in place. The door swung slowly toward her.

Beyond, the sleeping chamber was bathed in a deep greenish glow. A complex webbing was strung all across the ceiling, thousands of strands of magic carefully joined together, the whole of it secured at the corners and center.

Placing herself to one side, staying carefully out of the magic’s steady glow as it flooded the passageway, Khyber brought out the Elfstones. Cradling them in the palm of her hand, she stared at the triagenel, concentrating on what she wanted revealed. She had never seen a triagenel; she had only heard about them. So it was difficult for her to know exactly what to look for. She relied on the Elfstones to respond to her need, and they did. Within seconds, they flared to life, their blue glow spreading all through the chamber, bathing the triagenel in a new brightness. At perhaps twenty-five or thirty places, the webbing burned faintly crimson, mostly where the strands connected to one another.

“Those red spots are the weaknesses,” Khyber whispered.

Bek took a long moment to study them, and then whispered back, “Good work, Khyber. Now hold the Elfstone magic steady.”

He called up the wishsong in a soft, barely audible hum. Building it slowly, he honed it to a cutting edge, a trick he had learned twenty years earlier from Grianne. When he had the edge sharp enough, he eased it up to the ceiling to where the brightest of the crimson spots could be found and began to cut. He was slow and careful, weakening each strand just a little at a time. Relying on his magic to give him a sense of its strength, he would cut the strand as deeply as he felt he could, and then move on to the next. The process took him a little longer each time, his concentration faltering; his strength was
still not back after the injuries suffered in the escape from Paranor two weeks earlier.

“Hurry,” Khyber whispered, the word evidence that her own efforts were beginning to fail.

He continued until he had cut into ten strands. It was tedious, demanding work. His eyes watered and his body cramped, but it was his mind that screamed for release. Still, he was afraid to stop, afraid that starting up again would be too dangerous, that it risked discovery through the sheer repetitiveness of the magical activity. Too much of anything would be noticed in a place like Paranor, especially with the scrye waters able to detect any usage of magic at all.

Bek cut two more strands, making his tally an even dozen. When he had finished with the twelfth, he was too tired to go on. He withdrew the cutting edge of his magic and let the wishsong go still. He closed his eyes wearily and leaned back against the passageway wall. “That’s all I can do,” he whispered to Khyber.

She exhaled sharply, and when he opened his eyes again, the Elfstones had gone dark. She was slumped down across from him, her fingers closed tightly about the talismans. “Do you think it was enough? Will it break apart for your sister and Pen? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t feel the weakening at all. All I could do was make out the places where it might give way.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He reached over from behind the open door and pushed against it. The door closed softly, and the latch caught. They were left in darkness again save for where greenish light leaked through the cracks, blade-thin and knife-sharp. In the ensuing silence, they stared at each other wordlessly, wondering if they had done enough.

S
hadea a’Ru had finished rechecking the strength and positioning of the triagenel and was on her way back down the hall when Traunt Rowan reappeared from the cold chamber. She noticed for the first time how much he had aged over the past few weeks. His strong face was lined and gray, the way he held himself was less confident and erect. He had been the most dependable of her allies, the strongest-minded if not the strongest wielder of magic, and she was dismayed that he had not held up better. It pointed up again a truth she regretted.

In the end, she was the only one she could depend on. In the end, she was in the battle alone.

“You were right to have me check the scrye waters,” he announced perfunctorily. “The Druid on watch said there was a noticeable disturbance perhaps eight or ten hours ago, one that clearly indicated the presence of a powerful magic. He said he failed to report it because he thought it was Druid magic. The truth is he was afraid he would stumble into something he shouldn’t know about and pay the price for doing so.”

“What does that mean?”

His laugh was bitter. “It means our decision to keep everyone guessing about who is expendable is having unavoidable consequences. We have created a climate of fear, Shadea, in which no one wants to risk drawing attention. Better to keep silent than to make a mistake and become another unfortunate example.”

She glared at him, then looked away. He was right, of course. What was the purpose in getting mad at him for pointing out something she already knew? She had the Druids well in line and working to complete their tasks, but they were frightened and uncertain. Her early, unexplained dismissals had made them that way. Now she was in danger of losing them all.

She was no better than Grianne Ohmsford.

But that would change, she promised herself. She would make it change.

She looked back at him. “What was the source of the disturbance?”

“The furnace chamber, where we sent the Elven girl to be killed. I think we must assume she is still alive. Pyson sent an armed unit to search that whole area. They found evidence of blood, but nothing else.”

Shadea shook her head. “What is she up to? What does she think she can accomplish?” Her hard gaze fixed on him. “I want her found, Traunt. I want her found and killed. I don’t care how it’s done or who knows. We have to put an end to this business.”

He nodded wordlessly. There was nothing for him to say.

They walked back down the hall toward her chamber. “I received word from our spies in Arishaig,” he said quietly. “Iridia has disappeared.”

She looked over in surprise. “How long ago?”

“Several days, at least. She simply vanished. Sen Dunsidan doesn’t seem bothered, though. That leads me to believe he may have had something to do with it.”

She nodded, thinking that Sen Dunsidan couldn’t have gotten rid of Iridia on the best day of his life. It was far more likely that her Gnome assassins had been more successful than she had believed, even if they hadn’t gotten word back to her yet.

They reached her door. “Find that girl,” she repeated, turning to face him. “And anyone else she might have brought with her into Paranor. Tell Pyson to have his Gnome Hunters sweep the Keep again—every passageway, every room.”

She paused. “And double the guard on the sleeping chamber. I have a feeling that Grianne Ohmsford is about to reappear. I want to be sure we are ready for her when she does.”

She saw the stricken look on his face and smiled. “What’s the trouble? Don’t you think we are a match for her? We dispatched her once; we can do so again. Only this time, I intend to make sure she won’t ever come back.”

She turned away. “I need to rest. Wake me when something happens.” She glanced back at him. “And make sure that something happens soon.”

He was still standing there in the hallway when she closed the door.

B
ek was sitting next to Khyber in the darkened passageway off the sleeping chamber of the Ard Rhys. They had slept for several hours, and now Tagwen and Rue were sleeping. Bek wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Not that it mattered; there was nothing they could do but wait. He found himself wondering how long that might be. They couldn’t wait indefinitely. Sooner or later, someone would find them. They would need food and drink, as well, although they had brought a little of each with them into the Keep. He guessed that the waiting would end either when Grianne and Pen reappeared out of the Forbidding or Paranor fell to Kermadec and his Trolls.

He wondered about the chances of the latter. The Trolls were formidable, but no one had taken Paranor since it had been betrayed to the Warlock Lord in the time of Jerle Shannara. The Druids were
a powerful order, even if dissatisfied with their leadership and their present situation. Their command of magic gave them an edge that no one else possessed. Bek hoped that Kermadec was right when he said that most of them would not support Shadea a’Ru, but he had a feeling that if faced with an assault on Paranor, they might.

But he couldn’t do anything about that. He could only do something about the things he had control over.

He leaned close to Khyber. “There is something I have to tell you,” he whispered. “About Pen and the staff.”

She glanced up. “The darkwand?”

He nodded. “The King of the Silver River came to me in a fever dream while I was flying north in search of Pen. In that dream, he told me that demons from the Forbidding had manipulated Shadea and her Druid allies. Their purpose in helping Shadea had nothing to do with getting their hands on Grianne; their purpose was to release a demon into our world. That demon’s mission is to destroy the Ellcrys and tear down the Forbidding.”

He felt her fingers dig into his arm. “Let me finish. Pen can stop this from happening. He can send the demon back through the Forbidding. The purpose of the darkwand is not only to bring Grianne out, but also to send the demon back. But Pen has to find it first. It is a changeling, and it will be in disguise.”

“What if it reaches Arborlon before Pen gets back?” She looked at him as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He shook his head. “The Elves guard the Ellcrys day and night. Arborlon has defenses to keep anything from getting close. We have to hope that’s enough. There’s only so much we can do.”

He put his hand over hers. “Now, listen to me. I don’t know what will happen once Grianne and Pen reappear in the Four Lands. We are all at risk. But whatever happens, you and Pen have only one concern. You have to find that demon. Escape back through the secret passageway and get outside Paranor’s walls. Then go after it. Take
Swift Sure
. Use the Elfstones to track it down and then send it back into the Forbidding.”

He paused. “Pen doesn’t know about any of this. You might have to be the one to tell him, if Rue and I can’t. If so, make sure he understands what he is supposed to do. He can’t worry about us or about what happens here. You know the way out; you have to make certain he uses it.”

She stared at him doubtfully. “He won’t want to leave you. I don’t know if he will listen to me.”

Bek took her hands and held them. “He will listen to reason. You will find the words.”

He wished he had something more to offer. But what he had just given her was the best he had.