Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (44 page)

“The Fangs,” the Speakman whispered.

Khyber Elessedil was standing close enough to hear. “How far do they stretch?”

“Miles,” Farshaun answered after listening to the Speakman’s whispered response.

“Can we sail around them?” She checked her compass. “We’re flying west still. Can we turn north or south to get past?”

This time the Speakman addressed her directly, his insect body folding in on itself as he crouched down in the pilot box close to Farshaun. “You have to land the airship and walk. The marshland you look for is here.”

Redden and Railing, still standing close enough to listen in, turned as Mirai came up beside them. “Grim land down there,” she said. “It has the feel of a place that doesn’t like visitors.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Railing grumbled.

The Ard Rhys directed Farshaun to follow the Speakman’s orders and set the airship down at the edge of the Fangs. The twins and Mirai could feel the descent begin as the Rover crew leapt up to work the light sheaths and radian draws. The mist seemed to thicken further as they dropped, closing in about them, wet and cloying against their skin. Mirai made a rude sound and wiped at her face.

No one was feeling particularly good about landing here.

When the airship was anchored and the rope ladders thrown over the side of the vessel, Khyber assembled everyone but the Druid Guard and the Rover crewmen on the aft deck. There were muted exchanges of comments and responses from those gathered as the Ard Rhys waited for them to get settled. More than a few gave worried glances at the forest of rock spears and mist serpents that formed a gloomy, shadowy wall ahead.

“We go on afoot from here,” Khyber announced. “We’ll take everyone but Farshaun, Mirai, and the Rover crewmen, who will stay to keep the
Walker Boh
safe for our return. Garroneck will choose six of his Druid Guards to remain behind, as well—an added precaution. The rest of us will enter the Fangs to search for a marshland. Once we’ve found it, we will decide what to do next. Are there questions?”

“I’ll have to go, as well,” Farshaun spoke up at once. “The Speakman won’t go without me. Mirai and my Rovers are perfectly capable of caring for the airship without me.”

Redden, standing close to Mirai, expected the Rover girl to object to being left behind. Staying close to the twins was one of the reasons she had been allowed to come. But to his surprise, she didn’t say a word.

“Very well, Farshaun,” the Ard Rhys agreed. “You come, as well.”

She dismissed them to gather their equipment and weapons and meet on the ground in thirty minutes.

Redden glanced at the overcast sky, noted the position of the sun,
and decided they had less than four hours of light remaining. He glanced again at Mirai, who was looking away, and then at Railing.

His brother shrugged. “I don’t like it, either. Should we say something to her?”

Redden shook his head.

Thirty minutes later, the search party set out. With the Speakman and Khyber Elessedil leading the way, they pushed ahead into the forest of stone columns and within minutes could no longer see the ship and its occupants. Right away Redden felt uncomfortable with the size of the search party. It was too large and too unwieldy, an opinion he shared with his brother but otherwise kept to himself. Presumably the Ard Rhys knew what she was doing, and if she thought they needed twenty-odd people it wasn’t his place to start criticizing. What Redden didn’t like was the way they were spread out, so far apart as they picked their way through the maze of rock formations that those on the opposite wings of the loose formation often could not see one another.

Reacting to his instincts, he moved Railing and himself into the center of the search.

The group slogged its collective way through the Fangs for more than two hours, wending slowly through clusters of rock spears and wispy trailers of mist. No one spoke in anything other than a whisper and then only infrequently. The Trolls, by duty and nature guardians and protectors, positioned themselves at the perimeters of the advance. With the Ard Rhys at the forefront, the other Druids split apart so that Seersha was on the right wing, Carrick on the left, and Pleysia trailing. Skint was in the forefront with Khyber, where he could put his tracking skills to use, and the warrior Dwarf Chieftain Crace Coram was only a few steps behind. Oriantha stayed close to Pleysia. Redden and Railing had been placed in the middle of the assemblage, surrounded by protectors. All eyes constantly scanned the haze; all ears were pricked for any sounds that warned of danger.

They were deep into the Fangs and beginning to feel numbed by the strain of watching and waiting for something to happen when the insects attacked them.

The swarm came out of nowhere. The buzzing of wings was the only warning anyone got, and then the creatures were on top of them, biting and stinging. The insects were the size of large birds and quick to avoid all attempts at swatting them away. The Druids threw up various forms of magic to drive them off, but with the company scattered it was impossible to protect everyone at once. Redden and Railing stood back-to-back defending themselves with the magic of the wishsong, turning leaves and twigs into flying shards of metal that twisted and cut at their attackers. They downed a few, but there were hundreds in the swarm, their numbers darkening what little sky was visible overhead. The air filled with their buzzing.

Then someone began screaming, and the confusion of the attack reached new levels. Over to the left of where they stood fighting off the insects, the twins heard earth and rocks grinding together. Redden caught a glimpse of one of the Trolls tumbling from sight into a hole that had opened in the ground. He saw Farshaun reach for him, grab hold of his arm, try to pull him back, and fail. The Troll tumbled away, thrashing. Then the hole closed over again with a terrible crunching sound, and the Troll was gone.

Other holes began to open all around them, jagged fissures running six to ten feet long. Redden yanked Railing away from one that yawned right next to them just as his brother lost his balance and began to teeter on the edge. The fissures were actually moving like the jaws of an animal, working their ragged mouths back and forth.

Skint surged through the middle of the struggling members of the company, leaping the hungry mouths, yelling as he went.

“Procks!” he screamed. “Get out of here!”

Members of the company were already falling back, moving out of the area of attack as swiftly as they could manage. Pleysia, the girl Oriantha, a couple of the Trolls, and Crace Coram led the way. Khyber Elessedil, still fighting off swarms of giant insects, backed away last. With the insects in pursuit, everyone began a ragged retreat, swatting at their winged attackers while trying to stay clear of the Procks.

Redden and Railing had heard about Procks from the Rovers. Found mostly in the mountains of the Eastland, they surfaced in
communities hundreds strong. They were living rock, an impossibility given life through a magic long since lost and forgotten. They swallowed anything that came within reach, catching hold of the unwary and chewing their victims to pieces even as they struggled to free themselves.

The company kept fighting off the snapping mouths, struggling to reach safe ground while avoiding the lethal stings and bites of the insects. It took longer than it should have, and both twins were exhausted by the time they had gone far enough that they could consider themselves safe.

Farshaun plopped down beside them, winded and red-faced. His arms and face were swollen with stings and bites, and there was blood on his hands. “Did you see what happened to that Troll? His leg went down into a Prock’s mouth, and that was it. Skint and I tried to pull him free, but it was no use. Once they’ve got you, there’s no getting away.”

“I didn’t think there were any Procks in the Westland,” Railing said, wiping sweat from his face and finding blood, as well. “I thought they were only in the Ravenshorn.”

Farshaun gave him a look. “There’s everything out here in the Breakline. Everything you don’t want to find.”

The other members of the company had worked their way free of the Prock community by now, and the flying insects had broken off their attack and flown back to wherever they had come from. Close by where the twins were huddled with Farshaun, Khyber Elessedil was confronting the Speakman.

“Why didn’t you warn us?” she demanded of him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

The Speakman, matchstick arms and legs collapsed against his scarecrow body, looked at her as if he had never seen her before. His voice was surprisingly soft. “How could I warn you? I never saw those things before. Any of them. Last time I was here, they weren’t.”

Farshaun came up and crouched beside him. “Speakman. Did you say they were new? But that isn’t possible. Things don’t change out here. You know that.”

“I know. But they have.”

Redden and Railing inched closer to listen in.

“How many did we lose?” Farshaun asked the Ard Rhys.

She shook her head in disgust, her brow furrowing. “Only the one you couldn’t save. We were lucky it wasn’t more. But we can’t have this happen again. We need the Speakman to warn us. He lives out here! He has to sense these things or we’ll be decimated before we find anything!”

She kept her voice low, but the force of her words was unmistakable. Farshaun looked over at the Speakman, who nodded silently. “He’ll do the best he can,” the old man assured her.

“Let’s hope so,” she said, her eyes fixed on his. “Because at dawn tomorrow we’re going to try this again.”

26

K
HYBER
E
LESSEDIL DID NOT SPEAK TO ANY OF THEM AGAIN
that day save for Farshaun. She knew she had become obsessed with finding the missing Elfstones and had reached a point where almost nothing else mattered. She hated seeing anyone die, but she had already accepted it as inevitable, given the nature of the dangers they faced. What she hated most was not being sufficiently prepared for the bad things they would encounter, so she had made up her mind that they would be ready on the morrow for anything.

How she would accomplish this was not entirely clear, but she knew to begin by speaking at length with Farshaun about making the Speakman look harder for what might be lying in wait.

Farshaun was obliging, but he insisted the Speakman was already doing all he could, and it was obvious something was happening in the Fangs that was as new to him as it was to the rest of them. If he had never encountered these dangers before—didn’t even know they were there—Farshaun didn’t think there was much the Speakman could do about searching them out now. Perhaps she would do well to put Skint and Seersha at the forefront to help him. Their tracking and wilderness skills were probably the equal of his own, and even if they didn’t know the country they could use their instincts and experience to intuit dangers as well as he could.

Khyber agreed, although none of this gave her reason to feel confident
about the Speakman. She was using him out of necessity, not because she thought he was up to what was being asked of him. He was clearly fragile emotionally, and his reclusive life did not suggest he would function well in this larger community, no matter the importance of his presence.

But she had no choice in the matter. She needed a guide, and he was the best she had.

She put aside her ponderings over the fitness of the Speakman long enough to wonder if she should ask the Ohmsford twins to use the magic of their wishsong to help to provide protection for the company, as well. But she was loath to put them at further risk. She was mindful of her promise to herself, as much as to Sarys, to do her best to protect the twins, and she intended to keep it.

Besides, after today, anyone on the expedition with magic skills would be using them without her having to tell them.

She had taken the search party all the way back to the
Walker Boh
, unwilling to risk having them spend the night in the open after today’s encounter. Better to start fresh in the morning, even if it meant covering some of the same ground twice. She went to bed early, more tired than she had realized.

As she lay rolled up in her blanket on the decks of the airship, listening to the singing of the wind as it blew through the radian draws, an unpleasant feeling that something was very wrong began to creep over her. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was, only that it was there and seemed uncomfortably familiar. She pondered it until she fell asleep—a long, slow process—but was not able to pinpoint its source.

By morning, she had forgotten the matter, and with the same members of the expedition she had chosen for yesterday’s search party—plus another of Garroneck’s Trolls to replace the one they had lost—she set out again. She had decided they would choose a new starting point and find a different route in, hopefully avoiding the Procks and flying insects by doing so. To accomplish this, she had Farshaun fly the
Walker Boh
south for several miles to a place the Speakman claimed he knew well enough to anticipate any dangers—if, he was quick to add, nothing had changed. He relayed all this
through Farshaun, no longer willing to speak to her directly. He was still traumatized by Khyber’s reaction of the previous day and frightened that he might disappoint her again, Farshaun told her in confidence. He warned her again that the Speakman’s emotional state was uncertain. If she wanted his help she would have to be gentle with him.