by Terry Brooks
So she completed the routines and obligations of the day barely knowing what she was doing; her attentions were elsewhere. She did not see Kassen all day, not even in the classes they shared, so her anticipation was heightened considerably by nightfall. She ate her dinner with friends, barely saying two words, completed her evening chores and studies, and went off to her room to wait.
That he might not come to her did not cross her mind. That he might change his mind—thinking better of such an assignation or losing heart or giving in to unknown fears—was not a possibility she considered. No, he would come to her, and her life would be forever changed. He loved her as she loved him; she was sure of it. It only required tonight to complete the journey that would take them to their destiny and open up the world they had both been waiting to find.
It was not yet midnight when he arrived, slipping silently from the hallway into her room. She was already in bed, waiting for him. He stood there in the darkness just inside her door, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Then he crossed to her bed and knelt next to her.
Gently, he placed his hand against her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her. “Allis,” he whispered.
She breathed out his name in response, barely audible even in the silence of the chamber, speaking it into his mouth as she kissed him back.
He broke the kiss but did not move away. “May I stay with you tonight?”
She stared at him in rapture and excitement. “Why?” she asked. She wanted him to say the words. She wanted him to speak them aloud.
“You know why. Will you let me?”
“Do you love me?”
“Like I do the life within me.”
She hesitated only a moment, then sat up quickly and pulled him to her. Their kiss this time was long and deep and searching, their arms tight about each other. In those few moments, she knew she was everything to him and that he cared about her as he had never cared about anyone before.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he whispered.
“I don’t want you to,” she whispered back.
He pushed her back onto the bed and climbed in to lie next to her, wrapping her in his arms. They kissed some more as his arms and hands shifted beneath her, one hand pulling away for a moment before returning, formed into a fist and pressed against her spine, rotating gently, searching her body.
“I am sorry for this, Allis,” he said softly. “But tonight is the end of all things for the Druids.”
A spike of pain ripped through her, burrowing deep inside her body, close to her heart. She stiffened and gasped in dismay, and her breathing became rapid and desperate.
“Do you hear yourself?” she heard him whisper. “That is the sound of your death. These are your final moments, and if you concentrate you can feel the life leaving your body.”
Her arms tore away from him and began to beat against his back in response. She heaved up against him and tried to twist away. But he held her pinned to the bed with his body, and he was much stronger. She felt her own strength diminishing, fading away into something lethargic and numbing. Even the pain in her side was lessening.
Her eyes opened, looking into his. “You would not like what would happen to you if I allowed you to live,” he whispered. “The knife I have substituted is an act of kindness.”
She felt him withdraw it from her body and gently push it back in a little higher up on her rib cage. This time something ruptured deep within her and in a matter of seconds she began to feel everything slip away.
She died without ever knowing why.
—
It was past midnight, and Drisker Arc and Dar Leah were making their way through the forest. The storm that had threatened earlier had moved north, and no rain had fallen. Darkness flooded the empty-seeming land, the silence replaced with night sounds—birdcalls, insects buzzing, the east wind’s rush, the voices of those within the Keep and their own increasingly restless movements.
They had already stayed put for too long, for Drisker had hoped to hear something more from Clizia before entering the Keep. But there had been no word since last they spoke, so he had decided they would act now rather than wait any longer.
They were approaching the entrance to the ancient tunnel that led beneath the walls and into the cellars of the Keep when the chaos within began.
Both knew instantly that something was wrong.
They dropped into a crouch, faces intense and worried. “Something’s happened,” Drisker hissed.
From the walls of the Keep, figures were rushing back and forth, engaged in combat. Blades flashed in the glow of torchlight and bodies tumbled away. Inside the buildings, down farther in the courtyards and passageways, men and women were crying out. Screams rent the air, in staccato bursts and frenzied wails. A battle was being fought. A battle of life and death, with no quarter given and no escape offered.
The Druid experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He did not need to think twice about what the battle meant. Everything he had feared was coming to pass. It was a moment of such dark clarity that it left him momentarily paralyzed. He felt severed from his past, set adrift by his banishment, and now cut off from all that had once been. No more Druids. No future for Paranor and its wondrous and sometimes fearful artifacts. Magic relegated to legend, become something archaic where once it was so vital a part of everything he knew, vanished with its users. Westland Elves might still make use of it, but those who had curated and safeguarded its most powerful talismans were dead or dying.
“How did they get inside?” Dar whispered.
Then the scrye orb, resting deep in Drisker’s pocket where it was wrapped in a piece of cloth, suddenly grew warm with life.
Clizia.
Drisker hauled the orb from its place of concealment and yanked the cloth away, peering at its glowing surface expectantly. When she appeared, Clizia’s face was gaunt and fierce. Anger and disgust were apparent in her strong, lean features.
“Are the walls breached?” he asked at once.
“Are you deaf and blind?” she snapped, her voice as tightly drawn as her face. “They were inside before anyone knew what was happening. They are all through the Keep, everywhere, killing everyone.”
“But you’ve escaped?”
“I am old, Drisker, not stupid. Fighting back is impossible. Even with magic, we are overmatched. These invaders, whoever or whatever they are, move like ghosts! You can’t see them to fight them! They spread through the Keep like wild beasts, killing everyone. Most of the Druids were caught off guard, either while they were still sleeping or just waking. Prax Tolt fought back with a handful of his warrior comrades, but they went down like wheat before a scythe. Is that clear enough for you?”
She sounded as if she enjoyed describing it, as if she wanted to cause him pain. “So you just watched it happen?” he said. “Then you fled while the others fought for their lives? You’re very good at that, aren’t you?”
“Spare me your snide comments. You weren’t here to watch it happen. I do not engage in fights I cannot win. So stop wasting your time accusing me and start thinking about what we need to do! This isn’t over yet.”
Drisker’s face was dark with irritation. “You apparently have something in mind?”
“As would you, if you stopped to think about it for a moment. We need to rid the Keep of these ghost people and put an end to their plans for occupying our home and stealing our magic. We need to show them what real power is.”
He caught his breath as he realized what she was proposing. “You intend to summon the Guardian of the Keep? That’s a dangerous choice, even for you. It will kill everyone it finds once it’s set loose.”
She sneered openly. “Are they not killing us? Do they not deserve the same? I have waited long enough to be certain that everyone that matters is dead, but I cannot do this without you.”
Dar Leah had moved close to hear what she was saying, now only a few feet away from Drisker. The Druid gave him a warning look but kept his conce
ntration on Clizia. The expression in her eyes, reflected even through the smoky interior of the scrye orb, was frightening.
“You don’t need me to summon the creature that lives in the pit. You are skilled enough to do that on your own. What is the rest of your plan? There is more, isn’t there?”
“Ridding the Keep of its occupiers is only the first step. The Druids are dead and gone, Drisker. It will take time to rebuild the order. Decades, at least. We are the ones who must do this, but we do not by ourselves possess the power to hold Paranor safe in the interim. We must seal it and close it away. It must be made to vanish until we are ready to return it to the Four Lands for renewed occupation.”
Now he understood. His breath caught in his throat. “You propose to take the Black Elfstone from the archives, and you need me to unlock the vaults. I might be an Ard Rhys in exile, but I am still invested with the power to invoke the codes.”
“I see you understand. Yes, I lack the codes. You will have to enter the Keep to help me with the task. Once we retrieve the Black Elfstone, we can summon the creature in the Well. Already, it stirs uneasily. I have sensed it. It knows what has happened and is waiting for our call.”
Drisker hesitated. He had not expected this. He had not anticipated such a drastic solution. What Clizia Porse was advocating was risky and could not be reversed once invoked. Her convictions were not misplaced, and her plan to save the Keep and its artifacts was necessary, yet Drisker still had serious doubts. To summon the creature from the Druid’s Well to rid the Keep of its intruders was one thing. To seal Paranor away from the Four Lands was something else entirely.
He exchanged a long look with Dar Leah. The Blade gave a determined shake of his head. Do not do this, he was urging.
But Drisker had already decided he would. That he must. Even if the Druids were dead, he must save Paranor and its magic. If it fell into the hands of the invaders and they occupied it, everything would be lost. While he trusted Clizia not a jot, he might still require help once he was inside. He knew he must take a chance with her this one last time, for the good of everyone. He just needed to keep close watch on her and remember how dangerous she was.
“Even if the battle is over and all the others are dead, they will keep searching for survivors. How long before they find you?”
Her look was one of disdain. “I am more than a match for these upstart invaders. They will never find me.”
“Then stay where you are. Don’t move from wherever you are hiding until you have to. I will use the underground tunnel to reach the cellars. When I am inside, I will summon you.”
“I would hurry if I were you,” she warned.
Then her face disappeared from the orb, and Drisker was left staring at Dar Leah.
“This is madness!” the highlander snapped at him.
Drisker nodded. “Born of necessity, and all other options seem pointless. Wait here for me.”
“I’m going with you,” the Blade said at once.
The Druid heard the determination in the other’s voice, a mirror of his own, and didn’t even bother trying to argue. “Come along, then.”
TWENTY-NINE
They set off for the tunnel entrance at once, slipping through the forest like the shadows that draped it, trying not to listen to the sounds that still emanated from within. Through breaks in the trees they could catch glimpses of the fires that burned in the ancient fortress; the flames were consuming everything that wasn’t constructed of stone and mortar and metal. The cries and screams had mostly died away, become faint and intermittent. Mostly there were calls and whistles that seemed to be signals. The stomping of boots on ramparts and battlements, down causeways and in halls, was unmistakable. The smells of smoke and ash and blood drifted on the night breezes.
The underground passage that Drisker took them to was unknown to Dar Leah. It had been there, he was told, for centuries, constructed in the early days of the Keep as a way to enter and leave Paranor without notice. Or, in extreme situations, to provide an escape route for the Druids should their safety be compromised. Only the Druids knew of it; only they were privy to the location of its entrance. To the best of Drisker’s knowledge, it had not been used in recent memory.
Yet when they found the exterior entrance—a trapdoor set into the ground and concealed by earth and forest grasses—it was immediately apparent to the Druid that it had been opened recently. The ground was disturbed and he was able to detect footprints. A lot of footprints, which suggested recent and heavy use. It appeared likely that the invaders had gained entrance to the Keep this way.
“Who else would have reason?” he said aloud to Dar, once he confirmed the discovery. “It seems too great a coincidence that it should be opened after all these years, and that opening not be connected to the fall of the Keep.”
Dar nodded but said nothing. There was no way to know the answer until they found the culprits. “How far do we travel to reach the Keep?”
Drisker shook his head. “Not far. I hope Clizia’s right about how things stand. What she proposes assumes that no one will be placed in danger from the summoning, save the two of us. Stand back.”
He invoked a form of magic that unsealed the trapdoor. It swung open of its own accord with the soft pop of a seal being broken, and they were staring down into a dark hole in the ground.
“What is this Guardian you spoke of?” Dar asked him. “Is it something magic?”
“Dangerous magic,” the Druid answered, a dark expression crossing his face. “The Guardian is an ancient creature, formed when Paranor was constructed in order to ward against enemy intrusion. It is insubstantial and inhuman, a killing beast formed of dark materials and lacking any purpose but to destroy whomever it finds within the Keep. If summoned, it will rise from the Druid’s Well and sweep through the whole of the interior of the Keep. All those it finds—and it will find everyone in the end—will be destroyed. It is not clear if even the Druids would be spared. There is a chance they might, since there is no point in killing the Druids if the Guardian’s initial purpose was to protect the Keep from enemies. But that assumes it can make the distinction, which has never been proved. Or at least, never been recorded in the Druid Histories.”
“Then this magic has been invoked before?”
“No more than half a dozen times in all the centuries since it was created. The Keep has only been breached a handful of times—during the lives of Bremen and Allanon specifically, but one or two other times, as well. It is a final resort, highlander. It marks the end of days for the Druids and their order when it is used. But if Clizia is correct, she and I are the last of the Fourth Order of Paranor’s Druids, and there is reason to believe our days are numbered, too.”
“There is no other way? No choice besides this one?”
“Clizia does not think so, but I’m not so sure. Still, the seriousness of the threat cannot be denied. This invader is insidious and thorough. It needs to be expunged before it can cause further harm. If it breaches the vaults where the artifacts and talismans are stored, it can do significant damage to the Four Lands. Damage, perhaps, that is irreparable.”
He looked at the Blade. “Are you still with me?”
Dar Leah nodded. “Lead the way.”
The Druid stretched out his hand, and the Blade clasped it in his own. They gripped each other’s wrists tightly for a moment—a reassurance of their unspoken commitment. Their eyes met in the near darkness, and there was an instant understanding between them. Once this course of action was set in motion, there would be no turning back.
Then Drisker clapped his hands once to bring a soft glow to his fingertips, and flames sprang to life against the encroaching dark to provide light to guide them in. Leading the way, he descended into the tunnel’s darkness.
Stairs wound downward—old and worn stones set into an embankment that sloped to the tunnel floor. The passageway smelled of damp and ancient roots, as if rotted from within and in danger of collapse. But there were timbers t
o shore up the walls and ceiling at regular intervals, and the dirt floor looked solidly packed and sturdy. The air was cool this far beneath the earth, and the silence was deep and pervasive. Dar could hear the sounds of their movements and breathing and nothing more. They did not speak to each other as they progressed, their concentration solely on the darkness ahead and the revealing glow of Drisker’s light. The passageway wound a bit, skirting the heavy tangle of roots from the ancient trees and the bulky protrusions of boulders embedded within the earth of the walls and floor. Nothing moved in the darkness about them, and the emptiness of the corridor was unmistakable.
It took them longer than Dar had expected to reach the tunnel’s end, and when they arrived at a great iron door set into the interior walls of the tower that housed the Druid’s Well—walls that extended twenty feet beneath the ground—it caught Dar by surprise. The door was of average size, but its ironwork was every bit as large as the door itself, providing a massive frame on all sides. While there was nothing to indicate how it might be opened, Drisker Arc did not hesitate to act. Once again, he invoked a form of magic, pressing fingers and palms against the door and framework both while muttering under his breath, until the door slowly gave way.
Dar drew out the Sword of Leah in readiness. Light blazed through cracks where the door had opened, bright and challenging, and the distant rumble and clang of the battle being fought above reached out to them.
When they entered the Keep, there was no one about. They found themselves in one of the cellars that formed much of the fortress complex belowground—a maze of passageways and stairs that extended through the earth so broadly and so deeply that the highlander could not begin to guess at its lowest levels.
He looked about expectantly. Nothing. It was as if everything that was happening above them was no more than a dream, and if they surfaced they would find Paranor just as it had always been.
Dar looked at Drisker Arc. “What now?”
“We summon Clizia. Stand where she cannot see you when I use the orb. Let’s not give anything away we don’t have to.”
