by Terry Brooks
Even so, he rode right past it. If Eretria had not called out to him, he might have kept riding east all the way to the mountains. Wheeling about in surprise, he charged back again. But now Eretria had taken the lead, spurring her mount forward into the darkness. More familiar than he with the trail, she galloped ahead, calling for him to follow. Surprised all over again, he gave chase.
It was a harrowing ride. The darkness was so thorough that even the sharp eyes of the Rover girl could barely pick out the pathway as it twisted through the forest night. Several times the horses almost went down, barely springing clear of gullies and fallen logs that lay across the narrow trail. But these were Rover horses, trained by the finest riders in the Four Lands, and they responded with a quickness and agility that brought a fierce cry from the lips of the Rover girl and left the Valeman breathless.
Then suddenly they were back upon the roadway that Amberle and Wil had followed south to the Hollows, with branches and vines slapping against them and muddied water splashing up from the deep puddles that had collected upon the trail. Without slowing, they turned south. The minutes slipped by.
At last they broke from the forest onto the rim of the Hollows, its black circle spread out before them like some bottomless pit in the earth. Reining in their horses sharply, they sprang to the ground, staring about at the forest gloom. Silence hung across the Hollows, deep and pervasive. Wil hesitated only a second, then began searching for the bushes in which he had hidden Amberle. He found them almost at once and pushed his way to their center. There was no one there. For an instant, he panicked. He groped about for some sign of what might have happened to the Elven girl, but there was nothing to be found. His panic increased. Where was she? He rose, backing from the bushes. Perhaps these were the wrong ones, he thought suddenly, and began to look about for others. He stopped almost at once. There were no others like them close enough to be seen. No, it was here that he had hidden her.
Eretria hurried up to him. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered, his lean face sweating. “I can’t find her.”
He regained control of himself with an effort. Reason it through, he told himself. Either she fled or the Reaper took her. If she fled, where would she go? He looked at once to the Hollows. There, he decided—to Spire’s Reach or as close to it as she could get. What if she had been taken, what then? But she had not been taken, he realized, because there was no sign of a struggle. She would have fought back; she would have left him some sign. If she had fled, on the other hand, she would have been careful to leave nothing behind to show her pursuer that she had been there at all.
He took a deep breath. She must have fled. But then a new thought struck him. He was assuming in all of this that Amberle had fled from the Reaper. What if it had not been the Reaper, but something that had come out of the Hollows? His jaw locked in frustration. There was no way to tell. In this blackness, he could not hope to find a trail. Either he would have to wait until morning, when it might be too late to help Amberle, or . . .
Or he would have to use the Elfstones.
He was reaching for the pouch when Eretria’s hand gripped his arm sharply, causing him to jump in surprise.
“Healer!” she whispered. “Someone is coming!”
He felt his stomach knot sharply. For an instant he simply stood there, his gaze following the girl’s as it turned north up the trail they had just traveled. On its shadowed rut, something moved. Fear welled up within the Valeman. His hand fumbled within his tunic and lifted free the Elfstones. At his side, Eretria snatched from her boot a wicked-looking dagger. Together they faced the approaching shadow.
“Just hold on now!” A familiar voice called out to them.
Wil looked at Eretria and she at him. Slowly they lowered Elfstones and dagger. The voice belonged to Hebel. Eretria muttered something under her breath and moved to retrieve the horses, which had strayed back into the forest.
Down the trail trudged Hebel, the shaggy form of Drifter close at his heels. He wore leather woodsman’s garb and carried a sack strapped across his back, a longbow and arrows over one shoulder, and a hunting knife at his waist. He moved with a peculiar hunching motion, leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick. As he came up to them, they could see that he was spattered from head to foot with mud.
“You nearly ran me down, you know!” he snapped. “Look at me! If I’d been foolish enough to stand any further out on the trail than I did when I hailed you back there, I’d be covered with hoof prints as well as mud! What do you think you are doing, riding about the forest like that? It’s black as six feet under out there and you ride about like it was broad daylight. Why didn’t you stop when I called out to you, for cat’s sake?”
“Well . . . because we didn’t hear you,” Wil answered in bewilderment.
“That’s because you weren’t listening like you should have been!” Hebel was not about to forgive them. He lurched right up to the Valeman. “Took me all day to get here—all day. Without a horse, I might point out. What took you so confounded long then? The way you were riding a minute ago, you could have been here and gone again half a dozen times!”
He caught sight of Eretria as she reappeared with the horses. “What are you doing here? Where is the Elfling girl? That thing didn’t get her, did it?”
Wil started. “You, know about the Reaper?”
“Reaper? If that’s what it’s called, yes, I know about it. It came to my camp earlier today—just after you’d left. Looking for you, it appears now, though at the time I wasn’t sure. Never really saw the thing—just caught a glimpse. I think if I’d seen it close up, I’d be dead now.”
“I think so, too,” the Valeman agreed. “Cephelo and the others are. It caught up with them on Whistle Ridge.”
Hebel nodded soberly. “Cephelo was bound to come to that end sooner or later.” He glanced at Eretria. “Sorry, girl, but that’s the truth of it.” Then he turned back to Wil. “Now where’s the little Elfling?”
“I don’t know,” Wil answered him. “I had to go back . . .” He hesitated. “I had to go back for something I left behind with Cephelo. Amberle had injured her ankle, so I hid her in some bushes. I went back a different way than I had come or I would probably be dead as well. I found Eretria, or she found me, I guess; and after we saw what had happened to Cephelo, we came back here as fast as we could. But now Amberle is gone, and I can’t be sure what has happened to her. I can’t even be sure whether the Reaper has been here yet or is still tracking us.”
“It’s come and gone,” Hebel told him. “Drifter and I have been tracking it while it’s been tracking you. Lost the trail at the fork because the Reaper went east to Whistle Ridge while Drifter and I came south after you. But then the trail started up again further south. Thing must have cut through the wilderness. If it could do that, it’s dangerous, Elfling.”
“Ask Cephelo how dangerous it is,” Eretria muttered, glancing about at the forest shadows. “Healer, can we get out of here now?”
“Not until we find out what happened to Amberle,” Wil insisted.
Hebel tapped his arm. “Show me where you left the girl.”
Wil walked to the clump of bushes, with Eretria, the old man, and the dog trailing after, and pointed to the opening leading in. Hebel bent down, peered inside, and whistled Drifter to him. He spoke quietly to the dog, and the animal came forward, sniffed about, then moved over to the rim of the Hollows as the others watched.
“He has the scent, Drifter has.” Hebel grunted with satisfaction. Drifter stopped and growled softly. “She is down in the Hollows, Elfling. The Reaper is down there, too. Probably still tracking her. I’d have guessed as much.”
“Then we have to find her right away.” Wil started forward.
Hebel caught his arm. “No need to rush, Elfling. That’s the Hollows we’re talking about, remember? Nothing down there but the Witch Sisters and the things that serve them. Anything else sets one foot in the Hollows gets snatched
right up—I know that from what Mallenroh told me sixty years ago.” He shook his head. “By now, the girl and the thing tracking her are keeping company with one of the Sisters—that or they’re dead.”
Wil went white. “Would the Witches kill them, Hebel?” The old man seemed to think it over. “Oh, not the girl, I’d guess—not right away. The thing they would. And don t think they couldn’t, Elfling.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Wil replied slowly. He gazed down into the blackness of the Hollows. “I do know this much—I am going down there and I am going to find Amberle. Right now.”
He started to say something to Eretria, but the Rover girl cut him short. “Don’t waste your breath, Healer. I’m going with you.”
The way she said it left little room for argument. He glanced at Hebel.
“I’m coming, too, Elfling,” the old man announced.
“But you said yourself that no one should go into the Hollows,” Wil pointed out. “I don’t understand why you’re even here.”
Hebel shrugged. “Because it doesn’t matter where I am anymore, Elfling, and hasn’t for a long time. I’m an old man; I’ve done in this life the things I’ve wanted to do, been where I wanted to go, seen what I’ve wanted to see. Nothing left for me now—nothing except for maybe this one thing. I want to see what’s down there in those Hollows.”
He shook his head ruefully. “Thought about it for sixty years, off and on. Always told myself that one day I’d find out—like thinking about a deep pool; you always wonder what’s at the bottom.” He rubbed his bearded chin. “Well, a sane man wouldn’t waste his time with a thing like that, and I was a sane man when I was younger, though I guess some thought different. Now I’m tired of being sane, tired of just thinking about going down there instead of doing it. You made me decide. When you first told me what you intended, I thought to persuade you otherwise—just as I’d persuaded myself. I was certain that you would lose interest quick enough when you heard what I had to say. I was wrong. I saw that whatever it was that you were looking for was important enough that being afraid didn’t matter to you. So why should it matter so much to me, I thought? Then after that Reaper thing passed me by and left me knowing how close I’d come to dying, I realized it didn’t. All that really mattered was finding out about those Hollows. So I came after you. I decided that we should go looking together.”
Wil understood. “Let’s hope that we both find what we are looking for.”
“Well, maybe I can be of some help to you.” The old man shrugged. “This is Mallenroh’s end of the Hollows. She might remember me, Elfling.” For an instant his thoughts wandered, then he glanced at Wil. “Drifter can track for as long as it’s needed.” He whistled. “Take us down, dog. Go, boy.”
Drifter disappeared over the rim of the Hollows. Eretria stripped saddles and bridles from the horses and slapped them sharply to send them galloping back through the forest. Then she joined Wil and the old man. In a line, they started down into the Hollows.
“Won’t have to rely on Drifter very long,” Hebel declared firmly. “Mallenroh—she’ll find us quick enough.”
If that were so, Wil found himself thinking, then he hoped that she would find Amberle as well.
Amberle came awake in the darkness of the Hollows forest. It was the slight swaying, jostling motion of being carried that awoke her, and for an instant she panicked. Gnarled fingers held her fast, locked tightly about her arms and legs, her body, even her neck and head—fingers so rough they felt as if they were made of wood. Her first reaction was to want to break free, but she resisted it with a desperate effort and forced herself to remain still. Whatever had her did not yet know she was awake. If she were to have any advantage at all, it lay in this. For the moment, at least, she must continue to feign sleep and learn what she could. She had no idea how long she had slept. It might have been minutes or hours or even longer. She thought, though, that it was still the same night. Logic told her it must be. She thought, too, that whatever it was that had her, it was not the thing that had pursued her into the Hollows. Had that thing found her, it would simply have killed her. This, therefore, must be something else. The old man, Hebel, had told Wil and her that the Hollows were the private domain of the Witch Sisters. Perhaps it was one of them that had her.
She felt somewhat better, having reasoned that much through, and she relaxed a bit, trying to make out something of the terrain through which she was moving. It was difficult to do this; the trees shut away even the smallest trace of stars and moon, leaving everything shrouded in deepest night. Were it not for the familiar woodland smells, she might not have known there was a forest about. The silence was intense. The few sounds were distant and brief, cries that came from the wilderness beyond the Hollows.
Yet there was another sound, she corrected herself, a sort of skittering noise like the chafing of limbs in a breeze—except that there was no breeze, and the sound came from beneath her, not from above. Whatever it was that carried her was making the noise.
The minutes slipped by. She thought briefly of Wil, trying to imagine what he might do in her place. That made her smile in spite of herself. Who could tell what wild stunt Wil might try in such a situation? Then she wondered if she would ever see him again.
Her muscles were beginning to cramp, and she decided to see if she could do something to ease the discomfort without giving herself away. Experimentally she stretched her legs, pretending to stir in her sleep, testing the fingers that held her. They moved with her, but did not release. So much for that.
The sound of running water reached her, growing stronger with each passing second. She could smell it now, fresh and scented with wildflowers—a stream that twisted and churned in the quiet of the forest. Then it was beneath her, and the rustle of the sticks and the night sounds faded in its rush. Footsteps echoed hollowly on wooden planks, and she knew she had been carried over a bridge. The gurgle of the stream faded slightly. Chains clanked and rumbled as if being gathered in, and there was a dull thud. Something had closed behind, a door—a very heavy door. An iron bar and locks snapped into place. She heard them clearly. Night air washed about her as before, but it carried with it the unmistakable smell of stone and mortar. Fear welled up within her once more. She was inside a walled area, a courtyard perhaps, being taken, she now believed, to some sort of confinement, and if she did not break free at once, she would not break free at all. Yet the fingers that constrained her showed not the slightest hint of loosening, and there were many of them. It would take a tremendous effort to wrench free, and she did not believe that she had that kind of strength left in her. Besides, she thought dismally, even if she were to break free, where would she go?
Ahead, another door opened, creaking slightly. Still no light came to her; there was nothing but blackness all about.
“Pretty thing,” a voice said suddenly, and the Elven girl started with surprise.
She was carried ahead. Behind her, the door closed and the smells of the forest disappeared. She was inside—but inside of what? Twisting and turning, her captors carried her along passageways that smelled damp and musty; yet there was another odor, a kind of incense, a perfume. The Elven girl breathed it deeply and it left her head in a momentary spin.
Then at last there was a light, suddenly, unexpectedly, glimmering just ahead from within a tall archway. Amberle blinked at the unfamiliar brightness, her eyes still accustomed to the dark. She was carried through the archway and down a winding stair. The light blinked above her, fell behind momentarily, then followed after, weaving and bobbing against the dark.
Her forward motion stopped. She felt herself being lowered onto a thick, woven matting, and the wooden fingers slipped free. She raised herself up on her elbows and squinted toward the light. It hung there before her for just an instant, then retreated slowly behind a wall of iron bars. A door swung shut and the light was gone.
But just before it disappeared, the Elven girl caught a glimpse of her captors, their
slender forms outlined clearly in the white glow. They appeared to be made out of sticks.
On the floor of the Hollows, Wil called a halt. It was so black that he could barely see his hand in front of his face; he could not see Hebel or Eretria at all, nor they him. If they attempted to proceed under these conditions, they would soon become separated and hopelessly lost. He waited a few moments for his vision to sharpen. It did, but only slightly. The Hollows remained a dim, barely perceptible mass of shadows.
It was Hebel who came up with a plan to resolve their difficulty. Whistling Drifter to him, he produced a length of rope from the sack he carried, and bound one end to the dog the rest he fastened about his waist and to the waists of the Valeman and the Rover girl. Thus tied, they could follow after one another without risk of separation. The old man tested the line, then spoke softly to Drifter. The big dog started ahead.
It seemed to Wil as if they walked the Hollows for hours, stumbling through an endless maze of trees and brush, nearly blind in the impenetrable blackness, trusting to the instincts of the dog that led them. They did not talk to one another at all, moving through the forest as silently as they could, all too conscious of the fact that somewhere within that same forest the Reaper prowled. Wil had never felt quite so helpless as he did then. It was bad enough that he could see almost nothing; it was worse knowing that the Reaper was down there with him. He thought constantly of Amberle. If he were frightened, what must it be like for her? His fear made him ashamed. He had no right to be afraid, not when she was the one who was alone and unprotected, and he was the one who had left her that way.
Yet the fear stayed with him. To ward it off, he clutched the pouch with the Elfstones in one hand, grasping it firmly, as if having it there might somehow protect him against whatever hid within the forest night. Yet deep within, the feeling persisted that the Elfstones would not protect him, that their power was lost to him and he could not get it back again. It made no difference what Amberle had told him or what he had told himself. The feeling lacked reason or purpose; it was simply there—haunting, malignant, terrifying. The power of the Elfstones was no longer his.
