by Terry Brooks
“Take it with you. Show it to them. Have them read it. I’ve added a few bits I know they will disagree with, just to give them something to negotiate, but assure them any reasonable changes they request will be made within a few days and we should have a final draft to carry back to Arishaig for signing.”
“So you want me to stay with them?”
“For now. We need your eyes and ears inside their camp. We need you to observe and report back. There are still things to be learned, preparations to be made, and plans to be laid out. You will be a key part of that effort. But it won’t take long. The end will come quickly enough.”
How well she knew. And it did not make her feel any better. “So you are decided on this, Your Majesty?”
“Would you have me do something else?”
It was a risk, but she felt compelled to ask it anyway. “I was merely wondering if the truce was not sufficient. Perhaps their promise will be enough to keep them in line. Do they really present such a danger?”
He sighed. “You are still so young in some ways, Belladrin. Any conquering force knows that the greatest threat must be eliminated from the beginning. You have seen already how eager they were to cross the river and destroy us. What makes you think such treachery will vanish with the death of one man? These people may not have our skills and talents, but they share our lust for control. And—sooner or later—they will turn against us.”
She nodded, rose, and took the document from him. “As you say.”
“Are there some you favor?” he pressed. “A handful you would wish me to spare?”
He was searching for a weakness, and she knew better than to reveal one. “No. None.”
He nodded and smiled. “Then we will kill them all.”
THIRTEEN
Far to the east, across the vast expanse of the Tiderace where the islands of the Nambizi could be found, the crew of the Behemoth faced a difficult choice. It had been three days since the attack by the bat-riding pirates that hunted these islands, and two days since the effort to find and retrieve Dar Leah and Ajin d’Amphere had been undertaken in the aftermath. Brecon Elessedil had insisted on it at once, and Rocan had been quick to support him.
But after long hours of searching with no result, the Rover crew seemed impatient to acknowledge what now seemed likely: that their missing comrades were dead. Even two dangerous night searches had revealed nothing. There had been not only no sign of the missing comrades or their vessel, but also no indication of what had happened to them. Only this morning there had been a meeting between Rocan and his family to discuss the matter, and Shea Ohmsford had positioned himself where he could hear most of it.
“None of us wants to abandon them, Rocan,” his cousin Sartren insisted, “but it is dangerous for us to delay longer. Those pirates are likely to have friends and comrades who will attack again once they discover we are still here.”
“They will think twice before they try that!” Rocan snapped in reply.
“Maybe so. But once they do, they will see we are vulnerable, stuck on the ground as we are.”
“What more are we supposed to do?” demanded another man. “We have searched for two days straight and there is no sign of them anywhere!”
“Even your creature hasn’t been able to find a sign that would lead us to them,” another said, gesturing toward Seelah, who was lounging against the ship’s railing a few yards away.
All eyes shifted to the young shape-shifter, now in her most glamorous form, who met their gazes and then casually looked away. She hadn’t been seen in days, choosing to remain below with Rocan in his cabin. Until yesterday, when she had finally emerged to help with the search.
“Wouldn’t she have found them by now if they were alive?” the man added.
It was true, Shea knew. Seelah had abilities the rest of them lacked, and yet even she had been unable to find a trace of the missing pair. The airship’s company had gone out the past two days at sunrise and remained out most of the night, all to no avail. They still had no idea what had become of Dar and Ajin. It was a painful admission to have to make, but the boy was nothing if not practical after a lifetime spent on the streets of Varfleet.
“They’ve gone into the ocean, Rocan,” said a third. “You said as much yourself. If they hadn’t, they would have returned. Or at least they would have found a way to signal us as we searched the coastline.”
“So you would quit on them, would you?” Suddenly Rocan sounded dangerous. “Perhaps you would like to discuss it with the Elven prince? I’m sure he would have an interesting response to such a plan.”
Even in hiding, safely tucked away, Shea felt a shiver go up his spine at the suggestion.
“Don’t be like that,” Sartren interjected quickly. “No one wants to quit, and you know it. But we need a deadline. We need to give it no more than another day or two before admitting the worst. You know that as well as I do.”
A long silence followed, and Shea waited for someone to speak. Then Rocan said, quietly and firmly, “We will look for another three days. After that, we leave and go on.”
The meeting broke up and the men dispersed, with Rocan and Seelah retreating below once more. Shea waited, thinking about what had been decided. Three days was longer than he would have expected; it seemed Rocan Arneas was determined to give the Blade and the Skaar princess every chance of being found alive. But he was in a difficult position. As leader of the expedition, he had to decide when to continue on. As a friend to those missing, he had to reconcile his decision with his conscience. If left to his own devices and free of the constraints of the mission that had brought them all to this point in time, he would have stayed for as long as it took.
But he could not do that here.
Shea settled himself back in the shadows, thinking. What about that boy he had encountered in the valley beyond their beach camp? What was his name? Borshawk? Maybe he would know something about what had become of Ajin and Dar. Or maybe he would be able to help in finding them. He was a resident of the valley and acquainted with its creatures and likely much of the rest of the island. There was a chance, wasn’t there?
Shea rose and slipped back into the camp, already thinking of how he would go about it. If he told Rocan what he intended, the Rover would forbid it on the spot. Either that, or he would insist that someone accompany Shea, and then Borshawk might not show. No, he needed to go alone, but that would give Rocan someone else to worry about beside Dar and Ajin. So either way, there would be a problem.
Still, it was not a difficult decision. He was going, and he had known it from the moment he came up with the idea. He could not sit around and do nothing when there was a possibility he might be able to help. He wouldn’t be missed until sundown, so he had all day to make contact with Borshawk and see if he had any information. But still he needed an excuse for being absent.
He chose to go to Sartren. He found the young Rover working on repairing the mast rigging and sat down beside him. “How’s it looking?”
Sartren glanced up. “Well enough. We should be able to replace most of the lines. The spars are another matter. A couple of them were broken in half. We’ll need to fashion new ones.”
“So you’ll need the wood to do so?”
“We will.”
“What if I could get it for you?”
Sartren stopped what he was doing and stared at him. “What are you up to, Shea?”
“Nothing. But there are trees not far down the coast that would do the job. What if I were to cut down a few to be dragged back here?”
Sartren hesitated.
“What else do I have to do? I could work on the rigging with you, but I don’t really know where all the ropes go. I would be more useful foraging. I don’t have to go far. I’ll stay out of trouble. I promise.”
“It worries me when you feel the need to promise.” Sartren s
ighed. “All right, then, but be back before dark, young Shea. If not, I’ll have your hide. And that’s only after Rocan has finished with it!”
Trying to be casual, Shea rose and walked away. It was early morning, the sun still low on the eastern horizon. Shadow layered the beach, allowing him to slide in and out of view of anyone looking in his direction. He took advantage and angled toward the forests inland and the entrance to the valley. He made sure he was out of sight before quickly doubling back and using the foliage of the grasses and trees of the verge to remain hidden, then made his way to the opening in the foothills fronting the mountains beyond.
He went as swiftly as he could, but it still took him over an hour to reach the valley entrance and make his way through to the interior. The passage was narrow and heavily overgrown with grasses and brush, and the giant hardwoods leaned out from the roots as if ready to topple. Shadows enveloped him as he passed through. The darkness felt oppressive.
But on the far side where the valley opened up before him, sunlight broke through patchy clouds and a feeling of well-being returned. Ahead, the whole of the valley sprawled out before him, its thick green canopy catching the sunlight as an all-weather cloak might catch the rainfall. He scanned the valley for a time, searching for signs of life, but there was no one to be seen and nothing further he could do without help.
Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called as loudly as he could, “Borshawk! Borshawk!”
He listened to his voice echoing across the valley, reverberating back to him in steadily dwindling clarity.
Nothing happened.
He tried again. And then once more. Still nothing.
Unwilling to start wandering about without any idea of where he might be going or what might be lying in wait, he sat down to think. The minutes slipped away, and still Borshawk didn’t show. He looked for some sign of movement in the trees—something that would signal the approach of that huge monster over whom the boy seemed to possess at least limited control—but he saw nothing. Like Rocan, he knew he had to limit his endeavors. He’d give it another hour, then go back.
When he felt the tap on his shoulder it caught him so unprepared he jumped up and whirled about.
“Friend!” Borshawk greeted him with a smile.
“Borshawk!” Shea’s response was a mix of shock and relief. He wanted to say something about sneaking up on people, but his communication abilities with the other boy were still too limited.
Borshawk held his hand out and Shea accepted it in a firm grip. He noted that the other boy was more simply dressed than before, his attire less ornate and colorful. He still wore face paint—three white stripes on each cheek and another on his forehead, the former applied horizontally and the latter vertically, so that it ran down his nose. He also wore a pair of knives strapped about his waist and carried a short spear, which ended in another of those long iron blades.
Shea gestured for Borshawk to sit, and the other boy did so. Shea thought about how he could tell him what he needed. Pointing to himself and holding up two fingers, he tried to indicate two other people, gesturing back toward the coast and showing them walking into the valley and being chased out again by something big. Borshawk nodded, seeming to understand. Shea then indicated a flying object with men wearing face paint and sashes and carrying weapons—the pirates that had attacked them and been driven off.
Again, Borshawk nodded.
Shea paused. How should he explain the rest?
“Friends,” he said, using the one word the other boy might understand. Then indicated with two fingers the ones who had come into the valley.
Borshawk nodded once more. “Ashtas.”
Shea spoke once more, using his hands to make explanatory gestures. “These two”—holding up two fingers—“friends. Ashtas. They chased the pirates off.” He showed a series of fingers with a single finger coming after them. Then he pointed down the coast toward where Ajin and Dar had disappeared. “But they didn’t come back.” He made a shrug followed by a gesture to show the finger disappearing.
Then he drew a line in the dirt and marked one side with wavy lines and the other with pointed triangles. “Water,” he said, pointing to the first. “Mountains,” he said, pointing to the second. Then he pointed to each again, gestured with the finger used to represent their airship, showing it going into the water with a shrug and then into the mountains with another shrug.
Borshawk stared at him for a moment and then launched into a whole raft of words that Shea could not understand. After a few moments of being overwhelmed by the verbiage, Shea held up his hands in a warding motion and shook his head to demonstrate his confusion.
Borshawk looked extremely frustrated, but he gave a curt nod and began redrawing Shea’s effort at depicting the valley. First a line—but this one was more crooked with protrusions and indentations. Then he showed the waving lines and pointed toward the ocean. Then he drew a series of valleys, each one very different from the ones before. There were seven of them in all. He pointed to the one closest to him and in that valley drew two dots and pointed to Shea and himself, then at the valley around them.
Shea nodded. “This valley, you and me.” Pointing first to Borshawk and then to himself. “Friends. Ashtas,” he said.
The other boy nodded. Then he pointed at the other valleys and shrugged. And pointed at the water and indicated a major indentation about four valleys down. He mimicked the flying motion and dotted the waters.
Was he saying this was where the raiders had come from? Did he know this for a fact? Shea wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway.
Finally, Borshawk pointed at Shea and himself and then at each of the valleys and made another flying motion. He repeated this several times, each time indicating the two of them and then making the flying motion. Shea shook his head. Was he saying they should fly to these valleys and that this was where Ajin and Dar could be found?
Finally, Borshawk got to his feet, beckoned Shea to stand with him, and turned to look down the length of their valley. Taking a deep breath, he let out a series of whistles that were so shrill and sharp, they must have reverberated down the whole length of this valley—a staccato sequence that shattered the silence. When he was finished, he made a silencing motion to Shea. Long minutes passed without anything happening. Shea waited patiently, thinking that perhaps Borshawk was summoning that huge beast again, even without knowing why he would do so. At one point he started to ask, but the other boy hushed him at once.
After a time, Shea found himself wondering if his efforts were actually leading to anything. He wasn’t the sort to quit when there was a chance of succeeding. And he was not lacking in confidence or hope; he possessed plenty of both. But he was practical, too. And when you reached a certain point in any endeavor without realizing your goal, you backed off and started over. So perhaps he was mistaken here. Perhaps Borshawk would not be able to help him after all.
Then, from far off, a fresh series of whistles sounded, a shrill response to Borshawk’s. The whistles went on for a time, then the valley was silent again, but the boy turned to Shea with a broad smile. “Ashtas,” he said. “Friends.” And he pointed in the direction of the whistles.
“You’ve found them?” Shea asked, forgetting the language barrier.
Borshawk dropped to one knee next to the drawing he had made, beckoning Shea down beside him, and pointed to the fourth valley over, the one directly opposite the bay where he had drawn the pirate ships.
“Ashtas,” he said, nodding. Then he pointed to Shea and himself and made the flying motion once more, ending with a quizzical look.
Shea nodded at once. “Yes. We go find them?” He repeated the other boy’s gestures, indicating them and then the fourth valley. Then he shook his head. “How?”
He knew it would take days on foot. He knew if he did this, he would have to go back and tell Rocan, and then convince the Ro
ver to let Shea and Borshawk conduct the necessary search. But Borshawk would never show himself to the others, so it appeared he would have to go without telling Rocan anything.
But as sometimes happens with such decisions, this one was made for him. Borshawk turned away again to give a further sharp whistle, undulating and lengthy but still a single long note. Shea—as usual by now—had no idea what the other boy was doing, but was more than willing to wait and see. Again, long minutes passed. Overhead, the clouds had dispersed and the sky had cleared to allow the sun to flood the valley with golden light and a freshness that was bracing and welcome. Shea looked up into its blue depths and felt a surge of fresh hope.
Then a dot appeared on the horizon, tiny at first and far off in the distance, but increasing in size as it came nearer. Soon Shea could make out wings and realized he was watching the approach of a large bird. Abruptly, it gave a shrill cry, and immediately Borshawk whistled back in response. So clearly the other boy had summoned it. But what could a bird…
Then it doubled in size, then tripled, and Shea gasped. Whatever its species, this bird was enormous. And as with that horned creature from before, Borshawk could control it.
So this was how they would get to the fourth valley—and there would be no going back to tell Rocan what had happened.
Then a soft touch on his shoulder caused him to turn, and he found himself face-to-face with Seelah.
FOURTEEN
Once again, Ajin d’Amphere’s airship was falling out of the sky. Only this time she wasn’t with men who were her guards, one of whom wanted her dead. This time she was with Dar Leah.
“Ajin!” he screamed at her from his station at the flash rip mounted on the rear of their small craft.
