The Last Druid

by Terry Brooks

  But just now the Blade and the Elven prince were discussing another chance that might be lost.

  “She should be back by now,” Dar insisted for what must have been the twentieth time. It was the fourth day since Ajin had left to go into the city and search for her mother.

  Brecon nodded. “Agreed. But what she was attempting might have taken her longer than she hoped. And she told you to wait.”

  “I’ve waited too long already. What if something happened to her?”

  “It doesn’t help that you are so smitten with her, does it?” his friend pressed.

  The highlander grimaced. “You know it is more than that. In spite of all the obstacles and arguments, she completes me in a way no one else ever has. Some things cannot be reasoned away, and what draws me to her—what binds us together—is one of them.”

  Brecon shook his head in dismay. “If you say so. You had better decide then and stop agonizing. What will you do, wait one more day or go after her now?”

  Darcon Leah considered, even though he already knew the answer. “I will go now. Right now, before I lose any chance of finding her.”

  His friend smiled. “Well, then, wait here a moment.”

  He started away, and Dar called after him. “What are you doing?”

  “Coming with you, of course.”

  Dar shook his head at once. “I don’t think so, Brec. I don’t want you risking yourself.”

  “I didn’t ask your permission.”

  “I can do this alone,” the highlander insisted.

  “Alone? Oh, really? And how will you find your beloved?”

  “I don’t know. Somehow, I will. I will search until I find her.”

  Brecon actually laughed. “How very inefficient when your best friend possesses the means of finding her right away. Let me get the Elfstones, and we will find her together.”

  The Blade smiled in spite of himself as he watched the Elf disappear below.

  THIRTY

  The journey back through the walls of the Iron Crèche was every bit as challenging as the one going in. Once again, it was facilitated by the wall dwellers, who took them by the hands and gave them the capacity to pass through the stone. Drisker still could not imagine how this was happening and could only barely tolerate the sensation of coming apart as the walls closed about him. Yet he pushed ahead through the mental barrier and fought back against his fears and doubts.

  How this was affecting Grianne Ohmsford he had no way of knowing. She had said nothing about it on the way in and was an invisible presence within the walls on their journey back. Although he was struggling mightily to keep his composure intact, he assumed she must be tolerating it much better than he was. And her strength of will was forged in iron. She was impervious to so much of what the Forbidding would throw against her because she had lived in this prison for centuries. It made him shudder to think of what she had gone through and what it must have required of her to survive. It was unimaginable. He was not at all sure he could have done it. He was not sure he could do so now.

  But he came through the walls unscathed and emerged back into the storeroom to discover the carnage that awaited. Blood and body parts were strewn everywhere. A sizable chunk of the clawrake was still recognizable, but little else. Some of the pieces were partially eaten, with teeth marks still evident. Drisker thought he might gag but managed to control it, closing his eyes momentarily and holding his breath.

  When he opened his eyes again, the wall dwellers had disappeared, and the Straken Queen was across the room near the door. “Chule cannibals!” she hissed in fury. “Trapped and killed them all. But wait. Maybe not all.” She sniffed the air. “Weka Dart!” she called out. “Come out!”

  The little Ulk Bog emerged from behind a stack of supplies, staring at her in shock and despair, and Drisker felt a surge of relief. “I didn’t do it, mistress. It wasn’t my fault. I would never betray you! But I could not stop this from happening. I couldn’t do anything but hide!”

  His voice was breaking; its frantic tone had gone shrill by the end of his disclaimer. The Straken Queen went to him and bent down, taking him by his shoulders. “There, there, little one. I do not blame you. No one blames you. Of course you would never betray me. It was the moench, wasn’t it?”

  Weka Dart nodded at once. “He brought us here deliberately. It was all done so the Chule could kill you. The clawrake and the slint fought back, but there were too many. Then Vendra Trax killed the moench, as well, because he was displeased that it had failed to keep you in this room. He has gone to search for you and the Druid.”

  He glanced quickly at Drisker, his look ugly. “This is all your fault!”

  “Hush, Weka Dart,” the Straken Queen admonished. “This was my doing.”

  The Ulk Bog sneered openly. “But he was the one who caused all this to happen by leading you to think there was a magic that could help you leave the Forbidding! And leave me!”

  Drisker turned to face him directly. “Then I guess you will be happy to know you were right. The darkwand wasn’t anywhere to be found.”

  “Of course it wasn’t!” Weka Dart was working himself up to a barely contained fury.

  “And you even told me it wasn’t here.”

  “I did! I warned you!” Weka Dart was right on the edge of breaking down. “I told you there was nothing to find! I told you this search was a waste of time…”

  Suddenly he stopped talking, realizing he had said too much.

  Grianne realized it, too. “You told Drisker the darkwand wasn’t here?” Her voice became tight, and her eyes narrowed. “How did you know this, little Ulk Bog?”

  “I…I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant I was pretty sure.” He was wincing as if in pain, his gestures frantic. He wheeled on Drisker. “This Druid has me all confused, using his tricks and twisting my words. You should leave him here!”

  The Straken Queen stepped close to him, peered into his frightened eyes, and reached down to squeeze his shoulder. She squeezed it so hard it dropped him to his knees, crying out in pain. “Are you afraid, Weka? Don’t be. No one gets left behind. We stay together. We have to get out of here and go back to where we came from. To Kraal Reach. All of us.” She turned to Drisker. “Am I right about our destination, Druid?”

  He nodded. “I think so.”

  She turned back to Weka Dart. “Let’s test your memory. What did I ask you to do before we left home?”

  “Memorize our path…in so we could find our…way out again.” He was crying softly.

  “And did you do this?”

  He nodded, grimacing at Drisker so that all his sharp teeth were revealed. “I know the way.”

  “I’m sure you do. I think you know quite a lot about things—a lot of things you’ve carefully kept to yourself. But we’ll talk about that later.”

  Grianne turned to Drisker Arc. “I asked him to memorize our way into the Crèche so if we lost Styrik, we would be able to find our way out. He won’t cross me now, but we must go. Vendra Trax and his Chule will be after us soon enough.”

  They moved to the door leading out of the storeroom, stopping to listen for what might be waiting beyond. Both could hear the sounds of movement and voices—not necessarily right outside, but close enough that once they emerged, they would be seen.

  Drisker felt Weka Dart pressing in between them. “They will stop us!”

  “They will try,” the Straken Queen corrected. “But they will fail. Drisker Arc, are you ready?”

  He raised his hands, where the blue Druid Fire burned at his fingertips. He gave her a small nod. “I will stand with you until we are either free or dead. It’s odd, but I never thought this would end any other way. Not once since I found out where I was.”

  She gave him a surprisingly warm smile and a look of appreciation that revealed some small part of the woman sh
e had once been. Then she eased open the storage room door and they stepped outside.

  There was no one about. Weka Dart moved to the forefront, leading the way back. Drisker Arc stayed directly behind him, watching his movements. He had deduced the Ulk Bog’s secret too late to change the outcome here. But now that he understood what the little man had done, he was not about to give him a chance to flee. A reckoning would come once they arrived back at Kraal Reach.

  Down the hallway they went, sliding along the wall. Most of the voices were behind them, and the way forward was empty for as far as they could see. Drisker held the Druid Fire poised, ready to strike down those who might attempt to stop them. He felt oddly at peace with himself. It was the anticipation that was the worst. This moment felt seminal to him—a chance to redeem his decision to withdraw from the Druid order and his position as High Druid when he should have tried to forestall the destruction that followed. He could not have explained why, only that he felt it to be true.

  They reached a place in the corridor where it branched. To Drisker’s consternation, sounds of life were coming from the way Weka Dart was indicating they must go. Druid and queen exchanged a knowing glance, and Grianne motioned for the Ulk Bog to get behind her. Slowly they advanced. She did not rush their approach, but gave it time, and indeed the volume of voices slowly lessened and died away until there was only their own muffled breath.

  They’ve gone, Drisker thought.

  They continued on, their backs pressed against the walls, the glow of torches ahead a flickering of light in an otherwise dark tunnel.

  It all ended in an instant. There was a warning shout, then a rush of bodies hurtled toward them. The Chule—lithe, rawboned, swift, and sure—barreled out of the dark, the fire from the torches glinting off their blades.

  Simultaneously, blue fire discharged from the fingers of both Druid and queen and slammed into the attackers. Half went down for good and the other half were thrown back and left gasping. Grianne stepped forward, her aged face a mask of fury as she dispatched those who had survived with what appeared to be no effort at all. The trio rushed on almost recklessly now, no longer holding back, the way forward momentarily clear. From behind, shouts and the pounding of booted feet rose in a din. Weka Dart was back in front, leading the way, as heedless as his companions. None of them knew what waited ahead, only that they must get clear of this fortress to have any chance at all of surviving. Passageways came and went—a blur of deep gloom brightened sporadically by patches of smoky torchlight, an endless progression of darkened corridors. Here and there, a clutch of Chule stood against them, only to go down under the Druid magic.

  Once, a blade caught Drisker a glancing blow, but his adrenaline was surging and he felt nothing from the cut. He glanced at his side. Bleeding, but not badly. He rushed on, ignoring it.

  There was no sense of time passing, no real recognition of how far they had come, and then abruptly they found themselves back where they had gained entry to the fortress. Weka Dart fumbled with the locks, seeking to release them. It seemed the worst was behind them. They were on the verge of escaping.

  A whooshing sound was all it took to cast all their hopes away. Chain-link nets crashed down on them, dragging them to the floor. Only Weka Dart evaded the chains, too close to the door to be caught in their grip. Drisker felt the weight of the chains as he would the weight of his fate at the hands of his would-be captors. Vendra Trax was there—with a dozen of his Chule at his side—a huge, monstrous figure bearing an iron mace. His voice rang out amid the clash of the chains and the shouts of his men.

  “Tighten them down! Pin them fast! I don’t want them escaping again! I want to watch them struggle as we cut them apart!”

  Drisker couldn’t tell what the Straken Queen was doing, but he had summoned an acid that was already eating through the iron links. He watched the chains fall apart and was on his feet. Huge hands swung the mace in a deadly arc, but he blocked the blow with iron of his own—his arms like bars that could deflect any weapon. The Chule Lord stumbled back. Others took his place, and the Druid—become in those few seconds a berserker—destroyed them in a single sweep. Black robes flying out behind him, he launched himself into those that remained, bearing them to the floor, dispatching them one after the other. Strike, block, roll, and defend anew. He was back on his feet quickly, fighting with every bit of strength that remained to him—barely aware of what he was doing, just acting on instinct and need and emotion.

  Something struck him from behind and drove him to the stone floor. He struck hard, headfirst, and was left dazed, pulling himself up on hands and knees.

  Vendra Trax stood over him, his mace lifting to strike.

  “Trax!” Grianne Ohmsford screamed in fury.

  The Chule Lord turned instinctively to protect himself and found her standing less than five feet away. She, too, had gotten free of the chains. She faced him as if she might spring atop him, crouched low, gathered. Her face was a mask of pitiless rage, contorted and filled with a lifetime of fury brought forward for this moment.

  Her hands were on fire; the flames licked up and down her arms as if feeding on her skin.

  When she thrust her arms at him, the fire raced down her limbs as water might run from a faucet, surged free from her body, and engulfed the Chule Lord. In what could have been no more than a few seconds, he was burning from head to foot, a human torch welded in place by the death that had claimed him.

  In a few seconds more, he was turned to ash. All about him, his Chule minions lay dead.

  “Ulk Bog!” his queen said quietly. She pointed. “The locks.”

  In moments the door was open and the three companions were through the opening and into the tunnels beyond—back beneath the lake surrounding the fortress island, back into the damp and darkness. There were no longer any sounds of pursuit, but Drisker did not for a moment think the chase was over. Other of the Chule might come after them—if not through these tunnels, then across the lands beyond. They would hunt them down if only because penetrating their defenses and entering their fortress was reason enough to see them all put to the blade, if not in revenge for their dead leader. Unless finding Vendra’s body took the heart out of them. But none of them would know how they might react until it happened.

  Those fleeing moved as swiftly as the dim werelight at the fingertips of the Druid and the Straken Queen would allow, listening to one another’s heavy breathing. Their journey was long and empty of everything but the sounds of their flight. No one talked. There was nothing to say, after all. Until they secured their freedom at the other end of the tunnels, there were no further decisions to be made and no reason to waste breath they would need later. Drisker found himself thinking of Tarsha and realized he had not made contact with her in days. He did not know where she was or what she was about. He had no idea if she was in danger. He had promised he would see her safe, and if he were to find freedom at last through an escape from the Forbidding, he would need to do so at once.

  He was conscious of a throbbing in his side where the blade had cut him. He reached down for the wound and winced at the pain his touch brought. There was no blood, but the ache was intense nevertheless. He gritted his teeth against it and ran on.

  Eventually, they reached the end of the tunnel maze at the other side of the swamp and emerged once more into the gray gloom aboveground. It was no longer night, but the clouds seemed to scrape the earth, and the mist was a thin rain that soon had them soaked. A quick search revealed that their pursuers had not yet found them. For the moment, they were alone.

  “We must walk on a bit longer,” Grianne informed the Druid, “but I assure you that we will not have to leave the same way we came in.”

  Drisker said nothing. He did not much care how they departed this foul place as long as they got out. And the sooner, the better.

  They set off on foot and walked for a time before the Str
aken Queen noticed that Drisker was struggling. She stopped immediately and bent to examine him. “You’ve been hurt. Take off your cloak and tunic. Let me have a look.”

  He did not argue; the pain in his side was intense and unrelenting by now. He stripped off the clothing covering it, and Grianne bent close. “Ugh! Your wound has become infected, Drisker Arc. The blade was fouled with poison. You should have said something earlier.”

  She straightened and looked around. “We’ll have to stop while I treat this.” She pointed. “Over there, within that patch of scrub trees, should be a good enough choice for our concealment.”

  She led him into the crooked trees and found a patch of solid ground on which to lay him down. Weka Dart followed, looking irritated and anxious, but she had no time for him. When Drisker lay prone, she knelt beside him and carefully placed her hands on the wound so that they covered it completely.

  “Stay still. I’m going to use the wishsong on it.”

  He lay quiet beneath her touch as she began to hum and then to sing in a voice that better belonged to a less ruined creature. Yet as she called forth her magic, years of her damaged life seemed to fall away. For the time she sang, she was transformed into another person entirely—younger and softer and less sharp-edged, unburdened from her years and memories of travail and sorrow. She sang in a steady cadence, the words indiscernible—if indeed they were words at all—the power of the magic flowing from her fingers into his body. The pain in his side lessened and then dropped away almost completely. His transformation was nothing short of a miracle. His relief left him feeling as if he were reborn into the world.

  When she had finished, she continued to kneel beside him, her head bent, her eyes tightly closed. It seemed that she was recovering from her use of the wishsong, as if it had taken something from her and left her bereft. When she lifted her head and he saw her face again, he realized that all that the magic had given her had been whisked away. She was again whom she had been.