by Terry Brooks
Skint accepted the grippers, nodded his thanks, and immediately began to examine them.
They set out again on a course for the mountains. Their march took them west and north along the fringes of the marsh over terrain sufficiently level that climbing hills was no longer required but dodging quicksand and sinkholes was. The mix of rock formations and heavy brush and trees continued to plague their progress, and Khyber was aware that the members of the expedition were again spreading out to find passage, getting farther away from one another. She called them in twice, but the problem persisted.
She was just about to call them in a third time when the party was attacked.
At first, Redden didn’t see their attackers but only heard them. Growls and snarls and something that approached screaming shattered the quiet, and then the creatures were charging the expedition from everywhere at once. The Druids, positioned on the four sides of the company, struck back, fire lancing from fingers and staffs and slamming into the attackers. They moved like dancers as they shifted their attacks from one creature to the next, never staying in one place for more than a few seconds. The fire was resilient and sharp-edged, and it both cut and shredded when it struck its targets. But the creatures attacking were too many, and the Druids could stop only a few. The rest got past them and went for those at the center of the group.
Redden, standing back-to-back with his brother once more, summoned the wishsong, singing the magic to life, modulating his voice to shape it, creating out of particles in the air hundreds of sharpened bits of metal that whizzed about like tiny hornets and cut at the attackers as they launched themselves at the pair, either stopping them altogether or causing them to veer away. Redden caught only brief glimpses of what they were up against—small, hunched over versions of Spider Gnomes covered in bristling hair. Hideous to look at, faces twisted and misshapen, they darted in and away again with terrifying ferocity, little more than swift and agile blurs possessed of teeth and claws.
Brief images of the struggle flashed through his mind as he fought to protect himself. He saw one of the Trolls stagger and fall, the creatures all over him, teeth buried in his thick hide. At the forefront of the advance, Khyber Elessedil and Garroneck fought to protect themselves, as well as Farshaun and the Speakman. Carrick went down, the little monsters tearing and ripping at his body. But blue fire exploded from the pile in a massive burst that threw the attackers off, and abruptly the Druid was on his feet again.
Then Redden caught sight of the girl Pleysia had brought with her, the one no one knew anything about. There was only just enough of her left to recognize: she had transformed into something else entirely. Grown suddenly larger and leaner, she ripped through the creatures that came at her like a huge moor cat, tearing them apart as they sought to bring her down. She flung them away with fingers suddenly become wicked claws, and her snarls were more dreadful than those of her attackers. The boy got only a quick look before he was back to fighting for his own life, but it was enough to tell him there was a great deal more to this girl than what had appeared on the surface.
Finally the creatures fell back, disappearing into the undergrowth as swiftly as they had come. The members of the company pulled themselves together, ripped and bloodied and exhausted. But everyone was still standing and ready to fight again, something that Redden was certain was going to be necessary.
The Ard Rhys pointed ahead. “There’s an escarpment at the lower end of those peaks!” She was breathing hard, gasping out her words. “If we make it that far and find a way up, they won’t be able to get at us so easily! Now run!”
The members of the company charged forward in a tangled knot, ignoring wounds and weariness, eyes fixed on their goal. It became visible in moments, a broad shelf stretching for several hundred yards. They saw, as well, a trail leading up. All they needed was five minutes.
They didn’t get it. The creatures came at them again, hordes of them, intent on trying to drag down their quarry from behind. Trailing as rearguard and closest to the pursuit, Seersha wheeled back and used her magic to throw up a wall of fire between themselves and their pursuers, igniting everything from stone to water to bare earth with crackling flames. But the creatures shifted their angle of attack and began coming at them from the flanks. A running battle ensued, terrible and vicious. Another of the Trolls went down and disappeared, then another. Javelins and clubs flew into their midst as the attackers tried to cripple the defenders. Screams and howls rose from all around, omnipresent and pervasive. So quick and elusive were their assailants that Redden found himself experiencing the strange sensation of fighting against things that could appear and disappear at will.
They had almost reached the base of the escarpment and the narrow trail that wound to its top when a club thrown from the left caught Railing just below the knee and sent him sprawling with a scream of pain. Redden was next to him at once, standing over him protectively, using the wishsong to whisk stones from the rocky ground in a whirlwind that sent the deadly missiles flying out in all directions to ward off the claws and teeth that would tear both his brother and himself apart. His attackers kept coming at them anyway, but he would not leave Railing. No matter what, he would not leave his brother.
Panicked and overwhelmed by superior numbers, he could not manage to stop them all. He fought back with everything he could muster, but his strength was beginning to fail him. Abruptly the creatures were on him, knocking him backward, flattening him against the earth.
It would have been the end of him if not for Crace Coram. The burly Dwarf Chieftain appeared out of nowhere, flinging the creatures aside, swings of his huge mace breaking heads and shattering bones in a furious counterattack. The voracious creatures scattered in the face of such fury, and for a second the entire assault collapsed. Without pausing, Coram scooped up Railing, threw him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing, and charged after the others, with Redden close on his heels.
The members of the company scrambled up the winding pathway, hunching their shoulders as darts, javelins, and clubs flew all around them. Some of their attackers gave pursuit, daring to follow them up the pathway, heedless of the withering Druid Fire launched by Khyber Elessedil and Carrick from the escarpment. But when the last members of the company were safely off the trail and onto the heights, the creatures quickly turned back, skittering down the slope and disappearing into the brush and grasses.
Crace Coram lowered Railing to the ground, knelt next to him, and began to examine his leg. The boy was grimacing in pain, doing his best not to cry out as the Dwarf’s fingers moved carefully over his injury.
“Leg’s fractured,” the Dwarf declared after a moment. “Bone has to be reset.” He looked over at Redden, who was kneeling across from him. “Hold his shoulders. Skint, grab his other leg.”
Both did as they were asked. Redden, knowing what was coming, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in anticipation. Coram placed his hands carefully on the boy’s damaged leg and gave a quick, hard pull. Railing screamed once and fainted.
The Dwarf nodded to Redden and Skint to let go, and then he climbed to his feet. “He needs to have splints strapped to keep the bones in place. Find some lengths of wood.”
Skint went off across the escarpment toward the cliffs and a scattering of trees backed up against the foothills. Redden felt his brother’s forehead, and glanced up at Crace Coram. “Thanks.”
The Dwarf nodded. “Keep him still until that leg is splinted and bound good and tight. Shouldn’t be hard. He won’t wake for a while.”
Khyber Elessedil came over to make certain the Ohmsford twins were being attended to, giving Redden a wan smile and a touch of her hand on his shoulder. Redden glanced around at the company, all of whom were either on watch at the edge of the escarpment or binding one another’s wounds. He counted heads and found two of the Druid Guard missing. Everyone else seemed to have made it clear.
Then he caught sight of the Speakman, who was hunched over, rocking back and forth and
moaning softly. Farshaun knelt close, trying to soothe him and at the same time shield him from the others. He wasn’t having much luck with either.
“There’s no backbone in that one,” the boy heard Pleysia mutter as she walked past him, stone-faced. Oriantha followed in her wake, head lowered. The girl had returned to normal, the lethal fury and bestial savagery gone. She caught Redden looking at her, and he turned away quickly.
The boy was still sitting beside his brother when Farshaun came over and knelt next to them. “How is he?”
“His leg’s broken. Crace Coram rescued us both.”
“The Dwarf’s a warrior. We could use a few more like him.” Farshaun glanced over at the Speakman, who was still whimpering, balled up in a knot to hide his face. “I think we’ve lost our guide. He’s become completely unhinged by this.”
“Can you help him?”
“Not if I keep him here, I can’t. I have to take him back.” He glanced down at Railing. “Your brother, too, I expect. He can’t go any farther.”
He got up and returned to the Speakman before Redden could ask him how they could possibly expect anyone to transport Railing back through such dangerous country. He would have to be carried out, and given what they had already experienced, that seemed impossible.
Skint had been gone a long time, long enough that Khyber Elessedil began to inquire after him, having not seen him since he departed in search of splints for Railing’s leg. Gathering those should have taken no more than ten or fifteen minutes, and it was well past that when he reappeared, approaching at a fast trot. Coming over to Redden, he handed him the splints, breathing hard.
“Can you do this without me? The splints go here, here, and here.” He pointed out each place and handed the boy some strips of cloth that he had stuffed in his carry bag. “Use these to bind him up.”
Then he turned to Khyber, who had walked over to join them. “I’ve found something,” he announced, eyes bright and eager. “Right back there, between those cliffs. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I think you should see it for yourself.”
The Ard Rhys frowned. “You don’t know what it is? What does it look like?”
“A waterfall.”
27
LEAVING SEVERAL OF THE TROLLS FROM THE DRUID GUARD to keep watch at the edge of the escarpment, Khyber Elessedil gathered together the remaining members of the expedition. When she noticed Redden Ohmsford still sitting by his brother, she called him over, as well. She could detect the reluctance mirrored on his face, but she had already made up her mind he was needed.
She was energized by Skint’s discovery while at the same time reluctant to act on it immediately. She had hoped she might be able to give her followers a little more time to recover from the attack they had just fought off before setting out again. Everyone was worn down, and many were injured. They hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since that morning save what they had managed during their abbreviated stops. Sunset was only a few hours away, and a night’s sleep would help everyone.
On the other hand, they were at constant risk in this country, and that wasn’t going to change. Several of the party were already dead, and unless they moved quickly more might soon join them. They needed to get this business over and done with. These attacks troubled her. The creatures they were encountering were unfamiliar. She should have been able to identify them, but couldn’t. Even the Speakman, who had been living in this country for many years, claimed not to have seen them before. If that was so, why were they seeing them now?
Something felt very wrong.
She made her decision. The enigmatic waterfall was just a short distance off. Delay in their advance meant risking another attack, and the best way to avoid that was to keep moving. If they could solve the mystery of the waterfall today, they would be able to start out fresh in the morning toward the completion of their search for the missing Elfstones.
They were close, she sensed. They needed to go on.
How much of this was sound reasoning and how much wishful thinking was difficult for her to determine. She understood that many of her decisions so far had been driven by her belief that finding the Stones was of overriding importance. It was a conviction that persisted even in the absence of concrete evidence—a certainty born of faith and instinct and a lifetime of experience dealing with magic.
“The waterfall is close,” she told those assembled. “I want us to investigate it now, not tomorrow. I think we need to move as quickly as we can, given what’s happened so far. We are at constant risk, and the more time we take to complete this search, the greater that risk becomes.”
She looked from face to face. “So this is what we will do. Seersha will remain here with Railing Ohmsford, Farshaun Req, and the Speakman. Two of my Druid Guard will stay with them. The rest of us will continue to the waterfall. We will explore it before it gets dark and then either bring the others to join us or come back here. Tomorrow, we will decide who continues on this journey and who goes back.”
No one voiced any objection, and no one offered a comment on her decision. She would have felt better about it if someone had. But not even Pleysia, usually so contentious, had anything to say.
She dismissed them for a short rest before setting out and went immediately after Redden Ohmsford, catching up to him before he could reach his brother.
“Walk with me,” she asked him.
She moved him away from the others so they were alone. She noted the strain on his young face as she considered how much she should tell him now and how much she should keep for later.
“Your brother will have to be sent back,” she said, deciding that it was best to be direct. “He can’t keep up with the rest of us, and I can’t risk injury to others by asking them to carry him. You understand this, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to leave him.”
“I know. But I need you more than he does.”
She saw the confusion mirrored in his eyes. “I have to stay with my brother. I have to look out for him.”
“I can’t let you do that. I need you to come with me. Remember what I told you when I came to Bakrabru? Allanon’s shade insisted a member of the Ohmsford family must come on this expedition. That was what brought me looking for you in the first place. That requirement hasn’t changed. I need one of you with me, Redden. Railing can’t come any farther. It has to be you.”
He started to object, but she silenced him by lifting her hand to his face. “I spoke privately with Mirai on that first day after I decided to leave her behind. I gave her one of two coins. If I require help, I need only break my coin in half; her coin will shatter, as well, and she will know to fly the Walker Boh to me. The coin will show her the way. She knows she can get word to me in the same way, by breaking her coin in half, should help be needed. As soon as we return from exploring the waterfall, I will summon Mirai and have Railing flown out along with Farshaun and the Speakman. He will be safe then. But the rest of us might not be if you don’t agree to stay here with us.”
She could tell he was unhappy with this, but again she had no choice. She couldn’t risk losing both of them when she was so close to her goal. He must be made to understand this.
Apparently, he did. He nodded reluctantly. “I’ll come. I just want to be sure Railing is safe.”
“You have my word,” she told him.
But she could tell from the look on his face he wasn’t convinced.
Thirty minutes later the diminished expedition set out for the waterfall with Skint leading the way. Redden glanced back once at his brother, who was still unconscious. He hadn’t tried to wake him, thinking it better not to. Perhaps he would be back before Railing woke. Farshaun had agreed to make sure his brother was kept safe. Knowing Railing was with Farshaun made all the difference. Redden didn’t think he could have left his brother otherwise.
Even so, he felt uneasy about separating from him. First it was Mirai, now Railing. They had come on this journey as a team, friends and mo
re, promising to watch out for one another. It was one thing to become separated from Mirai, but Railing? He found himself contemplating what it meant not to have his twin with him. Redden might be the one who was most likely to take the lead, but they were always together. He was going to have to work hard to remind himself that his brother wasn’t there.
He wasn’t sure how he would handle that.
I won’t be gone that long, Redden promised himself. This won’t take more than an hour or two.
The company reached the beginning of the woods and followed Skint into the trees. Now Redden had a clearer view of the cliffs and could see how the peaks were jammed together in a series of jagged spikes very likely formed by a cataclysmic upheaval in the distant past. The cliffs appeared to form an impassable wall, an impression that became more of a certainty as they exited the woods and found themselves at their base.
Skint pointed. “Over there. I wouldn’t have seen it at all if I hadn’t been searching for wood to make the boy’s splints and caught a glimpse of its reflection.”
Redden looked, but didn’t see anything.
But Skint was already moving away with Khyber Elessedil right on his heels, leading the company around a cluster of boulders to where a narrow split opened into the rugged face of one of the larger cliffs, a shadowed opening that caught just enough of the misty light filtering down from the heavily overcast sky to illuminate a shimmering ribbon wedged within the rock. Redden squinted, trying to decide what he was looking at. The ribbon had the look of a waterfall, and yet it didn’t seem as if that was what it was. Everyone studied it for a few minutes, but no one was able to decide.
Redden moved a few steps closer, up to where the Ard Rhys was standing with Skint and Garroneck.
“I still can’t make out what that is,” the Gnome was saying.
“Nor I,” she answered him.
“I don’t like this, Mistress,” the big Troll rumbled. “It doesn’t feel right.”
