by Terry Brooks
He lowered the spyglass and rocked back on his heels. He wondered again about the spy Edinja had placed in the Elven camp. He understood better now where her spy might have come from after having watched her change those three men into mutants. Perhaps it, too, was a form of mutant answerable only to her. But who could get close enough to the Elessedils and their friends to gain access to the information she was now privy to and still not draw suspicion? How had she managed that?
There was no way of knowing, of course. Not unless she chose to tell him, and she was unlikely to do that. Perhaps at some point he might meet this mysterious person. But for now, the spy was little more than the sum of the messages sent by the shrikes.
In the distance, something moved against the deep blackness of the storm. He brought up the spyglass quickly and studied the murky roil at the mouth of the pass.
An airship.
Smaller than his own and sleeker, a vessel built for speed and maneuverability.
He turned at once. “Ready the ship, Captain. We’re going out.”
Aboard the Wend-A-Way, Aphenglow had relieved Cymrian at the helm and was steering the airship on a steady course south along the Westland forests bordering the Streleheim. The storm had swept through the pass behind them, rolling across the whole of the upper Westland in the process, all blackness and fury as it gave chase. Aphen could tell already that they were not going to be able to outrun it; the best they could do was ride it out. Failing that, they would have to set down somewhere along the way and wait until it passed.
But the plains offered little in the way of shelter, and trying to set down in the forest during a blow of this magnitude was dangerous. She had already resolved that unless they were in danger of crashing, they would do neither.
“Arling, get up here!” she shouted at her sister.
This time Arling responded, climbing to her feet and making her way around the pilot box to the opening that allowed her to climb inside. Cymrian was gone by now, out working the lines with the crewmen. Fearless, that one. Aphen smiled at the memory of the look on his face when she had hugged him. Shock and pleasure both—she liked that. He hadn’t known what to make of her impulsive gesture, but he had clearly welcomed it. She thought about how far they had come in their once-strained relationship, how much more comfortable they had grown with each other. They were friends now, and their friendship transcended the mistrust and suspicion that had kept them at odds before.
She could almost imagine having him around on a regular basis.
Almost.
But she was wary of getting close to people just now, even as friends. She was still hurting from the loss of Bombax. She was still devastated by the destruction of the Druid order and the decimation of its Troll guard. She had been close to all of them, and the pain of their deaths discouraged her from seeking new friendships of any sort. Now there was Arling to worry about, as well. It was difficult for her to let herself become close to others, and she thought it would be a long time before she could do so again.
Not that she didn’t appreciate having Cymrian there. Not that she would have wanted it to be any other way.
She watched him move among the other Elves, swift and surefooted, his white-blond hair plastered against his head in the rain, his clothing already soaked. He seemed tireless to her, impervious to exhaustion and weakness. She marveled that he could always seem so fit and ready when she felt so worn.
As the wind blew with fierce purpose and the rain sheeted in torrents across the decking, she stood at the helm in the darkness and wished again that things could be different.
Arling nudged her arm. “We should put down, Aphen. We’re going to rip apart!”
But Aphenglow shook her head. “She can take it. Wend-A-Way is built to withstand this.”
She said it, but she wasn’t entirely sure it was so. The storm was on top of them now, a monstrous force of nature, and it felt as if every wire and plank and nail were rattling. It was taking everything Aphen had to hold the ship even marginally steady as she jerked and yawed sideways and underwent sudden, breathtaking drops. She found herself wondering how much power was left in the diapson crystals; a storm like this one would drain their power quickly. If they had to try to change out the crystals in this sort of weather, it would be an unbelievably treacherous job.
Arling was clinging to her arm, holding on as if doing so were the only way she could stay safe. Aphen let her, finding fresh strength in her sister’s touch, in the clear sense of dependency. It made her want to wrap Arling in her cloak and shelter her from the world. It made her want to find a way to keep her safe forever from the dark things that were coming to steal her away.
“Aphen!”
Cymrian was beside her suddenly, pressing close to be heard. His face was slicked with rain and drawn with tension. “There’s an airship tracking us. There.”
He pointed beyond the stern of Wend-A-Way into the blackness. Aphen peered into the gloom.
“I don’t see it.”
“Wait for the lightning!”
A second later a jagged streak lit up the sky, and she saw it. A warship, she thought, big and black within the roiling center of the storm. “What do we do about it?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “What do you think? We lose it.”
Stoon realized too late that the Federation warship was overtaking the smaller craft. Sensing the danger, he screamed at the captain to slow her down, and when the captain failed to respond quickly enough, he raced back from the bow to confront the man. But by then the damage was done. The Elves had seen them, and their airship had put on a burst of speed and was flying west toward the cover of the forest.
Raging at the captain for his stupidity, Stoon ordered the warship to give pursuit. They had lost the advantage of surprise, their identity and likely their intent revealed. The best he could hope for now, even after all his care and planning, was to force the other vessel down and make prisoners of her passengers. What the chances were of that, he had no idea. At least, it would give him a chance to see firsthand how effective his hunters were, how obedient to his orders. He almost hoped it would end with all of them dead, Elves and mutants alike. He would risk what that would mean when he returned to Edinja, just to have this business behind him.
But maybe it would all go another way. Maybe the mutants would prove more than a match for the Elven girl. Maybe they would be stronger than her magic. Maybe they would dispatch the crew and overpower her, she could become his prisoner, and he would cart her off to face Edinja in the privacy of her dungeons.
Staying close now to the captain, afraid to leave his side for fear that he would do something else stupid, Stoon searched the blackness ahead, peering through sheets of rain and shifting phantasms of gloom and mist. The edges of the forest loomed, vast and sprawling, just visible as the warship drew close.
Then lightning flashed anew, and the assassin saw everything ahead of them clearly revealed.
The Elven airship was gone.
19
Aphenglow was shaken awake from a deep sleep, lost in a dream that she immediately forgot. She was so disoriented that for a moment she could not remember where she was.
“Aphen, wake up.”
Cymrian. She could not see him. She struggled against the blanket wrapped about her, aware that she was lying on hard planking. The smells of damp wood and caulking overlaid with pungent aromas of old-growth forest invaded her senses, and she remembered.
She sat up too quickly, struck her forehead against a low crossbeam, and was immediately dizzy. She slumped back, trying to find her balance. Hands caught her and held her. Cymrian again. “Steady.”
“Where are we?”
“Hiding. But it’s time to move along. It will be daylight soon, and that warship will be searching for us.”
She nodded, her head against his chest. She could smell the damp in his clothing. “The storm?”
“Passed about an hour ago. It went on for hours. Worst I’ve seen
in quite a while.”
“But they didn’t find us?”
“They didn’t find us.”
She remembered the rest then. They had sprinted ahead recklessly to outdistance the larger ship, catching her off balance while she was still at half speed, and had reached a jumble of rolling terrain where they were able to slip down into a heavily shadowed gap in the forest. They could not have been easily seen from the air even in good weather. In the wildness of the storm, they were virtually invisible. Resting less than ten feet above the ground and surrounded by trees much taller than the ship’s mainmast, they had hovered in silence and watched the larger ship pass overhead without slowing.
Not wanting to risk discovery by moving again too soon and less than eager to put themselves back in the air in the teeth of that storm, they had decided to lay low for several hours. Cymrian had persuaded the sisters to bed down belowdecks, and Aphen had gone straight to sleep.
She lifted her head away from his chest, swallowing against the dryness in her mouth. “Arling?”
“Topside already. She was awake before you.”
She started to get to her feet, her dizziness fading. Cymrian’s hands still held her, even though she had not asked him to, guiding her from a prone to a standing position. Wend-A-Way was steady, no sway or rock to her, and even though she must still be hovering, it felt to Aphen as if they were settled on the ground.
“Did she come back again after missing us on the first pass?”
“The warship? No. We’ve been alone since then. I don’t think they could have retraced their route even if they had tried. Not in that storm.” One of his hands moved to her arm. “Come. Walk with me. Give your eyes a chance to adjust.”
She allowed him to guide her to the wooden ladder that led from belowdecks. She climbed obediently, catching a hint of light through the open hatch. But when she arrived on deck, she found the world a place of heavy mist and layered clouds that closed away the sky and shut out the moon and stars. Ambient light that lacked an identifiable source reflected off particles of rain and mist, a wraith’s glow that lit the whole of the hazy shroud in which they were wrapped.
Arling was standing by the port railing watching the Elven crewmen, who were changing out the diapson crystals. She turned at the sound of her sister’s approach and smiled. “You were so sound asleep, I didn’t want to wake you.”
Aphen laughed. “Do you see anything out there?”
“Only mist and more mist. Cymrian says we need to lift off and find our course again before it clears.”
One of the Elven crewmen glanced over. “The sooner, the better. That was a Federation vessel chasing us.”
Aphen turned. “Federation? You’re sure of that?”
The man nodded. “I’d know one of those black devils anywhere.”
“You have to wonder what they thought they were doing,” said another. “We’re too quick for anything that big. Too easy for us to hide, too, in these mountains.”
“Still,” said the first. “Better if we don’t take chances.”
“Let’s eat something before we leave,” Aphen suggested, turning away.
So bread, salted meat, and fruit were brought out from the food storage locker and consumed with glasses of ale. The crew joined the sisters and Cymrian, but no one had much of anything to say, content to remain in silence. Aphen’s dizziness had finally passed. When it was time to set out, she told Cymrian that she would man the helm. To his credit, he didn’t offer any objection and instead moved to the bow to take up the forward watch.
Arling moved into the pilot box beside her sister and stood without speaking as the anchors were raised and the airship began to lift off. The plan was to move back to the edge of the Westland forests in which they were hidden, continue south past Drey Wood and the Pykon, and make their way into the Wilderun. The heavy mist should hide them from discovery, and with any luck at all it would last for a few hours past sunrise. The chances of encountering the Federation warship again would be lessened considerably if they flew low against the backdrop of forests and mountains and kept careful watch for what lay ahead of them. They would fly swiftly and without stopping until they were at the Wilderun, manning Wend-A-Way in shifts and outdistancing their pursuit using a combination of speed and endurance.
It was a solid enough plan, but like all plans it could go wrong quickly if chance and bad luck combined to thwart it. So no one was taking anything for granted, and everyone was prepared for the unexpected.
The sisters and Cymrian discussed using the Elfstones to track the progress and position of the Federation warship in order to gain an edge in the pursuit, but in the end chose not to. The problem was the same as before—using the Elfstones could give them away to any magic users looking for them, and they had no way of knowing if there was one such aboard the warship. Aphen was pretty sure there was magic at work somewhere in this business, given the nature of the attacks on her in Arborlon and the seeming ability of whoever was carrying them out to know each time exactly when to strike. It wasn’t a risk worth taking, especially since a single use of the Elfstones would not be enough to guarantee escape and more than one use would be tempting fate.
They decided to hold off on employing the Elfstones until either the need was so obvious they could not pretend otherwise or they were close enough to the Bloodfire that it became necessary to pinpoint its source. Caution and sharp eyes and ears would better serve them at this point.
It was a view that was borne out as time passed and the mist remained thick and impenetrable. Aphen eased Wend-A-Way ahead at a slow, steady pace, keeping the airship just above the treetops, doing her best to make the airship disappear into the haze.
She found herself wondering if this had anything to do with Edinja Orle. It had to be someone in the Coalition Council hierarchy if they could command a warship like the one hunting her. But what was the point? If they knew of the failing of the Ellcrys, why would they want to prevent its recovery? The danger to them was as great as it was to the Elves. Could they be hunting her for the Elfstones, for the magic they commanded? Edinja was a magic user. Perhaps the temptation of gaining possession of the Elfstones was too strong for her to ignore.
Her gaze was directed forward into the screen of mist and damp, and it settled now on Cymrian, a fixture against the forward railing just to the starboard side of the bowsprit. She found herself staring at him, fascinated by the fact that he had been standing motionless in that same spot for the entire time since they had set out.
“How does he do that?” she whispered to Arling.
“Do what?”
“Stand like that for so long without moving.”
Arling glanced at her first, then out at Cymrian. “I don’t know.” She paused. “He’s a patient man. You, of all people, should realize that.”
“I suppose that’s so. I’ve watched him.”
“Watched him?” Arling gave a soft snort.
“I don’t mean just here. At other times, too. Lots of times. He knows how to wait on things.”
Arling shook her head. “You are so hopeless.”
Aphen looked at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that sometimes you don’t see anywhere near as much as people give you credit for.” She gave her sister a look. “I thought you would have figured it out by now, Aphen.”
“Figured what out? What are you talking about?”
“Cymrian. I’m talking about Cymrian!” Arling gave an exasperated groan. “You still don’t understand what he’s doing here? Why he came in the first place? Why he’s put himself in such danger for the both of us when he just as well could have stayed safe and sound back in Arborlon?”
Aphenglow hesitated. “Well, he …” She brushed back her hair where it had fallen over her eyes, damp strands knotting. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he’s in love with you!”
Aphen frowned. “No, he’s not.”
“He is. He has been for yea
rs. You wouldn’t know because you’ve been all caught up in your Druid life and haven’t paid any attention at all to what’s going on back here, but he’s been in love with you since you were in training together, years ago. I think everyone knew it—even if they didn’t tell you.”
“But that’s just ridiculous! He barely knows me. Or I him. I didn’t even remember who he was, at first!”
Arling gave her a look. “Yes, you’re right. How could anyone you don’t remember still be in love with you years later?”
They stopped talking for a while, staring out at the mist in silence, concentrating on the movement of the airship through the haze. At the bow, Cymrian brought up his hand sharply and signaled for Aphenglow to swing to the starboard as they altered course. Aphen watched the terrain below them change as the trees began to thin and grasslands to appear. They were back out on the lower Streleheim, clear of the forests and heading south.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Aphen said finally.
Arling nodded, keeping silent.
“But he’s never said …” She trailed off.
“He wouldn’t. He’s not like that.”
Aphen shook her head in disbelief. The idea of Cymrian being in love with her was so unexpected, she could not bring herself to accept that it was possible. But he must have had a reason for agreeing to be her protector back at the beginning. She had been so dismissive of the idea—and of him—that she might have missed the truth. Then afterward, she had been mourning Bombax, and there had been so many changes and upheavals in all their lives that she hadn’t questioned his motives or his presence but simply accepted both as a given.
