by Terry Brooks
“We’re going now,” she said quietly, giving Fero Darz a meaningful nod. “Please don’t try to stop us.”
The Commander of the Ministerial Watch attempted a shout for help, but a second gesture from Miriya left him sprawled unconscious on the floor with his companions for company.
“We will have to move quickly,” Isaturin advised. “We won’t have much of a head start, and few will be willing to help us. Paxon, take the lead. Get us out of this city!”
—
When Fero Darz came awake again, the Druids and their protectors were gone, Paxon among them. He rose slowly, foggy-headed and lethargic, but burning with anger. He knew what he had seen. That black thing might have appeared from nowhere but it had gone straight into and then through the young female Druid before disappearing. And though all the members of the Southland delegation lay dead, no Druid had been touched. The evidence seemed conclusive that the Druid order was somehow involved. Darz could not provide a motive for what had happened. Why would the Druids agree to come to Arishaig solely for the purpose of killing members of the Coalition Council? But that was what had happened, and the reason for it could be determined once the offenders were in custody and could be questioned.
He pulled himself to his feet and, with only a glance at the two still-unconscious members of his command, started for the doors to the Assembly. Isaturin had seemed confident they could escape Arishaig with ease, but Paxon was smarter than that. He knew how pursuit could cut off almost any escape if one knew what one was doing—and Fero Darz did.
The Druids might have gotten away momentarily, but he would have them in the end.
The Druid delegation escaped the building without trouble. No one tried to stop them. No one even spoke to them.
They even escaped the compound, although by the time they were clear and making their way through the streets of Arishaig, alarms were beginning to sound. They came in the form of shouts and cries accompanied by the deep ringing of a gong that was clearly meant to be a call to action. Paxon was not sure what it was intended to accomplish, but if nothing else it generated a fresh sense of urgency.
He was leading the way at this point, and it appeared that the effort to get free of the walls of the city had fallen entirely on his shoulders. Neither Isaturin nor any of the others was making any attempt to offer advice on routes of escape, so it was clear that the responsibility was his.
It was not going to be easy. They were perhaps a quarter mile from the gates and hemmed in on all sides by hordes of people crowding the streets, most of them now pausing at the sound of the shouts and the gong, trying to determine what was happening. At the very least, patrols would already be hunting for them. If they evaded those, they would still have to find a way through the gates, which would be either closed down entirely or carefully monitored. It would be bad enough to try to get through that obstacle alone. But with nearly a dozen Druids and Troll guards in tow, it seemed almost impossible.
Paxon began to panic as the enormity of what was at stake seized him. But then he steadied himself. His training was too thoroughly ingrained to be abandoned at the first sign of trouble. He knew the drill. One problem at a time. One step at a time. Don’t try to do too much or think too far ahead. Stay in the moment.
The first thing they had to do was to get rid of the Druid cloaks and guard uniforms, which were immediately recognizable. In ordinary clothes, they would draw less attention and could move more freely.
Right, he thought. Seven men and women, and four Trolls. Who would notice that?
He began scanning the streets, searching for a clothing shop where they could find what they needed. At the same time, he kept watch for Federation soldiers. He glanced once or twice at Isaturin, but the Ard Rhys seemed lost in thought and didn’t look back.
He found a shop quickly enough. A sign in the window said it was closed, but one of the Trolls broke the lock and opened the door just by leaning against it heavily. A few heads turned, a few passersby paused, but no one said anything or stopped. It was like that in cities everywhere, Paxon thought. Everyone minded their own business. No one wanted trouble.
In seconds they were inside with the door closed behind them.
“Cloaks and broad-brimmed hats,” Paxon told his charges. “Anything that will hide who you are. We don’t have time for a full change of clothing. Just cover your Druid garments. Leave your cloaks behind.”
Isaturin and the others did not argue. They found what they needed and were out the door again in minutes, looking like ordinary citizens now. Even the Trolls, with their size and bark-like skin, could pass. With their bodies covered and their faces shadowed by the hats, only their size suggested their true nature.
They were walking again, with Paxon setting a quicker pace. They could not sustain this for long, however. Already, old Consloe was beginning to show signs of tiring. He was too old and physically weak to be able to keep up with the rest of them, but there was no other choice. They couldn’t afford to slow down, and trying to hide from Fero Darz in Arishaig was suicide.
Paxon pondered Darz’s certainty that the Druids had been involved in the killings, and again found himself unable to dispute the conclusions the other had drawn. He wished it were someone else hunting them—not just because he admired Darz and thought of him as a friend, but because Darz was very good at his job. He had a gift for anticipation, and he would surely put that gift to use here. So Paxon was going to have to do something drastic to throw Darz off their trail.
“Aren’t we going in the wrong direction?” Isaturin asked finally. “It seems we’re heading toward the east gates. Shouldn’t we be going north?”
Paxon shook his head. “Darz will expect us to take the shortest path out of the city. Most of his efforts will be concentrated on the north gates.”
“He’s trying to out-think our esteemed Ministerial Watch Commander,” Miriya offered. “This is a chess game, High Lord.”
Which it was indeed, and Paxon was not at all sure he was the better player. “There’s also a private airfield near the east gates,” he added, glancing back again at a faltering Consloe. “Nach! Help our friend,” he ordered, motioning to one of the Trolls.
It wasn’t his place to order them about, but considerations of that sort had no place in their present circumstances.
“How do we get through the gates?” Miriya asked.
“Maybe we won’t have to. Maybe we can fly over them.” Paxon shrugged. “All we need is a ship.”
The vessel they had arrived in was housed inside the Council Headquarters, and thus effectively lost to them.
“Or several ships,” Miriya added, “if they’re small, to carry us all.”
Paxon nodded. “But I prefer large. One that comes with flash rips and rail slings.”
“And speed,” she added. “Lots of speed.”
The wind had picked up, blowing grit and debris in sharp blasts. The group walked with heads down and collars up. It helped that everyone they encountered was doing the same. Eyes were averted for protection, and no one was paying much attention to their little band.
In the cross street directly ahead, a squad of foot soldiers appeared, calling out to be let through, shouldering aside all who stood in their way. There were a dozen, maybe more. On their way to the east gates, Paxon presumed. He wished they had been a little slower coming. He wished now they had tied up Darz and his companions.
“Look!” Miriya breathed.
Overhead, a formation of Ghost Flares and transports appeared, flying toward the east wall. A sizable command—more than Paxon cared to go up against, even with Druid magic and his sword to aid him. He felt a fresh twinge of doubt about their chances of escape. Their options were too few and their enemies too strong.
“First Response,” Paxon whispered to himself. Now there was fresh cause to be concerned. The Federation unit responsible for the safety of the city had been dispatched to deal with them.
He slowed. Darz would block all th
e gates and seal them off. As furious as he was certain to be after his failure to prevent the Druids from leaving the Coalition Council compound, he wouldn’t think twice about inconveniencing travelers for as long as it took to correct that mistake. The chances of getting through the gates or even managing to commandeer an airship from one of the private airfields had dropped to almost zero.
He held up his hand and directed the others into an overhang fronting a leatherwork kiosk, out of the dust-filled wind.
“We have to change our plans,” he told them. “We have to go back.”
“Back?” Isaturin echoed. “Back to where? Are you serious, Paxon?”
“Indeed,” Miriya agreed. “What brought this on?”
A few others voiced similar comments. All of them were distressed at the prospect of returning.
“Just listen a moment,” Paxon said, quieting them. “Those were First Response airships heading for the east gates. More will have been dispatched to the other gates. Those soldiers have a lot of experience with enemies trying to get into or out of the city, and that’s how we will be seen. As enemies. Fero Darz will try to find a way to shut down every exit he thinks we might attempt to use, so we have to do something he isn’t expecting. I have an idea. It’s dangerous, but it has a much better chance of succeeding than what we’re doing now.”
Briefly, he explained his thinking. No one would expect them to double back. It might throw off their pursuit long enough for them to reach the First Response barracks. First Response was highly trained and very capable, but it was also small. Most of its soldiers would have been sent to the gates. Only a handful would have been held back as reserves. The barracks would be mostly empty.
“And that’s where they keep their airships,” he finished.
“You think we can steal one?” Miriya asked.
“It’s our best chance.”
“What if they’ve taken them all?” Darconnen said, quiet until now. “Then we really will be trapped.”
Paxon shook his head. “They always keep airships in reserve. They wouldn’t risk losing them all.”
“All right,” Isaturin said. “If Paxon thinks this is our best chance, then this is what we’ll do.” He turned to the Highlander. “Lead us, Paxon. But let’s hurry.”
They made their way back through the city toward its center. First Response had been relocated to a more central position since its destruction in the demon assault more than a century ago. Paxon had visited the camp once or twice, anxious to learn more of its history and meet some of its leaders. He knew a few of them. Some were friends. He hoped he wouldn’t encounter them now.
The return trip was much slower than the Highlander would have liked. The wind had increased, and it had become necessary for them to shield their eyes. And the sweep by the Federation soldiers was pushing everyone in the streets away from the city center. The Druids had to struggle against the crowds trying to get clear. Everyone around them seemed vaguely panicked, even without knowing exactly why. No one, after all, had told them what was going on. In situations like these, no one ever did. The search for the Druids was thorough and relentless, but the ignorance of the citizenry was not helping. Also, there were a lot of streets and buildings to be searched. That would require time and men, and the prevailing opinion would be that the Druids were already on their way out of the city. Those hunting them would not expend their efforts looking for them the way they had come.
At least, that’s what Paxon hoped.
He kept everyone moving, but there was no need to try to rush. With the crowds pressing up against them and the wind blowing sharply, it was best to stay close to the walls and use back streets and alleyways when possible. Shouts and cries rose ahead of them. The search was advancing in their direction. The Highlander took his charges down a narrow passageway into a confluence of alleys and streets converging on a mostly empty square. They crossed to one of the narrower alleys and turned into it. The sounds faded a bit behind them, but Paxon could feel the sweat building inside his clothing.
He chose another couple of side streets and passageways. This area of the city was familiar to him from previous visits, and everyone was keeping pace, even old Consloe. A few minutes later they emerged at the top of a broad set of steps leading down toward the compound they had just escaped.
“Over there.” Paxon pointed.
To their left sat the barracks of First Response. As Paxon had surmised, there were only a few soldiers visible. The gates leading in stood open, and the garrison was mostly emptied out. Motioning to get the attention of the others, he pointed again.
Atop an elevated platform connected to the buildings of the compound sat two fast cruisers and a handful of flits. Either of the larger airships was capable of carrying up to a dozen passengers and crew.
Paxon looked around. Standing where they were, they were mostly hidden from the soldiers below. But once they started down the platform steps, they would be seen immediately. Better if only a couple of them went down initially. When it was safer to do so, the others could follow.
He turned to Isaturin. “Miriya and I will clear a path. As soon as the guards at the gate are disabled, the rest of you come down. Don’t hesitate. We have to get into one of those cruisers and off the ground before anyone sounds the alarm. We have to be quick.”
The Ard Rhys nodded. “But let’s be careful, as well.”
Below, the grounds were empty of everyone but the guards at the First Response gates and a solitary soldier hauling material off a cart and into a storage building. Outside the barracks’ walls, there was no one at all; the streets were empty. With Miriya next to him, Paxon descended the steps.
He began talking conversationally. “Just pretend we’re old friends. Don’t pay any attention to the guards. Just look at me and talk about anything.”
“I know what to do,” she said.
They took their time, doing what Paxon had suggested, ignoring the soldiers while they talked to each other, acting as if nothing much was happening, hoping they would look like they belonged.
They reached the bottom of the steps and were almost to the opening of the compound when one of the guards ordered them to stop and asked for identification.
“Now?” Miriya asked him softly.
Paxon shook his head. “Wait.”
The speaker left his post and came toward them, leaving the second soldier standing at the gates, ready to summon help if it was needed.
“I’ll disable this one, you disable the other,” Paxon whispered.
Miriya said nothing. She didn’t even nod. She looked away as if bored.
Paxon waited until the guard was right on top of them, aware of the flash rip pointed at his midsection. His sword was sheathed. Bringing it out now would give them away. So he stood there, gesturing toward his pocket, aware that he was completely defenseless if the guard used the flash rip on him.
“Who are you?” the man asked. “You don’t belong here—either of you. What’s your business?”
“Supply inventory,” Paxon answered. “Can I show you my orders? They’re in my pocket.”
“Careful now,” the other warned. “Do it slowly.”
Miriya had taken a few casual steps away from Paxon while the guard was approaching, giving her some additional space and a better viewpoint of the guard at the gates.
“Who are those men atop the wall?” she said suddenly, the alarm in her voice apparent.
The guard looked at once, unable to help himself, and Paxon stepped forward and dropped him with a blow to the temple. By then Miriya had used gestures and words to summon her magic and disable the remaining guard. The way into the compound stood open.
Then everything went wrong at once.
As Paxon had instructed, the remaining Druids and Trolls came hurrying down the steps, but they failed to slow on reaching the flats. Instead, they simply changed direction as if of a single mind, and before the Highlander could prevent it they swept right through the open gate
s. Perhaps they thought that was what he intended. Perhaps they thought it was the safest choice.
They were wrong.
“No!” he shouted after them. “Stop!”
He heard the yells and cries start up even before they finished clearing the gates, saw the deadly flashes of Druid magic and Federation weapons, smelled burning flesh. He felt his insides tighten as he realized there must have been more soldiers inside the compound than he anticipated, and the sudden appearance of the Druids and Trolls, even without their black-and-silver uniforms, had triggered a deadly response.
Miriya was screaming at him. “Get in there! Help them!”
He charged ahead, pulling his sword from its sheath, ready to repel whatever attack was launched against him. Still, the first explosion caught him by surprise and, even with the sword’s protection, knocked him off his feet. Miriya, who was right behind him, responded at once to the attack, launching a counterstrike at the soldier with the big shoulder-mounted flash rip, destroying his weapon and sending him sprawling.
Some of the others in their group were fighting back, as well. Isaturin, Oridian, and even old Consloe, hiding behind stacks of supplies and materials, were tossing off shards of magic designed to disable or numb. The Trolls were using crossbows, but they lacked anything more efficient without engaging in close contact. Two of them were injured. Darconnen Drue was down, too, his entire upper torso and head burned black.
A handful of Federation soldiers had taken up position against the barracks wall behind an overturned wagon, blocking the way inside the building and to the stairs leading up to the landing platform. They were armed with flash rips and stun rifles, effective from any distance you could see a target. Both sides were dug in. For the moment, the battle was a standoff.
It wouldn’t stay that way for long, however. Time was running out, and Federation reinforcements would arrive soon. Paxon took a deep breath, leapt to his feet, and sprinted toward the Federation position, crouched forward, his sword held out like a shield, deflecting the stun bolts and flash rip fire that was directed toward him. Miriya followed him in from one side, her Druid magic a white-hot oval spitting flaming darts.
