The Sorcerer's Daughter

by Terry Brooks

  He had been pondering these contradictions since they had set out from Arishaig in pursuit of the Druids. Once they were airborne, there had been plenty of time to think things over, and Fero Darz prided himself on being thorough and fair. Something about all this just didn’t feel right, and he was wondering how he was going to handle things if it came to a direct confrontation with Paxon and the Druids. He had enough men and weapons to overcome them, even if they resisted. Their magic was formidable, but no more so than the weapons his Federation soldiers possessed. But if he was wrong about what had happened, he didn’t want to find out about it after the Druids and the Federation soldiers both lay dead. It was bad enough the way things stood. He didn’t want to compound one tragedy by instigating another.

  He was brooding over this when his second appeared, bending down to set the tracking base next to him. “It’s stopped working,” Allett said without preliminaries.

  Darz looked up at him. “How could that happen?”

  “There’s only one way. The diapson crystal shard embedded in the craft was shattered. Either it was discovered and destroyed, or the airship crashed.”

  Darz held his gaze. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “The most likely possibility is that the vessel crashed, isn’t it?”

  “More likely than the shard being located when no one knew it was there in the first place.”

  “So maybe the storm took her down, and now the Druids are afoot—if they’re even still alive. A crash strong enough to destroy the crystal might have killed them all.”

  “It’s possible. Nothing left but bones and boards.” Pas seemed pleased with his command of imagery.

  “But we don’t want to take that chance, do we?” Darz responded pointedly.

  His second turned serious at once. “No, Commander. We do have an idea of how far away from us they were when the signal stopped. We can probably track them once the storm is over.”

  Fero Darz nodded. “Then you should monitor the storm and report back the moment it slackens enough for us to lift off again, shouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, Commander.” His second saluted sharply and hurried away.

  Darz shook his head in disgust. Idiot.

  —

  Darz slept after that, needing to rest now in case he couldn’t do so later. The rain drumming on the airship hull was lulling, and his sleep was deep and undisturbed.

  Until Pas Allett shook him awake, bringing him back into the real world and all its attendant misery. “Commander, it is morning and the rain is letting up. We are ready to get under way.”

  Wordlessly, Darz rose and went topside to look around. The sky was still gloomy and clouded over, spitting raindrops in small bursts, but the worst of the storm had moved east. The gale-force winds had diminished to a breeze, and visibility had returned to something approaching normal. He found the airship’s captain and gave the order to lift off. His second clung to him slavishly, waiting to be given an order—a fresh annoyance that made him again regret losing Baliscom. But allowances were necessary, so he put his annoyance aside. He gave the man a few tasks to carry out and went forward to stand with the watch, searching the landscape ahead.

  They had been able to pinpoint approximately the direction of and distance to the stolen airship from the last signal emitted by its diapson crystal shard. If they maintained course, they should be able to intersect it. But sharp eyes were necessary so as not to pass it by, and lookouts had been placed forward to port and starboard and aloft on the main mast. They flew at a steady pace, erring on the side of caution, but Darz was growing increasingly anxious as no sighting was called out.

  When the call finally did come, they almost missed it anyway. The airship was buried amid a series of hillocks and clustered boulders off to one side, down in a depression where its shattered ruins could not be seen even when you were almost on top of them. It was the lookout on the mainmast that finally caught sight of the wreck and brought them around.

  They swarmed off their vessel armed with heavy weapons, half expecting to find themselves under attack the moment they were on the ground. Even with the airship crashed and beyond repair—having sustained the sort of damage that made the possibility of survivors unlikely—the Federation soldiers were hesitant to expose themselves. Fero Darz was cautious, as well, if for a different reason. Paxon was smart and resourceful. If he and any of the others had survived, their first priority would be finding a new airship. Darz didn’t fancy handing over his own through lack of attention. So he left the ship’s captain and crew aboard with a contingent of guards, their orders to lift off instantly if they came under attack. The airship was not to fall into Druid hands. Besides, they could provide better support with their rail slings and flash rips from the air than they could by staying on the ground.

  The search party spread out in small groups, front and rear guards working in teams, ready to provide assault and support fire should anything be lying in wait. But it became clear almost immediately that the area was deserted. After searching, they found a pair of graves and tracks leading off across the grasslands to the north. Darz called up one of his trackers to have a look. After studying the surrounding area, the man estimated there were seven or eight in the party, with at least two Trolls among them.

  Darz nodded. He had them. The Druids were on foot in the middle of nowhere. They could not have set out more than an hour or two earlier. It would be a simple matter to track them from here. They would be brought to bay before the day was out.

  Again, he experienced a twinge of regret. Doubt had wormed its way into his mind to the point that he could no longer dismiss it. He did not want this to end the way he was almost certain it would. Paxon and the Druids would not give themselves up. They would stand and fight. And if they all went down, any chance for a working relationship between the Druids and the Federation would go down with them.

  But he was a soldier, and his duty was to carry out his orders.

  “Allett,” he called to his second. The other came running up. “Have the handler release the oketar from their cages and brought up from the hold. We’re going hunting.”

  Shortly after sunrise, Leofur found Imric Cort waiting for her at the elevated landing platform just off the north tower of the Keep, his gear stacked around him, his face bathed in shadow and wreathed in dissatisfaction. She wasn’t sure what was troubling him, but it was clear he was unhappy. Carrying her own backpack and weapons, including a chopped-down Arc-5 flash rip that could stop a koden, she walked up to him and smiled.

  “You don’t look very happy. I thought you wanted this.”

  He nodded. “I do. I’m just not sure I want it for you.”

  “You seemed all right with it yesterday. What’s changed your mind?”

  “Thinking about it some more. Considering what’s at stake. Realizing I was giving more weight to my longing than to my conscience.” His bleak countenance tightened further. “I made sure I told you all the things that you should be worried about, but I find myself wondering if I should have let it go even this far. Maybe I should have stopped it sooner.”

  She faced him squarely. “It’s a little late for that. Besides, I had as much to do with it as you did. You committed to something I asked you to commit to, so there’s no point in second-guessing the matter now. The agreement was freely made, and I don’t want to revisit how we got there.”

  “That’s part of the problem. You are too eager. You seem capable enough. You seem committed. Everything I told you yesterday that I liked about you was true, and I stand behind it still. But the fact remains you just don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  She dropped her gear, moving to within arm’s length. “Then maybe you had better show me. I won’t learn any more until you do.”

  He gave a deep sigh. “That’s about what I expected you to say. All right. Let’s begin by testing how things will be once the tether is in place. But not here, in front of
anyone curious enough to wonder what we’re doing. Let’s go back to where we have to begin our search—to where Chrysallin Leah was snatched.”

  So they loaded their gear in the storage bins located at the rear of a little snub-nose—a hybridized version of the usual two-man flit, though somewhat wider and shorter, with both seats located forward rather than one behind the other. This configuration allowed for more effective searches in territory where you wanted one man’s eyes on the controls and another’s on the ground you were passing over. With this vessel, the nose narrowed down to allow just enough room for both the pilot and a passenger to sit as far forward as possible with clear views in three directions.

  Leofur had seen these before but never flown one. Since she would be piloting the craft—Imric was untrained in the flying of airships—she took a few minutes to study the controls. She had been a good pilot before she met Paxon and had become a much better one since. He had taught her a great deal more about airships and flying than she had known previously, so it didn’t require much time for her to take the measure of this new craft.

  “Ready,” she announced moments later, settling into her seat and waiting for Imric to do the same.

  In minutes they were lifting off and flying out over Paranor’s walls and into the woods beyond. The sun was just coming up, a silvery light on the eastern ridge of the Dragon’s Teeth. West, the sky was still dark, the night’s departure slow and reluctant.

  “You seem so calm about this,” Imric said as they passed beyond the Keep. His strange eyes were fixed on her.

  “About flying or allowing myself to be tethered to you?”

  He hesitated. “I meant flying, but now that you mention it…”

  She laughed. “Calm on the outside, maybe. Good thing you can’t see what’s happening inside.”

  Though, of course, if all went well, he would be soon.

  It took them only minutes to reach their destination. Leofur set the modified two-man down smoothly, negotiating the very real dangers of branches and trunks and the twisting shadows that suggested obstacles not really there, and switched off the controls.

  “Now what?”

  Imric climbed from the cockpit to the forest floor, and she followed. He stood looking around for a minute as if gaining his bearings, peering off into the trees, turning slightly from left to right as he did so. The woods were quiet save for birdsong, the dawn’s new light pale and ephemeral.

  He turned back to her. “What happens now is that we establish the tether. It requires a blood bonding and a few words of magic that I am empowered to speak. The Druids taught me to do this so I would always have a way to use my shape-shifting with some measure of control. For your purposes, you need only do what I tell you to. It’s very simple, really. Once it is done, I will attempt a change and you will be able to see how it is with us tethered.”

  “Blood bonding?” she repeated.

  “You have to let me cut your palm, then my own, and then we join hands for the speaking of the words. After that, it will be done.”

  She hesitated, suddenly aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than she. “How do we end it, if it doesn’t work out?”

  He shrugged. “The tethering requires two willing partners, so either can choose to end it. A simple thought, a verbal command, whatever seems best—that’s enough to sever the ties. The danger comes from one or the other refusing to accept it.”

  “Is that what happened to the Druid who died? He hung on for too long?”

  “She. Sarnya was a woman. I misled you about that. I don’t know why. Perhaps because you are a woman, too.” He looked embarrassed. “Anyway, that was what happened to her. She believed she could save me. She was wrong. Or maybe she didn’t care what it took. She refused to give up on me. She saved me at the cost of her own life.”

  “She was your lover,” Leofur said suddenly, sensing it was true.

  He shook his head at once. “No, she was infatuated with me. She was enamored with the possibilities of what I could become. I was more a project than a person to her. She was very analytical and very ambitious, and she overreached herself. I warned her, like I am warning you. Be careful.”

  Leofur permitted herself a small smile. “You are not a project to me. You are a man who represents the best hope I have for saving my friend. But I take your meaning. I will keep my head.”

  “Then there is nothing more to say. Hold out your hand.”

  She did so without hesitating, offering her left so she could keep her right—her fighting hand—undamaged. He took it gently, turned it palm-up, and produced a long knife from a sheath at his waist. Without asking, without preliminaries, he ran that blade across her skin and drew blood. Then he did the same with his own hand, and joined the two in a tight grip. She could feel the mix of pain and blood mingling as he did so, almost as if both his and hers were the same. Then he began to speak, the words unfamiliar to her, the cadence not quite a chant or song, more a prayer or pleading. She watched his face, saw his eyes close, and when he finished felt a sort of warmth spread through her body, originating in and emanating from him.

  For a moment, she closed her own eyes, compelled to do so by an urging she did not understand, and in the ensuing comfort of darkness she felt herself being drawn to him, into him and through him, so that bits and pieces of who he was became suddenly revealed. His fear for her surfaced in a black cloud. His sharp, almost poignant need to use his shape-shifting abilities whispered softly. His feral nature, submerged until now within his human body, stirred and woke with hungry anticipation. But likewise, an innate kindness toward and kindred feeling for creatures great and small blossomed, as did his love of fruit, strong ale, and breads, and his deep commitment to promises made and responsibilities assumed. All were unexpectedly revealed to her.

  Then her eyes opened, and he was staring at her. “Did you feel it?” he asked. She nodded wordlessly. He nodded back. “Then it’s done.”

  He released her hand and gave her a strip of cloth to bind her wound. She tried to determine how much had changed within her, but there was nothing tangible to hold on to. The momentary feelings she had latched on to before were absent now. She was back to being herself with no recognizable indicators of anything out of the ordinary beyond the pain in her hand.

  “I don’t seem to—”

  “You won’t feel anything right away,” he interrupted her quickly. “Not ever, really, unless I make a change and willfully link myself to you afterward. It is a melding that requires offer and consent. I cannot explain it, but you will recognize it when it happens.”

  “Which will be when?”

  “Shortly. I will make a change now, and you will experience for the first time what it means to be tethered. Are you ready?”

  She felt irritated by the question. “Of course.”

  It happened much faster than she had anticipated. Without giving her a chance to object, he stripped off his clothing and stood naked. Then he stepped away from her a few paces, closed his eyes, and a visible shudder ran through his body. He seemed to disappear into himself in those few moments, as if his conscious self was suddenly buried too far down to reach.

  Then his body began to change, the man becoming a large bird—a creature with wings that spanned six or eight feet with eyes as sharp and black as obsidian and claws as wicked as hooked knives. One moment he was there, a whole man, and the next he was a nightmare rendering of a war shrike.

  She took a quick breath in spite of herself. The change was breathtaking, but frightening, as well. She could feel the sensations that poured through him, the ruthless aggression of the war shrike lurking right behind his thoughts, almost overpowering them. Then, within her mind, he spoke to her.

  That was much easier than I thought it would be. Are you hearing me?

  She nodded. How clear his voice was! How savage the beast!

  This is how it will be for us each time. You will hear me in your mind only. Now try speaking to me the same way.
<
br />   She took a deep breath, composing herself, focusing on Imric and not the shrike. That was astonishing!

  It is who I am. And good, we can communicate. Now stand where you are and look off into the distance. Not at anything in particular, just into space. In a few minutes you should be able to see what I am seeing. You will still be aware of what’s happening around you, but you have to keep your attention focused mostly on me if we are to share visions. Ready?

  The sharp bird eyes stared at her, their fierceness battering at the edges of her mind. She nodded.

  The war shrike lifted off, soaring above the trees and disappearing into the sky. She watched for a minute, then shifted her gaze to a point ten feet in front of her, looking at nothing in particular.

  Seconds later she was somewhere else entirely, looking down from above the forests surrounding Paranor. She gasped in amazement. She was flying! In the distance, she could see the Keep, its walls and gates, battlements and towers. The newly risen sun was just beginning to light the shadowy corners of the Druid haven, spreading out across the canopy of the forests below it, brightening the woodland greens with golden light. Smaller birds flew through the limbs and down into the interior, their songs lifting skyward. Far away, just at the ridge of the Dragon’s Teeth south, an airship was making its way west. A transport. Slow and ponderous, but clearly delineated.

  She was seeing all this, but what mattered, what took her breath away, was how it made her feel. She was in the air, the same as he. She was a bird on the wing, just as he. She was experiencing, as he did, the thrill of being airborne, the joy of viewing what seemed to be an entire world and the immense and wondrous freedom of flight. It made her want to shout with pleasure. It filled her with such happiness she could barely stand it.