The Sorcerer's Daughter

by Terry Brooks

  “That’s the Prekkendorran!” Miriya declared, coming back to where Paxon was now walking with Isaturin. “We’re way south and east of where we should be. That storm must have blown us off course and back the way we came! Shades, Paxon! We’ve got miles to go to reach the Duln. Or anything else but this scrub country.”

  She was clearly incensed, and truth be told he wasn’t particularly happy, either. He had assumed they had gotten well north of the Heights and needed only to push on a short distance to reach the forests of the upper Southland. But given what he was seeing, they weren’t even very far from the city of Dechtera, which meant that Federation air and ground forces could reach them easily.

  We are going to need a miracle to escape now, he thought.

  They pushed on, the trek becoming a slog. Old Consloe was failing, his limited strength close to exhausted. One of the Trolls stepped up to help support him, but it was clear the entire company was going to have to move at a slower pace if they were to stay together. The terrain about them failed to improve, remaining sodden and uneven. Water was pooled everywhere, the ground too saturated to absorb it. At least the air was dry, the rain ended, and the winds diminished. But now the temperature had dropped, and their damp clothing was chill and slick against their bodies. Worse, to the west, a fresh storm was building.

  When they stopped next to rest, Paxon moved over to sit beside Karlin. He smiled at her, nodded a greeting. No response. She barely looked at him.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  Nothing.

  “We’re worried for you. Miriya is worried. You look as if maybe you’re having a problem. Is there something we can do? Can we talk about it?”

  Her lips compressed in a tight line and she looked away. Her dark, slender features seemed pinched and her pallor was unhealthy. She was small to begin with, but now she looked so diminished she might have been drained of life. Her eyes were luminous and haunted.

  Something was clearly wrong.

  He gave her a moment more. “Thank you for helping me with my injuries after the crash. You have healing skills as well as the sight. I didn’t know that. Who did you study with?”

  She gave him a long, slow look, then rose and moved away. All without speaking a word.

  He waited until the members of the company were on their feet and moving off again before he caught Miriya’s eye. She moved over at once to walk next to him. “What did you find out?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “Nothing more than you did. She won’t talk. Not a word. She barely paid attention to me. When I tried to press her, she just got up and walked away.”

  Miriya hissed softly and her jaw tightened. The frustration and anger in her eyes were palpable. “I don’t understand it! She’s just not like this. Not ever!”

  He gave it a moment, and then said, “Allow her a little time. Maybe she’s working through something. Maybe that encounter with the Sleath caused problems we don’t know about. Just be patient.”

  Miriya looked at him and snorted. “You be patient, if you can. I can’t. I’m in love with her. I need to do something!”

  Then she dropped back and did not speak with him again. It was getting to be a habit with this company. He let her go without saying anything more, staying where he was at the head of the line, leading the way into the gray sameness ahead.

  Earlier, he had worried about hiding their tracks, even knowing how impossible it would be to achieve with a group this large. But now he decided that the rains would do the job as well as they could. Not by obscuring their prints, but by leaving the ground so thoroughly saturated that fresh depressions were filled almost as quickly as they appeared. When he looked back—which he did several times, just to make sure—there was no sign of their passage. If the Federation was going to track them out here, as far off course as they were, completely away from where they intended to be, they were going to have to be lucky as well as good.

  The hours slipped by. Twilight settled in. Paxon glanced at the sky. Another hour of light, and it would be pitch-black. They had to find shelter quickly, a dry place that would conceal them, but it was going to be hard to do that. There wasn’t anywhere to hide in this flat scrubland, even where the rocks jutted from the earth in ragged clusters or deep gullies opened down into hidden depressions.

  Isaturin moved up beside him. “We have to stop and rest for the night. Everyone is exhausted.”

  Before Paxon could respond, Miriya called to him from behind. “Paxon, come here! Now!”

  The urgency in her voice was apparent. He glanced over his shoulder and found the warrior Druid standing helplessly next to Karlin Ryl, who had stopped dead in her tracks and was staring into space, muttering softly. He hurried back to them and leaned close to the seer to hear what she was saying.

  “…coming. Too many! Animals and men. Coming now…Flee them…Flee! They are…too many…”

  He kept listening, but she just repeated the same words over and over. She seemed to be in a kind of trance, the sort of far-sight look that suggested she was in the midst of one of her visions. He stepped back, and at once she stopped speaking. He hesitated for a moment in case she resumed, but she didn’t say another word or even look at them.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked Miriya.

  “I don’t know. She’s had a vision, though. She thinks we are being hunted, and it appears that whoever it is, they’ve found us. If she’s right, we don’t have long before they catch up. We have to do something to stop them before that happens.”

  He glanced at the others. “I can’t do this alone. Isn’t there a magic of some sort that would slow them down? Or at least slow their hunting animals? If it’s the Federation, they’re probably using oketar.”

  For a long moment everyone was silent, each member of the party seemingly waiting for someone else to speak.

  Then Isaturin, his voice soft but steely, said, “I think we will have to resort to smoke and mirrors.”

  —

  A mile back, Fero Darz walked with the oketar and their trainer, after abandoning his bow watch aboard the Federation cruiser when the animals suddenly and unexpectedly became excited.

  This was after almost a day of desultory sniffing and scurrying back and forth with no clear indication that they had found anything more interesting than an animal burrow. Standing at the bow of the airship and observing their apparent lack of progress, he had almost decided to abandon the effort in favor of a broad sweep across the terrain ahead, hoping to sight their quarry. But once the oketar started growling and snapping at the air, he had ordered the airship to descend immediately so that he could lower the rope ladder and hop down to join the hunt. Whatever was going to happen next, he wanted to be in the thick of it. He was never good at letting others do while he watched, and although he respected the trainer and his animals, he did not want to rely on them unless he was supervising. Better that he be right there when they found something. Better that he be able to decide on the spot what needed doing when they got close enough to act.

  Now, seeing the oketar become increasingly eager, Darz was certain the end of the hunt was at hand. He had left word with the captain of the airship and Pas Allett that they were to wait for his signal before doing anything from aboard the ship, and under no circumstances were they to kill any of the Druids or their Blade unless it proved impossible to take them alive. They were to remember that these men and women were the only ones who could shed light on the reason behind the attack on the Federation ministers, or reveal the identities of those behind it.

  He had faith that those under his command would carry out his orders—mostly because he had let them know, in no uncertain terms, what would happen if they disobeyed.

  Darz was not a violent or intemperate man. In other circumstances, he would not have made threats like these. But there was a great deal at stake here, and he could not afford to have his soldiers ignore his orders. He certainly could not afford mistakes, or any form of spontaneou
s rogue behavior. He was still struggling with the idea that Paxon and the Druids were not to blame for what had happened and were as much victims as the Federation. Without knowing exactly who was responsible and why, he could not dismiss the possibility. And if things went wrong here, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to sort out the truth. He did not care to speculate on where that would leave him, or where it would leave the heretofore relatively peaceful relationship between the Federation and the Druids.

  So while he was committed to performing his duty, he was also determined to discover the truth in the process.

  He moved up to where the handler was calling his animals back so he could leash them. Already, they were beginning to stray, and no one wanted them to rush into something they were not able to handle. While tough and experienced, they were not fighting animals; they were just highly trained trackers. He did not want to lose them through precipitous action.

  “What do they have?” Darz asked, coming close.

  “A trail of some sort,” came the answer. The handler did not bother to turn away from his task, snapping the links to his leashes on their neck collars. “They’ve had a whiff of their quarry all afternoon, but only now have they gotten a real taste. Whatever they’ve found, it’s human and there’s more than one. So I’d say we’ve got the ones we’re searching for.”

  He snapped the last of the leashes in place. All three animals were straining against their restraints. “Come, Commander. We’ve got to hurry!”

  They surged forward, the handler practically dragged by the oketar, Darz right on his heels. The terrain continued in an uneven carpet of brush and rocks riven with gullies and deep ravines. Behind them, the airship tracked slowly, staying in sight.

  Ahead…

  Darz stared. A heavy fog bank had appeared, thick with white layers, impenetrable. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. Or had he simply failed to notice it? Instinctively, he slowed. But the oketar and their handler were pressing ahead eagerly, ignoring the fog, staying on the trail of those they were hunting.

  Darz started to shout a warning, then stopped. He was being needlessly overprotective, he thought. He watched the mist swirl sluggishly, expanding and contracting. Was that even possible? It was almost as if it were a living, breathing thing. They were almost on top of it now, and he couldn’t see anything beyond its leading edge.

  “Do you see…,” he began.

  But the oketar and their handler had disappeared and were gone.

  Without hesitating, he followed. What else could he do? As soon as he was inside the fog, he couldn’t see the airship. He felt like he had been swallowed whole.

  Then he heard the oketar whimper like whipped pups. A moment later, there was silence. He called the handler’s name. Nothing from him, either. He blundered ahead, weapon swinging left and right, ready for anything. This was a mistake. They had walked into a trap.

  A moment later his leading foot bumped into the body of an oketar.

  “Shades!” he hissed softly, taking a step back.

  Now he could see all three of the animals, sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Their handler lay off to one side, equally still.

  “Hello, Fero,” said a voice from behind him.

  A second later, everything went black.

  I have them!

  Imric Cort’s words echoed through the dark recesses of Leofur’s mind, a clear indication of his mood, a warning of what almost certainly was about to happen.

  No, Imric! Stay where you are! Wait for me to reach you!

  My hunger is strong. Human flesh. I need to taste it. Talk to me. Tell me to stop!

  She felt the sharp edge of his desperation pressing against her heart. She felt his killing instincts taking hold, his need to hunt consuming him.

  This isn’t what you want! Shift back to your real form. Make the change! Do not remain a Parsk wolf.

  There was a long pause, his silence complete and seemingly endless. She waited, her desperation cutting deep, leaving her hopes for him in tatters.

  Imric, listen to me!

  I am afraid.

  Don’t be. I am coming. I am almost there! Strengthen the link between us until I reach you. I am at the entrance to the pass.

  Changing robs me of my power. I will be vulnerable. I will be exposed. They will hurt me. They will see.

  Stay hidden! Wait for me!

  I must end it now. While I can. I must finish them. A few seconds is all it will take…

  Imric, no! Don’t!

  But the link was broken, and he was gone.

  “Imric!” she screamed aloud.

  She couldn’t seem to do anything properly where he was concerned. All his talk about how she was the right one, all his promises that she could bring him back when he needed it, that she possessed sufficient strength, yet this was the second time she had tried and failed to call him back. She might as well have been trying to leash the wind.

  She turned her attention to the controls again, moving the thruster forward, sweeping into the Kennon Pass almost recklessly, all thought of caution abandoned. She had to reach him, had to try to stop him. Ahead, the canyon was a black wall, the sky so overcast that no light from moon or stars brightened the earth below. Her eyes were sharp, however, and well adjusted to the darkness by now, so she found her way easily to where the first flicker of firelight winked brightly in the distance. Their camp. But was anyone still alive?

  She skimmed the valley floor, hooding the diapson crystals to diminish their power, searching for a place to land. She found one quickly enough. The floor of the Kennon was broad and open, allowing her to land almost anywhere she chose. She moved as close as she dared to the firelight without giving herself away, then brought the little craft down.

  In seconds she had it secured and was out of the cockpit and hurrying forward, eyes straining and ears pricked. To her surprise, she could hear voices, so maybe everything was all right. She could smell cooking. She eased her pace, shifting into a crouch as she got close enough to see figures moving about and hear the words they spoke. Men. A handful of speakers, their dialect identifying them as Southlanders, perhaps from the eastern seaboard. They seemed entirely at ease, unworried and confident of their safety. They would not be so if they knew what was out there stalking them.

  Imric? She said his name in her mind, into the blackness, trying to tether to him.

  No response.

  She looked toward the campfire. What should she do? Wait on him? That wasn’t her way. She would do what needed doing without him. She was armed and she had the advantage of surprise. A few minutes’ time and she would have what she wanted. He could catch up to her later.

  Cradling the Arc-5, she walked directly toward the firelight and the men who were lit by it. She counted three, then spied a fourth off to one side. They were average looking, clearly hunters. Their rough, weathered faces indicated a life led outdoors. All were carrying long knives and two a couple of weapons she had never seen before. One weapon was a flat piece of wood bent at right angles and shaved to a narrow edge from inner curve to outer. The other consisted of a series of leather-wrapped balls attached to short cords. Both were cinched at the waist. She saw no weapons like her own. She clearly held the advantage.

  “Evening,” she said, stepping out of the darkness, her flash rip pointed their way.

  Heads turned, surprise reflected on the men’s bluff faces. A hint of fear showed in their eyes. “Who are you?” one asked. “What do you want?”

  “I want my friend back. You took her from outside Paranor’s walls. I was there. Where is she?”

  Looks were exchanged. “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” one finally said.

  Almost casually, Leofur swung the barrel of her weapon toward the speaker and pulled the trigger. The explosive charge passed between his legs, close enough to set the fabric of his pants on fire before exploding into a fireball behind him. The man screamed in shock and anger and began beating at his pants where the cloth
was burning.

  Everyone else dropped back a step, aware that her weapon was now trained on them, its black barrel swinging from one man to the next as if searching for a suitable target.

  “Let’s assume I’m not stupid,” she snapped. “Let’s assume, instead, that I’m just really angry. Now where is my friend?”

  “She’s gone,” another man said quickly. His sunburned features reflected menace and challenge.

  “Gone where?”

  “We don’t know.”

  She lifted the barrel of the flash rip until it was pointing at his midsection. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Melis took her.”

  “Who is Melis?”

  “You haven’t heard of her? She hired us to snatch the girl. She told us to bring her here and wait until she came to fetch her. That’s what we did. She’s come and gone. Took the girl with her.”

  Another said, “How did you find us? We left no trail at all. How did you track our airship?”

  Leofur wanted to tell them it was because they were stupid, but decided that would be getting off point. “You’re lying. You couldn’t have taken my friend so easily. She has the use of magic. She would have tossed you away like old scrap.”

  “Melis told us to be sure she was unconscious before we tried anything, then to gag her and keep her gagged so she couldn’t make a sound,” said the first speaker. “Said the magic was in her voice, and if she couldn’t use her voice she was harmless.”

  “Where do I find this Melis? Where did she take my friend?”

  Everyone went silent. “We don’t know,” the first speaker said.

  Leofur nodded. “Your friend said that earlier, and you saw what happened to him. Do you want the same thing to happen to you? Maybe I should aim a little higher this time, say about there?” She pointed the flash rip at his crotch.