by Terry Brooks
She watched the ripples swell to a small wave and then a larger one as the swamp dweller picked up speed. It was less than fifty feet away from the man now, and coming on so swiftly that it was already too late for him to run. And with her voice gone, Chrys couldn’t even scream to save him. Maybe he would sense the danger. Maybe he would still have time to…
Mr. Teeth broke the surface of the water, a surge that carried his front half right onto land and through the trees, his massive jaws sweeping up the man as if he were no more than an insignificant insect. The man disappeared into the creature’s maw without a sound and was gone.
Slowly, languidly, the monstrous swamp dweller slipped back into the swamp waters and disappeared from view. Chrysallin closed her eyes in despair.
“Wasn’t that exciting?” the little girl enthused. Then, with a crestfallen look, she added, “But I guess it’s over.” She sighed as if disheartened, then brightened again. “So, Chrysallin, what should we do now?”
—
Leofur stumbled a few steps forward in shock, screaming Imric’s name over and over in her mind, trying to reach him. But it was pointless. The tether was broken. He had broken it. There would be no answer. She stood there in shock, staring out into the layers of brume.
When she turned back again, Olin was standing there with the Arc-5 pointed at her stomach. “Don’t move.”
She didn’t. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid. She had unslung the weapon when they sat down together on the log, as the weight of it across her shoulders had been wearing on her. She had set it on the other side of her, keeping it away from where he was sitting. But in the stunned aftermath of losing contact with Imric, she had forgotten all about it.
“Take out your other weapon and lay it on the ground,” the boy continued, gesturing with the black barrel. She saw that his hands were shaking. “Then step away from it.”
She hesitated, unwilling to give up both weapons, trying to think of how she could distract him for long enough…
“Do it right now!” he screamed, his voice cutting at her like a knife-edge, sharp and penetrating.
So she did, pulling the handheld from its sheath and setting it down gently. She moved away a few yards and looked back at him. “What are you doing, Olin?”
“Taking advantage of an opportunity.” He picked up the handheld and tucked it in his belt. “I’m closer than I have ever been to finding Melis, and once I find her, I have to give her something so she’ll let me come back. A present. An offering. Your friend might have been a nicer treat, but with him gone, I think I’ll give her you.”
Leofur tried to relax, to keep the emotions roiling inside her from revealing themselves. Keep him talking, she thought. Wait for your chance.
“Imric will be back soon,” she said.
“Will he? It didn’t sound like it to me. When you called his name, it was clear he was in trouble.” He paused. “He’s a shape-shifter, isn’t he? You can communicate with him somehow when he’s not with you. Wasn’t that what he was doing just now? Telling you he was in trouble?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You could have fooled me. You looked worried enough. Calling out his name like that, you sounded scared. I think he found Melis, and she made him pay.”
She ignored him. “Melis banished you, didn’t she? She sent you away. That’s why you have to bring her something she wants. But how long will she let you stay this time?”
The boy suddenly looked irritated. “You should be worried about how long you’ll get to stay once she has you. Now start walking. Go the way your shape-shifter friend went. If he found her, so can I! Go on. Move!”
She did so, conscious of him following, the Arc-5 pointed at her back. She picked her way over swampy ground. Once, she tried to change direction, intent on leading him another way, but he called her back immediately.
“Don’t try to be clever. I can read a trail better than you can.”
They walked for a short distance before reaching a vast lake that sprawled ahead of them until it disappeared into a horizon of drooping tree limbs and mist. On its shores, he brought her to a stop.
“I know this place! This is the lake where she lives! We’re close to her cottage. I’ve found her!”
He was so excited he was practically hysterical. She tensed, listening to him babble. This was her chance to disarm him. She was stronger, quicker. She could do it.
But then he prodded her with the flash rip. “Turn around. Walk over to that tree and sit on the ground.”
He pointed to where he wanted her, and she moved over obediently. He was about to make a mistake. She was good with ropes and locks. She could get out of anything. He might bind her, but she would be free of her restraints quick enough. Then she would go after him.
Because she had to accept that Imric’s admonition to stay where she was until he returned for her might not mean anything now. The boy was right. Imric’s words had been cut off abruptly, as if he had been attacked. As if Melis or one of her creatures had found him. She had to assume the worst.
She sat quietly, her back against the tree, and waited. Olin moved behind her and dug from his backpack an odd-looking cord with metal cuffs attached to each end. He snapped the first metal cuff on one wrist, the lock closing with a sharp snick, maneuvered the cord around the tree trunk, then snapped the second cuff to her other wrist. The cuffs were firm and tight. There was no give to them at all. The cord, however, hung loose.
The boy moved back around in front of her and stared down wordlessly for a moment. Then he swung the Arc-5 over one shoulder and tucked the handheld into his belt.
“It’s best if you wait here. She wouldn’t want me bringing you to her home. Just sit there and be quiet. You don’t want those big dwellers out in the lake to come looking for you. You’ve still got your knife, though, if they do. You’re pretty good with that knife, aren’t you? You’ll need to be.”
Then he turned and walked off into the gloom. He didn’t even bother to look back.
She went to work on the cord and the cuff locks right away, turning about so she could see what the boy had improvised. The cord consisted of woven metal strands. It was too thick for her to break, but it was loosely draped about the trunk of the tree, giving her some freedom of movement. She glanced at the tree. The trunk was three or four feet thick—too thick to cut through by herself even if she’d had the proper tools.
But the cuff locks were a different story. The cuffs were joined by a clasp, which contained the locks and could be opened by a key. She didn’t have that key, but she had something equally useful.
Inside her belt was a pocket, and inside the pocket were her picks, given to her years ago by Grehling Cara. Grehling had taught her this skill while she was still living in Wayford, the boy already an amateur thief and scrounger, accomplished at getting in and out of locked places. Deeply enamored with her, even at the age of twelve, he had shown her how to use the picks—possibly to demonstrate how clever he was, or possibly to impress her. That was all over and done with once she had met Paxon. The boy was still a friend, but grown up enough to realize there would never be anything more between them. Still, she had kept the picks.
This seemed like a good time to discover how much she remembered about using them.
Since she was free to move her hands and arms, she was able to extract the tiny pouch from her belt without difficulty. She opened the pouch and dumped out the picks. A quick glance at the sky warned her that darkness was coming on rapidly, so she would not have all that much time to free herself. She set to work, trying the first of the picks.
Fifteen minutes later, she gave up on that one and moved on to a second. Another fifteen minutes, and she wondered what was happening. No amount of coaxing would budge the locks. The longer she worked, the more worried she became. She was having no success whatever.
As twilight edged toward full darkness, she felt her hopes fade with the light. Clearly, something had been don
e to the locks to prevent them from being opened by anything but the key the boy had taken with him. Or would the key even work? What if the locks were magic-infused? There was no way of knowing. What she did know was that if she stayed where she was for much longer, she would be inviting every creature living in the lake to come up for a snack. She had to find better protection.
She looked up at the tree to which she was chained. If she couldn’t get away from the tree, maybe she could use it instead. She stood, pulled the metal cord tight against the trunk, and began to climb. Inch by inch, she shimmied her way upward, her boots planted against the tree, using the cord to leverage herself, progressing a little higher with each step.
It was slow, arduous work, but she got as far as the lower branches before she was stymied. There was no way to get the cord past even the smallest limbs. So she found the biggest branch available to her, climbed onto it, took up the slack in the cord, and settled herself in place. Here, at least, she would be off the ground, and maybe not so easily spotted by predators.
It was the best she could do.
She tried to keep the panic at bay, but she understood well enough the precariousness of her situation. The boy would return with the witch. They would find her and take her away with them. She had no idea what would happen then, but she did not think it would end well.
Her only chance was Imric. She needed him to return.
She tried repeatedly to link to him, to re-form the tether, but there was no response. It left her dispirited and frightened. Whatever had happened, he could no longer reach out to her. The silence in her mind was deafening. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he couldn’t come to her.
Whatever the case, she was helpless without him.
And alone.
—
Inside the witch’s cottage, Chrysallin had been returned to her crate for the evening. It was night now, and sitting at the window and playing the stupid game were over for another day. Memories flooded her thoughts, particularly of the naked man being swallowed by Mr. Teeth. She could not seem to dispel it or even to push it away from her. It haunted her relentlessly.
She was sitting in a corner of the crate, waiting to grow tired enough to sleep, when she heard a knock at the door.
A knock? Who would come knocking on the door of this place?
She heard the little girl’s footsteps, and then the cottage door opened. “You,” she said in a voice that somehow suggested both irritation and surprise. “What are you doing here? How did you find your way back?”
Chrysallin moved over to where she could peer out through the mesh-covered airholes and see the little girl facing the newcomer. A boy.
Her impression was confirmed when she heard him speak. “I brought you something wonderful—a young woman who claims to be a friend of your guest.”
“You have her manacled and ready for me?”
“Yes.”
Chrysallin went cold. Leofur? Was the young woman Leofur?
“There was also a man, a shape-shifter,” the boy was saying, “but I think you may already have gotten him…”
“A shape-shifter? Describe this man!”
The boy did so, and the little girl gave a disgusted snort. “He’s been eaten. Mr. Teeth took him. A single gulp and gone. We watched it happen. Hardly any entertainment at all. He was naked, so that fits with your description. It must have been him.” She paused. “So, you’ve only brought me the lesser of two treats. Did you not understand what it meant when I sent you away?”
“I am so sorry, Mistress! I just had to see you again…”
He blubbered on awhile about how he had done his best and how much she meant to him and some other nauseating stuff, until Chrysallin wanted to get out of the cage and strangle them both. The little girl kicked the boy at some point, telling him he was a worthless fool and should be fed to the swamp creatures and to get out of her sight and never come back.
The boy was on his knees, arms reaching out to her, beseeching her all the while to remember how much he wanted to please her and how wonderful it was just to be with her, but she ignored him and pulled away.
Then suddenly she seemed to remember the other captive, the one still waiting on her pleasure, and she asked for a description of her, too. It was clearly Leofur. A rescuer had come after all, but Leofur was obviously no better off than Chrysallin and in every bit as much danger.
“That’s the girl our guest was walking with when those thieves took her. Too bad for her she thought to come visit. I could just leave her where she is and let the swamp creatures have her.”
“Yes, you could,” the boy agreed quickly.
“On the other hand, not seeing her die is sloppy. And no fun at all.” She was musing to herself, her voice lazy and contemplative. “I do so like watching them die. And I want to know how she found her way here. She shouldn’t have been able to do that. She must have found out from those fools I let live back in the Kennon. No good deed goes unpunished, does it?”
She walked over to the cage and peered in. Chrysallin moved back quickly. “Listening, are you? I see your little face pressed up against the mesh. Nothing for you to worry about, my dear. It will all be taken care of. If this young woman is your friend come to save you, I’ll bring her back here and let her share your crate. You can tell her how much fun we have together, and she can play with us, too.”
A pause. “Of course, if she isn’t your friend…”
The girl pulled away from the airhole and unlocked the crate door. Chrys pulled back from her. The little girl knelt, looking at her as if examining an interesting bug. Then she held out a piece of the bitter root that stole Chrysallin’s voice. “Eat this. Chew it and swallow it down. Then open your mouth and let me see.”
Chrysallin did as she was told. She took the root, chewed until it was broken up, and swallowed. Moving forward, she opened her mouth and let the little girl feel around inside. It was loathsome and degrading, but she had learned early on what happened if she did not obey.
The little girl nodded, rose, and resecured the crate door. “We’ll be back before dawn. Why don’t you try to sleep? And don’t do anything foolish. Remember where you are.”
Then she was out the door, the boy following like an obedient puppy, and Chrysallin was left alone.
When the dragon took Paxon over the cliff, sweeping him away like debris from a pathway, he fell a long way, but not as far as he might have. At two hundred feet, a thick-limbed hemlock clinging stubbornly to the side of the cliff face arrested his fall. As he came to a bone-jarring stop, he instinctively grabbed for the branches he was already starting to slide out of, catching himself and holding fast.
It took another few seconds for him to realize he was still holding on to the Sword of Leah and was keeping his perch solely with the strength that remained in his free arm. All about him the rain continued to fall—a torrent that wrapped him in a dark, wet curtain and limited his visibility to less than a dozen feet. He had no idea what had happened to Miriya and the dragon. There was no sign of either, and no sounds rising up from farther down. He looked to see if there was any sign of the beast, but in the heavy rainfall he couldn’t begin to see much of anything below the base of the crooked tree. He noted broken branches, torn-out shrubs and grasses, and assumed the dragon had continued down.
He closed his eyes with relief. Somehow, he was still alive. It had all happened so fast. One minute they were crossing the stone bridge and the next the dragon had launched itself from its hiding place and was on them. He remembered watching the dragon devour the Trolls and then rush for him. He remembered Miriya being close when the beast lost its footing and careered into them, carrying them off the ledge and down into the abyss…
A body plummeted past him through a screen of mist and rain, screaming and thrashing, and for a second he was certain it was Miriya. But then he caught a glimpse of the other’s face, and realized it was Fero Darz. And there went the last hope of persuading the Federation of their innocence.
<
br /> He closed his eyes until the screaming stopped. What had caused Darz to fall off the ledge? And what had become of Isaturin?
Taking his time, he managed to sheathe his blade. Then, using both hands, he righted himself within the limbs of the hemlock and looked about. He judged he was closer to the top than to the bottom of the canyon, so in order to reach safety he would have to climb back to the ledge. He tested his limbs and checked his ribs and found himself bruised and sore all over but with his bones intact.
He was just rising from his perch to try to find a way up the cliff face when he saw Miriya. She was hanging limp and unmoving in a cradle of branches farther up, head and limbs hanging down, water running off her still form. She looked as if she was dead. It was easy to imagine she had broken her back in the fall. He all but resigned himself to the fact that she was lost.
But he would have to get to her to be certain.
He began to climb through the branches, moving slowly so as not to disturb those boughs that held her momentarily safe, trying to stay directly underneath her as he progressed. He could not tell how securely she was wedged into her perch, and if she began to slip free he wanted to be in a position to catch her. Easier said than done, he discovered; the thickly clustered branches severely limited his route.
He was within six feet when he did something that jarred her loose. Without warning, she slid clear of the branches. Still unconscious or dead, she did nothing to slow herself as she bumped through the tree limbs on her way down. Bracing himself, Paxon grabbed the closest branch with one hand and snatched at her limp form with the other. He caught hold of her tunic as she tumbled past him, jerking her to a stop. But then the fabric began to rip, a slow rending of cloth, and he was forced to use his other hand, as well. With his legs locked around the branch on which he was sitting, he grabbed her arm and swung her toward him. He almost lost his perch, her weight yanking him away from the tree. But at the last moment he managed to gather her in, dragging her close as he steadied himself once more.
