The Sorcerer's Daughter

by Terry Brooks

  The little girl was back, face twisted with hatred, a monstrous apparition, thin arms lifting and fingers pointing. “Shift until you die, you wretched beast!”

  A kind of shimmer emerged from her body, unfolding like netting to enclose the moor cat in a cloud of sickly, glistening ichor. Imric reared up in an effort to escape, but the ichor formed a cocoon that would not release him. Ripping and tearing and roaring in fury, he could not break free. Leofur watched in horror as he struggled futilely, thrashing against a magic that held him fast.

  Then he began to change, shifting from a moor cat into other shapes. One after another the shapes ensnared him momentarily and then released him to change again. He changed and kept changing, unable to stop himself. The little girl was screaming with laughter, a frenzied wildness consuming her until she was out of control. Imric was changing faster and faster, the shifts coming so rapidly they were almost a blur within the shimmering light of his prison.

  Stop! Leofur begged him, reaching out through the tether.

  He called back to her, his voice approaching a wail of despair. I cannot! Her magic is too strong!

  The little girl stepped forward then, raised both hands, levitated him off the floor, and flung him back through the doorway, barely missing Leofur who stepped away just in time. Imric, still caught up in his kaleidoscopic shifting of forms, flew out into the swamp.

  But in Leofur’s mind, he was still calling to her.

  Release me! Sever our link! Do it now!

  She would not do it. She would never do it.

  Then she thought of Sarnya, who had held fast to Imric until she had perished, and of her own promises to Imric not to behave in the same way. How often had she claimed to be stronger than Sarnya? Now she must prove it.

  Her heart breaking, her eyes squeezed shut against further images of Imric Cort, she severed the link, and he was lost to her.

  —

  She watched in horror as Imric disappeared, helpless to stop it from happening. Only for a moment did she hesitate, but it was a moment too long. When she recovered sufficiently to rush back through the doorway and into the room beyond, the little girl was waiting.

  “Oh, look,” the other said, her voice sly and insinuating. “It’s Chrysallin’s friend, not eaten after all—another playmate for me to enjoy. What should we do first?”

  The flash rips lay on the floor amid the debris, ten feet away. Leofur did the only thing she could think to do and made a rush for them, desperate to escape whatever the witch intended, but quickly found herself frozen in place. It was as if her feet were nailed to the floor, her muscles frozen, her body sapped of strength.

  “A bit tired, are we?” the little girl said, the false sympathy oozing from her words. “Is there something I can do? Wait, I see what you want. Let me help.”

  She walked over and picked up the weapons, cradling them in her arms as she moved back again to stand in front of Leofur. “Would you like these?” she asked. “You can have them, if you wish. All you have to do is reach out and take them. Go on; just take them out of my arms. I won’t stop you.”

  But Leofur could not move. Not even a twitch of her finger. She tried to say something, but even that proved impossible. The little girl waited on her, smiling and nodding encouragement. Then finally she gave up any pretense and backed away.

  “I don’t know how you and your shape-shifting pet escaped the swamp dwellers, but you should have realized that coming here was a huge mistake. You should have turned around and gone home.”

  The witch carried the weapons back to where she had found them and laid them on the floor again. “There. You won’t be needing these, will you? What a foolish young woman you are! Did you believe yourself a match for me? In my own home? In a place where I have lived my entire life?”

  She snapped her fingers and Leofur could move again. “If you make a single threatening gesture or move toward me, I will freeze you in place again. You are not to do anything. You are not to say anything. You are to listen to me and accept what I am about to tell you. Nod if you understand me.”

  Leofur nodded, her eyes searching for a way out of her predicament. Her gaze passed over Chrysallin; she tried hard not to look startled when she saw her friend looking back at her.

  Chrys was conscious.

  “I won’t kill you if you’ll agree to be my friend and play with me. We can all play—all three of us. You can stay here until it’s time for you to go, and then you can leave unharmed. If you do as you are told. If you don’t cause trouble. Do you understand?”

  Not even a little, Leofur thought, but she nodded anyway. Whatever the witch was talking about didn’t matter. Whatever she asked, Leofur was going to agree to. All she was doing was buying time, waiting for a chance to escape. If she could just manage to keep the witch’s attention a little longer, Chrys might come all the way awake and together…

  The little girl was looking at her strangely. “What are you thinking about? Because if I thought for one minute you were planning to deceive me, I would be very unhappy. You’ve already seen what that means. So maybe you ought to—”

  She never finished. In a panther-like display of stealth and quickness, Chrysallin Leah rose from the debris of the crate and launched herself at the witch. Since she was only ten feet away, Chrys was on top of her before she could react. The startled look on the little girl’s face just before her former captive slammed into her clearly reflected her surprise. Then the two tumbled past Leofur in a tangle of legs and arms, scratching and clawing. Leofur was racing for her flash rips when she heard a scream so chilling it brought her about.

  The witch had broken free of Chrys and was changing back into her oozing, pulsating, tentacled form again. On seeing what the witch had become, Chrysallin Leah screamed in shock and rage, the sound so powerful it caused her attacker to lurch backward. But even then the tentacles lashed out and wrapped about the young woman’s throat, cutting off all sound.

  Leofur stared in momentary shock. Chrys had her voice back! Whatever magic the witch had used to silence her had been negated!

  She snatched up the smaller of the flash rips as the tentacles fastened about her legs. Opening the parse tubes so that the power of the diapson crystals engaged, she leveled her weapon as she was being dragged toward the witch and pulled the trigger. A fiery charge exploded from the barrel, burning into her attacker’s loathsome body, causing it to shudder violently.

  But when she attempted to fire again, the flash rip failed. Whether it had jammed or had carried only one good charge to begin with, she didn’t know. But its power was gone.

  Another of the tentacles reached out and tore the weapon from her hands, flinging it through the window and into the night.

  In desperation, Leofur reached for her Arc-5, barely managing to get a grip on it as the witch began dragging her across the floor again. Thrashing and kicking, she tried to trigger the weapon’s release. By now the tentacles were tearing at her hands, attempting to pry the weapon away. Slowly, inexorably, she felt her fingers loosening.

  But while the witch was preoccupied with subduing Leofur, she had inadvertently loosened her grip on Chrysallin’s throat.

  The Highland girl’s voice erupted in a high-pitched cry that exploded the tentacles wrapped about her throat. Too late, the witch realized her mistake. She tried frantically to silence the young woman, to close off the magic of the wishsong. But Chrysallin had full use of her voice now, and the sound of her singing filled the room with fire and steel, the force of it strong enough to shake the cottage walls. The witch lashed out at her in a final desperate attempt to render her unconscious.

  It wasn’t enough. Across the room Leofur had regained control over the Arc-5. Releasing the safety, she pulled the trigger all the way back and a massive charge ripped clear of the weapon’s barrel. The fiery projectile slammed into the witch and sent her skidding backward against the wall. Under attack now from two sides, ooze and rags and tentacles thrashed wildly. Chrys was foc
using all of the considerable power of her newfound voice on the witch. She was seeing in this amorphous creature the faces of all her enemies—the hateful little girl, the insidious Mischa, and the nightmarish Arcannen—clearly reliving in those moments every monstrous wrong that had been done to her. Knowing from previous experience what it could do, she used her magic purposefully and without caution, ramping it up and expelling it in a single, concentrated blast of sound that hammered into the witch with the force of an avalanche descending.

  The witch disintegrated, her body shattering, until all that remained were tiny pieces.

  Leofur watched it happen—and even knowing the dual nature of the wishsong’s life-and-death power, she was stunned by the result. One minute the witch was there, foul and fearsome, and the next she was reduced to bits of swamp matter. Even Chrysallin seemed shocked. In the aftermath of the witch’s demise, she abruptly ceased her singing and stood where she was, staring. Then slowly she hunched over and began to shake, hugging herself and crying, tears streaming down her face.

  Leofur went to her at once, took her in her arms, and rocked her gently. “It’s all right, Chrys. It’s over.”

  She held back her own tears, determined to be strong for her friend. They clung to each other as if that was all they had to cling to, as if anything else would cause them to fall apart as surely as the witch. They were safe, but they were not whole. Neither would be wholly herself again; neither would be able to put aside her memories of what had happened. And while Leofur could not be certain what Chrys’s thoughts might be, she was thinking of Imric. But she could not speak of him now, not even to her closest friend. Later, perhaps, when the moment was not so raw.

  “I knew you would come,” Chrys whispered into her neck, still sobbing.

  “Someone would have come, even if I hadn’t.”

  “But it was you, Leofur. Not even Paxon came.”

  “I did not come alone,” Leofur answered. “I had help. The man with me, the shape-shifter, was Imric Cort. He didn’t have to accompany me, but he did.” She was speaking of him without intending to. She could not help herself. “He was the one who tracked you, the one who found you in the swamp, the one whose shape-shifting allowed him to become the creatures he needed, and who could do the things I could not. When it was needed, when there was no other hope of finding you and even though it was dangerous and he knew it, he…”

  She broke down completely, her determination not to cry shattered, reduced to tears she could not stop. Chrys was hugging her tightly, trying to soothe with comforting words, but Leofur knew she could not be consoled. Imric was dead. He had given his life for her. He had done so because he loved her, and now he was gone and she would never get the chance to tell him how much that had meant.

  When finally she was able to stop crying and bring herself under control, she gently pushed Chrys away. “Enough. We have to go. We have to get out of this place. Right now.”

  Chrysallin nodded. “I don’t want to stay here, either. I can’t bear another minute of it. I don’t care what we’re risking.”

  More than if Imric were still with us. But Leofur let the thought go unspoken. They could leave. She knew the way back.

  Armed with the big flash rip, she led Chrysallin from the cottage and back out into the night.

  Crowding back into the darkness of an alcove, Paxon and Miriya waited to see who was approaching. At this point, every moving shadow suggested Arcannen, and if anyone was to be caught off guard, they wanted it to be the sorcerer.

  “Who is it?” Paxon whispered, already seeing something wrong with the shadow.

  “Someone too small for the sorcerer,” Miriya answered.

  Without waiting, she stepped from the shadows into the light and let the person approaching have a good look at her. Paxon could tell by now it was a man, but not a very big one. In fact, he looked very much like…

  “Oost Mondara!” Miriya exclaimed abruptly, extending an arm in greeting.

  The weapons master stopped where he was. “Miriya? Shades alive, girl! Is it really you? I thought you were dead.”

  “Not yet. Not so you would notice, anyway. Come here, Oost. Have a look at who else isn’t dead.”

  When Paxon showed himself, the Dwarf gave an audible gasp and lumbered forward eagerly, both hands reaching out to take the Highlander’s own. “You are full of surprises, Paxon Leah! You and Miriya both. We were told you fell off a cliff and into a canyon a thousand feet down, thanks to a dragon. You were swept away like deadwood—or so Isaturin believes.”

  “He does, does he?” Miriya mumbled.

  Oost didn’t hear her. He released Paxon’s hands and grinned. “It’s hard to kill you two, isn’t it? And a good thing, too. Whatever happened?”

  Paxon gave him a quick overview, wanting to get on with the search for Arcannen as quickly as possible. “Where is Isaturin, Oost? Up on the gates with the Troll guard? Has he gone down to speak with the Federation commanders?”

  The Dwarf shook his head. “Neither, as far as I can tell. That’s why I’m down here, looking for him. He was seen going off with young Keratrix. I thought maybe when he told the order to stay put and not communicate with the Federation until his return that he had gone to the artifacts vault looking for a particular magic to use in defense of the Keep. But he’s been gone long enough that I thought I ought to check on him.”

  “Why don’t we go with you?” Miriya said at once. “We can surprise him.” She gave Paxon a look that suggested her words had more than one meaning.

  But Paxon wasn’t quite ready to go anywhere. “Wait a minute. What happened to Fero Darz? Did Isaturin say anything about how he was killed?”

  Oost looked confused. “He just said everyone was dead.” He hesitated. “What’s going on?”

  Paxon looked at Miriya. “We have to tell him, even if we’re not sure. He needs to know.”

  “Know what?” the Dwarf asked.

  “That the fox is in the henhouse,” Miriya answered. “And all the chickens are at risk.”

  Together, the two revealed everything they knew or suspected about Arcannen Rai, not holding back even the darkest possibilities, needing the Dwarf’s support in ferreting out the truth but wanting to make sure he would keep their suspicions among the three of them until they were sure one way or the other.

  “Do you see what we’re up against?” Paxon finished. “We can’t know for certain if we’re right about this, but something is clearly wrong. The risk of Isaturin being Arcannen in disguise is just too great to ignore.”

  Oost looked worried. “Hmmm. He did seem particularly dismissive of the idea of talking to the Federation officials, and he’s not usually like that. We’d better find him right away and make sure about this. Follow me.”

  He set off at once, navigating connecting corridors until they reached the door that opened into the cellars and started down. Miriya and Paxon stayed behind him as they descended one floor and then another. If Isaturin and Keratrix had gone to the artifacts vault, they would be on the next floor down.

  Paxon was feeling an unmistakable sense of urgency, knowing what he did now about Isaturin’s return. No mention of what happened to Fero Darz and no one left alive from the delegation to Arishaig but the Ard Rhys. Or not even the Ard Rhys, if their suspicions about Arcannen were correct. If Arcannen was inside Paranor’s walls, he could do a great deal of damage. If he was inside the artifacts room, any theft could set the order back hundreds of years and allow him to pose an even greater threat to the Four Lands. If it was Arcannen for whom Keratrix was opening the vault, they had to reach him right away.

  Paxon wondered suddenly what else might have happened in his absence. What of Chrysallin and Leofur? Oost had made no mention of them.

  “Where is my sister?” he asked. “Where’s Leofur? Are they safe?”

  Oost looked back at him uncomfortably. “Long story. Neither of them is here, and they haven’t been in days. Chrysallin disappeared the same day everything
went wrong in Arishaig, and Leofur left the following morning to find her. We couldn’t get word to you after you fled the Federation. This is the first anyone has even heard from you since that happened.”

  A part of Paxon whispered that this was more of Arcannen’s doing and that he should get out there and find his sister and Leofur right away. A part of him screamed at him to do so. But he knew he couldn’t. Not while there was a possibility that Arcannen was somewhere within the Keep. He would have to put aside his fears until any immediate danger to the Druid order was resolved. He was stricken with guilt, but he tamped it down. If he was to survive this day and the confrontation that likely awaited, he would need his wits about him. Arcannen had to come first.

  At the bottom of the second set of stairs, they turned up the corridor that led to the vault. Paxon had been down here only a handful of times, and always in the company of Aphenglow Elessedil. Since her death, he hadn’t had a reason to return. Not until now.

  Oost continued to lead the way, a werelight at his fingertips as they passed into the maze of the underground cellars. When they arrived at the vault door, they found it ajar. Immediately Paxon knew they were too late.

  They stepped inside, Oost lifting his light to spread a wider glow. When they saw Keratrix’s body lying sprawled to one side, his neck twisted in an unnatural way, there was no longer room for doubt. There was also evidence that someone had been rummaging through alcoves and niches, leaving numerous discarded and empty containers strewn about. Arcannen had definitely been here. He had killed the young Druid, then taken a number of artifacts with him when he departed.

  “We have to find him!” Miriya was looking around in dismay. “We can’t let him get out of the Keep!”

  Except he might already be gone, Paxon thought, but he kept it to himself. “Look, he doesn’t have personal knowledge of Paranor and there are no drawings of the Keep’s floor plans, so he might not know about the underground passageway. And he can’t get through the gates with the Federation parked right outside. So how will he try to escape? What other choices does he have?”