by Terry Brooks
Kirisin moved quickly to the door, unlocked it, and let his sister slip inside. “What did you find out?” he whispered as they moved over to where Angel waited.
Angel could already read the answer on Simralin’s face. Kirisin’s sister glanced out the window, searching the darkness momentarily. Then she leaned close. Even with her face right next to theirs, her words were barely audible. “I might have been followed,” she whispered. “We have to get out of here.”
Angel’s hand tightened on the black staff, and she could feel the magic respond with a surge of sudden warmth. “What happened?”
Simralin continued to search the trees, sharp eyes scanning everything. “Ailie is dead. I found a piece of her gown, torn and soiled, close to where we left her.” She paused, registering the change of expression on Angel’s face. “I’m sorry. But it’s worse than that.” Her gaze shifted to her brother. “They know about you. Someone saw you running away.”
Kirisin shook his head at once. “That isn’t possible. There wasn’t anyone else there!” He glanced at Angel. “Did you see anyone?”
Angel shook her head. “Who said they saw us?”
“I couldn’t find out. By the time I learned this, I was worried that they knew about me, too. I had to hurry back and warn you. They’ll be here any moment.”
Kirisin sat back slowly. “I can’t believe this.”
Simralin looked at Angel. “We have to run. We have to get far away. If they find us, I don’t like to think about what might happen.”
Angel nodded. “I take your point.”
“Well, I don’t,” Kirisin interjected quickly. “Why can’t we just go to them and explain? We haven’t done anything wrong!”
Angel shook her head. “Listen to me. If Erisha’s father is the demon—wait, let me finish—if he is, he won’t bother to take the time to listen to any of us. He will take the Elfstones and have us killed. But even if he isn’t the demon, someone close to him is. The King already appears to be under the demon’s influence. We know that from his refusal to act on what either you or Erisha have told him. I wish I could tell you that he would act responsibly when he hears what we have to say, but history tells us that he won’t.”
“I agree,” Simralin added. “The demons know who we are and what we are about. They will do what is necessary to stop us. We have to get out of here. I will send someone I can trust to warn our parents to stay away from Arborlon until this business is finished. They will be safe enough. We are the ones in real danger.”
Angel shook her head. “I don’t know. This feels wrong. It feels like we are being manipulated. Demons find us in Ashenell when no one else even knows we are there. A killing takes place that eliminates the only one among us who could spy them out. A second killing serves no purpose other than to enrage the King. Some unnamed person reports Kirisin at the site, someone none of us saw in return. And now we are forced to flee. There is something going on here that we don’t understand.”
“It seems obvious to me.” Simralin was looking out the window again. “The point is to get rid of all of us and steal the Elfstones.”
It was hard to argue with her, but Angel was unconvinced. She understood enough of demon machinations and duplicity to question anything that seemed obvious. Demons never approached anything in a direct manner. Everything was done with stealth and cunning, with a reliance on misdirection and false trails. The end result was always something other than what it appeared. She couldn’t help but think that it was so here.
Her face tightened with frustration. “Who else knew we were going to be at that graveyard? Who, besides those of us who were there? Someone had to. Someone gave us away.”
Kirisin and his sister exchanged a quick look. “Old Culph knew,” the boy said quietly. “Erisha and I told him.”
“He was also in the Council chambers, hiding behind the walls with you, when Ailie sensed a demon presence.” Angel pointed out.
“Behind the walls, not in the chamber itself!” Kirisin defended. He rushed ahead. “Besides, he was the one who helped us find Pancea Rolt Cruer’s maiden name so that we could track down her tomb. He was the one who helped us with the scribe’s journal and the Queen’s name. Why do that if he was trying to stop us?”
Angel was not persuaded, already half convinced that they had unearthed their culprit. “Where can we find him?”
“He lives in a small cottage at the rear of the Belloruus home,” Kirisin answered. “But going there will put us right in the center of things.”
“We’ll send someone to ask for him.” Simralin pivoted away from the window. “Someone they won’t think to question.”
Angel shook her head. “Who can we trust to do that?”
“Let me take care of that.” Simralin rose from her crouch. “Right now we need to concentrate on getting out of here!”
THEY TOOK just long enough to snatch up weapons, rough-weather gear, blankets, and food for two days, and went out the door. In the distance, the forest was filled with the sounds of voices and movement. Arborlon was beginning to come awake, alerted to the fact that something was amiss, lights winking in homes, Elves stepping outside to see what was happening, a low buzz building. They had to assume that Elven Hunters would be searching for them by now, casting a wide net through the city in an effort to discover where they were hiding or in what direction they had chosen to escape. Kirisin knew from listening to his sister that their efforts would not be apparent, that they would rely on stealth and surprise. Some of them would be acquaintances of long standing. Some of them would be his friends. Most wouldn’t know yet why they were looking for him, but once they did their efforts would intensify. It wouldn’t be personal, but they were soldiers and knew better than to do anything but what they were told. For a soldier, orders took precedence over everything.
He reached down into his pocket and touched the small bulk of the pouch and its Elfstones. He was still finding it hard to believe how badly things had turned out. All their efforts had been directed toward finding and securing the Stones, and he had assumed that once that was achieved the worst of it was over. All that remained was to make use of the talismans and begin the search for the Loden. Halfway there, he had thought.
Now he understood for the first time how difficult the rest would be. It wasn’t going to be a simple matter of asking for the support of the King and the High Council in their efforts to continue the search. There wasn’t going to be any such support; rather, King and Council were going to do their level best to hunt them down if they ran, which they almost certainly were going to have to do. Running would make them look guilty. But staying behind would put an end to any effort to help the Ellcrys. Whichever way they turned, whatever choice they made, they would be on their own.
And he would not know for a long time to come—if ever—if the risk required was worth the taking.
Simralin, in the lead, glanced over her shoulder at him, perhaps to make certain that he was keeping up. He nodded for her to go on, keeping his thoughts to himself. There was no reason to say anything. She would be thinking the same thing he was. Given her training, she was probably already several steps ahead of him.
They skirted the city along its smaller trails, listening for sounds of pursuit, always moving away from activity that might signal danger. Now and again, Simralin took them off the main pathway into the trees or brush. Once she had them crouch down and wait. Each time, he searched for a reason and found none. But he knew better than to question her. She was far and away the best Tracker among the Cintra Elves, a rare combination of experience and instincts, of quick thinking and steady nerves. Everyone said she was the best. It had always made Kirisin proud. Tonight it made him grateful, as well.
On the trail behind him, Angel Perez was a silent presence. He glanced back at her once or twice, but she barely looked at him, her gaze directed at the surrounding trees. She had a Tracker’s look about her, her concentration intense and her focus complete, as if she was able to see
and hear much more than he could. Like Simralin. He studied Angel a moment. How much older than he was she? A few years, perhaps, no more. But so much more confident, so much more poised. He found himself wanting to know more about her. She was a Knight of the Word, but what did that mean? What had she endured to achieve that title? How much had she survived?
They reached a small cluster of homes at the northern edge of the city, distant from its teeming center but not so far from the Home Guard and Elven Hunter compounds above the Belloruus home. It seemed dangerously close to exactly where they shouldn’t be. But Simralin moved ahead to a tight clump of cedar thick with brush and grasses, and motioned for them to hunker down within its cover.
Then she gave a sharp, quick birdcall, waited a moment, and repeated the call. A few minutes passed; then a door to one of the cottages opened and a dark figure emerged, stepping cautiously through the shadows, searching.
“Wait here,” Simralin whispered.
She stepped out of the brush and walked into the pale wash of starlight. The dark figure came toward her at once, big and strong looking, a man. He reached for Simralin in familiar fashion, but she held him away from her, saying something that caused him to look toward the place where Kirisin and Angel were hiding. The light caught his face, revealing his features.
“Who is it?” Angel whispered in Kirisin’s ear.
“Tragen,” he said.
“There seems to be something between them.”
There does indeed, Kirisin thought, and he wondered why he hadn’t known. He watched them converse, and then Simralin motioned for them to come out of hiding and join her. They did so, and Tragen, without a word, led them into the seclusion of his darkened cottage and closed the door behind them.
“Little K, you have a knack for getting into trouble,” he said gruffly, but there was a smile on his lips, too.
“You know nothing of what’s happened?” Simralin asked him, obviously picking up their earlier conversation.
“I’ve been asleep. I’m not on duty again until day after tomorrow—today now, I guess. Dawn’s not far off.” The big Elf looked from face to face. “What do you need me to do?”
Simralin told him. He listened without comment, typical of Tragen, who seldom had much to say in any case. “Can you do it?” she finished.
He nodded. “Stay out of sight until I get back. No lights. No movement. Lock up after me.”
He went out the door and shut it tightly behind him. Simralin gave him a moment to get clear and then slid the heavy bar latch into place.
They moved over to the shadows behind a shuttered window that let them peer through the slats into the night and crouched down to wait.
After a few moments of silence, Kirisin said, “Are you sure you can trust him?”
His sister nodded without answering.
“You didn’t say anything to me about how you felt about him.”
He felt her eyes on him as he stared studiously out the window. “I didn’t have a chance. This is new.” She touched his shoulder so that he was forced to look at her. “Besides, I’m not sure yet how I feel.”
“He seems pretty sure.” He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “But never mind. I like Tragen.”
Simralin grinned, pretty and flushed. “Well, it’s all right, then. But don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s interesting enough for now, but maybe not for more than that.”
Kirisin grinned back. He glanced at Angel to catch her reaction. But the Knight of the Word didn’t seem to be paying attention, sitting back and away from them, staring at nothing. He started to speak to her and stopped. What he had mistaken for disinterest was something else. There was pain in her eyes, a ripple of loss and remorse. He could read it clearly, and it surprised him that he could. She might be thinking of Ailie, but she might be thinking of someone else, too. She would have lost more in her short lifetime than the tatterdemalion, he thought. And he wondered again about what she had survived before coming to Arborlon and the Elves.
Tragen was gone for the better part of an hour. When he reappeared, the first glimmer of dawn was beginning to appear through breaks in the forest canopy, and the shadows were starting to recede. He came out of the trees at a swift walk, looking neither left nor right. Simralin opened the door to admit him.
“Culph is dead,” the big Tracker announced as soon as the door was closed again. “I found him in his sleeping chamber, torn apart. The damage was bad, but I could tell it was him.”
Kirisin squeezed his eyes shut. We were too slow! He rounded on Angel. “I told you it wasn’t him! I told you!”
“Stop it, Little K,” Simralin snapped. “She only said what the rest of us were thinking—that it might have been him, not that it was.” She shook her head helplessly. “I thought it was him, too. So we’re back to the King.”
“Or one of his ministers,” Angel amended. “Or anyone else standing around when Ailie was in the Council chambers. We can’t be sure.” She reached over and touched Kirisin on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
“We should have warned him,” the boy whispered to no one in particular. “We should have done something.”
“I don’t think there was much you could have done,” Tragen said. “He was killed hours ago, long before the King’s daughter.” He looked at Simralin and shook his head. “I don’t know what is going on, but it isn’t good. Once they find the old man’s body, things will only get worse. They’re looking for you. All of you. They’re combing the city, house by house. You have to get away while you still can.”
Simralin shouldered her pack. “Looks like we don’t have any choice. We’re leaving.” She moved over to him, reached up to touch his cheek, and kissed him on the mouth. Kirisin watched, intrigued. “I have to ask you to do something else. I need you to go to Briar Ruan and warn my parents not to return, to stay where they are until they hear from me. Will you do that?”
Tragen looked at the floor. “I had thought I would go with you.”
She shook her head. “Then you would be one of us. I can’t allow that. Besides, you will do me a bigger favor by warning my parents. Perhaps I will have need of your help again before this is finished. There has to be someone here I can turn to.”
He hesitated a moment, and then nodded. “All right, Sim. But I don’t have to like it.”
She kissed him again, a deeper kiss, and this time Kirisin looked away. “You don’t have to like it,” she told Tragen. “You just have to do it.”
She opened the cottage door, peered out momentarily, and then led Kirisin and Angel back into the night. They moved swiftly toward the shadow of the surrounding trees, eager to gain their concealment, to blend into the darkness. In the distance, south toward the city, the buzz of activity had grown more pronounced. In the east, the sky was flooded with light from the sunrise.
Kirisin glanced back to where Tragen stood in the doorway watching after them. The big Elf waved halfheartedly, and the boy waved back.
But his thoughts were of Culph and Erisha and Ailie and his nagging certainty that everything he was trying to do—for the Elves, for the Ellcrys, for those with him, even for himself—was going wrong.
FOURTEEN
W ITH SIMRALIN IN THE LEAD, the fugitives made their way clear of Arborlon, glancing back over their shoulders at every turn, scanning the trees and pathways of the city they were fleeing, watchful for signs of pursuit. For a time, those signs were everywhere—lights fading in and out of the buildings they slipped through, shouts and cries in the dawn’s silent waking, voices in the distance, shadows in the trees, their fears and doubts heightened at every turn. Elves and demons both would be hunting them, and the odds of discovery were huge.
Even as the sounds diminished and the number of cottages dwindled, their fear of being caught trailed after them like their shadows. There was for Kirisin a pervasive sense of futility about their efforts. It was impossible that no one would catch them, that all efforts at finding them would fail. He
waited for the movement or sound that would confirm this certainty. He knew his sister and Angel were waiting, too. No one talked; no one even looked at the others. All eyes swept the forest; all ears strained for the smallest sound. The Elven Trackers were too skilled and experienced to be fooled; the demons were too determined and relentless. One or the other would find them.
Yet somehow, neither did. Somehow, they got clear.
Eventually, they were climbing into the mountains, pushing deeper into the Cintra. The high passes were more difficult to navigate, and that was why Simralin was taking them there. She wanted to make it harder for those hunting them to discover their trail by choosing terrain that would hide best any evidence of their passing. Neither Kirisin nor Angel questioned her decision. Both understood that Simralin was the one they must rely on to get them safely away, the one who best knew how. Their primary objectives this day were to put distance between themselves and those who followed, and to hide any traces of their passing.
As their trek wore on, Kirisin found himself feeling marginally better. Although he knew it was coming, no evidence of immediate pursuit revealed itself. Perhaps the Elves and demons were still attempting to discover where they had gone. With luck, neither might have realized they had fled the city. Both might think they were still in hiding, waiting out the storm. Whatever they thought, they did not appear to be tracking them yet.
As well, movement seemed to help lessen the pain of what had happened to them in Ashenell. Even though he could still see Erisha’s face in those last moments—confused, scared, and shocked by the knowledge of what was happening to her—the immediacy of her death had diminished and a determination to make it count for something had surfaced in its place. He could not bring his cousin back; he might not even be able to gain justice for her. But he could finish what together they had set out to do. He could find the Loden and use it to help the Ellcrys and the Elven people. Nothing of what had occurred, however dreadful, had done anything to cause him to rethink his commitment or his promise to the tree. He had lost three people he cared about and suffered a strange sense of violation as a result of their deaths, but those losses only increased his resolve.
