Witch Wraith

by Terry Brooks

  When it entered his room, it found him slumbering in his bed, unaware of the danger. Edinja’s creature wasted no time. It set aside its burden, moved to the bedside, slid the knife from its belt sheath, pinned the old man to the bed with one hand covering his mouth, and drove the knife into his chest.

  Emperowen Elessedil shuddered once as the knife reached his heart and then went still.

  The creature withdrew the knife in a rough, jerking motion, spraying blood and creating the impression that the attack had been violent and heated. It threw bedclothes on the floor, overturned a chair, and arranged the King’s body to suggest that a terrible struggle had taken place and he had been all but dragged from his bed. Then it turned to the unconscious man on the floor, smeared the King’s blood on his clothes, and placed the knife in his hand.

  Satisfied, it took a final look around, and then picked up a vase and threw it through the glass of the bedroom window, the sound reverberating in the night’s stillness.

  Seconds later, it was back in the courtyard as the Home Guards rushed inside to discover what was happening, climbing the walls to the roof before leaping into the cover of the trees and disappearing.

  Sixteen

  Seersha did not visit the practice field the next day, although she was awake before sunrise. She had intended on going, but her body was aching from more than the pains of combat and she was feeling sick. When she laid a hand on her forehead, it was hot and clammy. Somehow she had picked up a fever. She wasn’t so unwell she couldn’t manage on her own, just uncomfortable enough not to want any strenuous movements in her life for at least the next twenty-four hours.

  She rose while it was still dark to wet a cloth in cold well water and mop her forehead and cheeks. After doing so, she drank a glass of ale, then rewet the cloth and, carrying it with her, went back to sleep. Her way of dealing with sickness usually consisted of drinking liquids and getting rest, and she wasn’t inclined to vary what had always been a successful treatment.

  Nevertheless, she had barely gotten back to sleep when she heard a knock at her cottage door. Because Mirai and the others were gone and she was living alone, no one else was going to answer the door. Fine with her, she told herself, intent on ignoring the summons.

  But the knocking continued, steady and insistent, and it occurred to her it might be Crace Coram or a messenger from the King or something that involved plans for the Elven army’s travel south to Arishaig, so she reluctantly roused herself, threw on some clothes, and shuffled her way to the front door.

  When she opened it, she found Sian Aresh standing in front of her looking decidedly agitated.

  “May I come in?” he asked. Without waiting for her response, he pushed past her and closed the door quickly behind them.

  “Is someone after you?” Seersha asked jokingly, cocking one eyebrow at him.

  He shook his head. “No, someone is after you.”

  She took a closer look and saw that his lean face was fatigued and his clothes rumpled. More troubling was the haunted look in his eyes.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Who’s after me?”

  “I am. I’m here to arrest you.”

  She started to grin and then realized he was serious. “Why would you do that?”

  “I wouldn’t, as a matter of fact. But that’s why I am here.” He glanced around the darkness of the room. The moon was down, but dawn was not far away. “Can we move away from the door and the windows to a place where someone looking in won’t see us talking?” he asked.

  She took him into her bedroom where the curtains were still drawn. “I woke up feeling sick, so I’ve been trying to rest.” She gestured at the rumpled bedclothes and the cluttered floor. “Excuse the mess.”

  He shook his head. “I have a bigger mess than this one to deal with, Seersha,” he said. “Emperowen was murdered last night. Stabbed to death. His brother Ellich was found on the floor of his bedroom next to him, blood on his clothes and a knife in his hand. He’s been charged with murder and locked up.”

  Seersha stared. “That makes no sense at all! Why would Ellich kill his brother?”

  The Captain of the Home Guard moved over to the bed and sat down, rubbing his face wearily with his hands. “He wouldn’t. He didn’t. But someone made it look like he did, and Ellich can’t explain what he was doing there. He claims he was asleep one moment, and on the floor of his brother’s bedroom the next. He denies everything, but that’s not going to save him.”

  Seersha started to ask why, and then realized who was behind this. “Phaedon,” she said.

  The Elf nodded. “With his father dead, he declared himself King. His father had already designated him as his successor, so crowning him is a formality. No one has a better claim, and the Elves don’t deviate from tradition without a very good reason. It’s unfortunate, but it won’t be the first time something like this has happened. In any event, he was quick to make the decision to lock up his uncle. A few objected, myself included, but he paid no attention to us.”

  “Doesn’t he have to answer to the High Council? He isn’t King yet, after all.”

  Sian Aresh shook his head. “Not in a situation like this. This is an emergency, a crisis. No one is going to object. People are frightened. First the demon breakout and the attack on Arishaig, and now the King is dead. Phaedon has taken advantage of this to claim the throne and to demonstrate his ability to lead by example. Unfortunately for Ellich, his example is not well considered.”

  “Should you be talking to me about this?” she asked him.

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you at all. I should be hauling you off to join Ellich. Phaedon has decided this is a Federation plot to subjugate the Elves and that you are a part of it. Your insistence on marching the Elven army to Arishaig’s aid is evidence of your complicity.”

  “But first I decide to murder the King?” She almost laughed. “That makes no sense at all.”

  “Not much of anything makes sense at the moment, which is why I am here. I am supposed to arrest you and bring you before the Prince to answer the charges, and afterward I am to lock you up until he decides what to do with you.” He paused. “That could be a very long time.”

  “Maybe until it is too late to do anything about it?”

  He nodded. “Of course, in order for me to do this, I have to find you, and so far I haven’t been able to do so. If you were to leave right now, I imagine I would have a great deal of difficulty tracking you down.”

  “But that would suggest I am guilty of something,” she snapped. “I should stay and defend myself.”

  Aresh shook his head. “I don’t think the rules of fair play are going to apply in this situation. Phaedon has waited a long time to be King; he is intent on elevating his stature in the eyes of the Elves. Bringing those involved in the death of his father to justice would be a good start.”

  “And few would be troubled if one of those judged guilty was a Druid,” she finished. “But his own brother? Why would anyone believe Ellich would do such a thing?”

  “Phaedon will come up with a reason and find a way to make others believe it. He is good at that sort of thing. I’ve watched him at work in the High Council for years. He is an accomplished manipulator.”

  He stood up abruptly. “We’ve already talked for too long. You have to go now. Find Crace Coram, get down to the airfield before the search for you begins in earnest, and steal one of the smaller airships. Do it quickly.”

  Seersha rose, shaking her head. “I don’t like this. It feels wrong.”

  Aresh walked from the bedroom to the living quarters and peered out the window. Already, dawn had begun to lighten the eastern sky in a wash of silver and rose.

  “Away from here, maybe you can do something useful. If nothing else, maybe you can warn Aphenglow of what’s happened. Phaedon has no use for her, either.”

  Seersha was appalled. “He wouldn’t do anything to her. Arling wouldn’t stand for it, and she carries the Ellcrys seed! Without that, we
are all as good as dead. Even Phaedon must know that.”

  “Is there a back door?” he asked.

  She turned away abruptly and strode through the house to the rear entry. “I’ll find her and warn her,” she said.

  “Do so quickly.” He peered through the window and then opened the door. “Don’t assume anything about Phaedon and what he might or might not do. That is still unexplored country.”

  She started outside and then turned back. “What will you do, Sian?”

  He smiled sadly. “Whatever I can. Good-bye, Seersha.”

  Then he slipped past her and was gone.

  Seersha dressed at once, did what she could to tamp down her fever, shook off her lethargy, and slipped from her cottage into the new day. She went quickly from there to where Crace Coram was staying in a block of old barracks at the edge of the airfield. By his own request, he had kept himself out of the city proper, preferring woodland surroundings to clustered buildings. He was more mountain man than city dweller in spite of his designation as Chieftain of his village, and he could not come to terms with being settled in the midst of so many people—even Elves, whom he held in high regard.

  But she did not find him in the quarters assigned to him. Nor were any of his belongings there. Everything seemed to have been cleared out, as if he had already moved on. She was immediately worried that something had happened to him, and that she was already too late to save him from Phaedon. Even though Sian Aresh hadn’t said anything about him being in danger, she couldn’t assume he wasn’t.

  She hurried from there to the practice field, aware that by now they might be looking for her and that she was risking her freedom by showing herself so boldly. But when she got to the field, she found Crace Coram sparring with one of the Home Guards while the rest stood watching and waiting for their turns. She took a quick look around to see if there any indication of a trap, but found nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked right up to the Dwarf Chieftain, calling his name. “Crace! Leave off. We have to go.”

  He backed away from his opponent, his bluff features nonplussed. “Go where?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way, but you have to come right now.”

  He didn’t seem inclined to do that, so she made a hand gesture familiar to Dwarves everywhere, one that warned him he was being stupid or worse. He gave her a surprised look, read the expression on her face, and finally realized something was wrong. He put down his weapons, stripped off his protective gear, and came over.

  “I’ll be back soon, so be ready!” he shouted over his shoulder at the Home Guards, who returned his challenge with hoots and jeers.

  When they were far enough away, Seersha, leading him toward the airfield, said quietly, “Where are your clothes? They weren’t in your room.”

  “I threw them out. They were in tatters. I’m wearing what’s left. Now what’s going on?”

  Quickly, she summarized what Sian Aresh had told her, ending by saying they had to assume both of them were already being hunted, so they needed to get clear of Arborlon.

  “On an airship?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know anything about flying airships. Can’t we just ride horses?”

  She shook her head. “Too slow. We have to get away quickly. I think you need to return to the Dwarves and warn them about what’s coming. They might already know, but we should make certain. The tribes need to form an army that can stand with the Elves if the demons come north from Arishaig.”

  “Stand with the Elves? What chance is there of that happening with that madman as King?” Corum Crace snorted in disgust. “The Dwarves will go their own way.”

  She gave him a hard look. “Let’s see how things play out. Whatever the choices given us, we’d better be ready to pick one.” She paused. “You know what we’ll be up against.”

  “All too well.” He pointed ahead. “Which vessel do you intend to steal?”

  She peered across the field, which had just come into view, searching for a likely candidate. At first, she didn’t see anything that looked manageable. The big warships were out of the question, and even skiffs the size of the Wend-A-Way were easier to handle when there was more than one person to fly them.

  Then she caught sight of something that made her smile. A worn but serviceable two-man flit set off to one side was marked with signs that said it was available for private hire. She gave a quick glance around, but saw no signs of Elven Hunters prowling the field or its perimeters. Work crews scurried about the larger warships, but mostly the airfield was empty.

  “Come on,” she said to her companion and moved quickly toward the two-man.

  “That scow?” Coram demanded. “It doesn’t look like it can get off the ground!”

  She grinned at his dismay. “It’s clearly done so many times before. I think it can manage a few more.” She slapped him on his arm. “Let me do the bargaining.”

  A whip-thin Elf was seated nearby, studying an array of maps as the Dwarves came up to him. He looked up, clearly interested. “You want to rent her, maybe?” He gestured at the two-man. “How long?”

  Seersha pretended to study the craft. “Is she capable? Does she handle well?”

  The man made a face. “Well enough for you. Do you even know how to fly her?”

  “I know a little.”

  “Good enough. A little is all she requires. A sound craft in spite of how she looks. Reliable. She’s in her retirement years, but she knows the way.”

  “A week,” Seersha said. “How much?”

  “A hundred. Silver.”

  “Too much. Maybe fifty.”

  “Too little. How about a hundred?”

  She gave him an annoyed look. “We’ve passed that point in the discussion. I can do seventy.”

  Abruptly, shouts broke out from across the field as a swarm of Home Guards appeared out of the trees. Seersha hesitated, and then hit the Elf so hard he was already unconscious when he struck the ground. Crace Coram scrambled aboard the two-man, and Seersha released the anchor ropes and followed him up. She unhooded the parse tubes, engaged the thrusters, and when the familiar sound of the diapson crystals heating up reached her ears, she grabbed the lifter levers and took the ship into the air with a series of lurches and jumps that sent her companion tumbling all the way to the back of the craft.

  Picking himself up gingerly, Crace Coram made his way forward to sit behind her once more. “Very nice job of bargaining back there. That cost us much less than I thought it would.”

  They flew west through the Valley of Rhenn and out onto the upper Streleheim, casting anxious glances over their shoulders all the way. But no other craft appeared behind them. Possibly giving chase wasn’t an immediate concern. Perhaps no one had orders about what to do if they fled the city. Any delay would help with their escape, so she accepted the lack of a pursuit as a gift and concentrated on what lay head.

  “What are we doing?” her companion asked, leaning forward to be heard.

  Good question. She thought about it for a moment. “We have a choice,” she said to him, turning to catch his eye. “If we go to Paranor and I can get inside the Keep, I can read the scrye waters and might be able to determine where Aphenglow is. If we continue on, we can do what I said earlier and warn the Dwarves about the danger from the demons. Or we can do something else.”

  She waited. He said nothing for a moment. Then, “Seems as if we ought to find the sisters and warn them. We can’t afford for anything to happen to them.”

  She gave him a quick nod of agreement. “Paranor it is, then.”

  They flew on through the remainder of the day, winging toward the sun, then beneath it as it passed overhead and finally beyond, as the light diminished and the night approached. By then they had reached the Dragon’s Teeth and were close to their destination. Seersha still felt the grips of her fever, so she had taken time to show Crace Coram how to work the two-man’s controls—not only to give him a chance to try his hand at flying the craft,
but also to give herself an opportunity to rest and recover as she could. He had taken control reluctantly, cautious and a bit unsteady at first, but gradually gaining a sense of confidence. They switched places several times more during their flight, often enough so that she felt he could manage well enough at the helm if the need arose. It gave her a chance to rest her eyes and body; her fever had finally faded during their flight, chased by time and the defenses of her body, and she was feeling much better.

  When they arrived at Paranor, she took the two-man directly over the top of the wall and close to the dark towers for a quick look. But the Keep seemed to be abandoned still, unchanged since Aphenglow had returned. Seersha maneuvered toward the landing platform and set their vessel down.

  They climbed out of the cockpit and stood amid the clustered mix of wrecked and undamaged airships, taking a careful look around. The sun had gone behind the trees west, and its light was beginning to disappear. Shadows draped the stone and iron of the Druid’s Keep, and the cool of nightfall infused the deepening dark.

  Seersha took a long moment to be certain that nothing living was hiding in those shadows before satisfying herself that they were alone.

  “Stay with the two-man until I get back,” she told Crace Coram. “No one who isn’t a Druid is allowed where I am going.”

  She left him behind looking irritable and went through the rubble and debris and heaps of ashes littering the ramp, past the wreckage of Arrow with its prow lodged in the collapsed doorway, and into the Keep proper. She followed the hall for a short distance to a stairway and then made her way upstairs. Two flights up, she stepped through an opening to a second hallway and followed it to the door that opened into the cold room, where she triggered a release of the protective locks.

  Inside, the chill was bone-deep. Seersha shivered as she moved over to the elevated basin, stepped up onto the stone blocks that formed its base, and stood looking down at the broad, placid contents. Summoning the magic she had learned to command in the early days of her service to the order, she spread her hands and swept her open palms over the surface while not quite touching it, the motion stirring the waters to life. In the depths of the basin, the lines and shadings of the map of the Four Lands drawn on the stone brightened in a flaring of colors and sudden shimmers.