by Terry Brooks
Keeton backed away. “How many weapons and men do we have on the other walls?”
“Less than half of what we have west and south,” his second answered. “What do you want me to do?”
In truth, Keeton didn’t know. “Come with me.”
He found Sefita Rayne where he had left her the previous night, standing on the battlements atop the west gate. She turned at his approach, brushing back her blue-streaked hair, a look of grim determination etched on her face.
“Can you signal the warships we have aloft to keep pace with them?” he asked quickly, indicating the enemy force.
“Already done,” she answered, pointing skyward to the north. “I’m keeping a pair of vessels in reserve at the southwest corner in case this is another feint. The rest will track this new threat.” She shook her head. “What are they up to?”
“Nothing good.” Keeton watched the marchers turn the north corner and start east, the drums still beating in the distance. “We don’t have enough defenders to hold all the walls.”
“We don’t have enough defenders to hold the city period if they come at us with all those bodies,” she answered with a snort. “Even the warships won’t be able to hold them off.”
They stood together, still watching the demon snake wrap itself around the city. “I can’t march my soldiers around the walls like that,” Keeton muttered. “It will wear them out if I do. They’re worn down already as it is.”
“Did you find Edinja?” Sefita asked.
He shook his head. “No one knows where she is.”
“Then she’s left.”
Keeton stared at her. “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t dare.”
“That woman would dare anything,” Wint said.
“Abandon us? Abandon the city?” Keeton shook his head. “It would be the end of her career as Prime Minister.”
“I wouldn’t want to bet on it.”
Keeton fought down a sudden rush of anger. He turned to Wint. “Go see if there’s been any word since last night. Go to the Council Buildings and to her home. Demand an answer. Insist she come to the west wall. Use my name.”
Wint departed without comment.
Keeton waited with Sefita Rayne, watching the demonkind continue their march, listening to the insistent pounding of the drums. Odd, he thought, but they couldn’t even see where those drums were positioned. It was as if the sound were coming out of the earth itself, as if the netherworld had opened up and released its dead.
Abruptly, a fresh horde of creatures appeared atop the ridgeline, cresting its heights and spilling over, thousands strong.
“I knew it,” Sefita said.
Keeton watched in disbelief as this new threat gathered momentum and surged toward the west wall.
Farther south, but still within the Four Lands and outside the breach in the Forbidding, the shape-shifter Oriantha crouched beside Tesla Dart in the shelter of a heavy woods and watched the attack on Arishaig quicken. They were only a quarter mile from the cage that held Redden Ohmsford prisoner, still looking for a way to set him free.
But doing anything more than she had already done had so far proven impossible. Too many guards encircled the cage. Too many of the demonkind prowled about, many of them the wolves that the Straken Lord kept as pets. It was necessary that something be done to lure all of them away before she could risk a second approach. For three days she had waited patiently, but no fresh opportunity had presented itself.
Until now.
A new attack on Arishaig had emptied out almost the entire camp, distributing virtually everyone between the hordes that had been circling the city in a slow march and those that had first hidden behind the ridgeline and then abruptly surged over its crest and attacked the city’s west wall. Even those few that remained had moved onto the ridgeline to watch the impending destruction. No one was particularly worried about the boy in the cage. Who would even try to rescue him at this point?
Indeed, Oriantha thought. Who?
The city, she knew, would not survive what was coming. It would fall, and all those within would be slaughtered. There was nothing she could do to help them. But this was the chance she had been waiting for to help Redden Ohmsford, and she intended to take it.
She nudged Tesla Dart. “I’m going to try again.”
The Ulk Bog gave her a despairing look, scrunching up her wrinkled face. “Bad idea. Still too dangerous. Still there will be guards.”
“Still there will be ways,” Oriantha replied softly.
She rose and began checking the supply of knives she had strapped to her waist. She intended to go in swift and sudden, to break the locks, haul the boy out of the cage, and kill anyone who interfered. She would not bother with subtlety this time. She had a new plan.
“Take Lada,” Tesla offered.
Oriantha shook her head. “I don’t need him. I know the way. Better if he remains here with you. Once I have the boy, I will come back.”
“And do what? Go where? Tael Riverine will hunt us down!”
“He will try.”
Tesla Dart shook her head. “The boy is not worth it.”
“We’ve had this discussion. If you don’t want to be part of this, go back into the Forbidding.”
Lada hissed at her, as if the idea were a personal affront. Tesla Dart glanced down at the Chzyk. “Even Lada knows this is not what we would ever do. Knows we want to be here. The Forbidding is down. Our worlds are joined.”
Now, there was a prospect that left Oriantha chilled to the bone. She hoped it wasn’t so because she had seen the size of the army Tael Riverine commanded and judged it to be only a fraction of the creatures that remained inside the demon prison. The Races were doomed if the walls were not restored, but she had no idea how that was supposed to happen.
Only that it must.
“I’m getting Redden Ohmsford back,” she repeated. “Wait for me or don’t. It is up to you.”
“You won’t come back.”
Oriantha left without another word, departing the woods for a cluster of boulders about halfway between where they were hidden and the center of the enemy camp. She moved swiftly, not bothering to try to hide her coming. It was broad daylight; there was no darkness to screen her approach. She had to rely on the distraction provided by the battle for Arishaig. She had to rely on speed and surprise.
When she reached the boulders, she wormed her way into their center where she could not be seen and began to transform. She used her shape-shifting abilities to shed her human form and adopt a new look entirely. She turned herself into one of the Goblins she had seen patrolling the camp—just another familiar presence no one would question. It took her time and effort to achieve the look she wanted, but in the end she was as hunched and disjointed as those she had encountered on her first attempt at rescuing the boy. She could not see herself from outside her body, so she could not be certain she had gotten everything right. But she felt the way she wanted to feel, and the parts of herself she could see clearly looked as she had intended.
Without further deliberation, she set off.
She crossed the open space that separated her from the fringes of the enemy camp at a steady walk, assuming the loping gait and slope-shouldered stance of the Goblin she was pretending to be. She didn’t try to hide her coming, intending to show she was a part of the camp and not an intruder. Only a single guard was positioned anywhere close, a creature she didn’t recognize that glanced over without interest and went back to studying the landscape beyond. Oriantha reached the camp’s perimeter without challenge and walked in.
Armed with confidence and steely determination, the shape-shifter moved steadily ahead, looking as if she had important business and a clear destination. This was true, of course, although not in the way anyone would suspect. She ignored those around her, exuding an air of importance that suggested they would do well to let her be. Her attitude and obvious indifference to others worked; those who watched her pass left her alone.
&nb
sp; Within fifteen minutes, she was approaching the cage that held Redden Ohmsford imprisoned, already planning how she was going to free him.
There was nothing she could do about whatever alarms might be sounded if the magic that warded the cage was disturbed. That being the case, she intended to break the locks and take him out as quickly as she could before anyone realized what was happening. And for that to happen, she needed a distraction to cause those close enough to interfere to look somewhere else for the few moments she needed.
She slowed as she entered the clearing where the cage had been placed. Redden Ohmsford was slumped in the middle, apparently sleeping. Two Goblins were keeping a disinterested watch on their prisoner, and a pair of the huge wolves slept some twenty feet from the cage, curled up next to each other. A few other creatures could be seen off to one side, but everyone else had moved over to the bluff to watch the battle.
Oriantha walked through the clearing and passed on, seemingly without wasting a glance on anyone. Once out of sight, she quickly doubled back again. Moving to a place close by the cage, but just out of sight, she pulled a blowgun from her belt and a steel-tipped dart from her pouch, slid the dart into the barrel of the blowgun, took a deep breath, placed the end of the weapon to her lips, and stepped into view again.
She was ten feet from the closest of the sleeping wolves.
She sent the dart deep into its rear haunch and the wolf leapt up, roaring with pain and rage, and turned instantly on the other wolf. Taking advantage of the chaos, she came up behind the Goblin guards who were watching the wolves struggle, and used her knives to kill both with a single pass. Moving swiftly to the cage door, she broke the chain and tore the cage door off its hinges.
To her surprise, no alarm sounded. She leapt into the cage, snatched up the unconscious Redden Ohmsford, and bounded out again with the boy slung over one shoulder. The wolves were still tearing at each other, and the guards were all dead. The one or two others who had been present had fled toward the heights to give warning.
Grabbing a bloodied cloak from one of the dead guards, she wrapped it about Redden, tied off the ends so that only his legs were hanging out, and started back through the camp as if carrying a dead body. She angled off to the north where no one was in sight, pretending to be in a hurry. There was still no alarm, and she couldn’t decide what that meant. The magic that had been used to wrap the cage had been set in place for a purpose. It was more troubling to her not to know what that purpose was than to have to deal with it.
The boy was heavy and weighed her down. She knew she wouldn’t be able to carry him all the way back. She needed him awake and on his feet if she was to get him to Tesla Dart. She was choosing ground on which her scent would be disguised by dozens of other tracks, but that wouldn’t be enough. Eyes had seen her, and their owners would remember what she looked like.
She found a tent right at the edge of the camp and slipped inside. The tent was empty, and she quickly untied the ends of the blanket and rolled the boy out.
She noticed for the first time the strange metal band that was fastened around his neck. The conjure collar—Tesla had mentioned that he would be fitted with one. She reached into her tunic pocket, took out the key the Ulk Bog had given her on her first rescue attempt, slipped it into the lock, and twisted. The collar fell away.
“Redden!” she hissed, shaking him.
His eyes snapped open, widening as they saw the Goblin bending over him. He cringed, and squeezed his eyes closed again.
“It’s me!” she hissed, realizing she was still in her Goblin disguise. “Open your eyes. Look at me!”
She shed her disguise, returning to her true form, her young face peering down at him, silver hair spilling over her forehead. His eyes opened slowly, and he blinked rapidly. “Oriantha?”
His fingers went automatically to his neck, searching for the conjure collar. Oriantha reached down to retrieve it and held it up for him to see. “You’re free, Redden. But we’re still in the demon camp and we have to get clear. Can you walk?”
He didn’t seem to hear her. Tears filled his eyes and he began to cry. He broke down completely, and she reached out awkwardly and pulled him to her, cradling him as she would a small child. “It’s all right,” she said. “This is over now. You’re free, and you’re not going back. Hush, now.”
It took precious minutes for him to compose himself, and while he did she was envisioning hordes of creatures scouring the camp for them. But she needed him to be mobile and composed if they were to make it back to Tesla Dart in one piece.
Without further discussion or delay, she pulled him to his feet and braced him by his shoulders so he was facing her. “Can you use your magic? Are you strong enough?”
He shook his head hesitantly. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I can do at this point.” He looked down at himself. “I don’t even know if I can move. Everything feels numb.”
She sat him down again, took his hands and rubbed them between her own, first one and then the other, then spent several more precious minutes working on his feet and legs. “We’re being hunted. They’re out there looking for us right now. I don’t know if I can defend us both. I need you to help me. Can you do that? I’m sorry I have to ask this, but I don’t have any choice. I need you to be able to defend yourself.”
He stared at her as if she were speaking another language, and she slapped him hard across the face. “Can you do that?” she snapped angrily.
His hand went to his face, and he nodded slowly, the light coming back into his eyes. “I can do whatever I have to if it means getting out of here.”
She took his hands in her own and squeezed them. “Stay close to me. Follow my lead. I won’t leave you, I promise.”
He nodded. “I’m not going back, no matter what.”
“Then be strong, and you won’t have to.”
Still watching him, she shape-shifted back into her animal form, all muscle and sinew and rippling power. Drawing him after her, she moved to the tent opening, hesitated for a moment to peer through the flaps and make certain no one was lying in wait, then together they burst back outside.
Nineteen
Redden Ohmsford was still struggling with the idea that he was free. One minute he was locked inside that cage surrounded by thousands of creatures out of the Forbidding, dragged along on an endless slog by a merciless demon intent on accomplishing something that defied explanation, and the next he was rescued. He had lost all perspective. He was starved and dehydrated and his body was aching and raw from being poked and prodded by the creatures that kept him prisoner. He had heard Oriantha’s whispered words, saying that help was close, but he had half believed he must have dreamed them.
Now he was struggling with loss of physical strength and a psyche that was fragile and not altogether reliable. He kept drifting in and out of memories of the cage, of Tael Riverine’s madness and cruelty, of the death of Khyber Elessedil, and of his time imprisoned at Kraal Reach. A pervading sense of hopelessness kept whispering over and over that this was only temporary, that it couldn’t last, that his hopes were destined to turn to ashes faster than the setting of the day’s sun.
But Oriantha was there to keep him grounded, and he took strength from her, changed back now into her sleek, muscular cat form as she led him out from the tent and into battle against their pursuers. There was a sense of indestructibility about her, an endurance that both defied all of the dangers that threatened and pushed back against the fears and doubts that plagued him. She had done for him what should have been impossible, and he would never forget it.
Oriantha was running the moment they went through the tent flaps—not so swiftly she outdistanced the boy, but fast enough to make him work at keeping up. Redden was still weak, and his legs would only allow him to move at a hobble. He was shaky, but he was also determined. The thought of going back to that cage was a nightmare he could only barely keep at bay. All of his concentration went into putting one foot in front of the other
and staying upright in the process. He took his lead from her; wherever she went, he stayed close behind.
The pursuit was swifter in coming than he had expected. Growls and shrieks descended on them almost immediately, coming from behind and to the left. Oriantha seemed oblivious to them, moving ahead as if she didn’t hear them. Redden tried to do the same, but felt himself cringing nevertheless. Don’t listen to it, he told himself. Just keep going. Just run.
Then a body hurtled at them from between the tents, dark and swift and dangerous. Oriantha wheeled into it and left it lying in its own blood. Another creature appeared in front of them and she went right for it, putting it down so fast that Redden couldn’t even be sure how she had managed it. He was aware that he was supposed to try to defend himself but, physically, such an act was impossible. He was debilitated to the point that a strong push might overthrow him.
What he had to rely on—if he could manage to bring it to life—was the magic of the wishsong.
Oriantha kept moving—a few steps one way, a few the other, always heading west, back toward where she said she’d left Tesla Dart. Shouts and cries pursued them, but the tents were thinning ahead and the way out onto the flats was open.
Then an ogre lumbered into view from one side, surrounded by demon-wolves. It carried a club studded with spikes and roared in challenge. The wolves, keeping pace, snarled in concert, and began fanning out to either side of their bigger companion.
Redden tried to summon the wishsong, his voice raw and dry and empty. He could feel the magic fizzle and spark, but there was no power behind it.
Oriantha crouched in response to this new threat, gathering herself as the ogre trudged toward her. She waited until it was close, then exploded into action, leaping onto the creature and running up its huge body to its head, driving claws and teeth into its eyes and face, leaving both in tatters. She was off it in seconds, but now the wolves were on her, bearing her down. She fought to throw them off, getting clear and breaking for safety, but they gave pursuit and brought her down again. The ogre was stumbling about close at hand, stamping at the earth in rage and pain, trying to find something to hurt. It caught one of the wolves by mistake and finished it. The others cringed away as Oriantha rolled close to the ogre’s huge feet but somehow managed to keep out of reach. She was bleeding from a dozen lacerations, her sleek muscular body streaked with dirt and sweat.
