by Terry Brooks
Dar edged a step closer. “He’s at Paranor.”
“But you went with him. Why didn’t he come back with you?”
Dar took another step. “He couldn’t. He had business there.”
A pause. “If you take one more step, chil’haen, I’ll leave. You can’t see me if I don’t want you to. And right now, I don’t want you to.”
Dar backed off. “What is it you want? Why are you even talking to us if you don’t want us to see you?”
“It seemed only right, since I can help you. Drisker Arc would want me to—even though I was bad awhile back, and he might still be mad at me. We share a mutual friend, he and I. Is it possible you share the same friendship?”
“It is,” Brecon said at once. “She’s called Tarsha Kaynin. We think she is inside the cottage.”
“She is. I saw her carried in after the battle with her brother. At least, that’s what I think he is. The witch keeps her prisoner, but she doesn’t realize it. She thinks the witch is a friend, but she isn’t. I can tell such things, and the pretty girl can’t.”
Dar and Brecon exchanged another glance. Pretty girl? It sounded as if there was a connection between Tarsha and whoever was speaking—something that predated Clizia’s arrival.
“She fought with her brother?” Dar pressed, realizing what that meant. “Is she all right?”
“If she weren’t, what would be the point of rescuing her? Now, do you want to help or not?”
“We do,” Dar said, taking a chance. “And Tarsha needs to help Drisker, in turn. Drisker is in trouble, and maybe she is the only one who can get him out of it.”
“Then you will need my help,” said the voice. “The witch is very powerful. Ten’aren col haist! I don’t think she plans to let Tarsha go.”
Probably not, Dar thought. “Anyone else in there?” he asked.
“One other. A boy, I think.”
“A boy? What boy?”
“Enough questions! Stop wasting my time. Do you want me to help you or not? I can tell you how to rescue her, if you want me to.”
“Tell us,” Dar urged. “How would you get her out of there?”
“Ask nicely.”
Dar gritted his teeth. “Please tell us how to get Tarsha out of there.”
“Much better. But first I will tell you my name and you will tell me yours. I am called Flinc. I am a forest imp.”
Which meant nothing to either of the other two. “I am Dar Leah,” the highlander said. “My companion is Brecon Elessedil.”
“There! Now we all know one another. So back to your question. How will I get the pretty girl out of Drisker’s cottage? Quite simple. A diversion.”
With that, he appeared suddenly before them. He was a small stooped figure with a weathered face, a bald head, and a great drooping mustache. He was very old; only his bright eyes suggested even a hint of youth.
Dar stared. There was nothing about the forest imp that seemed the least bit imposing, so how could he possibly help?
“You’re to be the diversion?” he asked.
The little man shook his head. “No, you are.” He paused. “With a little assistance.”
And the biggest moor cat either Dar or Brecon had ever seen appeared beside him.
NINETEEN
The night was still in its deepest sleep, the hour gone far past midnight but not yet halfway to dawn. The storm had blown through in a final rush of downed limbs and scattered leaves, and the resultant silence was so hushed it might have been a mother’s soft endearment to a sleeping child. Slowly and with caution, the sounds of the forest returned, and life crept out of its shelters until all was as it had been.
Clizia Porse was still dozing in the armchair she had dragged into Tarsha’s room, setting her watch early in case the girl’s brother forgot his manners. As she knew he likely would. She had slept little and not well, but when he came for Tarsha, she was ready and waiting. He had been sleeping soundly, but something had woken him and brought him to his sister’s room. There was no mistaking his intent; his stealth and his body language gave him away. The potion she had given him had tamped down his darker self for a time, but it was not enough to hold him for long.
Still, her potion had done its work better than she could have hoped for, even if it hadn’t made him sleep as long as she had wished. For it had stolen his will so completely that he was now her creature. She merely had to look at him, and he hadn’t argued or pressed ahead with his intended attack on his sister, but had turned about obediently and departed. Even without her speaking a word.
She rested better after that, and even slept now and then—although with one eye open and her senses pricked to detect any further intrusions.
But in that deepest hour of the night, she came awake again—fully this time, and knowing as she did so that something was wrong. She looked around the room carefully, searching for whatever had intruded, but there was nothing to see. Tarsha was still asleep in her bed, and no one else was present. She rose slowly, reaching out with her senses. What had disturbed her was not in this room, or apparently even in the cottage, but outside, in the dark.
She shuffled from the bedroom and out into the living quarters. Tavo was asleep again on his pad, his breathing deep and even. So nothing of what had roused her had to do with him. She went on, moving toward the front windows, lifting away the curtains and peering out.
The moon had come out again with the passing of the storm and its attendant clouds. Patches of open sky revealed a scattering of bright stars, and their combined light canted through breaks in the branches of the trees but failed to disperse the misty gloom that shrouded Drisker’s home. The temperature had dropped, and the change had generated a ground fog that crawled across the forest earth like a living creature, tendrils reaching between the trees as the body shifted and roiled atop the scattered woods that surrounded the cottage. Bits of the mistiness rose as high as the lower limbs of some of the ancient trees, twisting and stretching.
But Clizia’s eyes were on the clearing that fronted the cottage—the open space before the trees where the fog was thickest and its movements most seductive. Not much scared the Druid—especially not things made of mist and fog and shadows. But what moved through the cloaking was something decidedly menacing, something that didn’t belong and might present a threat. It was huge and long, a beast of some sort. She couldn’t tell what, even watching as closely as she was. It came and went as if it were a part of the brume itself.
“What manner of creature are you?” she whispered to herself.
She had warded the house with magic to conceal Tarsha from anyone searching for her, but not the surrounding grounds. Had she been careless in not doing so?
Casting aside her uncertainty, she moved to the door, flung it open, and walked out onto the porch.
Fifteen feet away, hip-deep in the roiling fog, stood Dar Leah.
“It’s the dead of night, Blade,” she growled irritably. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Drisker Arc,” he answered. He was wrapped in his Blade’s cloak, and as he stood amid all the white brume in the moonlight, it gave him a wraith’s appearance. She did not miss the fact that he was holding the black blade of his office at his side, as if he intended this to be a confrontation.
She made a dismissive gesture. “Drisker isn’t back yet. Why are you searching for him at this hour, Blade? Surely this could have waited until morning.”
Dar shrugged. “I was at Paranor with him when he went into the Keep that night. He told me he was going to meet you to try to save it—something about releasing the Keep’s Guardian. But when you came out, he wasn’t with you. Now it turns out he’s not here, either.” He paused. “You were the last one to see him.”
She stared in him with undisguised malice, trying to decide what this was about. Was he really daring to challeng
e her? Drisker had clearly been very careful to keep the Blade’s presence at Paranor a secret from her or she wouldn’t have found herself blindsided like this, but what could she say to him now that would send him away? She couldn’t have him hanging around—not with Tarsha and her brother inside.
“This is not the time for this conversation!” she snapped. “I can’t say what happened to Drisker. We parted ways inside the Keep, and I lost track of him. It was his choice to stay, not mine. I did what I could to get him to leave with me.”
“Oh, I don’t think you did anything of the sort.” Up came that black blade, the moonlight glinting brightly off its polished surface. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so quick to use your magic to send Paranor into limbo while he was still inside. I saw you, Clizia. I was watching.”
She felt a cold rage building inside. She should have left him to Ober Balronen rather than trying to make use of him. Or simply killed him herself.
“Who do you think you are to question me?” Her warning was unmistakable.
“Someone looking for the truth. Why don’t you try admitting it?”
“I think you’d better go. You’ve worn out your welcome.”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I want to.”
* * *
—
At the rear of the cottage, Brecon was crouched in front of the back door, trying to release the lock. It was a simple enough mechanism, but he was working in shadow without any sort of light to aid him. Flinc stood close behind, urging him on.
“Quickly now, young Elf! We haven’t a second to lose. Get us inside, for cat’s sake! Your friend won’t last out there alone for very long. As a distraction, he’s a bit lacking in imagination.”
“I thought the moor cat was there to help!”
“Fade will do what she can, but moor cats are notoriously fickle and inclined to wander off. Hurry, will you?”
Brecon was hurrying, and Flinc wasn’t doing anything to help. He wanted to mention this, but let it go. Flinc had supplied the plan, even if it didn’t require much from him.
The moor cat, on the other hand, might prove a much-needed ally. Fade was her name, Flinc had informed him. Besides being huge, Fade seemed able to disappear and reappear at will with barely a noticeable transition between the one and the other. Granted, all moor cats possessed this ability, but not with the dexterity and thoroughness of Fade. Also, Brecon did not think the cat was Flinc’s creature. She might be responding to commands he was giving, but somehow the Elven prince doubted it. Once or twice, the forest imp had instructed her to do something while they were creeping through the trees to reach the cottage from separate directions, but the cat had pretty much ignored him.
Now Dar was tasked with confronting Clizia, and Brecon and Flinc were responsible for getting Tarsha out of the cottage. Where Fade was and what she was planning to do was a mystery to all of them—including Flinc. For when Dar asked the little man to explain what the moor cat would be doing while the rest of them carried out their parts, he had shrugged.
“Oh, Fade will do what moor cats do, you can be sure. Whatever it is, it will be helpful to us. No need to give it another thought.”
All well and good for him to say, but Brecon wasn’t so sure. He fumed and fumbled and somehow the lock released. With Flinc breathing down his neck, he opened the door a crack and peered inside. No one visible, no sounds of anyone moving about, no lights.
He looked back at the forest imp and nodded, and they slipped through the doorway and into the cottage.
Right away Brecon sensed the presence of another person. Then he remembered Flinc mentioning there was someone besides Tasha and Clizia inside the house. He crouched down and listened for a moment. His Elven senses were much better than those of most other Races, and he could tell from the sounds that there were two people sleeping somewhere ahead of them.
“Two sleepers,” Flinc whispered needlessly in his ear, his breath hot and musky. “One on the floor directly ahead, one in the room on the left.”
Brecon nodded without comment and moved ahead toward the door on the left. If Tarsha was still here, she was most likely the one in the bedroom. They moved soundlessly through the darkness, feeling their way along the wall, conscious now of a barely audible conversation that was taking place ahead of them, just outside the cottage.
Ignoring the urgency of their situation, the Elf and the forest imp eased through the doorway toward the sleeper in the bed. Moving swiftly to make sure who it was, they were rewarded with a clear view of Tarsha Kaynin, revealed in a filter of moonlight shining through the bedroom window. Even Brecon, who had never met her, knew who it was.
He started to lift the girl off the bed, but Flinc stayed his arm and pulled him down so he could whisper in his ear.
“She knows me, but not you. If she wakes and sees you, she might scream or struggle. Best if I be the one to carry her.”
Brecon frowned. “No offense, but are you strong enough?”
Flinc gave him a look. “I carried her almost a mile from where I found her after the fire burned Drisker’s home. I think I can manage here!”
He was insistent to the point of snappishness, and the Elven prince hesitated. Then he shook his head. “No, I’ll do it.”
He rose quickly before the imp could voice any further objections, sliding his arms under the sleeping girl, drawing her close to him and gathering her into the cradle of his arms. For just an instant, her eyes seemed to open and then close again. Brecon took a closer look. Had he seen correctly? But she was sleeping so soundly it appeared it would have taken a great deal to wake her, so he dismissed the matter.
“Time to go,” he whispered.
They turned for the doorway and found themselves face-to-face with Tavo Kaynin.
* * *
—
For a few endless moments, Dar Leah and Clizia Porse stared at each other in a confrontation that both knew neither was about to back down from. Dar tensed as he watched tendrils of steam leak from Clizia’s fingertips. In a moment, she would strike at him. He held his sword before him like a shield, wondering if he had the strength to withstand what was about to happen.
“You were warned,” Clizia said softly.
There are moments in life so charged with terrible possibility and so rife with hushed warnings that everything seems to slow to a near stop in anticipation. Those who experience such moments always remember later how clear everything seemed—how much they distinctly recalled—or they remember nothing at all. For Dar Leah, it would be the former. His gaze fixed on Clizia Porse with an intensity that, if visceral, would have burned a hole completely through her. When he saw her hands move—a barely noticeable shifting of fingers that a less experienced man would have missed completely—he threw himself to one side. Even so, the fire whips she uncoiled from her fingers to lash out at him whistled close enough that he could feel their heat.
As he struck the ground, he rolled. He was buried now in a deep layer of fog, momentarily invisible within its blanket. She would come after him, he knew; she would search him out and finish him. As if to prove his point, he watched the burning ropes slice through the insubstantial brume of his concealment at the place where he had landed moments earlier, flames bursting brightly as they struck the hard earth, leaving scorch marks in their wake.
Dar got to his knees, his sword still in his hands, as he waited for whatever was to happen next. The fire whips crackled with dark magic, and he knew Clizia was hunting for him. He flattened himself against the ground within the mist, scooting swiftly to one side as the magic-born fire burned all around him in bright lines. He told himself to be patient, not to panic. All he was doing was buying time for Brecon and Flinc.
But how much more was required before his companions had Tarsha free?
Then he heard someone scream from inside the house, the sound
sharp and piercing, but he could not tell whose scream it was. A roar of anger surfaced at the end of the scream, high-pitched and terrifying, dying almost immediately into an oddly strange growling that then went silent.
The flame whips Clizia was holding disappeared. She would be wondering what was happening, too. Dar sprang to his feet in response, certain the old woman suspected the truth—that Dar had come for Tarsha and likely had not come alone. She would be quick enough now to abandon the attack on him and rush back into the cottage.
Emerging from the layer of fog, he saw her already turning toward the front door of the cottage, her dark form slouching for the opening. He yelled her name, and his blade blazed to life with the glow of its magic. She turned back momentarily, then gave him a dismissive look and took another step toward the door before shrinking from what she found blocking her way.
Fade filled the entry with her considerable bulk—snarling jaws, muzzle pulled back to reveal her huge, curved fangs.
Even from where he was standing almost twenty feet away, Dar heard the gasp that escaped Clizia’s lips. She was momentarily paralyzed by the suddenness of the big cat’s appearance, but in the next instant it had disappeared. By then, Dar was moving toward the cottage, yelling Clizia’s name to make her turn back. But almost without looking, she cast a spell on the fog surrounding him, and it began to swell, growing taller than he was and wrapping about him.
In seconds, there was no air, and he was suffocating.
* * *
—
Inside the cottage, another stare-down was under way. Tavo, having entered the room soundlessly, was confronting Brecon Elessedil and Flinc, who had just turned to leave, the former carrying Tarsha in his arms. Brecon had the Elfstones, but they were tucked in his pocket, and unless he set down the girl he couldn’t reach them. Even then, he wasn’t sure if they would be of any help.
He might have been undecided about what to do, but Flinc was not. The forest imp launched himself at Tavo, wrapped his scrawny arms about one leg, and bit down. The resulting howl was bloodcurdling. Tavo gritted his teeth against the pain, emitting a dangerous growl, then shook his leg to rid himself of Flinc. The forest imp bit him again, but this time Tavo’s response was more a roar than a scream. When shaking his attacker off failed to work, he finally reached down with both hands, fastened his fingers on Flinc’s clothing, then yanked him loose and threw him across the rom.
