by Terry Brooks
PRUE LISS WAS STILL CROUCHED behind the rocks at the entrance to the pass when Panterra Qu appeared from out of the fading night. She watched him approach the killing field and the waiting demon. She had thought to go to him right away when she saw him, but Aislinne had pulled her down again, shaking her head. Wait, she had mouthed silently.
When Pan had begun speaking with the demon, assuming it was Skeal Eile, Prue almost went to him again. But then the demon did something to give himself away, and Pan summoned the magic of the black staff just in time to save himself. From there, the battle had escalated quickly until now the mountain air was thick with smoky residue from expended magic, the smell bitter and strong in her nostrils, the taste metallic on her tongue.
I have to do something to help him, she thought.
It was what she had been charged with by the King of the Silver River. It was what she had been given to do, and even if she wasn’t certain how to go about it, she had to try something. She had been struggling with her sense of inadequacy from the moment the King of the Silver River had told her what she must do, but there was no time left to think about it. The battle was raging back and forth in front of her, the combatants fighting their way across the killing field, the dead lying all around them, the earth bloodstained and scarred. Panterra was being pushed back, slowly and steadily, by the demon’s attack. He was still protecting himself, but she could tell that it was only a matter of time until the attack broke down his defenses and left him helpless.
She felt a wave of despair sweep through her. Pan still wasn’t experienced enough for a battle of this sort. He wasn’t trained to fight it. The black staff was still too unfamiliar and the magic too strange. He was wielding it the way he would any new weapon—tentatively, defensively, uncertainly. Though he did his best, it was already clear that his best might not be good enough to save him. If she didn’t intervene in a way that would shift the momentum in his favor, he would die.
But still something held her back, preventing her from intervening.
Do something!
Then abruptly the scarlet dove left its roost and began to soar through the skies above the fighters, spiraling blood red against the grays and blacks that colored Prue’s world. Prue’s gaze shifted instantly to track its flight. It had taken on a distinctly different look now, more fierce and warlike, more hawk than dove. She watched it bank and straighten, gain altitude and then descend. What was it doing? She could feel its fluid movements in the beating of her heart. She could feel them tugging at her, the bond between them stretching.
She came to her feet in response, left her place of hiding and strode out through the shadows into the early-morning light. “Stay where you are,” she whispered to Aislinne as she did so. “Don’t let him see you.”
She kept walking until she was clear of the pass and standing fully exposed in a patch of sunlight. She saw Pan glance her way—a moment only, because that was all he was allowed before being forced to return his attention to the demon. But it was enough. He knew she was there. He was frightened for her, she could tell, but he was uplifted, too. It reflected in his eyes before he was forced to turn away again.
She lifted her face to the morning sky and watched the scarlet dove sweep toward her, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the last of any real color. She wanted to reach out and touch it, to feel its soft body and silky feathers in her hands. She could almost feel them now, but it was only the morning breeze caressing her skin.
The demon had thrown Panterra down yet again, and this time the boy did not seem able to rise. Sprawled on the ground, he held the black staff protectively before him, struggling to sit up as the demon’s magic forced him back down. The demon approached in a leisurely fashion, taking his time, using a steady flow of magic to pin the boy in place. He was speaking to Pan, but Prue couldn’t hear what he was saying. Pan thrashed and fought against the bonds being layered atop him, but he could not break free.
Prue knew it was the end for him, and that almost certainly meant the end of her. She tightened her resolve. She would not allow it. She would not stand aside and watch it happen. If it were to end for them, it would not end without a fight.
“Ragpicker!” she screamed at the demon.
The demon turned at the sound of her voice, surprise reflected in its strange red eyes.
Then the scarlet dove dropped straight out of the sky and onto its face.
PANTERRA WAS FIGHTING for his life, staggered by the onslaught of demon magic, when Prue appeared suddenly out of the entrance of the pass. He had only a moment to decide that it was really her, and then he was forced to turn away again as the demon’s attack intensified.
When he went down for the final time and found himself pinned to the ground by his attacker’s magic, he was hoping for only one thing—for Prue to get away, to flee what was happening before the demon saw she was there. But then she called to it, using a name he did not recognize, drawing its immediate attention, and his hopes faded. He tried again to rise, to take advantage of the momentary distraction. But the demon’s focus was back on him almost instantly, the magic lashing him, holding him down, squeezing the air from his lungs and sapping the strength from his body.
It drew closer, talking to him all the while in an almost casual fashion, speaking as if to an old friend, as if nothing odd were happening. It reached out its hand as if intending to help him to his feet, even as its fingers were stretching toward his head.
Then for no discernible reason that Pan could determine, the demon went completely mad. It threw up its hands, clawed at its face, twisted its body this way and that, and screamed in a voice that was filled with pain and rage. It spun about like a scarecrow blown loose in a great windstorm; it thrashed as if a thousand bees were stinging it all at once. Its attack on Pan ceased altogether, and although weakened and battered by the demon magic the boy managed to scramble back to his feet.
Once righted, he acted quickly to refocus the magic of the black staff, gathering it to him, feeling its power surge and twist from the wood into his limbs and down into his body before reversing and then flowing back out again in a white-hot heat.
But in those few moments that it took Pan to pull himself together, the demon caught hold of whatever had been causing it such pain and flung it aside. There was a scarlet explosion on the morning air, as if something made of flesh and blood had been ripped apart. He heard Prue scream. Then one clawed hand, dripping with gore, gestured toward her, and the demon fire struck her a hammer blow and collapsed her like a rag doll.
Panterra Qu intervened a second too late to prevent it from happening, but fury fueled his effort and the black staff’s magic exploded into the demon. Yet somehow, even though it was staggered by the attack, the demon managed to remain upright. Face ripped to shreds, blood everywhere, the horror it had become twisted in a ghastly smile as it wheeled back on Pan, hands lifting for another assault.
Then Pan heard a bowstring release, and a black arrow struck the demon with such force that the steel tip sprouted from his chest. The creature gasped, staggered, and turned partway around as a second arrow buried itself in its throat.
Aislinne Kray stood at the entrance to the pass, a third arrow readied for use.
Pan struck out at their enemy again, and this time the staff’s magic caught the demon completely unprepared, striking him a massive blow and throwing him backward. This time, he couldn’t seem to recover before Pan had struck him again. Then struck him once again. Pan didn’t know if it was the aftershock of whatever had clawed the demon’s face or the damage caused by Aislinne’s arrows or the power of his own magic, but the cumulative effect was devastating.
The demon screamed, thrashing as the third arrow struck it. It staggered away in a futile effort to escape further injuries, but it was too late. Broken and battered, it dropped to its hands and knees, head hanging down, blood dripping from every part of it.
Panterra limped toward it, suddenly aware that he had been injured,
that not everything was working right. But his concentration was intense enough to push aside the pain and confusion, and he summoned the staff’s magic one more time. Centering it on the stricken demon, he burned it from the head down until nothing remained but the thin, bitter taste of ashes wafting on the mountain air.
ABANDONING THE CHARRED OUTLINE of the demon, Pan limped hurriedly over to where Prue sprawled on the ground, watching Aislinne approach from the other direction, abandoning her bow as she ran to join him. Even injured as he was, he reached the girl first and dropped beside her, lifting her into his arms and cradling her limp body. The demon fire had seared the skin of her face and arms, but maybe not badly enough to do permanent damage. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing in shallow gasps.
“Panterra!” Aislinne said, kneeling beside him. “Is she alive?”
Pan nodded. He reached out and smoothed back damp strands of red hair from her face. Aislinne brought out her water skin and held it to Prue’s mouth, letting a little of the water trickle onto her lips. The water ran down her face, but she did not respond.
Aislinne placed her head against the girl’s chest, listening. “Her heart’s beating. I think it’s just the shock of what happened to her.” She looked over. “But I don’t know exactly what that was. Did you know about her eyes? About the scarlet dove? I think that was what distracted the demon when it was after you. I can’t explain why, but it just seemed as if she was following it when she showed herself.”
Pan didn’t care about the dove. He didn’t even care about the demon now that it was dead. “She has to be all right,” he said, the words tight and hot in his throat. “She can’t be hurt. Not after all this.”
Aislinne reached out and touched his arm. “What about you, Panterra? Have you looked at yourself yet? You are bleeding through your clothes.”
He looked down and saw that she was right. As well, his skin was blistered and blackened, and he thought he might have cracked some ribs and maybe broken several fingers on one hand. But none of that mattered. Prue was his only concern, and he would not think of himself until he had been reassured about her.
Suddenly she gasped, coughed roughly, and jerked sharply in his arms. He helped her sit up, feeling her body tense as he did so. “Pan?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and thick.
“Right here. Right beside you.”
“The demon?”
“Dead. It’s over, Prue. We won.”
She shook her head. “Did we?”
Her eyes blinked open, and he saw the cloudy look directed straight in front of her, empty of sight. Her seemingly sightless eyes still bothered him, even knowing she actually could see, if only in black and white. “We did, Prue.”
“All the people from the village dead, all of them gone forever. It doesn’t feel as if we won.”
“Drink this,” Aislinne interrupted, holding out the water skin.
Prue groped for it in a way that suggested she was struggling with her muscle control. “Put it in my hand, Pan.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, doing as she requested and watching her take a long, slow drink. “Are you hurt?”
She finished drinking and held out the skin for him to take. Aislinne took it instead, giving Pan a worried look.
Prue’s laugh was soft and unpleasant. “The King of the Silver River warned me there might be something more taken away. He as much as told me to plan on it if I did what he asked of me. I didn’t pay enough attention to what that might mean. I didn’t want to. I only wanted to help you.”
“You did help me,” he told her.
“Attacking the demon to distract him long enough for you to fight back cost the scarlet dove its life—if it possessed any real life in the first place. I don’t think it did. I don’t think it was real. I think it was a part of me. So when it was destroyed, another part of me was destroyed with it.”
Pan shook his head, bending close to look in her milky eyes. “What are you talking about? What’s been destroyed?”
She gave him a small smile, and her hand found his cheek. “It doesn’t matter, Pan. It isn’t your fault.”
“Prue, you have to tell me. What’s been destroyed?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “My sight, Pan. When the demon tore the scarlet dove off its face and smashed it, I lost the rest of my sight. Now I really am blind. Completely. I can’t see a thing.”
BY MIDDAY, FOLLOWING THE MORNING THAT WITNESSED the end of the Drouj threat, the news of the Elven victory at Aphalion Pass had reached Arborlon. A messenger dispatched by Haren Crayel, captain of the Home Guard and commanding officer, had spread the word freely on his way to give his report to the Queen, and the city had erupted in cheers of jubilation and relief. Impromptu gatherings quickly escalated into full-scale celebrations that spread throughout the entire city, and by noon there was virtually no one who hadn’t heard the details.
Among those who had heard were Isoeld Severine and First Minister Teonette. The messenger had made certain they both knew all the details of the struggle that had resulted in the death of Taureq Siq and the wholesale flight of his Troll army. He had also advised them of the incredible appearance of Phryne Amarantyne riding astride a dragon and bearing the missing blue Elfstones, the magic of both beast and talismans combining to put a decisive halt to the Drouj invasion. He closed by adding that the Princess was on her way now to the home city to meet with the High Council, where she intended to set right the matters of who had killed her father and who was entitled to sit upon the throne.
All true, of course, save for that last part. But that was what the Orullian brothers had instructed him to say to the Queen, and Xac Wen knew how to tell a lie when it was needed and a greater good would be served. He had done it before, and he would do it again—though never with half the satisfaction he felt this time.
By midafternoon, he had completed his task, departed the palace and the chambers of the Queen, where she had received him with frosty silence, and headed straight to the north gates of the Ashenell where Tasha had told him they would rendezvous. The day was warm and overcast, and the skies suggested rain by nightfall. But in his present good mood, it felt decidedly bright and warm.
He found Tasha and Tenerife right where they had said they would be, just past the cemetery gates, hiding out of sight behind a scattering of ancient tombs in a small copse of evergreens.
“How was it?” Tasha asked at once. “Did you do as I asked, little monkey?”
“If you stop calling me names, Tasha, I might find myself more willing to carry out requests of the sort you keep making of me!” the boy snapped in reply. “Yes, of course I did as you asked.”
“How did she respond?”
The boy shrugged. “She didn’t like hearing any of it; you could tell that much by what she didn’t say. She just listened and stared at me and then sent me away.”
“Teonette?”
“He wasn’t there. I didn’t see him until I was leaving and repeated everything again. He gave me the same treatment.” He paused. “Why are we doing all this? Why not just march right in there and haul her off to the prisons? Why not take it before the High Council and expose her for what she is? Why are we messing around with this?”
“Because we have to be careful here,” Tenerife advised. “Putting her in prison isn’t even a possibility. She is a Queen, and the Elves don’t put their rulers in prison. They banish them or confine them to their quarters in some out-of-the-way place.”
“More to the point, we don’t have the proof we need that she killed Oparion Amarantyne. If Phryne had lived …”
Tasha couldn’t finish. He shook his head, his lips tight. “We need her to confess. If she thinks Phryne is coming for her, we might find a way to get her to do that.”
“Well, I made sure that’s what she thinks,” the boy declared. “But what good does telling her a lie do us?”
Tasha leaned over and grasped him by his shoulder, one great hand taking hold almost gently. “Let’s
wait a bit and see.”
Tenerife left them then, and the big man and the boy sat together at the foot of one of the tombs and shared a lunch the former had packed down out of the pass. They visited quietly after that, talking of yesterday and what Phryne Amarantyne had done and how it would change everything that had happened since the Drouj had appeared.
“Have you heard any more from Panterra or Prue?” Xac asked at one point. “Did they find each other? Do you know what has happened to them?”
Tasha Orullian shook his head, looking sad. “I don’t, young Xac. They seem set upon a course that could take them away from us entirely. I do think Panterra must have found Phryne or she wouldn’t have been able to come back to us at Aphalion. I can’t guess what might have happened to him since. Of little sister, I know nothing at all. But we’ll keep searching until we find them both.”
“I want to help,” the boy declared grimly. “I don’t want them to end up like …” He cut short what he was going to say and stared at the tops of his boots. “Poor Phryne. At least she found the Elfstones she was searching for.” He managed a faint smile. “She seemed to know how to use them well enough on those Trolls, didn’t she? But it was the dragon that was so … well, you saw it, too. She not only rode it, she managed to control it. She had it flying where she wanted and made it use its fire to break apart the Drouj attack. Imagine how it would feel to be able to do that—to fly on a dragon and turn it against your enemies.”
Tasha shook his head. “Some things you’re not supposed to do. Riding a dragon is one of them. She crossed a line when she did that, and I think she paid the price for it.”
Xac Wen nodded. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. It was still wonderful. I won’t ever forget it.”
The big man clasped his hands and sighed. “None of us will, little man. None of us will.”
