by Terry Brooks
Tesla Dart did not return that night. When morning came, she was still missing. Khyber Elessedil stood looking off into the wilderness where the Ulk Bog girl had disappeared, waiting. Redden sat watching her, growing increasingly anxious. She had been up all night, staring into the darkness. Redden had seen her every time he had come awake, which was often. She was clearly trying to make up her mind about what to do, and he was afraid she was going to come up with the wrong answer. Not for her, necessarily, or maybe even those she sought to rescue. Just for him. But he knew he couldn’t interfere, even though the urge to do so was so strong he could barely contain himself. She was leader of this expedition, and she was experienced and capable in ways he was not. He would only cause trouble by trying to guide her actions.
So he kept silent and willed the time to pass and the answer to come.
When it did, it was a surprise.
“We’re not waiting any longer,” the Ard Rhys announced suddenly, wheeling back to where Redden sat with the Trolls. “We’re going back. If Oriantha and Crace Coram could be found, Pleysia would have found them. Or will, if she is still looking. I’ve used magic to search for signs of the Ulk Bog, but found nothing. Enough is enough. I won’t risk any more lives. We’re wasting our time sitting about. We need to find a way out of the Forbidding and back to the Four Lands.”
Everyone climbed hurriedly to their feet, gathered their gear, and in minutes were walking north again, retracing their footsteps. This day was a mirror image of all the others, the sky iron gray and hard, the air thick with dust and the smell of decay, the land empty and barren everywhere.
“If we find a way out, we will think about coming back to see if the others managed to survive,” Khyber said to the boy. “But we need better preparations and a stronger company to attempt it.”
Redden nodded in agreement. Going on was too dangerous. They had already lost half their number, and there was nothing to say they wouldn’t lose the other half before any of them got free of this place. Only five left, he thought in disbelief. All of the Druids save the Ard Rhys, all of the experts they had recruited to aid them, and most of the Trolls—dead or missing. All in less than four days’ time.
He felt a tightening in his chest just thinking of it.
Nothing could be worse than this.
The trek went on through the rest of the morning, and neither Pleysia nor Tesla Dart reappeared. They moved cautiously, but steadily, keeping a sharp eye out. Khyber used a small scrim of magic to sweep the land just ahead of them, searching out predators and hidden dangers. When she found them—less than half a dozen times altogether—she steered the company clear. When at one point they crossed paths unexpectedly with a huge four-legged beast that was armored and horned, she had them stand still and wait for it to pass. It did so without more than a disinterested glance, lumbering off into the distance.
When they stopped for a brief rest, Redden caught sight of a brilliant green flash that appeared suddenly and was gone again. It reappeared later, after they had set out again, and this time Khyber Elessedil saw it as well. It stood out in sharp relief against the gray of the landscape, and every time it appeared after that—which was often—it caught their attention. But they were never able to get too close, and it didn’t seem to have any particular source.
“What do you think it is?” Redden asked the Ard Rhys after they had seen it appear and disappear repeatedly.
But she only shook her head and kept walking.
Finally, they came to a stretch of heavy woods, the trees barren and skeletal, the grasses gray and dusty and dead. When they began to skirt the woods, the green flash reappeared and settled on a tree branch not fifty yards away, just inside the barren grove. Redden turned and walked toward it, hypnotized by its brightness and mystery, wanting to have a closer look. He heard the Ard Rhys tell him to come back, then heard her coming after him. But he kept going anyway, just wanting to see it a little more clearly, thinking it might be a sort of bird.
He was within twenty feet of his goal when the ground opened up and his feet yanked from under him as a heavy rope net closed about. He had just enough time to thrash in response and to witness the Ard Rhys releasing Druid magic in all directions before attackers bore her to the ground and thick, suffocating fumes filled his nostrils.
He woke again to the creaking of leather traces and the rumble of wooden wheels rolling across uneven terrain. He could smell the heated bodies of two huge beasts pulling the wooden cart in which he rode before he could see them, so thick was the dust. He was imprisoned in a cage constructed of iron bars embedded in huge beams, his arms and legs chained to rings set into the floor of the cart. He was sitting upright, his body and limbs pinned in place so that he could barely move.
The Ard Rhys was chained across from him, her head sunk against her breast. She was still unconscious. A blur of memory recalled itself, and he saw her fighting back against the things that had come out of the earth, fire bursting from her fingertips, engulfing those closest. He saw the Trolls rush to her aid, falling one by one to a barrage of arrows and spears.
He closed his eyes again, fighting back against the stabs of pain that lanced through his head. He still felt disoriented and weak, and it was all he could do to keep from passing out again. He forced his eyes open, made himself look outside the cage to find the heaving, straining bodies of the massive horned creatures pulling it. He caught sight of movement next to where he rode and found a wolfish creature pacing the cage, its huge, lean body covered in thick gray fur. When it saw him looking, it opened its jaws wide and revealed rows of blackened teeth.
Redden slumped against the bars of his cage and tried to calm himself. They’d been lured into a trap, snared and rendered unconscious, then imprisoned. He had no idea who was responsible, but his first thought was of Tesla Dart.
He tried to reason it through, but everything fell apart when he looked through the bars at the back of the cage and saw Pleysia’s head impaled on the butt of a spear embedded in the cart’s wooden bed.
8
Still trapped on the plateau with the others waiting for Khyber Elessedil, Railing Ohmsford levered himself up on one arm and tried to get to his feet. Seersha had announced that they had to get out of there before nightfall to avoid an impending attack, and he wasn’t about to waste time doing so. Broken leg or not, he wasn’t going to let those sharp-clawed creatures in the deep woods below get to him again.
“Here, here!” The Druid was bearing him back down again, her grip surprisingly strong. Her rough face pressed close, her good eye fixing on him. “I said we had to move to safer ground. I didn’t say you had to walk there.”
He started to make a retort, but then thought better of it and simply nodded. “Don’t forget,” she added, “you have the use of magic. You can protect yourself better than most. Stay calm. I will likely need your help when they come for us.”
She turned away, all business now. He felt better knowing she depended on him, that she expected him to do more than lie there helplessly. For a moment, he had panicked. Redden wouldn’t have allowed that to happen. His brother would have pulled himself together and prepared for a fight. So Railing would do the same.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t try to pretend their situation wasn’t desperate. They were trapped on this ledge somewhere in the middle of the Fangs, too far away from their airship to make a run for it, the surrounding countryside awash with creatures waiting for a chance to tear them apart. There were few enough of them left as it was—Seersha, Skint, Farshaun Req, the Speakman, a handful of Trolls, and himself. Everyone was still recovering from the last attack, and there was every reason to think another would be mounted soon enough—likely right after it got dark. The Ard Rhys and those who had gone with her had left only hours ago, but it seemed like days.
Railing tried not to think about how vulnerable his broken leg would render him when the next attack came.
“Skint!” Seersha called. The Gnome Tracker, who had retu
rned by now, came over at once. “Go back up into those rocks and look around until you find a place where we can make a stand. Make sure those creatures can’t get to us once we’re in place. Don’t rush. There’s plenty of time. They’ll wait until dark to attack.”
Skint left without a word, heading into the woods behind them, back toward the cliffs where Redden and the others had gone earlier. How long had it been now? Railing tracked the sun—what little of it he could distinguish—across the gray, hazy sky, a whitish blur sliding westward. When night fell they would be left in complete blackness unless the moon broke through. Farshaun Req came over and knelt beside him. “How is the leg doing, boy? Is it giving you much trouble?”
Railing snorted. “Only if I try to walk on it. Which I’d better learn to do fast if I want to get out of this. I can’t just lie around hoping someone can carry me everywhere.”
The old Rover clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Well said. Wait here. Don’t go away.”
He disappeared into the trees, leaving Railing to peer after him in confusion. The boy glanced over to the edge of the plateau to find the two remaining Trolls from the Druid Guard in heated conversation with Seersha. They were still keeping watch where she had left them, making sure no fresh attack caught the little group unprepared, but they seemed decidedly unhappy about something. Railing found himself wishing that Khyber and those with her, especially Redden, would return from wherever they had gone so the brothers could be together again. He was being selfish, but he didn’t care. He hated having been left behind. Farshaun had explained why the Ard Rhys had insisted Redden must go with her, but that didn’t make Railing feel any better.
There was a clear sense of urgency now, even though Seersha had told Skint otherwise. She moved away from the Trolls toward the Speakman, who huddled with his legs drawn up to his chest in a clear attempt to make himself less noticeable. She knelt next to him, and while Railing couldn’t hear what she was saying, he could tell that her words were having a calming effect. The long, scarecrow body gradually dropped its defensive posture, and the Speakman eventually got to his feet and went to join the Trolls.
Farshaun reappeared from the trees bearing a heavy staff cut from a tree limb. He had fashioned one end to form a cradle, its wooden surface wrapped in cloth.
“Take this,” the Rover said, handing it to Railing. “You can use it as a crutch to help you walk. In a pinch, it will make a good weapon. In my opinion, a cudgel is worth a dozen swords.”
Railing took the cudgel, glanced over to see if Seersha was looking, saw she had disappeared into the trees, and held out his hand to Farshaun. Using the Rover’s firm grip and the solidity of the staff, he raised himself to a standing position. His leg pulsed with sudden pain and he grimaced in response, but kept his feet. He wished he had taken the time when he had it to learn how to use the wishsong to heal injuries of this sort.
“Chew on this,” Farshaun said, handing him some leaves he had extracted from a pouch.
“Deadens the pain?” Railing asked.
The old man shrugged. “Something like it.”
He turned away, moving over to join the Speakman. The two stood at the edge of the precipice with the Trolls, all four of them peering down into the woods below, watching the lengthening shadows cast by the cliffs. Railing stayed where he was, conserving his strength for the trek to the cliff and the likely climb that waited. He was thinking how badly things had gone on this expedition, and how little success its members had found. A handful of them were already dead or injured, and for all he knew the group that had gone with the Ard Rhys might have suffered losses, as well. But he didn’t want to think that Redden was at risk, so he brushed the matter aside.
Seersha returned, scanning the group swiftly before coming over to Railing.
“I see you took my advice about staying off your feet,” she deadpanned.
Railing shrugged. “I don’t like feeling helpless. I don’t want anyone to have to worry about me.”
“Well, it’s your choice. Just don’t hold us up by being too proud to ask for help. You stumble, you call out. Understand?”
“Don’t worry, I can do this.”
“You’ll get your chance to prove it.” She began rummaging through her pockets. “Shades and shadows, where did I put it? Ah, here it is.”
She pulled out a thin metal coin stamped with the image of Paranor and held it up so he could see. “We’re not waiting any longer on the Ard Rhys. We’re getting you and the seer and your Rover friend out of here. One of these was given to me; Mirai Leah has the other. Once I break it, Mirai’s will shatter as well and she’ll know to come to us.” She studied the coin. “I don’t know how long Khyber expected me to hold off, but I’m out of patience.”
Without waiting for his reply, she snapped the coin in two and shoved the pieces in her pocket. “The coin will lead Mirai here. Now we have to hope that she comes soon.”
It happened too quickly for Railing to object, which he might otherwise have done. He didn’t want Mirai to come into the Fangs, even if it was to save him. Or maybe especially if it was to save him. It was bad enough that she had come on this expedition in the first place. But he had taken some comfort in the fact that the Ard Rhys had chosen to leave her behind with the Walker Boh, where she would be comparatively safe.
Now, thanks to him, even that small reassurance was gone.
“Seersha!”
Skint reappeared from the woods, trotting toward her. “I’ve found what we need, but it’s not easily reached. We should go there now, at once, while it’s still light enough to see the trail clearly.”
She nodded her agreement and walked over to the precipice, motioning for the Trolls to remain where they were. Then she rejoined the others.
“Show us,” she said to Skint.
The Gnome took them back into the trees, winding through heavy grasses and scrub for several hundred yards and then farther on through a series of rocky outcroppings and ravines. It was a slow, difficult slog, and it took everything Railing had—even with help from Farshaun now and again—to make the journey. By the time they reached the base of the cliffs, the boy was sweating heavily and his leg was aching badly enough that he had to sit down.
“Where do we go from here?” Seersha asked.
Skint pointed upward. “A short distance away, there’s a series of cuts in the rock where you can find footholds to climb. About a hundred feet up, there’s a wide ledge and an overhang farther back that offers shelter. The ledge can’t be reached any other way than by climbing unless you can fly. There’s no way in from the sides or down from the top. At least, none that I could see. I think we can hold off just about any attack from up there.”
“All right. Well done.” She glanced at Railing and his companions. “Take these three up with you. If the boy can’t make the climb with his leg, use a rope to haul him. I’ll go back for the Trolls. We’ll wait until twilight and then we’ll slip away to join you. With luck, those little monsters hiding out below won’t know we’re gone until it’s too late to stop us.” She held up a warning finger. “Wait. How far is it from here to where the Ard Rhys went through the cleft in the cliff wall?”
The Gnome glanced ahead. “It’s close to where we’ll be. You want me to have a look?”
“As soon as these three are safely up, see if you can find sign of the others. Any sign. But don’t get caught down here after dark.”
She gave them all a sharp glance and hurried away.
Skint spent the better part of the next hour getting first the Speakman and Farshaun and then Railing Ohmsford up the cliff face to the ledge he had discovered. Railing required the most help. He could not put any significant weight on his injured leg and had to make the climb by planting the foot of his good leg in one foothold and then pulling himself upward by using his hands and arms to the next. It was slow going, and his strength was quickly depleted. Skint, who was much stronger than he looked and patient with his efforts, pushed fro
m below and kept Railing steady on the rock face. He made the boy pause often to rest and insisted he drink water when he did. Several times Railing began to slip or sway out from the wall, and each time Skint was there to help him.
When he finally reached the ledge, the Gnome patted his arm, told him he’d made a good job of it, and went back down in search of the mysterious waterfall.
Farshaun sat down next to him and shook his head. “We’ll be well out of this business when Mirai comes to get us. This was never a good idea.”
“Do you think she can find us?” Railing asked, gesturing toward the low ceiling of mist and haze.
Farshaun shrugged. “She’ll find us. She’s resourceful, that one. But she won’t get here until morning. She won’t bring the Walker Boh into this mess under darkness. We’ll have to hold out until it’s light.”
Railing looked over the edge of the precipice to the rocks below and the dark smudge of the trees beyond. “Maybe we can do that,” he said doubtfully.
They sat without saying much, looking out over the bleak countryside from their elevated vantage point, waiting for either Skint or Seersha and the Trolls to appear. Every so often, Farshaun would leave the boy’s side to talk with the Speakman. He didn’t say anything about his reasons for doing so, but the boy could tell that the Speakman was in need of constant reassurance. It made him wonder how the man had survived out here alone for so many years. But he supposed that if you hid in a cave and pretty much kept yourself out of sight, you could survive anywhere. Or maybe it was just that you could survive in surroundings you knew well enough to avoid the things that would do you harm, and that being taken out of those surroundings made you vulnerable.
He spent most of his time thinking of home. He would not have joined the expedition if he had known what it was going to be like. He wouldn’t have come if he had thought he would be separated from Redden. He wasn’t all that different from the Speakman. He was removed from familiar surroundings, and his own fears and insecurities were being exposed as a result. What he wished now was that he and Redden and Mirai were back home, flying Sprints or scavenging pieces of downed aircraft or doing anything but what he was doing here. What he wished was that things could be put back the way they had been.
