Bloodfire Quest

by Terry Brooks

  Not wanting to risk discovery by moving again too soon and less than eager to put themselves back in the air in the teeth of that storm, they had decided to lay low for several hours. Cymrian had persuaded the sisters to bed down belowdecks, and Aphen had gone straight to sleep.

  She lifted her head away from his chest, swallowing against the dryness in her mouth. “Arling?”

  “Topside already. She was awake before you.”

  She started to get to her feet, her dizziness fading. Cymrian’s hands still held her, even though she had not asked him to, guiding her from a prone to a standing position. Wend-A-Way was steady, no sway or rock to her, and even though she must still be hovering, it felt to Aphen as if they were settled on the ground.

  “Did she come back again after missing us on the first pass?”

  “The warship? No. We’ve been alone since then. I don’t think they could have retraced their route even if they had tried. Not in that storm.” One of his hands moved to her arm. “Come. Walk with me. Give your eyes a chance to adjust.”

  She allowed him to guide her to the wooden ladder that led from belowdecks. She climbed obediently, catching a hint of light through the open hatch. But when she arrived on deck, she found the world a place of heavy mist and layered clouds that closed away the sky and shut out the moon and stars. Ambient light that lacked an identifiable source reflected off particles of rain and mist, a wraith’s glow that lit the whole of the hazy shroud in which they were wrapped.

  Arling was standing by the port railing watching the Elven crewmen, who were changing out the diapson crystals. She turned at the sound of her sister’s approach and smiled. “You were so sound asleep, I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Aphen laughed. “Do you see anything out there?”

  “Only mist and more mist. Cymrian says we need to lift off and find our course again before it clears.”

  One of the Elven crewmen glanced over. “The sooner, the better. That was a Federation vessel chasing us.”

  Aphen turned. “Federation? You’re sure of that?”

  The man nodded. “I’d know one of those black devils anywhere.”

  “You have to wonder what they thought they were doing,” said another. “We’re too quick for anything that big. Too easy for us to hide, too, in these mountains.”

  “Still,” said the first. “Better if we don’t take chances.”

  “Let’s eat something before we leave,” Aphen suggested, turning away.

  So bread, salted meat, and fruit were brought out from the food storage locker and consumed with glasses of ale. The crew joined the sisters and Cymrian, but no one had much of anything to say, content to remain in silence. Aphen’s dizziness had finally passed. When it was time to set out, she told Cymrian that she would man the helm. To his credit, he didn’t offer any objection and instead moved to the bow to take up the forward watch.

  Arling moved into the pilot box beside her sister and stood without speaking as the anchors were raised and the airship began to lift off. The plan was to move back to the edge of the Westland forests in which they were hidden, continue south past Drey Wood and the Pykon, and make their way into the Wilderun. The heavy mist should hide them from discovery, and with any luck at all would last for a few hours past sunrise. The chances of encountering the Federation warship again would be lessened considerably if they flew low against the backdrop of forests and mountains and kept careful watch for what lay ahead of them. They would fly swiftly and without stopping until they were at the Wilderun, manning Wend-A-Way in shifts and outdistancing their pursuit using a combination of speed and endurance.

  It was a solid enough plan, but like all plans it could go wrong quickly if chance and bad luck combined to thwart it. So no one was taking anything for granted, and everyone was prepared for the unexpected.

  The sisters and Cymrian discussed using the Elfstones to track the progress and position of the Federation warship in order to gain an edge in the pursuit, but in the end chose not to. The problem was the same as before—using the Elfstones could give them away to any magic users looking for them, and they had no way of knowing if there was one such aboard the warship. Aphen was pretty sure there was magic at work somewhere in this business, given the nature of the attacks on her in Arborlon and the seeming ability of whoever was carrying them out to know each time exactly when to strike. It wasn’t a risk worth taking, especially since a single use of the Elfstones would not be enough to guarantee escape and more than one use would be tempting fate.

  They decided to hold off on employing the Elfstones until either the need was so obvious they could not pretend otherwise or they were close enough to the Bloodfire that it became necessary to pinpoint its source. Caution and sharp eyes and ears would better serve them at this point.

  It was a view that was borne out as time passed and the mist remained thick and impenetrable. Aphen eased Wend-A-Way ahead at a slow, steady pace, keeping the airship just above the treetops, doing her best to make the airship disappear into the haze.

  She found herself wondering if this had anything to do with Edinja Orle. It had to be someone in the Coalition Council hierarchy if they could command a warship like the one hunting her. But what was the point? If they knew of the failing of the Ellcrys, why would they want to prevent its recovery? The danger to them was as great as it was to the Elves. Could they be hunting her for the Elfstones, for the magic they commanded? Edinja was a magic user. Perhaps the temptation of gaining possession of the Elfstones was too strong for her to ignore.

  Her gaze was directed forward into the screen of mist and damp, and it settled now on Cymrian, a fixture against the forward railing just to the starboard side of the bowsprit. She found herself staring at him, fascinated by the fact that he had been standing motionless in that same spot for the entire time since they had set out.

  “How does he do that?” she whispered to Arling.

  “Do what?”

  “Stand like that for so long without moving.”

  Arling glanced at her first, then out at Cymrian. “I don’t know.” She paused. “He’s a patient man. You, of all people, should realize that.”

  “I suppose that’s so. I’ve watched him.”

  “Watched him?” Arling gave a soft snort.

  “I don’t mean just here. At other times, too. Lots of times. He knows how to wait on things.”

  Arling shook her head. “You are so hopeless.”

  Aphen looked at her. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that sometimes you don’t see anywhere near as much as people give you credit for.” She gave her sister a look. “I thought you would have figured it out by now, Aphen.”

  “Figured what out? What are you talking about?”

  “Cymrian. I’m talking about Cymrian!” Arling gave an exasperated groan. “You still don’t understand what he’s doing here? Why he came in the first place? Why he’s put himself in such danger for the both of us when he just as well could have stayed safe and sound back in Arborlon?”

  Aphenglow hesitated. “Well, he …” She brushed back her hair where it had fallen over her eyes, damp strands knotting. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying he’s in love with you!”

  Aphen frowned. “No, he’s not.”

  “He is. He has been for years. You wouldn’t know because you’ve been all caught up in your Druid life and haven’t paid any attention at all to what’s going on back here, but he’s been in love with you since you were in training together, years ago. I think everyone knew it—even if they didn’t tell you.”

  “But that’s just ridiculous! He barely knows me. Or I him. I didn’t even remember who he was, at first!”

  Arling gave her a look. “Yes, you’re right. How could anyone you don’t remember still be in love with you years later?”

  They stopped talking for a while, staring out at the mist in silence, concentrating on the movement of the airship through the haze. At the bow, Cymrian bro
ught up his hand sharply and signaled for Aphenglow to swing to the starboard as they altered course. Aphen watched the terrain below them change as the trees began to thin and grasslands to appear. They were back out on the lower Streleheim, clear of the forests and heading south.

  “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Aphen said finally.

  Arling nodded, keeping silent.

  “But he’s never said …” She trailed off.

  “He wouldn’t. He’s not like that.”

  Aphen shook her head in disbelief. The idea of Cymrian being in love with her was so unexpected, she could not bring herself to accept that it was possible. But he must have had a reason for agreeing to be her protector back at the beginning. She had been so dismissive of the idea—and of him—that she might have missed the truth. Then afterward, she had been mourning Bombax, and there had been so many changes and upheavals in all their lives that she hadn’t questioned his motives or his presence but simply accepted both as a given.

  “Listen to me, Aphen,” her sister said suddenly. “I’m telling you this because I think it’s time you knew. Way past time, in fact. But I know how you are. You see what you think you need to see and miss other things in the process. This is one of them. Cymrian’s put his life on the line for us. Repeatedly. He’s doing so again now. I think you need to understand why he’s doing it. On the other hand, I don’t want you telling him that you know. Or worse, that you think it’s a mistake. You’re already thinking of telling him that, aren’t you?”

  Aphen shrugged. “He shouldn’t be doing this because he thinks he loves me!” She sounded indignant, even to herself, as if this whole effort on Cymrian’s part were some sort of personal affront. She shook her head in dismay and held up her hand in a warding gesture. “I didn’t mean that. That was wrong.”

  “Yes, but you said it to me and you probably would have said it to him.” Arling was scolding her now, something she almost never did. “Don’t. Keep this to yourself. If you don’t want to love him back, fine. But don’t diminish his sacrifice for us by telling him he shouldn’t have made it. You don’t know what he’s been through, and you shouldn’t assume that what he’s done is a mistake.”

  Aphen stared at her and then smiled. “You are such a fierce little bird, Arling Elessedil.”

  But Arling didn’t smile back. “Maybe it’s because I’m being forced to grow up all at once, and I can’t afford to be timid.”

  Aphen let the smile drop. “All right. I’ll do what you ask. It bothers me, but I won’t let what I know get in the way of things. I promise.”

  Her sister nodded and put a grateful hand on her shoulder. Aphen turned back to the task of steering the airship and searching the shifting haze, mulling over what she had been told, trying it on for size the way she would a new set of boots.

  What she found was that she wasn’t at all sure about the fit.

  Stoon stood watch on the forward deck of the Federation warship, growing increasingly worried as he stared out at the mist breaking up beyond their cliffside hiding place.

  Once it had become clear they had lost the Elven ship in the storm, he had ordered the captain to turn their own vessel south and make for calmer air and better weather. He had considered for perhaps ten seconds turning back and searching for their quarry, but then quickly abandoned the idea as foolish. They would never find anyone in the morass of wind-driven rain and fog assailing them. Better to give it up until the weather improved.

  So he had taken a calculated risk. The Elven ship had left Arborlon by way of the Valley of Rhenn and turned south. It was a better-than-even bet that their destination lay in that direction, probably much farther away than closer. Given the supplies they had stocked aboard and the size of the airship, he could assume they were anticipating at least several days’ travel there and several more back. He could also assume they would resume their previous course on their way down, and if he didn’t get too far south himself, they would cross paths again.

  By morning, his ship had escaped the storm and gotten down into the stretch of Westland forest known as Drey Wood. Here, still north of the Matted Brakes and the Pykon, they had found another hiding place for their ship, this time edging far enough back into the trees that there was almost no chance they could be seen. Once in place, Stoon had dispatched a pair of flits with orders to place themselves at strategic points where they would have a clear view of the plains and any airships passing south. With the storm dissipated and the mist breaking up, they should have no trouble finding the one they were searching for. Once they did, they were to slip away and arrive back at the warship quickly enough for her crew to mobilize and intercept their quarry.

  This was twice now he had tried this approach, and at the start of things he’d had reason to think that this time he might be more successful. But now it was well past midafternoon and there was still no sign of the Elven vessel. More than once he had thought to abandon his hiding place and go out in search of it himself. But he had managed to tamp down the urge, knowing that a mistake at this point would likely put an end to any chance he had of managing to intercept it.

  Still, he had to admit to himself that he was no longer particularly interested in tracking the Elves. It was conceivable he still might be able to follow the Elven girl, as Edinja wanted. But realistically he thought this was now impossible. The warship had been seen, so the Elven girl and her companions not only knew they were being pursued but that it was a Federation vessel pursuing them. Better, he thought, just to bring the Elven ship down and put a quick end to her passengers and crew, as he had decided to do earlier. This chase needed to be over and done with.

  He scuffed his boot on the decking, conflicted. Increasingly, Edinja was using him in ways that were troublesome. He was an assassin, and he preferred to work alone when he hunted. Instead, he was saddled with those animals down in the hold and with a captain and crew who were reluctant and in need of watching. For the first time since he had terminated his partnership with Drust Chazhul, he found himself missing the man. Even though he had overreached his grasp at the end, Drust had always known how Stoon could best serve him. Edinja seemed to think there were no limits, possibly because she saw no limits in herself. Drust had lacked Edinja’s power and prestige in the Federation hierarchy and he had never possessed her cunning, but he had been predictable. Stoon had always known what to expect from him.

  He exhaled sharply, frustrated. Shouldn’t the Elven vessel have reached them by now if it was coming this way? He wondered again at its purpose. All these Druid expeditions—what were they attempting to accomplish? Edinja was convinced that it was important for her to know, but what did she care why the Druids had mounted their expedition into the Westland? How reliable was the intelligence they had been given by the spy she had placed in the Elven camp? The information had been sketchy at best. That was true of this latest expedition, as well. No reason had been given for why the Elven girl was leading it or why she had taken her sister with her. No suggestion had been offered as to what it had to do with the still unresolved expedition taken by the remainder of the Druid order.

  Too many unknowns.

  Gaining possession of the Elfstones was the only thing that mattered, and Edinja didn’t need the Elessedil sisters alive to accomplish that. Taking them prisoner felt like a waste of time. Edinja was a magic user; surely she could find a way to unlock the Stones’ fabled power.

  His brow furrowed and a dark look settled over his face. He didn’t like how things were going. He didn’t like it that he was being dragged this way and that by the reports the spy was giving and as a consequence was much less the master of his own destiny.

  Maybe it was time to change all that.

  As if in response to that thought, a flit appeared, winging toward the warship.

  “The mist is breaking up,” Arling murmured, still standing next to Aphen in the pilot box.

  “No more cover while we’re in the air,” Aphen agreed.

  As p
lanned, they had eased their way south along the border of the Westland, hiding in the brume as they found their way to the beginning of Drey Wood. Now they were midway down its eastern edge, heading for the Matted Brakes, and there had been no sign of the Federation warship.

  Cymrian was already making his way back to them in his easy, loping stride, his hair whipped by a fresh breeze that had started up out of the south.

  “You should give him a chance,” Arling said.

  Aphen did not reply, letting the comment hang unanswered. She kept trying to picture him as someone in love with her, but couldn’t quite manage it. All she could see was the wry, taciturn protector who had first come to her in Arborlon to apply for the job all those weeks ago.

  “Let me take the wheel for a while,” he said, climbing into the box. “Fresh eyes are needed. Mine are worn out.”

  Without a word, she stepped away and went down onto the main deck, heading for the bow. Around her, the three Elven crewmembers worked the rigging, attaching and detaching radian draws, bringing up fresh sails, reconfiguring light sheaths to catch more of the sun’s rays as the mist dissipated in the growing brightness.

  I don’t want him to be in love with me, Aphen thought.

  She caught a flash of something dark off the starboard bow as a shadow emerged from Drey Wood in ominous silence, sliding out of the trees like a predator. A warship, her light sheaths unfurled and billowing out, hers railguns and fire launchers pulled forward and ready for use, and her ramming bow extended and locked, was coming directly toward them.

  “Cymrian!” she screamed in warning.

  She was an instant too late. A single burst from the forward starboard railgun tore away a portion of the mainmast rigging, splintering spars and shredding portions of the light sheaths. One of the crewmen was caught directly in the blast and disappeared over the side.

  Cymrian reacted swiftly, drawing back on the thrusters and taking Wend-A-Way skyward at such a steep angle that Aphen lost her footing and slid all the way to the stern railing before she caught herself. The remaining Elven crewmen hung on as the masts and rigging swayed and shook with the force and suddenness of the lift. Aphen heard other railguns release and felt the impact as dozens of metal projectiles slammed into Wend-A-Way’s hull in staccato bursts, splintering timbers and planks, embedding themselves in the wood.