Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara

by Terry Brooks

  “One thing you want to keep in mind, Aphen,” he said. “It might not be one of the Trolls or the Elf or the boy. It might be someone else entirely, someone who managed to get inside Paranor without any of us knowing.”

  It gave her pause. She hadn’t thought of that.

  Twilight, and most within the Keep were gathered in the dining hall.

  Deek Trink worked his way down the corridors, halfway certain that this time he was going to get caught. Bombax might not suspect him, but the Elven woman had already made him her prime suspect in the rail sling incident simply by process of elimination. He had hoped there would be a sufficient number of other logical suspects, once he got inside the Keep, to shift suspicion away from him. But there were only the members of the Druid Guard, the two Druids, the old man in the library, the Elven woman’s younger sister, and that really scary Elven Hunter Cymrian. Of all of them, he was the one Deek wanted least to be around.

  Not that he hadn’t fooled Cymrian just like he had all the others. More that he didn’t like how being around Cymrian made him feel. Uncomfortable. Revealed. Those eyes seemed to look right into you and see everything. Being charming didn’t impress Cymrian one bit. Deek was good at winning over people, at making them believe whatever he wanted them to believe. He was clever at deceiving others, at giving a false impression of what he was like. He had always been good at it.

  But Cymrian was having none of it. Nor, did it appear, was the Elven Druid he protected like a moor cat its newborn.

  Deek hurried on through the lower levels of the Keep, pausing at corners and doorways to listen, all the while trying to look casual about what he was doing so that if he were caught he might still be able to talk his way free. He knew he could do it if he had to. He had gotten out of tougher situations than this one.

  Well, maybe not tougher. But the knowledge of how much danger he was in was what excited him enough to make him want to take the chance.

  Bombax and the Elven woman had come to him earlier to talk about the rail sling incident, and he had worked hard trying to satisfy them that he knew nothing about it. He had been hiding down below like he was told he should, frightened the Federation forces would prove too much for the Druids and he would be discovered and sent back to the Mwellrets. There was no reason for him to be firing a rail sling at a Federation warship, was there?

  Of course, there was every reason if you were working for someone like Stoon. But no one here knew anything about that. All anyone knew was he had found Bombax in that warehouse, trussed up like a side of beef, and decided to help him get free, all at great personal risk. It was Bombax who had brought him to Paranor, offering safe haven. No one realized it was Stoon who had hired the Mwellrets to drug and imprison Bombax so Deek could arrange a rescue and thereby gain entrance to the Druid’s Keep. No one realized he was there for a single reason only—to open a door in the walls and let the Federation army inside.

  How could they? He was just a boy.

  He wondered how much longer he could parlay that into a career. Not much, given the way he was growing. His boyhood days were coming to an end, and he would have to find a new way of deceiving people. There was always a way to be found, of course. He had learned that much years ago living on the streets, even before he met Stoon.

  He glanced over his shoulder, thinking he heard something, and peered into the shadows of the long hallway. He couldn’t be certain who might be down here. The Elven woman had assigned one of the Trolls in the Druid Guard to “accompany” him wherever he went so that he would stay safe. He knew what that meant. She had kept the Elven Hunter with her, which he could tell Bombax didn’t like—was there something between them?—but then Bombax hadn’t offered to keep Deek, choosing to leave him with the Troll. Not that Deek minded. It was easier to get rid of the Troll than it would have been to get rid of Bombax. Persuading the Troll to share a few glasses of ale he had surreptitiously drugged was easy enough. Deek only needed enough time to descend to the lower levels of the Keep, relocate the small, ironclad door he had found earlier, and mark it to let the Federation know it was open.

  If he were quick about it, as he intended to be, no one would see him and he would be back in the guards’ common room with his Troll watchdog before the other realized he was missing, looking for all the world as if he, too, had fallen asleep after indulging in too much ale.

  He reached the door he had found days earlier and released the heavy locks—three of them, the Druids weren’t taking chances—so that the door cracked open. He took a moment to make certain that no one standing watch on the walls could see him, and then, using a red dye he carried in a pouch, he drew an X on the outside of the door, tossed the pouch into a path of weeds growing against the walls, and closed the door without relocking it. Easy enough. Federation scouts would find his well-marked entrance into the Keep quickly enough and at dawn a special detachment of soldiers would sneak through and open the west gates.

  By midday, Paranor would have fallen.

  He turned away from the door and started back down the hall. He would have preferred to flee the Keep right away, but leaving was not an option. His absence would be noticed and would lead to discovery of the open door. Stoon had told him to stay put until the attack came and the Keep fell; if he did he would not be harmed. Deek believed him, if only because he knew Stoon would want to use him again one day.

  He reached a set of stairs leading up and began to climb. By this time tomorrow, it would all be over and he would be on his way back to Varfleet. He just needed to be patient a little while longer.

  Something he was good at.

  24

  WHEN APHENGLOW ELESSEDIL WORE AT DAWN ON THE following morning, Bombax was already up and gone. She lay where she was for a moment, reflecting on last night, and on how they had bridged the gap that had opened a few days earlier by recapturing a little of what had brought them together in the first place.

  But soon she was out of bed, washing and dressing, wondering what was happening outside with the Federation army. She was aware as she pulled on her black robes and laced them to her body that it was unusually quiet, even for Paranor. There was an air of expectancy that was troubling. No birdsong, no kitchen sounds, no voices coming from the walls.

  Where was Arlingfant?

  She went next door to see and found her sister gone, as well.

  Now she was moving quickly—or as quickly as she could manage on her damaged leg—passing down the hallways and out into the courtyard. She could see Arling standing on the walls with Cymrian and what looked to be the entire complement of the Druid Guard still in residence at the Keep. They were staring out toward the Federation encampment, watching something she couldn’t see. They had their backs to her and were so absorbed by whatever was out there, they didn’t see her coming.

  Aphen limped across the courtyard to the walls and climbed the stone steps to the ramparts, leaning heavily on the staff she had brought to support herself. She was much stronger by now, her broken leg mostly healed. It still ached, of course, but it was nothing compared with what she had experienced earlier, and she was good at ignoring pain. Everyone turned as she approached, and the looks on their faces were enough to tell her something was wrong. She slowed beside Arling, who pointed wordlessly out toward the Federation army camp.

  Except that what she was pointing at was much closer. The entire Federation command was positioned right in front of Paranor’s walls. Rank upon rank of armored men faced the Keep, their lines neat and straight amid a forest of spears, bowmen on the flanks and to the rear. They were standing silently, looking straight ahead, shields up, tense and ready as if awaiting a signal.

  She was so shocked that for a moment she couldn’t speak. “What are they doing?” she managed finally.

  “That is the question, isn’t it?” Bombax answered drily.

  “They look as if they’re getting ready to attack! But they can’t intend to do that! It would be suicide!”

  “So it w
ould seem. But maybe they know something we don’t.”

  Cymrian shook his head. “This looks like a feint. They can’t scale these walls, so they’re drawing our attention here while trying to get in some other way.” He pushed off the wall. “I’m going to have a look around.”

  Swift and fluid, he jogged down the ramparts, heading toward the north wall. Aphen watched, envious of his agility and strength, anxious to regain her own.

  She turned as Arling gripped her arm. “What do you think we should do?” her sister whispered.

  Aphen gave her hand a squeeze. “Wait them out. They aren’t doing anything yet. We have to be patient. Bombax, have you checked any of the approaches to the other walls?”

  He shook his head. “You go. I want to stay with Krolling in case this isn’t a trick and they actually do attempt an assault. They have ladders, so they might think they can scale the walls. Madness, if they try it. But who knows? Go on, Aphen. Take Arling with you.”

  She didn’t particularly want to do that, but she guessed Arling was just as safe going with her as staying behind, and if they were together she could keep an eye on her sister. So together they set out for the west wall, descending the stairs from the ramparts to the courtyard, cutting across to the first of several walls that bisected the outer courtyards like spokes from a wheel, allowing them quick access through the Keep proper and the courtyards adjoining the west wall. Aphen was thinking that somehow things were getting away from them, that all their efforts to stay safe were on the verge of failing. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the source of this premonition; they still hadn’t found out who fired the rail sling the previous day. If there was a traitor within the walls, they were very much at risk.

  She had asked Cymrian the previous night for his impressions of the boy Deek Trink. “Too clever for his own good,” Cymrian had responded. “Too ready to persuade you he’s your friend when maybe he’s not.”

  He didn’t say aloud what was clearly in his mind—that he didn’t like Deek Trink—but it was obvious enough. It made her think she should have locked the boy away in spite of Bombax. But that would have meant another confrontation, and she wasn’t certain her suspicions were valid. It was easier just to have him watched.

  Now she was wondering if she had made a mistake putting but a single guard on him.

  “What do we do if they attack?” Arling asked suddenly. They were climbing the stairs to the west wall now, hurrying to have a look at what was happening outside. “Can we stop them? We’re so few.”

  Aphen shook her head, unwilling to answer. In truth, she didn’t know. Her only plan at this point was to rely on the wards of the Keep to protect them. If that failed, she didn’t see how thirty could stand against what looked to be close to five or six hundred, even with Paranor’s walls to protect them.

  They reached the ramparts and peered over. The clear-cut area that separated the Keep from the forest lay empty below. No sign of anyone. But the walls had been built in a zigzag fashion to allow for defense from more than one angle, and from where they stood they could see only a portion of this one. So Aphen, wanting to be sure the others were safe, as well, began walking north with Arling trailing after in silence. Together they reached the end of that section of wall, rounded the watchtower, and turned down the next.

  Instantly they saw the line of armed men slipping out of the trees and sprinting for the Keep, one after another, before disappearing inside through an open door.

  Although Aphen had been looking for something like this and had been half expecting to find it, it was a shock nevertheless. She wheeled on Arling, backing them both away from the edge of the wall where they might be seen. “Run back for Bombax and Krolling. Tell them the walls are breached and the Federation is inside. Bring them here at once. Tell them to hurry!”

  To her sister’s credit, she raced away without arguing. Aphenglow continued ahead to the next watchtower, pulled open its heavy wooden door, and started down the winding stairs.

  Federation soldiers were inside! The safety of the Keep was compromised and Paranor was at risk!

  The words screamed in her mind, harsh and insistent, demanding she do something. She wondered how far inside the enemy had penetrated. She wondered what their orders were. At the very least they would try to open one of the four sets of main gates to let the others in. Her hands tightened on the walking staff as she limped from step to step, her senses attuned to the silence of the tower’s dark interior. She heard sounds of movement, soft and furtive, from below. The soldiers were moving about in the hallways, settling themselves in place, waiting until all were inside before trying to reach the gates. How many would she have to face alone? How many would she have to stop?

  Her leg began to ache, and she realized she was tense and stiff and forced herself to relax. She found herself wishing Bombax were there. Or Cymrian. Maybe Cymrian even more, so cool and collected and seemingly always prepared. But they were both elsewhere, and she couldn’t depend on either of them.

  She eased her way to the bottom of the winding stairway and stopped again in the lower entry. Passageways branched both left and right, but it was from the latter’s dark interior that she heard the faint sound of movements. She realized that she was between the west gates and the soldiers—and they were advancing toward her, creeping through the shadows and hoping not to be discovered until it was too late.

  She would have to stop them here.

  She glanced around quickly. There were no interior doors on these passageways. Quick movement from one tower to the next was important, and so the corridors were kept open. The point was to stop an enemy before it got inside. Interior doors were more an obstacle to a defender than a help. Given that the Keep’s walls had been breached only once before in its two-thousand-year history, it was hard to argue with the reasoning.

  But now it had happened a second time, and Aphenglow wished she had at least one door she could put between herself and the invaders.

  They were getting closer.

  She tried to think what to do. She wanted to keep them contained in the narrow passageways of the Outer Wall where they couldn’t spread out to the inner Keep. If they got into the courtyard, they would be all over the place.

  The tower room was too confining to use the magic she would need to hold back the men pouring into the walls, but she had no choice. Going outside meant giving them a better chance to get behind her and reach the gates. She backed into the shadows of the next corridor, giving herself a clear view of the tower chamber and thereby a window of vision large enough to see the men she knew were coming.

  Then she waited.

  Drust Chazhul hunkered down in the forest just beyond the west wall, watching his soldiers cross the open space to where the tiny service door gaped open to admit them. Stoon was crouched at his side, the two of them counting heads as the soldiers disappeared inside.

  “Good as his word,” he observed softly.

  “Always has been.” Stoon was watching the top of the wall intently, scanning it end-to-end, searching for signs of the Druid Guard. “He’s clever, that one.”

  Another two or three soldiers had made it inside. That made it more than thirty now. They had brought fifty, thinking that would be more than enough to force at least one of the main gates. They had left the rest of the army at the south gate as a diversion. A second force was hidden in the trees behind them waiting to enter when the west gate was opened by the advance party. It should happen quickly once all fifty were inside.

  “Don’t forget,” Drust said. “I want the Elessedil girl alive.”

  Stoon shrugged. “Why bother? You’ll just kill her anyway.”

  “Maybe not. After my soldiers have reminded her that insolence has a cost, I might still send her back to her grandfather.”

  The assassin gave him a look. “Kill her and be done with it. You don’t want to play games in this business.”

  Drust turned away. “When are you going in?”

  “In a litt
le while. No need to rush things.”

  They went silent, watching as the last of the advance force disappeared through the doorway. On the walls above, nothing moved and no one appeared.

  “I think I’ll move over to the west gate and wait there.” Drust was restless, impatient. “I want to be there when it opens.” He rose, looked down at Stoon and smiled. “It’s almost here. The end of the Druids and their precious Keep. The end of their magic. And I will have been the one who brought them down.”

  Stoon was tempted to suggest it was a little early to celebrate, but he managed to hold his tongue.

  When the first of the Federation soldiers crept out of the corridor across from where she was hiding, Aphenglow was ready for them. Her magic summoned, she let the first three attackers get clear of the opening and then stepped into view. The soldiers reacted at once, bringing up their weapons and rushing at her. But the Druid magic slammed into them and threw them back against their fellows, clogging the passageway with screaming, cursing men.

  She didn’t wait for them to untangle themselves, but went after them immediately. Shielding herself with magic spun from one hand, she attacked with magic thrown from her other—a heavy, weighted blow that crashed into all the soldiers she could see and flattened them in their tracks. The corridor became a madhouse, the shock of what had happened stopping the advance completely, forcing those still able to retreat. Those at the forefront of the strike yelled to their comrades to fall back. There were more doors farther down, Aphen knew, but at least they were farther away from the west gate.

  Fair enough.

  She went out the tower door, stepping into the open courtyard beyond, searching for the help she expected to find.

  No one was there.

  She stood where she was for a moment, shocked and confused. Where were Paranor’s defenders?

  Then she heard shouts and cries from somewhere on the other side of the Keep, and realized that the real battle was being fought elsewhere. She wanted to rush over to find out what was happening, but that would mean abandoning her defense of the west gate, which she knew would be a big mistake.