by Terry Brooks
Still, it would all be for nothing if the Moric did not accomplish what it had been sent to do. The human Dunsidan was the key. The Moric hadn’t known as much when it had come to this city, its plans not yet fully formed, its intent for the most part to find a way to make use of its human disguise.
But yesterday it had discovered the project the human Dunsidan had sought to keep secret. It had learned of the weapon he had built and the hopes he harbored of using it against other humans. The Moric had watched as the man in charge played with the crystals. It had watched as Dunsidan used the weapon, burning through thick metal, twisting and destroying entire slabs in seconds. There was something of interest. The human thought to use the weapon as a tool of war. The Moric was not so shortsighted.
The city was sleeping, and the Moric was able to pass freely down its streets and alleyways. The few humans it encountered never saw it. It climbed the walls or hid in the darkness and waited for them to pass. It could have killed them easily and would have enjoyed doing so, but it was there for a different purpose and would not allow itself to be distracted. Its value lay not only in its adaptability, but also in its single-minded determination. There would be plenty of time for killing humans later, when its task was complete.
When it reached the entrance to its hiding place, it glanced around to be certain it was alone before going down through the grates. The smells of the sewer were sweet and welcome, and it hastened to reach the cold, dark catacombs through which they tunneled. It was the one place in that wretched world that reminded it of its own. It could feel at peace there. It could find comfort. One day, it promised, everything would be just like that.
The darkness was thick and deep beneath the earth, within the tunnels, and the Moric found a shelf submerged in several inches of fetid water and sewage and settled down to sleep.
TEN
They were still miles away when Grianne saw the fortress for the first time. It sat on a plateau that fell away hundreds of feet from a huge mountainside. Silhouetted against the empty horizon, black and stark within a swirling mix of gray mist and low-hung clouds, the fortresses’ towers and parapets jutted sharp and hard-edged from the mottled rock as if they had blossomed like a cancer.
It was a huge, sprawling complex. She stared at it from the bed of straw on which she lay, her chains clanking softly as she rolled and swayed with the pitch of the wagon in which she was caged. They were moving in the direction of the fortress, and she felt certain that it was their destination. Whoever had made her a prisoner would be waiting there. She contemplated what that might mean as the strange caravan rolled on, the bull beasts snorting and huffing from their exertions, the wolves surging past in flashes of gray ruff and snarling muzzles, the creaking of ironbound wheels and leather harness mingling with the staccato snapping of whips and the odd croaking of wagon drivers she could not see. Dust filled the air, thick and choking, and she smelled its dryness and age. It made her choke, and she buried her face in her shoulder to breathe. Her body ached from being shackled, and her head throbbed from the ingestion of grit and the stench of the animals.
Once, when she was looking in the right direction, she saw the strange creature that seemed in charge of the little procession, its oddly elongated face peering in at her, topknot of coarse black hair swaying with its steps, bearded face intense and bright-eyed with interest. It did not speak to her as it had the first time it had approached, merely studied her a moment before moving on.
Exhausted and sick at heart, she dozed for a time, and when she woke again they were climbing a long, winding ramp that led to the fortress. It looked even bigger by then, looming up in a cluster of peaked roofs and crenellated walls, blacker than the soot of a wet fire and sharper-edged than a throwing knife. She sat up, bracing herself against the pitch and roll of the wagon, looking up the rampway to where a pair of massive, ironbound gates had opened to admit them. Creatures that reminded her of Weka Dart in the way they carried themselves scurried about on the tops of the walls and along the ramp itself, the metal of their weapons and armor glinting dully. The fortress was heavily defended, whoever its lord, and the only approach seemed to be up the fully exposed ramp.
She was reminded suddenly of Tyrsis, Callahorn’s great fortress in the Four Lands. This keep could be a mirror of that one, and she suspected that it was situated on the same plateau in this world as Tyrsis was in her own. The similarities surprised her, and yet she knew that in the divergence of separate histories, some things would work out much the same. The use of geography in choosing natural positions of defense would surely be one.
The gates swallowed them up and closed behind them with a booming sound. Then there were faces all around her, sharp-featured and hungry looking, fringed in coarse hair and dominated by flat noses and pointed ears. Goblins, she realized, though she had never seen one. They had been banished into the Forbidding in the time of Faerie, she had read in the Druid Histories. Some of them grinned unpleasantly, revealing sharp, pointed teeth and black gums. They reached through the bars to touch her. The wolves snarled and snapped angrily at them, as if protecting a meal they would soon enjoy. The drivers she couldn’t see flicked their whips and croaked. The air was filled with raucous sounds and fetid smells and, even inside the walls of the keep, clouds of dust.
The caravan rolled to a halt at a central tower, one ringed with walls that were spiked and barbed atop their parapets and through which the mouths of spear launchers protruded like serpent tongues. A flurry of activity announced their arrival as dozens more of the Goblins surrounded the wagons, some bearing lengths of rope and chain attached to slip-nooses and clamps and some bearing weapons. Grianne could no longer hear the snarls of the wolves; presumably the huge beasts had been locked outside the last wall they had passed through, their task as herders complete.
The creature with the topknot reappeared, coming out of the Goblin throng to unlock and open the door to her cage. She stood quietly as her keeper entered, thinking that if it got close enough, she might break its neck. But it kept its distance once inside, staying just out of her reach, working instead on the chains that held her fast, releasing them one at a time from the cage walls and passing the ends over to groups of Goblins waiting to receive them. It all seemed well rehearsed and smoothly accomplished, and she was given no opportunity to resist.
So she remained calm and let them do what they chose. She could wait. Her gag was left in place and her irons kept locked as she was led down out of the wagon. She was aware that her jailers held the chains taut so that she could be yanked over quickly if she tried to make a sudden move. It seemed clear to her that any effort at reaching for the gag in her mouth would trigger such a response. She couldn’t know if they were aware of the wishsong’s power and so were keeping her gagged because of it or if they were simply warding against the possibility of her employing any combination of utterances and gestures that might trigger an onslaught of magic.
She glanced once at the drivers of the wagons and found them to be creatures that resembled huge toads, perched on their seats with their hind legs tucked under them, short forearms gripping the reins to the bull beasts, widemouthed heads hunched forward, lidded eyes fixed and staring. They made no move to climb down off the seats. They gave no indication that they had any interest at all in what was happening around them.
She saw that the cages ahead of and behind her were empty. She was the only object of transport.
The creature with the topknot appeared directly in front of her, its strange face blank and its flat eyes staring. It beckoned for her to follow, and she was assisted by the Goblins, who tugged none too gently on her chains to let her know what was required, allowing her to move but keeping her just the other side of being off balance. She straddle-walked after and through them, doing what was required of her, biding her time because that was all she could do.
Ahead of her, massive doors opened to the outer wall of the tower they had drawn up to, and she was led inside. The wall was
several feet thick, and its doors were cross-braced with massive timbers and iron bars. Inside, the courtyard was barren and empty of life, a killing ground between the first wall and a second of equally imposing girth. Murder holes overlooked the entryway from walls and gatehouses on both sides. Topknot walked ahead, moving toward a second set of doors. The Goblins followed, half-dragging her with them.
The second set of doors opened into a large room ablaze with torchlight. A single stairway wound down out of the darkness ahead; it was the only other entry into the room. The air was cool and damp, and slicks of water shimmered on the floor and stained the walls. Chains hung from iron rings all about the room; at its center sat a chair similarly equipped. A torture room, Grianne decided, and she shivered involuntarily. At Topknot’s direction, the Goblins moved her over to one wall, spread her legs, and fastened her ankle irons to rings embedded in the stone. Then a heavy leather belt was cinched tightly about her waist, and her wrists were chained to rings in the belt so that she could not lift her arms more than a few inches on either side.
Her mind raced. Had they brought her all this way just to kill her? Did they plan to torture her for information? She closed her eyes momentarily, and when she opened them again, the Goblins were on their knees, Topknot had gone into a deep bow, and the lord of the keep was coming down the stairway.
She knew it for a demon right away, though not one she recognized. It was big, taller than she was, and broad through the shoulders. It walked upright like a man and in general was proportioned as one, though the resemblance ended there. Its skin was black and spiky, with clusters of spines sticking out everywhere except its face, which was flat and devoid of expression, its features buried so completely that at first glance it seemed possessed only of cold blue eyes that fixed on her with glittering intensity. It wore no clothes, but an assortment of bladed weapons was strapped about its body, some shaped in ways she had never seen. In one hand it carried a strange collar.
When it got to within ten feet, it stopped and held out the collar. Topknot appeared as if by magic to take it, walked over to Grianne, and fastened it securely about her neck. Once it was in place, the angular creature looked back at its master.
“What you wear is called a conjure collar,” said the demon that had brought it. To her surprise, it spoke in a language she recognized. “If you attempt to use your magic, it will cause you sufficient pain to make you wish you hadn’t. If you disobey me in any way, it will punish you. Nod if you understand me.”
She nodded. Topknot removed the gag. She coughed and spit to rid herself of the dryness and dust that were in her throat. Topknot studied her thoughtfully, then released the ankle chains as well.
“Get down on your knees and bow to me,” the demon said.
She wasn’t sure she had heard right and she stared in disbelief. The expressionless face looked away, and one clawed hand gestured languidly. Excruciating pain exploded all through her, radiating out from the collar like strands of barbed wire into her throat, her body, and her limbs. She screamed at the assault, unable to stop. Clutching herself, she dropped to her knees and lowered her head toward the demon.
“You will speak only when told to,” it said. “Nod if you understand.”
She nodded at once. The conjure collar no longer tore at her, but the pain lingered in small waves that rose and fell with every breath she took. She gasped with the effort required to endure it.
“When you speak to me, you will address me as Master. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded.
“Would you like some water? You may answer.”
Her jaw clenched in fury. “Yes, Master.”
“Give her water, Hobstull.” The demon’s mouth was a thin, lipless opening on the lower half of its flat, empty face. Its voice was raw and hoarse, suggestive of damage sustained by its vocal cords. There was no tonal inflection or hint of emotion.
Topknot brought her a cup filled with water that tasted of metal and smelled of swamp, but she drank it anyway. When she was finished, he backed away at once. She looked around. The Goblins had faded away. She was alone with Hobstull and the master of the keep.
“Do you know where you are?” the latter asked. “You may answer.”
She nodded. The demon waved dismissively, and pain ratcheted through her once more, dropping her into a fetal position, where she lay moaning and sobbing. The demon studied her impassively, then came forward a step.
“Answer me as you have been taught. I want to hear you speak the words you were told to speak.”
She squeezed her eyes shut against her humiliation and rage, fighting to keep from breaking down completely. “Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“Do you know where you are? You may answer.”
“Inside the Forbidding, Master.” She opened her eyes again and looked up.
“Inside the world of the Jarka Ruus,” the demon corrected softly. “Where I brought you to live.”
She barely heard it; her head was buzzing with the aftereffects of the conjure collar’s pain. The demon beckoned to Hobstull, who moved to fill the water cup once more, then hauled her to her knees so that she could drink again of the foul-tasting water. She accepted his gift wordlessly.
“You may thank me,” the demon said.
She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Master.”
The demon nodded. “Hobstull is not pleased with you. You made him work much harder than he intended when he left here three days ago. You made him feel inadequate. He is my Catcher, my finder and keeper of specimens. He is the one you must rely on for food and drink, so you don’t want to upset him.”
She looked briefly at Hobstull, who stared back at her with the same inquisitive look he had displayed earlier.
“Hobstull uses traps meant to lure his quarry by sounds, sights, and smells that speak to their deepest needs. He is very good at it. I have acquired many specimens as a result of his cleverness and perseverance. You are the latest and perhaps the most important. But you are still only a specimen. Do you understand?”
A specimen. She kept the anger from her face and voice with an effort. “Yes, Master.”
“Good.” The blue eyes glittered. “I am Tael Riverine, Straken Lord of Kraal Reach. I rule here. I rule everything from the Dragon Line north to the Quince south, from Huka Flats west to Brockenthrog Weir east. I rule you. Learn to accept this. I am your master, now and forever.”
A pause. “Do you understand, Grianne Ohmsford, once Ard Rhys of the Druids?”
She felt her heart sink. She had been hoping desperately that her capture was by chance and not by design, that she would have a chance to gain her freedom after her captor’s interest in her waned. But if the demon knew who she was, she was there because it had intended to bring her there, and there was no longer any chance of being set free.
“Yes, Master,” she managed.
It saw the look on her face. “You didn’t listen closely enough to what I said earlier, did you? You weren’t paying attention.”
She cringed in spite of herself, anticipating another rush of pain.
“I said that you are inside the world of the Jarka Ruus, that I brought you here to live. You are here because of me. You are here because I wished it to be so. Think back to your own world, to your visit to the ruins of the Skull Kingdom, where once the Warlock Lord ruled. Think back to the fires that ignited and burned without reason. Think back to the face you saw in those fires when you tried to probe them with your magic.”
She knew at once what the demon was telling her. She remembered it all, especially the face that had appeared in the flames, coming out of hiding just long enough for her to see its features clearly.
It was this face. It was the face of the Straken Lord.
“You remember now, don’t you?” the demon said. “Good.” It gestured. “Get on your knees again and bow to me.”
She did so, a chill settling through her as she realized how deeply in trouble she was.
“Take
her, Hobstull,” the Straken Lord ordered.
Without bothering to wait, the demon turned away and disappeared up the stairs into the gloom.
Hobstull walked over to where she knelt, clipped a fresh chain to a ring on the belt about her waist, and pulled her back to her feet. His eyes studied her for a moment, and then he tugged on the chain to indicate she was to follow. Moving to a heavy iron door concealed under the stairs, Hobstull led her through the opening and down a flight of worn, water-stained stone steps that lay beyond. She followed docilely, intent on conserving what was left of her strength for a time when she could put it to better use. She was thinking about her predicament. What she had been told by the shade of the Warlock Lord was confirmed. She was inside the Forbidding because the Straken Lord had arranged for a handful of Druids who hated her to be swayed into using magic that would put her here. Mostly, she was there because by being there something else had been set free. The Straken Lord hadn’t admitted to it, but she was certain from what the shade of Brona had told her that it was so.
Yet it wasn’t the Straken Lord that had crossed over into her world in response to the magic that had brought her here, but another demon, one she still knew nothing about.
Why hadn’t the Straken Lord gone itself? Was the real purpose of the exchange to bring her in or to send the other demon out? The key to understanding everything was buried in the answer to that question.
At the bottom of the stairs, Hobstull turned back along a row of thick wooden doors into which tiny eye slits had been cut. As they passed those slits, she heard sounds emanating from within. Once or twice, blackened digits poked out tentatively, as if sampling her taste on the air she stirred in passing. Torches burned on the walls, creating a thick, smoky haze all along the corridor. Fresh air wafted down stone vents from somewhere above, but not enough to dispel the haze. The flames flickered and sputtered from the pitch-coated heads of the torches, casting her shadow against the stone walls as she passed. Not a place from which many escape, she thought.