by Terry Brooks
Pen bit his lip in frustration. They were trapped.
Khyber Elessedil crouched with Tagwen on the roof of a building some fifty yards back from the south gates. Both wore dark robes drawn close and hoods pulled up. They hid behind a half-wall facade that rose in front of them, situated where they could see and hear what was about to happen.
Kermadec stood on the ramparts above the south gates, surrounded by a squad of huge Trolls wearing body armor and insignia-crested helmets. The Maturen was watching as the Druid airships—their flags clearly visible now—formed a line just beyond the outer wall, intimidating black hulks hanging over the village like birds of prey. There was an unmistakable arrogance to their positioning, as if they were disdainful of anything the villagers might try to do to harm them. No attempt was being made to suggest that this was a friendly visit. Kermadec had been right: The Druids had come to threaten.
After the foremost airship had dropped almost to the ground, a single Druid descended the rope ladder and walked forward. He was a big man, and as he approached, he lowered his hood to reveal his face, a gesture clearly meant to identify himself to the Trolls.
“Traunt Rowan,” Tagwen whispered to Khyber. “One of Shadea’s bunch.”
She watched the Southlander come almost to the gates before stopping, his eyes fixing on the Trolls standing atop them.
“Kermadec?” he called, his voice clearly audible in the near silence.
“I’m here, Traunt Rowan,” the Maturen called back.
“Open your gates to us.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then bring out the boy, Pen Ohmsford, and you do not need to. Just the boy. The others can remain, if you want them to.”
“You are a bold man, coming into our country and making demands as if it were your own.” Kermadec’s voice had taken on a decided edge. “You might want to give some thought to where you stand before you say anything else.”
“Is the boy here?”
“What boy?”
There was a measured silence. “You are a fool to challenge us, Kermadec.”
“The only fool I see is the one who serves Shadea a’Ru. The only fool I see is the one who betrayed the Ard Rhys in a way so foul and indefensible that it will surely lead to his destruction. Don’t threaten me, Traunt Rowan! Don’t threaten the Trolls of Taupo Rough! We were the defenders of the Druids for almost twenty years, before this dark time in your history, and we will one day be defenders of the Druids again. We know enough about you to be able to challenge you, if that is what is required. Turn your ships around and fly out of here while you still can. Don’t mistake where you are.”
Traunt Rowan folded his arms. “We have the boy’s parents, Kermadec. We know that Ahren Elessedil is dead. You have no one who will stand with you in this. You are alone.”
Khyber and Tagwen exchanged a quick, shocked glance. The Druids had Bek Ohmsford and his wife? How had that happened?
“He’s lying,” Tagwen hissed.
“Alone?” Kermadec laughed. “The Trolls are always alone. It is a condition of life to which we are not only accustomed, but one that we prefer. Threats of the sort you seem intent on making don’t frighten us. If you have the parents, you don’t need the boy, do you? Can the parents not give you everything you need? What is it that you need, by the way? You haven’t said. What is it that a boy can give you that his parents can’t? You speak as if you know, but I think, in fact, you don’t. Explain yourself, and maybe I can be persuaded to do as you say.”
Traunt Rowan stood unmoving on the flats, dark and solitary, anger radiating off him like heat. “We are to raze your village and kill you all, Kermadec, if you resist us. Those are my orders. I have brought Gnome Hunters to carry out those orders. I have brought Mutens, as well. Do you wish your village and people destroyed? Is that your intent?”
Kermadec seemed to be thinking it over. “My intent, Traunt Rowan,” he said finally, his rough voice so dark with menace that Khyber immediately tensed, “is to see you and your raiders and your airships consumed by the fires of the netherworld that spawned you.”
His arm swept up. Instantly, a hail of fire-tipped arrows arced out of the village and fell all across the flats beyond. In the next instant the flats exploded in gouts of fire that spread quickly down concealed channels in a crisscross pattern that blanketed the earth for two hundred yards. The flames leapt so high that one of the airships caught fire and was consumed immediately, the fire spreading up the bottom of its hull to find added fuel in yards of light sheaths strapped to its gunwales. The ship heaved in response to the blaze that consumed it, tried futilely to rise into the sky, then shuddered, blew apart, and fell in ruins onto the flats.
The other airships were backing away by then, powered up in response to the threat and lifting swiftly beyond the reach of the flames. Traunt Rowan had gone into a protective crouch, hands moving, his Druid magic sweeping about him. Now he, too, backed away, avoiding the flames as best he could, shielded well enough that he didn’t seem threatened. His black robes swirled about him in a wind generated by the sudden heat as he reached an open spot, caught hold of the rope ladder once more, and began to climb.
The Trolls of Taupo Rough were attacking the airships using catapults now. The wooden machines were mounted all along the ramparts, their cradles flinging huge rocks through the smoke-filled air with deadly precision. Several found their marks, smashing through the hulls and sails of the airships, leaving gaping holes and ragged tears in the wood and fabric. One brought down a mast, collapsing it onto the deck and sending the airship into a spin that took it out of the fight.
The Gnome Hunters aboard the ships fought back with crossbows and slings, filling the sky with a cloud of deadly missiles. But the arrows and stones fell harmlessly, bouncing off heavy armor and rock walls and doing little damage to the well-protected Trolls.
For a moment, it seemed as if the battle was over almost before it had begun. The entire south end of the flats was on fire, grasses and scrub and whatever was in those trenches and holes burning fiercely. The Druid airships were in retreat, those not already down vanishing beyond the flames and smoke. Traunt Rowan had disappeared with them, his flagship turned about with the others.
But already Kermadec was coming down off the ramparts and signaling to his men to do the same. In dark, bulky knots, they began to retreat through the village toward the cliffs. Khyber and Tagwen climbed down from their hiding place, casting anxious glances toward the flats, where fresh trouble would appear. They had just gotten to the ground when Kermadec came charging up to them.
“We have to find that boy!” he snapped, turning momentarily to yell something to the Trolls charging past. “If we lose him now, this will all have been for nothing! Where do we look?”
“He might have found his way to the cliffs,” Tagwen suggested quickly. “He might not need finding.”
“I would have heard, if he were there. I left word to be informed when he showed himself. No, Bristle Beard, he’s still out here in the village somewhere.”
As they tried frantically to come up with something that would help, Khyber threw off the heavy concealing cloak, which was now more hindrance than help. As she did so, her fingers brushed across the small bulk of the Elfstones. She jammed her hand into her pocket and yanked them out. Now that the Druids had located them, there was no reason not to call upon the magic.
“I know how to find him,” she said, dumping the blue stones into her palm. “Stand away from me.”
They did so at once, neither choosing to question her command. Eyes closed, she retreated into her calming center, reaching for the magic. Ahren had trained her in that approach, so the effort was almost second nature. Even the presence of the Elfstone magic was no longer entirely unfamiliar after the Slags, and she recognized the sudden flush of heat that rose in response to her summons. Tendrils of life pulsed from her hand through her body, then back again, gathering speed and power, building in intensity. The magic
of the Stones filled her, a wash of power finding a welcome home. She let it happen, left herself open to its need.
The blue light burst from the Elfstones and shot through the village streets and buildings, through stone and timbers, power that solid materials could not contain. The vision formed and tightened, and the three who watched saw them appear in the haze, the boy and the Rover girl, crouched in the shadow of a darkened tunnel.
“The amphitheater!” Kermadec shouted, and despite the encumbering weight of his massive armor, he began to run.
Pen Ohmsford had waited just an instant too long to make his break from the tunnel. When the fighting started, he stayed where he was, Cinnaminson close beside him, as fire erupted from outside the village walls in huge gouts and then catapults began launching boulders and Gnome Hunters retaliated with slings and crossbows. A hail of missiles clattered against the stone of the walls and buildings outside their hiding place, and the boy did not dare chance a break without better protection.
Then, abruptly, the fighting stopped as clouds of dark smoke rolled across the flats and began to seep into the village as well. Still Pen hesitated, unsure. He counted off twenty seconds, then took Cinnaminson’s hand and pulled her after him.
“Run!” he ordered, breaking for the open street.
But the instant he showed himself, the huge bulk of an airship hove into view, slicing through the screen of smoke and flames. Gnome Hunters crowded the gunwales, crossbows and slings firing at everything that moved. Out in the open and unprotected, the boy and the Rover girl were instant targets. A flurry of darts whipped past them, striking the stone walls in a cacophony of tiny, violent explosions. One sliced through Pen’s ribs, spinning him around. Another struck him in the arm and sent him sprawling against the closest wall.
“Pen, what’s happening?” Cinnaminson cried, crouching on her hands and knees in the dirt, her face frantic with confusion and fear. Sling stones clattered all around her like hail.
“Get up!” he screamed, hauling her back to her feet, blood running down his arm and side. “Run!”
Searching for any sort of shelter that would deflect the deadly missiles, he tried to shield her as he pulled her after him. It seemed as if they were the only ones left in the village, the streets and buildings empty and the inhabitants all safely inside the tunnels and caves. But where were the tunnels? In what direction? Smoke obscured everything, and he had gotten turned around completely in his effort to escape.
A tiny alcove at the back of a building offered temporary shelter, and he shoved Cinnaminson inside, both of them gasping and bloodied.
I’m going to get us killed! he screamed at himself. What am I supposed to do?
Overhead, the Druid warship was swinging back around, searching for movement. They were safe for the moment, but trapped. Sooner or later, those Gnome Hunters would land and begin a search of the buildings. They couldn’t stay where they were. They had to get out of there.
“Penderrin!” a familiar voice boomed, causing the boy to jump.
“Kermadec! We’re here!”
He yanked Cinnaminson from their shelter and began to run toward the sound of the Rock Troll’s voice, hugging the walls that best protected them as they went. Overhead, the smoke was building in thick black clouds, and the airship was a massive shadow wrapped in its haze. The Gnome Hunters were still firing blindly into the village, and the boy could feel bolts and arrows whistle past him as he ran.
Then Kermadec appeared in front of them, a huge armored behemoth. Without slowing, he snatched them up like children, tucking one under each arm. “Can’t afford to lose you now,” he said, pounding ahead like a great beast of burden. “Hold tight.”
Gripped by one massive arm like a sack of grain, bouncing up and down with each footfall, Pen felt as if his eyes were going to be shaken loose from his head, but on balance he decided that was a small price to pay for being rescued. He closed his eyes to steady himself and waited patiently for the bouncing to stop.
FIFTEEN
When Kermadec set them down again, Pen and Cinnaminson were safely inside the caves that formed the Rock Troll fortress in the cliffs above the village. He had carried them in through an entrance concealed in the rocks, bundled them up a set of narrow stone steps to a door that opened after he’d manipulated various jagged outcroppings, then deposited them where they could spend a few moments regaining their equilibrium.
“We thought no one was coming,” Cinnaminson offered, her face pale and her honey hair disheveled and coated with dust.
“Oh, it only took finding out where you were,” the big Troll replied cheerfully. His strange, flat face glanced at her briefly. “You can thank the Elf girl for that. She had the magic, some blue gems that showed an image of you hiding in the tunnel of the Gathering Place.”
The Elfstones, Pen thought. He had forgotten them entirely. But of course she can use them now, when there is no longer any reason to guard against revealing our presence.
“I remembered Cinnaminson and went back for her,” Pen said. “But then after I found her, I got lost.”
“Easy enough to do in our streets, young Penderrin. They were constructed to get you lost, if you weren’t one of us. No need to say anything more about it. You’re safe now, and that’s what matters.”
He released the locks on a concealed door and pulled it open to admit them to the safehold. Inside, it was controlled chaos of the same sort that Pen had experienced in the village on the approach of the Druid warships. Trolls bustled in all directions, each with a seemingly different task to accomplish. The chamber was huge, a monstrous cavern fully fifty feet high and more than a hundred across. Dozens of tunnels led away to places the boy could not see for the twists and turns in the corridors. But the openings to the left of where they stood formed a series of fortified redoubts in the cliff wall above Taupo Rough. Sunlight slanted through these overlooks in bright streamers, chasing back the shadows. Smaller cracks and crevices in the stone of the cliff wall admitted additional light. The combination of sunlit openings gave the chamber a peculiarly dappled look, but one that allowed the inhabitants to see clearly.
Kermadec refastened the locks on the concealed door, then added a pair of huge bars that slipped into iron cradles to further seal the entry. “That should keep out any unwanted visitors,” he declared, brushing off his hands. He glanced around. “Come with me.”
He led them to the left, to one of the redoubts, motioning the workers aside and moving to the edge of a thick protective wall of stone blocks that all but closed off the entry. He beckoned the boy and the girl forward and, when they were standing beside him at the fortifications, pointed outside. “I know you can’t see what’s out there, Rover girl, but young Penderrin can describe it to you in detail later. It’s what’s been sent to bring him back.”
The Druid airships had repositioned just outside the walls of the village, hovering not far off the ground, but well back from the possibility of catapult attacks that might be launched from the cliffs. Dozens of Gnome Hunters were scurrying down rope ladders and up to the village walls, some carrying battering rams, some grappling hooks and ropes. They were already scaling the walls and forcing the gates. Behind them lumbered several dozen creatures that looked as if they had been fashioned from wet mud hardened by the sun, creatures that resembled Trolls but lacked the proper proportions and features, as if someone had concocted a batch of poor imitations. “Mutens,” Pen whispered.
“Our worst enemies. No brains, no feelings, no purpose. They are one step above rocks on the evolutionary ladder. Magic controls them easily. In the old days, it was the Warlock Lord who controlled them. Now it is our Druid adversaries. The Ard Rhys would weep.”
He gestured toward the flats. “Those explosions earlier? We used oil culled from the darker regions of the Malg, capped in barrels and buried in the ground. Highly flammable. The Druids weren’t expecting that. It gave us a chance to get safely away, once we knew that a fight was our only recourse
. But that’s all the advantage we get from down there. We fight now from up here, in our redoubt, for today at least.”
He touched their shoulders and led them back into the cavern. “By tomorrow, we’ll be gone from here. I need to make ready for our departure, and you need to rest.” He searched the cavern for a moment, then shouted. “Atalan!”
A burly troll with the blackest eyes Pen had ever seen lumbered up to them. His dark gaze shifted from Kermadec to the boy and girl, then back again. “I have work to do.”
“Now you have new work to do. Take young Penderrin and his friend and find their companions. Take them to one of the upper chambers. See that they all have something to eat and drink and a place to sleep. They will leave at first light. I’ll select their escort.”
The other Troll stepped closer. “What about me, Kermadec? Am I to go?”
His voice was rough and surly; he made it sound more like a demand than a request. Kermadec gave him a long, measured look. “I will give it some thought.”
Then he turned back to Pen and Cinnaminson. “Atalan will see to it that you are made comfortable. The three of you should get along fine. You are all the same age, if not the same temperament.”
He walked away without looking back, leaving the three staring after him. Atalan shook his head. “He treats me like a child. Who does he think he is?”
Neither Pen nor Cinnaminson was about to attempt an answer to that one, so they kept quiet. Pen was thinking they might have been better off if Kermadec had left them on their own. Atalan was still staring after the Maturen. Then he seemed to remember his charges. He gave them a cursory look and shrugged. “Come with me.”
He led them through the main chamber to a set of steps cut into the rock and from there upstairs to a new level. He didn’t speak for a time, trudging ahead with the movements of one resigned to a fate he didn’t deserve. When they reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back at them.