by Terry Brooks
By the time she found him, she was already halfway around the island of pines and rocks she had been skirting, having kept a wary distance from the debris even though she did not think there would be another explosion. He had returned to his human form and was lying sprawled on the ground amid clumps of saw grass and wildflowers. She knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. He stirred as she did so and gave a low moan. There were blood tracks and raw patches at various places on his body where the skin had been burned away, but no obvious bone breaks or deep wounds.
His eyes opened. “I told you…”
“Stop,” she interrupted quickly. “Don’t say it. I was worried your injuries were serious. Are you all right?”
He sat up, held his head in his hands. “Mostly. The greatest injury is to my pride. In the old days, I would never have let this happen.”
“What did happen, exactly?”
“A wire so thin I didn’t see it until it was too late. It appears our quarry is reasonably sophisticated about laying traps and setting explosive charges. I hadn’t thought any wires would extend so far out, but I was wrong. You’re not injured, are you?”
“No. Are you sure about yourself?”
He nodded, his lips compressing against a wash of pain. He combed back his lank, dark hair with his fingers. “Help me up.”
She put an arm around his waist and got him to his feet. He was much heavier than he looked, his rangy frame muscular and taut. She held him in place, giving him time to regain his balance and shake off his lingering dizziness.
“I didn’t mean to be naked so much of the time,” he muttered, almost to himself.
She laughed. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. But if you’d stayed a ferret, I could have carried you.”
“I can’t stay in any form but my own once I lose consciousness.” He limped ahead of her. “Let’s find my clothes.”
They made their way back to where they had started, and as he was dressing he said, “I think the airship must have come down unexpectedly or it would have continued on to wherever it was going in the first place. Maybe the winds played them false. Maybe the power drained from their diapsons, or this flier didn’t know his stuff. But he didn’t intend to come down here, I’m pretty sure.”
“How did you even know to look for him here?” she asked, still curious.
He glanced at her. “Oh, you mean what sort of special instincts do I possess that allow me to divine where people are going? None, in this instance. This was mostly common sense. Leaving Paranor through the Dragon’s Teeth by the most direct route, unless you are going north, means going through the Kennon Pass. Winds are tricky at higher altitudes otherwise, if you try to fly out. And given that our pilot lacks those skills, he’d go through the Kennon. I just decided to search in that direction, thinking it was likely he would put his camp against the base of the cliffs in a sheltered space. I still think so. I don’t know where that camp is exactly, but those tracks will lead us to it. He and his friends are afoot, so that’s where he’ll head. He doesn’t think we can follow him. He probably thinks we’re dead if he heard the explosion.”
“So you were playing a hunch?”
“You don’t think hunches are a good idea?”
“Kind of chancy when there is a whole country to disappear into. What if you were wrong?”
“How about this, then? Our kidnapper’s path through the treetops, where he scraped several dozen branches trying to get out, revealed his airship’s course pretty clearly. You have to assume he wasn’t trying to lead us astray at that point, but that is an assumption I am willing to make.”
She nodded doubtfully. “But how can you be sure about any of this since he crashed? Can you track his footprints?”
He shrugged. “We’re about to find out.”
—
They continued on to the airship with little conversation. Imric asked again if she was all right, apparently worried that she had somehow been injured and was keeping it to herself. Perhaps, she thought, because that was what he would do. His life of secrecy had shaped his character, and what he knew to be true about himself he probably saw frequently in others, whether it was there or not. He stumbled a bit as they went, and she could tell he was still not completely himself. But he seemed to get stronger, and by the time they had reached the two-man he was fully recovered.
“All right, then,” he said, turning to face her. “Another change is required, which means we will have to tether again. I’m not sure exactly what’s happened, and I won’t know until we catch up with whoever made the two sets of footprints. I have to track them on the ground, and you have to follow me in the airship. We can’t afford to leave it behind; we will almost certainly need it again before this is over.”
“Do you think we can catch up to Chrysallin today? How far ahead is she?”
He shook his head. “I can’t be sure it’s Chrysallin we’re tracking. Although,” he added hastily, “I can’t imagine it isn’t. More to the point, I don’t know the nature or identity of those who took her. At least one of them is pretty clever with explosives and traps, so I have to be prepared for the worst. I’m choosing a form that allows for that.”
“What form will you take?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I need something that possesses both tracking and defensive skills—a big, strong creature that can run and evade, one with stamina and heart. A predator, in other words. I will change into a Parsk wolf.”
She recognized the name. These were big, powerful animals from the deep Eastland, fierce enough to stand against a koden. They were named for the region that had birthed them, the Parsk Valley, deep inside the Rock Spur north of the High Bens. She had never seen one, but she had heard stories about how dangerous they were.
“You know of them?” he asked, seeing the look on her face. “Well, then, you understand the need. There is no better combination of tracker and fighter, no creature more suited to what we require than a Parsk wolf. But Parsk wolves are unpredictable creatures, and I have to be wary about losing control once I change. Its temperament and emotional instability may be too much for me. So you will need to keep close watch and bring me back at once if you sense anything at all going wrong.”
“Not to question your judgment, but what if you’re wrong about this? What if it turns out you can’t control yourself once you change? What if I’m not strong enough to save you?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “But you are. I wouldn’t be doing this otherwise. So now that you know what’s going to happen, let’s get on with it. We have to cover as much ground as possible before it gets dark.”
Without waiting for her response, he stripped off his clothes once more and stowed them in the pilot box. Then he stepped away. “Climb back into the two-man and lift off. Once you’re away, I’ll make the change. No sense in taking chances.”
“Imric, no, don’t…”
But he waved her off, his features stiff and forbidding, his posture a clear indication that he was not interested in hearing further objections. She retreated to the airship, climbed into the pilot box, engaged the controls, and powered up the parse tubes.
Seconds later she was airborne, hovering thirty feet above him, watching warily as he prepared himself. He was standing there in the sunlight, scratched and bruised but somehow looking heroic. His willingness to put himself in peril was admirable if not necessarily wise. He clearly understood that this change carried special risk. To achieve what was needed to find Chrysallin, he was willing to gamble.
Or perhaps, she thought suddenly, he was actually eager for it. Without understanding why, she knew even as she completed the thought that she was right.
This shape-shifting experience was entirely different from the last. Before, it had been a more gradual, unhurried evolution as he changed from human to animal. Now it was more like an explosive reimagining. The muscles of his body rippled with an expansion of raw power, extrusions and disconnections ripping at him, bones and flesh
and blood all re-forming in a whirlwind of pulsing fury. The Parsk wolf came alive in mere seconds. It surfaced with a vengeance as if desperate for life, as if escaping a cage.
Leofur, linked by the tether, was at the center of the change. She was infused with a strong sense of the Parsk wolf’s predatory nature and savage instincts. She could feel its hunger, its urge to hunt, its willingness to kill. Its lean, muscular shape was a more proper fit for Imric’s human form than the ferret’s had been. Its formidable nature made it a suitable match for Imric’s own. She sensed the comfort he experienced in this body. She sensed that this was a creature he knew intimately, one with which he instinctively bonded.
In every way that mattered, he was the Parsk wolf.
He was down on all fours now, the wolf form complete. His broad, shaggy head swung from side to side, gimlet eyes searching. He circled in a crouch, sniffed the ground, then began loping back along the path Imric had taken earlier to where the tracks of the crashed airship’s occupants began. Watching him with a mix of excitement and horror, disturbed by his size and look and clear desire to hunt, Leofur followed. Engaging the airship thrusters, she cruised along behind him, staying safely overhead.
When they reached the tracks, the Parsk wolf began sniffing around, moving from place to place, its huge grizzled head lowered so close to the ground that at times its nose was pressed right up against the earth it searched. Leofur’s own senses were filled with what the wolf was finding—smells that were raw and dark. Its eager response felt threatening, exuding menace and a potential for explosiveness, the promise of unleashing its raw, destructive power only a heartbeat away. Leofur was already sorry she had agreed to this. She understood the danger Imric was facing, and was convinced he should have chosen a less lethal form.
Still, it was too late for second-guessing. The wolf had picked up the trail and was trotting ahead through the brush and trees at a steady pace, all grace and power and dark intent.
Stay with me. Keep me in sight. The lure of this form is very strong, and I am hungry for the feel of it.
Shades! He was already succumbing.
Imric, stop there! This is too much for you! Change back! Find another form!
Her plea went unanswered. She tried again, and his vision cut away from her, the link broken. She tracked him as best she could, all the while trying to reestablish visual contact and never finding him ready to allow for it. She lost him eventually, found him again in a flash of black-and-gray fur for a matter of seconds, and then he disappeared for good.
She flew on, doing her best to hold her course, to keep to where she thought he had gone, but blind for all intents and purposes to his progress. She could not shed the sinking feeling in her stomach, wondering if she had seen the last of him. This whole plan had been flawed from the start, weighted too much in his favor and too little in hers. He had used her. How, she was uncertain, but the feeling was there. The afternoon slipped into evening, the twilight a deep, rich purple as the sun slid below the horizon and darkness settled in.
By midnight, the sky was filled with stars, the forest below and the mountains to her left mere shadows in the darkness. She had just arrived at the deep, broad cut of the Kennon Pass when, from out of its dark reaches, disembodied and terrible, she heard his voice once more.
I have them.
It was still and misty when Miriya shook Paxon awake. He was deep in sleep, exhausted from the events of the previous day, his slumber a protective cocoon in which he had wrapped himself and from which he did not wish to emerge.
“Paxon, get up!” she hissed at him, the urgency in her voice apparent.
He opened his eyes and found her face only inches from his. “What is it?”
“We have to go. The storm is almost past and the rain is letting up. I know it’s still dark, but I don’t think we ought to linger.”
He nodded. She was right of course. Miriya’s instinct for self-protection was always front and center. She wouldn’t have survived all the struggles she’d been through if it weren’t. There would be Federation warships searching for them. Even if the storm had forced all nearby aircraft down earlier, they would be up flying again soon. If the Druids wanted to put some distance between themselves and their pursuers, and perhaps do a little something to throw them off their trail, now was the time to do it.
He climbed to his feet woodenly. “Did you sleep? What time is it?”
She gave him a look. “How would I know the time? And no, I did not sleep.”
He thought she would offer something more, but then she turned away quickly. “I have to wake the others. Get yourself up, then get everyone organized. Tell them to pack what they need, but nothing more. We have a long way to go to reach any sort of shelter and the lighter the pack, the better. Don’t drag your feet.”
He smiled, thinking she had decided to take charge whether she realized it or not. He didn’t mind. She was a Druid; he was there to serve her. She should take charge. He was already unhappy that Isaturin hadn’t done so. But Miriya was a much stronger personality than the Ard Rhys, so it didn’t surprise him that she was finally asserting herself.
“How long have you been awake?” he asked her.
Miriya shrugged. “I don’t think I slept. I couldn’t. I can’t stop thinking about what happened back in Arishaig.”
“Not much we can do about it now. We have to worry about finding a way back to Paranor.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about what’s waiting for us. You realize, don’t you, that whatever happens, the Federation is going to attack Paranor?”
Paxon stared at her. “You think it’s that certain? That they have already decided?”
“Don’t you? Those ministers and army commanders who are left, who were not killed at the conference, are among the worst of our Federation enemies. They will come after us. They will claim they want justice, but what they will really be seeking is to put an end to the Druids once and for all.”
Paxon moved close and lowered his voice. “You think this is Arcannen’s work, don’t you?”
“Of course. This bears his mark. He conceived of it, and he carried it out. I don’t know how he managed it, but he is responsible. Now go wake the others.”
Paxon left her there, brushing off stray leaves and twigs that had blown in with the storm and cinching his sword across his back as he went. The big Trolls grumbled as they rolled out of their blankets, sodden and bedraggled and looking much more dangerous than usual. Dangerous enough, in fact, that Paxon suspected that if any of them were confronted with a fight, they would welcome it.
In short order everyone was packed and ready, and they were setting out into the darkness. The cruiser had not been provisioned when they stole it, and there was no water and only a little food. They were forced to leave their dead behind. Without an airship, they had no realistic choice. Carrying them afoot would have been impossible. They covered the bodies in shallow graves, knowing they were abandoning them along with their promise to bear them home, and wondering as they did so how long it would be before any of them were left behind, too.
“Are we heading north?” he asked Miriya, standing close so no one else could hear. “Can you tell?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell anything in this darkness. No moon, no stars, no sky, no landmarks, almost no visibility. Instinct tells me this is north, but who knows? I thought maybe you could tell me. I thought maybe you might have some idea.”
He looked away. “Not as yet, I don’t.”
They were walking point. Behind them came Isaturin, Karlin Ryl, and old Consloe, and behind them the three remaining Trolls. The ground on which they walked was sodden and pocked with puddles and mud holes, some of them quite deep. Paxon worked hard to keep the little company on what solid or near-solid ground was available, but the effort slowed them considerably and limited their progress. He was furious with himself for losing the airship. He should have set down earlier. He should have ridden it out on th
e ground. He should have been smarter.
Well, that’s what you did when things went wrong. You thought about what you would do if you had that second chance you would never get.
Miriya, who had moved away a step or two while they walked, moved back again. “I don’t like how Karlin is acting,” she whispered.
Paxon forced himself to keep from looking around. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. She’s not talking, for one thing. She nods and shrugs and listens to me, but she doesn’t talk. That’s never happened before. It’s almost as if she can’t. And she’s…” Miriya hesitated. “She’s not very affectionate. She doesn’t seem to want to be…touched.”
She shook her head in reproof and exhaled sharply. “Let me try that again. It doesn’t sound right when I put it that way. It’s like, if I put a hand on her or try to hug her, she shies away. All I want to do is reassure her that everything’s fine, but she won’t allow it.”
“Maybe she’s still bothered by what happened in Arishaig. The Sleath got right up against her when it disintegrated. Maybe it infected her in some way. Maybe it damaged her.”
“I’ve been thinking the same. I even asked her about it. She wouldn’t answer me. Just shook her head and stopped looking at me. It’s almost like she’s ashamed or maybe frightened to say anything. I hate it, Paxon. I feel like I’m losing her, like she’s going away and I’m not doing anything about it.”
“You want me to try talking to her?”
“It couldn’t hurt. Maybe you will see something I don’t.”
“I’ll give it a try. Later, when we stop to rest.”
Later was a long time in coming. The trek was endless, even after the darkness faded and the sunlight returned—a pale, diffuse glow through layers of still-dark clouds. The brightness was enough to better illuminate the path ahead, but still did not give them any real idea of what waited in the distance. The one thing it did confirm was that they were indeed walking north, if slightly east in the process. At one point in their march there was enough of a clearing to the west to reveal a series of broad escarpments of varying sizes. Paxon stared at them, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.