Tanequil

by Terry Brooks

  In short, it would be best not to get caught.

  At the top of the stairs, they stopped again while Bek peered around the corner and down the hallway. Nothing moved. The floor seemed deserted. There were no sleeping chambers on this floor, but a little farther on was the stairway that led to the north tower, which housed the quarters of the Ard Rhys. Shadea a’Ru would be there.

  After a moment, they started down the corridor for the cold chamber. The biggest danger they faced was that someone else would already be in the room when they got there. That would not only prevent them from carrying out their plan, but would require them to explain why they were there, unescorted and uninvited. It would be a difficult situation. At best, they would probably be forced to flee from the Keep.

  But luck was with them. When they opened the door, they found the cold chamber empty. Rue took a moment to scan the corridor once more, making sure no one had seen them, then nodded to Bek to close the door. They stood inside in silence, the chilly air penetrating even the heavy fabric of the Druid robes. Rue shivered. Bek made a quick survey of the room, glancing toward the deep shadows, peering into the gathered gloom. No candles or torches were lit there, and they wouldn’t risk lighting any. But a faint wash of light from moon and stars spilled through the high windows and reflected off the scrye waters in the stone basin, letting them see well enough to do their work.

  Their plan wasn’t complicated and didn’t require much time. Bek had sensed Pen’s presence in the Charnals during his initial effort to make contact, but he had lacked time and opportunity to pinpoint his son’s location. Now, alone and undisturbed, he would use his magic on the waters to discover exactly where Pen was. Once he had accomplished that, they would slip back down through the Keep to Swift Sure and be on their way to retrieve him. The Druids might discover what had happened and try to follow, but their vessels were no match for Swift Sure, which was the fastest ship in the sky.

  With Rue standing watch at the door, Bek moved to the basin and stood looking down at the scrye waters and the map of the Four Lands drawn on the surface of the bowl. The waters were still and untroubled, at rest save for where the faint pulse of the earth’s magic crisscrossed the surface along the earth’s lines of power. Bek studied their movements for a moment, then fixed his gaze on the Charnals and called up the wishsong. He did it quickly and quietly, directing the magic toward the area of the waters where he had sensed Pen to be the day before. He kept his concentration focused as he worked the magic deep into the basin, searching.

  It took him only moments. His connection with his son was strong, born of his own history as a member of a family that had been connected by magic for centuries, and he found him almost instantly. He peered close, tightening down his search, marked the spot in his mind, and pulled the magic back again.

  He went still, watching the scrye waters quiet and smooth once more, silver in the moonlight. He stepped away from the basin and turned back to Rue, nodding.

  Together, they went out the doorway and back down the empty corridor toward the stairs. Neither spoke, unwilling to break the deep silence, to risk exposing themselves in any way. They would talk when they were aboard Swift Sure and safely away from this place.

  On cat’s paws, they descended the ancient stone stairs toward the torchlit corridor below, listening and watching.

  They had just emerged from the stairwell into the corridor when the heavy metal-laced nets dropped over them, pinning them to the floor, and dozens of Gnome Hunters appeared all around them, crossbows notched and ready.

  Pen had explored the Rock Troll village for what remained of the day. He’dbeen so tired he could barely keep his eyes open but was unable to sleep because of what had happened in Kermadec’s home between himself and Cinnaminson. But Khyber’s scathing attack on him, an attack he still didn’t understand, really troubled him. Once or twice in his wanderings, he thought to return to the house and confront her, but he just couldn’t make himself do it. He was embarrassed and hurt, in part because he didn’t understand it, but mostly because it had happened in front of Cinnaminson.

  So he forced himself to stay away until the evening celebration began, the welcome arranged for them by the members of the village, a feast with music and singing, neither of which he had ever associated with Trolls. But the music, consisting of pipes, drums, and a curious stringed instrument called a fiol, and the dancing, which was energetic and robust, brought him out of his mood sufficiently that by the time he had eaten two plates of rather wonderful food and drunk several pints of very strong ale, he was feeling pretty good again.

  He even participated in the dancing, urged on by Kermadec and buttressed by the effects of the ale. He danced with whoever was nearest—men, women, and children alike—as there seemed to be little partnering in the Troll forms of dance, and he found himself thoroughly light-headed and happy by the time he was done.

  Cinnaminson appeared with the others of his little group, and she sat with him during dinner and even danced with him briefly, but he couldn’t find the right words to say to her, and so they didn’t talk much. Tagwen was as taciturn as ever at first, though after a little of the ale he began to open up and pontificate endlessly on the virtues of hard work. Khyber smiled and clapped and spoke pleasantly to Pen, acting as if their earlier confrontation had never happened.

  It was only when the evening was growing late, and his eyes were so heavy he was afraid he might fall over if he didn’t sleep soon, that the Elven girl came over to sit beside him. He was alone at that point, sipping at his ale, listening to the music, and watching the Trolls dance in the firelight with what appeared to him to be boundless energy.

  “I was too hard on you earlier,” she said, putting her hand over his. “I didn’t mean to scold. At the time, I was so mad, I just lashed out. I assumed you understood the problem, but thinking it through later, I realized you didn’t.”

  He looked at her. “What problem?”

  “If I tell you this, you must promise to keep it to yourself. Do you promise?”

  He nodded. “All right.”

  “When I heard you tell Cinnaminson she couldn’t come with us, all I could think about was how insensitive you were being to her situation. You saw it as common sense: If she came, she would be placed in danger again, and you wanted to keep her safe. I saw it through her eyes: You were casting her off as damaged and useless, no longer worthy of being a part of your life. She’s in love with you, Penderrin. I warned you about this, but you paid no attention to me. You brought this on yourself, giving her so much of your time aboard ship, telling her how wonderful she was.”

  He bristled instantly. “I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean! Anyway, I don’t see—”

  She held up one hand in warning. “Don’t say anything more until you hear me out. You don’t see, indeed. If you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now, listen. What do you think happened to her after that monster killed her father and the other two? Do you think she was left alone? Do you think that all that happened was that she was used to track you? It was bad enough that she had to lie trussed up and helpless belowdecks and listen to the cries of her father and cousins as they died; that was damage enough for an entire lifetime. But that wasn’t the end of it.”

  He went cold. “What are you saying?”

  Her dark eyes fixed on him. “I’m saying that she endured three days alone with that monster, and it wasn’t satisfied with using her gift for night sight. It used her for other things, too. She told me. You didn’t ask her if she had been abused physically, did you? It never even occurred to you that she might have been violated in other ways. This thing, this creature that took her, doesn’t have any qualms about watching others suffer. It likes it. It enjoys inflicting pain. All kinds of pain.”

  He stared at her. He tried to say something, but the words lodged in his throat. A wave of nausea washed through him.

  “So now she views herself as despicable.” Khyber held his gaze. “When
you tell her she can’t go with you anymore, she sees it as an affirmation of what she already believes to be true about herself—that she is worthless, that no one could love her. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the truth because she has kept it to herself. It’s enough that she knows.”

  Pen looked off into the darkness, filled with sudden rage, filled with a need to exact revenge for what had happened, but impotent to do anything but sit and fume. The images that filled his mind were so terrible that he couldn’t bear them. “I didn’t realize what I was doing by telling her she couldn’t come,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I wish you still didn’t know. I wish I didn’t have to tell you. But you still care about the girl, don’t you? So you need to know what’s happened to her so that you can understand what she’s going through. She’s fragile in ways that you don’t see. She might have mind-sight, but it’s not sufficient protection against the monsters of this world and not enough to make up for the loss of her family. Her father, bad as he was, loved her, and she loved him. He was the support she could fall back on when things were too much for her. Who’s going to offer her that support now?”

  “I am,” he said at once.

  “Then you can’t tell her you intend to leave her behind.” Khyber’s voice was fierce. “You can’t make her safe that way, Pen. I know taking her is dangerous, but leaving her is worse.”

  They stared at each other in silence. In the background, the music and singing of the Troll revelers wafted through the darkness, rising above the firelight, echoing off the rock walls of the cliffs. Pen wanted to cry for what he was feeling, but no tears would come.

  “I’ll tell her she can come,” he said finally. “I’ll tell her I was wrong, that we need her.”

  She nodded. “Be careful what you say and how you say it. She wouldn’t like it that I’ve told you what happened. She will probably want to tell you herself one day.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Khyber. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for not letting me make a mistake I couldn’t correct.”

  She got to her feet and stood looking at him. “I just did what I thought I had to do, Pen, but I have to tell you that it doesn’t make me feel very good to have done it.”

  She turned and walked away.

  Acting on whispered instructions from Shadea a’Ru, the Gnome Hunters removed the heavy mesh netting and bound and gagged Bek Ohmsford. He could have struggled or used magic to save himself, but he was terrified that if he did so, they would kill Rue. Bitter with disappointment and self-recrimination, he let them take him without a struggle.

  “You aren’t half so clever as you believe yourself to be,” she said to him as the Gnomes carried him down into the cellars of the Keep. “I knew of your contact with your son the moment you made it. It was impossible to miss. I knew you were pretending at being ill earlier today, too, and that you would come back to the cold chamber to use the scrye waters again if you were given the chance. So I gave it to you.”

  She leaned over and tapped him lightly on the nose, a taunting gesture he couldn’t fail to register. “You couldn’t get a clear reading of where Penderrin was from your first contact; I saw that right away. So I knew you would have to come back and probe the scrye waters again when you thought we weren’t around to see what you were searching for. Somehow, you found us out, didn’t you? It was probably Traunt Rowan who gave us away. He lacks the finesse needed to fool someone as perceptive and experienced as you. Disappointing, if not entirely unexpected. At least I knew enough not to trust that you had been taken in by his explanation. I knew enough to read you the same way you must have read him.”

  She was silent for a time, staring straight ahead into the darkness, keeping pace with the guards who bore him. She took big, full strides that radiated power and determination. She looked taller and broader through the shoulders than he remembered, and there was a confidence about her that suggested she was equally comfortable with weapons or words. He did not know what his sister had done to antagonize her, but Shadea a’Ru was a formidable enemy.

  “Your son has turned out to be a meddlesome boy, Bek,” she continued after a while, “but no more so than Tagwen or the others who joined him to hunt for your sister. I took steps to put an end to their search, but until now they have managed to elude me. I tracked them all the way from Patch Run to the Elven village of Emberen and from there east to the Lazareen. Then, I lost them. But now, thanks to you, I know exactly where they are.”

  She smiled down at him, enjoying the dark look on his face. “Oh, you want to know how I know, since I wasn’t in the cold chamber with you? Anticipating your nocturnal visit, I marked the scrye waters with a little magic of my own before you tampered with them. They will reveal to me exactly what they revealed to you. That should tell me everything I need to know about your son’s whereabouts, I expect. Then I will find him and deal with him.”

  Bek listened with growing despair, aware of how completely he had been duped into doing just what Shadea had wanted him to do in the first place. Now he was a prisoner and unable to do anything to help either Pen or his sister. At least they were both alive. He could assume that much from what she had just told him. He could also assume she would try to change that.

  They continued down until he smelled the damp and felt the cold of the deep underground. Somewhere not too far away, he heard water running. The heat of the Druid Fire was absent, as if that part of the Keep was far removed from the earth-warmed core.

  Finally, they arrived at a corridor lined with heavy doors kept closed by iron bolts thrown through iron rings. His captors opened one of the doors and placed him in the tiny room beyond, a space barely larger than a closet. There was a wooden bed, straw, and a bucket. The floor, ceiling, and walls were rough and uneven and had been hollowed out of the bedrock.

  They untied his arms and legs, but left his gag in place.

  “Remove the gag when I am gone,” Shadea said. “But first, listen to what I have to say. Behave yourself, and you might come out of this alive. I am locking your beloved wife up separately, in a place far away from you, somewhere you can’t find her easily. I know stone walls and iron doors can’t hold you, but they can hold her. If you try to escape, if your guards even think you are trying to escape, she will be killed at once. Do you understand?”

  Pen nodded without speaking.

  “Those guards will be stationed on each floor leading up, at each door, and they will communicate with each other regularly. If someone fails to answer, that will be the end of your chances of seeing your wife alive again. Behave yourself, and you and your family might still survive this.”

  She motioned the Gnome Hunters back into the corridor, followed them out, closed the door with a heavy thud, and threw the bolt.

  Standing alone in the darkness and listening to their receding footsteps, Bek Ohmsford was certain of one thing. No matter what Shadea a’Ru said, if he didn’t find a way to get out of there on his own, he wasn’t getting out at all.

  FOURTEEN

  “I’ve been thinking about what I said to you yesterday,” Pen said, sitting down beside Cinnaminson. It was midday, and he had been searching for her for almost an hour.

  She kept her gaze directed straight ahead as her fingers worked the threads of the delicate scarf she was weaving on a tiny hand loom. How she could tell one color from the other was a mystery to him, but from the look of the completed portion, she was having no trouble doing so.

  “I spoke without sufficient thought for what I was saying,” he continued, watching her face for signs of a response. “You asked if I still cared about you, and I do. That was why I was so quick to tell you that you couldn’t go with us. All I could think about was what it would mean to me if something more happened to you.”

  Still, she said nothing. They were seated high up in the bowl of the Gathering Place, the amphitheater used for elections when a Maturen was chosen, for presentations of music and song when
there were celebrations and festivals, and for meetings of the entire population when it was necessary to make determinations that might affect the whole of the village. It sat well back against the cliffs and to the south end of the village, ringed by stone walls and hardy spruce, an oasis of calm in the otherwise bustling community.

  It was deserted, save for the boy and the girl.

  Pen sighed. “I want you to forget about what I said. You saved our lives back on the Lazareen, when the Galaphile was hunting us. You kept us from danger again in the Slags. You proved your value then, and I don’t have any right to start questioning it now. I don’t have any right to tell you what to do. You can decide for yourself.”

  “Have you been talking with Khyber?” she asked quietly.

  “I’ve been thinking about what she said,” he answered, avoiding the question. “She was so angry with me. It took me a while to sort it out.” He brushed at his red hair, knotting it in his fingers. “I didn’t know why she was so angry until I had thought about it for a while. I was presuming to speak for you when I didn’t have the right. You asked me because you wanted my support. I should have realized that, and I should have given it.”

  She continued her weaving, her fingers moving smoothly and steadily, feeding in the colored threads and pulling them through, using the shuttle to separate and tighten down. He waited, not knowing what else to say, afraid he had already said too much.

  “Do I have your support now?” she asked him finally.