Straken

by Terry Brooks

  He shook his head. “Yet most within the order still follow Shadea. However they feel about her secretly, they don’t mistrust her in the same way they did the Ard Rhys. My mistress is shackled by her history as the Ilse Witch. She cannot escape it. Too many refuse to forgive her, even though she has changed. It doesn’t matter that in the end, Shadea will prove a worse choice. They cannot see that she will destroy the order, that she will lead it to ruin because she lacks my mistress’s passion for doing what is right.”

  “Isn’t there a good chance that Grianne Ohmsford is already dead?” Rue asked. “Is there any reason to think she isn’t?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “If my mistress were dead, why would they work so hard at finding your son? What difference would it make to them where he had gone and what he was doing if she weren’t still alive? No, they think he has found a way to reach her and if not stopped might well do so.”

  Rue heard the sound of footfalls in the corridor outside, and they both turned quickly. “Your cloak!” Trefen Morys hissed, pulling up his hood and tightening the folds.

  But Rue knew it was too late for any sort of disguise. Stepping silently to one side of the entry as the steps approached, she waited for the door to open and the Gnome Hunter to step through, then brought the haft of the knife around in a powerful blow that caught the Gnome on his temple and dropped him like a stone.

  “Help me,” she said, kicking the door closed and taking the Gnome’s arms.

  Together they hauled the body to one of the closets, bound his arms and legs, gagged his mouth, and stuffed him inside. Without another word or more than a quick glance at each other, they went out through the door the Gnome had entered and down the corridor beyond, Trefen Morys leading the way. One corridor intersected with another, one set of stairs wound to a second, doors opened and closed into rooms, and so they made their way through the shadowy halls, pausing only to listen for voices or footsteps as they went. The minutes slipped away, and Rue was quickly lost. She didn’t know that much about Paranor anyway, having visited only a handful of times and having never ventured much beyond the main halls that led to the council chambers and the rooms of the Ard Rhys. They were deep underground here, in a maze of passageways she had never seen and could never have navigated on her own. She could feel the cold permeating the rock. Even the central fires of the Keep’s furnace, the fires that burned from deep underground at the earth’s core, could not push back the chill.

  Once or twice, Trefen Morys glanced back, and each time she nodded quickly for him to go on. She was thinking of Bek, just out of reach, but she was thinking about Penderrin, as well, much farther away and more vulnerable. She was thinking about her child and how she would never be able to live with herself if something were to happen to him.

  Finally, Trefen Morys slowed, then stopped altogether, dropping into a crouch beneath the light of a torch burning in its wall bracket. Ahead, a door stood closed to whatever lay beyond.

  “A pair of guards keeps watch there,” he whispered, as she crouched next to him. “We have to silence them both. Beyond that room, stairs lead downward to a corridor of cells. Your husband is in one of them. A second pair of Gnome Hunters stands watch there—one at the bottom of the stairs, another in front of the cell that imprisons your husband. Any sort of warning will result in a swift response.”

  She nodded. “There won’t be any warning.”

  “I was able to get another note to your husband several days ago, so that he would know that someone was looking to help him. He will know we are coming, and he will be ready, even if the Gnome Hunter at his cell door attempts to kill him. I don’t know a great deal about his magic, but I gather it was a match for his sister’s, so he will have a chance to survive this.” He sighed. “I wish I could have done more.”

  She gave him a quick smile. “You have done all that could be expected of you, Trefen Morys. However this turns out, you can’t be faulted for your efforts.”

  He took her arm as she started to rise. “Wait.” He seemed suddenly nervous. “I have to tell you something. I am not a warrior Druid. I am not skilled in the use of weapons or magic as a substitute for weapons. I have magic, yes. But my studies are of rocks and soils.”

  She stared at him. “Rocks and soils?”

  He nodded. “I have never killed anyone.” He dropped his gaze. “I have never even hurt anyone. I don’t know how to fight.”

  She took a deep breath. She had fought alone before and against great odds. But she had been much younger then, harder and more resilient, reckless about her safety in a way she no longer was. Not with the lives of her husband and son at stake as well as her own. She wished suddenly that her brother were there, that Redden Alt Mer were standing with her as he had on so many other occasions. Having Big Red with her would change the odds considerably. But she might just as well wish she could fly.

  “You won’t have to fight,” she told Trefen Morys, reaching out to grip his arm reassuringly. She saw some of the tension drain from his young face. “Stay behind me and do what you can to protect yourself if you are threatened. I will dispose of the guards.” Her grip tightened. “One thing you must promise me, though. If I fall, wounded or dead, you must continue on. You must do whatever you can to reach Bek. You must free him and then tell him what you have told me. He will know what to do. Will you do that?”

  Trefen Morys nodded. “You have my word.”

  She looked down at the long knife she had taken from the Gnome Hunter and wished she had something more substantial with which to work. It had been twenty years since she had fought a battle like the one she was facing, and she knew she had lost the sharp edge of her survival instincts.

  Could she do this?

  A fierce resolution washed over her as she hefted the knife in her palm, watching the way the torchlight played across its polished surface. Some things you did because you had to.

  “All right,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m ready.”

  In a guarded crouch, they began to creep down the hall.

  FIVE

  Rue Meridian was leading the way, Trefen Morys hanging back. She reached the door to the guardroom, hesitated, glanced down at the latch, then back at the young Druid. He saw her questioning look and he nodded, motioning her to go ahead, indicating the door was not locked. She wasn’t sure how he could know that, but had to believe him.

  Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand over the heavy iron handle, twisted hard, and pushed.

  Two Gnome Hunters looked up as she entered. One was at work on the broken handle of a short sword. The second stood across the room, leaning idly against the wall. Both hesitated, confused by the presence of the Druid behind her.

  She had just enough time to register the open door across the room, and then the Gnome leaning against the wall made up his mind about her and reached for a pike.

  Flinging the long knife underhanded with such force that the blade was buried in his chest all the way up to the hilt, she killed him before his hand could close on the pike’s wooden shaft. The Gnome gave a sharp gasp and sank slowly down, hands clutching at the haft of the knife. By then, she was across the room and on top of the other one. He awkwardly struck at her with the broken sword, but she caught the flat of the blade on her forearms and knocked it aside. She jammed her fingers into his throat, silencing his voice, and then struck him repeatedly on the side of his head with her fist. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed and lay still.

  Neither Gnome was moving. She found no pulse on either. She snatched a pair of daggers from a rack and stuck them in her belt, hesitated, then added a long knife. She turned to an ashen-faced Trefen Morys, who clearly hadn’t exaggerated when he said he wasn’t a fighter. She placed a warning finger to her lips and moved close. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  He nodded, his eyes big.

  “Listen, then. I want you to go down the stairs ahead of me. The Gnomes won’t react so quickly to the sight of a Druid. They will t
hink Shadea or one of her allies sent you. When you reach the first, get him turned around so that his back is to me. Can you do that?”

  He nodded again, breathing hard through his mouth.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll be all right.”

  She steered him toward the open door across the room. Beyond, a set of narrow stairs spiraled downward into near darkness. She had to hope that no sound of the struggle that had just taken place had reached the ears of the guards below. It had been quick enough; there had been no cries of alarm. She paused at the top of the stairs and listened carefully.

  Nothing.

  She nodded to Trefen Morys and motioned him ahead. He moved reluctantly, woodenly, and she seized his shoulder to make certain he wasn’t going into shock. He gasped in pain and glanced quickly at her, then took a deep breath and nodded that he was ready. She released him with a gentle shove and watched him start down.

  She waited until he was out of sight around the bend in the stairs, then followed, creeping on cat’s paws along the rough expanse of the curved wall, one of the daggers out and resting loosely in her hand. Halfway there, she thought. But the second pair might pose more of a challenge. She would have to silence them one at a time, and that wouldn’t be easy. Bek might be ready or he might not, but the suddenness of a rescue like this one could throw your thinking off, no matter how formidable your skills. Bek was brave, but he did not have her experience at close combat. Though he had grown considerably during their journey to Parkasia, that had been twenty years ago and she was willing to bet that he had already forgotten much of what he had learned. Nor had he practiced with the wishsong in the intervening years. He had disdained to use it, preferring to leave that part of his life behind him. In spite of her own dislike and mistrust of the magic, she wished he had not been so insistent on ignoring his gift.

  Well, that was the way of things, she supposed. Hindsight always suggested how you might have been better prepared.

  She edged forward as the light grew slightly stronger near the bottom of the steps. Ahead, she heard Trefen Morys’s voice and the responding growl of the Gnome Hunter on watch. She slid around the curve in the wall so that she could see them. The Gnome had his back to her. So far, so good.

  She came up behind him swiftly and killed him with a single thrust of the dagger.

  At which point Trefen Morys threw up. The retching sound reverberated down the corridor and instantly brought a sharp query from the near darkness. Leaping past the young Druid, Rue raced ahead, sliding free the other dagger as she ran, no longer bothering with stealth; speed was all that mattered. Ahead, there was movement at the edge of the light, and she saw the final guard peering at her through the smoky torchlit gloom, crossbow at the ready. She threw herself flat as the weapon swung up and heard the whir of the bolt as it shot past her, ricocheted off the stone walls, and fell harmlessly to the floor farther on. She was up and running again, watching her adversary wind back the string and insert another bolt with quick, practiced movements. This one was well trained, dangerous.

  The crossbow came up, and she threw herself down a second time. But this time the Gnome did not fire at her. Instead, as soon as she was down he wheeled toward the cell door in front of him, grappling to release the heavy locking bolt. Rue was on her feet instantly, realizing at once what he intended. His orders in this situation were clear. She heard the locking bolt slide free and the cell door swing open. The guard brought up the crossbow a second time. She was still too far away to stop him, so she screamed at him, then hurtled the dagger as hard as she could. There wasn’t enough force behind the throw to injure him, but the heavy blade ripped through his leather tunic, causing him to jerk back.

  Then Bek Ohmsford was hurtling through the open cell door and slamming into the Gnome. The crossbow released, the bolt flew into the ceiling and dropped harmlessly. The Southlander and the Gnome went down in a heap, tumbling across the floor, arms and legs entangled. Rue put on a burst of speed, drawing the long knife from her belt. Ahead of her, the flat surface of a blade caught the light as it swept down. Someone cried out, and then she was on top of the fighters, screaming in rage, burying her own blade deep into the Gnome Hunter’s back, driving it all the way through him.

  The Gnome Hunter fell away, dead before his hands released their grip. Rue threw the body aside and knelt next to her husband, already seeing the red stain spreading across his tunic front. “No!” she hissed, and began trying to sort through the tangle of his clothes for the wound.

  “Stop it, Rue!” He pushed her hands away, shaking his head. There was pain and frustration in his voice. “There’s no time. We have to get out of here.” He was already struggling to his feet, clutching his midsection. “I’m all right. He only scraped my ribs.”

  “It’s more than that!” she snapped back. “Look at the blood!”

  Trefen Morys came pounding up, his black robes flying out behind him. He looked at Bek and turned white. “How bad is it?”

  Bek shook his head. “Not now. Which way out? Can you get us to Swift Sure?”

  The young Druid nodded. “Bellizen should already be there. She will have secured it for us. Can you walk?”

  Rue was tearing her robe into long strips, using the dagger to cut the fabric. Without comment, she began wrapping it tightly about Bek’s midsection. He leaned into her and whispered as she did so, “I love you.”

  Then they were running, all three of them, back down the corridor past the dead men and fallen weapons, past the blood and vomit, and up the stairs, gaining the guardroom and the corridors beyond. It was still quiet in the Keep, no warning yet raised, no alarm given. Then Trefen Morys took them a different way, using a series of narrow back stairways to gain the higher floors. Rue tried to help Bek, who was beginning to falter. His blood speckled the floor behind him as he ran. They were still in great danger, their escape reliant on reaching Swift Sure before the rest of the Gnome guards discovered their comrades.

  Or they had the misfortune of stumbling across someone who would give them away—which was exactly what happened.

  They had just reached the upper levels, where tall windows opened to hazy gray light and heavy clouds, when a lone Gnome Hunter came out of a room right next to them. Everyone froze for an instant, and then the Gnome was crying out. Rue buried her dagger in his chest, knocking him back into the room, but the damage had been done. The cry was immediately taken up, and the pursuit they had feared was mobilizing.

  They began to run again, Bek’s arm about Rue’s shoulders, her arm about his waist. She felt the thick dampness of his blood seeping into her own clothing.

  “It’s not far!” Trefen Morys called back to them, leading the way. “Just ahead, through those doors!”

  A pair of heavy, ironbound oak doors stood closed at the end of the corridor. But the sound of boots reverberated on the stone flooring from just out of sight behind the fugitives. We’re not going to make it, Rue thought.

  Gnome Hunters burst into view, rounding a corner of the hallway perhaps a hundred feet back. Too many to stand and face. Too many to overcome with conventional weapons. Rue glanced at Bek. His eyes were slits in a face gone pale and sweaty. His breathing was shallow and ragged. He was failing rapidly and in no position to use his magic.

  Then they were at the double doors, and Trefen Morys was wrenching them open. Rue and Bek stumbled through, and the young Druid shoved the doors closed behind them and stepped back. “Wait!”

  He mumbled something, his hands weaving. The locks on the doors melted and fused into a knot of iron, sealed shut.

  He turned back to them and grinned triumphantly. “I know a little magic.”

  They were in the airship courtyard and Swift Sure hovered just off the ground not a hundred yards ahead, straining at her anchor ropes, her light sheaths rippling in the breeze and her radian draws taut. She was rigged for flying and ready to lift off. From the pilot box, a solitary figure dressed in black Druid robes jumped up and started
waving.

  “Bellizen!” Trefen Morys shouted.

  The girl shouted back, then darted out of the box and down to the decking. A moment later, one end of a rope ladder flew over the side.

  But in the same instant a clutch of Gnome Hunters appeared on the Keep’s battlements behind them. They howled in anger when they saw what was happening. Still supporting a wounded Bek, Rue lurched toward the safety of the airship. Trefen Morys darted ahead. Then, seeing how badly his companions were struggling, he raced back to help, taking Bek’s other arm and slinging it over his shoulder.

  “Hurry!” he urged.

  Rue didn’t need to be told. Arrows fired from Gnome bows were falling all around them, sharpened heads clattering and skipping across the stones. Rue realized suddenly that she had no weapons of her own, that none of them had, that they had left everything behind in their battle to escape the cells.

  She glanced ahead at Swift Sure, caught sight of the starboard rail sling in place on the bow, and felt a flutter of hope. “Does Bellizen know how to use airship weapons?” she shouted at Trefen Morys above the cry of the attacking guards. “Do you?”

  The young Druid shook his head. “Neither of us does! We aren’t trained in the use of weapons!”

  A bad oversight, she thought. She took a deep breath. “Stay with Bek!” she ordered.

  She dropped her husband’s arm and sprinted for the airship ladder. She knew what she was doing. She was trying to save him, but she was also leaving him to his fate, abandoning him to the Gnome Hunters. He would never reach the airship if she failed. Both he and Trefen Morys would die.

  But there wasn’t any other way.

  A crossbow bolt caught her in the thigh, passing so deep into her flesh it jarred the bone. She cried out in pain, stumbled, righted herself and hobbled on. Arrows rained down all about her, but she was only nicked until one caught her in the shoulder and spun her all the way around. She continued to run, teeth clenched, hands knotted into fists.