by Terry Brooks
It was nearing sunset when they ascended through a gap in the peaks where the Dragon’s Teeth swung north again to form the eastern wall of Paranor’s enclosure. As they rose to clear the rocks, the snows began anew, flurries swirling about them in small bursts. The wind was colder than before at this elevation, and all five passengers wrapped their cloaks tighter. It helped a little, Dar decided, but not much. He hunched lower into his seat and prepared to wait out the crossing.
They completed it within the hour, navigating the jutting outcroppings and ragged splits in the huge peaks, watching the sun descend to the west through gaps that periodically permitted a viewing. No one was saying anything at this point. The wind was blowing with such sound and fury, it was not even reasonable to try. Dar spent what energy he could muster watching the land ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of their destination.
He failed to do so, as the land on the far side of the Dragon’s Teeth was overcast with mist and low-hanging clouds. Silvery rays of a hazy sunset pierced the gloom here and there, pinpointing distant bits and pieces of the terrain below, but did little to reveal the sweep of the land itself. What Dar could make out was limited to glimpses of the mountains where they rose above the brume in patches of rock facing and steep cliffs, and now and again the faraway ribbon of the Mermidon as it snaked its way east in a dark churning of white-capped waters.
Eventually, once they were through the mountains and safely on the southern side, Drisker ordered them to bring the craft down into the foothills and find an open meadow in which to land. Brecon did so with ease, bringing them as close as possible to where they would climb into the Valley of Shale. The valley itself remained hidden, the land misted and monochromatic here, too—its features a blend that lacked color and depth, so that nothing much stood out from anything else.
Once they had landed and disembarked from their craft, Drisker called them over. “From here, we walk. We are no more than a couple of hours away, but once at the Hadeshorn, we must wait until just before dawn to attempt contact with the dead. An hour from sunrise is the optimal time to begin summoning them, and then we will have no more than the time it takes for the sun to crest the horizon to make our entreaties. Are you all willing to come with me?”
All but Tavo spoke in the affirmative, but even he gave an uncertain nod. Dar looked at Drisker. “Will the airship be safe if we leave it unguarded? Are we far enough away from civilization that no one will stumble on it? Maybe I should stay behind to keep watch.”
The Druid shook his head. “This is wild, remote country. No one will find our ship here. I think it would be better if we stayed together. Once we reach the Valley of Shale, however, I must approach the Hadeshorn alone. You will wait for me on the slopes above, safely out of the way. It would be too dangerous for you to come close to the waters of the lake, and the shades of the Druids will be more likely to respond to me if I am alone.”
“I don’t understand,” Tarsha said. “If we are not allowed to come out of hiding, why are we coming at all?”
“Because it will be safer if we do not separate. Under our present circumstances, there is safety in numbers. Nevertheless, I want you to stay hidden from whoever appears.”
“Who is it you will summon?” Dar asked him.
He shook his head. “Allanon, perhaps. I must wait and see how I feel when the time comes. But at the end of the day—or in this case, the beginning—I must settle for whoever chooses to show themselves.”
“What if no one comes?”
“Then we will find another way to choose our path.” He turned to look toward the higher reaches of the mountains behind them. “There’s a storm coming, and it looks to be a bad one. We had better get started.”
* * *
—
Aboard what she now thought of as her prison ship, Ajin d’Amphere looked up from ruminating about her father’s unfair treatment to notice the darkening skies to the northwest above the Dragon’s Teeth. She was on her way back to Skaarsland and confinement, unable to stop imagining what it would be like for however many months it took her father to return. She was in the company of four guards and a small crew of two. Four guards. Her father was taking no chances; he had even had her relieved of her weapons. His final words still echoed in her head. She was going to learn to do what she was told. She was going to learn that her father’s rules must be obeyed.
As if that could ever happen.
She watched the banks of storm clouds roll across the peaks, keeping pace with her airship as it flew east along the wall of the mountains. The plan was to fly to the end of the chain before turning north onto the Rabb Plains and continuing to where the Charnals met the Upper Anar, eventually reaching the Tiderace, which they would cross to arrive two weeks later in Skaarsland.
She had not followed that route coming to the Four Lands, but it was the route her captors had selected. Her thoughts traveled back to her arrival at the beachhead where, with her advance force behind her, she would march south to the Mermidon and the beginning of the conquest of the tribal nations and the destruction of the Druids. She had not been given explicit permission to undertake any of this beyond making an incursion inland. But how could her father fail to recognize the importance of what she had accomplished? How could he not understand the value of it? She had given him so much more than a foothold in this, their intended new country. She had given him the means to negotiate for the right to stay and bring their people with them.
And now what would he do? Her father was strong and difficult and implacable. He would ruin it all. He lacked her instincts and battle intelligence. He lacked her charisma. He had relied on her for so long, and now he was throwing all that away in the very dangerous belief that he could do just as well, as long as he had an army behind him.
Maybe Kol’Dre would be able to convince him otherwise, to persuade him that he was making a grave mistake and should bring Ajin back again. Maybe—but somehow she doubted it. He was too stubborn and proud. Too overconfident in his leadership abilities. Too suspicious of her.
She looked at the men around her, none of whom were looking back. They were uncomfortable with this assignment. Perhaps they even thought it a mistake for the same reasons she did. They did not fear her, though they knew she was dangerous even weaponless. Nor should they. She was not about to fight her way free and strike off on her own. If she did, what would she do? Where would she go? What mattered most would be found back where she had come from, and she clearly could not go there.
She wondered how she was going to get through this.
Of one thing she was certain. She was going to have to be very careful once she reached Skaarsland. The pretender would be waiting for her, and not with open arms but with unsheathed blades. She would try to have Ajin killed just as quickly as she could manage it. She would make it look like an accident, but would kill her just the same. She would know her efforts to undermine both her husband and Ajin herself had been discovered, and she would seek to solidify whatever power remained to her. Ajin’s mother would be in danger, too, and would need protecting. The new queen, the pretender, was ambitious and jealous of her place at the king’s side, and she would do whatever she felt she must to eliminate competition.
“Something to drink, Princess?” Jor’Alt asked, leaning close.
He offered her a waterskin, waiting for her response. She nodded without answering and took the skin. Unloosening the stopper, she drank deeply and almost gagged. Alcohol of some sort. She had wrongly assumed the contents of the skin, and the sharp bite of this concoction had surprised her. Even so, she welcomed it. She swallowed, then drank some more. Somehow the liquor seemed appropriate for the situation.
She finished and handed it back. “Thank you.”
Jor’Alt nodded. “I’m sorry about this,” he said quietly.
She understood, and put a hand on his arm. “It isn’t something I would ever
blame you or any of my soldiers for,” she said. “I brought it on myself.”
“If I could, I would return you to your father immediately.” He was looking back to where they had come from. “Standing with us is your destiny. You should be leading us.”
“My father would disagree.”
“Your father would be wrong.”
He was bold to speak like this in front of the king’s daughter, but they knew each other slightly and Ajin was never the sort to run to her father with tales, even when he still listened to her. What happened between soldiers was never to leave their ranks, and she was one of them. They knew she would keep silent.
She smiled at him. “Maybe he will see it that way in time, and you will be able to bring me back.”
His rough soldier’s face creased with his smile. “But for now, we can at least visit.”
They did so, recalling days past and events survived. The other guards in the craft glanced over every now and then but did not presume to add anything to the conversation. For them, it was best to leave things as they were and go about their business, even if that business required virtually nothing of them but to sit silently and wait for the flight home to be complete. None of them would be coming back to the Four Lands right away, after all. The flight was too long and their numbers too few to bother about. They would stay with their friends and families and do what they could there.
For their loved ones. For Skaarsland.
Ajin was thinking about what she would find on her return besides the pretender and her schemes. There was always hope. By the time she returned, the weather might have changed. It might have gotten better. The winter might have lessened in its fury, and the wasted, barren fields and their withered crops might have begun a slow regeneration. The cold might have lost its bitterness; the sun might have returned to bring back warmth and light. The sicknesses that had woken in the wake of Skaarsland’s endless winter might have at last been overcome and the health of her people might have improved.
But she doubted it. There was no reason for any of this to happen. She would find what she had left, only worse. She would rediscover the hopelessness and despair she remembered all too well.
She glanced ahead. She could see the Rabb grasslands many miles away to the east, mist-shrouded and empty, stretching out from the end of the Dragon’s Teeth. The mountains themselves were wrapped in gloom, their lower reaches nearly invisible. Farther up, snow layered the mountainsides. Paranor would have been on the other side, before she had breached its walls and Druid magic had cast it into whatever far-flung place it now inhabited.
She wondered suddenly, unexpectedly, about Darcon Leah.
The journey progressed, and night had long since fallen when the first of the heavy winds struck the aircraft, knocking it momentarily askew. Ajin hunkered lower in her seat, wondering if they shouldn’t put down. It would be foolish to fly any farther in this weather.
But that’s what it seemed they were doing.
She felt a spike of fear. In spite of her misgivings and even a question or two directed at the pilot about the wisdom of continuing on, they were staying aloft.
Then abruptly the diapson crystals gave out and they were falling into a roiling kettle of fog that left her feeling as if they might tumble away forever.
* * *
—
It took Drisker’s little company about two hours to complete the climb to the hidden entrance into the Valley of Shale—a narrow split in the rocks that a climber unfamiliar with the terrain would have avoided as a matter of course. Dar was surprised when the Druid brought a magic-induced light to his fingertips to chase back the darkness and beckoned them to come through, thinking there must surely be an entrance to the valley that was larger and more recognizable than this dangerous-looking fissure. But once they had navigated the hundred feet or so of claustrophobic walls that threatened to close overhead at every turn, he found himself outside once more and standing on slopes leading downward into what was clearly identifiable as a valley.
Here the skies were clear, and moon- and starlight lit the entire valley. Moving forward a few steps, he found he could see far below—through horizontal banks of mist and heavy shadows—to a dark and brooding stretch of water as flat and depthless as hard-packed earth. The Hadeshorn, he realized. The surface of its waters did not shimmer or shift in the slightest. It was impossible to see what waited within, or even to imagine there was a depth to it. All around, on the shores and the slopes of the valley, black shards of obsidian lay jagged and shining, and it was as if the storm had somehow been pushed aside.
The valley was a striking sight—so many different shapes and terrains, dark and flat here while shining brightly there, jagged and smooth, rough and slick. Dar took it all in quickly and was still trying to make it fit in his mind when Drisker beckoned them to sit.
“Wait here for me. Do not come farther into the valley for any reason. Do not think to come to my aid should you see me in apparent distress. There is nothing you can do for me once I go down to her shores. You would only risk your own lives, and it would be for nothing. Stay put until I return to you.”
Then he turned away from them and walked toward the dark sprawl of the Hadeshorn and did not look back.
They watched him go in silence, saw him descend to the shoreline and stop there to stare out across the lake’s strange waters. He did not move again. He was wrapped in his cloak and hood now, a solitary figure standing black and unmoving, as if he were himself a shade come out of the netherworld. As time passed, the mists that had hung above the lake earlier in thin strips began to tighten and descend toward the earth. It did not take long for them to begin to enclose the Druid, to wrap about him as if to hold him fast. Dar and his companions were forced to peer more closely just to catch a glimpse of him.
And then he was gone entirely.
Hours passed and the night drifted away. They could not see the moon or stars and had to rely on their instincts to advise them on how close the sunrise actually was. It was taking what felt like an abnormally long time. Dar grew steadily more restless with each passing hour, not sure at first why this should be so, then realizing that he was worrying about their transport. If anything happened to the airship, they would be forced to walk out of these mountains to whatever town or city lay closest, and that could take days.
The feeling that he needed to leave here was pressing down on him. He could not explain it, but he felt it necessary to make sure their source of transportation was still all right.
Finally, he turned to the others. “I’m going back to check on the airship. You can meet me back there when Drisker returns.”
Looks were exchanged. “I’ll come with you,” Brecon said.
“No,” the Blade replied quickly, knowing this would leave Tarsha alone with her brother. “I’ll be all right.”
“I’ll go with you instead,” Tarsha said suddenly, climbing to her feet. “It will be safer if two of us go.”
Dar started to object, then saw the wisdom in her offer. This would separate her from Tavo without her appearing to desert him. He gave her brother a quick glance to judge his reaction, but Tavo seemed caught up in the drama that was taking place on the shores of the Hadeshorn and barely glanced over.
“Come, then,” Dar agreed, nodding to Brecon to be sure he understood. “We’ll try to return before dawn.”
Brecon nodded back in acknowledgment but said nothing in reply.
Dar and Tarsha climbed back up the slopes and, fashioning a makeshift torch of a length of wood and dry grasses to light their way, passed through the split that had brought them into the valley, proceeding at a steady pace. The walk back down would be much quicker than the walk up and require less of them to complete it, so both were eager. Dar wasn’t especially tired, even though the day had been stressful and it had been awhile since he had slept; he was practiced
at staying awake for several days when it was needed. Tarsha, however, was not. She had not slept at all since the previous night, and even then her rest had been fitful. Still, she showed no signs of faltering as they went, so after a while he stopped worrying.
“Thank you for letting me come,” she said at one point.
“I should be thanking you for finding a way to keep me from worrying about leaving you alone with your brother.”
“I would have been fine, I think. He seems a different person since Drisker talked to him.”
“Maybe. But I prefer to be a bit more certain before we test your theory. The danger is still there.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, the cold is starting to get to me. I think I might find something warmer back in the airship.”
They walked on for about an hour, speaking only occasionally—casual conversation about nothing in particular save when they began speculating about how Drisker’s encounter with the shades of the dead was likely to go. Neither felt all that confident in what he might learn—because of both the source of the information and the complexity of the problems. Asking for direction in a situation with so many attendant difficulties was problematic at best and dangerous at worst. Dar didn’t like it, but he could not make himself go against the Druid’s wishes—especially when he had nothing better to offer.
By the time they had reached the more exposed slopes of the lower Dragon’s Teeth and started down, the wind began to whip across them with new ferocity. Their torch had long since extinguished, and the light was pale and washed out. Rain started falling, quickly turning to snow. In the distance, the clouds were black and roiling, and what little remained of the sky with its stars and moon quickly disappeared. Blackness rolled in like a giant carpet, blanketing everything. The storm quickly worsened, and thunder crashed with huge, earth-shaking booms while streaks of lightning split the darkness.
Dar and Tarsha walked with their heads and shoulders bent, eyes on the path ahead, for it became increasingly difficult for them to find their way. Before long, their concentration was given over entirely to the movement of their feet.