Straken (14 page)

They reached the end of the corridor, and she lowered the boy into the chair formerly occupied by the Gnome jailer, kneeling before
him to rub some life back into his legs. “Now tell it all to me,” she said.

He did, beginning with his crossing to the island of the tanequil with Cinnaminson and his efforts to communicate with the tree and hers to form a bond with the aeriads. He continued by describing his ordeal in gaining possession of the darkwand from Father Tanequil, Cinnaminson’s seduction by the aeriads, his futile efforts to free her from the tree roots of Mother Tanequil, and his battle with the creature from Anatcherae. Finally, he explained how he had decided to surrender to the Druids both to help his captive friends and to reach Paranor, where he could use the darkwand at last to go into the Forbidding.

“I thought I could do it, Khyber. I thought they wouldn’t know what the staff was, even if they took it from me. I was stupid. They knew it to be a talisman at once. They pretended ignorance, then mocked me for my foolishness.”

“We will live to see them mocked for their own foolishness,” she muttered, still rubbing his leg muscles. “Any better?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know what had happened to you, except that I knew you were free. I thought you would be able to help Tagwen and Kermadec and the rest, even if the Druids took me. I never thought you would come after me.”

“Let’s hope the Druids were fooled, too. I don’t think they know I’m here yet, but they will soon enough. Someone is bound to come looking to see how things stand. Or for a change of guards. We have to get moving right now. Can you stand?”

She helped him to his feet, where he took a moment to stretch his legs and stamp his feet. “That’s better. The feeling’s back.” His face was drawn and weary, but determined, as well. “Traunt Rowan says Shadea will be back late tomorrow. I have time to get into the Forbidding before she does.”

The Elven girl brushed back her short-cropped hair and grimaced. She had only been told by the Druid that Shadea was away. “There are a lot of others we have to worry about in her absence, though, so we don’t want to get complacent. What is it you have to do, Pen?”

He moved close, then put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself. “Two things. I have to get the darkwand back from Traunt
Rowan, and then I must get inside the chamber of the Ard Rhys in order to enter the Forbidding. It shouldn’t be too hard, except that I don’t know how the magic of the darkwand works.”

She exhaled heavily. “It sounds pretty hard to me. Which part do you view as being easy?”

“No, no, you don’t understand. Now that I’m free, things are much easier. I can get to the darkwand and to the chamber of the Ard Rhys—I know I can do that much. Especially with you to help me.” He grinned at the consternation that registered on her sharp features. “Really, I can. Listen a moment. Something happened in the shaping of the darkwand. Or maybe even before, when the tree broke off its limb and took my fingers, but certainly by the time I was done carving its runes into the wood. There was a joining of sorts, a binding of the staff to me. I didn’t know about it, at first. I didn’t realize what it was. But I do now. I am connected to the darkwand in the same way I am connected to the parts of my own body. I can feel its presence. I can feel its responses to my needs.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know about this, Pen. You’re talking about a wooden staff—”

“I know where it is right now,” he said, cutting her short. “I knew it as soon as they took it away from me and brought me down here. The runes are like a voice in my head, calling to me. They want me to find the staff. No matter where the Druids take it or how hard they try to hide it, the runes will tell me how to find it. I will always know where it is. All I have to do is follow its voice.”

She wanted to say something about the reliability of voices in your head, but she forced herself to accept that what he was saying might be true. There had to be some kind of special connection between the boy and the staff or he wouldn’t have been summoned to receive it in the first place.

“So you can go right to it, now that you’re free?” she pressed.

“I can.”

“And then take it to the chamber of the Ard Rhys, where she went into the Forbidding, and figure out how to go in after her?” Khyber gripped his face in both of her hands and squeezed. “This doesn’t sound easy at all. We’re inside Paranor, and every Druid in the Keep is looking for you—or will be soon. We have no friends here, Penderrin. We have no allies, only enemies and potential enemies.

We have no magic that counts. I can use the Elfstones once we’re backed into a corner and it doesn’t matter anymore, but by then we’re probably done for.”

“We can do it, Khyber,” he answered softly.

She stared into his eyes. “I think you believe that,” she said. She shook her head and sighed. “In any case, what does it matter? We both know we’re going to try. That is what we have been given to do and all we have left to do unless we try to go back to homes that aren’t even ours anymore.”

His enthusiasm faded suddenly. “My parents! What about my parents? The Druids still have them!”

“As a matter of fact, they don’t. Your parents fled or escaped or whatever, but they’re gone. I got that information from the Druid who brought me down here. So you don’t have to worry about them.”

His smile returned. “Then this is going to work. I know it.”

She wanted to tell him that he was right, that it would. But it was a stretch to accept that all the steps he must take to reach Grianne Ohmsford and return with her would be the right ones and none missteps that would doom them both. He saw things in simple terms, in the terms of a boy who believed everything was still possible and no reach too great. She knew better. She had a stronger sense of the possible than he did, and that made her cautious of embracing rarefied hopes too warmly.

She took her hands away from his shoulders and tucked them into her robes. “Let’s give it a try, Penderrin,” she said.

O
utfitted in Druids’ robes, with weapons concealed and hoods pulled over their heads to shadow their faces, they went back up the stone stairwell to the upper corridors of Paranor. If Khyber had read the position of the stars correctly, it would be dawn in a few hours. She felt strongly that they had to complete their efforts by sunrise if they were to have any chance of succeeding. Once it grew light, they would have to hide. By the time it was dark again, everyone in the Keep would know that Pen was free and be looking for him. There would be little chance of succeeding after that.

Not that there was all that much chance of succeeding now.

She tried not to be negative in her thinking, but the odds against
them were so enormous that she could not help herself. She reminded herself that the odds had been enormous from the beginning, and yet the two of them were still moving ahead, however slowly, still working their way toward their goal. They had lost good friends and strong allies, but even that hadn’t been enough to stop them. She must take heart from that. She had come a long way from her forbidden Druid studies with her uncle in Emberen—and a longer way still from her rarefied life as an Elessedil Princess in Arborlon. She could barely remember what the latter had been like. Her worries at the prospect of being married off on the whim of her father or brother seemed to belong to another person altogether. She was so far removed from that time, so distanced from it by the events of the past few weeks, that it might never have existed.

And might not ever exist again, given her present situation.

She felt a moment of panic and fought to contain it. Uncle Ahren would calm her if he were there. He would tell her not to think beyond the moment, but to confront what frightened her and bring it under control. She tried doing that, isolating the source of her fear and putting it aside. But it was hard to give it a name or even a shape. Her fear was for something too large and too amorphous to define, an overwhelming sense of smallness and weakness and inexperience in the face of a tidal wave of power and dark intent. She might thrash and struggle. She might try whatever she could to break free of its grip. But in the end, it would have her anyway.

“We need to go farther up,” Pen whispered suddenly, clutching at her arm, breaking the chains of the spell.

She gasped at his unexpected touch, caught her breath, then nodded quickly to conceal her shock. “Farther up,” she repeated. She glanced around, surprised to discover that they had reached the top of the stairs. The corridor ahead stretched away into pools of torchlight and layered shadows, the silence as thick as cotton wadding. “Can you show me?”

He pointed diagonally upward into the darkness of the passageway, then looked back at her expectantly, excitement dancing in his eyes. He was enjoying himself. He wasn’t even thinking about the danger—or if he was, he was discounting it in favor of his strong expectations for achieving the quest given him by the King of the Silver River. The realization made her smile inwardly, although she kept her face expressionless as she motioned for him to lead the way.

They walked down the passageway swiftly and silently, listening for voices or footfalls but hearing neither. Khyber was back to worrying about how they would regain the darkwand if they encountered any resistance. She would use her small Druid magic if she was forced to, but stealth and secrecy were better allies for as long as they could call on them for help. If they could get as far as the chambers of the Ard Rhys without being discovered, they had a reasonable chance of getting Pen through to the Forbidding, whether or not he knew how to use the magic of the staff, because such magic would reveal itself when it was time. It was in the nature of most magic to do so, and there was no reason to think it would be any different now.

And plenty of reasons to hope it wouldn’t.

The first corridor turned left into a second corridor, and Pen, leading the way, stopped suddenly. “Khyber!” he hissed.

A pair of Gnome Hunters was coming toward them from out of the mix of light and shadows, spears resting on their shoulders, heads lowered in conversation. Their attentions on each other, they had not yet seen the boy and the Elven girl.

“Keep moving,” she whispered, giving Pen a push. “Don’t say anything when we pass. Keep your head lowered.”

They walked toward the Gnomes at a steady pace, Khyber moving over to place herself between Pen and the guards, shielding him. She looked right through the Gnomes as they passed, a Druid preoccupied with more important things. It had the desired effect. The Gnomes, in turn, looked right through her.

Seconds later, they were alone again.

Pen turned them onto a broad stairway that wound upward into the Keep, and they began to climb. As they did so, the sound of voices reached them for the first time, coming from somewhere above. Khyber took Pen’s arm to keep him moving. Hesitation was the enemy. At the top of the stairs, the corridor divided, one branch continuing on, the other angling left. A pair of Druids stood conversing not a dozen yards away, heads bent close, sharing possession of a book that one held while the other slowly paged through. The two gave Pen and Khyber only a cursory glance, and Pen turned down the corridor that ran left.

“It’s not far now,” he whispered.

Khyber nodded, feeling a renewed sense of trepidation. This would not be as easy as it seemed. There would be guards, probably watching over the darkwand, but certainly warding the sleeping chambers of the Ard Rhys. They would have to get past those guards and do so without a fight. How would they manage that?

There wasn’t time to think it through. They were down the corridor, around a corner, and moving toward several Gnome Hunters stationed at the foot of a narrow staircase leading up into the highest reaches of the Keep. For an instant, Khyber considered turning back, withdrawing to a place where they could talk this through and decide how best to proceed. But it was already too late for that; the Gnomes had seen them coming and were turning toward them.

“The darkwand is up those stairs,” Pen said quietly, sealing their fate. “In the chamber of the Ard Rhys.”

Two of the Gnome Hunters moved forward to intercept them, one holding up his hand to slow their approach. “No one is allowed in this part of the Keep,” he rumbled, speaking to them in a fractured Southland dialect.

Khyber stopped in front of him. “Traunt Rowan sent for us.”

The Gnome hesitated. “I wasn’t told.”

“Is he up there?” she asked, gesturing toward the stairs.

“He has gone to bed. Do the same and come back again tomorrow when he is here.”

She shook her head. “I have to leave something for him.” She pointed at the stairs. “Up there.”

Another Gnome drifted over. The three of them were staring at her. The remaining Gnomes were clumped together on the far side of the hall, engaged in their own conversation and not paying much attention to the first group. It was time to act. They could break past these three, she thought. They could gain the stairs before the guards could stop them.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. That kind of thinking could get them killed.

She gestured at the Gnome. “You can come with me, if you need to make certain of what I will do. Surely you can allow me that?”

The Gnome had shifted his gaze to Pen and was studying him closely. “I don’t know you,” he said. “You’re just a boy, too young to be a Druid. Why do you wear a Druid robe?”

Pen straightened. “I am an apprentice in training. I am nephew to Traunt Rowan himself and not a boy.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I will tell him what you said.”

“Tell him what you like,” the Gnome grunted. He looked back at Khyber. “You can’t go up there. Not tonight. I have my orders.”

She stared at him with an intensity that would have melted iron, knowing she had pushed matters as far as she could, that her only options now were to turn around and go back or try to fight her way through. She glanced at Pen, saw that he was set to fight, put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, and said, “Let’s go.”

She walked him back down the corridor without looking at him, silencing his protests with a quick squeeze of his shoulder, her mind racing. She wasn’t about to give up, not with what was at stake. But she needed a better approach than a straightforward attack on six armed Gnome Hunters.