Tanequil (3 page)

“Where?” she asked.

“In the Eastland. We have been searching that area ever since Molt discovered from the boy that his parents were on an expedition in the Anar. But no one had seen or heard anything until a week ago. Then a trader working the supply route along the Pass of Jade on the lower edge of Darklin Reach sold some goods to a man and woman piloting an airship named
Swift Sure.
They are the ones we seek.”

“A week ago?” Shadea frowned.

“Ah, but here is the thing,” Pyson Wence interrupted eagerly. “All this time we have been searching for them in the Wolfsktaag Mountains, because that is where we assumed they were going. But that isn't where they have been! They have been exploring the Ravenshorn, farther east and so deep into the Anar that no word has reached them of our search. We are fortunate, Shadea, that they still have no idea of what has happened to their son or we would have lost them for sure.”

“Have they no idea now?”

Wence shook his head. “None. We learned of it by accident, our spies making inquiries everywhere until they found the trader. He, of course, had no idea of the value of his information and gave it willingly to those who did. So now we have their location. What do we do?”

She walked to her window and stood looking out, thinking it through. She must be careful; unlike the boy, Bek Ohmsford possessed enough magic to incinerate anyone foolish enough to give him reason to do so. He would not be easily disposed of. He must be brought to Paranor if it was to be done properly.

She turned back to them and gestured at Traunt Rowan. “Take the
Athabasca
and go east. Find our spies and get what additional information you can. Then find the boy's parents.”

“Am I to kill them for you?” the other asked, not quite managing to keep the disdain from his voice.

She walked over to him and stood close. “Do you lack the stomach for it, Traunt? Are you too weak to see this matter through?”

There was a long pause as she held his gaze. To his credit, he did not look away. He was conflicted perhaps, but determined, too.

“I have never pretended to support what you are doing, Shadea,” he said carefully. “I would not have bothered with either the boy or his parents, but the decision was not given to me to make. Now that we are committed, I will do what is needed. But I won't pretend that it makes me happy.”

She nodded, satisfied. “This is what you do then. Tell them that the Ard Rhys has disappeared and we are seeking her. Tell them that their son has gone looking for her, and we are seeking him, too. If they come with you to Paranor, perhaps they can help find both. None of this is a lie, and in this instance the truth is preferable. No one is to die outside these walls if we can help it.”

Traunt Rowan nodded slowly. “You will keep them alive just long enough to help you do . . . what?”

“To help us find the boy, if it becomes necessary, and perhaps to help us make certain that Grianne Ohmsford is safely locked away within the Forbidding. If we can trick Bek Ohmsford into using his magic to seek them out, we can be assured that our efforts to eliminate the Ohmsford threat will succeed.”

“I think we should kill him and be done with it,” Pyson Wence declared, brushing her suggestion aside. “He is too dangerous.”

She laughed. “Are you such a coward, Pyson? We have eliminated our greatest enemy, our most dangerous foe. What do we care for someone as unskilled as her brother? He isn't even a Druid! He doesn't practice his magic. He chooses to ignore it entirely. I don't think we need spare too much concern for his abilities. We are Druids of some power ourselves, as I recall.”

The small man flushed at the rebuke but, like Traunt Rowan before him, did not look away. “You take too many chances, Shadea. We are not as powerful as you pretend. Look at how things stand with the Council. We barely control it. Our grip is so tenuous that it could slip entirely upon a single misstep. Instead of hunting down Grianne Ohmsford's relatives and playing games with them, we should be consolidating our power and strengthening our hold on the Council. With Molt dead and Iridia gone off on her own, we need more allies. There are allies to be had, of that I am certain. But they won't come without persuasion and enticement.”

“I am aware of this,” she replied evenly, keeping her anger in check. He was such a fool. “But watching our backs is our first order of business just now. We mustn't let any of those who have strong feelings for the former Ard Rhys become a threat.”

There was a strained silence as they faced each other. Then Pyson Wence shrugged. “As you wish, Shadea. You are our leader. But remember—we are your conscience, Traunt and I. Don't be too quick to dismiss us.”

I will do worse than that soon enough, little rat,
she thought. “I would never dismiss you without first listening carefully to what you have to say, Pyson,” she said. “Your advice is always welcome. I depend on you to offer it freely.” She smiled. “Are we done?”

 

 

She waited until they had closed the door behind them before sitting down to write the note. Traunt Rowan would depart Paranor for the Ravenshorn at first light, both he and Pyson Wence having agreed to accept her decision on the fate of the Ohmsfords. In truth, they didn't care one way or the other about the Ohmsford family, so long as they could feel they had put some distance between themselves and any bloodletting. They were strong enough when it came to manipulation and deceit, but not so good when it came to killing. That was her province—hers and Aphasia Wye's.

She sometimes thought how much easier her life would have been if she had never come to Paranor. Perhaps that would have been the wiser move. She would not be Ard Rhys of the order, but neither would she be forced to bear the burden of its members' confusion and indecision. She could have practiced her magic alone, or even with Iridia as her partner, and accomplished much. But she had been desirous of more than that, greedy for the unmatchable power that came from leading those who could most affect the destiny of the Four Lands. Sen Dunsidan might think that the Federation was the future of the world, but she knew differently.

Nevertheless, there were times when she wished she could simply eliminate all the Druids and do everything herself. Things would be accomplished more quickly and efficiently. Events would progress with less conflict and argument. She was tired of shouldering the responsibility while being questioned at every turn by those she depended on to support her. They were a burden she would gladly shed when the time was right for it.

She wrote the note swiftly, having already decided on its contents while listening to the prattling of Pyson Wence. The time for hesitation was through. If they weren't strong enough to do what was needed, she would be strong enough for them.

When the note was finished, she read it back to herself.

WHEN YOU FIND THE BOY,
DON'T BOTHER WITH BRINGING HIM BACK.
KILL HIM AT ONCE.

She rolled up the paper and placed it into the tube she had retrieved from the arrow swift earlier in the day. Walking over to the window, she reached into the bird's cage and refastened the tube to its leg. The sharp-beaked face turned toward her as she did so, the bright eyes fixing on her.
Yes, little warrior,
she thought,
you are a far better friend to me than those who just left. Too bad you can't replace them.

When the tube was securely fastened, she withdrew the swift from its cage and tossed it into the air. It was gone from sight in moments, winging its way north into the twilight. It would fly all night and all the next day, a hardy, dependable courier. Wherever Aphasia Wye was, the arrow swift would find him.

She took a moment to think about what she had done. She had imposed a death sentence on the boy. That had not been her original intent, but her thinking about the Ohmsfords had changed since she had begun her search for them. She needed to simplify things, and the simplest way of dealing with the Ohmsfords was to kill them all and be done with it. She might tell Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence otherwise, might suggest there was another way, but she knew differently. She wanted all doors that might lead to Grianne Ohmsford permanently locked and sealed.

By this time next week, that job would be done.

 
T
HREE
 

Tagwen crossed his arms, tucked his bearded chin into his chest, and gave a frustrated growl.

“If this isn't the most ill-considered idea I have ever come across, I can't think what is!” He was losing what little remained of his patience. “Why do we think there's even the possibility of making it work? How long have we been at it now? Three hours, Penderrin! And we still haven't a clue about what to do.”

The boy listened to him wearily, admitted to himself that Tagwen was right, and promptly continued talking it through.

“Khyber is right about not relying on the Elfstones. We can't do that unless we're certain that this creature has the use of magic, as well, magic that the Elfstones can react to. I haven't seen anything that suggests it does. It might not be human, but that doesn't mean it relies on magic. If it does, and we find that out, then Khyber can use the Elfstones to disable it. But otherwise, we need to find a different way to gain an advantage.”

“Well, we have seen how fast it can move,” the Elven girl said. “It's much quicker and more agile than we are, so we can't expect to gain an advantage there.”

“What if we could find a way to slow it down?”

The Dwarf grunted disdainfully. “Now, there is a brilliant idea! Maybe we could hobble it with ropes or chains. Maybe we could drop it into quicksand or mud. Maybe we could lure it into a bottomless pit or off a cliff. There must be dozens of each in these mountains. All we need do is catch it napping and take it prisoner!”

“Stop, Tagwen,” Khyber said quietly. “This isn't helping.”

They stared at each other in uneasy silence, brows furrowed in a mix of concentration and frustration, a little more of the latter revealed on Tagwen's bluff face than on the those of the other two. The night before, the
Skatelow
had appeared in the sky above the foothills west of the Charnals. Twelve hours had passed since the horrifying discovery that the creature from Anatcherae had commandeered the airship, killed Gar Hatch and his Rovers, and taken Cinnaminson prisoner. No one had slept since, though they had pretended at it. Now that daylight had returned, they were sitting in the sunshine on a mountainside trying to decide what to do next. Mostly, they were arguing about how best to help Cinnaminson. Pen might have persuaded his companions that they should not abandon her, but that didn't mean he'dpersuaded them there was a way to save her.

“It would be less mobile if we could lead it into a confined space,” Khyber suggested.

“Or force it to climb a tree or a cliff face,” Pen added, “where it couldn't use its speed or agility.”

“A ledge or defile, narrow and slippery.”

“Why don't we find a way to force it to swim out to us!” Tagwen snapped irritably. “It probably doesn't swim very well. Then we could drown it when it got close. Bash it over the head with an oar or something. Where's the nearest big lake?” He blew out his breath in a huff. “Haven't we covered this ground already? What are the chances of making this happen? What in the world is going to persuade this creature to go anywhere we want it to go!”

“We have to find a way to lure it off the ship,” Pen declared, looking from the Dwarf to the Elf and back again. “Off the ship and away from Cinnaminson. We have to separate them if we are to free her.”

“Oh, that shouldn't be so hard,” Tagwen mumbled. “All we need is the right bait.”

His face changed instantly as he realized the territory he had mistakenly entered. “I didn't mean that! I didn't! Don't even think about it, Penderrin. Whatever else happens, you have to keep safe. If anything happens to you, the Ard Rhys has no chance of being saved. I know how you feel about this girl, but you should feel more strongly still about what you have been sent to do. You can't risk yourself!”

“Tagwen, calm down,” the boy told him. “Who said anything about risking myself? I'm just looking for a way to tip the balance in our favor long enough to free Cinnaminson and make an escape. In order to do the former, we need to separate her from her captor. In order to do the latter, we need to get control of the ship.”

“Get him off the ship and away from Cinnaminson, then get us on the ship and safely away,” Khyber summarized. She stared at him. “That doesn't seem like something that is likely to happen in the ordinary course of events.”

“Well then, we will change the course of events,” Pen declared. “This thing might be faster and stronger than we are, but it isn't necessarily smarter. We can outthink it. We can find a way to trick it into making a mistake.”

Tagwen got to his feet, making a rude noise that left no doubt about his opinion of this proclamation. “I've had enough of this. I need to take a walk, young Penderrin, young Khyber. I need to leave this conversation behind and clear my head. I was secretary and personal assistant to the Ard Rhys when we began this odyssey, and I haven't left that life far enough behind to feel comfortable with this one. I applaud your efforts in trying to save Cinnaminson, but I cannot think how they will lead to anything. If, while I am gone, you come up with the solution to this dilemma, I will be happy to hear all about it on my return.”

He gave them a perfunctory bow, one stiff with impatience and dismay, and walked away.

They watched him go in silence, and it wasn't until he was well out of sight and hearing that Khyber said, “He may be looking at this with clearer eyes than we are.”

Pen bristled instantly. “I suppose you think we should give up, too? Just leave her to that monster and go on our way?”

The Elven girl shook her head. “I don't think that at all. When I told you I would help, I meant it. But I'm beginning to wonder what sort of help we can provide. Maybe we would be smarter to continue on to Taupo Rough and ask help from Kermadec and his Trolls. Whatever this thing is, the Rock Trolls are likely a better match for it than we are.”

“You might be right,” Pen agreed. “But in order to find out, we have to go all the way to Taupo Rough, then persuade Kermadec to help, then come back this way again and find the
Skatelow,
which is flying while we're on the ground. I don't much care for our chances there, either. If we don't do something right now, it will probably be too late. This creature won't bother keeping Cinnaminson around if it's not to its own advantage.”

He was remembering how Cinnaminson, blind but privy to a sort of inner mind-vision that sighted people did not possess, had deliberately led her captor away from the spot where Pen and his companions were hiding in the rocks. He could not be certain that she had known he was there, but Pen felt in his heart that she had. Her courage astonished him, and he was terrified that it might have cost her life.

“All right.” Khyber straightened and leaned forward. “Let's try it again. We know what we need to do. We need to get this thing off the
Skatelow
and away from Cinnaminson. We need to keep it off long enough to take over the airship, get airborne, and escape. How much time would that take if you were piloting?”

Pen thought, running his hand through his red hair. “A few minutes, no more, if the power lines haven't been disconnected. Even then, not long. A reconnect from any draw to any parse tube would be enough to get off the ground. Cut the ropes, engage the thrusters, open the draws, and you're away. We wouldn't have to worry about Cinnaminson until after we were airborne.”

“All we need to figure out, then, is what it will take to get our cloaked friend off the ship.” She considered. “Besides you.”

“But I am exactly what it
will
take, Khyber,” he said quietly. “You know that. I'm what it's after. We know that much from Anatcherae. We don't know the reason, but we know I'm what it's come for.” He took a deep breath. “Don't look at me that way. I know what I told Tagwen.”

“Good. That means you know as well that you are talking nonsense. Tagwen was right to warn you against latching on to any plan that exposed you to risk. That isn't why you came on this journey, Pen. You are the reason for everything that's happened, and you don't have the right to put yourself in a position where you could be killed.”

“That isn't what I'm suggesting!” He couldn't keep the irritation from his voice. “The trick is to make sure that by becoming bait, I can still get away when I need to. The trick is in getting the monster off the
Skatelow
and me on, all at the same time. But I don't see any other way of making that happen if we can't deceive this thing into thinking it has a chance to get its hands on me.”

Khyber sighed. “You assume that getting its hands on you is its goal. What if it simply wants to kill you? It came close to doing that in Anatcherae.”

Pen looked down and rubbed his eyes. “I've been thinking about that. I don't think it
was
trying to kill me. I think it was trying to scare me. I think it was hoping I would freeze in place and it would be on me before anyone could help. It wants me for its prisoner, to take me to whoever sent it.”

He saw the look of doubt that crossed her face and went on hurriedly. “All right, maybe it was trying to injure me or slow me down. It's possible.”

She shook her head. “What's possible is that you are no longer in touch with reality. Your feelings for this girl have muddled your thinking. You're starting to invent possibilities that have no basis in fact or common sense. You have to stop this, Pen.”

He suppressed the sharp reply that struggled to break free and looked off across the mountainside. They were wasting time, going nowhere, and it was his fault. What they were supposed to be doing was traveling to Taupo Rough to find Kermadec, so that he could reach the ruins of Stridegate and the island of the tanequil, gain possession of a limb from the tree, fashion it into a darkwand, return to Paranor, get through the Forbidding, and somehow rescue his aunt, Grianne Ohmsford, the Ard Rhys! Even without speaking the words aloud, he was left breathless—and left with a feeling of urgency for getting on with what he was supposed to do.

Yet here he was, doing none of it. Instead, he was insisting on rescuing Cinnaminson, and it was admittedly for selfish reasons. He looked up at the clear blue sky, then down at the foothills that banked and leveled to the shores of the Rabb. He felt a momentary stab of panic as he realized that Khyber was right in her analysis; he
was
grasping at straws.

But he couldn't bear to think of leaving Cinnaminson in the hands of that spidery creature, not feeling as he did about her.

There has to be a way.

Why couldn't he think of what it was?

Why couldn't he think of
something
?

shouldn't his magic be able to help him? He had been chosen for this journey expressly because his magic would give him a way to communicate with the tanequil. If it would allow him to do that, shouldn't he be able to find a way to use it here? It had possibilities he had never dreamed of; the King of the Silver River had revealed as much. One of those possibilities ought to be available for use here. If he could think of it. If he could get past the feeling that his magic was small and insignificant, no matter what anyone said—spirit creature or human. If he could persuade himself that it was good for something more than drawing the interest of moor cats like Bandit and reading the danger signs in the flight of cliff birds. If he could just do that, he ought to be able to use it to help Cinnaminson.

He was looking for a place to restart the conversation with Khyber when Tagwen walked back out of the rocks, brushing off his hands and looking less owlish than earlier.

“You can't imagine what I just found,” he said. Pen and Khyber exchanged a quizzical glance. “Broad-leaf rampion. Hardly ever find it in low country. Prefers higher elevations, cooler climates. No snow, mind you, but a hint of frost seems to favor it.”

Both the boy and the Elf girl stared at him. He looked quickly from one to the other. “Never heard of it? It's a plant. Not very big, but fibrous. It secretes a sticky resin from splits in its skin. You break off stalks, crush them up, fire the whole mess to release the resin, separate it from the plant material, mix it with wort moss and albus root, cook it all until it thickens, and you know what you get?”

He grinned through his beard with such glee that it was almost frightening. “Tar, my young friends. Very sticky tar.”

 

 

So now they had a means, of sorts, of gaining an advantage over their enemy. If they could manage to lure it into a patch of that tar, everything it touched would stick to it, including the ground itself, and it would quickly become so bogged down with debris that it would have great difficulty functioning. Better still, if they could find a way to bring it into contact with something as immovable as a tree, it wouldn't be able to function at all.

They spent the remainder of the morning distilling resin from the plant and turning it into a small batch of tar. They were able to find the albus root and wort moss needed to make the mix, and they cooked it over a smokeless fire using an indented stone for a bowl. When it was ready, they formed it into a ball, allowed it to cool, and wrapped it in young broad leaves tied together with strips of leather. The tar smelled awful, and they had to consider the problem of disguising its presence as well as tricking the creature on the
Skatelow
into stepping into it.

“This won't work,” Khyber declared, wrinkling her nose against the stench as the three of them stared down at the steaming pouch. “The creature will spot this in a heartbeat and go right around it.”

Pen was inclined to agree, but he didn't say so. At least the leaf-wrap was holding together, although it didn't look any too secure.

“If it's distracted, it might not notice the smell,” he said.