Wards of Faerie

  “Let’s have a closer look,” the Ard Rhys announced.

  The members of the company moved forward with Pleysia and Oriantha bringing up the rear, watching over their shoulders for anything that might be coming up on them from behind. The advance was stealthy and cautious, and no one spoke as they neared the shimmer. Shadows closed about them, cast by the high walls of the split. A peculiar positioning of the shimmer within the wedge allowed sunlight to play over it even when it seemed to reach no other place within the gloom. Redden tried to fathom how this was possible but failed to find an answer.

  Khyber walked right up to the glittering light with Skint and Garroneck close behind. It was clear by then, even to Redden who was near the back of those assembled, that the shimmer was not water but light that gave the appearance of water. The Ard Rhys motioned for everyone to stay back as she studied the light, then probed it with magic conjured through a series of intricate hand movements.

  When she had finished her examination and was apparently satisfied with what she had discovered, she looked back at her followers and said, “Magic made this, but I can’t identify its source. It doesn’t appear to be harmful, but I will have to test it to be certain. Everyone will wait here while I do.”

  When Garroneck muttered what must have been an objection, she added. “Yes, that includes you.”

  Without hesitating, she stepped into the shimmer and disappeared.

  The wait for her return went on for long minutes. Twice, Garroneck started for the light, and twice Carrick caught his arm and shook his head firmly. No one knew what the light would do to anyone entering. It might not even take those entering to the same place. Redden tried to see what lay on the other side, but he could only make out rock walls and clustered shadows.

  The reappearance of the Ard Rhys was both sudden and startling. She emerged from the shimmer all at once, her black cloak wrapped close.

  The members of the company immediately crowded close to hear what she had to say.

  “The light opens into a tunnel,” she told them. “The tunnel winds through rock walls I could not see, but could feel when I stretched out my arms. The tunnel ends at a second shimmer—like this one but much darker and more resistant when I passed through it. On the other side is country similar to what we have here—bleak and empty and gray. I took time to look around and see if anything dangerous waited, but nothing showed itself. Nothing threatened me while I was in the tunnel, either. I think we should go through now and have a look around and then decide if we want to make camp there rather than here. I’ve tagged the opening so that we can find our way back.”

  This time there was heated discussion. A handful of those in the company, chief among them Garroneck, thought it would be better to stay where they were until morning and then send a small party back through the tunnel for a closer look around. Most of the others wanted to continue now rather than wait.

  Redden kept silent, even though he believed they should rethink the whole business. He didn’t like what he was feeling, and his instincts were seldom wrong when it came to making choices like this one. He wondered if anyone else was feeling this way besides the handful who had already spoken. He glanced from face to face.

  To his surprise, he found Oriantha watching him. She gave him a brief nod. She knew what he was looking for.

  Before he could decide whether to approach her, Khyber Elessedil announced that they were going into the tunnel, all of them save for Skint, who would take Khyber’s coin and return to let the others know what was happening. If they weren’t back by nightfall, Seersha was to use the coin to summon Mirai and the Walker Boh. Railing, Farshaun, and the Speakman would be flown back out immediately, and Seersha and Skint would wait for the company’s return. Skint objected heatedly to being chosen, pointing out that he was the one best equipped to act as guide for the company. But his arguments did not change Khyber’s mind, so off he went, trudging back down the defile.

  Khyber waited until he was gone and then turned to the others. “Stay close together. Don’t let the darkness confuse you. Put a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you if necessary. But I don’t want lights of any kind, real or magic. We don’t know what that might draw, and I don’t want to find out the hard way. It takes about five minutes to go through. We can do it in the dark.”

  “You stay in front of me, boy,” Crace Coram said quietly, leaning close to Redden. “I’ll watch your back.”

  They went through the bright shimmer and into the darkness beyond in a long line. Redden felt the Dwarf Chieftain’s hand resting on his shoulder and kept his own on the back of the Troll who was walking just in front of him. It was impossible to see anything; the tunnel’s gloom was impenetrable. Navigating the blackness of the passageway seemed to take forever, but nothing happened to them as they moved through.

  They reached the second shimmer, this one considerably darker and more resistant to their approach. It was as if it had a thicker substance; they could feel it pressing against them as they attempted to breach it.

  “Keep going!” Khyber shouted back to them. “Push ahead!”

  They did so, heads lowered against the membrane of gloom resisting them.

  They emerged from the tunnel’s darkness through an opening in a huge mound of boulders, blinking against a heavy wash of gray light, and found themselves in country that replicated what they had just left behind. Redden glanced over his shoulder—past Crace Coram, Pleysia, Oriantha, and another Troll—but he found no sign of the peaks they had passed through. There were peaks, but they were far in the distance and huge, spread out across the horizon behind him in a massive wall. He looked up at a sky shrouded in mist and gloom and could find no trace of the sun. He tried to orient himself from what he remembered of the Westland wilderness they had flown over. But he knew so little of this part of the world that it proved impossible. His best guess was that what he was seeing were the mountains of the Breakline.

  The rest of the company was looking around, as well. None of its members seemed able to orient. Redden was reminded that the Ard Rhys had brought no one with them who had any personal knowledge of the country. Both Farshaun and the Speakman had been left behind.

  “We won’t want to go much farther than this without someone who knows what they are doing.”

  Oriantha was standing right next to him, bending close, her voice too soft for anyone else to hear.

  “That’s what I think, too,” he replied.

  She nodded. “I know. I saw it in your face. Your instincts are as sharp as mine.” She glanced around. “I don’t think anyone else sees things like we do. Not even my mother.”

  Then she was gone, drifting back to where Pleysia was engaged in a discussion with Carrick, the two of them arguing quietly, but vehemently. Redden wondered about her again. Not even my mother, she had said. Had he heard correctly? Had she just told him that Pleysia was her mother?

  The Trolls had all clustered to one side, where Garroneck was speaking to them privately. Carrick and Pleysia were still arguing, with Oriantha looking on. Crace Coram had walked up to the Ard Rhys. Redden was standing alone now, studying his bleak surroundings, when the dark shimmer through which they had just passed—along with the cluster of huge boulders that framed the opening from which it hung suspended—disappeared.

  For a second, Redden just kept staring at the space the shimmer and rocks had occupied, waiting for it to reappear, certain it would, convinced it must. When it didn’t, he felt a hot surge of panic sweep through him.

  In the next instant, the dragon attacked.

  It dropped out of the sky without a sound and no warning save for the enveloping black shadow of its descent. It was easily the biggest creature Redden had ever seen, and while he had never come face-to-face with a dragon he knew what it was. Studded with horns and ridged with spines, its body was covered in black scales encrusted with patches of moss and lichen. Redden smelled it before he saw it, its fecund scent instantly recalling damp earth
and rotting dead-wood. Its wingspan was fully thirty feet, and its tail even longer than that. It was impossible that such a massive creature could manage to get airborne, let alone fly.

  “Dragon!” he managed to scream before diving for safety.

  Oriantha was already moving, hurtling into her mother, sweeping them both to one side and out of harm’s way.

  But the rest had only enough time to glance up before it was on top of them.

  The Trolls took the brunt of the attack, clustered together and thus easily the biggest target for the dragon. Garroneck and two others were killed instantly, the dragon’s massive claws crushing their bodies, its teeth tearing at their unprotected heads. One minute they were there and the next they were reduced to body parts scattered about the ground amid splashes of bright red blood. Redden heard Khyber Elessedil cry out as the dragon’s tail whipped about, catching her across the back and sending her flying.

  Crace Coram, standing right next to the Ard Rhys, was quicker. Avoiding the tail as it swept past him, he rushed the dragon from behind and scaled its backside. Barely slowing as he reached the spikes that ran the length of its spine, the Dwarf clawed his way forward. The dragon reached back for him, jaws opening wide, but Carrick and Pleysia both attacked it from the front, Druid magic striking at the creature in fiery bursts that slammed into its head and neck and drew its attention away from the Dwarf.

  Oriantha was down on the ground on all fours, becoming the beast Redden had seen earlier, all feral and wolfish as she crouched next to her mother. Redden scrambled up and started forward to help, but then stopped in his tracks.

  What did he think he was doing?

  Frozen with indecision, he hesitated.

  Crace Coram was all the way up the dragon’s back and onto its neck by now. The dragon twisted its head in an effort to avoid the Druid Fire being thrown at it by Carrick and Pleysia while at the same time trying to shake loose the man clinging to its neck. The remaining Trolls had joined the battle, darting at the dragon, jabbing at it with swords and spears. One of them got too close, and the dragon snatched him up and ground him into the earth. Oriantha, turning ever more bestial, was circling the creature, looking for an opening.

  Only Redden was hanging back, unable to do anything but watch.

  Then, abruptly, the dragon took to the air, spreading its wings and lifting away. The Druids and the Trolls tried to stop it, but the dragon shrugged off their efforts, too big and burly to contain. Crace Coram had climbed all the way up to its head and was hammering at it with his iron mace. But even that didn’t slow it.

  At the last minute Oriantha made a sudden rush, caught hold of a leg, and scrambled onto the dragon’s back. Pleysia screamed in rage and disbelief and tried to follow her daughter, but the dragon had already risen too high. Together, she and Carrick continued to strike at the beast as it rose, fought to bring it down again and failed.

  The dragon soared into the sky, its two riders clinging to it, the Dwarf hammering it with his mace, the beast girl tearing at it with teeth and claws.

  In seconds it was only a dot on the horizon.

  Railing Ohmsford came awake with a start, eyes blinking rapidly, and wondered where he was.

  “There, now,” someone said, pressing down gently but firmly on his shoulders. “Easy does it.”

  He looked up into Farshaun Req’s face, remembering. “Where’s Redden?” he asked.

  The old man explained everything, not wasting words, trying his best to reassure the boy. But Railing, though he understood the reasons for it, was distressed that Redden had gone on without him. He couldn’t help himself; he didn’t like being separated from his twin for any reason. The two were always together, and he especially didn’t like it when one of them might be in danger.

  “How bad is my leg?” he asked.

  “It’s broken in two places.” Farshaun pointed to the splints. “You’ll have to go back to the ship, boy.”

  “Not without Redden, I won’t.” He raised himself up on one elbow, wincing as a jolt of pain ratcheted through his injured leg. “How long have they been gone now?”

  “Several hours.” Farshaun looked skyward. “Getting dark. They should be back soon.”

  The boy looked around at the Trolls, standing over by the edge of the escarpment with Seersha and Skint. The latter glanced around, saw that Railing was awake, and wandered over.

  “Feeling better? Leg all right? I set those splints myself.”

  Railing nodded. “Farshaun says you found the waterfall and the company went into it, my brother with them.”

  Skint nodded. “Wasn’t actually a waterfall. It was some sort of light. The Ard Rhys sent me back to tell the rest of you what happened. She said they would be back after they took a look around.”

  Railing started to push himself to his feet. “I can’t wait for that. I have to find my brother now.”

  “Here, here!” Farshaun pushed him down again. “You can’t walk on that leg without support. You’ll make it worse if you try.”

  Skint was staring off toward the cliffs. “Maybe I should have a look around while we’re waiting. Just to see if anything’s happened.”

  He wandered back toward the trees and disappeared. Railing and Farshaun watched him go. The boy glanced at the darkening sky and felt the first twinges of uneasiness begin to settle in.

  Then Seersha hurried over to them and knelt, her blunt features troubled. “There’s movement in the rocks below the bluff. I think those little monsters are getting ready to mount another attack.”

  She gave them a look. “If they come at us after dark, I don’t think we can stop them. We have to get out of here right now.”

  Khyber Elessedil regained consciousness. She saw Pleysia on her knees wailing in despair as the dragon disappeared. Carrick and the Trolls were staring after it, stunned looks on their faces. She called to Redden Ohmsford who, having regained a small measure of his composure, hurried over.

  “Help me up,” she ordered.

  She said it in a way that did not allow for any argument, and he did as he was asked, lifting her back to her feet. She was surprised at how easily he lifted her, as if her age had sapped her of substance and left her little more than skin and hollow bones. She took a moment to find her balance and then stepped away from him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He nodded. “But the dragon took Crace Coram and Oriantha.”

  She glanced at Pleysia, still kneeling on the ground, keening softly. She knew Garroneck and several other Trolls were lost, as well; she had seen it happen. She took in the huddle of Trolls who remained; only four of them were left. Her entire Druid Guard, decimated. She saw Carrick staring at her accusingly.

  Then Redden said, “The way back is gone.”

  She turned, not sure she had heard right. “What?”

  “The shimmer we passed through to get here. It’s disappeared.”

  She looked in the direction he was indicating and found no sign of it. She took a moment to scan the entire area carefully. Nothing. What was happening?

  Something tweaked her memory, something she had learned long ago when Grianne Ohmsford was Ard Rhys and the Druid order was in shambles. Grianne had spoken of what had been done to her, of what she had endured to survive inside …

  She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bear the weight of it. Because suddenly she understood everything. Giant insects. Packs of creatures that in the time of Faerie would have been recognized instantly as Goblins.

  And now a dragon, she whispered to herself.

  A dracha.

  All things that Elven magic had locked away centuries ago, imprisoned ever since by the magic of the Ellcrys.

  She exhaled sharply. Shades! They weren’t in the Four Lands anymore. They were somewhere else entirely. They were in a place they weren’t supposed to be able to reach, a place held inviolate by ancient wards that had somehow begun to erode.

  They were inside the Forbidding.

  28
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  FOR THE REMAINDER OF THAT DAY AND ALL OF THE NEXT, Drust Chazhul and his Federation army did not attempt any further assaults against Paranor. They held on to the Outer Wall and the landing platform and its airships, and stationed sentries on the walls and towers and on the perimeter of the surrounding forest so that no one could come or go without being seen. They built watch fires in the courtyards to keep the Inner Wall and towers illuminated, and whenever the Druids used magic to put the fires out they quickly reignited them. No attempt was made to communicate with the defenders, and it was soon clear any communication would have to come from those trapped within the Keep.

  From behind the Inner Wall, Aphenglow and her companions listened to the sounds of construction. Attempts were made to catch a glimpse of what was being built, but even from the highest vantage points in the Keep’s many towers they could see nothing.

  “Siege machines,” Bombax declared, dismissing the matter.

  But Aphenglow wasn’t so sure. Drust Chazhul had to realize by now that direct attacks against the Keep were doomed to failure. Siege machines were just more of the same, so why would the Prime Minister and his army of commanders bother? Something else was happening, but she couldn’t decide what it was. Even Cymrian, who was usually so quick to decipher such puzzles, could not come up with an answer.

  They considered again further attempts to protect the most valuable talismans and artifacts hidden within the Keep, including the Black Elfstone, but again decided against it. They bandied about the idea of attempting to get word to one of the Border Cities or to Arborlon in an effort to summon help. But a journey of that sort would have to be made on foot, and it would require a three-day slog just to get clear of the Dragon’s Teeth. From there, it would be another two days either to Tyrsis or Arborlon unless they could borrow or steal an airship or a horse. With so many sentries and patrols, the chances of being seen were good, and that would generate a pursuit. Worst of all, even if someone managed the journey successfully, there was nothing to say that help of any kind would be given.