Bek cut two more strands, making his tally an even dozen. When he had finished with the twelfth, he was too tired to go on. He withdrew the cutting edge of his magic and let the wishsong go still. He closed his eyes wearily and leaned back against the passageway wall. “That’s all I can do,” he whispered to Khyber.
She exhaled sharply, and when he opened his eyes again, the Elfstones had gone dark. She was slumped down across from him, her fingers closed tightly about the talismans. “Do you think it was enough? Will it break apart for your sister and Pen? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t feel the weakening at all. All I could do was make out the places where it might give way.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He reached over from behind the open door and pushed against it. The door closed softly, and the latch caught. They were left in darkness again save for where greenish light leaked through the cracks, blade-thin and knife-sharp. In the ensuing silence, they stared at each other wordlessly, wondering if they had done enough.
Shadea a’Ru had finished rechecking the strength and positioning of the triagenel and was on her way back down the hall when Traunt Rowan reappeared from the cold chamber. She noticed for the first time how much he had aged over the past few weeks. His strong face was lined and gray, the way he held himself was less confident and erect. He had been the most dependable of her allies, the strongest-minded if not the strongest wielder of magic, and she was dismayed that he had not held up better. It pointed up again a truth she regretted.
In the end, she was the only one she could depend on. In the end, she was in the battle alone.
“You were right to have me check the scrye waters,” he announced perfunctorily. “The Druid on watch said there was a noticeable disturbance perhaps eight or ten hours ago, one that clearly indicated the presence of a powerful magic. He said he failed to report it because he thought it was Druid magic. The truth is he was afraid he would stumble into something he shouldn’t know about and pay the price for doing so.”
“What does that mean?”
His laugh was bitter. “It means our decision to keep everyone guessing about who is expendable is having unavoidable consequences. We have created a climate of fear, Shadea, in which no one wants to risk drawing attention. Better to keep silent than to make a mistake and become another unfortunate example.”
She glared at him, then looked away. He was right, of course. What was the purpose in getting mad at him for pointing out something she already knew? She had the Druids well in line and working to complete their tasks, but they were frightened and uncertain. Her early, unexplained dismissals had made them that way. Now she was in danger of losing them all.
She was no better than Grianne Ohmsford.
But that would change, she promised herself. She would make it change.
She looked back at him. “What was the source of the disturbance?”
“The furnace chamber, where we sent the Elven girl to be killed. I think we must assume she is still alive. Pyson sent an armed unit to search that whole area. They found evidence of blood, but nothing else.”
Shadea shook her head. “What is she up to? What does she think she can accomplish?” Her hard gaze fixed on him. “I want her found, Traunt. I want her found and killed. I don’t care how it’s done or who knows. We have to put an end to this business.”
He nodded wordlessly. There was nothing for him to say.
They walked back down the hall toward her chamber. “I received word from our spies in Arishaig,” he said quietly. “Iridia has disappeared.”
She looked over in surprise. “How long ago?”
“Several days, at least. She simply vanished. Sen Dunsidan doesn’t seem bothered, though. That leads me to believe he may have had something to do with it.”
She nodded, thinking that Sen Dunsidan couldn’t have gotten rid of Iridia on the best day of his life. It was far more likely that her Gnome assassins had been more successful than she had believed, even if they hadn’t gotten word back to her yet.
They reached her door. “Find that girl,” she repeated, turning to face him. “And anyone else she might have brought with her into Paranor. Tell Pyson to have his Gnome Hunters sweep the Keep again—every passageway, every room.”
She paused. “And double the guard on the sleeping chamber. I have a feeling that Grianne Ohmsford is about to reappear. I want to be sure we are ready for her when she does.”
She saw the stricken look on his face and smiled. “What’s the trouble? Don’t you think we are a match for her? We dispatched her once; we can do so again. Only this time, I intend to make sure she won’t ever come back.”
She turned away. “I need to rest. Wake me when something happens.” She glanced back at him. “And make sure that something happens soon.”
He was still standing there in the hallway when she closed the door.
Bek was sitting next to Khyber in the darkened passageway off the sleeping chamber of the Ard Rhys. They had slept for several hours, and now Tagwen and Rue were sleeping. Bek wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Not that it mattered; there was nothing they could do but wait. He found himself wondering how long that might be. They couldn’t wait indefinitely. Sooner or later, someone would find them. They would need food and drink, as well, although they had brought a little of each with them into the Keep. He guessed that the waiting would end either when Grianne and Pen reappeared out of the Forbidding or Paranor fell to Kermadec and his Trolls.
He wondered about the chances of the latter. The Trolls were formidable, but no one had taken Paranor since it had been betrayed to the Warlock Lord in the time of Jerle Shannara. The Druids were a powerful order, even if dissatisfied with their leadership and their present situation. Their command of magic gave them an edge that no one else possessed. Bek hoped that Kermadec was right when he said that most of them would not support Shadea a’Ru, but he had a feeling that if faced with an assault on Paranor, they might.
But he couldn’t do anything about that. He could only do something about the things he had control over.
He leaned close to Khyber. “There is something I have to tell you,” he whispered. “About Pen and the staff.”
She glanced up. “The darkwand?”
He nodded. “The King of the Silver River came to me in a fever dream while I was flying north in search of Pen. In that dream, he told me that demons from the Forbidding had manipulated Shadea and her Druid allies. Their purpose in helping Shadea had nothing to do with getting their hands on Grianne; their purpose was to release a demon into our world. That demon’s mission is to destroy the Ellcrys and tear down the Forbidding.”
He felt her fingers dig into his arm. “Let me finish. Pen can stop this from happening. He can send the demon back through the Forbidding. The purpose of the darkwand is not only to bring Grianne out, but also to send the demon back. But Pen has to find it first. It is a changeling, and it will be in disguise.”
“What if it reaches Arborlon before Pen gets back?” She looked at him as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
He shook his head. “The Elves guard the Ellcrys day and night. Arborlon has defenses to keep anything from getting close. We have to hope that’s enough. There’s only so much we can do.”
He put his hand over hers. “Now, listen to me. I don’t know what will happen once Grianne and Pen reappear in the Four Lands. We are all at risk. But whatever happens, you and Pen have only one concern. You have to find that demon. Escape back through the secret passageway and get outside Paranor’s walls. Then go after it. Take Swift Sure. Use the Elfstones to track it down and then send it back into the Forbidding.”
He paused. “Pen doesn’t know about any of this. You might have to be the one to tell him, if Rue and I can’t. If so, make sure he understands what he is supposed to do. He can’t worry about us or about what happens here. You know the way out; you have to make certain he uses it.”
She stared at him doubtfully. “H
e won’t want to leave you. I don’t know if he will listen to me.”
Bek took her hands and held them. “He will listen to reason. You will find the words.”
He wished he had something more to offer. But what he had just given her was the best he had.
TWENTY-SIX
On the wide night-shadowed plains of the Pashanon, Grianne Ohmsford stared in shock as the approaching figure came into the light and its features were revealed.
It was a boy.
At first, she thought she must be mistaken, even though she had been told the boy would come for her, even though she had been looking for him all this time. It was the unexpectedness of his appearance that gave her pause, the way he simply materialized out of the receding night, the ease with which he had found her in the middle of nowhere. But it was more than that. She had just left a killing field, a slaughterhouse of the Forbidding’s creatures turned to stone. She thought the figure must be something come out of that madness. She thought she was seeing a ghost.
“Shades,” she whispered, and stopped walking altogether.
At her side, Weka Dart growled. “What is it, Straken? Who is this creature?”
The boy approached as if there were no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. He looked haggard and beaten down. He looked to her, she thought suddenly, as she must look to him. His clothing was ragged and his face dirty and careworn. He walked in a way that suggested his journey had been long and hard, and indeed, if he had come from her world, from the world of the Four Lands, it must have been. Though he was clearly young, everything about him was dark and weathered.
Except for the odd staff he carried, which was made of a wood that was polished and smooth and glowed red with bits of fire.
He walked right up to her and stopped. “Hello, Aunt Grianne.”
It was Penderrin. Of all the boys she might have imagined, he was the last. She couldn’t say why, but he was. Maybe it was because he was Bek’s son, and it would never have occurred to her that Pen would come for her rather than Bek. Maybe it was just her certainty that if a boy was indeed coming, he would be extraordinary, and Pen was not. He was just an average boy. He lacked his father’s magic; he lacked his mother’s experience. She had met him only a couple of times, and while he was goodhearted and interested in her, he had never seemed special.
Yet there he was, come to her from a place no one else could have come, there when no one else was.
“Penderrin,” she whispered.
She stepped forward, placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes to make sure. Then she hugged him to her, holding on to him with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. He was the one; just the fact of his being there was confirmation of what the shade of the Warlock Lord had foretold. She felt his arms come around her as well, and he hugged her back. In that instant, they were bonded in a way that could only have happened under the circumstances of that improbable meeting. Whatever befell her, she would never feel the same way about him again.
She released him and stepped back. “How did you find me? How did you get here?”
He smiled faintly. “It might take a while to explain that.” He held up the glowing staff. “This is what brought me and what will take us both back, once we return to the place I came in at. The runes carved in its surface glow brighter when it gets nearer to you. I just followed their lead.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “I had no idea it could be you. I was told that a boy would come for me, but I never thought it would be Bek’s son.” She gave him another hug. There were tears in her eyes, and she wiped them away quickly. “I am so grateful to you.”
Weka Dart was standing off to one side, a mix of emotions mirrored in his feral features, suspicion fighting with curiosity and hope. She glanced at him, and then turned Pen about to face him. “This is Weka Dart, Pen. He is an Ulk Bog, a creature of the Forbidding. He calls this the world of the Jarka Ruus—the banished ones. What you should know is that he is my friend. He, alone, of all the creatures I have encountered, has tried to help me. Without him, I would be …”
She trailed off. “I don’t know where I would be,” she finished quietly.
Weka Dart beamed. “I am honored to have served the Straken Queen,” he announced, and bowed deeply. He looked up again quickly. “If you are her savior, then perhaps you will be mine, as well. I wish to continue to protect Grianne of the kind heart and powerful magic. I have pledged myself to do so for as long as she needs me. Can you help me? Are you a Straken, too?”
“No,” Grianne said quickly. “Pen is family. He is not a Straken, Weka Dart. He comes only to take me home again.”
“And take me, too?” the Ulk Bog pressed.
“What do you mean?” Pen asked, and then looked at Grianne. “What is he talking about?”
“Leave it alone for now. I have to know more about what you are doing here. I don’t understand why you’ve come instead of your father. Is he all right? He hasn’t been harmed, has he?”
She listened then as he told her everything that had happened since Tagwen had appeared in Patch Run to seek his father’s help. He told her of the little company that had come together in Emberen to start the quest for the tanequil. She learned of the death of Ahren Elessedil and of the dark creatures that had been enlisted by Shadea to hunt Pen down. He told her of the fate of the Skatelow and the Rovers who crewed her and of star-crossed Cinnaminson’s transformation into one of the aeriads. He told her of brave Kermadec and his Rock Trolls. He told her of the tanequil, of its dual nature and of the shaping of the darkwand. By listening, she came to understand how desperate the struggle had been to reach her and how much had been sacrificed so that Pen could find a way to bring her back into the Four Lands.
“I would have thought my father a better choice for this, too,” he finished. “But the King of the Silver River said that I was the one who was needed. I guess it was because my magic allowed me to communicate with the tanequil. Perhaps my father’s couldn’t do that. I don’t know. I only know that I had to come looking for you, that it was important that I try, even if I really didn’t think I could succeed.”
Grianne smiled in spite of herself. “Perhaps the King of the Silver River saw something in you that you didn’t see in yourself, Penderrin Ohmsford, because here you are, whether you believed it could happen or not.”
He smiled back. “I’m glad I found you, Aunt Grianne.”
Weka Dart was dancing around again, looking agitated, his craggy features twisting and knotting. “We should leave this place,” he whined anxiously. He glanced back in the direction of the Asphinx colony and the stone statues. “It is dangerous to remain here.”
Grianne nodded. “He is right, Pen. We can continue talking while we travel. We must go as quickly as possible to the doorway out of the Forbidding. Time slips away.”
They began retracing Pen’s steps, walking west toward the receding darkness, the dim gray brightening of the dawn at their backs. The vast sweep of the Pashanon stretched away before them, its stunted, broken landscape empty of movement. Far distant still to the north, the Dragon Line lifted in stark relief against the horizon. The sky remained clouded and the air hazy as the daylight brightened only marginally the world of the Jarka Ruus.
“I am very sorry to hear about Ahren Elessedil,” she said to Pen after a time. “He was the best of my Druids, the one I could always depend upon. It proved to be so here, at the end, too. But I will miss him.”
In truth, she felt as if her heart would break. Only losing Bek could hurt worse. Ahren had been with her since the formation of the Third Druid Order, the linchpin she had relied upon time and time again. He had committed to her during their return to the Four Lands from Parkasia, and she had come to respect him deeply. She looked off into the distance, took a deep breath, and exhaled wearily.
“I am sorry about your father and mother, too,” she continued, glancing over at him. “It isn’t fair that they should have been brought into this. I
t isn’t fair that any of you should have—Tagwen, Kermadec, the Rover girl, any who tried to help. I won’t forget. I will try to make things right again, as much as I can.”
“It was their choice,” Pen said. “Just as it was mine. We all wanted to help.”
She shook her head dismissively. “Shadea,” she said softly. “I should have done what Kermadec told me to do a long time ago; I should have rid myself of her. I should have rid myself of them all. Pyson Wence, Terek Molt, Iridia. Even Traunt Rowan. I am the most disappointed in him. I never thought he would turn against me, no matter how bad things got. I let my judgment be clouded. A bad thing for an Ard Rhys to do.”
She was silent for a moment. “How many of my Druids stand with Shadea and those others, Pen?” she asked. “Do you know?”
He shook his head. “Some, I guess. She is Ard Rhys now. The Druids all answer to her. But I don’t know how loyal they are.” He paused. “When I was a prisoner, she was away in Arishaig. She has an alliance with the Prime Minister.”
“Sen Dunsidan,” she whispered. “Another viper. I would expect him to be involved somehow. Shadea would not act without some sort of outside support, and Sen Dunsidan has always hated me.”
With reason, she thought. As the Ilse Witch, she had made his life nightmarish. But he had allied himself with the Morgawr and tried to have her killed. So she had reason to hate him, too. Yet she had forgiven him his maliciousness and thought he had done the same. Clearly, she had shown poor judgment there, as well.
“Are there any I can count upon within the order to support me?”
Pen shook his head. “I don’t know of any. No one came to help me but Khyber.”