Keeping one hand firmly attached to her reluctant companion, Khyber moved over to the Gnome at the table. “We’ve been sent to speak with the boy,” she said, again using the Callahorn dialect. “Where is he?”
The Gnome Hunter stared at her, clearly surprised by her demand. Then he shook his head. “No one sees him. I have my orders.”
“Orders from Traunt Rowan,” she snapped. “Who do you think sent us here? Now take us to the boy. Or do you want me to drag him down here to tell you for himself?”
The threat cut off whatever reply the Gnome was about to make, and he simply nodded. “Someone should tell me these things. I can’t know them otherwise.” He paused. “You just want to speak with the boy?”
She shrugged dismissively. “He won’t be leaving his cell, if that’s what you are asking.”
He rose doubtfully, reached under the table to produce a ring of keys, and led them down the hallway. Khyber felt the beginnings of some resistance on the part of her reluctant companion and shoved him ahead.
“Don’t,” she whispered, the dagger digging into his back so hard he whimpered.
They passed the second guard on his way back. He glanced at Khyber and her companion without interest and moved on. She fought the urge to look over her shoulder at him when he was out of sight. Instead, she pulled the dagger away from the Druid and close to her body so that it was hidden in her robes, still keeping the fingers of her other hand tightly fastened to her prisoner’s arm. She did not know how much longer she could hold him in check. Sooner or later, he was going to give way to his growing panic or to the temptation to run. If it happened now, while she was still out in the corridor with the Gnome Hunters, she was in trouble. Her plan to free Pen, born of opportunity and chance, was just beginning to take shape. She needed time to flesh it out, to think it through, to find a way to implement it fully. Getting to Pen was just the first step. The ones that followed would be much harder.
They reached the door of the cell, and the Gnome Hunter turned. “Do you want me to wait?”
She scowled. “I want you to go back to doing what you are paid to do and leave me to my work. I’ll call you when I need you.”
“I have to lock you in.”
“Then do so. You are wasting my time.”
The Gnome fiddled with the keys, slipped one clear of the others, inserted it into the lock, and turned it. The lock clicked, and the door opened with a squeal of metal fastenings.
As it did so, Khyber’s prisoner wrenched free of her grip and ran screaming down the hall.
NINE
Khyber didn’t stop to think, didn’t do anything but respond to the disaster that was unfolding. She wheeled on the Gnome nearest, slammed the hilt of her dagger into his temple, and dropped him without a sound. As he collapsed, she turned back toward the fleeing Druid, her hands weaving, conjuring a magic with which she was familiar and on which she had depended before. In response to her summons, a sudden gust of wind exploded down the hallway, caught up her quarry before he had run a dozen yards, snatched him off his feet, and hurled him into the wall like a sack of wheat.
The remaining Gnome Hunter came racing toward her in response to the shouting and tumbling bodies, his weapons drawn. She used her magic again, picking him up off his feet and bearing him aloft as she had once done a simple leaf. Remembering to focus her efforts, she held him suspended in midair, kicking and squirming in a futile effort to break free. No failure of attention, no break in concentration. She was at her best in that moment, her uncle’s attentive student in the way he had always wanted her to be. She reached the Gnome and dropped him to the floor in a ragged heap, kicking him so hard in the head that he did not move again.
Glancing back at the door to the cell, she called out. “Pen! Are you in there? Answer me!”
No response. Returning her attention to the bodies crumpled about her, she used laces, bindings, and belts to secure them, then dragged them back up the hall and dropped them next to the Gnome with the keys. Peering inside the cell, she saw a bundled form lying at the back of the tiny room, trussed, gagged, and blindfolded. “Shades!” she hissed under her breath.
She rushed into the room, bent to Pen Ohmsford, and began working to release his bonds. She freed his eyes first, looking to see if he was conscious. He blinked into the uncertain light and stared at her, wide-eyed. She grinned in response, then loosened the gag.
“I guess you didn’t expect to see me again so soon, did you, Penderrin?”
“Khyber! How did you find me?”
The obvious relief mirrored in his boyish features made her smile broaden. “I saw what happened, slipped aboard one of the other airships, and flew into Paranor with you. Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “Just get me free. I’ll tell you everything.”
She did so, using the dagger to cut through his bonds, then told him to wait while she hauled her three captives inside the cell and dumped them in a far corner. None of them moved even once while this was happening. “Let’s see how they like being locked away in here,” she muttered. “Come on, Pen.”
“Help me walk, Khyber,” he asked, struggling to rise.
They went out of the cell as quickly as his legs would permit, but his mobility was severely restricted by leg cramps and stiffness. He had been bound up in the airship for much of the flight back, then brought directly to the cell and left as he was. He had lost all the feeling in both legs and feet in that time, and it was slow to return.
“I thought I was finished,” he admitted as he limped down the corridor, leaning heavily on her for support. “They caught me out, Khyber. I told them lies about what I was doing, but they saw through me and took the darkwand away. You saw that I had it, didn’t you? From across the ravine? I took it with me from the tanequil’s lair, kept it from that thing that tracked us from Anatcherae to Stridegate, kept it safe to use as I was instructed by the King of the Silver River, and they took it away!”
He was so distraught that he was practically crying. Khyber gave his shoulders a rough squeeze. “Then we’ll just have to get it back, Pen.”
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.”
&nb
sp; 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.
Outfitted 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.