The Sword of Shannara Trilogy (192 page)

“That should do for now,” he muttered. “Can you walk?”

The Elf nodded. “What about the door? Suppose the Gnomes find it?”

“Too bad for them if they do,” Foraker snorted. “The locks should hold it; but if they don’t, a break-in will trigger a collapse of the whole entrance. On your feet, now. We’ve got to go.”

“Where do the stairs lead?”

“Down. Into Capaal.” He shook his head. “Have to hope the others will find some different way to get there.”

He helped Edain to his feet, puffing the Elf’s good arm over his shoulder. Then he snatched the torch from its rack.

“Hold tight, now.”

Slowly, they began their descent.

The Borderman Helt tumbled headlong down the steep slide, weapons flying from him as he fell, the maddened struggle on the cliff ledge left behind. Lights and sound whirled about him as he went, a jumble that spun and faded in his mind. Then came a jarring halt, and he found himself wedged within a mass of brush at the slide’s bottom, sprawled in a tangle of arms and legs. He lay dazed for a minute, the breath knocked from his body. Gingerly he tried to extricate himself from the tangle. It was then that he realized that not all of the arms and legs were his own.

“Easy!” a voice hissed in his ear. “Half broke me in two already!”

The Borderman started. “Slanter?”

“Keep it down!” the other snapped. “They’re all around us!”

Helt lifted his head carefully and blinked his eyes against the dizziness. Torchlight flickered close by, and there were voices calling back and forth through the darkness. He realized suddenly that he lay on top of the little Gnome. With great care, he lifted himself clear of the other, coming unsteadily to his knees within the shadow of the brush.

“Took me right off the ledge with you!” Slanter muttered, disbelief and anger mingling in his voice. The gnarled body straightened, and he peered carefully about through the scrub, the distant firelight reflected in his eyes. “Oh, shades!” he groaned.

Helt came to a low crouch, staring out into the dark. Behind them, the slide down which they had fallen loomed like a wall against the night. Before them, spread out for hundreds of yards in all directions in a mass of blazing yellow light, were the watchfires of the Gnome army that encircled the fortress of Capaal. Helt studied the fires wordlessly for a moment, then dropped back into the brush, Slanter beside him.

“We’re right in the middle of the siege camp,” he said quietly.

Already there were torches lining the ledge from which they had fallen, far distant yet unmistakable in their purpose. The Gnomes on the ledge were coming down after them.

“We can’t stay here.” Helt came to his feet once more, eyes peering out through the brush at the Gnome Hunters about them.

“Well, where do you suggest we go, Borderman?” Slanter snapped.

Helt shook his head slowly. “Perhaps along the slide . . .”

“The slide? Perhaps we can fly while we’re at it!” Slanter shook his head. The Gnome Hunters were calling down into the camp from the ledge. “No way out of this one,” he muttered bitterly. He cast about futilely for a moment, then paused. “Unless, of course, you happen to be a Gnome.”

His rough yellow face swung about to find Helt. The Borderman stared back at him wordlessly, waiting. “Or perhaps one of the walkers,” he added.

Helt shook his head slowly. “What are you talking about?”

Slanter bent close. “Must be mad even to consider this, but I guess it’s no madder than anything else that’s happened. You and me, Borderman. Black walker and Gnome servant. Pull that cloak about you, hood about your head, no one’ll know. You’re big enough for it. Walk right through them, you and me—right up to the gates of that fortress. Hope to all that’s good and right that the Dwarves open up long enough for us to slip in.”

Shouts rose from off to their left. Helt glanced over quickly, then back again. “You could do all this without me, Slanter. You could get out on your own a lot easier than if I’m with you.”

“Don’t tempt me!” the Gnome snapped.

The gentle eyes were steady. “They’re your people. You could still go back to them.”

Slanter seemed to think it over for a moment. Then he shook his head roughly. “Forget it. I’d have that black devil Weapons Master tracking me all through the Four Lands. I’m not risking that.” The hard yellow face seemed to stiffen further. “And there’s the boy . . .”

His eyes snapped up. “Well, do we try it or not, Borderman?”

Helt rose, pulling his cloak close about him. “We try it.” They strode clear of the brush, Slanter with his cloak thrown wide so that all could see it was a Gnome who led the way, Helt with his drawn close, a massive, hooded giant towering above the other. They passed boldly down through the spokes of the siege lines toward where the army massed before the fortress walls, staying carefully within the darkness between those lines so that they could not be clearly seen. They walked for nearly fifty yards, and no one gave challenge.

Then a cross line blocked their way forward, and there was no longer any darkness left through which to pass. Slanter never hesitated. He stalked toward the watchfires, the cloaked figure following. The Gnome Hunters who were gathered there turned to gape, weapons lifting guardedly.

“Stand back!” Slanter called out sharply. “The Master comes!”

Eyes widened and fear reflected in the harsh yellow faces. Weapons lowered quickly, and all stood aside as the two figures passed, slipping into a square of half-light between the lines. Gnomes were all about them now, heads turning, eyes staring in surprise and curiosity. Still no one challenged, the tumult of the search on the slope drowning out everything else in the autumn night.

Another siege line lay ahead. Slanter lifted his arms dramatically to the Gnome Hunters who turned. “Give way to the Master, Gnomes!”

Again the lines parted to let them through. Sweat was pouring down Slanter’s rough face as he glanced back at the shadowed figure behind him. Hundreds of eyes followed after them, and there was a faint stirring within the ranks of the Gnomes. A few were beginning to question what was happening.

The last of the forward lines of the siege lay before them. Here the Gnome Hunters again brought up their short spears menacingly, and there were disgruntled mutterings. Beyond the watchfires the dark walls of the Dwarf citadel rose up against the night and on their battlements, torches burned in solitary patches of hazy light.

“Stand away!” Slanter bellowed, again throwing up his arms. “Dark magic runs loose this night and the walls of the enemy keep shall crumble before it! Stand away! Let the walker pass!”

As if to emphasize the warning, the cloaked figure following lifted one arm slowly and pointed toward the watch.

That was enough for the Gnomes on the siege lines. Breaking ranks, they parted hurriedly, most of them scurrying back toward the second line of defense, casting anxious glances over, their shoulders as they went. A few lingered, frowns on their faces as the two figures passed, but still no one stepped forward to offer challenge.

The Gnome and the Borderman walked into the night, eyes riveted now on the dark walls ahead. Slanter raised his hands high above his head as they approached, praying inwardly that this simple gesture would be enough to stay the deadly missiles surely pointed in their direction.

They were two dozen yards from the walls when a voice rang out. “Come no farther, Gnome!”

Slanter drew to an immediate halt, arms lowering. “Open the gates!” he cried furtively. “We’re friends!”

There was a low muttering on the walls, and a call down to someone below. But the gates remained closed. Slanter glanced about frantically. Behind where he and Helt stood watching, the Gnomes were stirring once more.

“Who are you?” the voice from atop the wall called out again.

“Open the gates, you fool!” Slanter’s patience was gone. Now Helt came forward to stand beside the Gnome. “Callahorn!” he called out in a hoarse whisper.

Behind them, a chorus of howls rose up from the Gnomes. The game was up. The two broke for the fortress walls in a mad dash, calling to the Dwarves within. They dashed up against the iron-bound gates, casting desperate glances back as they ran. An entire line of Gnome Hunters swept toward them, torches bobbing wildly, cries of rage breaking from their throats. Spears and arrows launched through the dark.

“Oh, shades, open up in there, you . . . !” Slanter bawled. Abruptly the gates swung open and hands reached out to yank them through. An instant later they were within the fortress, the gates slamming shut behind them as renewed howls of fury filled the night. They were thrown to the ground, and iron-tipped spears ringed them tightly.

Slanter shook his head in disgust and glanced over at Helt. “You explain it to them, Borderman,” he muttered. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could.”

Jair Ohmsford fell a long way into the Cillidellan. Downward he plunged, a tiny speck of darkness against the deep blue-gray of the night sky, the pit of his stomach dropping away, the rush of the wind filling his ears with its sound. Far below him the waters of the lake shimmered with bits of crimson light as the watchfires of the Gnomes reflected against their rippling surface, and all about him the vast sweep of the mountains and cliffs encircling Capaal rose up through the blur of his vision. Time seemed to come to a sudden standstill, and it felt as if he would never come to rest.

Then he struck with jarring force, breaking through the surface of the lake and plunging deep into the cold, dark waters. The breath left his lungs with stunning suddenness, and his whole body went numb with shock. Frantically, he clawed his way through the chill blackness that had closed about him, barely conscious of anything beyond his need to reach the surface once more so that he could breathe. The heat from his body dissipated in seconds, and he felt a crushing force pressing in against him, so terrible that it threatened to break him in two. He struggled upward, desperate with need. Lights danced before his eyes and his arms and legs seemed suddenly turned to lead. Weakly, he thrashed against their pull, lost in a maze of dark turns.

A moment later, everything slipped away from him.

He dreamed, a long, endless dream of disconnected feelings and sensations and of times and places both remembered and yet somehow new. Waves of sound and motion carried him through landscapes of nightmare and haunts of the familiar, through oft-traveled forest trails of the Vale, and through sweeps of black, cold water where life passed in tangled disarray in faces and shapes not fixed one to the other, but disjointed and free. Brin was there, come and gone in brief glimpses, a distorted form that combined reality with falsehood and begged for understanding. Words came at him from things misshapen and lifeless, yet her voice seemed to speak the words, calling to him, calling . . .

Then Garet Jax was holding him, arms wrapped tightly about his body, his voice a whisper of life in a dark place. Jair floated, the waters buoying him, and his face turned skyward into the clouded night. Gasping, he sought to talk and could not manage. He was awake again, come back from where he had slipped away, yet not fully conscious of what had befallen him or what he was about. He drifted in and out of darkness, reaching back each time he began to slide too far so that he might be grasped anew by the sound and color and feeling that meant life.

Then there were hands grasping him as well, pulling him up from the waters and the blackness, easing him down onto solid ground once more. Rough voices muttered vaguely, the fragmented words slipping through his mind like stray leaves blown by the wind. His eyes flickered, and Garet Jax was bending over him, lean brown face damp and drawn with the chill, fair hair plastered back against his head.

“Valeman, can you hear me? It’s all right. You’re all right now.”

Other faces pushed into view—blocky Dwarf faces, resolute and grave as they studied his. He swallowed, choked and mumbled something incoherent.

“Don’t try to talk,” one said gruffly. “Just rest.”

He nodded. Hands wrapped him in blankets, then lifted him up and began to carry him away.

“Sure has been a night for strays.” Another voice chuckled.

Jair tried to look back to where the voice had come from, but he could not seem to focus his sense of direction. He let himself sink downward into the warmth of the blankets, eased by the gentle rocking of the hands that bore him.

A moment later, he was asleep.

I
t was midday of the next day when Jair awoke again. He might not have come awake even then were it not for the hands that shook him none too gently from his slumber and the rough voice that whispered in his ear, “Wake up, boy! You’ve slept long enough! Come on, wake up!”

Grudgingly, he stirred within the blankets that covered him, rolled onto his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Gray sunlight filtered through a narrow window next to his head, causing him to squint against its brightness.

“Come on, the day’s almost gone! Been shut away the whole of it, thanks to you!”

Jair’s eyes shifted to find the speaker, a stoutly familiar figure positioned at the side of his bed. “Slanter?” he whispered in disbelief.

“Now who else would it be?” the other snapped.

Jair blinked. “Slanter?”

Abruptly the events of the previous night recalled themselves to his mind in a flood of images: the flight from the Gnomes in the mountains about Capaal; the separation of the company; the long drop into the Cillidellan with Garet Jax; and their subsequent rescue from its waters by the Dwarves. You’re all right now, the Weapons Master had whispered to him. He blinked again. But Slanter and the others . . .

“Slanter!” he exclaimed, now fully awake. Hastily, he pushed himself upright. “Slanter, you’re alive!”

“Of course I’m alive! What does it look like?”

“But how did . . .?” Jair left the question hanging and grasped the Gnome’s arm anxiously. “What about the others? What’s happened to them? Are they all right?”

“Slow down, will you?” The Gnome freed his arm irritably. “They’re all fine and they’re all here, so stop worrying. The Elf took a dart in the shoulder, but he’ll live. Only one who’s in danger at the moment is me. And that’s because I’m shut up in this room with you, dying of boredom! Now will you climb out of that bed so we can get out of here?”

Jair didn’t hear all of what the Gnome was saying. Everyone’s all right, he was repeating to himself. Everyone made it. No one was lost, even though it had seemed certain that some of them must be. He breathed deeply in relief. Something the King of the Silver River had said recalled itself suddenly to his mind. A touch of magic for each who journey with you, the old man had told him. Strength for the body, given to others. Perhaps that strength, that touch of the magic, had seen each of them safely through last night.

“Get up, get up, get up!” Slanter was practically hopping up and down with impatience. “What are you doing just sitting there?”

Jair swung his legs out of the bed and glanced about the room in which he found himself. It was a small, stone block chamber, sparsely furnished with bed, sitting table, and chairs, its walls bare save for a broad heraldic tapestry hung from the far supports of its sloped ceiling. A second window opened out at the other end of the wall against which Jair’s bed rested, and a single wooden door stood closed, opposite where he sat. In one corner, a small fireplace cradled an iron gate and a stack of burning logs.

He glanced at Slanter. “Where are we?”

Slanter looked at him as if he were a complete idiot. “Now where do you think we are? We’re inside the Dwarf fortress!”

Where else? Jair thought ruefully. Slowly he stood up, still testing his strength as he stretched and peered curiously out of the window in back of him. Through its narrow, barred slot he could see the murky gray expanse of the Cillidellan stretching away into a day thick with mist and low-hanging clouds. Far distant, through this shifting haze, he could discern the flicker of watchfires burning along the shores of the lake.

Gnome watchfires.

Then he noticed how quiet it was. He was within the fortress of Capaal, the Dwarf citadel that stood watch over the locks and dams that regulated the flow of the Silver River westward, the citadel that one day earlier had been under assault by Gnome armies. Where were those armies now? Why wasn’t Capaal under attack?

“Slanter, what’s happened to the siege?” he asked quickly. “Why is it so still?”

“How should I know?” the other snapped. “No one tells me anything!”

“Well, what’s happening out there? What have you seen?”

Slanter jerked upright. “Haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? What’s the problem—ears not working or something? I’ve been right here in this room with you ever since they dragged you out of the lake! Shut away like a common thief! Saved that confounded Borderman’s skin out there and what do I get for my trouble? Shut in here with you!”

“Well, I . . .”

“A Gnome’s a Gnome, they think! Don’t trust any of us! So here I sit, mother hen to you while you slumber on like you don’t have a care in the world. Waited all day for you to decide to wake up! You’d be sleeping still, I suppose, if I hadn’t lost patience entirely!”

Jair drew back. “You could have woken me sooner . . .”

“How could I do that!” the other exploded. “How was I to know what was wrong with you? Could have been anything! Had to let you rest just to be sure! Couldn’t be taking chances, could I? That black devil Weapons Master would have had me flayed!”

Jair grinned in spite of himself. “Calm down, will you?”

The Gnome clenched his teeth. “I’ll calm down when you get yourself out of that bed and into your clothes! There’s a guard on the other side of that door keeping me shut up in here! But with you awake, maybe we can talk him into letting the two of us out! Then you can be amused on your own time! Now, dress!”

Shrugging, Jair slipped off the night clothes that had been provided him and began pulling on his Vale clothes. He was surprised, though pleased, to find Slanter so vocal again, even if his discourse was, for the moment at least, limited to a tirade against the Valeman. Slanter seemed more his normal self again, more that voluble fellow he had been that first night after making Jair his prisoner in the highlands—that fellow Jair had come to like. He wasn’t sure why the Gnome had chosen now to come out of his shell, but he was delighted to have the old Slanter back as company once more.

“Sorry you had to be locked in here with me,” he ventured after a moment.

“You ought to be,” the other grumbled. “They put me in here to look after you, you know. Must think I make a good nursemaid or something.”

Jair grinned. “I’d say they’re right.”

The expression that crossed the Gnome’s face then caused Jair to turn away quickly, his face a carefully frozen mask. Chuckling inwardly, he was in the process of reaching for his boots when he abruptly remembered the vision crystal and the Silver Dust. He had not seen either while dressing. He had not felt them in his pockets. The grin he had allowed to slip back over his face faded. He ran his hands over his clothing. Nothing! Frantically, he pawed through his bedding, his bedclothes, and everything in sight. The vision crystal and the Silver Dust were gone. Then he thought back to the night previous, to the long jump into the Cillidellan. Had he lost them in the lake?

“Looking for something?”

Jair stiffened. It was Slanter speaking, his voice laced with false concern, Jair turned. “Slanter, what have you done . . .?

“Me?” the other interrupted quickly, feigned innocence in the crafty face. “Your devoted nursemaid?”

Jair was furious. “Where are they, Slanter? Where did you put them?”

Now it was the Gnome’s turn to grin. “Enjoyable as this is—and believe me, it is enjoyable—I have better things to do. So if it’s the pouch and the crystal you’re looking for, the Weapons Master has them. Took them off you last night when they brought you in here and stripped you. Wouldn’t trust them to my care, of course.”

He folded his arms across his chest contentedly. “Now let’s put an end to this. Or do you need help dressing, too?”

Jair flushed, finished dressing, then wordlessly walked over to the wooden door and knocked. When the door opened, he informed the Dwarf standing guard that they would like to go out. The Dwarf frowned, told them to stay put, glanced suspiciously at Slanter, and pulled the door firmly shut again.

Growing curiosity over the absence of any sort of battle without and patience with things in general notwithstanding, they had to wait fully an hour before the door to the room opened a second time, and the guard at last beckoned them to follow. Leaving the room hastily, they turned down a windowless corridor that ran past dozens of doors similar to the one they had just passed through, climbed a series of stairs, and emerged on battlements overlooking the murky waters of the Cillidellan. Wind and a faint spray blew off the lake into their faces, the midday air chill and hard. Here, too, the day was still and expectant, cloaked in mist and banks of low-hanging clouds that stretched between the peaks that sheltered the locks and dams. Dwarf sentries patrolled the walls, eyes shifting watchfully through the haze. There was no sign of the Gnome armies, save for the distant flicker of the watchfires, reddish specks of light in the gray.

The Dwarf took them down off the battlements, turning into a broad courtyard that spanned the center of the high dam where it walled away the Cillidellan. North and south of where they walked, the towers and parapets of the Dwarf fortress rose up against the leaden sky, stretching away into mist. It was an eerie, ghostly look that the day lent to the citadel, shrouding it in half-light and haze so that it almost seemed as if it were something strayed from a dream that threatened to be gone in a moment’s time upon waking. Few Dwarves were in evidence here, the vast courtyard all but deserted. Stairwells burrowed down into the stone at regular intervals—black tunnels that Jair presumed must run to the inner workings of the locks below.

They had almost crossed the empty courtyard when a shout brought them up short, and Edain Elessedil came running to greet them. Grinning broadly, his injured arm and shoulder heavily wrapped, he went to Jair at once and extended his hand in greeting.

“Safe and sound after all, Jair Ohmsford!” He put his good arm about the other as they turned once more to follow their taciturn guide. “Feeling better, I hope?”

“Much better.” Jair smiled back. “How is your arm?”

“Just a small scratch. A little stiff and nothing more. But what a night! Lucky that any of us got through safely. And this one!” He indicated Slanter, who trailed a step behind. “His escape was nothing short of miraculous! Did he tell you?”

Jair shook his head, and Edain Elessedil promptly inform him of all that had befallen Slanter and Helt during their harrowing walk through the Gnome encampment the previous night. Jair listened with growing astonishment, casting more than one glance back at the Gnome. Beneath a mask of studied indifference, Slanter was looking a bit embarrassed by all the attention.

“Simplest way out, that’s all,” Slanter announced gruffly when the effusive Elf had finished his tale. Jair was smart enough not to make anything more out of it.

Their guide took them up a stairway onto the battlement on the northern watch, then led them through a set of double-doors into an atrium filled with plants and trees, flourishing in an obviously transplanted bed of black earth beneath glass and open sky. Even here, within the high mountains, the Dwarves carried with them something of their home, Jair thought in admiration.

Beyond the gardens lay a terrace occupied by tables and benches.

“Wait here,” the Dwarf ordered and left them.

When he had gone, Jair turned back to Edain. “Why is there no battle being fought this day, Elven Prince? What of the Gnome armies?”

Edain Elessedil shook his head. “No one seems certain what has happened. The locks and dams have been under siege for almost a week. Each day, the Gnomes attack both exposures of the fortress. But today, no attack has come. The Gnomes gather at their siege lines and watch us—nothing more. It appears as if they are waiting for something.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Slanter muttered.

“Nor do the Dwarves,” Edain said quietly. “Runners have been sent to Culhaven and scouts slip through the underground tunnels to the rear of the Gnome army to keep watch.” He hesitated, then glanced at Jair. “Garet Jax is out there, too.”

Jair started. “He is? Why? Where has he gone?”

“I don’t know,” the Elf shook his head slowly. “He said nothing to me. I don’t think he’s left us. I think he’s simply out looking around. He took Helt with him.”

“Scouting on his own, then.” Slanter frowned. “He would do that.”

“Who can say?” The Elf tried a quick smile. “The Weapons Master keeps his own counsel, Slanter.”

“Dark reasons and dark purposes drive that one,” the Gnome muttered, almost to himself.

They stood in silence then for a few moments, not looking at each other, lost in their private speculations of the actions of Garet Jax. Jair remembered Slanter telling him that it was the Weapons Master who had possession now of the vision crystal and the Silver Dust. That meant that if anything were to happen to Garet Jax, the magic of the King of the Silver River would be lost. And that meant that Jair’s only chance of helping Brin would be lost as well.

The sound of the door opening brought them about, and Foraker appeared from out of the fortress. He came quickly to where they stood and greeted each with a handshake.