Terry Brooks - The Gypsy Morph

A long few moments passed. The Lizard stood there, staring at him, not moving, no longer speaking. It didn’t seem to know what to do.

“I’m leaving now,” Logan told him. “If I can, I’ll come back for you when I’m done.” He tried to think of what else to say. “Look, I’ll take good care of it. The best I can.”

He realized how foolish that sounded, but it was all he could come up with. He hesitated a moment; then he went back into the shed, climbed into the AV, closed its heavy doors, and engaged the belting locks. He put the Ventra in gear and eased it through the shed doors out into the yard.

The Lizard was waiting. It stood directly in his path, intending to stop him. Logan kept the vehicle rolling toward it, not rushing his approach, taking his time. The Ventra would turn the Lizard to mush if he floored it, notwithstanding all that scaly armor.

Step aside, he thought, staring out at the Lizard, holding its gaze through the AV’s windshield. Just let me pass.

The Lizard put out its massive hands and braced itself against the Ventra, trying to stop its forward motion. Logan kept the machine moving ahead, slowly, steadily, inexorably. The Lizard bunched its muscles and dug in, but the AV forced it to give ground.

At last, seeing it could not stop the AV, the Lizard stepped aside. As Logan rolled past, it slammed its huge fists against the hood, a futile, ineffective expression of rage.

It stood looking after the Ventra as Logan drove it away. Then it covered its face with its hands and began to cry.

THE NIGHT WAS DEEP AND STILL, its darkness a layer of cottony impenetrability that cocooned Kirisin and Simralin as they crept through the trees toward the sleeping city of Arborlon. They moved like cats, their footsteps soundless, their presence invisible. No talking was allowed, Simralin had instructed before they set out. No communication of any sort if it could be helped. She would lead, and Kirisin would follow. What she did, he was to do. If they were lucky, they would not be detected.

They had left the balloon behind, its bag deflated and tucked away with all stays and equipment stowed for ready access and a quick escape. The time for such an escape would come, and speed and efficiency at preparing the balloon for another liftoff might be the difference between life and death. If the demons were waiting for the Elves and their city to be encapsulated within the Loden, they would be quick to act the moment it was done.

Kirisin imagined all those points of light, each representing a demon or its creature, converging on him. The image made him shiver.

They had landed the balloon above the sleeping city, choosing a meadow just beyond the tree line and below the bare rock of the upper slopes. It was a considerable distance from where they had to go, but there was no safe or suitable landing sites closer. Whatever else happened, they could not risk damaging their only means of escape.

“Remember, Little K,” his sister had said to him as they prepared to set out. “Follow in my footsteps and stay close. I will keep us safe.”

He trusted her to do so. Hadn’t she done so on their journey to Syrring Rise? Hadn’t she always done so when danger threatened? And when it came to a Tracker’s skills, hers were the best. Larkin Quill had told him on that very first night on Redonnelin Deep that he had watched her pass right through the center of a large camping expedition of humans, and not one of them had caught even a glimpse of her. Anyone who could do that was something special, he’d said.

On this night, he depended on her to be so again. She did not tell him where they were going. She did not say what she intended to do. That was all right with him. He didn’t have any suggestions in any case. She knew what was needed, and she would have that firmly in mind, wherever she took them.

The minutes slipped past as they worked their way down the mountain slope and into the heavy forests that concealed Arborlon. Overhead, the stars speckled the dark sky, thousands upon thousands. Their brilliant light filtered through the canopy of the old growth and let the Belloruus siblings find their way more easily. It also revealed them. Twice Simralin stopped where she was, holding up her hand, listening to the silence, her head turning first one way and then the other. Both times she altered course slightly. Both times Kirisin saw and heard nothing.

I would be lost without her, he thought.

Nevertheless, he concentrated on keeping eyes and ears sharp for movement and sound. He would help as much as he could, although he did not think his sister required it. Now and then, his hand would stray to where the Elfstones nestled in his pocket, touching them, finding reassurance in their presence. He thought of how much his sister and he and the Knight of the Word, Angel Perez, had gone through to retrieve them from the ice caves on Syrring Rise. He thought of the hardships they had endured during their search for the Stones and of the lives that had been sacrificed. Barely a month had passed, but it felt like so much more. It all seemed as if it had happened in an earlier life.

He shook his head. What had begun as a group effort had ended as a responsibility given solely to him to fulfill. He understood and accepted this charge, but at the same time he wished that it could be over. He wanted things to go back to the way they were when he had been just another of this year’s Chosen and the boundaries of his life were defined by nothing more than his obligation to care for the Ellcrys and her gardens.

But he knew the truth of things. However this turned out, nothing would ever be the same.

Their progress through the forests of the Cintra was slow and cautious, and by the time the first houses of the city came into view the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. They moved more quickly then, passing out of the trees and onto the small pathways that skirted the buildings and the edges of Arborlon. A few distant figures passed through the shadowy predawn. But mostly the Elves slept still, not yet ready to rise for the new day. They were through the sentry lines, Kirisin knew, so those they encountered now would be average citizens on their way to their work rather than Elven Hunters or Home Guard. The danger lay mostly in coming face–to–face with someone who might recognize them.

They avoided this, and in another thirty minutes they had reached Tragen’s cottage. Without hesitating Simralin took them up on the porch and into the shadows of the overhang. She knocked softly and, when there was no response, retrieved a key from a space above the lintel and unlocked the door.

Once inside, she closed and locked the door behind her, and then moved quickly through the rooms to make certain they were alone.

“He must be on duty,” she told Kirisin when she returned. “We’ll stay here for now. I don’t think we can risk going out in the daylight. We have to wait until dark.”

“Wait?” he repeated in disbelief.

She took hold of his shoulders and brought her face close to his own. “Think about it. The demons aren’t attacking or even in position to attack. They’re hanging back, waiting. On you, I expect. They want you to use the Loden. They think Culph is bringing you back to them. They will wait a reasonable time to hear from him before attacking. But if Arissen Belloruus gets his hands on us, he might decide to make us disappear with no one the wiser. He’ll be furious enough to do that. Then you’ll never get a chance to use the Loden and the demons will attack anyway and everything we’ve done will turn out to have been for nothing.”

Kirisin frowned. “You’re probably right. So what happens when it gets dark?”

“We go before the High Council and demand to be heard. We have to make certain they know what is happening and are taking steps to prepare for it. If nothing else, we can tell them about the nature of their enemy. If we can reach the Council chambers without being seen, we have at least a small chance of gaining an audience before the King can stop us.”