Terry Brooks - The Gypsy Morph

Simralin straightened, winced from the resulting pain, and quickly lay back again. “All right. Then we need to warn Arissen Belloruus and the High Council. We need to tell them to get everyone out of there.”

“How are we going to do that?” Kirisin demanded. “The King and probably the entire Council think that we killed Erisha! They think we’re some sort of traitors! They won’t believe us!”

His sister stared at him a moment, then said, “We’ll make them believe us.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Wait a minute, Little K. Maybe we don’t have to tell anyone. Think about it. An entire army moving on the Cintra? The Elves probably know about it already. Their scouts and sentries will have told them. They’ll have seen something that big coming from miles away.”

Kirisin shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know how they planned to do this. Maybe the army isn’t supposed to get close until the Elves are trapped in the Loden.”

His sister nodded. “Maybe. Maybe nothing is supposed to happen until you get back. The other demons can’t know that Culph is dead. Or his four–legged companion, either. They have to wait to see what happens. That gives us a chance.”

“A chance to get ourselves thrown into the cells by the King,” Kirisin said. “I still don’t know how we’ll ever convince him that we’re speaking the truth. Even if he sees the army coming, he’ll probably think we had something to do with it. I bet he’s already made up his mind about that, too.”

Neither said anything for a moment, looking at each other across the silence of the cavern chamber, the darkness and cold pressing in around them. Kirisin was thinking that they were all alone in this; there was no one they could turn to, no one who would help them. He was thinking that it wasn’t likely anything would change this.

“We’ll be all right,” his sister said softly.

Sure we will, Kirisin thought. Assuming we can learn to fly and disappear into thin air.

“I know,” he said instead. He yawned. “I’m exhausted, Sim. I’m going to get some sleep. Maybe you should, too.”

Simralin didn’t say anything. She just sat there, staring at him. After a moment, she said, “You’ll see, Little K. We’ll be fine.”

She was still sitting there, staring, when he fell asleep.

He AWOKE TO SHARDS of DAYLIGHT spilling down the cavern passageway through ice–frozen cracks in the ceiling. Simralin was moving quietly about the chamber, gathering up their gear and redistributing it into two packs. She looked pale but steady as the light caught the planes and lines of her bruised, ravaged face.

“Sleep well?” she asked without irony. She still had her makeshift bandage wrapped about her forehead and her all–weather cloak wrapped about her shoulders. She looked like a wraith. She caught him staring at her and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Well, you are, for starters. You look like you’ve been blood–drained. Are you all right?”

“Right as can be under the circumstances. Better get yourself up. We leave as soon as I’m finished.”

He pushed himself up on one elbow, and the residual effects of yesterday’s struggle recalled themselves painfully. “Leave for where?”

She nodded toward the passageway. “Back outside and down the mountain. You did the best you could with Angel, but she’s in need of someone better trained in the art of healing.”

Kirisin glanced over to where the Knight of the Word was still sleeping. Except for her face and hands, she was buried in the folds of the coverings in which they had wrapped her the night before, and he couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. She was wearing fresh clothing; his sister must have dressed her while he slept. He studied her a moment, then said to Simralin, “Is she still alive?”

“She was half an hour ago. Why don’t you have a look?”

Kirisin pulled himself to his feet, fighting off the stiffness and the pain that ratcheted through his muscles and joints and made him feel as if he had been hammered with rocks. Dropping his cloak, he stumbled over to Angel and knelt down. He could just discern the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her face was purpled with bruises, and the knuckles of her hands were scraped raw. That was just the surface damage. The damage beneath the coverings was far worse.

“How do we get her back down the mountain?” he said.

“We make a sling and carry her. We can’t afford to try to slide her down. The terrain is too rough for that. She’s damaged internally–ribs broken, maybe more. We can’t risk knocking her around by dragging her along the ground. We have to keep her elevated and still. We’ll use her staff as a support for the sling. Why don’t you see if you can pry it loose from her fingers so I can get to work?”

Kirisin glanced down. Angel gripped the black staff tightly with both hands and didn’t look ready to let go. Nevertheless, he reached down carefully and tried to slide the staff free.

Instantly the Knight’s eyes snapped open. “Kirisin,” she whispered in a voice dark with warning.

“Don’t.”

He pulled back quickly. “Sorry. But we need your staff to make a sling to carry you back down the mountain so that we can … we can find help for you …”

He trailed off, realizing suddenly that he didn’t know how that was supposed to happen. He looked over at Simralin, who had stopped what she was doing and was watching them. “I guess I don’t know what happens when we get back down the mountain.”

His sister rose and came over to them, kneeling next to her brother. “Once we reach the meadows, we’ll use the hot–air balloon to fly ourselves out of here.” She bent close to Angel. “Here’s the truth of things. Kirisin has done what he can for you, but his training is in healing plants, not people. I don’t know how bad your injuries are, and neither does he. We need someone more skilled than we are to determine that. How bad do they feel to you?”

Angel shook her head. “Broken ribs, maybe my arm. Or maybe they’re only cracked. Hard to tell. Everything hurts, even when I don’t move.” She wet her lips and shifted her gaze to Kirisin. “Did you find the Loden?”

He nodded. “I have it.”

“Tell me what happened.”

He glanced at Simralin, who nodded. Quickly he sketched out the events that had led to the unexpected appearance of the demon Culph and the discovery of its complex deception. He told of entering the ice dragon’s maw and gaining possession of the Loden, then emerging to find the old man waiting. He related how the demon had tried to hypnotize him using the silver cord and rings, intending afterward to transport him back to the Cintra and there use him to summon the Loden’s magic and imprison the Elves and their city. Simralin had saved him by stabbing the demon in the leg with her knife, disrupting his concentration and allowing Kirisin to break free of the spell that bound him and use the magic of the blue Elfstones.

He quite deliberately said nothing of the strange euphoria he had experienced when he summoned and gained command of the Elfstone magic, not yet certain how he felt about it, keeping it a secret even from Simralin. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, wasn’t ready to admit what it might mean.

“You were incredibly brave,” she told them. “Both of you. I thought that if I didn’t reach you, the demon would finish you both. But I was the one who needed saving.”

“Tell us what happened after we left you,” Simralin urged her.

So Angel related the details of her battle with Culph’s companion, the four–legged demon that had tracked her all the way from Los Angeles, first as the spiky–haired blond female and later as a wolfish beast. How much farther it might have evolved was a matter of speculation, but it had been dangerous enough at the end to almost finish her. As it was, she had been unable to do more than crawl uphill in the general direction of the entrance to the ice caves before she passed out.