Terry Brooks - The Elves of Cintra

He turned away from the girl. "I have to go. Thanks for helping me." "Sure. Weren't you here … ?"

He wheeled back, cutting short the rest of what she was going to say. It was an impulsive act, one born of frustration and despair. He was tired of people dying. "Go find your parents and your brothers and sis–ters and anyone else you care about and get everyone out of here. Tell anyone you meet. Those lights come from boats carrying an army that will besiege this compound and eventually destroy it."

She started to speak, but he grabbed her shoulders and held her. "No, just listen to me. I know what I am talking about. I know about this army. I have seen what it can do. Get out of here, right away, even if no one else will go with you. I know you don't want to, but do it. Re–member what I said. If you stay, you will die."

He left her staring after him, her eyes wide, her face rigid with shock and disbelief He had no further time for her, nothing more he could do for her. She would believe him or not. Probably not. They sel–dom did, any of them. They thought it was as safe as it could get inside the compounds. They thought it was so much more dangerous out in the open. None of them understood. Not until it was too late. It was why they were being wiped out. It was the reason the human race was being annihilated.

To his surprise, she came after him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him around. "You're not serious, are you? About what will happen? None of that's true, is it?"

He studied her a moment. "What's your name?"

"Meike," she answered uncertainly.

"Well, listen closely to me, Meike. Everything I said is true. There are madmen on those boats. They were human once, men and women like those in this compound. But they've shed their humanity to serve demons that intend to destroy us all. They kill humans or put them in slave camps. They've done it everywhere, all across the country. They will do it here, too. The compound leaders think they can stand against them, think they are safe enough here behind their walls. But other compounds thought the same, and they all fell in the end. This one will fall, too."

"I don't have any parents or brothers or sisters," she said. She brushed at her long hair, her eyes filled with fear. "I don't have anyone. I don't know what to do. Where should I go?"

He wished suddenly he hadn't told her. All he had done was scare her half to death. Besides, it was one life. What difference did saving one life make to what was going to happen here? Even if telling her got her out of here, what did it matter? She would end up dying in the countryside instead of in the city, nothing more. He was suddenly furious with himself That was his problem, trying to save people like her. He was wasting his time when what he needed to do was what he had come to do in the first place–find the gypsy morph.

He gave her a quick glance and shook his head. "Go anywhere away from the city. Go into the country. Look for others who might want to go with you. There's safety in numbers."

He turned away abruptly and started down the walkway for the stairs, intent on getting out of there before anyone realized who he was. Once he was identified, things would become considerably more com–plicated.

"Mister!" she called after him.

He ignored her, moving faster now, hurrying deliberately to get away, reaching the stairs and descending them two at a time. The crowds had dissipated. He could hear them at the gates below, milling about in confusion as the watchtower horn continued to sound its warning. Already, squads of defenders were forming up in the parade grounds at one end of the field, soldiers carrying weapons, buckling on light armor and belts of ammunition. Well trained and organized, they would go out to meet the threat. They would try to stop the invaders at the docks, to prevent them from landing. They would fail, and then retreat through the streets to the compound, where they would feel safe. They would not be safe; they would be doomed. But it had noth–ing to do with him. The fighting at the docks and in the streets would last through the night. By tomorrow, he would be far away.

He glanced ahead at the clusters of compound inhabitants, choos–ing his path. He would go back down to the lower levels and out through the underground passageway. Panther would be waiting, and together they would find the other Ghosts and decide where to go to get away from what was about to happen.

But how in the world, he wondered, was he going to find out what had become of Hawk?

He turned down out of the arena and into the building interior and ran right up against a squad of compound defenders coming out. "Hold it right there," one said, and he pointed his weapon at Logan.

PANTHER HUNKERED DOWN in the rubble at the edge of Pioneer Square, waiting impatiently. An awful lot had happened since Logan Tom had gone into the compound, and most of it was a mystery to him. He had carried out his assignment, going to the front gates and providing the diversion that Logan needed. He had done a good job of it, yelling up at the guards, demanding that Hawk be freed, that he be allowed to talk to him, that they give him food. He had made it look like he was a half–crazed street kid, and he must have succeeded because the guards on the walls laughed at him. After he'd shouted at them for what he thought was twice as long as necessary for Logan to sneak past them to where the old transportation shelter would give him access to the compound, he had backed off and returned to the spot where he'd been told to wait, finding a place to hide and settling in.

For a long time, nothing had happened. Then he had seen the flash of light at the gates and heard the cries of those gathered on the walls, but he didn't know what it meant. He thought about moving to a better position, one closer to the gates, in an effort to find out. But he was worried that if Logan Tom returned with Hawk and couldn't find him, he might leave him behind. So he stayed where he was, frustrated and edgy. Night deepened until only a pale gray light remained in the western sky and the lights of the compound began to switch on. More time passed, and he found himself increasingly unsettled.

Then, through gaps in the city buildings, he caught sight of lights out on the water. He stared at them, unable to tell how many there were or the nature of their source. They appeared to be moving, com–ing closer. Boats, maybe, he decided. But what would boats be doing out on the bay at night, and who would be manning them?

When the horn sounded from atop the compound walls, he was even more confused. He had heard the horn sound before, so he knew that it always signaled trouble, a threat to the compound and its inhab–itants. But had the horn blown because of a sighting of the lights or be–cause Logan Tom had been discovered? Was it a call to arms to respond to the Knight of the Word's rescue of Hawk?

"Flickin' hell?" he muttered.

He slumped back in the shadows, watching the approaches to the square from the compound, searching for movement in the rubble. Nothing appeared. He thought again about moving closer in an effort to find out what was happening. Panther was not good at waiting; wait–ing always made him feel vulnerable.

There was movement in the streets behind him, dark figures ap–pearing from one of the ruined buildings. Panther saw them out of the corner of his eye and froze. Whether they were responding to all the noise and activity at the compound, he couldn't tell. But something had brought them into the open.

He counted almost a dozen, far too many of anything to suit him.

Then, as he watched them move out from the shadow of the build–ing, he realized what they were.

Croaks.

Even though he couldn't make out their features in the darkness, there was no mistaking the odd, jerky movements they made as they walked. Flesh eaters, monsters, they were off on a hunt for food. He held himself very still and willed them to go another way.