Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

Arling hesitated. “I was in an airship crash. I don’t remember much after that. But there were people with me. What happened to them?”

“I don’t know. A man and woman brought you to where my airship was anchored and asked the captain if he would take you somewhere safe.”

A man and a woman. The shoes. She felt a chill go through her. “These people didn’t say if there was anyone else?”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t think they had much interest in anything but getting you off their hands. Peasants, from the sound of things. Would you like a drink of water?”

Without waiting for an answer, she moved over to a table set off to one side, poured water from a pitcher into a cup, and brought it back to the bed. Reaching behind Arling with one arm to brace her, she helped the girl into a sitting position and let her sip the water, careful not to give her too much or cause a spill.

Arling, for her part, was grateful for the water and for the time it took the woman to bring it over while she fought to get her shock under control. Was it possible that everyone else was dead? But wouldn’t this man and woman have discovered any bodies? Wouldn’t they have said something? Or would they have kept quiet because the less said the better?

“Who were you traveling with?” the woman asked, setting aside the water and seating herself next to Arling on the side of the bed. “Were they family or friends?”

Arling couldn’t help herself. “My sister.”

The woman shook her head in a gesture of regret. “Well, we must hope for the best. I will do what I can to find out what happened to her.” She rose abruptly. “It’s best if you sleep some more. Let me come back a little later and bring you some food. For now, just rest.”

“Wait!” Arling called out. “Did you take my clothes?”

The woman gave her a sharp look. “Yes. I still have them.”

“Was there anything with them? My pack?”

“No. Just your clothes, and they are ruined. I’ve already thrown them out.”

She wheeled away and was at the door before Arling could say anything more, her dark form silhouetted against the light as she opened the door. “You should rest now.”

Arling gritted her teeth. Her sister and Cymrian were missing and maybe dead. The Ellcrys seed was gone. She was injured and miles from anyone she knew. It was then, for the first time, that it occurred to her she might not have been rescued, but captured by the very people the Wend-A-Way had been fleeing. She might not be a patient, but a prisoner.

“Who are you?” she called out to the woman.

“A friend,” the other replied, pausing in the open door. “Just go back to sleep.”

Arling started to get out of the bed. She needed to have a look outside her room; perhaps that would tell her something. Or maybe if she could have just a peek through one of the windows …

But almost immediately the woman was back at her bedside, gently pushing her down. Too weak to resist, Arling fell back again. She was surprised to find herself so listless. She seemed to have no strength at all. She looked up at the figure bending over her, and suddenly she was afraid. Something in the other’s eyes, in the sharp edges of her face, in the set of her mouth, warned her.

“Go to sleep,” the woman whispered.

Arling’s eyes were already beginning to close, and she could feel herself slipping away. The last thing she remembered thinking before she dropped off entirely—so quickly she seemed to fall asleep mid-thought—was that this woman was not to be trusted.

Edinja Orle walked out of the bedroom and down the hall a short distance before stopping to consider her impressions of Arling Elessedil. The girl was young, but she wasn’t stupid. Already she suspected things were not as they seemed; Edinja had seen it there at the end in her eyes, heard it in her voice. The gentle approach she had planned to use to unmask her secrets was not going to work. Time’s demands did not allow for it.

There was no question that Arling was hiding something. But Edinja wasn’t sure what. She’d admitted to having a sister and had been straightforward enough about what had happened to them in Drey Wood, but there was something else going on, something Edinja didn’t yet understand.

She took a moment to recall what the captain of her warship had reported on arriving back from Drey Wood. They had engaged the Elven ship in combat after tracking it, losing it and finding it again, and then they had brought it down. Stoon and the mutants had left the ship to track down the survivors, but none of them had returned. Finally, not wanting to go himself—Edinja’s interpretation of things from the way the captain squirmed while telling this part of his story—he had dispatched two members of his crew. When they returned, they told him that Stoon and all three mutants were dead, and their uneasy looks and whispers made it clear that they were done with this business.

But then, just as they were preparing to lift off, a husband and wife had appeared with a wounded Elven girl lying in the bed of a cart. The couple, clearly farmers or foragers, had asked if the captain knew the girl or could take her to people who did. The man, in particular, seemed anxious to have her out of the way. The captain, not entirely a fool, realized what he had—one of the two Elessedil sisters whom they had been hunting. He might have gone back to look for the other or their protector, but he would have had to go himself at this point because his crew had already made it plain that they were having none of it.

Deciding, therefore, that a bird in the hand was worth more than the two still in the bush, he had carried the girl aboard and headed for home.

But Edinja had warned the captain personally before he had set out that she wanted both women alive and under her control. He had been charged with making certain this happened, even if Stoon did not. So his assumption that she would settle for half a loaf was a big mistake.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. While she had expected to have both sisters brought to her—she didn’t care one way or the other about their protector—she would have to settle for the one. Because of her age, she knew the one she had must be the younger, the one that was a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys.

Arlingfant.

That meant she wasn’t the one carrying the Elfstones. The older one—Aphenglow, the Druid—would be doing that. So why was this one so concerned about her clothes and her pack? The clothing had been searched and discarded. But the pack was missing, lost or left behind. Had there been something of value in it?

She would have to wait to find out. For now, the girl would sleep, and the drug Edinja had added to her water would do its work.

She thought momentarily about Stoon. She would miss him in some ways, but none that truly mattered. He had his uses and his strengths, but didn’t they all? She would have had to rid herself of him sooner or later, and she always felt bad about having to do it herself. This time it had been someone else’s doing, and even though she had always known it would end like this, she could take some comfort in the fact that she hadn’t been the one to wield the weapon.

What she wondered now was whether or not the older sister and her protector were dead, too. That would prove more troublesome because it meant the Elfstones were likely lost, as well. And she would have to send someone back into Drey Wood to the wreckage of the Elven vessel to search for the bodies of the Druid and the Elven Hunter and the talismans, as well. She was already thinking of whom she might choose to do this.

Once, the choice would have been easy. It would have been Stoon.

“Poor Stoon,” she murmured.