Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

But a slow, careful inspection of the bedroom was not reassuring. There was only the one door. There were windows, but they were locked, and iron bars were affixed to the stone of the walls on the other side of the glass. There appeared to be no secret doors or hidden panels. The ceiling was too high for her to reach it without a ladder, and there didn’t appear to be any openings in any case.

Momentarily defeated, she sat back down on the bed and tried to think it through. There had to be a way.

But she was in an impossible situation. She was trapped in this room with no way out. She could do nothing but wait for the return of the woman who was keeping her prisoner and would do the same with Aphenglow if she got the chance. Arling was frightened her sister would use the Elfstones to come looking for her and, in the process, end up in the same situation. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to escape and find Aphen first. But she had no idea where Aphen was or how to go about finding her.

She had to find the missing Ellcrys seed, too, and she had no idea how to do that, either. She didn’t even know for certain what had happened to it.

She could eliminate several possibilities, however. Aphen wouldn’t have taken it and then left her; she would have stayed with Arling no matter what. It was a good guess the captain of the warship and his crew hadn’t taken it, either—not without Edinja finding out. Not after what had been done to them. So that meant it had been left behind in the wreckage after she had been thrown clear, or stolen by the couple who had carried her away and left her with the Federation warship.

One of them, she remembered suddenly, had been called Sora.

She shook her head as if doing so might clear away all the confusion. Time was running out. She tried not to think about it, tried to shut it out of her mind and just concentrate on the problem closest at hand. She needed to get free before she could find her sister, find the missing Ellcrys seed, find the Bloodfire, and do whatever she could to put the Forbidding back in place.

She sagged back on the bed, fingers knotted against her mouth, realizing suddenly what she had just done. Without meaning to—but without any hesitation at all—she had just embraced the fate the Ellcrys had ordained for her. Even in spite of her determination not to, she had let her thoughts take her down that road.

All the way down.

She began to cry again, and this time it was real.

Three hours later, as the daylight darkened with a fresh onslaught of storm clouds that had moved in from the north, roiling and churning across the expanse of the Prekkendorran, the bedroom door opened. The servant woman carrying the pitcher of treated water stood in the opening for long moments, her free hand on the door, clearly ready to slam it shut again if the need arose. She saw the figure lying on the bed, wrapped in blankets with her head on the pillow, unmoving. Even them, she hesitated, obviously not wanting to take any chances.

Finally, seeing no movement at all, she entered the room, and Arling leapt out from behind the open door to strike her a heavy blow and knock her unconscious.

Arling then lowered the section of the bedpost she had managed to remove and set it aside. She dragged the unfortunate servant around to the other side of the bed where she could not be seen, took a moment to look around the room to see if anything seemed out of place, and then moved quickly to the door. She peered out cautiously and found the hallway empty.

Without further hesitation, she burst through the door and ran for the stairway.

In another place entirely, a disgusted but determined Oriantha trekked along the rocky flatlands of the Forbidding in the wake of the Straken Lord’s advancing army, watching the indefatigable Tesla Dart scurry ahead of her like a water bug, with Lada and one or two other Chzyks as company. She had managed only a few hours’ sleep the night before after returning from her failed effort to free Redden Ohmsford, and she was tired and irritable. Both were due as much to her dissatisfaction with herself as from physical exhaustion.

She gazed off into the distance, where the dust raised by the passing of the enemy army filled the air. Her body ached, warning her to slow down (or, better yet, to stop) before she collapsed from the effort of keeping up with the Ulk Bog. But she knew she wouldn’t do that; she was determined to push ahead. She had a streak of stubbornness a mile wide, and once she set her mind to something, it took more than aches and pains to stop her. It took more than a cage ringed with magic, as well.

In any case, she wasn’t about to stop, turn back, or even slow down while that annoying Ulk Bog was capering about as if completely immune to the weariness that was affecting her. She wasn’t going to prove less able and willing, and then have to listen to the little creature’s pointed comments all the way back to whatever doorway would release her from this prison and put her back into her own world.

She spit some dust from her mouth and slogged ahead. She wasn’t giving up. Not until she got Redden out of that cage.

Although once she did so, she fervently hoped that Tesla Dart’s boast about being able to put them back in the Four Lands was more than just talk.

She returned to thinking about how she would deal with Redden’s magic-warded cage. There had to be a way to get past the Straken Lord’s magic. Or a way to negate it. Or to strip it away. She wished she knew more about that sort of thing, but in spite of her hopes of being allowed to join the Druid order, she possessed limited knowledge of magic. It was one thing to be a creature of magic; it was another entirely to have knowledge of its use.

The truth was that she didn’t have much experience at all; she only had the talent with which she had been born. That might seem to be enough, given that she could turn herself into smoke. But passing through iron bars laced with magic was impossible, even with a shape-change that left her as insubstantial as air. She would, out of necessity, have to brush against the bars or touch some part of the cage in order to gain entry, and that would be all it took to engage whatever magic was in place. Even reaching through the bars might be enough to give warning. If the Straken Lord was going to this much trouble to haul the boy along with him on this march, he must have an important reason for doing so. That meant every precaution against his escape or rescue would have been taken.

She considered the number of Goblin guards and demon-wolves assigned to stand watch on Redden: many more than were necessary, unless their real purpose was not so much to keep him in as to keep others out.

Tesla Dart reappeared in a rush from the wilderness ahead, a flurry of waving arms and churning legs. Oriantha held out her hands to slow the Ulk Bog down before she knocked her over.

“Lada returns!” Tesla announced in an excited voice. “There is an opening close! Different one, not familiar. We are going out!”

The young woman stared. “What do you mean? We are going out where?”

The Ulk Bog grinned, showing all of her considerable teeth. “Into your world, shape-shifter! Back to your home!”

She turned and darted away again, running hard, apparently afraid she might miss something if she lingered even a moment longer. Oriantha gave chase, suddenly frantic. What was Tesla Dart talking about? Why would they be going out into the Four Lands? But she knew the answers almost as soon as she asked the questions. This was the invasion the Ulk Bog had warned about, the invasion Tael Riverine had warned he would mount if he were not given Grianne Ohmsford. Somehow Oriantha had thought they would have more time before the Straken Lord acted on his threat. Apparently she had been wrong.