Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

For a few quick seconds the blue Elfstone light was a zigzag blaze cutting through the city, and then in a sharp burst it found Arling Elessedil.

But not where they had thought she would be.

Arling was working her way through the city streets, trying to blend in with the crowds while at the same time avoiding encounters with Federation soldiers. She had left Edinja’s house through the front door; the lock had released without resistance, and no one had appeared to stop her. She could hardly believe her good fortune. But even though she mistrusted it, she was out and free and on her way to safety. She moved quickly down the steps and away from the building, taking more deserted streets until she reached busier ones. She was still wearing the night clothes Edinja had provided while she lay unconscious, but she had wrapped herself in a travel cloak she’d found hanging by the entry on her way out. Wearing slippers and keeping the hood to the cloak raised, she looked like many of the other young women she passed.

Her plan was to reach the closest of the gates leading out of the city and pass through it before anyone found out she was gone. Once free of the city, she could then begin her search for Aphenglow and Cymrian. Somehow, she would find them. And together they would return to the Westland and determine what to do next.

It was a rudimentary plan and didn’t begin to address the bulk of her problems—like finding out who had taken the missing Ellcrys seed and recovering it, or searching out the Bloodfire and immersing the seed so that the Ellcrys could be quickened, then returning to Arborlon to discover what was needed to make that happen …

But she left off thinking about it, knowing she could not look too closely at what it would require. It was all she could do just to get free of Arishaig and away from Edinja Orle.

Especially knowing that her captor would likely come after her.

Still, she had gotten this far, hadn’t she? She had tricked the serving woman and escaped the house. She had freed herself from the sorceress and her dreadful creatures. Remembering what she had been shown in the cellars of Edinja Orle’s home made her shudder. Whatever else happened she would not allow herself to end up like that. She would kill herself first.

It was a bold, reckless threat—one that she probably could not carry out—but it strengthened her determination to keep going until she was safely away.

She caught sight of a pair of Elven traders standing with their cart of handwoven scarves and head coverings, and she hurried over to them.

“I’m new to this city, and I’ve gotten lost,” she told them. “Can you point me toward the city’s west gate? I’m supposed to meet my mother there.”

The men looked at each other. “Why don’t I accompany you,” said one, “so you won’t get lost again. It’s easy to do that here.”

“Thank you, but no. Just show me the right direction.”

Shrugging, he did so, and she was off again, moving quickly. She had rejected help she could have used without thinking, instinctively wanting to keep everyone at bay. She pressed ahead through crowds that were gradually growing larger, intent on reaching her goal. The buildings surrounding her were much bigger, making her feel ever more claustrophobic. The smells in the air were rank and fetid. She tried to breathe through her mouth, covering her face with her sleeve. Bodies jostled her, almost knocking her off her feet.

Ahead, she could see Arishaig’s west wall, its massive gates standing open to the plains beyond, and she felt a surge of excitement. She was almost clear.

But then shouts rose from atop the battlements—only a scattering at first, but then dozens more. People on the streets took up the shouts—a few dozen turning into hundreds and then thousands. The shouts blossomed into screams, and everyone began running, crowds rushing in every direction at once, people fighting to get away, swarming back through the streets. One huge surge was coming directly toward her, and she pushed and shoved her way frantically to reach the protection of a doorway, letting the mass of people fight their way past. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, and her attempts to stop anyone were unsuccessful. The fleeing people looked wild-eyed and frightened.

Ahead, in the direction in which she had been going, she saw the massive gates begin to move, swinging on their iron hinges, the sounds of iron rubbing against iron adding a raucous shriek to the screams.

She felt her heart freeze.

The gates were closing.

Aphenglow and Cymrian were following the map provided by the Elfstones’ vision, working their way through Arishaig’s streets. Neither could imagine how Arling had managed to escape Edinja Orle. If the sorceress’s home was as carefully protected as Rushlin had led them to believe, it seemed impossible that she could have gotten free. Yet somehow she had, and that meant sooner or later Edinja would come looking for her. Given the sorceress’s reputation, it seemed unlikely that Arling could evade her for long. They had to reach her quickly.

Cymrian drew up short. “We’re wasting time. You have to use the Elfstones again.”

Aphenglow looked around. “Out here? In the street?”

“No, not here. It’s too crowded.” He pointed toward the roof of a long, square building nearby. The roof was flat and open to the sky. “Up there.”

There were huge roll-up doors that opened into the building, but they were locked and barred, so Cymrian chose to break through a smaller door off a side street. No one was inside once they entered. The building was a warehouse filled with large crates carefully stacked in bays. A metal stairway led up to a doorway in the ceiling and out onto the roof.

Once they were on the roof, Aphen didn’t waste any time. She brought out the Elfstones, settled into her by-now-familiar trance, and summoned the magic. It flared to life almost immediately, gathering power in the palm of her hand and then flashing away into the distance. From high up on the roof, they could see the walls of the city and two of the gates. The magic went straight toward the west gate, speeding almost to its massive portals before dropping down to a street leading in that direction and to an image of Arling wrapped in a cloak and hood as she made her way to freedom. Then the magic flared and died.

“I know where she is,” Cymrian declared, already racing back toward the stairs.

They went back through the empty warehouse and out the door into the street beyond. Cymrian led, with Aphen a step behind. The crowds were thin at first, but quickly began to grow in size until moving through them became all but impossible. Aphen grew frustrated and, throwing caution to the winds, she invoked a magic that moved people out of their path. But even this didn’t solve the problem entirely because she could only impact those closest, and the larger mass continued to press toward them.

Then all at once shouts and screams rose from the direction in which they were heading, growing quickly from a scattered few to hundreds. Heads turned and people stopped where they were, milling about and trying to decide what was happening. Aphen and Cymrian attempted to move forward, but the street was entirely blocked now as the crowd clustered before them became a solid mass of bodies.

“What’s happening?” Aphen shouted over the din.

Seconds later the screams and cries reached the head of the crowd and people began to surge back toward the Elves. Aphen and Cymrian were forced against the walls of the flanking buildings, unable to do anything more than get out of the way. The cries were spreading throughout the city, rising all around them, filling the air until nothing else could be heard.

In frustration, Cymrian began grabbing passersby, demanding to know what was happening. At first, he got no coherent answer. Those running were just following everyone else. Something terrible was happening, but it wasn’t clear what. All anyone knew to do was to get away.