Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

But before they could do so, his safety line snapped—the wind too strong, the rope too worn. With a wrenching wail, he pinwheeled away into the void and disappeared, leaving the Rover and the boy holding the broken line and staring at each other helplessly.

By midmorning, to everyone’s relief, the storm had moved on. The winds had gone still and the downpour turned to a steady drizzle. Ahead, the clouds began to clear and they at last caught a glimpse of the bright sun as it peeked through the clouds. No one was saying much of anything at this point, the entire company made silent by the loss of yet another of their members and by the exhaustion that had gripped them all, in spite of the fact that it was not even midday. Railing was back at the helm, with Mirai standing next to him in place of Challa Nand and Skint, who had gone forward to study the lay of the land ahead. Neither was saying much, and nothing of consequence when they did speak, confining their conversation to remarks about navigation or the weather.

Unexpectedly, Austrum appeared behind them, coming up the steps and into the cockpit. “I think it would be best if both of you stayed in the pilot box until we reach our destination,” he said.

Railing and Mirai exchanged a startled glance.

“I’m suggesting this for a reason,” the Rover said. Pointing to Railing, “Everything we are doing depends on you. If we lose you over the side the way we did Ekstrin, this entire trip will have been for nothing.” He pointed to Mirai. “And he’ll need someone to spell him when he tires.”

“But you could spell …,” Mirai began.

He shook his head quickly. “How will it look if I let my men risk their lives while I stay safe and sound inside the pilot box? No, you share the helm duties, and I’ll work the lines with my men. The matter is settled.”

And with that, he vaulted out of the pilot box and did not look back.

“He knows,” Railing said after a moment.

Mirai nodded and said nothing.

They flew on through calmer skies for another quarter hour, at which point Challa Nand came into the pilot box and told Railing and Mirai that their destination was just ahead. Leaving Mirai at the controls, the boy walked out on deck with him and up to the bow, where Skint was looking out over the Klu. The mountains they were sailing toward were more heavily forested than those they had passed through earlier. The light caught the thickness and sweep of the trees—a deep green carpet that spread away through the tangle of peaks like an emerald stream.

“That’s the Inkrim,” the Troll advised, pointing farther north to where the Klu opened up to form a wide valley.

The Inkrim clearly took its name from its color. It was virtually black, with shadows and rock formations and the huge dark trunks of the trees, which grew in heavy clusters, and odd formations that seemed to have been caused by a massive upheaval in ancient times. Railing tried to imagine his grandfather, Penderrin Ohmsford, navigating this country on foot when he had come in search of the tanequil. It looked impossible. But his grandfather had not been given a choice. He and the others with him were being hunted by Druids who wanted them dead. Their airship had been destroyed, and travel afoot was the only option that had been left them.

At least this time, the boy thought, we have the means to fly over this mess.

He returned to the cockpit so that Mirai could go forward for a look of her own, and Skint came into the box to join him. The sun was almost fully out by now, and the world again had a peaceful look to it, even if the land below was dark and forbidding. “Challa Nand says we can fly right up to Stridegate’s ruins and set Quickening down. The natives—the Urdas—would tear us to pieces, if they could, for doing so; the ruins are sacred ground for them. But they have a strict taboo about entering; it applies even to them. Still, if they can find a way to reach us, they will. So we have to be careful.”

They boy understood. He knew a little of the history of his grandfather’s search for the tanequil, and the Urdas had featured prominently. Because they were afoot, Penderrin and company had been attacked and nearly overrun by the natives, and had barely managed to gain the sanctuary of Stridegate.

With any luck, they should be able to avoid repeating that—although luck hadn’t been particularly kind to them so far.

They sailed on for another half hour, Challa Nand setting them a roundabout course to reach the Inkrim and Stridegate’s ruins. His purpose, he explained, was to avoid being seen by the Urdas. So they were flying outside the perimeter of the valley with a screen of peaks to shield them from view. When they emerged again, they would be directly in front of Stridegate and perhaps be able to land the Quickening swiftly enough that they would not be noticed.

“It will all have to happen quickly, so be ready when I tell you,” he said to Railing. “Take her down to just above ground level. We’ll moor her from there and descend using ladders. I don’t want her on the ground if we have to make a quick escape. I want her ready to lift away.”

“I am to stay at the helm?” the boy asked.

The Troll shrugged. “It’s your quest.”

They swung north and then sharply west again—a swift change of direction that Railing executed perfectly, keeping the Quickening low in the shelter of the peaks, trying to move her through shadows cast by the mountains so she would be less visible. Ahead, the Inkrim was a huge bowl of darkness, its interior filled with jagged rocks and trees, ravines and ridges, and layered shadows.

Challa Nand was back beside him, gesturing. “Down there. That’s Stridegate.”

Railing could just barely pick out the tangle of broken walls that had once formed buildings. The remains of the city spread out over several miles amid clumps of trees, tall grasses, scrub, and wildflowers. If it hadn’t been pointed out to him, he probably would have missed it entirely.

“Fly there, the closest end. Where the darkness is heaviest.”

Railing did so, taking the airship down to just above the treetops, then into the ruins at the near end, clear of the darkness, which he now realized was a combination of shadows and heavy mist. There seemed to be a microclimate of some sort at work—a reordering of the weather that darkened and deepened everything. There was no evidence of it anywhere else.

He found an open space among the jagged sections of walls and towers and eased the airship into position, holding it in place just off the ground. The Rovers scurried about, dropping mooring lines and then descending the rope ladders port and starboard to secure them. Everyone moved as quickly and as silently as they could manage, and within less than ten minutes they were anchored in place.

Leaving the Rovers and Woostra aboard ship, Challa Nand took Railing, Mirai, and Skint with him to begin the search.

Descending from the airship, they gathered in what resembled the aftermath of thousands of years of abandonment and decay, staring into the ruins. “Where do we go from here?” Challa Nand asked.

Railing hesitated. He had no idea at all. What he did know was that this was as far as they were going to get unless he did something to help them determine where the tanequil could be found—and that meant using the ring the King of the Silver River had given him. He glanced around a bit longer, stalling while he tried to come up with something else, but there wasn’t anything. He would have to use the ring.

He moved away from them, looking out into the rumpled carpet of crumbled walls and ruined buildings that stretched away into the mist and shadows, and his hand dipped into his pocket and brought out the ring. He glanced at it momentarily before slipping it on his finger. He couldn’t hide what he was going to do next, so he turned back to them as he pulled one of the golden strands free of the woven band and held it up. Instantly the thread disappeared in a blinding light that caused him to close his eyes protectively. When he opened them again, the thread was gone and he knew where to go.