Terry Brooks: Wards of Faerie

“How bad is my leg?” he asked.

“It’s broken in two places.” Farshaun pointed to the splints. “You’ll have to go back to the ship, boy.”

“Not without Redden, I won’t.” He raised himself up on one elbow, wincing as a jolt of pain ratcheted through his injured leg. “How long have they been gone now?”

“Several hours.” Farshaun looked skyward. “Getting dark. They should be back soon.”

The boy looked around at the Trolls, standing over by the edge of the escarpment with Seersha and Skint. The latter glanced around, saw that Railing was awake, and wandered over.

“Feeling better? Leg all right? I set those splints myself.”

Railing nodded. “Farshaun says you found the waterfall and the company went into it, my brother with them.”

Skint nodded. “Wasn’t actually a waterfall. It was some sort of light. The Ard Rhys sent me back to tell the rest of you what happened. She said they would be back after they took a look around.”

Railing started to push himself to his feet. “I can’t wait for that. I have to find my brother now.”

“Here, here!” Farshaun pushed him down again. “You can’t walk on that leg without support. You’ll make it worse if you try.”

Skint was staring off toward the cliffs. “Maybe I should have a look around while we’re waiting. Just to see if anything’s happened.”

He wandered back toward the trees and disappeared. Railing and Farshaun watched him go. The boy glanced at the darkening sky and felt the first twinges of uneasiness begin to settle in.

Then Seersha hurried over to them and knelt, her blunt features troubled. “There’s movement in the rocks below the bluff. I think those little monsters are getting ready to mount another attack.”

She gave them a look. “If they come at us after dark, I don’t think we can stop them. We have to get out of here right now.”

Khyber Elessedil regained consciousness. She saw Pleysia on her knees wailing in despair as the dragon disappeared. Carrick and the Trolls were staring after it, stunned looks on their faces. She called to Redden Ohmsford who, having regained a small measure of his composure, hurried over.

“Help me up,” she ordered.

She said it in a way that did not allow for any argument, and he did as he was asked, lifting her back to her feet. She was surprised at how easily he lifted her, as if her age had sapped her of substance and left her little more than skin and hollow bones. She took a moment to find her balance and then stepped away from him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded. “But the dragon took Crace Coram and Oriantha.”

She glanced at Pleysia, still kneeling on the ground, keening softly. She knew Garroneck and several other Trolls were lost, as well; she had seen it happen. She took in the huddle of Trolls who remained; only four of them were left. Her entire Druid Guard, decimated. She saw Carrick staring at her accusingly.

Then Redden said, “The way back is gone.”

She turned, not sure she had heard right. “What?”

“The shimmer we passed through to get here. It’s disappeared.”

She looked in the direction he was indicating and found no sign of it. She took a moment to scan the entire area carefully. Nothing. What was happening?

Something tweaked her memory, something she had learned long ago when Grianne Ohmsford was Ard Rhys and the Druid order was in shambles. Grianne had spoken of what had been done to her, of what she had endured to survive inside …

She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bear the weight of it. Because suddenly she understood everything. Giant insects. Packs of creatures that in the time of Faerie would have been recognized instantly as Goblins.

And now a dragon, she whispered to herself.

A dracha .

All things that Elven magic had locked away centuries ago, imprisoned ever since by the magic of the Ellcrys.

She exhaled sharply. Shades! They weren’t in the Four Lands anymore. They were somewhere else entirely. They were in a place they weren’t supposed to be able to reach, a place held inviolate by ancient wards that had somehow begun to erode.

They were inside the Forbidding.

For the remainder of that day and all of the next, Drust Chazhul and his Federation army did not attempt any further assaults against Paranor. They held on to the Outer Wall and the landing platform and its airships, and stationed sentries on the walls and towers and on the perimeter of the surrounding forest so that no one could come or go without being seen. They built watch fires in the courtyards to keep the Inner Wall and towers illuminated, and whenever the Druids used magic to put the fires out they quickly reignited them. No attempt was made to communicate with the defenders, and it was soon clear any communication would have to come from those trapped within the Keep.

From behind the Inner Wall, Aphenglow and her companions listened to the sounds of construction. Attempts were made to catch a glimpse of what was being built, but even from the highest vantage points in the Keep’s many towers they could see nothing.

“Siege machines,” Bombax declared, dismissing the matter.

But Aphenglow wasn’t so sure. Drust Chazhul had to realize by now that direct attacks against the Keep were doomed to failure. Siege machines were just more of the same, so why would the Prime Minister and his army of commanders bother? Something else was happening, but she couldn’t decide what it was. Even Cymrian, who was usually so quick to decipher such puzzles, could not come up with an answer.

They considered again further attempts to protect the most valuable talismans and artifacts hidden within the Keep, including the Black Elfstone, but again decided against it. They bandied about the idea of attempting to get word to one of the Border Cities or to Arborlon in an effort to summon help. But a journey of that sort would have to be made on foot, and it would require a three-day slog just to get clear of the Dragon’s Teeth. From there, it would be another two days either to Tyrsis or Arborlon unless they could borrow or steal an airship or a horse. With so many sentries and patrols, the chances of being seen were good, and that would generate a pursuit. Worst of all, even if someone managed the journey successfully, there was nothing to say that help of any kind would be given.

If word could be gotten to the Ard Rhys and the other Druids, help was assured. But no one knew exactly where the members of the expedition were or how to reach them.

So in the end, the defenders decided to outlast their attackers and trust to the strength of the wards. No one wanted to abandon the Keep, in any case; not even the Trolls were in favor of leaving. Better to stand their ground and fight, Bombax repeatedly insisted, than flee and show their backsides to the likes of Drust Chazhul.

Again, Aphenglow wasn’t so sure.

On the second morning of the siege, she went into the depths of the Keep to find Woostra. She had gone to see him right after the initial assault had failed to inform him of what had happened. He had greeted the news with his usual calm indifference, declaring he was unsurprised and uninterested in anything involving the Federation. The Keep would protect herself and by doing so, protect them. He had more important matters to occupy his time.

Aphenglow, wondering what could be more important than an army of soldiers trying to break down Paranor’s gates, nevertheless had departed without further discussion.

But now she found herself increasingly uneasy about what might be happening outside the walls. They were seemingly safe and had proclaimed themselves so—well, Bombax had, at any rate, always so confident and self-assured. But everyone was edgy and disgruntled at being trapped in their own fortress and troubled by the size and determination of the enemy that had penned them in.