Straken (6 page)

R
ue Meridian sat with her back against the cell’s far wall, facing the locked door. Her prison, like Bek’s, was deep beneath the walls and buildings of the Druid’s Keep. There was only the single door. The door was solid metal, save for a flap at its bottom, which permitted her jailers to slide a tray of food inside without opening the door, and a series of slits at eye level, which let in slivers of torchlight from the hallway beyond. Within her cell were a wooden bed frame and mattress, a blanket, a slop bucket, and a broom. The broom was a mystery. Was she supposed to sweep up the cell when it got too dusty? Was she supposed to knock down cobwebs?

Since she had been shut away, she had not been allowed out. Not once, even for a moment. Nor had anyone come inside. She had heard the guards moving in the hallway, and she had looked out in an effort to see them once or twice. But the guards kept out of her line of sight and spoke in low enough tones that they were out of hearing, as well. They had not spoken to her through the door. Other than delivering her food and allowing her to slide the bucket out for emptying now and then, they had paid no attention to her at all. As far as she could determine, in the minds of her captors she had ceased to exist.

So she sat and waited for something to happen, all the while thinking of ways she might escape.

She thought constantly of her son, frantic for his safety. Her husband was resourceful and would be able to help himself. And she would be fine. But Pen lacked their experience and their skills; he would be at the mercy of whoever went to find him. She knew enough of Shadea a’Ru to appreciate how determined she was to eradicate the Ohmsfords. It wouldn’t stop with Grianne, though she was the excuse for the purge. It would continue until the last Ohmsford was wiped from the face of the Four Lands.

Thinking of it left her furious. She had never trusted the Druids, never cared for their secretive ways and manipulative schemes. It had been bad enough when there was only one, and that one was Walker Boh. But now there were dozens of them, not only within the walls of Paranor, but scattered throughout the Four Lands, as well. She had always felt at risk, especially with Grianne as Ard Rhys. Her feelings for Bek’s sister were unchanged. In her mind, Grianne would always be the Ilse Witch. Bek’s assurances notwithstanding, she had never been convinced that Grianne’s transformation from dark witch to white queen was real. Her attitude was not so different from that of many others. She could understand why some among the Druids were so eager to be rid of her.

But the real problem was her certainty that their connection with Grianne put them all in danger. It didn’t matter that they were not close to the Ard Rhys and had nothing to do with the Druid order. It didn’t matter that their lives were so different. Blood and history bound them inextricably. She had always known that the cauldron of mistrust and dislike Grianne stirred among those who were troubled by her position of power as Ard Rhys was in danger of spilling over onto the rest of them.

Her present circumstances seemed to bear that out.

She stared at the iron door and wished she had thought to stick a throwing knife into her boot. She wished she had any kind of weapon at all. She wished she had two minutes alone outside that door.

After a time, she dozed, drifting away on thoughts of her family and better times. In the near blackness of her prison, sleep was the only form of relief she could find.

She did not know how long she slept, only that it ended suddenly
and unexpectedly. She awoke with a start, her sleep broken by an odd sound from beyond her cell. She blinked in confusion, sensing that what she had heard was the collapse of something. She sat up straight, listening for more.

Then a key twisted in the lock, metal scraping on metal, and the lock released with a sharp
snick
. She got to her feet quickly and took a deep breath to steady herself, to clear her sleep-fogged mind. She didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know how to prepare herself. She snatched up the broom, the only thing at hand that might serve as a weapon, and moved to stand close by the door.

The door opened, and a black-cloaked figure stepped through. One gloved hand came up quickly in warning as she started to move out of her crouch. “Wait!”

The hands rose to pull back the hood, and she found herself confronted by a young man with angular features and a quizzical expression. He blinked at her and smiled. “No need for that. I’ve come to help.” He glanced over his shoulder into the hallway, his lank brown hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. “Hurry. We haven’t much time. They’ll discover you’ve gone soon enough and they’ll know where it is they must look.”

Satisfied to be free, to have a chance at escaping the Keep, she went with him without questioning their destination. They slipped from the cell into the hallway, where she saw the collapsed form of the Gnome Hunter who had been keeping guard outside the door. There was no blood, no mark on him anywhere.

“A sleeping potion,” whispered her rescuer, his young face brightening with pleasure. “Worked on the one at the top of the stairs, too. They have a warning system to prevent your escape that travels from the bottom up, but not from the top down. They expect any attempt at escape to come from you. They don’t think you have any friends here.”

“I didn’t think so, either,” she admitted, reaching down to snatch away the guard’s dagger.

“Oh, yes,” he replied quickly. “A few. Well, two of us, anyway. I am the one who slipped your husband that warning note when you first arrived. But I couldn’t do more until now. Come, hurry!”

They moved silently down the shadowy corridor. Torchlight from brands set in wall brackets cast pools of yellowish light on the stone floor. She listened carefully for the sound of other movements as she went, but heard nothing. At the bottom of a circular ascent, her rescuer paused to peer upward into the dark hole of the stairwell. No light filtered down.

He glanced over. “I left the door closed against intrusion. No shift change is due for another hour, but you don’t want to take chances.”

He smiled his infectious smile again. “I’m Trefen Morys.” He stuck out his hand, and she gave it a quick squeeze. “Bellizen and I are still loyal to the Ard Rhys. And to you and your husband, too.”

“Where is Bek?” she asked quickly.

“Imprisoned, like you. I couldn’t risk trying to reach him until you were free. They keep him closely watched, held in check by a warning that any attempt on his part to escape will result in your death. They are afraid of his magic. They think that if they keep him contained, you will not present a problem. So I freed you first, to take the pressure off while we break him free.”

She nodded. “Sound reasoning, Trefen Morys.”

He blushed. “I hope you will have a chance to tell that to my mistress.” His brow furrowed. “When she disappeared, I knew that Shadea a’Ru and those who follow her had something to do with it, especially after they seized control of the order. Then Tagwen disappeared, and the word went out that they were looking for you and your son. It was all too clear that they meant to stop any effort at finding my mistress.”

“Do you know where Pen is?” she asked quickly. “Have they found him? Have they brought him here?”

He shook his head. “There is no word of your son. I know he has not been brought here. I have been watching for him. We both have, Bellizen and I.” He gripped her arm. “We have been waiting for the right time to set you free, but we could not chance it while Shadea and the others were all present at Paranor. But Shadea has gone south to meet with the Prime Minister of the Federation and will not return for several days. Her closest allies, Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence, flew north days ago.”

“In search of Pen?”

He nodded. “We will try to reach him first, once you are both free and we have control of your airship. Our usefulness here is ended. There is nothing more we can do to help my mistress. The order follows Shadea now, all but a handful. Already, they believe she is the leader the order requires and that my mistress was an unfortunate mistake. Whatever we can do to change their thinking, to find my mistress and stop Shadea, must happen elsewhere.”

He pointed up the stairs. “We have to go. Follow me.” He put a finger to his lips. “Quiet like a mouse, now.”

They tiptoed up the stone risers, the young Druid leading the way. Rue had the Gnome dagger in her right hand, ready for use. She wished she had more than one, but the truth of the matter was that if they were discovered, a dozen daggers wouldn’t be enough to save them. They must count on stealth and surprise to see them through.

At the top of the stairs, Trefen Morys eased open the ironbound wooden door and peered through the crack. Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded and pushed through to the light beyond.

They were in a guardroom that served as a waypoint between the cellars and the rest of the Keep. Weapons and armor hung from racks on the walls, and open doors revealed storage closets filled with cloaks and boots. Torches burned in their racks, but the room was empty save for them.

Trefen Morys walked over to a pair of closed doors and opened them. A Gnome Hunter lay slumped on the floor. The young Druid nudged the Gnome with his boot, and when he didn’t move closed the doors once more. Then he took one of the cloaks from its peg and handed it to Rue.

“Your husband is being held in another part of the Keep. They are taking no chances that one of you will have any chance of finding and rescuing the other. But I know where to go and how to get there. The trick will be in disposing of the Gnome Hunters who serve as guards. Make no mistake. They are Shadea a’Ru’s men—mercenaries recruited and paid for by Pyson Wence to replace the Trolls. They have been ordered to kill both of you if
there is any sort of escape attempt. So we have to keep them from finding out what has happened here until we reach your husband.”

He paused. “One thing more you need to know. It is important that we do this now. Things are very bad here. Many Druids have been dismissed from the order and sent home. Others have simply disappeared, including some who were close to Shadea. Terek Molt has been gone for more than a month. Iridia Eleri disappeared two weeks ago. And right before Shadea left for Arishaig, her consort, Gerand Cera, was found dead. There wasn’t a mark on him. No one says so, but we all think the same thing—she used him until he became expendable. It might be true of the others, as well.”

He shook his head. “Yet most within the order still follow Shadea. However they feel about her secretly, they don’t mistrust her in the same way they did the Ard Rhys. My mistress is shackled by her history as the Ilse Witch. She cannot escape it. Too many refuse to forgive her, even though she has changed. It doesn’t matter that in the end, Shadea will prove a worse choice. They cannot see that she will destroy the order, that she will lead it to ruin because she lacks my mistress’s passion for doing what is right.”

“Isn’t there a good chance that Grianne Ohmsford is already dead?” Rue asked. “Is there any reason to think she isn’t?”

He shook his head vigorously. “If my mistress were dead, why would they work so hard at finding your son? What difference would it make to them where he had gone and what he was doing if she weren’t still alive? No, they think he has found a way to reach her and if not stopped might well do so.”

Rue heard the sound of footfalls in the corridor outside, and they both turned quickly. “Your cloak!” Trefen Morys hissed, pulling up his hood and tightening the folds.

But Rue knew it was too late for any sort of disguise. Stepping silently to one side of the entry as the steps approached, she waited for the door to open and the Gnome Hunter to step through, then brought the haft of the knife around in a powerful blow that caught the Gnome on his temple and dropped him like a stone.

“Help me,” she said, kicking the door closed and taking the Gnome’s arms.

Together they hauled the body to one of the closets, bound his arms and legs, gagged his mouth, and stuffed him inside. Without another word or more than a quick glance at each other, they went out through the door the Gnome had entered and down the corridor beyond, Trefen Morys leading the way. One corridor intersected with another, one set of stairs wound to a second, doors opened and closed into rooms, and so they made their way through the shadowy halls, pausing only to listen for voices or footsteps as they went. The minutes slipped away, and Rue was quickly lost. She didn’t know that much about Paranor anyway, having visited only a handful of times and having never ventured much beyond the main halls that led to the council chambers and the rooms of the Ard Rhys. They were deep underground here, in a maze of passageways she had never seen and could never have navigated on her own. She could feel the cold permeating the rock. Even the central fires of the Keep’s furnace, the fires that burned from deep underground at the earth’s core, could not push back the chill.

Once or twice, Trefen Morys glanced back, and each time she nodded quickly for him to go on. She was thinking of Bek, just out of reach, but she was thinking about Penderrin, as well, much farther away and more vulnerable. She was thinking about her child and how she would never be able to live with herself if something were to happen to him.

Finally, Trefen Morys slowed, then stopped altogether, dropping into a crouch beneath the light of a torch burning in its wall bracket. Ahead, a door stood closed to whatever lay beyond.

“A pair of guards keeps watch there,” he whispered, as she crouched next to him. “We have to silence them both. Beyond that room, stairs lead downward to a corridor of cells. Your husband is in one of them. A second pair of Gnome Hunters stands watch there—one at the bottom of the stairs, another in front of the cell that imprisons your husband. Any sort of warning will result in a swift response.”

She nodded. “There won’t be any warning.”

“I was able to get another note to your husband several days ago,
so that he would know that someone was looking to help him. He will know we are coming, and he will be ready, even if the Gnome Hunter at his cell door attempts to kill him. I don’t know a great deal about his magic, but I gather it was a match for his sister’s, so he will have a chance to survive this.” He sighed. “I wish I could have done more.”