It was almost dawn when he woke, the first tinges of daylight seeping through the trees, the sky east lightening. Tamis had fallen asleep on watch, her body leaning against a tree, her chin lowered into her chest. When he pushed himself into a sitting position, she heard him move and looked up at once.
In the distance, far off but recognizable, something big moved through the trees.
They stood up together, staring in the direction of the sounds.
“It’s coming again,” Quentin whispered. “What do you want to do? Make a stand here or choose another place?”
Her look was unreadable, but the weariness and sadness of the previous night had vanished. “Let’s find one of those pits the Rindge dug for wronk traps,” she replied softly. “Let’s see how well it works.”
15
Even though he had been persuaded by Ryer Ord Star to follow the little sweeper in search of Walker, Ahren Elessedil insisted on waiting until after dark before reentering the deadly ruins. He accepted that it was unlikely they would be attacked by creepers or fire threads if the sweeper was leading them and it probably made no difference whether it was dark or light, but he didn’t care. Still firmly in the grip of his memory of the attack that had destroyed everyone with him when they had attempted an entry in daylight last time, it was all he could do to make himself go back down there at all. He must at least, he insisted, be allowed the one concession.
Ryer Ord Star had no choice but to agree since she wanted him with her; the sweeper had nothing to offer on the matter. It sat there on its wheeled base, insides whirring, keeping its images to itself. Summery and hot, the day drifted slowly away, and Ahren and Ryer took turns sleeping. Below their hiding place, the ruins sat shimmering in silence.
With the coming of nightfall, darkness settling over the land in blue-gray shadows and thinning light, they set out. The sweeper led them down out of their concealment, its wheeled base flexing on the stairs and over the rubble, scarcely making a sound as it worked its way through the perimeter and into the ruins. The seer and the Elven Prince followed, the former without hesitation, the latter with nothing but. They were barely twenty yards into the maze when the sweeper approached a wall, made a series of small clicking noises, and triggered a concealed entry. The wall slid back to reveal a dimly lit ramp leading down, and the three unlikely companions stepped within.
When the door slid shut again behind them, Ahren experienced such an attack of panic that it was all he could do to keep from crying out. He felt trapped, exposed, and helpless all at once, and he expected the fire threads and the creepers to cut him apart. But there was no attack, and they proceeded unchallenged down the ramp to a joining of corridors at a hub. Flameless lamps encased in glass spilled yellow light across the flooring in dim pools. Pipes ran along the ceilings, burrowing in and out of the walls like snakes. Sealed doors, some of them round rather than rectangular, were the only thing marring the smooth metal surfaces. Spaced evenly along each passageway, glass fish-eyes peered down at them from overhead, tiny red dots within dark centers flashing wickedly.
Ahren, his eyes peering everywhere at once, found himself regretting anew his decision; he was still bothered by their willingness to accept that the sweeper could help them. Or would, for that matter. That a machine that was at least part creeper would be anxious to help them seemed patently ridiculous. In his mind, he replayed the images the sweeper had shown them, reevaluating them, trying to get behind them to see more than he had been shown. The whole business felt wrong. He kept thinking that Ryer Ord Star would have detected any subterfuge, but the seer was so blinded by her need to reach Walker that he couldn’t be sure. Even if they found the Druid, how were they supposed to help him? If he couldn’t help himself, what use would they be? He thought about the missing Elfstones. If he had their magic to call upon, he might be able to do something, although even that wasn’t a given, since he had never used them and had no real idea if he could.
They walked a very long way without seeming to get anywhere, the tunnels and chambers and stairways passing in endless succession, all of it looking and feeling the same. Every so often he heard machinery at work, soft and distant, muffled by steel and earth. He kept thinking they would find something new, a chamber that would reveal something important, but it never happened. On the other hand, they didn’t encounter anything that threatened either. Time drifted away, and their strange descent wore on.
Finally, Ahren called a halt. They had walked for miles, and there was nothing to suggest they wouldn’t walk for miles more. They needed to rest. Ryer, he felt, would keep going until she dropped. He sat down with his back against one of the metal walls and took out his water skin. The seer sat down next to him, accepting the water skin when he passed it, then a small bit of bread and cheese from the little food that remained to him. The silence of the underground passageways seemed to echo all around them, a reminder of just how alone and isolated they were.
The sweeper took up a position in the center of the corridor just in front of them, lights blinking in sleepy cadence. It did not seem to be in any hurry.
Ahren shifted himself so that he was facing the young seer. “Do you have any sense of how close we might be to Walker?”
She shook her head. “I can still feel him, but the feeling isn’t any different from before.”
“Nothing? But we’ve been walking forever. You have to be able to tell something.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Ahren. Distance doesn’t matter. I can feel the same things whether I am very near or far away. Only the healing part has anything to do with being close. Then I have to touch the one who is in pain.” She tried a quick, reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid.”
He was, though, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. Everything about Castledown felt like a weight pressing him against the earth, crushing him to nothing. He was embarrassed and ashamed, still carrying guilt for having run from the attack, for having been so petrified with fear that he couldn’t bring himself to help the others. Maybe that was why he was afraid. Maybe that was why he seemed to be afraid all the time.
She reached over and touched his arm, surprising him. “It’s all right to be frightened. I’m frightened, too. I don’t want to be here either. But we might be the only ones who can help Walker. We have to try.”
He nodded disconsolately. She was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Or braver. They rose and started off again, following after the little sweeper. It took them down new passageways and ramps, stairs and corridors, leading them on, deeper and deeper into the catacombs of the underground city. The journey was tedious and numbing; the world of Castledown was the same wherever they went. Fatigue set in, physical and emotional both. Ahren found himself wondering if it was still dark outside. He didn’t think it could be. He wondered if anyone else had come into the ruins since. What were the chances that someone else from their scattered little band would find a way underground as they had?
Several times he tried asking the sweeper how much farther they had to go, but there was never any response. The sweeper simply pressed on, not bothering to communicate, no longer showing images. They were completely dependent on it by then; they could not find their way back to the surface alone. They could not find their way anywhere. If the sweeper did not lead them to Walker, they were hopelessly lost.
When they stopped again to rest, backs against the wall once more, eating and drinking to stay strong, tired enough to sleep, but unwilling to chance it, Ahren was so consumed by their predicament that he could no longer stand it. He waited a moment, thinking through the suggestion he was about to make, watching the sweeper as it faced them from the center of the corridor some ten feet away.