Or goals, he corrected himself. There was Walker on the one hand and the missing Elfstones on the other. He had not spoken of the latter to Ryer Ord Star, but once they found the Druid, he intended to search for the Stones. It might be that he was asking too much. It was possible that after locating Walker, the magic would vanish. He had no way of knowing. He could only plan for contingencies and hope and do the best he could with whatever happened.
They walked for a long time, but encountered neither creepers nor fire threads. If Antrax was hunting for them, it was doing so another way. They were descending at a steady rate now, down ramps and stairways alike, farther underground than they had gone before. It made sense to Ahren that Antrax would keep the magic it hoarded deeper down and better hidden. He thought there was a better than even chance that Walker would be there, too.
Ahead, not far away, machinery thrummed and chugged softly, a steady cadence, one that reverberated through the steel of the tunnels into his bones.
Then the corridor branched left and right into a series of arched, doorless openings, all of them leading onto a catwalk that overlooked a cavernous room filled with huge metal cabinets and clusters of blinking lights set into panels. Wheels spun behind smoky windows; brilliant silver disks reflected the soft light of flameless lamp tubes that ran up and down the walls and across the room’s high ceiling. The hum of machinery was everywhere, punctuated by beeps and chirps and other strange sounds, all of it coming from the chamber below.
It was an eerie sight, a surreal vision of something that hadn’t existed for thousands of years beyond these walls. They paused on the catwalk, looking down at the contents of the room, searching for something that made sense. Nothing they saw was familiar to either of them, but an instant later Ryer gasped sharply, spoke Walker’s name, and pulled on Ahren’s hand, dragging him after her toward a metal stairway leading down. He went without questioning her, already knowing what was happening. They descended the stairs and made their way through the maze of fifteen-foot-high cabinets filled with rows of spinning silver disks. At least some of the machinery they had heard from the catwalk was behind the panels. Ahren glanced up at their smooth surfaces, certain they had come out of the Old World, wondering if they contained the magic the company of the Jerle Shannara had come searching for. What sort of magic, he wondered, is kept in a metal shell of spinning disks and blinking lights? It was books they had come to find, but there were no books here—at least, none that he could see. Perhaps they were deeper underground, and the cabinets and their machinery served as protectors of some sort.
Then he caught sight of the creepers. Several of them were working their way down the rows of cabinets, stopping every so often to manipulate the spinning disks and blinking lights. If they saw Ahren and Ryer, they gave no indication of it. The creepers were different from the ones they had encountered before. Larger than the so-called sweepers, they were nevertheless more of that sort—tenders of Castledown rather than defenders. They were equipped with strange metal limbs that reached out in all directions, touching here and there, inserting odd-shaped digits into slots and openings, causing the sound of the machinery or the blinking of the lights to alter, changing now and again the cadence or speed of the disks.
Fascinated, Ahren slowed to take a closer look, but Ryer Ord Star was having none of that. She jerked him ahead, pulling at him anxiously. Her destination was the far end of the chamber. One of the creepers was moving the same way, somewhat ahead of them, as if anticipating what she intended. The seer shot Ahren a frantic glance over her shoulder, then broke into a run, dragging him with her. Wrapped in the protective cloud of phoenix-stone magic, they rushed after the creeper toward a series of metal doors that stood closed on dimly lit chambers that could just be distinguished through a line of tall, dark windows.
The creeper was quicker and got there first, touching a panel that caused the door to one of the chambers to slide open. Fresh light spilled through the doorway to reveal panel after panel of blinking lights and dozens of tubes that snaked inward toward the center of the room. The creeper disappeared inside, rolling soundlessly on its wheeled base.
Ahren and Ryer came up behind it in a rush, the girl still leading the way. They were through the open doorway and into the room before she stopped so suddenly that he ran into her from behind. Struggling to keep them both from falling over, he followed her gaze across the room. His breath left his body in a rush.
They had found Walker.
But maybe it would have been better if they hadn’t.
17
Night descended on the land like a great silken cat, its shadow darkening the woods in steadily deepening layers, stealing away the daylight with stealth and cunning. Bek sat across from his sister and watched her cut slices of cheese from a wedge and toast bread on flat rocks made hot by coals. She had already cleaned and portioned out berries on broad leaves culled from tropical plants that shouldn’t grow so far north but somehow did. She worked steadily and purposefully and did not look up at him. She did not look at him, anyway, most of the time. She treated him very much the way Quentin treated his hunting dogs: she fed, watered, and rested him, and expected him to do what he was told and to keep up with her when she traveled. She showed just enough interest in him to let him know she was keeping watch, nothing more. The wall she had erected between them was thick and high and very sturdy.
“Go down to the steam and bring us fresh water,” she said without lifting her head.
He rose, picked up the nearly empty water skin, and walked into the trees. She didn’t worry about him trying to escape. He had given his word, after all. Not that he believed for a moment that his word counted for anything with her. But he was forbidden to leave her presence carrying the Sword of Shannara, and he knew she could track him easily should he choose to stray. He did not like to think about what she would do to him if he did. If he had needed further evidence of how ruthless she could be, she had provided it by telling him what she had done to Truls Rohk.
She kept it to herself for the better part of two days as they traveled back through the wooded hill country toward the ruins, brushing aside his repeated inquiries. But he pressed her stubbornly for an answer, and finally she provided one. She had left the caull in hiding to deal with the shape-shifter on his return from his failed ambush. Eventually, he would realize that she had outsmarted him and return to find Bek. She couldn’t risk him then coming after her once he knew the boy was gone. He was as relentless as she was and every bit as dangerous. She respected him for that, but he would have to be eliminated. She had left the caull to finish him.
Bek was stunned, left both angry and heartsick, but there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe she had guessed wrong about the shape-shifter, and he had not come back for Bek after all. Maybe he had sensed that the caull was waiting and avoided it. But she seemed so certain that the matter was resolved, that his hopes dimmed almost immediately. He was on his own, he knew. Whatever choices he made from then forward, he would have to answer for them.
So running was out of the question. It hadn’t worked the first time, and there was no reason to think it would work now. Besides, if there was any chance at all of persuading her that he really was her brother, he had to take advantage of it. He could not afford to alienate her further. Though she paid him scant attention, she let him talk, and he used every opportunity she gave him to try to convince her of who he was. Mostly, she ignored him, but now and again she would reply to his arguments, and even those small responses, those cryptic remarks, provided evidence that she was listening to what he was telling her. She might not believe him, but at least she was considering his words.