Outside, he stopped and looked around. Nothing was familiar. He could see the outline of the treetops some distance off, but he had no idea in which direction he had been going or where the Mwellrets were. He listened for sound of them, but heard nothing.
“There’s someone behind us,” Ryer whispered in his ear.
He tugged her forward again, making for the cover of the trees, hoping that they could reach it in time. It was steadily growing lighter, the sun just beginning to crest the horizon, leaving the ruins bathed in a dangerous combination of light and shadows that could easily deceive the eyes. Ahren thought he heard a sudden grunt from somewhere close, and he wondered if they had been discovered after all.
Maybe he should use the Elfstones, even if they gave him away. But the magic wasn’t any good against rets or any other creatures not motivated by magic. Nor would it respond if he wasn’t physically threatened.
He put his free hand on the handle of his long knife, his only other weapon, hesitating. He was deliberating over what to do when a movement off to his right stopped him. He faded back against a wall with Ryer, holding his breath as a cloaked form shouldered into view through the buildings. He could not make out who it was. Or even what, human or Mwellret. Ryer was pressed so close against him he could feel her breathing. He tightened his grip on her hand, feeling nothing himself of the reassurance he was trying to convey to her.
Then the cloaked form was gone. Ahren exhaled slowly and began to move ahead again. It wasn’t far to the trees. Beyond the ruins, only a hundred yards or so away, he could make out limbs and clusters of leaves in the new light.
As he stepped around the corner of a partially collapsed wall, he glanced back momentarily at Ryer to be certain she was all right. The look in her eyes changed just as he did so, her wariness giving way to outright terror.
Quickly he looked back, but he was too slow. Sudden movement confronted him.
Then everything went black.
6
When he saw Truls Rohk move toward his sister, Bek Ohmsford didn’t take time to consider the consequences of what he did next. All he knew was that if he failed to act, the shape-shifter would kill her. It didn’t matter what the other had promised earlier, in a moment of rational thought, away from the carnage in which they found themselves now. Once Truls saw her kneeling at the side of the fallen Walker, the Sword of Shannara in hand and blood everywhere, that promise might as well have been written on water.
If Bek had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, perhaps he would have reacted the same way as Truls Rohk. But Bek could see from his sister’s face that something was very wrong with her. She was staring skyward, but she wasn’t seeing anything. She held the Sword of Shannara, but not as if it was a weapon she had just used. Nor did he think she would rely on the talisman to take the life of the Druid. She would rely on her own magic, the magic of the wishsong, and if she had done so here, there would not be this much blood.
Once he got past his initial shock, Bek knew there was more to what he was seeing than appearances indicated. But Truls Rohk was behind Grianne and couldn’t see her face. Not that it would have mattered, since he was not inclined to feel the same way Bek did. For the shape-shifter, the Ilse Witch was a dangerous enemy and nothing less, and if there was any reason to suspect she might harm them, he wouldn’t think twice about stopping her.
So Bek attacked him. He did so in a reaction born out of desperation, intending to hold the other back without really harming him. But Truls Rohk was so enormously strong that Bek couldn’t afford to employ half measures when calling up the power of the wishsong. He hadn’t mastered it yet anyway, not in the way that Grianne had, having only just discovered a few months earlier that he even had the use of it. The best he could do was to hope it had the intended effect.
He sent it spinning out in an entangling web of magic that snared Truls and sent him tumbling head over heels through the wreckage of the chamber. The shape-shifter went down, but he was back up again almost at once, throwing off his concealment, revealing himself instantly, big and dark and dangerous. With the long knife held before him, he rushed Grianne a second time. But Bek knew enough by now to appreciate how strong Truls was, and he had already assumed his first attempt at slowing the shape-shifter would fail. He sent a second wave of magic lancing out, a wall of sound that snared the other and sent him flying backwards. Bek cried out, but he did not think Truls even heard him, so caught up was he in his determination to get at Grianne.
But Bek reached her first, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms about her protectively. She did not move when he did so. She did not respond in any way.
“Don’t hurt her,” he started to say, turning to find Truls Rohk.
Then something hit him so hard that it knocked him completely free of Grianne and sent him sprawling into the remains of a shattered creeper. Stunned, he dragged himself to his knees. “Truls . . . ,” he gasped as he peered over at Grianne helplessly.
The shape-shifter was bent over her, a menacing shadow, his blade at her exposed throat. “You haven’t the experience for this, boy,” he hissed at Bek. “Not yet. But that doesn’t make you less of an irritation, I’ll give you that. No, don’t try to get up. Stay where you are.”
He was silent a moment, tensed and ready as he leaned closer to Bek’s sister. Then the knife lowered. “What’s wrong with her? She’s in some sort of trance.”
Bek climbed back to his feet in spite of the warning and stumbled over, shaking off the disorienting effects of the blow. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”
“I did if I wanted to be certain you would remember what it meant to use your magic against me.” The other shifted to face him. “What were you thinking?”
Bek shook his head. “Only that I didn’t want you to hurt her. I thought you would kill her outright when you saw Walker. I didn’t think you could see her face, so you wouldn’t know she couldn’t hurt us. I just reacted.”
Truls Rohk grunted. “Next time, think twice before you do.” The blade disappeared into the cloak. “Take the sword out of her hands and see what she does.”
He was already bent over the Druid, probing through the blood-soaked robes, searching for signs of life. Bek knelt in front of the unseeing Grianne and carefully pried her fingers loose from the Sword of Shannara. They released easily, limply, and he caught the talisman in his hand as it fell free. There was no sign of recognition in her eyes. She did not even blink.
Bek laid down the sword and moved Grianne’s arms to her sides. She allowed him to do this without responding in any way. She might have been made of soft clay.
“She doesn’t know anything that’s happening to her,” he said quietly.
“The Druid lives,” Truls Rohk responded. “Barely.”
He straightened the ragged form and tore strips of cloth from his own clothing to stem the flow of blood from the visible wounds. Bek watched helplessly, appalled by the extent of the damage. The Druid’s injuries seemed more internal than external. There were jagged wounds to his chest and stomach, but he was bleeding from his mouth and ears and nose and even his eyes, as well. He seemed to have suffered a major rupture of his organs.
Then abruptly, unexpectedly, the penetrating eyes opened and fixed on Bek. The boy was so startled that for a moment he quit breathing and just stared back at the other.
“Where is she?” Walker whispered in a voice that was thick with blood and pain.
Bek didn’t have to ask whom he was talking about. “She’s right beside us. But she doesn’t seem to know who we are or what’s going on.”
“She is paralyzed by the sword’s magic. She panicked and used her own to try to ward it off. Futile. It was too much. Even for her.”