Bearers Of The Black Staff Part 29

"Haul those ladders down!" Russa shouted at those with him, not bothering with trying to determine who should be in charge. "We'll fall back to those rocks at the next narrows. If we can, we'll try to stop them from coming over the walls."

No one argued. They raced down the pa.s.s perhaps a hundred yards to where an old rockslide formed a second narrows, providing some cover. They numbered seven now, including Teer and Parke, who had finally arrived from their place of watch at the far end of the pa.s.s. Fear and confusion showed on the faces of all six of his companions. None of them knew what was happening.

"Listen to me," he said suddenly. They looked at him in surprise, all breathing hard, covered in sweat and blood, their eyes wild. "These Trolls are part of the army that wants to take the valley from us. If they get past us here, they will tell the others how to get in. If that happens, everyone in the valley is at risk. We can't allow that."

"We can't stop them!" one of the men snapped. "Did you see what they did to us?"

"We weren't ready for them before. Now we are. They're dangerous-especially the Skaith Hounds-but they can be killed."

"We'll stop them!" Russa declared. He was a big man with hard features and tree-trunk arms. He looked at the others. "Who's with me?"

Everyone nodded, and the fear and confusion seemed to lessen. "How do we do this?" Andelin asked quickly.

"Block the pa.s.s, here at the narrows," Russa declared. "Take positions to either side. Shoot them coming over the wall. Stand until we can't hold. Then fall back to another position. Do it again, if we need to, until they're all dead or we are!"

No one said anything. Nothing needed saying. They would fight to the last man, until they were all killed. Everyone knew the odds against anyone coming to their rescue. No new work parties were due for two days.

"Maybe we can find a way to slip by them," Andelin suggested, looking hopeful. "There are Elves building the defenses at Aphalion Pa.s.s. They might send help if someone could reach them."

Russa turned to Pan. "You should go. You've worked with the Elves; they know you. You've been outside the valley, too. None of us has. You'll know better what to watch out for."

Panterra shook his head. "It's too far. I can't get there and back in time to save anyone. Better that I stay with you. If we can't stop them here, maybe I can lead you to Aphalion."

He was thinking suddenly that Sider Ament might come. Perhaps he had rescued Prue by now and was returning with her as he had promised he would, by way of Declan Reach. It was a long shot, but it was the best he could hope for.

Still, he said nothing of this to the others. They had no reason to believe that the Gray Man would help them.

"We'll have a better chance if we stay together," he finished.

Already there were sounds of activity on the walls. Panterra peered around the rocks and saw the Trolls gathering on the ramparts, hauling up the ladders from the far side in preparation for lowering them on the near. A Skaith Hound reared up, its s.h.a.ggy head swinging right and left, its yellow eyes searching. It lifted its head and howled.

"Here they come!" Russa snapped, his blunt features tightening. "Remember our plan, boys."

Panterra Qu notched an arrow in place and drew back slowly on his bowstring.

DAWN HAD BROKEN by the time Sider Ament approached the pa.s.s at Declan Reach. He had been traveling all night, pushing the pace, trying to make up time and ground on Arik Siq and the Drouj. He was bone-weary and hungry, having eaten nothing since setting out. But his sense of urgency and his determination to reach the pa.s.s in time drove him to keep going when common sense would have persuaded another man to rest.

Now that he was here, though, with the pa.s.s just ahead, he was aware of the price he had paid for his urgency. If he had to fight now, he might not be as strong as he needed to be.

He trudged up the slope through the scattering of conifers and boulders, wending his way cautiously, listening for sounds that would give away anyone in hiding. He heard nothing. Everything was still. As he drew closer, the dark entrance to the pa.s.s visible, he saw the first of the bodies. Trolls and Men both, their bodies twisted in death. He walked up to them, scanning the ground, a.s.sessing the visual evidence of what had happened. The Trolls had attacked, caught the Men mostly unawares, and killed many of them while they were still trying to wake up. Some had fought back, but the numbers of dead on each side suggested that the Trolls had gotten the better of things.

He walked past the dead to the bulwarks and stopped. A terrible struggle had taken place here, as well. Arrows sprouted not just from the bodies but from the earth all around them and the timbers of the defensive wall. No one had been left alive on this killing ground.

He saw Trow Ravenlock, lying off to one side, spitted on a Troll lance, his sword still in his hand. Trackers and builders had made a desperate stand against trained Drouj soldiers. Men whose lives revolved around the crafts of reading sign and building homes had failed to find a way to survive.

He took time to look carefully at the faces of the dead, and then scoured the surrounding terrain to make certain he had missed nothing. Panterra Qu was nowhere to be found.

Sider took a deep, steadying breath and exhaled slowly. Perhaps the boy had never been here. Perhaps he was still down in Glensk Wood.

He returned to the wall, propped up a fallen ladder against the ramparts, and climbed to the top. From there he looked over the wall and found more of the Trolls and one of the Skaith Hounds lying dead on the ground below, all of them killed climbing over or within twelve feet of landing. He peered down the shadowy length of the pa.s.s for as far as he could see. There were more bodies at a narrows a short distance away.

He descended into the pa.s.s using a second ladder, one that had been used by the attackers in going after those defenders they had not killed in the first a.s.sault. He moved ahead, more cautious now, taking time to study those sprawled on the ground, not wanting to mistake a live Troll for a dead one. But the three he found at the narrows and the two Men lying next to them-one still clutching a Troll in a death grip-were empty vessels.

There was still no sign of Panterra Qu.

He almost turned back, certain now that the boy either had not come there or had gotten away during the fighting. Instead of wasting his time like this, he should go for help. Someone was needed to man the empty walls of the defenses against a probable attack from the Drouj army. Catching up with Arik Siq no longer seemed likely, and there was nothing to be gained by continuing on.

Yet he did.

Just in case he was wrong, he told himself. Just in case the boy was still at risk.

He proceeded to walk the length of the pa.s.s, finding along the way the bodies of two more of the Drouj, another Skaith Hound, and three more of the defenders. All had died fighting, mostly on the run. He checked the faces of the dead, determined that they did not belong to the boy, and then bent down on one knee to read the tracks that continued ahead. Most of them were old, two days or more. But he found the tracks of two men that were new, one following the other, running hard. A handful of Trolls and a Skaith Hound appeared to be following them.

He stood up and continued on.

The pa.s.s was still deeply shadowed, but fringes of sunlight were creeping over the peaks and down the narrow draws, seeking out the darker corners. Sider worked his way ahead carefully, still believing that he was too late to help anyone. The fighting must be over, and if any of the defenders were left they had fled to safer places. He regretted that he had failed to catch up to Arik Siq, but consoled himself with a promise that one day he would atone for that.

He was almost to the far end of the pa.s.s when he heard something. He stopped where he was and listened. A forlorn voice was crying out weakly. It was distant still, perhaps outside the pa.s.s itself, perhaps downslope in the rocks beyond. He started ahead again, listening for more. But the voice had gone silent.

He reached the end of the pa.s.s, dropped into a crouch against one wall, and carefully crept forward to where he could see a narrow stretch of rock-strewn slope. He scanned it slowly, searching for whoever was out there.

Nothing.

He hesitated, uncertain what to do. It was dangerous to expose himself without knowing more, but he couldn't stay where he was if he wanted to find out what was happening.

Even so, he hesitated a long time. Then cautiously, he eased his way forward along the rough surface of the rock, inching toward the sunlight. He was just at its edge when he saw a body lying facedown in the rocks, blood everywhere, arms and legs akimbo.

Was it the boy?

He wasn't sure. It was the right size and build; it might be. Then one arm moved just enough to reveal that there remained a small spark of life.

Sider reacted instinctively. He bolted from the pa.s.s into the sunlight and raced toward the body. But in his haste, consumed by his fear for the boy, he forgot to summon the protective mantle of the black staff's magic.

He heard someone scream his name and felt a pair of sharp stings on his neck and hand.

An instant later, a Skaith Hound slammed into him from behind, come from out of the rocks in which it had been in waiting, claws and teeth tearing at him. The magic of his staff responded instantly to his summons, keeping the beast from his face and throat. But the magic was weak, a consequence of his own weariness, and the Skaith Hound broke through its protective shield and clamped its jaws on Sider's arm. Sider struggled to break free but could not. Together man and beast tumbled down the rock-strewn slope past the body that wasn't Panterra Qu's-the Gray Man caught just a glimpse of the other's face-and crashed into a pile of boulders. There, on impact, the beast lost its grip. Sider leapt up, deflecting a hail of arrows directed at him from both sides, drove the black staff into the Skaith Hound's chest, sent an explosion of magic down its length, and burned the beast to a blackened husk.

He wheeled back as three of the Drouj careened into him, spears seeking to pin him to the rocks. He blocked their efforts, knocking them aside-first one, then the other two-his body twisting away as he used his magic to shield himself and his staff to crack their bones. But the Trolls were toughened fighters and two of them were back on their feet quickly, in spite of their injuries, swords drawn. Sider used his magic, lashing out at them, turning them aside, and he was on top of them before they could recover. Swiftly he dispatched them.

He faltered then, his muscles gone weak and unresponsive. He was aware of burning sensations where he had felt the stings earlier. He glanced down at his hand and saw what appeared to be a bruise. Then he probed his neck and found a tiny dart protruding from his skin. He had just pulled it free and was examining it when he was struck again, this time in the face.

He dropped into a defensive crouch, pulling out the dart immediately. He saw Arik Siq then, standing in the open now, come out from wherever he had been hiding, a blowgun in his hand.

A single word surfaced in his mind.

Poison.

He fought back, using his magic to slow its spread, armoring himself for what was needed. Then he went up the slope in a rush. Arik Siq put the blowgun to his lips and used it again. But by now the magic was firmly in place and deflected the darts. Twice more the son of the Drouj Maturen used the blowgun before accepting that it was useless. He realized at the same moment that he should have been making his escape. But by now, he was trapped near the mouth of the pa.s.s, pinned back against its dark opening, and it was too late to escape the way he had intended. He hesitated only a moment before turning into the pa.s.s and fleeing back down its shadowy corridor, back the way he had come, toward the valley.

Sider Ament chased him until his strength gave out and he dropped to the ground, exhausted, his body growing numb as the poison continued to spread. He tried one last time to stop it, to negate its effects, to keep it from his heart.

But it was too late, he realized. The poison was in too deep.

He found himself wishing, as he accepted the inevitable, that he could have told Aislinne good-bye.

THIRTY-ONE.

WHEN ALL OF THE OTHERS WERE DEAD OR dying and he was the last, Pan had broken clear of the pa.s.s and made a quick decision. If he ran, they were going to catch and kill him as they had the rest. He needed to get out of their reach another way. So he managed to scale a cliff wall just outside the mouth of the pa.s.s that was so sheer and treacherous that neither the heavier Trolls nor the Skaith Hounds could follow. Navigating a series of footholds and outcroppings, he had found a niche that he could squeeze into just far enough that their weapons could not harm him. Once in place, he settled back to wait. There was nothing else he could do. Sooner or later, help might arrive. Or the Drouj might grow tired of waiting for him to come down and leave. There wasn't any reason for them to wait him out, after all. Their sole purpose in attacking the pa.s.s was to get back to their tribe and reveal that they had found a way into the valley-of that, Pan was fairly certain. There was nothing to keep them from carrying out this plan now that the defenders were slain. Andelin had been the last; they had dragged him out and left him on the rocks to die. He had still been alive when their attention had been diverted by something happening inside the pa.s.s, and they had taken cover.

Then Sider Ament had appeared, alone and clearly unaware of the trap that had been set for him, not realizing that the Drouj had left one of their number on guard inside the pa.s.s to alert them to anyone approaching. Pan had shouted his name instantly. But his warning had come too late.

Now he scrambled down out of his rocky perch, rushed to Sider, dropped to one knee, and held him in his arms.

"I tried to warn you," he whispered.

The dark eyes found his. "You did your best."

"Tell me what to do," he begged.

The Gray Man managed a smile. "You're doing it," he said.

Pan braced him with his chest and shoulder and fumbled to bring out his water pouch. He held it to the other's mouth and let him drink. Most of the water trickled down his chin and was lost. Pan could see the color of his skin beginning to change with the onslaught of the poison, taking on a bluish tinge.

"Is there something that will counteract the poison?"

Sider Ament shook his head. "Too much of it ... is already in me." He swallowed thickly. "Did any of them get out ... of the valley alive?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Sider, was that Arik Sarn who attacked you? Why did he do that?"

"Because he's not ... who we believed. His real name is Arik Siq. He is the Maturen's ... oldest son. He tricked us ... into bringing him into the valley. He would take that knowledge ... back with him. But now ... he's trapped inside the valley. You ... can't let him escape."

Pan shook his head. "But why didn't they just leave when they had the chance? Why did they stay?"

"They needed you ... dead so you ... couldn't warn the valley ... about them. Would give them time to regain the pa.s.s ... and bring others to help them." The Gray Man smiled. "You stopped them ... just by getting away."

Pan shook his head, blinked away his tears. "You were the one that stopped them. I'm to blame for all of this. I'm the one that brought him into the valley in the first place."

The stricken man took a quick gulp of air. "Doesn't matter now. Listen to me. Time doesn't allow for ... anything more than this. I wish it did. But ... you have to take the staff from me. No arguments, Panterra. You have ... to do it now."

Pan stared at him, unable to speak. In the rush of things, he had forgotten about the staff. He hadn't decided if he was going to serve as the Gray Man's apprentice. All that had been pushed aside as the hunt for Prue had begun.

Prue! A chill rippled up his spine. Where was Prue?

"Sider, I can't ..." He stopped, shook his head. "You have to tell me about Prue. Did you find her? You were going after her. What happened?"

Sider shook his head. "I sent someone ... in my place ... when I learned the truth about the Troll. Someone ... better able than I ... to save her. Best I could ... do." He seemed to gather himself. "The staff. Will you take up the staff?"

Pan shook his head in confusion and despair. "How can I agree to this when I don't know if Prue ...?"

The Gray Man's hand clamped on his wrist, an iron band that cut off the rest of what he was going to say. "The staff ... will help you save her. Otherwise ..." He stopped, choking now, struggling to breathe. "Help you save them all. Men, Elves, all of them. You must ... give them hope. You have to do what's needed ... because I can't."

"I don't know if I can!" Pan fought to keep from screaming the words at him. "I'm not you! I don't have your experience! I don't even know how to summon the magic! I've never used it! I don't know anything!"

The hand on his wrist tightened. "You know ... more than you think. Trust in your instincts. The staff ... responds to the ... will of the ... the user. Just ... ask for what you need."

He was gasping for air now. Panterra struggled to make it easier for him, holding him upright, trying to find a way to slow the poison. But nothing was helping.

"Take ... the staff!" the other hissed. Then his gaze shifted. "When you ... see Aislinne ... tell her ..."

The words caught in his throat, his body hunched violently, and then his eyes fixed on nothing. Panterra held him, crying openly now, unable to stop.

"Sider, no," he whispered.

He said it like a prayer, like a plea. It was all he could manage. Then he laid the dead man down, released the hand still clamped on his wrist, and closed the eyes that now seemed to be staring at him.

"Walk softly, Sider Ament," he whispered.

He closed his own eyes, sick at heart and bone-weary, and when he did so the dead man whispered back.

Take the staff.

The words echoed softly in the following stillness.

Take the staff.

THE BOY STANDS WITHOUT MOVING as the remains of the rogue Elf begin to blow away like ashes in a sudden gust of wind. His mentor has dropped to his knees, gripping the staff to hold himself upright. Everything seems frozen-time, place, events, even the boy himself.

But when the old man topples over, the boy breaks free of his invisible chains and runs at once to reach him, the world moving again, time an inexorable, crushing boulder rolling toward them both. He reaches the old man and raises him up, holding him in his strong arms. The old man is so light; he weighs almost nothing. How he could prevail against another bearer of the staff when the other is so much stronger is a mystery.

The old man's breathing is quick and shallow. The boy does a quick study of the broken body. He cannot see any major injuries, anything external. Whatever hurt the old man has suffered is buried somewhere deep inside.

His mentor looks up at him, and nods. "Nothing to see, young one. Just an old man dying."

The boy shakes his head in denial. "No. We can do something. I can find a healer and bring him to you. I can go now."

But the old man holds him fast with his gnarled hands. "I would be dead by the time you returned. Something more important than a futile effort to save my life requires your attention. The staff. It is yours now. It belongs to you. When I am gone, take it."

The boy shakes his head. "I don't think I am ready."

"No one is ever ready for such power. No one is ever ready to command it. But you will do as I have done. You will do your best. Protect the people of the valley, the survivors of the Great Wars. See them to their release or to the pa.s.sing of the staff to your successor. Great responsibility has fallen to you. You are the last bearer. You have me to thank for that. I am sorry that it must be so."