The Sorcerer's Daughter by Terry Brooks
To their credit, the Federation soldiers held their ground a lot longer than Paxon would have. But when it became evident that their weapons were useless, they broke cover and ran for the safety of the building. Isaturin, however, had anticipated that. When they attempted to get inside, they found an invisible shield blocking their way.
Seconds later they were on the ground with their arms and legs spread wide and their weapons discarded. Paxon used their belts to bind their hands, hauled them to a storage room, and locked them up. In his absence, Miriya and Karlin determined what he already knew. Darconnen was dead. Isaturin insisted he be carried up the stairs and taken with them in the cruiser. Paxon didn’t bother to argue.
In a knot, Druids ringed by Trolls climbed to the landing platform and boarded the nearest cruiser. Unhooding its parse tubes and powering up its diapson crystals, Paxon, the most accomplished pilot among them, took the controls. Within minutes, they were lifting off and flying northeast toward the city wall. There was no point in any attempt at further deception. Once the Federation knew they had stolen an airship and were flying it out of the city, they would give chase.
As their cruiser passed over the outer wall and headed for the safety of home, Paxon knew there was only one question that mattered now.
How long would it be before they were discovered?
He was afraid he already knew the answer.
After regaining consciousness and finding Chrysallin gone, Leofur made a quick sweep of the area, searching for some sign of what had happened, but she found nothing. Growing increasingly desperate, she widened her search, choosing openings in the heavy forest through which someone might logically choose to pass. She looked for anything that seemed out of place or suggested a disturbance. Again, she found nothing.
It didn’t help that she lacked even the most basic tracking skills. She was a city girl and had little experience with remote wilderness. She had never been trained to search for sign or note the ways in which native vegetation might have been disturbed. She flew airships and engaged in trading and salvage recovery, and she saw most of the world from above.
At last, she gave up. Time was slipping away, and she did not believe she was going to find anything useful no matter how long she stayed there or how hard she searched. She had no idea who had taken her friend. Unless, of course, it was her father. Arcannen would certainly like to get his hands on Chrysallin, if only to use her against Paxon. He had tried this twice before, and both times Chrys had escaped him. But that wouldn’t necessarily stop him from trying again. Before, Arcannen had planned to turn Chrys into a weapon to be used against the Ard Rhys, and for that he had engaged the services of the witch Mischa. Since Mischa was dead, he would not be able to go down that road again. So what else could he have in mind?
Leofur returned swiftly to Paranor, entering the Druid’s Keep at a run. She had been thinking all the way back about whom she should turn to for help. It would have been Paxon or Isaturin had either been there, but they were both in Arishaig. She considered Arnoxl, her instructor, and Zabb Ruh, who was Chrysallin’s friend, but then decided against both. What she required was a tracker with the skills necessary to help her find Chrys.
She decided to go to Oost Mondara.
There were good reasons for this choice. Mondara had been Paxon’s weapons instructor and mentor during his early days at Paranor, and they had remained friends. While Mondara would never say it to his face, he had told Leofur in confidence, more than once, that the Highlander was the best student he’d ever had. He was close to Paxon and Chrys both, and would want to help.
He was not, unfortunately, a tracker, but he had been at Paranor for many years, and Leofur was pretty sure that if anyone knew who possessed those skills, Oost did.
If he didn’t, she was in serious trouble.
Once through the gates of both the inner and outer walls, she raced straight to the practice field to find him. When she discovered the field deserted, she continued into the armory and found him there, busy crafting new weapons.
He looked up at once as she entered and saw the distress and urgency reflected on her face. He got up from the bench on which he had been sitting, set down his work, and went to her.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
She refused to let herself look away; the blame for what had happened was hers and she would not shrink from it. “I lost Chrysallin while we were on a walk outside the Keep. Someone knocked me out and took her. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to stop it.”
“She’s gone? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I sensed someone following us, watching from the trees as we were headed back. I heard a swishing sound, then something hit me on the head. I lost consciousness. When I woke and looked for Chrysallin, I couldn’t find her.”
She exhaled sharply. “I didn’t know who else to come to with Paxon and Isaturin both gone. I need a tracker who can read sign and make the educated guesses that I can’t. I don’t have the skills. I hoped you would know of someone who does.”
Oost studied her a moment. “You think it might have been your father again? He seems to have his mind set on Paxon’s sister.”
“I don’t know. That was my first thought, but I have to find her before I can be sure. This is the worst possible thing that could have happened! Paxon left her in my care, and I failed him. I have to get her back! Please, can you help me?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Shades. You are certain of this? You couldn’t have just…”
“Couldn’t have just what? Imagined it? Made it up? I need your help, Oost! Don’t treat me like this.”
“I’m sorry. But the help I might give you, the sort of thing this might require…” He shook his head. “I have to think about this.”
“There isn’t time for that!” she snapped angrily, frustrated by the thought of further delay. “What if Arcannen has taken Chrysallin?”
He sighed deeply. “All right. There is a man. If he would agree…”
“Why wouldn’t he agree?” She was panicked now, her desperation beginning to win out over her determination to stay calm. “I will persuade him, if that’s what it takes.”
“No, it isn’t that. The problem is that he isn’t like other men. He isn’t like…anyone.”
She seized his shoulders and dug her fingers in. “I don’t care what he is, or who he isn’t like. Can he track? Can he read sign?”
“Better than anyone alive.”
“Then take me to him. Please.”
He studied her for long moments before nodding. “All right, but don’t get your hopes up. Wait until you meet him. Listen to what he has to say.” He broke away from her, then walked over to retrieve his Druid cloak and threw it over his shoulders. “Come with me.”
Without waiting for her response, he went out the door of the armory. She caught up to him halfway across the practice field. The day had turned gray in the last hour, clouds moving in, the weather shifting to something darker and less promising. If it rained, they might lose any chance they had of tracking Chrysallin. Her sense of urgency quickened.
“I have to find her, Oost,” she said, matching his pace. “I have to bring her back. It would destroy Paxon if he lost her now.”
Oost hesitated before saying anything. “This man I’m taking you to see? He’s dangerous.” His response trailed off, as if he didn’t quite know where to take it. “Unpredictable.”
“But you said he’s a tracker?”
“He’s all of that, but his methods are unusual. He’s unusual. As I said, he may not agree to do this. All I can promise is that he might agree to listen, so maybe…”
Again, he trailed off. She gave him a moment. “Why wouldn’t he agree, if he’s friends with you? Isn’t that enough?”
“No. Besides, I didn’t say we were friends. Only that I know him well enough to speak with him about this. Convincing him is more complicated than you know. There are demands you will be making of him that you don’t ye
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she let it alone. He would tell her when he was ready.
They passed from the practice field through a series of courtyards that connected the buildings of the Keep and the inner wall. Parts of the wall also completed various towers that were integral to Paranor’s structure. Paranor was a complex place, when you considered its makeup. It was constructed in ways not immediately apparent on the surface. It reminded her of the Druids themselves. Nothing was entirely as it seemed.
“I’ll do whatever is needed,” she said quietly.
“Will you?” Oost Mondara glanced over. “Don’t be too hasty until you’ve heard more. In any case, whatever happens depends first and foremost on him.”
“Who is he? What’s his name?”
“His name is Imric Cort. Today, anyway. Tomorrow…maybe something else.”
He left it at that—an enigmatic response that begged an explanation. But he was not ready to give it, and Leofur knew better than to insist. They continued on in silence, working their way through the courtyards to the north end of the Keep and then through the gates of the inner wall toward the stables and animal pens.
They were close enough to smell feed, straw, and manure when he pulled up short and turned to face her. “If you have second thoughts, now is the time to express them.”
She stared at him in frustration. “I don’t know enough to have second thoughts! Tell me something about this man. Let me in on a few of the secrets you are keeping.”
The shrewd eyes studied her carefully. “All right. Imric Cort was a tracker once. As I said, he is maybe the best in the world. He could find a trail where no one else could even tell there was one. His instincts were those of an animal, a predator seeking prey. His senses were that much sharper than our own. But he had problems he could not overcome. Could not live with, in fact. He suffers from a rare condition, and he came to Paranor so the Druids could help him. Accepting our help meant he had to give up his life as a tracker and turn to something else. Now he cares for the animals.”
“What rare condition?” she asked.
“One he can never entirely overcome, only manage. He is a shape-shifter.”
Leofur frowned. “I thought they all died out. I thought they didn’t exist anymore.”
“They don’t—save perhaps for Imric.”
“What sort of help was he seeking?”
“He wanted to end his shape-shifter life and be a man. He wanted to unburden himself of what the shifting was doing to him. If you can be anything—as a shape-shifter can—you have no self, no permanent identity. You are the thing you become each time you change. This affects not just your physical being, but your personality, as well. The toll it was taking on him was destroying him. He was losing himself, fragmenting, becoming nothing.”
She shook her head. “Can that really happen? I would think the ability to become anything you want would be freeing, a wonderful gift.”
The Dwarf’s rough features deepened with lines of sadness. “What seems to be isn’t always the case—and perhaps it never is when it comes to the human condition. And he is human. Mostly—and more so now that we have worked with him. But going back to his life as a tracker risks all that, mostly because of the unusual way he goes about it. He has every reason to tell us no.”
“Then perhaps we shouldn’t ask him.” Leofur brushed back strands of her honey-colored hair from her face. “If it’s that dangerous for him, we should look somewhere else.”
Oost sighed. “We are not an order to which trackers are normally drawn. There is no one else here who can do what is needed. To find someone else, we would have to travel to Varfleet or Tyrsis. Maybe even farther. But we don’t have time for that. You were right about one thing. We can’t let Paxon return to find his sister missing. So it would be negligent of us not to at least ask the closest source.”
“Yet you seem doubtful about persuading this man.”
“I am. Very. But it will be his choice to make. And one thing more, Leofur. He will want you to go with him, which I know you will agree to. But it is for reasons that are not immediately obvious. He will require something of you. Something personal. You may find it offensive, or perhaps impossible to agree to. You must make your own choice in this matter. I will leave it to him to explain if he agrees to help. You should decide this matter together. You will understand why once he’s told you what’s required. Come.”
They continued on to the stables and pens, the Dwarf leading Leofur into the largest of the storage barns, where the grains, corn, and straw were stored in bales and bins. The structure was huge, its contents imported by airship from the countryside farms that flourished on the far-west side of the Dragon’s Teeth bordering the grasslands of the Streleheim.
Leofur looked around as they entered, intrigued by the size and complexity of the building. A network of huge crossbeams supported a second-story roof some forty feet up. She could see pieces of it through openings in the flooring of the second story that served to facilitate moving stores and supplies. Ropes with hooks hung down through the gaps, fastened in place at various points and attached to winches and long booms whose range could span the whole of the interior when loading or unloading was required.
Off to one side, the horses were stabled—big strong beasts that the Druids used to pull carriages and carts and sometimes to ride. In pens beyond, the sounds of other farm animals rose—cows, pigs, chickens, and sheep. Their pungent smells filled the air, a mingling of scents familiar to her from her youth.
Before she was brought into Dark House.
Before her childhood ended.
“Need something, Oost Mondara?” a voice said from behind her.
She turned. One of the most striking men she had ever seen was standing there—and she had seen many striking men in her day. He was tall and very lean, though stooped just a bit through his broad shoulders. A shock of black hair, wild and unkempt, became a fringe of beard that outlined the curve of his strong jaw. His hands seemed too big for the rest of him, and his eyes were a strange amber color that shone with an odd intensity.
Yet for all of that, there was a world-weariness about him that caused her to wonder what sort of life he had led, and what form of madness he had survived.
There was something more about him, too. Something that momentarily escaped her.
“Imric.” Oost Mondara greeted the man solemnly. “This is Leofur Rai. She is Paxon Leah’s life partner and my friend.”
The man gave her a brief, dismissive nod, then turned back to Oost. “The answer is no.”
“I haven’t asked for anything yet,” the Dwarf pointed out. “You are a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”
“You reek of need,” Imric said. “I read you the way I read sign—or did once. Your intentions are immediately obvious. If there is deception of any sort involved, leave now. Otherwise, get on with it. I have things to do.”
“I’m sure you do, but time is the enemy here.” The Dwarf sounded angry. “Can we sit?”
Anger, Leofur thought suddenly. That’s what’s coming off this man, this Imric Cort. That’s what I’m sensing.
He took them into an empty stall with a grouping of hay bales and sat them down. “Nothing special, but you should be able to get on well enough for the short time you are here.”
“You seem certain our stay will be brief,” Leofur said, holding his gaze as she spoke. “Are we that much of an annoyance?”
He paused, then leaned forward on his bale. “I came here because I was ill. I knew if I were to stay on—which I wanted to, badly—I would have to find myself a job. This one is exactly right for me. I know animals. I understand them. I like being around them. And there’s a reason I don’t like spending time with people. Now, what do you
“Better tell him, Leofur,” Oost muttered. “He’s already losing interest.”
“I have a favor to ask of you,” she declared. “A rather large one.”
She proceeded to tell him what had happened while she was walking with Chrysallin, filling in the details of their background and her relationship with Paxon. She explained the nature of the danger to Chrys should the kidnapper turn out to be her father. She explained the need for haste and the problem if she failed to act quickly. He listened without comment, his gaze fixed on her in a rather unnerving way. She found herself growing hot under that gaze, made uncomfortable and irritated by both its intensity and its heat.
When she was finished, he shook his head. “No,” he said.
“No?” she echoed when he left it there. “You have nothing else to say? You will not even consider it?”
Imric looked irritated. “How much did Oost explain to you about me? Do you know how much it takes for me to track someone these days? Did he tell you anything of what it would require from you?”
She shook her head. “Not much. He said you would explain.”
“Left it all to me, did you, Oost Mondara? How very Druidic. You bring this girl here with her expectations and just throw her at me with no warning about what might happen to her?”
“I thought it better coming from you. I thought you should tell her, and then perhaps you should talk about it together. It is a shared experience, after all.”
Imric rose. “Get out of here. Both of you. You are children playing with fire—and you, Dwarf, are worse than that! You are a coward for leading her on. Get out!”
But Leofur, though rising with him, held her ground. “I won’t. I can’t. This is too important for me to just walk away. It is important enough, Imric, that no matter the risk involved, no matter the danger facing me, I have to see it through. So let’s not mince words, and let’s not pretend that your righteous anger is enough to send me packing. It isn’t. I don’t care what I have to give up. I don’t care what it does to me. Better I die than Chrys. So just tell me. What is it that makes this business anathema? You are a tracker, aren’t you? Why won’t you track?”