might know something about Pen, as well. But it was too risky to try to find out who he was. The best they could do was to keep watch for him, and so far he hadn't reappeared.
«You would think he would try to make further contact.» Bek tightened the sash that bound the robe. «If he went to the trouble to contact us in the first place, he must want to help. He must be on my sister's side in all this.»
«Maybe, but that doesn't mean he knows where she is or what's happened to her. He might not know anything other than what he's told us—that Shadea and the others are responsible. Maybe warning us was all he ever intended to do. It was enough to put us on guard.»
Bek finished with his preparations and walked over to put his hands on her shoulders and draw her close. «You could wait for me aboardSwift Sure,' he said. «I can do this alone.»
«I think we had this discussion about twenty years ago, didn't we?» She leaned into him and kissed his mouth. «Let's just go.»
They moved to the door and stood there for a moment listening. The Gnome Hunters assigned to the task of keeping watch were still stationed across the hallway, but they had been there for three days, and they were bored. It wouldn't take much effort to get past them.
Bek looked at his wife. «Ready?»
She nodded, pulling up the hood to her cloak. He did the same, then opened the door and stepped through. Already, he had the wishsong's magic working, a soft low hum that carried no farther than the ears of the guards. It whispered purposefully to form images in their minds. It told them that the cloaked figures leaving the room were Druids, easily recognizable as such by their robes, that they needn't bother with them and could look away.
By the time the guards looked back again, of course, the hallway was empty.
Bek and Rue moved swiftly to the stairs leading up to the cold chamber, turning into the stairwell before they could be seen. They had been fortunate in not encountering a single Druid on their way. If the Gnome Hunters at their sleeping room door didn't realize they had been duped, they stood a good chance of reaching their destination unnoticed.
They climbed the stone stairs to the next floor, sliding through shadows and pools of light as soundless and stealthy as foxes at hunt. This was a dangerous business, and they knew it. If they were discovered, their duplicity would be revealed and there would no longer be any chance of using the Druid's magic to find Pen. Worse, they probably would have to fight their way out of Paranor, and Bek wasn't sure they were up to it. It was one thing to have survived while traveling aboard theJerle Shannara, while they were still young. It was another to test themselves when they hadn't fought a real battle in twenty years. Now was a poor time to find out if the magic of the wishsong could save them from the dangerous and experienced Shadea a'Ru.
In short, it would be best not to get caught.
At the top of the stairs, they stopped again while Bek peered around the corner and down the hallway. Nothing moved. The floor seemed deserted. There were no sleeping chambers on this floor, but a little farther on was the stairway that led to the north tower, which housed the quarters of the Ard Rhys. Shadea a'Ru would be there.
After a moment, they started down the corridor for the cold chamber. The biggest danger they faced was that someone else would already be in the room when they got there. That would not only prevent them from carrying out their plan, but would require them to explain why they were there, unescorted and uninvited. It would be a difficult situation. At best, they would probably be forced to flee from the Keep.
But luck was with them. When they opened the door, they found the cold chamber empty. Rue took a moment to scan the corridor once more, making sure no one had seen them, then nodded to Bek to close the door. They stood inside in silence, the chilly air penetrating even the heavy fabric of the Druid robes. Rue shivered. Bek made a quick survey of the room, glancing toward the deep shadows, peering into the gathered gloom. No candles or torches were lit there, and they wouldn't risk lighting any. But a faint wash of light from moon and stars spilled through the high windows and reflected off the scrye waters in the stone basin, letting them see well enough to do their work.
Their plan wasn't complicated and didn't require much time. Bek had sensed Pen's presence in the Charnals during his initial effort to make contact, but he had lacked time and opportunity to pinpoint his son's location. Now, alone and undisturbed, he would use his magic on the waters to discover exactly where Pen was. Once he had accomplished that, they would slip back down through the Keep toSwift Sure and be on their way to retrieve him. The Druids might discover what had happened and try to follow, but their vessels were no match forSwift Sure, which was the fastest ship in the sky.
With Rue standing watch at the door, Bek moved to the basin and stood looking down at the scrye waters and the map of the Four Lands drawn on the surface of the bowl. The waters were still and untroubled, at rest save for where the faint pulse of the earth's magic crisscrossed the surface along the earth's lines of power. Bek studied their movements for a moment, then fixed his gaze on the Charnals and called up the wishsong. He did it quickly and quietly, directing the magic toward the area of the waters where he had sensed Pen to be the day before. He kept his concentration focused as he worked the magic deep into the basin, searching.
It took him only moments. His connection with his son was strong, born of his own history as a member of a family that had been connected by magic for centuries, and he found him almost instantly. He peered close, tightening down his search, marked the spot in his mind, and pulled the magic back again.
He went still, watching the scrye waters quiet and smooth once more, silver in the moonlight. He stepped away from the basin and turned back to Rue, nodding.
Together, they went out the doorway and back down the empty corridor toward the stairs. Neither spoke, unwilling to break the deep silence, to risk exposing themselves in any way. They would talk when they were aboardSwift Sure and safely away from this place.
On cat's paws, they descended the ancient stone stairs toward the torchlit corridor below, listening and watching.
They had just emerged from the stairwell into the corridor when the heavy metal–laced nets dropped over them, pinning them to the floor, and dozens of Gnome Hunters appeared all around them, crossbows notched and ready.
Pen had explored the Rock Troll village for what remained of the day. He'd been so tired he could barely keep his eyes open but was unable to sleep because of what had happened in Kermadec's home between himself and Cinnaminson. But Khyber's scathing attack on him, an attack he still didn't understand, really troubled him. Once or twice in his wanderings, he thought to return to the house and confront her, but he just couldn't make himself do it. He was embarrassed and hurt, in part because he didn't understand it, but mostly because it had happened in front of Cinnaminson.
So he forced himself to stay away until the evening celebration began, the welcome arranged for them by the members of the village, a feast with music and singing, neither of which he had ever associated with Trolls. But the music, consisting of pipes, drums, and a curious stringed instrument called a fiol, and the dancing, which was energetic and robust, brought him out of his mood sufficiently that by the time he had eaten two plates of rather wonderful food and drunk several pints of very strong ale, he was feeling pretty good again.
He even participated in the dancing, urged on by Kermadec and buttressed by the effects of the ale. He danced with whoever was nearest—men, women, and children alike—as there seemed to be little partnering in the Troll forms of dance, and he found himself thoroughly light–headed and happy by the time he was done.
Cinnaminson appeared with the others of his little group, and she sat with him during dinner and even danced with him briefly, but he couldn't find the right words to say to her, and so they didn't talk much. Tagwen was as taciturn as ever at first, though after a little of the ale he began to open up and pontificate endlessly on the virtues of hard work. Khyber smiled and clapped and spoke pleasantly to Pen, acting as if their earlier confrontation had never happened.
It was only when the evening was growing late, and his eyes were so heavy he was afraid he might fall over if he didn't sleep soon, that the Elven girl came over to sit beside him. He was alone at that point, sipping at his ale, listening to the music, and watching the Trolls dance in the firelight with what appeared to him to be boundless energy.
«I was too hard on you earlier,' she said, putting her hand over his. «I didn't mean to scold. At the time, I was so mad, I just lashed out. I assumed you understood the problem, but thinking it through later, I realized you didn't.»
