Antrax (10 page)

Without looking at Panax, he whispered, “I can’t trust my senses anymore. I’m exhausted.”

He felt, rather than saw, the Dwarf nod. “We have to get some rest. But not here. Let’s go.”

Quentin did not move. He was thinking about Bek, somewhere out there in the haze and rubble, lost at best, dead at worst. He could scarcely bear to think of how badly he had failed his cousin, leaving him behind without meaning or wanting to, abandoning him as surely as Walker seemed to have abandoned them all. He blinked away his weariness and shook his head. He should never have left Bek, not even after Walker had separated them. He should never have believed Bek would be all right without him.

“Let’s go, Highlander,” Panax growled again.

They rose and started ahead, easing away from the place where the Dwarf had seen movement, skirting the building and the rubble both, choosing a wide avenue that passed between a series of what looked like low warehouses with portions of their walls and
roofs fallen in and collapsed. Quentin’s thoughts were dismal. Who was going to protect Bek if he didn’t? With Walker gone, who else was there? Certainly not Ryer Ord Star and maybe not even the Elven Hunters. Not against things like the fire threads and the creepers. Bek was his responsibility; they were each other’s responsibilities. What good was a promise to look after someone if you didn’t even know where he was?

He peered into the gloom as he walked, seeing other places, remembering better times. He had come a long way from the Highlands to have it all end like this. It had seemed so right to him, that he should do this, he and Bek. To live an adventure they would remember for the rest of their lives—that was why they must come, he had argued that night with Walker. That argument seemed hollow and foolish now.

“Wait,” Panax hissed suddenly, bringing him to an abrupt stop.

He glanced at the Dwarf, who was listening intently once more. To one side, Kian and Wye stared out into the gloom. Quentin thought that maybe he was too tired to listen, that even if there was something to hear, he would be unable to tell.

Then he heard it, too. But it wasn’t coming from ahead of them. It was coming from behind.

He turned quickly and watched in surprise as a slender figure appeared out of the haze and rubble.

“Where are you going?” Tamis asked in genuine confusion as she approached. She pulled off the leather band that tied back her short-cropped brown hair and shook her head wearily. “Is this all of you there are?”

They welcomed the Tracker with weary smiles of relief, lowering their weapons and gathering around her. Kian and Wye reached out to touch her fingers briefly, the standard Elven Hunter greeting. She nodded to Panax, and then her gray eyes settled on Quentin.

“I’ve just come from Bek. He’s waiting a couple of miles back.”

“Bek?” Quentin repeated, a wave of relief surging through him. “Is he all right?”

There was blood on her clothing and scratches on her smooth, tired face. Her clothes were soiled and torn. She didn’t look all that different from him, he realized. “He’s fine. Better off than you or me, I’d say. I left him in a clearing at the edge of the ruins to watch over the seer while I came looking for you. We’re all that’s left of our group.”

“We lost Rusten,” Kian advised quietly.

She nodded. “What about the others? What about Ard Patrinell?”

The Elven Hunter shook his head. “Couldn’t tell. Too much smoke and confusion. Everyone disappeared after the fighting started.” He nodded at Quentin. “The Highlander saved us. If we hadn’t had him and that sword, we would have been finished.”

Tamis gave Quentin an ironic look. “It must run in the family. Look, you’re going in the wrong direction. You’re going inland instead of back toward the bay.”

“We’ve just been running,” Quentin admitted. He blinked at the Tracker in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘It must run in the family’? What are you saying?”

“That young Bek saved us, as well. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t have gotten clear. He smashed those creepers as if they were made of paper. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Quentin stared at her. “Bek? Bek did that?”

She studied him carefully. “Didn’t he tell you? Or did he just discover it for himself, I wonder? He didn’t seem all that sure about what he was doing, I’ll grant you. But to have that kind of power and not know anything about it … Well, maybe so. Anyway, this is what happened.”

She related the details of their escape, of how they had fled back through the ruins, the three Elven Hunters, Ryer Ord Star,
and Bek, until the creepers had hemmed them in. The other two Elves had died quickly, but she and the seer were saved when Bek used his voice to call up magic.

“It was eerie,” she admitted. Her eyes held Quentin’s. “He was singing, a strange sound, but it tore the creepers apart, like a wind or a weapon cutting through them. One minute they were there, killing us, and the next they were scrap.” She nodded solemnly. “Bek saved us. And you don’t know a thing about what I’m saying, do you?”

Quentin was thinking,
Bek has magic? How could that be?
He shook his head. “Not a thing.”

He found himself wondering suddenly about Bek’s background. Bek was the child of a cousin, but which cousin? Or was he related at all? Coran Leah had always been closemouthed about Bek’s background, but that was the way he was with private information, and Quentin had never pressed the subject. But if Bek really did have the use of magic …

But Bek?

All of a sudden Quentin realized why Walker had wanted Bek to come along. It wasn’t because he was Quentin’s cousin. It was because he possessed magic as powerful as the Sword of Leah. Bek was every bit as necessary to the expedition as he was. Maybe more so. He never questioned for a moment that Walker would know about it. What he questioned instead was how much the Druid knew that he was still keeping to himself.

“We have to get going,” Tamis advised, drawing him away from his thoughts. “I don’t like leaving Bek and the seer alone. Even with his magic to protect him, he’s still not experienced enough to know what to look out for.”

They started back through the ruins, Tamis leading the way. When queried by Panax about what sort of trouble she had encountered on the way, she said that she suspected there were creepers hiding all through the ruins, but they showed themselves only in response to certain things. Maybe it was a signal of some sort. Maybe
it was only when intruders entered restricted areas. Maybe someone or something was guiding them. But she hadn’t seen a single one on her way back.

The Dwarf grunted and said there wasn’t much more damage they could do anyway. Walker was missing and the expedition was in shambles. It was a miracle any of them were still alive.

But Quentin didn’t hear any of it. He was still thinking about Bek. His cousin was suddenly an enigma, an entirely different person than he had seemed. Quentin had no reason not to believe what Tamis was telling him. But what did it mean? If Bek had the use of magic, particularly magic that was as much a part of him as his voice, where had it come from? It must be in his bloodline and therefore a part of his heritage. So who was his real family? Not some distant Leah cousins, he knew that much. There weren’t any Leahs who’d had the use of that sort of magic, not ever. No, Bek was the child of someone else. But someone the Druid knew. Someone his father knew, as well, because otherwise Bek wouldn’t have been brought to Coran as a baby.

Someone …

Suddenly he found himself remembering all those stories Bek was so fond of telling—about the Druids and the history of the Races. The Leahs were a part of that history, but there was another family that had been part of it, as well. Their name was Ohmsford. They had been close to the Leahs once, not so long ago. Even the great Elven Queen, Wren Elessedil, was rumored to be related to that family. There hadn’t been an Ohmsford in Leah or Shady Vale or anywhere in that part of the world in fifty years. There hadn’t even been a mention of them.

But the Ohmsfords had magic in their blood. It had surfaced in a pair of brothers who had joined with Walker to battle the Shadowen over a century ago. He remembered the story now, bits and pieces of it. The brothers were supposed to have had magic in their voices, just like Bek. What if the family hadn’t died out after
all? What if Bek was one of them? If there were Ohmsfords alive anywhere in the world, certainly Walker would know. He would have made it a point to know. That would explain how he had managed to track down Bek. It would explain why he had been so determined to bring Bek along.

Quentin felt an odd suspicion creep through him. Perhaps it was Bek that Walker was after all along, and he had used Quentin as a lever to persuade the boy to come.

Was his cousin Bek Ohmsford? Was that who he really was?

The Highlander blinked away his weariness and confusion. He couldn’t trust his thinking just now. He might be completely off track on this. He was just guessing. He was just trying to make the pieces fit when he didn’t even have a clear picture to work from. Could anything he imagined be trusted?

Truls Rohk had warned them on their first encounter that they couldn’t trust a Druid. Games-playing, he’d called it. It was almost the first word out of his mouth, a clear indication of the usage to which he felt the Druid might be putting them. Games-playing. They might be pieces being moved about a board. It was possible, he was forced to admit.

They made their way back through the city as the sun rose in a cloudless sky and the last of the night faded. The air was heavy and still within the ruined buildings, and the heat rose off the stone and metal in waves. Nothing moved in the silence. The creepers had gone to ground once more, almost as if they had never been there. Tamis gave a wide berth to the square where they had encountered the monsters earlier, and it was not much past midmorning when they reached the edge of the woods bordering the city.

She paused there, listening.

“I thought I heard something,” she said after a moment, her gray eyes sharp and searching. Her slender hand made a circular motion. “I can’t tell where it came from, though. It sounded like a voice.”

They entered the woods and began to thread their way through
the trees. Birds flitted past them, small bits of sound and movement in bright swatches of sunlight, no longer in hiding. The haze that had cloaked the ruins earlier had cleared, and the edges of the buildings glinted sharply as they disappeared from view. Within the forest there were only the trees and brush, a thick concealment rising all about, green and soft in a mix of shadows and light. The familiar, welcome smells revived Quentin’s spirits and helped push back his fatigue. At least Bek was all right. Whatever the story behind his magic and his family, they would work it all out once they were together again.

They had gone a fair distance from the ruins when Tamis turned to them. “The clearing is just ahead. Stay quiet.”

They approached it cautiously and were all the way to its edge when the Tracker abruptly picked up the pace, burst into the open space almost at a run, and drew up short.

The clearing was empty. “They’re gone,” she whispered in disbelief.

Ordering the others to stay where they were, she crept slowly about the clearing’s perimeter, sometimes dropping to her hands and knees to read the signs. Quentin stood frozen in place, frustrated and angry. Where was Bek? This was the Tracker’s fault. She shouldn’t have left Bek alone, no matter the reason or what she thought Bek could do with his magic or anything else. But he forced his anger down, quick to realize that it was misplaced. Tamis had done what was best, and there was no point in second-guessing her.

She came back to them finally, her face grim, but her gray eyes calm. “I can’t tell what’s happened for sure,” she announced. “There are tracks all over the place, and the last set has obscured the others. Those belong to Mwellrets. There was some sort of struggle, but it doesn’t look like anyone was injured, because there are no traces of blood.”

Quentin exhaled sharply. “So where are Bek and Ryer Ord Star? What’s happened to them?”

Tamis shook her head. “I told Bek that if anyone came, they were to hide. I left it to him to make the decision, but he knew to keep watch. I think he probably did as I instructed, and when he saw the Mwellrets, he got out of here. You know him better than I do. Does that sound like what he would do?”

The Highlander nodded. “He’s hunted the Highlands for years. He knows how to hide when it’s needed. I don’t think he would have been caught off guard.”

“All right,” she said. “Here’s the rest of it then. The Mwellrets spent some time here doing something, then continued on toward the city, not back the way they had come. If they’d taken Bek and the seer prisoner, they likely would have sent them to the airship under guard. No tracks lead back that way. Someone may have gone off in the direction from which we came, inland, but I can’t be sure. The signs are very faint and difficult to read. Anyway, the Mwellret signs are very clear. They don’t continue on in the same way; there is a change of direction. From the way several sets of prints start out and come back again, then all move off together in a pack, I’d say they were tracking someone.”

“Bek,” Quentin said at once.

“Or the girl,” Panax offered quietly.

“He wouldn’t leave her,” Quentin said. “Not Bek. He’d take her with him. Which might explain why the Mwellrets could track him. Without her, I’m not sure they could. Bek is good at concealing his trail.”

Tamis nodded, her gaze steady and considering. “I say we go after them. What do you say, Highlander?”

“We go after them,” he said at once.

She looked at Panax. The Dwarf shrugged. “Doesn’t make any sense to go the other way. The
Jerle Shannara’
s gone off to the coast. Whoever’s left that matters is back in those ruins. I don’t want to leave them to the rets and the witch.”

Quentin had forgotten about the Ilse Witch. If there were
Mwellrets ashore,
Black Moclips
had found its way through the pillars of ice and into the bay. That meant the Ilse Witch was somewhere close at hand. He realized all at once how dangerous going back toward the ruins would be. They were tired and worn, and they had been fighting and running for hours. It wouldn’t take much for them to make a mistake, and it wouldn’t take much of a mistake to finish them.