Witch Wraith

Twenty-six

How could this have happened?

Aphen screamed the question in the silence of her mind, its echo reverberating as she fought to regain her composure. She had never trusted Edinja Orle, not even when the sorceress was helping them escape Arishaig. She had wondered then if Edinja had something to gain by giving them her airship and sending them on their way so willingly. Given what she knew, it seemed wrong to believe the other woman could change so abruptly from an enemy to a friend.

But there was no indication of an ulterior motive and seemingly no earthly way she could do them harm once they were away from her.

Now Aphen knew better.

“How did you find us?” she asked.

Edinja gave a small shrug. “I never lost you. Not as long as you kept your sister close, which I knew you would. She is fitted with my marker, a bit of magic buried beneath the skin of her neck, there in the hairline where it can’t be seen. Had you searched her thoroughly, you would have found it. But I knew you wouldn’t do anything like that where dearest Arling was concerned.”

“You tracked us as soon as we left, didn’t you?”

“Shortly after. I used the second Sprint. Arishaig was doomed by then. Even I knew that. There was no reason to stay once it became apparent. Besides, I had plans of my own that were more important than going down with the ship. I might be Prime Minister of the Federation, but I am not required to sacrifice myself when the cause is lost.”

Aphen was thinking desperately of what she might do to turn the situation around. Edinja’s knife was perilously close to ending Arling’s life. A single swipe of that blade across her sister’s throat, and there would be nothing anyone could do. In which case, the Ellcrys could not be renewed and none of them would be saved.

But Edinja must know this, too. Would she really kill Arling if they came at her? What was she trying to do?

Aphen glanced sideways at Cymrian. He seemed at ease, but she knew he was looking at a way to get at the sorceress. The difficulty with this lay not only in the danger to Arling but also in the closeness of Cinla, who was crouched down and ready to spring. He might try to reach Edinja, but the big cat would be on him before he completed his first step.

“Hold your light steady,” Edinja said to Arling, tightening her hold on the girl. “Point it where I can see everything they are doing. No tricks. If you drop the light or try to switch it off, I will cut you.”

Arling’s features tightened. “You won’t do anything to me. If you do, you doom us all. I have the quickened seed of the Ellcrys. I am the only one who can send the demons back to where they came from. You don’t dare harm me.”

Edinja’s strange green eyes glistened. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. You don’t even know what it is that I want yet. It would be better for you if you wait to hear me out before you risk your life in a foolish effort to escape.”

“Stay still,” Aphen said to her sister. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

Arling—the new, hardened version of Arling, unpredictable and volatile—did not seem convinced, and for a moment Aphen thought she would abandon caution and do what she so clearly wanted to do. She would wheel back on Edinja, knife or no knife, and claw her eyes out.

“What is it you trying to do?” Aphen asked quickly, hoping to forestall any reckless attempts of that sort. She continued to look into Arling’s eyes, hoping her sister would remain calm.

“Are you are ready to listen to what I have to say?” Edinja replied. “You might be surprised by what you will learn.” She tilted her head sideways. “Move over there.”

She wanted Aphen and Cymrian to shift away from where they stood between her and the passageway leading out. They hesitated only a moment, then moved over as directed. Edinja shuffled Arling several steps over until she stood where the way was clear.

“Now let’s all be very quiet while I talk.”

She forced Arling to sit on one of the stone benches while she stood over her, one hand gripping her hair, pulling back the girl’s head, the other keeping the blade of the knife pressed up against her throat.

“My purpose in all this is simple, even though my methods have not always been successful. In the beginning, I wanted only to be Prime Minister. That meant getting rid of Drust Chazhul and Lehan Arodian. Stoon helped me with that. I assume from his failure to return with Arling that you put a stop to any further help he might give?”

“He was trying to kill us,” Aphen said.

“Which he wasn’t supposed to do, I should point out. He was supposed to bring you to me so we could talk. But he was terrified of you—ever since that confrontation at Paranor when you almost caught him. He couldn’t seem to get past it. So he made his own decision about how to handle matters. It makes no difference now. Mostly, he did what he was supposed to do, so I have no complaints. His time with me was over in any case.”

She shifted slightly, looking down at Arling. “Comfortable? Good.” She smiled, and her gaze shifted back to Aphen. The knife never moved. “What I’ve wanted all along—even when I wasn’t Prime Minister, but was planning to be—was to find a way to ally myself with the Druids. I am as much a believer in the importance of magic as those who make up the order. I have been exposed to magic all my life. Members of my family use magic. I use it. But it was clear that my chances for forming an alliance were nonexistent as long as the Druids and the Federation remained enemies, so I began looking for other ways.

“When Khyber Elessedil and the others set out for the Westland, I was curious as to why. I began trying to find out. Drust wanted to crush the order, and so he sent airships and an army to seize Paranor—all of which came to nothing. His spies in Arborlon, which were really my spies, could learn nothing useful. The Druids went out, but only one returned. I began seeking answers to this puzzle.”

She pointed to Aphen. “You had those answers, but I couldn’t find a way to get them out of you. I knew you wouldn’t reveal them to me willingly. I needed to find a way to force you. That was the purpose of dispatching Stoon to intercept you. I didn’t know where you were going, but once I had you in hand I would be able to find out. Stoon failed me, but through a stroke of luck Arling came under my control. I learned most of what I needed to quickly enough from her.”

“You pretended friendship when you gave us the Sprint, but you tried to kill my sister in Arborlon weeks before that!” Arling snapped.

Edinja bent close to her. “Not kill her. Disable her. I wanted what she had found in the Elven histories. I knew she had found something, but I didn’t know what. It was evident early on that it was important. I wanted whatever it was, but my servants failed me. Drust’s creatures. He was the one who sent them, persuaded by Stoon on my orders. A mistake.”

“How do you think to gain entrance into the Druid order at this point?” Aphen asked. “You’ve ruined any chance of that by coming after us.”

“Have I?” Edinja shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. There was never any real chance. I know that now. You would never have had me. None of you would have agreed to it. Things change, in any case, and they have done so here. I no longer care about an alliance with the Druids. The Third Druid Order is at an end. The Druids have become irrelevant.”

Aphen realized with a start that she was right. All that remained of the order were Seersha and herself. The rest were either known dead or likely so—including Khyber Elessedil. The missing Elfstones, which might have made a difference, were lost. The Druids had failed in everything they had sought to accomplish.

“What is it you want, then?” she asked. “You’ve come after us for a purpose. What is it?”

“I want almost exactly what you want—to take Arling back to the Elves in Arborlon and let her do whatever she is meant to do with the Ellcrys seed.”

Aphen and Cymrian stared. “Then why are we standing about?” the Elven Hunter snapped. “Why aren’t we doing just that?”

Edinja cocked her head. “I said almost. We aren’t doing this. I am. Alone.”

It took Aphen only a moment to see what she meant. “Because you want to be the one who returns Arling and saves the Elves. You think that will elevate you to a position of power.”

“I know it will. It will make me the single most powerful person in the Four Lands. How can it not? I will have saved the Elven nation by bringing back the one person who can restore their precious Ellcrys. I will be in a position to form an alliance not between the Druids and the Federation, but between the Federation and the Elves. I will be forgiven everything. Even leaving Arishaig to its fate as I did will no longer matter. I will be appointed Prime Minister of the Federation for life after this.”

Aphen shook her head. “You won’t be able to do any of this. My grandfather will never allow it. He will see the truth of things!”

“Oh, Aphen, you are such a child! Your grandfather is no longer King. His brother assassinated him while he slept. Phaedon is now King of the Elves.”

Aphen stared, a cold dread flooding through her. “Ellich killed his brother? That would never happen! What have you done, Edinja?”

“What I needed to do. I’ve had a spy in your family circle for years. I have kept track of you—all of you—to learn what I could that might prove useful. My creature is clever and resourceful. Sometimes, it does favors for me. In this case, it eliminated someone who might stand in my way. Your grandfather was old. His life was almost over anyway. Now his son rules, and his worldview will be shaped by me because I will have access to him from the moment I return.”

“Your creature,” she repeated. “Who does it pretend to be? What disguise does it wear?”

Edinja laughed. “You don’t need to know that. If you knew, you might be tempted to tell someone. Better that I leave you guessing.”

“What does it matter?” Cymrian asked. “You intend to kill us and take Arling with you, don’t you?”

The sorceress shook her head. “You still don’t see. Yes, I intend to take Arling with me. I will return her to Arborlon and she will fulfill her destiny by doing what she has been given to do. But I don’t need to kill you for that to happen. I just need you to remain behind until she has had sufficient time to serve her purpose.” She shrugged. “Besides, if I kill you Arling will be much less likely to cooperate. And some cooperation will be necessary if she is to become the Ellcrys. Leaving you alive gives her hope for your future and hers.”

“We’ll follow you,” the Elven Hunter said. “We’ll expose you to everyone. We’ll tell them the truth.”

“And who will believe you? A disgraced member of the Home Guard? And an Elf girl who abandoned her people to become a member of the hated Druid order? What proof do you have to back up your claims? By the time you return, your uncle will be dead, too. There will be no one left to support your story about what you were doing here. Phaedon will never believe you. No one will.”

She yanked Arling to her feet by her hair. “You should be satisfied with knowing that what you intended to bring about will still happen. You might not be the one who conveys your sister to Arborlon, but that shouldn’t matter, should it? You’ve found the Bloodfire and allowed Arling to immerse the Ellcrys seed, to quicken it so that the Forbidding can be restored. That should be sufficient reward.”

Dragging Arling with her, she began backing her toward the passageway leading out. “You’ve had your explanation. Or as much of it as you’re entitled to. It’s time for me to go. Don’t try to follow. Delaying me might cost your people their chance at survival. And it might cause unintended harm to come to Arling. I know you, Aphen. You won’t let that happen. Nor will you do anything to prevent the Ellcrys from being renewed. The fact that I’m leaving you alive should be enough to satisfy you. The rest is unfortunate, but necessary.”

She was at the passageway entrance. “One last thing. You can’t follow me, even if you try. I’ve disabled your Sprint. It won’t fly. It will take you two days to walk out of here and reach even the smallest village.”

She paused, a satisfied look on her beautiful face. “Cinla will remain behind long enough to make certain you stay where you are until I am clear of the tunnels. She can find her way out much quicker and more efficiently than either of you, so you won’t be able to track her when she leaves. Don’t think to use magic against her, Aphen. She will sense what you are about and tear you to pieces before you can complete even the smallest conjuring.”

She gave the Elven girl a smile. “Have I forgotten anything?”

Arling’s eyes were fixed on Aphen, and the rage reflected there was unmistakable.

Then Edinja backed her all the way into the tunnel’s gloom, and they were gone.

In the silence that followed, Aphenglow and Cymrian stood frozen in place not six feet apart, staring into the luminous eyes of Cinla. The big moor cat had positioned herself directly between them and the passageway Edinja had disppeared down with Arling. There was no way forward.

“We can’t let her do this,” Aphen said to the Elven Hunter.

Cymrian did not respond. He was studying Cinla, his concentration so intense he didn’t seem to hear Aphen. He took two steps away from her, widening the distance between them. His hands dropped to his sides casually, hovering just above a pair of blades strapped to his thighs.

Then, abruptly, the moor cat disappeared.

They could do that, Aphen knew. Cinla could melt away like mist and be there all the same, yet not visible. Cinla was simply responding to the threat she sensed from Cymrian, choosing to remove herself as an obvious target. If he wished to come at her, he would have to do so blindly.

“I need you to do something,” he said to Aphen.

She shifted her gaze from the space the cat had occupied a moment earlier and back again to him. “What?”

“I need you to fake an attempt at escaping. A quick couple of steps should do it.”

“That’s a moor cat, Cymrian! And you can’t even see it!”

“If it comes for you in response, it will have to reveal itself. Moor cats can only vanish like that when they are still.”

She hissed at him, the sound born of rage and frustration. But he ignored her. “Can you do it?”

“It’s you who can’t do it!”

“Yes or no? We don’t have time to argue.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Summon your magic. Do what you can to help me.”

She gave in to the obvious necessity of embracing this madness. This would never work, but she understood they needed to do something. Every second lost was precious, and she had no better plan.

She broke for the passage opening, two quick steps. Cinla reappeared as if by magic, several yards away from where she had disappeared, springing at Aphen. But Cymrian was quicker. Blades flashing in both hands, he launched himself across the space separating him from Cinla and threw himself atop the cat. The moor cat half turned in response, claws slashing, jaws yawning wide. Cymrian’s blades disappeared into her thick coat, buried to the hilt. Cinla screamed—a terrible sound that ratcheted through Aphen like an explosion. She was summoning the magic already, bringing it into her fingertips, desperate to help, but it seemed to take forever.

Cymrian had fresh blades in his hands as he lost his grip on the moor cat and rolled under it. There was blood on his clothing, much of it his own, and the moor cat was still tearing at him, teeth now fastened to his shoulder. But Cymrian ignored that. Both blades slammed upward into the moor cat’s throat, plunging through the soft, exposed skin, sliding past the bones of her skull and penetrating her brain. Cinla’s head jerked upward, her killing grip released.

Aphen’s magic struck out at the big animal, hammering into the moor cat and throwing it away from Cymrian. Cinla was thrown backward and slammed into the cavern wall. The moor cat struggled up, the handles of Cymrian’s knives sticking out of her body and jaws like blunt spikes as she lurched toward them. But the blades that had penetrated her brain had done too much damage. Her strength gone, she slumped in mid-stride and did not move again.

Cymrian was on his feet instantly, ragged and bleeding, his upper torso shredded. “Elfstones!” he gasped. “Show me the way!”

Forcing herself to ignore his terrible wounds, Aphen yanked out the Elfstones and summoned their magic. The instant their brilliant light angled down the passageway and up the stairs beyond, the Elven Hunter went racing off. Aphen followed, making certain the Elfstone magic continued to illuminate the path they needed to follow. She did not know how Cymrian managed to find the strength to run as fast as he did; she could not comprehend how he remained upright. By all rights, he should be dead.

She tightened her jaw at the image her words conjured. Not that. Please, not that.

She went after him with fresh resolve, knowing he would need her, wanting to be there for him, aware of what he was doing. Aphen had glimpsed that final look on her sister’s face as she was being dragged from the cavern. Arling was not going to stand for what was being done to her. At some point, she was going to fight back. And she would do so before she was aboard Edinja’s Sprint, where she had to know she would be trussed up and rendered helpless.

Cymrian was already out of sight ahead of her. Aphen was slowed by the effort it took to focus the magic of the Elfstones so that it lit a path through the blackness ahead of her. Without the magic to guide them, relying instead on torches and memory, it would take too long to catch up to Edinja and Arling.

What they would do when they actually found them again was another matter. But apparently Cymrian had already made up his mind.

She found the long flight of stairs and ascended them in frantic leaps and bounds until she reached the maze of tunnels. Bright splashes of Cymrian’s blood dampened the rock surface beneath her feet as she ran. Her breathing was quick and labored, but she refused to slacken her pace. Every so often, she caught sight of the Elven Hunter ahead of her when the passageways straightened enough to reveal his progress. Each time he was a little farther away. She couldn’t believe he could keep this up. The moor cat had torn him open front and back, and he was bleeding heavily. It didn’t seem to matter. He wasn’t slowing down.

He would reach Arling first, Aphen realized. He would have to be the one to save her.

Faster, she urged herself silently. Or maybe she was urging him. Run faster!

When Arling was forced out of Safehold’s dark entrance and back into the deeper blackness of the tunnels, she was already preparing to break free. She couldn’t expect help from Aphen and Cymrian—not realistically—so she would have to provide the help she needed herself. It was scary to think of trying to do much of anything with a knife at her throat and her hair clutched in Edinja’s fist, but there was no other choice if she wanted to avoid being hauled off to Arborlon and sacrificed not for the good of the Elves and the other Races, but to serve Edinja’s twisted purposes.

The distinction was clear in her mind. The end result might be the same, but the means and the intent were decidedly different. She didn’t want for any of what was foreordained to transpire without Aphenglow beside her. She would need her sister’s strength, and she was determined she would have it. What she would do when she reached Arborlon, she would do only on her own terms.

Edinja had gotten her the largest part of the way back to the opening into the Hollows when she gave a terrible scream—a sound that lay somewhere between rage and despair. For an instant she relaxed her grip on Arling, dropping to her knees as if stricken. Arling, seeing her chance, twisted free and fled through the tunnels toward freedom.

She was halfway across the clearing that separated the entrance to the tunnels beneath Spire’s Reach from the surrounding woods when Edinja caught up to her. A tangling of her legs from an unseen force was her first indication of the other’s presence, a magic spell used to bring her down. She collapsed helplessly, and then the sorceress was on top of her, dragging her back to her feet by her hair.

“They’ve killed her!” Edinja Orle screamed, the words an earsplitting shriek that reverberated through the mist-shrouded air. “My Cinla!”

An instant later Cymrian burst through the opening into the caves and came for them. He did so at a dead run, no slowing, no equivocation. Blood was sheeted across the entire front of his tunic, and his white hair was wild and loose about his face. Edinja started to turn when she heard him, but hesitated just a fraction of a second. It was enough. Arling grabbed onto the other’s knife arm, slammed the back of her head against her captor’s exposed face, and wrenched free of the grip on her hair. Edinja screamed, broke the girl’s hold on her arm, and slashed at her. A deep rent opened across Arling’s chest, and blood turned her tunic crimson.

Then Edinja turned on Cymrian, both hands raised in a warding motion. Whatever magic she had invoked, it threw the Elven Hunter off his feet and sent him tumbling backward. But Arling flung herself on the sorceress once more, ignoring the pain of her wound and the sight of blood soaking through her tunic. She grappled with the witch, trying to pin her arms, to throw her to the ground. But even though Edinja was smaller than Arling, she was unexpectedly strong, and quickly broke her grip.

By now Cymrian had struggled back to his feet. He threw himself on Edinja, tearing her away from Arling and bearing her to the ground. Arling heard the force of the impact as they collided, saw Edinja’s knife flash into view, and then Cymrian was on top of her with his hands around her throat. She thrashed wildly, trying to break free. But the knife had disappeared, and her hands were empty. Her arms and legs flailed as she tried to throw him off, but he was too strong. She attempted to summon her magic, but her voice was choked off and her hands flapped uselessly. Cymrian kept his grip on her throat and did not loosen it until she went limp and her breathing was stilled.

But when she was dead, he slumped forward and rolled onto his back, and Arling saw Edinja’s knife buried in his chest.

Aphen burst into view, saw the blood from Arling’s wound, and rushed first toward her. But Arling, struggling to rise, motioned frantically toward Cymrian, and after a quick glance Aphen changed directions. By the time Arling had torn off the sleeves of her tunic and used the folded cloth to stanch the flow of blood from her knife cut, her sister was already at the Elven Hunter’s side, bending over him. Dragging herself closer, Arling could hear them whispering.

“Hold on,” her sister was urging. “Let me help you. I can use healing magic. I can mend your wounds. I just need a little time …”

His hand lifted to take hold of hers. “Just … remove the knife.”

She hesitated, but then fastened her hand about the handle of the blade and pulled it free.

“Better. I don’t want … to die with that sticking out of me.”

His voice was strong in spite of his injuries. There was blood everywhere. Where the knife had been extracted, it bubbled from his chest.

“Arling?” he asked.

“Just a superficial wound.” Aphen glanced over, making sure, and Arling quickly nodded in reassurance. Aphen turned back. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“Just stay with me. It won’t … be for very long.”

She was crying freely. “You should have waited for me!”

“There wasn’t time. Besides, the moor cat …” He trailed off. “Things were … already decided.”

Aphen put her hands over her face, ignoring the blood that streaked them.

“Take Arling … home,” Cymrian said. “Don’t let … anything stop you. Arling is decided. She knows. Don’t … make her doubt herself. Help her … stay strong.”

Aphen nodded, her mouth a tight line. She took her bloodied hands away from her face and placed them over his.

“I wish I had more time …”

“You know I love you,” she interrupted.

His eyes steadied on hers. “I know.”

“I should have said it more often. I should have done more for you.”

“You did enough. Don’t question it. Just remember …”

He coughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth. Aphen bent down quickly and they whispered hurried words to each other that Arling couldn’t hear. Aphen clutched at him as if to hold him back from what was coming. It wasn’t enough. Seconds later, he sighed and went still.

When Aphen lifted away from him, she had a look on her face that Arling had never seen before.

It was a look of utter despair.

That night, as Aphen lay wrapped in her grief, unable to think or act, Arling asked her sister what she had said to Cymrian. The Elven Hunter’s body lay wrapped in blankets and sheeting at the rear of the vessel’s cockpit. Aphen had refused to leave him, even though he had asked her to, telling her not to waste time but to just go.

“He never thought of himself,” she said. “Not once.”

“He didn’t love himself like he loved you.” Arling waited a moment before asking again. “What did you say?”

Aphen looked down at her blood-streaked hands. She had done a poor job of cleaning them, but she didn’t seem to care. “I told him I loved him enough that one day I would find him again. I would come for him wherever he was and we would be together.” She paused, shaking her head. “Stupid words. Foolish promises. But I meant them.”

“What did he say?” Arling pressed.

Her sister began to cry. “He said he would be waiting.”