Bloodfire Quest (The Dark Legacy of Shannara, #2)(48)

Once, Wend-A-Way scraped against one of the pillars, and the sound of wood cracking caused her to catch her breath as she made a quick adjustment to ease the airship away.

But finally they were down far enough that Cymrian signaled her to stop entirely and came loping back to the pilot box. “We need to anchor and go on foot from here,” he said.

They secured the ship fore and aft using ropes and grappling hooks they swung over the side and maneuvered until they were caught in the limbs of a pair of skeletal trees, then dropped the rope ladder and went over the side. They descended cautiously, a distance of about twenty feet, eyes scanning the gray haze. Both wore dark-mottled forest clothing to blend in with their surroundings, loose-fitting to allow for easy movement. Aphenglow carried no weapon other than a hunting knife, but Cymrian carried a small arsenal of blades and throwing stars.

At the foot of the ladder, they paused. “Over there,” Cymrian whispered, pointing into the haze.

Aphen nodded, listening and assessing. It was hard to see anything in the swirl of brume and shadows, but she could detect the pungent odor of charred wood and ash. She wished suddenly they had brought a few other Elves along with them. She did not feel comfortable leaving the airship unprotected.

Cymrian led the way, moving into the gloom with Aphenglow close on his heels. The stone pillars loomed all about like frozen giants, sections of them visible through the shifting mist, huge and rugged sentries. The floor of the jungle was damp and soft, and their boots sank into it as they crept forward. Aphen listened carefully for sounds that would warn her of the presence of enemies; she scanned the gloom for movement. Nothing. But even so she wasn’t convinced.

Ahead, minutes later, they caught a strong whiff of burning, and moments after that a glimpse of embers.

Cymrian pointed to one side. A body lay sprawled on the earth, torn apart and partially eaten. They moved over for a quick look. It was a Troll, one of the Druid Guards.

They eased their way ahead once more, this time quickly finding other bodies—all of them either Trolls or Rovers, and all of them savaged and partially eaten. She searched for the Druids, dreading what she would find, but there was no sign of them.

A fresh stench, raw and overpowering, brought them to a halt. The Walker Boh, a huge gash in her port bow, her planking ripped apart and sections of the railing torn away, lay broken and ruined. Radian draws had been severed, parse tubes smashed, and the mainmast broken off midway up. All of the light sheaths were ripped apart and pulled down. A quick examination revealed that the airship had suffered a wound that had impacted her controls. The initial damage had crippled her, but most of the rest of what they were seeing was from the crash.

There were more bodies aboard the vessel, a handful of Rovers and Trolls crammed together around the pilot box. The attackers had swarmed aboard, and these few had made a final stand here. They were armed with weapons of all sorts, but whatever they had faced had been too much for them.

“They’re all dead,” Cymrian murmured after checking each. He seemed anxious to move away.

Aphen took a final look around at their surroundings from her vantage point atop the wreck. “All Rovers,” she said. “Where are the members of the order? Where are the Ohmsfords and Mirai Leah?”

There was still no sign of black robes, nor any hints of them. Had the others escaped? If so, where had they gone? But there was nothing to find here that would answer those questions and no reason to stay any longer. She signaled Cymrian, and together they climbed down and started back toward Wend-A-Way.

They had gotten no more than a dozen yards before the creatures appeared. With gnarled bodies and wizened faces, they were vaguely similar to Spider Gnomes. They came out of the shadows like ghosts, creeping toward the Elves on all fours, eyes bright with anticipation. Mouths yawned wide to reveal rows of teeth. Aphenglow could guess at what had drawn them. Not sated by those they had already dispatched, they had returned for something more to eat.

She stood with Cymrian and watched the creatures close in on every side. Their ship was too far away to make a run for it, even assuming they could get past the ring of bodies that was tightening steadily around them.

“What do you want to do?” Cymrian had blades in both hands, but even in the face of such terrible danger, he sounded calm and unhurried.

“Stand behind me,” she said suddenly. The creatures were very close now, easing forward soundlessly, eyes watchful. “Quickly!”

He did as she ordered, still holding the blades ready. “What are you doing?”

“Stand closer,” she said. “Put your arms around me. Do it.”

She felt his arms tighten about her body while leaving her arms free. His blades glinted right next to her face. She took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of me and don’t panic. Trust me.”

She felt his head press to her own, nodding. “Always.”

Then she summoned her magic and lit them both on fire.

She heard Cymrian inhale sharply as they were enveloped in a column of flames that soared forty feet into the air, crackling and burning with such ferocity that the encircling creatures immediately fell back, cringing and ducking away, their interest in pursuing the attack vanished. It was an illusion, of course. But to all outward appearances, Aphenglow and Cymrian appeared to be burning up.

She moved ahead instantly, almost dragging Cymrian with her. To his credit, he kept his feet and stayed close in spite of his shock and the awkwardness of the advance. They appeared to be trying to flee the flames, rushing ahead in a swirl of fire, stumbling now and then as they fought to keep their feet while their bodies were slowly consumed.