Bloodfire Quest (The Dark Legacy of Shannara, #2)(49)

By the time their attackers had determined that nothing was actually happening, Aphen and Cymrian had already forged ahead through the disintegrating lines and were in the clear.

“Run!” she screamed as she caught sight of Wend-A-Way resting at anchor amid the stone pillars and damaged trees, and she extinguished the magic and the fire with it.

The creatures were after them instantly, a massed pursuit that fell back only when she turned long enough to sweep their front ranks with real fire and create a momentary barrier between them. Then she was running again, racing to catch up to Cymrian. A pair of the creatures appeared out of the trees before them, but the Elven Hunter cut them down without slowing, his blades quick and deadly. Aphen could hear their attackers coming up behind them, closing the distance rapidly, and she was forced to turn and create a fresh wall of fire before fleeing once more.

The pursuit was gathering momentum now, skirting the ends of the wall of flames and running parallel to them, closing in from both sides. There were many attackers, and they were quick. Aphen stretched her arms wide and sent explosions of Druid Fire into the midst of the tightening pincers; the earth erupted in clots of earth and sparks, and again the attack was momentarily scattered.

Then they were at the rope ladder and she was scrambling up as he held the ropes steady for her, following her a moment later, kicking back at the creatures that leapt at him, snatching at his legs. She could do nothing to help from where she hung, not without risking that the fire would burn him, as well. All she could do was keep climbing as fast as she could, hearing him behind her as she did so—hearing, too, the grunts and snarls of their attackers, feeling their combined weight shake the ladder as they scrambled to catch up.

Hearing the sounds of their breathing.

Breathing the stink of their bodies.

At the top of the ladder, she flung herself through the opening and clawed her way forward. She felt Cymrian land atop her as he launched himself over the lip of the decking, and then he was rolling back to his feet to meet the first wave of climbers. He stood his ground against them, shielding her, his blades whipping in silvery blurs. But it took a final explosion of her Druid magic to clear the decks entirely.

Then Cymrian was cutting the anchor lines while she stood at the top of the rope ladder and burned away the last of those trying to climb up.

Seconds later Wend-A-Way was lifting past massive stone spikes toward the ceiling of thick clouds that hung over it and from there into the safety of the open sky.



Blood-spattered and exhausted, Aphenglow and Cymrian cleaned themselves off with a bucket of water as Wend-A-Way hovered just above the canopy of the mist.

“What were those things?” Cymrian asked, mopping off his face and wiping his hands.

Aphen shook her head. “No idea.”

“Something like Spider Gnomes, but much more dangerous.”

“Those men on the Walker Boh never had a chance.” She was breathing hard, and her heart was still pounding. “But there were no Druids. No sign of Crace Coram or Skint or Oriantha. Not all the Troll Guards were there, either. A lot of those who were on that ship are still missing.”

“Without the Walker Boh, they’re all trapped down there. We’d better find them right away, Aphen.”

She nodded. “Well, they can’t have gotten far on foot.”

He grunted noncommittally. Then without a warning, he tore off his tunic. He was lean and sinewy, and his muscles were sharply defined. There were scars all over his body. “I can’t wear this. I need something else.” He glanced at her. “I’ll bring you fresh clothes, too.”

She started to object, and then gave up. She knew she didn’t look any better. “Just a tunic.”

Her black robe was still lying on the decking where she had left it. She had taken it off because she didn’t want to be encumbered when they went into the wilderness below. She leaned back against the pilot box and closed her eyes. They had almost not made it back, she thought suddenly. It had been very close.

“That was quick thinking,” he said, reappearing from the hold. He handed her a fresh tunic. “Using your magic like that. I almost thought we were on fire. How did you learn to do that?”

She brushed back her hair and finished wiping off her forehead and hairline. “Experimenting. An accident, really. I would have told you what was going to happen, but there wasn’t time.”

He pulled on the tunic he had brought for himself. “Doesn’t matter. I trust you.” He shrugged. “Besides, I had hold of you.” He gave her a small smile. “Whatever happened to me was going to happen to you, too.”

She remembered his arms around her. The memory gave her a funny feeling. “You did well.”

“You did better. We wouldn’t have made it out except for you.”

She looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “Turn around so I can change.”

He did so, and she slipped off her ruined tunic, wiped herself down, and then slipped on the fresh one. “That feels much better,” she said, signaling that he could turn back.

They talked over what they should do next. Dropping low enough to try to catch sight of the others was not only risky but also unlikely to produce results. Cymrian suggested he should take a flit and go in search, but Aphen didn’t like that idea, either. There were too many things that could go wrong and leave them separated, and then they would both be on their own.