The Sorcerer's Daughter Page 9

  “Because you will need their instincts and senses to find what you seek? Because theirs are stronger than yours?”

  “Much stronger.”

  “But this safety line? What would it be attached to?”

  “It would be attached to you.”

  She stared, trying to grasp what he was saying. “To me?”

  “Always to another person, to a human—preferably to one with courage and determination. Someone who is not subject to the same compulsions as I am; someone who does not suffer from the same condition. Someone I can depend upon to help me if things go wrong.”

  “And you think that would be me?”

  “I do. I will be betting my life on it, in fact.” He hesitated. “And so will you.”

  She frowned, confused anew. “You hinted at that before. What do you mean?”

  “The magic that infuses the tether requires a living being on each end to achieve the balance I spoke about earlier. The tether is invisible, but it is formed of the emotions and memories of those that it joins. By tethering, you and I will become one. We will be bound together in ways too numerous to count if you decide to do this. You will share my thoughts and I yours. You will share my emotional state and I yours. We will be able to communicate with each other from long distances. When I allow it, you will even be able to see through my eyes. This continues as long as the tether is in place.”

  “Let me understand this. For as long as we are searching for Chrysallin, we will be living inside each other’s heads?” she asked, trying to picture what that would mean.

  “Not for the entire time. Only when we mutually agree to it. And either of us can sever it by choice. Mostly, it will happen when I am changed into another creature. You must have access to me then so that you can help me should my addiction begin to pull me away. The time we are joined would be limited, however. There is only so much anyone can stand of being exposed to another’s thoughts and emotions.”

  She exhaled sharply. “I would think so. But why is it so dangerous?”

  “Because you risk yourself by being tied to someone as unpredictable as I am. If I prove too strong for you, your own sanity might be compromised. You might be pulled away with me, dragged inside my consciousness and lost to your own. It has happened once already. It is why I no longer shape-shift, even though the urge to do so is almost too much to bear.”

  She could envision this happening. She could imagine herself made as bleak and wild as he was when he first came to Paranor—lost to himself, his sanity gone, a suicidal mess. Yet he thought she could handle it. He must have great confidence in her, if he truly believed that. She was not at all sure she did. She wondered if she should even consider it. Yet if she wanted his help, if she was serious about risking her own life to help get Chrysallin Leah back, what choice did she have?

  “You are beginning to understand what I’ve been telling you,” he said quietly. His lean features were pinched and drawn, and there was sadness in his eyes as he looked at her. “It is one thing to say you will do anything for your friend, but another entirely to actually do what is needed. You should think carefully about this. If you choose to abandon this plan, to not put yourself at risk, I will be the last one to pass judgment. I would expect that Paxon Leah would feel as I do, the fate of his sister notwithstanding.”

  He was wrong about this, of course. He did not understand what Paxon had already been through to free Chrysallin from the machinations of Arcannen. He had almost lost her twice, and the effect on him had been devastating. There was no reason to think that this time would be any different. And he might say he did not blame Leofur; he might, indeed, believe it to be the truth. But the fact of it happening would always be there. It would change their relationship in ways that could not be repaired.

  “You did this before with another person and it killed them?” she asked suddenly, remembering.

  “Not long after I first came to Paranor.” He clasped his hands in front of him, as if to hold on to something firm while he spoke. “It was supposed to be an experiment. A member of the Druid order volunteered to serve as my tether. The connection between us was made, the safety line formed, and we were joined. I began to experiment with shifting into other forms. It went well enough at first. I did not rush things; I took my time and kept my focus steady. Aphenglow herself monitored what was happening, prepared to act if the need should arise. When no problems surfaced, she gave us permission to continue the experiment alone.”

  “Yet something went wrong.”

  “Something always goes wrong.” His voice turned bitter, almost to a growl. “I was content within myself, but I sensed an uneasiness in my partner. He was not responding in a way that suggested he had sufficient confidence in himself. I could feel his uncertainty, sense his hesitation at the other end of the tether. I even talked to him about it at one point, but he quickly dismissed my concerns. He was a good man, but his inability to recognize his own weakness was a flaw. It cost him his life. I can still feel him slipping away from me, dying on his feet as he fought to stop me from changing. Because he lacked the strength and the will to do so.”

  “Yet you survived.”

  “I think of this every single day of my life. I was responsible for what happened to him. I took his life because I could not control my powers. Since then, I have stopped shape-shifting entirely. I have tended my animals and provided my services to the Druid order. I stay at Paranor because I begged them not to turn me out, and they saw the need for keeping me close. They understood what might happen otherwise. But no one would tether to me again after that. I had no choice but to stop my shape-shifting.”

  He looked at her anew. “Which is where we stand now, you and I. This is where you tell me I am asking too much, and I agree. We part friends, and we go our separate ways.”

  She nodded, thinking about all he had said. He was trying to discourage her. He was deliberately telling her to back away while she could. Yet he had agreed to consider her request, and he had told her things he needn’t have told her in the process. There was at least a small part of him that wanted her to agree.

  “What makes you believe the tethering would work this time?” she asked. “Why do you think it would be different with me?”

  He looked away quickly, then back again. “The Druid who served as my tether was provided to me; I was not given a choice. This time, I am. You are stronger. There may be uncertainty, but not when you are placed in a position of risk or danger. I think you would be a match for me. Enough so that I am persuaded to make the offer.”

  “But you wouldn’t have if you thought me weaker than I am? If you found my response to your tale evidence of this weakness?”

  He smiled, and for a moment he was almost handsome. “I find you stronger in every conceivable way. If I did not, you are right—I would not have made the offer at all.”

  They sat quietly for a time, studying each other. Leofur liked it that he had judged her capable enough to undertake the tethering. She liked it that he believed in her.

  “But why do you want this? Why risk putting yourself right back in a deadly situation?” The words were spoken in a rush, before she could think better of them. “What I’m asking is, why would you take this chance when you needn’t?”

  His smile returned, sadder this time, more tentative. “Isn’t it evident? I’m not happy, and I haven’t been for a long time. I miss the changing. I miss shape-shifting the way you would miss food if it were withheld from you. I need to undergo the process in order to feel alive. I haven’t done it before because there wasn’t a way to do so safely. But now here you are, giving me the opportunity.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “I will admit it. I want this. Badly. I crave it.”

  “But you can’t be sure about me.”

  “What can we be sure of in this life, Leofur, that really means anything? I would take this chance if you would give it to me. But only if you wish it for yourself.”

  She had alrea
dy considered the reasons she should and shouldn’t agree. When Oost Mondara had first brought them together, she thought that nothing could dissuade her from taking advantage of Imric’s skills. But listening to him talk about what would be involved was chilling. To have another person living inside your mind and you living in his—even if not literally—was daunting. It might be no more than shared memories, visions, and thoughts, but even that might be too intimate. Everyone had secrets to hide. And everyone needed a place inside to call one’s own.

  Even so, she told him what she had intended to tell him all along.

  “I do wish it. I will agree to be tethered to you.”

  —

  They walked back to the Keep in silence, and it wasn’t until they were almost to the gates that Imric spoke again.

  “We will leave at sunrise. Oost will provide us with a two-man flit. We’ll need an airship to cover ground quickly if we’re to catch up with your friend’s captors.”

  Leofur glanced over. “I would like you to stop calling her my friend and call her by her name. Chrysallin.”

  He nodded. “As you wish.”

  “How can we track anyone from the air unless we see them?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  “When do we make this tether?”

  “When we set out. When I make the first change. But we’ll test it first, in the morning, to make certain it can be done. You must discover for yourself what it feels like before we can be sure it will work.”

  “Why don’t we leave now? Why wait?”

  He gave her a look. “I realize you are eager, but there are preparations to be made. We need an airship readied and provisioned. We need a good night’s sleep. We need to begin our search in daylight. The tethering may prove difficult for you. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

  Tomorrow. It could not get here quickly enough. She would eat dinner, pack clothes and necessities and weapons, and sleep. She tried to imagine what tomorrow would be like and failed utterly. She knew it would not be as she envisioned it, so it was better not to settle on any expectations. What she could do now for herself that would help best was to stay calm.

  When they entered the gates, Oost Mondara was waiting. “Leofur, I would speak with you a moment.”

  Imric Cort walked off without a word or a backward glance, his rangy form disappearing into the evening shadows. Leofur watched him go before turning to Oost.

  “Did you agree to go?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I did.”

  His blocky form shifted uncomfortably as he looked away. “Perhaps you will change your mind when I tell you that we received a message from one of our contacts in Arishaig. An arrow shrike flew in with it an hour ago. There’s been an incident. This morning all the members of the Federation delegation, including the Prime Minister, were killed. While it is unclear how this happened, the rumor is that the Druids are to blame. Paxon and the others have fled the city. The Federation is hunting for them now.”

  “This is my father’s doing!”

  “Perhaps. There is no way of knowing yet. And I didn’t tell you this because I want you to change your mind about Imric, but I wouldn’t feel right letting you go without knowing what’s happened.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. I would not want that, either.” She stepped away, giving him a quick smile. “I have to rest before dinner. I feel a little tired.”

  What she felt was frightened and confused. And conflicted. Having Paxon in danger put an unexpected wrinkle in her plans. In other circumstances, she would have gone after him. She would seek him out and do what she could to help him.

  But how realistic was it to expect to find him, even if she backed out on her commitment to Imric?

  And to Chrys?

  She didn’t know the answer. She didn’t think now she ever would.

  Paxon flew his beleaguered band of Druids and their Troll protectors northeast, trusting to misdirection rather than speed to help them make their escape. Any pursuit coming out of Arishaig would expect them to fly in a direct line for Paranor, taking the shortest distance and relying on their head start. But the Highlander believed it unwise to trust such an obvious option—especially when the big cruisers and fast racers of the Federation almost certainly could catch them long before they reached their destination. Since night was approaching, maybe it was better to settle on a route that wouldn’t be immediately obvious. This night there was a new moon. Light would be at a premium, and hunters would have trouble finding them in the darkness.

  More to the point, perhaps, there was a storm coming in from the northwest. As Paxon saw it, this could be both a blessing and a curse. If it turned south rather than east as it drew nearer, they might be able to outrun it while hoping it impeded anyone following them. But if not, Paxon would have a hard night of flying ahead of him—and reason to worry whether they could even stay aloft.

  It was a tight fit in the cockpit of the cruiser. Even with the canvas canopy pulled open, the space was small and cramped, and the back seats were little more than benches. Part of the problem was the body of Darconnen Drue and the two injured Troll guards tucked into the back of the passenger’s area, taking up valuable space. On a positive note, there were no other injuries. Everyone was settled in, making space where they could, biding their time, talking to one another softly, and trying to be patient while they waited for the flight to be over.

  Paxon knew what they were up against. It would take all that night and the next day to reach home. And that was only if there were no problems with the weather or with pursuers. Even if they reached Paranor safely, they could expect a visit from the Federation, undoubtedly in the form of warships and soldiers. He wasn’t sure what Isaturin could say to convince the Federation government that the Druids were not involved in what had happened to the Southland delegation. Their killer was obviously a thing conceived of magic, and it had seemed to disappear by passing through Karlin Ryl. Everything suggested the Druids were responsible for what had happened.

  Except for one thing.

  There was no obvious reason for the Druids to want the negotiations with the Southlanders to fall apart.

  Other questions surfaced as he thought about it further. When Isaturin appeared at his elbow an hour into their flight, he decided to voice them.

  “Tired?” the Ard Rhys asked, his tone revealing his own weariness.

  “A bit. But not too tired to keep us flying safely.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be.” Isaturin glanced over his shoulder at the others. “What a strange day.”

  Paxon gave him a look. “You recognized that thing back there in the Assembly. You called it by name.”

  Isaturin nodded. “A Sleath. A kind of demon. A thing of immense power. I’ve never encountered one, but I recognized it for what it was.”

  “It was conjured, then? Deliberately set on us?”

  “It wouldn’t have appeared otherwise. Some dark magic is at work—a very powerful magic. Only a sorcerer of great skill could bring a Sleath to life.”

  “Do we have the means to stand against this thing, if it should appear again? We didn’t seem to back there.”

  Isaturin looked grimly determined. “We were unprepared. If there is a next time, we’ll be ready.”

  Ahead and off to the northwest, the skies were darkening. The storm was drawing closer, masses of black clouds building on the horizon. The light had gone out of the sky, and the land beneath was cloaked in shadows. Lightning forked in wicked tongues through the inky dark—brilliant flashes followed by booming peals of thunder that shook the air. In spite of Paxon’s hopes, the storm did not appear to be turning away from them.

  “It’s going to hit us, isn’t it?” Isaturin asked quietly.

  “Likely, if it stays on its present course. About thirty minutes from now, it should reach us.”

  “Should we set down?”

  “We could. But if we do, we give up our advantage of having a head start. The big Federation
vessels won’t be slowed by a storm. They’ll plow right on through. They might not know where we are, but Fero Darz will know how to search for us.”

  “On the ground, he might not see us.”

  “On the ground, we are sitting ducks.”

  “So we keep flying, then?”

  “Until the storm becomes too bad. I don’t like it, but our lives might depend on it. What will you say to the Federation when they catch up to us, be it out here somewhere or at Paranor? What will you say to them to convince them we aren’t responsible for what happened?”

  Isaturin shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know for certain what happened myself.”

  “How did that thing—that Sleath—disappear like it did?” Paxon added. “Where did it go?”

  The Ard Rhys shook his head, a troubled look on his face.

  Paxon shifted his gaze back to where Karlin sat cradled in Miriya’s arms, the two talking quietly. Karlin looked stricken, but otherwise seemed the same as always. Miriya caught him looking, and he shifted his gaze away again.

  “I don’t like that it deflected your Druid magic so easily. It shouldn’t have been able to do that. I don’t like that it didn’t seem affected by my sword, either. What sort of power will it take to stop that thing? At some point, we might have to find out. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of it. Do you?”

  Isaturin shrugged. “Let me think on it. There must be something that can stop it, something that can get past its defenses. We just need to be ready when it’s time.”

  Sounds good, Paxon thought. In theory.

  Winds struck the vessel crosswise moments later, further evidence of the storm’s approach. Their ferocity was enough to elicit a few gasps from the passengers and a hint of the power that was coming for them.

  “Have everyone fasten themselves in place with safety lines. They can find them in one of the storage bins.” Paxon gave Isaturin a look. “We’ll ride it out for as long as we can, but I don’t think we’re going to get through it.”