Awake again with the sunrise, she ate a little from the stores she had brought and allowed herself a small portion of ale. The day was bright and clear, a pleasant change from the storms she had endured in the Rock Spur, and she found that the sun warmed her even in the chilly air. She flew east toward Paranor, and by late afternoon she had arrived and set down her small craft some distance away from the Keep but close to the entrance to the underground tunnel.
She remembered the way and the location, and carrying the drawing she had made of the entry key she found her way in and started ahead into the darkness. She was able to make a flame at her fingertips to help guide her—a skill she had learned from Drisker—so the journey was short and uneventful. It was musty and dry and silent in the passageway, and she could hear herself breathe. When she reached the huge iron door that barred entry, she gathered her courage, then pulled out the drawing.
But as she stood there, staring from drawing to door, her doubts about what she was attempting gnawed at her with a rat’s persistence. Drisker had not resurfaced in her dreams or come to her while awake, so she was left only with the small but important revelation that he was now trapped within the Forbidding and that Clizia had engineered it. It felt as if Drisker was always being trapped somewhere other than where she was, which worried her deeply. How was she to accomplish anything if he was never here? How was she to know what she could and couldn’t do safely?
There was no good reason to think she was right in her conclusion that Drisker had endowed her with Druid status so that she could enter the Keep. She might believe it was true, but she had no real confirmation—and with Drisker locked away, she was not likely to receive that confirmation before she had to go inside.
She wondered if she should wait until the following morning before attempting to unlock the door and enter, just to see if he might resurface in her dreams, knowing he would come if he could manage it to complete their truncated conversation. How they had connected while she slept remained a mystery—both when he was trapped inside Paranor and now. Yet it had felt real enough; it felt as if he were actually there, trying to reveal what he knew she wanted to know, just as she had tried to do for him.
But eventually she decided that such a delay would be a foolish waste of time, and instead boldly triggered the locks. The door gave smoothly and silently, opening before her.
She entered the cellars of Paranor as if become a shade herself—drifting into the cavernous chambers with their connecting corridors, all of it devoid of any sign of life. She made her way through and along the passageways’ snaking lengths, searching for a stairway leading up. From here, she would have to find her way to the Druid Histories, which she knew could be found on the third floor, in the offices of the High Druid. It would take time to find those offices, but once she had done so, she would use the wishsong to search for what was hidden in their walls.
It was a reasonable plan. She believed she was safe now. The Guardian of the Keep had not revealed its presence. Even without help from Drisker, she could do this.
And then she heard the hissing.
EIGHT
Now and again, time stops. It happens often when one is caught off guard and shocked into inactivity—when one becomes so afraid that the ability to think and move vanishes. Then everything seems to go still and sometimes to disappear entirely.
It was so for Tarsha Kaynin as she heard the sibilant hiss echo through the corridors and chambers of the Keep’s shadowed cellars. The hiss was raw and inhuman, a deep and rumbling warning, and she knew at once what had caused it. Even without ever having heard it before, she knew. There could be only one source of such a sound in this vast and empty Druid fortress.
It was the Guardian of the Keep.
And it was coming for her.
She had thought she’d managed to keep it at bay—that it had recognized her as either a Druid-in-training or bestowed with the protective mantle of her Druid mentor. She had been so sure. But now all of her certainty was shattered, leaving her defenseless. She closed her eyes and fought to control her fear and indecision. She managed to momentarily subdue both, but she remained where she was, standing alone in the center of a seemingly endless dark. She would not turn back; she would not flee. Her knowledge of what was needed and of the rightness of her cause held her fast. The Guardian might be coming for her, but she could not give in to it. She would simply have to find a way to turn it aside. She was there doing a Druid’s work, and she had presence of mind enough to know if she gave in now, she was defeated forever.
So she stood where she was, waiting. The hissing increased in volume and the air before her began to take on a nasty greenish tint. This would be an excellent time, she thought, for Drisker to appear and tell her what to do. But she knew he would not—and, in truth, could not—so she would have to handle matters on her own.
She summoned the wishsong magic and held it before her like a shield. What she would do when the Guardian reached her was beyond imagining. The Guardian of the Keep was a creature of mist and deep magic that lacked both substance and form, but was capable of wielding immense power nevertheless. It might be able to penetrate her defenses simply by infusing itself into them and passing through unharmed.
She took an involuntary step back as the cavernous hallway ahead filled floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall with thick, roiling brume—a sensory mix of what one found in a swamp, laden with toxins and rife with the stench of death. She fought down her revulsion and held fast to her convictions, and in her mind whispered, over and over, I belong here; I am one of the Druids.
She stared in dismay as the mist rose up, completely filling the passageway before her, consuming everything in its greenish wave. It formed a wall to block her—a wall that threatened to descend, enfolding and swallowing her whole. It hung in the air before her, generating an urge to flee that was almost overpowering, yet still she held her ground. The mist began to swirl with hypnotic intent, its threat plain and its intention undeniable. She increased the power of her wishsong and brought it forward until it was set flat against the mist to bar its advance. She could feel it pressing against her shields, and sensed that it could break through whenever it chose.
She felt her strength failing. She could sense her courage begin to give way to the terrible threat it fought to hold back.
The hissing increased in volume until it approached the roar of a waterfall—a huge, monstrous release of pressure so deafening she felt engulfed by it. It seemed to force her backward, pushing up against her as she stood unprotected before its immense power. Her mind spun, and her common sense told her she had to get out of there, that this creature of magic was too much for her and she would surely be destroyed. What made her think it would accept her as anything more than another intruder? She had been a fool, deluded into hoping there could be any sort of recognition of her purpose.
This was the end, and she had brought it on herself.