She wondered suddenly if she might find Clizia Porse waiting, settled down in the forest imp’s underground home—having come looking for the books, as well, and having found them.
She slowed her pace at the prospect, but quickly decided that this was so unlikely as to be nearly impossible and picked up her pace once more. She would be careful, nevertheless. She just needed a starting point to begin her search for Drisker, to discover what had happened to him. The books of magic might provide her with a way to obtain this information. If they didn’t or if she failed to find and retrieve them, she had no idea what she would do,
As she was nearing Flinc’s underground home, she used her magic to seek out other life-forms in the area. She detected the usual small animals and birds and one thing more, but for some reason she could not get a clear read on the nature of this other life-form—neither size nor shape nor species. It was just something that was alive and nearby.
Worried now, she stopped where she was. What if it was Clizia? But Clizia believed her dead. And she wouldn’t go to this extent to hide herself from anyone else. Nor had she set any wards against intruders, which she surely would have done if she was concerned about being discovered.
No, this was something else.
Tarsha moved ahead once more, albeit more cautiously. When she reached the clearing where the tunnel leading down into Flinc’s home was located, she paused for a closer look. All was back as it had been before Clizia’s attack; the tunnel entry had been either repaired or replaced.
But who would have done that?
She walked out into the clearing and stood looking at the concealment to the tunnel entry, reaffirming that she was not mistaken, that everything was back to where it had been.
Then she sensed a presence behind her and froze.
“Welcome home, Tarsha of the beautiful eyes,” a familiar voice said.
She turned to face the speaker and felt something fall away inside.
FOUR
At first, after Clizia’s trap was sprung, Drisker Arc fell into blackness for an endless stretch of time. There was nothing to see—and no sound, no tastes or smells, no feeling, no anything. Drisker folded into a ball and hung on, waiting for something more to reveal itself. He was not at all sure what sort of trap he had stumbled into. He was certain it had been designed to ensnare him, but other than that he couldn’t be sure of its purpose. He managed to summon sufficient magic to enclose himself in a protective shield so that he would not be helpless when the falling ended, but other than this single act he could manage nothing.
The end came when his descent slowed and then stopped altogether. He was still cocooned away, still unaware of where he was, still a prisoner with no means available to free himself.
He waited patiently, keeping control over himself with steady and purposeful determination.
Eventually, he realized the blackness was giving way to a semblance of daylight. As his surroundings began to take shape, he saw that he was in a thick patch of woods, its trees old and shaggy and witch-bent, with limbs stretching so far skyward he could not tell where they ended. The ground around him was a mix of brush and grasses, thickly grown but not lush. Rather, everything had a haggard and badly worn air that suggested a place where life had been forced to fight hard for survival. As his senses heightened, he could smell rot and decay. He could see blackened patches on the trees and brush; he could smell and taste the parts that were slowly being eaten away by the corrosion.
He searched for movement in the twilight darkness, but found none. If anything lived here, it was either in hiding or out of view.
He was infuriated he had allowed this to happen. It had been a foolish choice to go after Clizia alone, but he had thought it was best to catch up to the rogue Druid at once. Tarsha and Tavo were both down, but while both were stunned, neither seemed seriously injured and he didn’t think it necessary to wait for them to recover. So, impulsively, he had determined he would do what was needed on his own.
Had he not made this choice—which, in retrospect, was likely the most foolish of his entire life—he might have lost Clizia but would not be wherever it was he found himself now. He should have helped his companions and gone after her later. Now everything and everyone was at risk.
He found himself worrying about the fate of his sibling companions. Having disposed of him, Clizia would have gone back either to take them prisoner or to kill them. If she succeeded in doing either, he would have to place the blame squarely on his own shoulders, and he would spend the rest of his life—whatever life he had left—blaming himself for what had happened.
Yet both Kaynins possessed the considerable magic of the wishsong to aid them, and both were resourceful. He had to hope this was sufficient to see them through any confrontation that took place. Tarsha, in particular, was smart enough to find a way to protect them, and would not tend toward rash behavior of the sort he had just exhibited. With Tavo beside her, she should be more than a match for Clizia Porse.
At least, that was what he told himself.
The light had brightened further, and his surroundings were coming into sharper focus. He could see mountains and hills through breaks in the trees. He could just spy the thread of a distant river, flowing sluggishly across a barren plain. What was troubling was that everything was pretty much the same color, wherever he looked—a dismal, flat, ashen gray. Sky, horizon, landmarks, the air itself, all were marked by gloom that…
No! It wasn’t possible. Even Clizia couldn’t do that! He stared into the distance some more, then dropped the magic that shielded him and climbed to his feet to look more closely. He felt his throat tighten. Maybe she couldn’t, but somehow she had. With the aid of magic that should have been beyond her command, she had dispatched him to the one place from which he couldn’t escape.
The Forbidding.
He felt everything drop away—any chance of finding a way out, all possibility of rescue, even the hope of extending his life beyond the short, brutal span that now seemed to be his destiny. Created in the time of Faerie by the creatures of light to imprison those they believed to be servants of the dark, the Forbidding was a place of no return. Once locked away, you were there until you died. Grianne Ohmsford alone had managed to escape, and then only with the help of her nephew, Penderrin. The Druid Histories had recorded it all. Drisker had never thought he would need to know more about it in his lifetime.
Now to find himself imprisoned like this—to find himself trapped in a cage with no door and no lock or key—left him devastated. He sat down slowly, trying to compose his scattered thoughts and rioting emotions.
Trying just to think straight.
He could not expect help from Tarsha Kaynin. She wouldn’t know—couldn’t know—where he was. Even if she were to somehow discover what had happened, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to free him. None of those who had gone to Skaarsland could be of any help, either.