THE VOYAGE OF THE JERLE SHANNARA : Morgawr (BOOK THREE)

So Bek attacked him. He did so in a reaction born out of desperation, intending to hold the other back without really harming him. But Truls Rohk was so enormously strong that Bek couldn’t afford to employ half measures when calling up the power of the wishsong. He hadn’t mastered it yet anyway, not in the way that Grianne had, having only just discovered a few months earlier that he even had the use of it. The best he could do was to hope it had the intended effect.

He sent it spinning out in an entangling web of magic that snared Truls and sent him tumbling head over heels through the wreckage of the chamber. The shape-shifter went down, but he was back up again almost at once, throwing off his concealment, revealing himself instantly, big and dark and dangerous. With the long knife held before him, he rushed Grianne a second time. But Bek knew enough by now to appreciate how strong Truls was, and he had already assumed his first attempt at slowing the shape-shifter would fail. He sent a second wave of magic lancing out, a wall of sound that snared the other and sent him flying backwards. Bek cried out, but he did not think Truls even heard him, so caught up was he in his determination to get at Grianne.

But Bek reached her first, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms about her protectively. She did not move when he did so. She did not respond in any way.

“Don’t hurt her,” he started to say, turning to find Truls Rohk.

Then something hit him so hard that it knocked him completely free of Grianne and sent him sprawling into the remains of a shattered creeper. Stunned, he dragged himself to his knees. “Truls . . . ,” he gasped as he peered over at Grianne helplessly.

The shape-shifter was bent over her, a menacing shadow, his blade at her exposed throat. “You haven’t the experience for this, boy,” he hissed at Bek. “Not yet. But that doesn’t make you less of an irritation, I’ll give you that. No, don’t try to get up. Stay where you are.”

He was silent a moment, tensed and ready as he leaned closer to Bek’s sister. Then the knife lowered. “What’s wrong with her? She’s in some sort of trance.”

Bek climbed back to his feet in spite of the warning and stumbled over, shaking off the disorienting effects of the blow. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“I did if I wanted to be certain you would remember what it meant to use your magic against me.” The other shifted to face him. “What were you thinking?”

Bek shook his head. “Only that I didn’t want you to hurt her. I thought you would kill her outright when you saw Walker. I didn’t think you could see her face, so you wouldn’t know she couldn’t hurt us. I just reacted.”

Truls Rohk grunted. “Next time, think twice before you do.” The blade disappeared into the cloak. “Take the sword out of her hands and see what she does.”

He was already bent over the Druid, probing through the blood-soaked robes, searching for signs of life. Bek knelt in front of the unseeing Grianne and carefully pried her fingers loose from the Sword of Shannara. They released easily, limply, and he caught the talisman in his hand as it fell free. There was no sign of recognition in her eyes. She did not even blink.

Bek laid down the sword and moved Grianne’s arms to her sides. She allowed him to do this without responding in any way. She might have been made of soft clay.

“She doesn’t know anything that’s happening to her,” he said quietly.

“The Druid lives,” Truls Rohk responded. “Barely.”

He straightened the ragged form and tore strips of cloth from his own clothing to stem the flow of blood from the visible wounds. Bek watched helplessly, appalled by the extent of the damage. The Druid’s injuries seemed more internal than external. There were jagged wounds to his chest and stomach, but he was bleeding from his mouth and ears and nose and even his eyes, as well. He seemed to have suffered a major rupture of his organs.

Then abruptly, unexpectedly, the penetrating eyes opened and fixed on Bek. The boy was so startled that for a moment he quit breathing and just stared back at the other.

“Where is she?” Walker whispered in a voice that was thick with blood and pain.

Bek didn’t have to ask whom he was talking about. “She’s right beside us. But she doesn’t seem to know who we are or what’s going on.”

“She is paralyzed by the sword’s magic. She panicked and used her own to try to ward it off. Futile. It was too much. Even for her.”

“Walker,” Truls Rohk said softly, bending close to him. “Tell us what to do.”

The pale face shifted slightly, and the dark eyes settled on the other. “Carry me out of here. Go where I tell you to go. Don’t stop until you get there.”

“But your wounds—”

“My wounds are beyond help.” The Druid’s voice turned suddenly hard and fierce. “There isn’t much time left, shape-shifter. Not for me. Do as I say. Antrax is destroyed. Castledown is dead. What there was of the treasure we came to find, of the books and their contents, is lost.” The eyes shifted. “Bek, bring your sister with us. Lead her by the hand. She will follow.”

Bek glanced at Grianne, then back at Walker. “If we move you . . .”