The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

They went deep into the bowels of the Keep, along twisting passageways that grew increasingly narrow and steadily darker, down stairways thick with gloom and heavy with damp. Eventually there were no wall-mounted torches to brighten the way, and the Gnomes were forced to light and carry their own. Khyber heard the drip of water and could smell the minerals the water contained. The gloom was impenetrable after more than a few feet, even with the torchlight to chase it back. In the silence, the only sounds were the labored breathing of the Gnomes and the measured beat of their footfalls.

If she had been afraid before, she was terrified now.

But she fought down her terror because she knew that if she panicked she was finished. She could open her eyes without fear of being discovered and did so. It was too dark for her captors to see her eyes, and she was hanging head-down anyway, her face obscured by the cloak of the guard who bore her. She had gained a fresh measure of anonymity. She was little more than a dark lump. She wondered if the men knew who she was; she wondered if they cared. She tried to imagine what it must have taken to imbue them with such blind obedience. Soldiers did what they were told and did not ask questions, she supposed. It was something she understood but would never accept.

She maneuvered the scrap of metal between her fingers until she had a good grip on it and began to saw at her bonds. She did so slowly and carefully, trying her best to disguise her movements by keeping them small and the rest of her body still. It was harder than she had expected because a certain amount of force was required to make any progress with the cutting. She did not know how long she had to free herself. She felt as if she had no time at all. She wanted to hurry her efforts, to work harder, to throw caution to the winds, to just be free. But Ahren had taught her that haste was your worst enemy when you were threatened, that mistakes were too easily made and chances lost. Patience was what would save you. Every fiber in her body shrieked at her to hurry, to cut faster, but she held herself in check.

Be patient.

Trussed and helpless, on her way to her own death, she wanted to be anything but.

Time slipped away, precious and fluid. She could not hold it back. She worked the metal diligently, even though by then her own fingers were cut and bleeding from the effort and the metal shard dangerously slippery. She almost dropped it several times, and she was forced more than once to cease her efforts long enough to wipe clean the shard and her fingers. She smelled her blood, coppery and rank. She could smell her own fear, the sweat of her body. She found that she was crying and hadn’t even been aware of it.

She sawed harder, working diligently against the stubborn bonds as her captors trudged on, dark and silent wraiths in the gloom. Burning pitch hissed and spit at the ends of the brands they carried, the flames glinting in the dark like eyes, throwing shadows everywhere. She would be seen, she kept thinking, if she kept this up much longer. She would be caught out.

The air was growing warmer.

Her eyes snapped up as if to discover the reason, even though she already knew it. They were getting close to the furnace and the fire pits that fed it.

The bonds that secured her wrists snapped, nearly falling away before she caught them in her fingers and held them in place. She was free. She flexed her hands, first one, then the other, careful of her movements. Her ankles were still bound, but there was no help for it. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to act now.

But what was she going to do?

Her eyes skittered everywhere, then stopped. The butt of her captor’s long knife protruded from its sheath less than a foot away from where her head hung down.

Momentary panic set in. She had never killed anyone. She had never had to fight for her life, never been threatened with serious harm until these past few weeks. Ahren had taught her how to defend herself, but she had never tested her skills in a situation even remotely like this one. She was just a girl, really. She was barely grown.

But they were going to kill her.

She swallowed hard, the panic deepening, threatening to immobilize her. She shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be happening. If she hadn’t been so stubborn about going with Ahren and Pen, if she hadn’t insisted on the quest being made in the first place, if she hadn’t taken the Elfstones from where they were kept hidden away …