The Measure of the Magic (5 page)

What should she do?

She made up her mind at once to escape before they locked her in. That they would think to do so was questionable, but she couldn’t take the chance. Some sixth sense—perhaps her warning instincts—told
her that they were going to get inside the fortress, iron doors and locks notwithstanding, and that once they did it would not take them long to find out where she was hiding.

She left the overlook, moving away from the wall in a crouch, easing herself back through the door and descending the stairs. She had returned from her previous attempt at escape by following the same corridors that had taken her to the rear of the building, shaken by her ordeal and haunted by the killing of the Troll that had discovered her. She had made several wrong turns, fought to remember how the signs worked, and eventually made it all the way back. Unable to think of anything else to do and needing to know what was happening with the Drouj, she had gone back up onto the overlook. Watching the Trolls move about the walls without seeming to find a way in had calmed her, and after a time she had believed herself safe again. With the doors securely locked, it didn’t appear that anyone could reach her.

But then that old man had appeared to confront Grosha, and now everything had changed.

Her backpack was still sitting on the kitchen table where she had left it. She shrugged into it once again, stuck the long knife back in her belt, and slung the bow and arrows over her shoulder. After taking a last look around the room, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, she set out once more.

Too much time had been wasted already, she knew. She should have kept her head after her encounter with the Troll and gone back outside and made a run for it. The Trolls were all back around the front of the complex by then, engaged with that old man. She would have been able to make a clean break. By now, she would be high into the foothills and safely on her way to the mountain passes. They wouldn’t have even known she was gone.

But that’s how it was with hindsight. If she went far enough back in time, she could argue that she should have stood her ground when Phryne Amarantyne had cajoled Pan into creeping up on that nighttime campfire for a closer look. She would have squelched that suggestion and they would all still be safe inside the valley and Arik Siq would never have gotten in.

She shook her head in disgust, picking her way along the stone corridors.
Or something else would have happened and she might be in an even worse situation. Who could know? She studied the signs on the walls, the array of different-colored arrows and the strange language she couldn’t read, trying to remember. It wasn’t as easy as she had thought it would be. All at once it seemed so confusing.

She slowed when she heard the sound of metal clanging and hinges squealing with the weight of a door opening from somewhere behind her. The old man and the Drouj were inside. She knew it at once. She didn’t think they would come straight for her; they would have to search the front rooms first, all the way up to the overlook, and that could take time. On the other hand, if that old man could dispatch the locks on those iron doors, then he might have a few other skills, as well. One of them might have something to do with finding her.

Adjusting the backpack so that it rested higher up on her shoulders, she continued on, choosing what she believed was the right way to go. She hurried a little more now, walked a little faster, a twinge of genuine fear seeping through her. It wasn’t like her to panic, but she could feel the urge to give way to it. Something about that old man. Something about how he had looked at her, even from that far away.

Pan, I wish you were here with me
.

But he wasn’t, and she didn’t know where he was. Hopefully, he was back inside the valley and doing what he could to help Sider find her. She believed that he would come for her, but she wanted to reach him first. She didn’t want him to venture outside the valley again. She didn’t want that old man to find him, too.

No, I wouldn’t want that. Not for him or anyone
.

She found herself in a hall that didn’t look familiar, even though the arrows had pointed her that way. Had she taken a wrong turn somewhere farther back? She didn’t think so, but then she had been dwelling on things other than the arrows, things having to do with the danger she was in. That old man. The Drouj. The growing sensation of isolation, of walls closing in and darkness descending. She still had the solar torch, and its beam was still strong, but she had no way of knowing how long its power would last.

Sounds of doors opening and closing, of boots thudding and of furniture and supplies being moved about echoed through the stillness. It
all felt far too close, as if the searching had progressed much more swiftly than she had expected. Voices lifted out of a subsequent silence, a mix of soft whispers and gruff mutterings. Heavy armored bodies scraped against rough walls.

She hurried ahead, abandoning her plan to try to get back to the exit she had found before, concentrating now on reaching any opening at the rear of the complex where she might find a way out. All she wanted was to escape, to get clear of a place that was beginning to feel like a tomb.

While she floundered like a rat in a maze, sunshine and fresh air waited outside. She would recognize features in the wall of the distant mountain peaks, and then forests and hills and trails she knew well would guide her home. Somehow she would find her way. She kept that thought foremost as she searched for an exit. But the corridors ran on, twisting and turning, the arrows pointing this way and that, and eventually she realized she no longer knew which way she was going.

She stopped then, took a deep breath, and tried to think clearly. She was lost, but she could still find her way if she kept her head. The sounds of pursuit were still audible, but they didn’t seem to be quite as close as before. Maybe she was wrong about where she was. Maybe she was farther back in the complex than she had thought.

“Where do you think you are running to?” said a voice in the darkness just ahead of her.

She started so badly that she dropped the bow and arrows. Snatching them up again, she backed away from the voice, terrified. She had reason to be. The old man was standing there looking at her, tall and lean and bent, ragged clothing hanging off his skeletal frame, narrow head cocked to one side, obsidian eyes fixed on her.

“Get away from me,” she whispered.

“Well, I can’t do that until we’ve talked. But I can stand right where I am, if it will make you feel any better. All you have to do is answer my questions.”

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “What kind of questions?”

He gave her a tight smile. “Nothing much. Like what sort of magic you possess, for instance?”

“None. I don’t have any magic. I’m a Tracker.”

“Oh, you have magic, all right. I can sense it. I don’t make mistakes about that sort of thing. What can you do that no one else can? Tell me.”

She swallowed against her fear. One hand snaked into her pocket and her fingers closed about the automatic weapon. “I can sense danger. I can tell when it’s close to me.”

The old man nodded. “Really? Do you sense it now, from me, when I am close?”

She shook her head no. “It doesn’t always work.”

“What an unreliable gift! Sometimes it helps and sometimes it leaves you hung out to dry. Like now.” His smile returned, colder. “You really shouldn’t think about trying to use that weapon on me. It won’t work. Those sorts of things can’t hurt me.”

She was trying to think what to do, how to get away. She could run, but what was the point if she didn’t know where she was going? “I only have your word for that. I don’t think I should take your word about anything. I don’t think you can be trusted.”

“Oh, but I can. I will tell you exactly what I am going to do before I do it. Just so long as you don’t attack me. Fair enough?” He glanced around. “Why don’t we go back upstairs and outside? It would be much more comfortable out there. We could talk just as easily. You might feel better about things. Trackers live outside, don’t they? You must feel trapped down here under all these tons of stone. Don’t you?”

“I’m fine where I am.”

“I doubt it, but it’s up to you.”

“Why don’t you just let me go?”

“Questions, remember? Do you know a man who carries a black staff? Ah, your face gives you away. You
do
know such a man, don’t you? Tell me where he is. Tell me how to find him. Then you can go on your way.”

Sider Ament. He was looking for the Gray Man. Prue was furious with herself for giving anything away, but she imagined that where this old man was concerned it didn’t take much to reveal yourself. “He’s dead,” she said quickly. “Killed a month ago.”

The old man shook his head admonishingly. “You’re lying, young
lady. How unbecoming. I can tell when people lie to me. It’s a waste of time to try doing so. The man who carries the black staff is alive and you know where he is. So now you had better tell me or things will quickly become very unpleasant for you.”

She hesitated only a moment, and then she jerked the automatic weapon from her pocket and fired it at the old man until it clicked on empty. She was running by then, tearing back down the corridors, racing for a freedom she had no idea how to find. She threw away the weapon and began struggling with the bow and arrows—although if the Flange 350 wasn’t enough to stop the old man, she had no reason to think the bow and arrows would work any better.

Risking all, she glanced back to see if her pursuer was anywhere in sight. Her heart sank. A shadowy form was cleaving the darkness, keeping pace with her, coming much more quickly than should have been possible for someone so bent and old.

She pounded ahead, running faster, her stamina already waning, her breathing uneven. The old man continued to draw closer. She could not outdistance him.

She notched an arrow to the bowstring as she ran, swung about abruptly, and fired the steel-tipped missile directly at him. The arrow struck his chest and bounced away. The old man didn’t even slow.

Then he was right on top of her, so close she could hear his breathing. She heard his voice in her mind, screaming at her.
Stop running! Running is pointless! You cannot escape me!

She refused to give up. She ran on even faster. But she was beginning to labor. Ahead, she could hear the sounds of the Trolls. She was running right toward them. She flashed on a corridor that would take her another way and turned down it without thinking.

She had run more than a dozen yards before she realized she had chosen a dead end.

She wheeled back, frantic now. The old man was slowing to a walk, not twenty paces away, blocking her escape. His smile was slow and mocking, as if he had known all along that this was how it would end. She notched another arrow to her bow and held the weapon in front of her, pointing it at the old man. He shook his head, a clear admonishment. But he didn’t say anything this time. He just kept walking toward her.

She cast aside the bow and arrows, knowing they were useless, and was reaching for her long knife, determined to die fighting rather than let him take her, when the light appeared behind her, sudden and intense. It came out of the darkness, out of nowhere, growing swiftly to fill the whole of the corridor. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder, but the light blinded her to whatever was there. She turned back to the old man, saw the perplexed look on his face, the sudden flicker of concern that changed quickly to rage.

Then the light closed about her and everything vanished.

I
N THE AFTERMATH
of the girl’s disappearance, his equanimity recovered, the ragpicker stood quietly in the darkness, thinking it through. She hadn’t gotten away from him by herself; of that much, he was certain. She had magic, but she didn’t have magic powerful enough for this. If she had that kind of magic, he would have sensed it immediately. No, another magic had been brought to bear; someone had intervened to aid her, to remove her from his grasp.

He sniffed, able to smell the magic’s residue even now, pungent and raw. He stared off into the darkness. Even without light, he could see perfectly well—but of course there was nothing to be seen. He was alone, back where he had started when he stumbled on the Trolls trying to break into this aged fortress.

He licked out with his tongue, tasting the stale air. What should he do about the girl? What should he do about finding the one who carried the black staff, the one he had come to find? He shook his head, mulling his choices.

Grosha had said something about a valley. This was where the girl had come from. Which meant that the bearer of the black staff might come from there, as well. He nodded to himself. He had his starting point.

Turning around, he began retracing his steps, intent on retrieving the collection of scraps he had dropped outside. It wouldn’t do to leave his memories. The dead needed their due. Yes, he was impatient, but good things come to those who wait.

As he walked, he hummed and then began to sing.