The Mwellrets snaked through the city in increasing numbers, as many as twenty of them, appearing and disappearing like wraiths, cloaked forms blending with the shadows as they advanced. When they reached the maze, unaware of its dangers, they barely slowed. Using the walls for shelter in the same way the members of Walker’s company had done, they entered the square in ones and twos, hunched over and faceless within their robes and hoods, reptilian bodies easing ahead cautiously. Deeper and deeper into the maze they penetrated, and nothing happened.
Ahren glanced quickly at Ryer Ord Star, his brow creased in worry. How had they managed to get so far in? The seer’s gaze, calm and untroubled, remained fixed on the maze and the Mwellrets. Her fingers tightened on the Elven Prince’s arm.
All at once the maze exploded in a burst of fire threads, deadly red lines crisscrossing everywhere at once, catching the Mwellrets in a web of destruction. An odd mix of hisses and shrieks rose from the trapped creatures as they sought to evade the burning ropes and failed. A handful were sliced to ribbons in the first few seconds, robes catching fire as they twisted and turned in a futile effort to flee, scorching and burning bodies collapsing in lifeless heaps. The men and women from the Jerle Shannara had sought to go to Walker’s aid, but the Mwellrets simply abandoned their stricken companions, fleeing back through the maze in short bursts of dark robes and sudden movement. They were gone so quickly that in a matter of seconds they had vanished as if swallowed by the city.
Ahren and Ryer Ord Star remained where they were, motionless, eyes scanning the ruins in all directions. Perhaps six of the Mwellrets lay dead below them, their crumpled dark shapes visible within the maze of walls. Of those who had fled, there was no sign at all. The fire threads had ceased their deadly tracking, leaving behind smoke trails that rose from scarred ruts in the otherwise smooth metal surfaces of the walls and flooring. The creepers had never appeared at all.
Ryer Ord Star released her grip on Ahren’s wrist. “They won’t be back anytime soon,” she said softly.
He nodded in agreement. Not after that, they wouldn’t. They would wait for the Ilse Witch to return. “What do we do now?” he asked.
She rose without looking at him, her eyes shifting toward the dark tower at the center of the maze. “We begin looking for Walker.”
EIGHT
Ahren Elessedil stared at Ryer Ord Star with no small amount of incredulity. What in the name of everything sane was she talking about? Look for Walker? She’d said it as if it was the most obvious and reasonable suggestion in the world. But Ahren didn’t find it to be either. He thought she’d lost her mind.
“What are you saying?” was all he could manage.
The words came out in a sort of threatening hiss, and she turned to look at him at once. “I have to find him, Elven Prince,” she said, her own voice maddeningly calm and self-assured. “It’s where I was going when you found me.”
“But you don’t know where he is!” Ahren exclaimed in dismay. “You don’t even know where to look!”
She knelt again, facing him, her violet eyes boring into him with a look of unmistakable determination and certainty. She looked so young, so impossibly vulnerable, that the idea of her undertaking so dangerous a task seemed at once preposterous and foolish.
“You may not have seen what happened to him during the attack,” she began quietly, “but I did. I ran into the ruins after him, knowing he was in danger from more than the creepers and the fire threads. The visions had warned me of this place, and I understood the threat to him better than any of you did. I was struck by one of the threads and prevented from reaching him, but I saw what happened. He went on alone, past fire threads and creepers, through all the smoke and confusion. He reached the tower at the center of the maze, found a doorway, and disappeared inside. He did not come out again. He is still in there somewhere.”