He had no idea how long he ran or how he found his way to the empty warehouse. He could hear the screams of the others for a long time afterwards, even there. He could hear the sounds of battle, and then the faint scrape of metal legs as the creepers moved away. He could smell the smoke of burning metal and the stench of seared flesh. Curled in a tight ball with his face buried in his chest and knees, he cried.
After a time, he regained sufficient presence of mind to wonder if any of the creepers had followed him. He forced himself to lift his head, to wipe away his tears, and to look around. He was alone. He kept careful watch after that, still huddled in that same corner, still wrapped in a ball of arms and legs, still haunted by the image of Joad Rish in his final moments.
Don’t let that happen to me, he kept repeating in his mind, as if by thinking it he could somehow save himself.
But now he knew he had to do more than huddle in his corner and hope he would never be found. He had to try to get out of there. It had been long enough that he thought he might have a chance. The attack had ended long ago. There had been no sound or movement anywhere in all that time. The smoke had faded, and the sun had risen. It was bright and clear outside, and he should be able to see anything that threatened. It would take him several hours to work his way back through the city and longer still to retrace his steps to the bay where he could wait for the return of the Jerle Shannara. He thought he could make it.
More to the point, he knew that he must.
It took him a long time, but he finally managed to uncurl himself and get to his feet. He stood motionless in the shadows of his corner and scanned the warehouse from end to end for signs of life. When he was satisfied it was safe to do so, he started for the nearest opening, a broad gap in the west wall that offered the most direct route back through the city. He felt parched and light-headed, and his hands were shaking. To calm himself, he reached up for the phoenix stone, remembering suddenly that it was there, hanging about his neck. He did not know whether it would work if he was threatened, but it reassured him to know he had something he could fall back on, even if he was uncertain it would be of any use.
He wondered suddenly, dismally, what had become of Bek. His friend Bek, who had done so much to encourage and support him on their voyage out of Arborlon. Was he dead with all the others? Were any of them alive back there? He knew he should go back and find out. He knew, as well, that he couldn’t.
Brave Elven Prince! he chided himself in fury and sadness. Your brother was right about you!
He reached the opening and stepped out into the daylight. The ruins stretched away in all directions in sprawling sameness, stark and empty. He waited a moment to see if anyone would appear, if there was anything to be heard. But the city seemed empty and lifeless, a jumble of stone and metal and encroaching weeds and scrub. Not even a bird flew overhead in the cloudless blue sky.
He began to walk, slowly at first, almost gingerly, trying not to make any noise, still on the verge of panic, fighting to keep himself together. He had no weapons save for a long knife belted at his waist and the phoenix stone. If he was attacked, his only real defense was to run. The knowledge that it was all he could rely on wasn’t very reassuring, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wished he had his sword back, that he hadn’t thrown it down when he fled. But then he wished a lot of other things, as well, that couldn’t be. Instinct kept him moving when his conscience whispered that he didn’t deserve even to be alive.