Free Morgawr by Terry Brooks Page B

until you get there.”
    â€œBut your wounds—”
    â€œMy 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 . . .”
    â€œDruid, it will kill you to take you out of here!” Truls Rohk snapped angrily. “I didn’t come this far just to bury you!”
    The Druid’s strange eyes fixed on him. “Choices of life and death are not always ours to make, Truls. Do as I say.”
    Truls Rohk scooped the Druid into the cradle of his arms, slowly and gently, trying not to damage him further. Walker made no sound as he was lifted, his dark head sinking into his chest, his good arm folding over his stomach. Bek strapped the Sword of Shannara across his back, then took Grianne’s hand and pulled her to her feet. She came willingly, easily, and she made no response to being led away.
    They passed out of the ruined chamber and back down the passageway through which they had come. At the first juncture, Walker took them in a different direction than the one that had brought them in. Bek saw the dark head move slightly and heard the tired voice whisper instructions. The ends of the Druid’s tattered robes trailed from his limp form, leaving smears of blood on the floor.
    As they progressed through the catacombs, Bek glanced at Grianne from time to time, but never once did she look back at him. Her gaze stayed fixed straight ahead, and she moved as if she was sleepwalking. It frightened the boy to see her like this, more so than when she was hunting him. She seemed as if she was nothing more than a shell, the living person she had been gone entirely.
    Their progress was slowed now and again by heaps of stone and twisted metal that barred their passage. Once, Truls was forced to lay the Druid down long enough to force back a sheet of twisted metal tightly jammed across their passage. Bek watched the Druid’s eyes close against his pain and weariness, saw him flinch when he was picked up again, his hand clawing at his stomach as if to hold himself together. How Walker could still be alive after losing so much blood was beyond the boy. He had seen injured men before, but none who had lived after being damaged so severely.
    Truls Rohk was beside himself. “Druid, this is senseless!” he snapped at one point, stopping in rage and frustration. “Let me try to help you!”
    â€œYou help me best by going on, Truls,” was the other’s weak response. “Go, now. Ahead still.”
    They walked a long way before finally coming out into a vast underground cavern that did not look as if it was a part of Castledown, but of the earth itself. The cavern was natural, the rock walls unchanged by metal or machines, the ceiling studded with stalactites that dripped water and minerals in steady cadence through the echoing silence. What little light there was emanated from flameless lamps that bracketed the cavern entry and a soft phosphorescence given off by the cavern rock. It was impossible to see the far side of the chamber, though bright enough to discern that it was a long distance off.
    At the center of the chamber was a huge body of water as black as ink and smooth as glass.
    â€œTake me to its edge,” Walker ordered Truls Rohk.
    They made their way along the uneven cavern floor, which was littered with loose rock and slick with damp. Moss grew in dark patches, and tiny ferns wormed through cracks in the stone. That anything could grow down here, bereft of sunlight, surprised Bek.
    He squeezed Grianne’s hand reassuringly, an automatic response to the