Chapter 138: Mass Paralysis

"Those were not here this morning," Lirael said. "I would have seen."

"We were never in this part of the forest this morning."

"Then someone put them here before we arrived." Her voice stayed even. "Before we ever stepped foot in this damned forest."

Behind them, the wolves had stopped.

All of them, at once. They stood in a loose arc at the tree line, red eyes fixed on the team, and none of them took another step.

Ashe’s mouth went dry.

"Backs together," he said. "Slowly."

"We are already in the clearing."

He looked down. His boots were in the grass. The edge of the ring was behind him.

At the opposite side of the clearing, a figure stepped out from the trees.

He was tall and thin, and he wore a grey cloak with the hood up. The staff in his hand was taller than he was, topped with a cluster of small bones hung on cords that swayed without wind. He walked unhurried across the grass, and the beasts parted for him without a sound. He stopped near the center of the clearing. His face was shadowed. The visible part of his mouth was smiling.

"Eight," he said. "I had hoped for more."

"Who are you?" Ashe kept his sword up. "This is the Baron of Greyfell’s land."

"Is it?" The man tilted his head. "How recently."

"State your business."

"I was waiting for you." He said it mildly. "For someone to find what you found. I did not know it would take so long. I am almost relieved."

Tomas shifted his shield. "He’s talking about the vein."

"Quiet," Ashe said.

"We have to—"

"Tomas."

The man lifted his staff. He didn’t hurry. He tapped the butt once against the earth.

The four stakes flared.

The cold came first.

It rolled across the clearing from the four corners at once, a tide of it, like stepping into deep water in winter. It hit Ashe’s boots and climbed. He felt it in his knees, then his hips, then his chest, and each step it took, the muscle underneath simply stopped answering.

He tried to lift his sword. It didn’t lift.

He tried to speak. His jaw wouldn’t move. He tried to shout, and nothing came out, not a breath.

His eyes still worked. He could look left. Tomas stood beside him, shield half-raised, mouth open on a word that never finished. Hale had one foot forward, locked in mid-stride. Corbin was bent at the waist. Lirael was perfectly upright, her bow drawn, arrow nocked, her whole body held in a pose that no living creature could have held for even a moment.

He could feel his heart. It was racing. He could feel his lungs working on their own, steady and cold. His mind was entirely clear.

It was the clearest thing he had ever known.

I’m awake, he thought. I’m awake. I can’t move.

The man in the grey cloak walked among them.

He passed Hale first and looked into his face, closely, as though checking a seal. He moved to Corbin, then Doss. He lingered a moment in front of Pell. The boy’s eyes were wide and wet. He was crying without a sound, tears running down his chin.

"Hm," the man said, and kept walking.

He stopped in front of Lirael and studied her for a long moment.

"An elf. Interesting. Not what I expected."

He moved on. He came to Brokk and stood very still.

Brokk was frozen mid-curse, pickaxe half-raised. His eyes were furious.

The man reached over his shoulder, slid the pack’s flap open with two fingers, and took out a small leather pouch. He opened it. A curl of pale metal lay inside, throwing a thin blue-white glow against his hand.

The man was quiet for a long moment.

"So," he said, softly. "The rumor is true."

He closed the pouch and put it inside his cloak.

Ashe tried to move. Every ounce of his will went into his right hand. A finger. A single finger. The cold held it like a vise.

The man turned. He walked back toward the center of the clearing, and for the first time his voice carried to all of them.

"You will wait here. I would like to say it will not be long." He touched the staff to the earth again. The air above the stakes shimmered, and a thin, pale thread of light rose from each and met in a point over the clearing. "That is a watching charm. It will tell me if anyone comes. If anyone does, I will know."

He looked at the beasts at the tree line.

"Stay."

Most of them melted back into the forest. A dozen remained, a ragged ring of red eyes and bark-grey hides, circling slowly at the edge of the grass.

"They are patient," the man said. "I would not test them."

He turned. Ashe watched his back as he walked into the trees, and the grey cloak was gone as though it had never been there.

Silence.

The wolves paced. A boar snuffled at the edge of the clearing and settled onto its haunches. The light was brightening, and somewhere above the trees a bird tried a few notes and stopped.

Ashe could not blink. His eyes burned. The dew was soaking into his boots, and he could feel it, cold and wet, and he could not shift his weight.

Two days.

He turned the thought over. It was the only thing he could do. The baron would expect a courier tomorrow evening. The message wouldn’t come. Emeric would wait a day, perhaps two, before he started to worry. Then he would send someone.

Four days. Perhaps five.

How long can a body hold like this?

He didn’t know. He pushed the question away.

At the edge of his vision, something moved.

The Thunderhoof stood a few paces from Doss, still on its rope. It was just outside the ring of stakes. The man’s spell had passed over it as though it weren’t there. The animal tossed its head. Lightning crackled across its mane, and it pulled at the rope in Doss’s frozen hand, and the rope held.