by Terry Brooks
“You already said you wouldn’t be my teacher.”
Drisker Arc shrugged. “You decide.”
She hesitated again, this time for longer. Then she sighed. “My brother is scary,” she said.
“Too scary to bring with you, even given his condition?”
“Especially given his condition. It’s gotten worse. He has little control over his temper and less over his magic. I tried to teach him what I could, but I must not have been a very good teacher. He just never understood. Much of the time, I was worried about what he might do to other children. I was afraid he might hurt them. When he grew angry, his temper was uncontrollable.”
She paused, taking a fresh drink, lowering her eyes. “It was so bad having him at home that my parents moved him out four years ago. They sent him to live with my uncle on a farm in a nearby town. My uncle lives alone, no family. So now my brother works for him, laboring in the fields. He hates my uncle, but he has nowhere else to go.”
“Sounds very unpleasant.” Drisker eyed her the way he might a curious object. His brow furrowed. “Did you tell him you were leaving to come here?”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Because he wouldn’t have liked it?”
“Because neither my parents nor my uncle allow me to see him. But I am afraid for him. I did manage to see him once, and something was terribly wrong. My uncle spoke of games they played, and…It didn’t sound right. I think he might be…doing something to Tavo. Something he shouldn’t. I had to find some way to help him.”
The Druid nodded slowly. “So you’re here because of him, aren’t you? If I help you, maybe you can help him.”
Tarsha forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes.”
She was irritated that he had seen through her so easily. She had hoped to tell him in her own good time and on her own terms. She had hoped to keep this part of her life to herself. But he was too perceptive for that.
“You realize, of course, that teaching someone to use magic—especially magic as powerful as the wishsong—takes months, maybe years. By the time you learn enough to help him, everything might have changed in his life. Or yours. And there is nothing to say that anything you learn from me would even do what you want for your brother. His condition doesn’t sound like something that can be mended quickly.”
“I know that.” She exhaled sharply and fought back the tears that threatened. “But I couldn’t just sit back and hope things got better. I took a chance. He’s my brother. Good or bad, sane or not, I love him.”
“But that doesn’t change the facts. Magic can’t be mastered overnight. It can’t be turned quickly to specific purposes. It has to be understood. You have to be inhabited by it. It has to be embraced by your heart, mind, and body.”
“I know that, too. I know all that. But I have to get better at using it. I have to learn how to…”
She trailed off, suddenly engulfed in a feeling of hopelessness and futility. This wasn’t working. She stood up abruptly. “Thanks for talking to me. And for the tea and bread and ale. I have to go.”
Drisker shrugged. “I was hoping you would stay a little longer.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Giving up so easily?”
She wheeled on him. “Well, you made it pretty clear how you feel about helping me. You think I’ve gone about this the wrong way and don’t deserve your help. You want me out of your hair. So I’m going.”
She started for the door.
“Hold on!” he called out sharply. When she turned back, he said, “Maybe I’m rethinking my position.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just saying that!” She was angry and petulant, and she heard it in her words. She blushed deeply and shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just disappointed. I don’t think that of you.”
“Well, you won’t find out if you leave, will you?”
She slowed at the door and turned. “If this is a game…”
His dark face was inquisitive and oddly encouraging. “You showed real courage and determination coming here. Not many could have done what you have. I think that’s worth considering.”
She hesitated and then came back to the table and sat. “So you might agree to teach me?”
“Don’t you think you’re worth it?”
She grinned. A little of the cockiness returned. “Of course.”
“Then let’s talk about it a little more. Let’s see if maybe it might be possible.” He paused. “You interest me, Tarsha Kaynin.”
The discussion continued for a time, with Tarsha answering question after question about her magic and her ability to use it. The Druid seemed as interested in the extent of her understanding of how it worked and what it could do as he was in her personally. She let him take her wherever he wanted in this discussion, encouraged now that she could persuade him to take her on as his student. His words as she’d been about to leave convinced her she still stood a chance of winning him over, and she had no intention of letting that chance slip away.
“You realize you are committing yourself to a long period of serious study and practical experience, Tarsha,” he said at one point. “This isn’t something you can undertake if you don’t intend to stick with it. You have to be sure that no matter how difficult or unpleasant it becomes, you will not walk away.”
“I made that decision before I came to find you,” she assured him. “I’ve lived with the wishsong since I discovered it as a child. I didn’t even know what it was back then. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I don’t think anything can be as frightening or confusing as that was. I have to master it if I’m to live with it.”
“And help your brother?”
“I can’t help him if I can’t help myself.”
“You aren’t suffering from any of the same problems he is, are you?”
She hadn’t thought about that. She hesitated. “If I was, you wouldn’t teach me, would you?”
His smile was unexpectedly kind. “Just answer the question, please.”
“I don’t think I have his problems. I’m not like him. Even aside from his struggle with the magic, we have very different personalities. I think I’m stronger than he is.”
He studied her a moment, as if judging the validity of what she had said. Or perhaps measuring her strengths as she had revealed them in this conversation. “I think you are probably right.”
“Will you take me on?” she pressed, unable to stand it any longer. “I’ve done everything I can to persuade you. So will you?”
“Let’s understand something,” he said. “I am not a Druid. I am a once-Druid. So you will not be receiving instruction from the real article, only a semblance of one. I will be able to teach you magic, but I will not be able to make you a Druid.”
“I care nothing for being a Druid.”
“As well, if I agree to teach you, I will need something back in payment. Not credits but services. You must agree to stay with me for one year afterward, working as my assistant, using what I’ve taught you to help me out. Will you agree to do this?”
Tarsha hesitated. If she agreed, she would be away from her home and her brother for a year beyond the time it took her to complete her training. That seemed a very long time to let things go untended, given how she had left them. She had thought to go back sooner, to take what knowledge she had gained and use it to help him.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think I can leave Tavo alone for that long.”
“I understand,” Drisker said quietly. “So I will make a bargain with you. Once I find you ready for it, I’ll give you time to go home and do what you can. No more than two weeks, but at least enough time to find out what is needed. After that, you come back. If things are bad, we can talk about how it should be handled.”
“You will listen to what I might think is necessary?”
“I will listen. And you, in turn, must listen to me.”
Everything she could have hoped for was being offered her. Ever
ything she had come to find, everything she had thought she had lost, was now gained back. The tears started again, and she took a moment to compose herself. It was a long moment.
When she was steady again, she looked up at him. “We have a bargain.”
“Then let’s begin, Tarsha Kaynin.”
SEVEN
Two days later, within the walls of the Druid Keep at Paranor, High Druid Ober Balronen called his inner circle of advisers into a meeting, the subject of which he refused to reveal until all were assembled. It was typical of him to be coy about the purposes of these clandestine gatherings, which were routinely limited to a few trusted supporters. Darcon Leah stood against the wall behind the High Druid’s chair and faced the seven gathered about the long table. It was a familiar cluster of faces, but that didn’t mean he could afford to relax his vigilance. Though he doubted any would try to harm the High Druid, he was positioned so he could act instantly if one of them attempted to prove him wrong. It was his job, after all, as the High Druid’s Blade, to do so.
And with men and women as fickle and mercurial as these, you never took anything for granted.
Balronen had not yet appeared, preferring as always to be the last to enter. He reveled in the authority he commanded, and never missed an opportunity to let others know it. He was more a schemer than he was a strong, inspirational leader. He led from behind, as those in the Druid Guard liked to joke among themselves—although they never did so in anything but the Troll language and never to Balronen’s face. He was not well liked by the guard, who missed Drisker Arc’s relaxed, casual approach to command and detested Balronen’s constant manipulations.
Dar didn’t think much of the High Druid, either, but since he spent most of his waking hours either in his presence or doing his bidding, he did as much as he could not to think about it.
The men and women gathered at the table were a mixed bag. Selected for reasons known only to Balronen, they were not the sorts one might expect. A couple were nothing more than paper cutouts—men and women possessing few achievements or recognizable moral code, blackboards waiting for their leader to write upon. No original thought had passed any of their lips since Balronen had succeeded to the position of High Druid. Or at least, none they were sharing. What they were good at was squirming out of difficult situations and avoiding blame. If blame was to be found, it would not be attached to them.
That was half of them.
The other half, save one, were a little more problematic—smarter and more clever than their fellows, and not-so-secretly ambitious. They tried to hide it, but Dar saw through them easily enough and was certain Balronen did, too. But they had value because they enjoyed power bases of their own within the order. The High Druid would have known this, as well, and probably believed the old saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. These members of his inner circle weren’t enemies, but it was certain they harbored ambitions that could impact Balronen if carried out. So there was a constant tension among all of them that was difficult to mistake but hard to read.
Dar Leah didn’t bother trying. These men and women repelled him—all save the one. He suspected it was precisely because they were antagonistic toward one another that Balronen found them useful. He was the sort of man who liked the idea of his followers rubbing up against one another and giving off sparks. He dismissed their plotting and manipulating because he was so much better at it than they were, content to let them wait for chances that would never come. But for Dar, as protector of the High Druid, they were an unpredictable annoyance with the potential for turning dangerous.
It all made him wish for earlier times, for the days when Drisker Arc was High Druid and things were less complicated. He liked Drisker and had even tried to persuade him not to leave after his decision had been announced. But the former High Druid was a tough-minded and stubborn man, and when things became bad enough that he could no longer stomach them, he didn’t hesitate to remove himself from the situation. It wasn’t necessarily the right thing to do in Dar’s mind, but Drisker was his own man. Drisker had tried everything he could think of to change the order’s direction, but the manipulations and scheming had eventually undone him.
Dar missed him and missed the atmosphere that had prevailed at Paranor during his tenure as High Druid. Now that he was gone, Dar found himself thinking about leaving, too.
There was a sudden stirring, a shifting of seats and bodies, and everyone turned as Ober Balronen entered the room to take his place at the head of the table. A tall, lean man with deceptively bland features and a stooped look, he seemed to be anything but what he was. As he passed Dar, he gave his Blade his customary nod. The nod was not intended as a friendly greeting but as an unnecessary reminder to stay alert. It was an example of the way Balronen liked to exercise his authority. As High Druid, he never hesitated to remind others of the power he wielded. Insecure and suspicious, he trusted Dar as much as he trusted anyone.
Which was to say, marginally.
“I’ve received a report of a massacre in the northern territories,” he said. His sharp eyes shifted from face to face. “An entire Troll army, annihilated. Normally, this wouldn’t be something we would even be talking about. The Trolls are warlike, and one batch is always killing off another.”
There were a few knowing chuckles. A few less Trolls didn’t really matter that much, after all. Dar kept his facial expression impassive.
“But in this case the scrye waters revealed the presence of an unknown magic. Substantial magic. Presumably wielded by whoever carried out the massacre. This happened three days ago. There have been no other reports. What should we do?”
As always, he was testing them, waiting to see who was sharp enough to offer the solution he had already determined on. As usual, Ruis Quince, his voice smooth and knowing, spoke first. “Who destroyed this Troll army? It wasn’t another Troll army, I assume?”
Balronen nodded. “Exactly. It was someone else altogether. We don’t know who.”
“Well, we have to find out!” growled Prax Tolt. One of the leaders of the warrior Druids, he was aggressive and confrontational. He glared challengingly about the table. “How could something like this happen and we not know about it beforehand?”
“Are we expected to be prescient as well as magic-skilled?” Crace Adris was their historian, and a sharper mind did not exist in the ranks of the current Druid order. A small man with restless eyes and quick movements, he made a gesture to emphasize his point. “Seems you are expecting a lot from us, Prax.”
“We should find out who they are and what they intend,” Quince pursued, speaking directly to Balronen. “Confront them. Give them a taste of real magic. A kind of warning. Prax is trained as a warrior Druid; he should go. He could take a handful of the guard to back him up.”
“And if they possess magic superior to our own, then what?” Balronen pressed.
There was a moment’s silence. “I don’t see why we bother with any of this just yet,” said the Dwarf, Chu Frenk. “What does it matter if they destroy every Troll in the Northland? Until they demonstrate they are a real threat to us, we should let them be.”
Frenk was one of the more sycophantic members of the inner circle. A corpulent and sour-tempered man who had little patience with or regard for anyone, he entertained himself by finding new ways to upset the others. Only Balronen mattered to him.
“You ignore my question!” the High Druid snapped, causing Frenk to flinch. “What if their magic is superior to ours? What if they intend to use it against us? What then, Chu? Do we wait until their blades are at our necks before we act?”
Frenk did a quick calculation and decided to backtrack. “I am not suggesting we do nothing. But it wouldn’t hurt to wait a bit to make certain of their intentions. If we go looking for trouble, we are likely to find it.”
“Why would you say that?” Tolt snapped. “This violent attack on a Troll tribe would suggest trouble is already on the way!”
“A
s usual, you and I disagree,” Frenk replied dismissively. “If this army intends to attack Paranor, why alert us while still so far away? High Lord, I think only of what’s best for you and for Paranor. Let’s consider this a minute. What if this army intends harm not to us but to others? Maybe we can turn this to our advantage. Perhaps it can be made to serve our purposes. Perhaps we can find a way to use this army against those who already threaten us. There are more than a few of them, are there not? The Federation, for instance. Let’s wait and find out what these invaders want, and then look at whether we can strike a bargain with them.”
“Careful, Frenk,” Crace Adris spat at him. “You seem to forget you are talking of my birthplace.”
“An unfortunate burden you must bear as best you can,” Frenk sympathized. “But this doesn’t change that they would see us brought down. You haven’t had a change of heart when it comes to your Druid oath, have you?”
Adris started to get to his feet, but Tolt pulled him back into his seat quickly. “You should show some manners now and then,” he said to Frenk. He shifted his muscular bulk in an aggressive way. “It might help change our rather low opinion of you.”
“I care nothing for your opinion. I care only for the High Druid’s. Let’s stay on point. What if I am right?”
Ober Balronen nodded as if in agreement. “All well and good. But what if you are wrong? What if this invasion force intends to come here next? Do we simply sit and wait?”
“We do as you wish, High Lord,” Frenk answered and went silent.
“We should proceed cautiously,” Quince added.
Clizia Porse spoke for the first time, leaning forward for emphasis. She was slender to the point of emaciation, tall and sharp-featured and of indeterminate age. Dar also thought her perhaps the most dangerous of the bunch. She had a reputation as a poisoner, and more than one of those foolish enough to cross her had died writhing in agony. No one had ever proved anything, of course, but suspicions were strong and conjectures endless.