The Black Elfstone

by Terry Brooks

  He was moving down the hall, intent on reaching his quarters, when a voice said, “You look a little worried.”

  Zia stepped out of the alcove shadows to one side, confronting him. Almost as tall as he was, she wore an intense, determined expression. “Surprised to find me waiting?”

  “A little.”

  “I’ve made it a habit, I guess. Waiting for you. Now and before. Same reason each time. I keep hoping you won’t end up forgetting me entirely.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No one could ever forget you, Zia.”

  She gave him a noncommittal look with those huge blue eyes and brushed back a lock of his reddish hair from his face. “You managed it not too long ago.” She held his gaze. “Old news, though. Did Balronen tell you he’s finally decided to send Ruis and me north?” Her mouth twisted with disgust. “It took him long enough to act.”

  “When hasn’t it? He makes no decisions until he can see his way clear to whatever benefits he might derive from doing so. Why do you have anything to do with these people, Zia? You don’t have to be part of this inner circle nonsense.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I like being part of it.”

  “Oh, of course. No wonder you always look so intensely interested in the meetings.”

  “Like you, I get bored. But I promised Ober I would stick.”

  He gave her a look. “You don’t have to keep that promise. You can walk away.”

  Her smile was rueful. “You seem better at walking away than I am.”

  She was so smart, so quick to see the truth of matters. Sometimes he felt like a child in comparison. It was a bitter reminder of why he had been drawn to her. Her intellect and her deep understanding of others were as compelling as any other aspect of her. For him, perhaps, even more so.

  She moved next to him, took his arm in hers, and started walking him down the hall. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to come with me on this mission. Come as leader of the Druid Guard. You can do that. Ask Ober. Tell him you want to be there to make certain things go the way they should. Something of that sort. But come.”

  “Why do you want me to do that?”

  “A sense of things not being right. A suspicion that this expedition won’t turn out to be what we expect. I don’t know. I think I’m missing something. I can’t put my finger on it. I just have a feeling that something bigger is wrong, that this meeting won’t be what we expect. There have been two attacks, Dar. I don’t like it. But if you were there, I would worry a lot less.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “I never saw that in you before. You were always so confident.”

  “Maybe not so much anymore.” She kept her head lowered and his arm tightly clutched in hers.

  He stopped her, turned her toward him. “Zia, I don’t think…”

  “Will you come with me or not?” she interrupted quickly. “Just say it.”

  They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Dar found her as beautiful now as he had when they’d first met. As beautiful as she was on the day he told her he couldn’t give her what she wanted. He didn’t think he would ever see her any other way.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m already going.”

  She looked uncertain. “What are you talking about?”

  “Balronen ordered me to go with you. He thinks something is wrong, too. But he thinks it has to do with you and Ruis. He wants me to keep an eye on you.”

  He paused, wondering if he should try to explain, and decided he had already said too much.

  Zia confirmed his assumption. She was incensed. “He wants you to keep an eye on me? What does that mean?”

  Dar, never good at lying, didn’t try to do so now. “He doesn’t trust you. Or Ruis.”

  A flash of anger crossed her face. “And you agreed?”

  “I wasn’t given a choice.” He paused. “Is there anything you know about this that I don’t?”

  She stepped back from him quickly, releasing his arm. “Such as what? What are you talking about?”

  “Anything about you and Ruis? About you and Ober?”

  She exhaled sharply. She was beyond incensed. “What is it to you, Dar? What do you care about anyone and me? You didn’t want me. Is it so hard to believe that someone else does? Spy all you want, but otherwise you stay away from me.”

  Then she wheeled away and was gone.

  ELEVEN

  Tarsha Kaynin was asleep when the scratching began. She had spent the day training, following her usual routine of exercises and testing, and she was tired from her efforts. It was impossible for her to know how long she had been sleeping, but she was deep under when the scratching sound brought her awake. She surfaced out of a black well of comfort and darkness, her thoughts gathering slowly, her awareness of where she was and what she was doing recalling itself in fuzzy detail as her eyes blinked open.

  Although she continued to hear the scratching, it took her a moment to realize what it was. Even then she questioned it. Who or what would be scratching the side of the cottage? What was the point of making such a sound? Through force of habit, she probed the darkness with her senses, searching for the source.

  Out from her small bedroom, through the cottage rooms and past the doors and windows into the night.

  Out to where dark-cloaked figures closed on Drisker’s little cottage, their blades glinting in the pale starlight. She saw them coming toward her from three directions. Ten or twelve, at least. Common sense told her there would be more at the rear of the cottage, as well.

  She was up quickly then, pulling on her clothes and boots and slipping from her bedroom into the front rooms where she could peer through the window. She saw one of them immediately, crouched down and looking over to where others crept from the shadows. She took a moment to wonder who they were before deciding it was a pointless exercise. Their purpose was clear: They were searching for the Druid. Drisker had warned her; sometimes his enemies came looking for him. Even if they didn’t find him and only found her, they weren’t likely to leave her alive.

  She experienced a moment of raw terror. There were too many. If they found her, they were going to kill her.

  Fear gave her purpose. She had to stand and fight or run. The choice was made before the thought was complete. Drisker had made it plain enough what she should do if confronted with this sort of situation. She backed away from the window, crouching low so as not to be detected, and moved toward the rear door of the cottage. They might well be there, too—probably were, in fact—but she had to find an escape route somewhere. She wore a long knife belted at her waist, but her only real protection lay in the magic of the wishsong. She hummed it to life as she neared the back door, brought it up to full strength, and cloaked herself in shadows.

  At the door, she paused. Was there anything she should take with her? Anything important to the Druid? Anything he treasured and could not afford to lose?

  Abandoning the wishsong’s cloaking, she went back into the living area and paused when she reached the shelving that held the two heavy volumes of spells and conjuring her mentor was endlessly reading when not engaged in instructing her. His favorite books, the ones he seemed to rely on most. Would these intruders try to steal them? Would they even know what they were?

  No point in taking chances. She snatched them up, her resolve to save them strengthened by knowing she was doing something important.

  She returned to the back door and paused again. She bent close, her head just touching the wooden barrier, and probed with her senses. She detected it right away. Something was out there, but it did not reflect the sounds or smells or feel of humans. She hesitated. There were no windows in the back wall through which to peer. Time was running out. She summoned the wishsong once more, cloaked herself anew, took a deep breath, and eased the door open. When she saw nothing, she opened it further, then further still and stepped outside.

  She nearly fell over the body that lay directly outside the doorway in a pool of black shado
ws, its head gone. Stifling the scream that threatened to escape her, she forced herself to look more closely. From the look of the clothing, she could tell it was one of the intruders. But who had killed him? Closing the door behind her, she eased past the huddled form, her eyes searching everywhere at once. As she glanced back momentarily, she caught sight of multiple parallel gouges in the door, crisscrossing its surface in regular sets. There must have been a dozen of them.

  The source of the scratching sound, she realized.

  But what could have made the marks?

  When she turned back again, a moor cat was standing right in front of her, lantern eyes gleaming and dark muzzle inches from her face.

  This time she did scream, but no sound came out. Her vocal cords were paralyzed and the wishsong was frozen in her throat. Instantly, she became visible again, unprotected and unarmed. The fear that raced through her was paralyzing. Her skin prickled at the animal’s closeness, at the size of its head, at the prospect of teeth that didn’t show but which she could easily imagine. She had never seen a moor cat before, but she had no doubt she was seeing one now. It was coal black from nose to tail save for twin silver stripes that ran down the very center of its forehead and an odd blaze on its lean chest. Even for a moor cat, it was huge, its head on a level with her own, its body easily more than eight feet in length.

  She stood there with Drisker’s books clutched tightly against her chest and waited for the beast to do something. But it just stood quietly, seemingly content to stare at her. Then, apparently tiring of the effort, it leaned into her and sniffed, its hot breath on her face and neck. She closed her eyes and continued to wait, not knowing what else to do. She felt it move behind her and shove against her back with its broad head, pushing her toward the woods. She responded automatically, walking in the direction it was nudging her, hugging the books of magic to her breast. When she opened her eyes a second later the great beast was in front of her, leading the way. Her heart stopped pounding as she realized what it wanted, and she followed, staying close.

  She understood by now the cat was in some way connected to Drisker. This was who had been shadowing her ever since her arrival. Its eyes were the ones she had felt watching her. Since moor cats could appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, she had never had any real chance of seeing it. The Druid had said she would be looked after in his absence. Apparently, he had meant that quite literally.

  They passed a second body sprawled on the ground. This one was missing its head, too.

  Then they were into the trees, and the moor cat stopped to look back at the cottage. In the darkness, the cloaked figures seemed to be everywhere, edging about the walls, picking their way through the shadows. One of them found the body by the rear door, bent to examine it, and backed away quickly. Another approached, and a short conference ensued. Other intruders had entered the cottage and were searching. They would find the Druid missing. But they would also find evidence of her presence. She had done nothing to hide it. There had been no time to do so, even if she had thought to try.

  A moment later a flickering light rose from within the cottage. It was small at first, but then it grew quickly in size until it seemed to fill the interior entirely. The intruders had set Drisker’s home on fire.

  For just a moment Tarsha considered doing something to stop this from happening. She almost set down the books and started back. But then she felt the moor cat nudging her once more and realized she had done as much as she could. At least she had managed to save the most important of his books. So she turned away and followed obediently as the cat led her deeper into the woods. All she could think about was what might be lost in the blaze. Surely there were other possessions of importance, other books and papers, other personal effects. With the exception of the books she carried, all of his possessions would be turned to ash. All of hers, as well—what few she had. She slowed and looked back, anger warring with caution. Some of the intruders were standing in a cluster next to the burning cottage, clearly revealed against the soaring flames, staring toward the trees. It was almost as if they were daring her to show herself, to come out to face them. It felt like a challenge.

  She considered accepting it, her magic rising within her, hot and raw and eager. But then the moor cat nudged her anew, and she turned again toward the deeper forest.

  Behind her, the cottage was engulfed in flames.

  —

  She followed the moor cat until they reached a place so far from anywhere she had gone before in her wanderings she did not recognize it. The beast lay down in a patch of grass and waited for her to do the same. Without getting too close, she did so. They watched each other in silence, an uneasy alliance.

  “Thank you,” she said finally.

  She had no way of knowing if it understood her or not, but she felt better for having spoken the words. The cat had saved her life. She would have been trapped and killed in the cottage otherwise. She might have lost her things, but she was alive. The cat must have been keeping watch over her to act so swiftly and decisively. It had killed two men to free her. It had opened a path to safety. This was an intelligent creature, a friend to Drisker, perhaps even a familiar.

  A good one to have, she thought.

  She slept for a time after that, tired in spite of the stress and uncertainty she was feeling, still not quite believing what had happened. She was too on edge at first, lying on the ground facing the cat and watching its eyes blink slowly. But then it began to emit a deep, steady purring, and her eyes grew heavy as she was slowly lulled to sleep.

  It was sunrise when she woke, the light a bright glimmer east through the trees, long gold shafts spearing the dark to chase back the night once more. She sat up slowly and looked around. The moor cat was gone. She searched for signs of it, still uncertain of last night’s events, and found a depression in the grasses where it had rested. She tracked its footprints for a short distance, but then they vanished. Apparently, it had done all for her it could.

  There was no point in thinking she had somehow dreamed it, especially after she found Drisker’s books still stacked at her feet.

  She rose and looked about doubtfully. Which direction would take her back the way she had come, back to the burned-out ruin of the cottage? Which way was Emberen?

  “Are you lost, little sister?” a voiced inquired.

  She turned to find a strange man of diminished size, bristling hair and whiskers, and a slouched posture staring at her. She believed the grimace on his lined and weathered face was a genuine attempt at a smile, although it didn’t quite succeed in accomplishing its intended goal.

  “A bit, perhaps,” she replied, risking a smile in return. “Who are you?”

  A shrug. “A friend of the Druid’s, like yourself. What matters more is who you are. His protégée, his student, his hope for redemption.”

  Hope for redemption? “Tarsha Kaynin,” she said, extending her hand.

  “Pleased to meet you.” He accepted her offer of a handshake but did not provide his own name. “Can I help direct you back to the cottage? Or to what remains of it?”

  She made a face. “Burned to the ground, I suppose?”

  He nodded. “But at least you saved something that matters.” He pointed to the books. “The Druid will appreciate having those back.”

  “I would have saved more, if I could. It all happened rather quickly. Who were those men?”

  “Cutthroats and assassins of the garden variety. Such men come calling every so often. Mostly, your mentor is here to greet them, and they are so pleased to be welcomed they never leave.”

  She did not miss the irony in his voice. “Maybe he should move somewhere safer.”

  “Well, if such a place existed, I’m quite sure he would. As yet, one hasn’t been found. Shall we go?”

  She picked up Drisker’s books and set off through the forest, the strange little man leading the way. All around them the morning was coming alive with birdsong and small-animal activity. Squirrels and c
hipmunks raced up and down trunks and across limbs. Mice darted through grasses and weeds. Rabbits sat hunched and frozen in place, noses twitching. Once, a badger lumbered by, looking uninterested. The early-morning breezes died and the day warmed.

  Before long, the sun had risen sufficiently that the forest shadows had shortened or disappeared. Tarsha was feeling surprisingly good in spite of last night.

  As they walked, she spent much of her time trying to figure out what sort of creature was keeping her company. He was not of any species she had encountered, and there was something decidedly odd about him. As if maybe he was not altogether human and perhaps more a creature of the forest. It was in the way he saw things, commenting on this and that animal or bird in a conversational way when she couldn’t see what he was looking at. It was in the way he moved, a kind of sliding that now and then caused him to momentarily disappear. She had a feeling he might have use of magic or might simply be magical himself.

  “Can I ask you a rather personal question?” she asked finally.

  “Nothing too embarrassing, I hope.”

  “Well, I don’t think so. But you can always refuse to answer if it is.”

  “That I can. Ask away.”

  “What, exactly, are you? You seem very different to me. Who are your people? Where do you come from?”

  “Oh, I see.” He nodded to himself without looking at her. “I didn’t give you a name, and that troubles you. A name suggests a species or a place of residence. I was able to name you, but you have no knowledge of me! So now you seek to set things right and put us on an equal footing. Well, that’s not asking too much, I guess.”

  She waited, but he stopped talking. The minutes drifted away.

  “So?” she said finally.

  He looked at her. “So what?”

  “So what is your name?”

  “Oh, that. Well, what I am matters more, so let’s stick with that. I am a forest imp.”