by Terry Brooks
“Do not look at me,” she whispered. She was crying, and she wiped furtively at the tears. “I cannot help myself. The wishsong gives me back a little of my old self when I use it to help rather than to hurt. Such moments are few, and each time I treasure them. The effect is only momentary; the magic cannot hold beyond the using. It never has, and it never will. My life’s direction is determined by how I have lived it.”
She shook her head, her lips forming a bitter scowl. “Would that I had lived it better.” She glanced over at a watchful Weka Dart. “He needs to rest,” she said, nodding at the Druid. “His healing requires it. He fought bravely back there in the Iron Crèche. He saved us all. We will sleep here for a few hours before continuing on.”
She turned back to Drisker. “Understand, you are not yet made well. The poison went deep inside you. In a better place and time, we would let you rest for days and not hours, but hours are all we have, so we must make what use of them we can. Sleep, now. I will wake you when we need to go on.”
He held up his hand to stop her. “Wait. Let me speak with Weka Dart first. Just the two of us alone. I think it might help.”
She shrugged. “He has already given himself away. I don’t see what talking will achieve before returning to Kraal Reach. This is where you believe he has hidden the darkwand, isn’t it?”
Drisker nodded. “Let me speak with him anyway. I think I might be able to persuade him to help us retrieve the staff willingly.”
She rose without another word and walked off into the darkness. “Weka!” she called to the figure huddled to one side. “Go speak with Drisker. Now.”
The Ulk Bog slouched over to where the Druid lay and stood looking down at him. “What do you want?”
“Where is the darkwand?”
The little man spat. “I should have let you die!”
“Maybe. But you didn’t. So listen carefully. You can’t lie about this; she will see right through you. She’s already realized the truth. You stole the darkwand from the Chule to stop her from using it a long time ago. You stole it to keep her from leaving the Forbidding. You’ve kept it hidden away all these years. She knows this, and you have to make things right. You have to go to her and admit what you did, tell her you are sorry, and beg her forgiveness, or there is no hope for you.”
The Ulk Bog shook his wizened head. “If I give her the staff, she will leave. She will go back into her old world with you, and I will be left behind. I would rather die! I won’t do it.”
“You have to. If you don’t, you will be killing her.”
“I will be killing myself, you mean!”
“No, you will be killing her. She will die if you refuse to let her go. Can you not see this?”
The Ulk Bog snarled at him. “I would never hurt her! Never! You will kill her by taking her back into your world. She almost died there before!”
“At the hands of demons from the Forbidding. At the hands of Tael Riverine. And how long will she live if she remains here? You told me yourself she has enemies everywhere, working to rid themselves of her. She is old and she weakens, don’t you see? In the Four Lands, she can go back to her old life as a Faerie creature, an aeriad. This is what she longs for. Will you deny her what she wants most when it is within your power to give it to her? I cannot believe it of you.”
“I will protect her!”
“You will try to protect her, but you will fail. And how will you feel when she’s gone and you have only yourself to blame?”
They stared at each other for several long minutes, considering the arguments and the choices that might result. Drisker felt himself growing drowsy from the healing efforts Grianne had employed on his behalf. He had to end this.
“I will make you a promise,” he said quietly. He waited for the Ulk Bog to look at him directly. “If you do as I ask, I will insist she bring you back with us if it is possible. I don’t know that it is—I don’t even know if she can take me—but I will tell her she must take you if she takes me.”
Weka Dart shook his head. “She will never forgive me. She will leave me no matter what you say.”
“I will try to prevent that from happening.” He sighed wearily. “What else can you do but return the staff? If you don’t do what I said, she will find a way to force you to tell her where it is, and she will certainly never forgive you then. You’ve done a terrible thing. You have betrayed her with your selfishness. So make it right. Go to her and offer your help. Then there is at least a chance of forgiveness.”
Weka Dart rose, shaking his head. “I will think about it. But I promise nothing,”
He walked away without another word. Drisker watched him go, wondering if anything he had said had made a difference. When Grianne wandered back over a few moments later, he was trying to rise, to tell her he was rested enough that they could continue their efforts to flee this place, but without a word she pushed him down. A quick word of magic passed her lips and he was asleep.
THIRTY-ONE
The sunrise was fiery in the eastern sky when the Federation camp began to stir, full of expectations for their last full day before the journey home. But those expectations were not the same for everyone—and particularly not for Belladrin Rish. As she woke, having barely slept, a mix of concerns and hard truths preoccupied her. One phase of her life would be ending and another beginning. One way or the other, she would be leaving Belladrin Rish behind by day’s end. And while she harbored few regrets about leaving, she had a raft of doubts about where she was headed.
No Clizia-related miracle had occurred to hasten Cor d’Amphere’s death. And on top of that, she had been forced to kill Choten Benz to prevent him from exposing her further. She had managed to hide the body in a trunk filled with clothes that had belonged to Ketter Vause, then ordered the trunk removed to the storage area for supplies, materials, and weapons designated for return to Arishaig. This had bought her perhaps three or four days, but before long the smell would give the game away and Benz’s body would be discovered. Time was running out, and nothing was coming to pass as Belladrin had hoped.
But she was a Skaar Penetrator and was never entirely at a loss for ways out of trouble. Her reluctance about going through with Cor d’Amphere’s plans to destroy the Federation army had not changed. She was living with too much guilt already to want to take on more—especially now that she must add in Choten Benz who, after all, had stood by her on more than one occasion in the past and for whom she had harbored some admiration.
But what could she do to change it? Thanks to Clizia Porse’s ineptitude and poor judgment, Cor d’Amphere was still alive. And if she did not go through with her part of the plan, the Skaar king would kill off the remainder of her family and hunt her down. And she knew only too well how persistent he could be in eliminating those who had betrayed or disappointed him.
She would miss the Dwarves, Lakodan and Battenhyle. They were good men and—had things been different—she would have preferred to consider them friends. She liked the former’s gruff demeanor and tough resilience, and the latter’s warm charm and easy, straightforward way of seeing the world. But her obligations to Cor d’Amphere would never permit friendships with the people she was betraying, and her life would never give her another moment’s peace until she was free of the Skaar king—which she was determined she would be once this was over. You could not serve two masters in this world, no matter who you were, and she was done with it.
So today she would begin the journey that would take her to a better place. She would disappear when the fire and iron descended, slipping away like the ghost she saw herself to be, gone into oblivion and eventually forgotten by all. The Skaar king would think her dead, and she would do her best to see that—as far as he was concerned—she really would be. She would leave the camp and its inhabitants before they were eradicated and hasten to the small airship she had managed to commandeer. She would se
nd a warning to her family of what was coming before fleeing to her new life. Where that life might be she couldn’t be sure, but she would find it.
Today she would begin to find peace and comfort in her own, real skin, and all the charades and pretenses and dissembling would be left behind.
But there remained one unpleasant task for her to undertake. Choten Benz had nearly undone all her plans before she had killed him, and he had shared his suspicions about her with the Dwarves, which meant there remained a loose end that must be tied up. She regretted what that meant more than she could say—and if it was just her own life at stake, she might have willingly sacrificed it for their freedom. But it was the life of her family in the balance, and that was a sacrifice she could not make.
She regretted, too, losing Benz as an ally. He was the only member of the Federation hierarchy who had stood by her instead of against her. Even if his choice to ally himself with her was driven by personal ambition, he had helped her immeasurably in her confrontations with Commanders Aarcobin and Messit. If only he had left well enough alone and just done as she suggested, he would still be alive. But in the end he had pushed a little too hard.
She rose, washed and dressed, thought about eating, then decided against it. Instead she summoned her aide from the adjoining chamber.
“Daemount,” she greeted him when he slipped through the tent flaps. “Please summon Lieutenant Commander Oberion and ask him to attend me.”
Her aide nodded wordlessly and disappeared back outside her chamber. She stood looking after him for a moment, feeling sick at what she was about to do.
She had genuinely liked those Dwarves, and they did not deserve the fate to which she was about to consign them.
* * *
—
Lakodan and Battenhyle were helping their men finish packing their supplies and weapons so they could set out for home by midday when Lieutenant Commander Oberion approached them. Lakodan, always the more intuitive of the pair, saw at once from the officer’s young face the promise of something unpleasant. He glanced at his companion, who was still unaware of the man approaching, and nudged him gently. “Trouble,” he whispered.
Battenhyle turned, looked, and said nothing.
“Good morning,” Oberion said, in a tone that suggested he found it anything but. “I have a message from my superiors. They have decided they need both of you to come with us as far as the walls of Arishaig in order to protect against unexpected attacks on our journey home.”
Both Dwarves stared at him. “Attacks on your transports?” Lakodan asked in disbelief.
“Attacks from whom?” Battenhyle added quickly.
The lieutenant commander shook his head. “The Skaar, I guess. We need someone more familiar with employing the Reveals if an attack should occur. Our men are trained, but they are not as experienced as you. The rest of your men can continue on their way; all we need are the two of you. You will be free to go once we are safely back in Arishaig.”
“Do they think the Skaar will attempt to attack us?” Battenhyle pressed. “Even with the truce in place?”
Oberion rubbed his face with his hand. “I couldn’t say. Perhaps. I wasn’t consulted or informed until just a few minutes ago, but I was told to say that if you failed to come with us, you risked losing your protection against conscription. I know it is your decision, but for what it is worth I think you had better comply.”
“So, another promise proved false,” Lakodan sneered. “The Federation makes a habit of it.”
“What does Miss Rish say to this?” his companion asked. “Did she argue against this nonsense?”
“I couldn’t say; I wasn’t there when the conversation took place. She was simply relaying orders. But perhaps what happened to Commander Benz has put them all on edge.”
The Dwarves exchanged a furtive glance. “Choten Benz?” Lakodan asked quickly.
The young officer nodded. “It looks like he might have deserted; no one has been able to locate him all morning.”
Lakodan frowned. He knew Benz, and the man wasn’t one to desert; he took his duties seriously. But beyond that, he went missing the morning after he confronted Belladrin Rish about his suspicions? No, this had all the earmarks of something else entirely.
He was about to say as much when Battenhyle grabbed his arm and shook his head. “If you need us, we will come with you,” he told Oberion. “Please inform the commanders, will you?”
The lieutenant commander was only too happy to do so, nodding his thanks and scurrying off. The Dwarves stood silently and watched him go, then Lakodan said, “What’s going on?”
“I think our friendship with Miss Rish is over.” Battenhyle turned to him and lowered his voice. “You and I already had doubts when Benz came to us yesterday. He said he was going to speak to her—confront her, in fact.”
Lakodan nodded. “And it didn’t end well for him.”
“So it seems. But what if he said something to her about speaking with us? Now she has to dispose of us, as well—not knowing, of course, how much we were told or what sort of danger we now present. If she’s done all the things that Benz believed possible, she would not chance it.”
Lakodan rubbed his huge hands together vigorously, then threw up his arms in disgust. “Why not just kill us and be done with it?”
Battenhyle shook his head, then looked at him speculatively for a moment. “What if she doesn’t need to?”
His friend stared back at him, frowning. “What are you thinking?”
“What were we telling ourselves yesterday about another surprise attack on the Federation—one that would succeed because it would come when the camp was most exposed? If you were the Skaar king, what would be the optimal time to launch such an attack?”
“On the way back to Arishaig? Use their warships to blow the Federation right out of the sky?”
“If they attacked then, the Federation warships would be able to fight back and the Skaar would have lost their greatest advantage.”
“You mean their ability to become invisible?”
“Exactly. Wouldn’t it be smarter to strike while the airships are still on the ground and the Federation soldiers are preoccupied with moving aboard?”
Lakodan nodded slowly. “You think they intend to attack tomorrow?”
“Yes, at the moment right before we lift off. That’s when I would do it. From the ground and from the air both. If they really do intend an attack.”
“But how can we know?”
“As matters stand, we can’t. Not until it happens. So maybe a little preparation might be a good idea. And we can warn Oberion, at least.”
“He won’t believe us.”
Battenhyle nodded. “Who knows? He might. Why don’t we find out?”
* * *
—
Belladrin Rish was packing her travel bag—a small, easily carried backpack filled with a little bit of clothing and some food and water—when Battenhyle walked into her chambers. She turned at once, surprised to find him there and angry that he had walked in unannounced.
“Blessings on you, Miss Belladrin,” the Dwarf greeted her cheerfully.
“And on you, Elder.” She gave him an appraising look. “Usually, men don’t walk into a lady’s chambers without asking permission, but in your case, I will make an exception. How can I help you?”
“Well, I have a problem I must solve, and it involves you. Would you be willing to help me?”
“Always. What sort of problem could you have that would involve me?” She was suddenly uneasy. “Does this have to do with you and Lakodan accompanying us until we reach Arishaig?”
“Orders given by you, I am told—and therein lies the problem. You have done so much for us and for the Federation while acting as a personal adviser to the unfortunate Ketter Vause, but the circumstances surrounding your help are
troubling. Let’s review. Only you seem to know what the former Prime Minister intended. When the Federation delegation traveled to the Skaar king after Vause’s death, only you were present when the conversation with the Skaar king took place and the terms of the truce were reached. Only you were taken into the Prime Minister’s confidence about that mysterious letter he left. Only you were there to kill the Prime Minister’s assassin. So much of what has transpired is based on information known only to you, or to those who are dead. Do you see?”
She forced her features to remain expressionless. “What I see is a man who has worked too hard and fought too well to be speaking such nonsense. How could I have managed everything of which you seem to be accusing me? I was nothing more than an assistant to the Prime Minister. I did not make policy; I was not consulted on any of his decisions. Think about it. How could I have done what you suggest and not been caught out?”
Battenhyle skipped right past her question. “Consider the circumstances surrounding the Prime Minister’s assassination. Ketter Vause was killed in his sleep by a disgruntled solder, you say. A common soldier who bypassed numerous guards to reach the Prime Minister’s sleeping chamber? And then almost escaped until you happened to kill him? How did you manage it? You must have been the luckiest person alive. Killing a trained assassin with a single thrust is extremely difficult—especially for a young woman who, as you’ve said, was nothing more than an assistant.”
She held his gaze, but she was beginning to feel trapped. “I was lucky, Elder. I acted without thinking because I was afraid for my life. I’ve had some experience with blades, yes; my brother was in the army. Nor have I lived a sheltered life. I have had to learn to look out for myself.”
Battenhyle shrugged, his bluff face untroubled. “Maybe. But then there’s the matter of Choten Benz. Missing, presumed deserted in the night, not long after he expressed to Lakodan and myself the same concerns I have just voiced to you? He even said he was going to confront you about it. I have known Choten Benz a long time, and he is not the type to abandon his duties without giving word to anyone, no matter how unpleasant. Is it possible he came to see you about his concerns and you saw him as a threat and killed him? And now you have arranged for us to accompany you to Arishaig. Why? Keeping us close? Are you worried there might be a breach of a truce you negotiated?”