Bearers of the Black Staff

by Terry Brooks

  Phryne waited for more, and when her grandmother stayed silent, she threw up her hands in exasperation. “I thought you were going to tell me what this meeting was all about! I don’t know anything more than when I came here!”

  She was aware suddenly of the dark look her grandmother was giving her. “What is it, Grandmother? What am I missing?”

  “Enough so that this conversation becomes necessary,” her grandmother replied coldly, wrapping her shawl tighter about her. “But here is a quick summary for you. The blue Elfstones are not missing. I have them tucked away in my cottage. They were given to the Belloruus family; they belong to us and so I’ve kept them. Your father doesn’t know. No one knows except you and me. It was my intention to give them to your mother as Queen, but then she died. So I left them where they were and waited for the next member of the family to come of age.”

  Her thin hands closed over her granddaughter’s. “That would be you, Phryne. But events have conspired against me, and waiting for you to come of age is no longer possible. So I intend to give you the Elfstones now.”

  IT WAS ALREADY DARK when Skeal Eile saw her approaching, coming down the pathway that led to the outbuildings of the healing center where he had been waiting patiently for several hours. She was in the company of an old woman, a tottering ancient wrapped in shawls and scarves, bent from the weight of her years. It was the same old lady that had appeared to Xac Wen on another visit, the same old lady that was Bonnasaint in disguise. But only the assassin and the Seraphic knew that.

  Arborlon was quiet, its citizens retired mostly, gone to their homes, their day’s work done. Skeal Eile had entered the city with Bonnasaint shortly after sunset. No one had noticed them; some time back the Seraphic had acquired the skill to render himself and those with him invisible. It wasn’t so much that no one saw them; it was more that no one noticed. They would look away or look down. They would suddenly find themselves thinking of something else. They would discover a task that needed doing, and it would require their complete attention. But they would not look at him or anyone with him, and if they happened to catch a glimpse of something they would not remember it later.

  So entry into the heavily guarded city was no challenge, and finding the healing center even less so. Skeal Eile had been here before on many occasions. His efforts on behalf of the Children of the Hawk had not stopped at the boundaries of the territories occupied by Men but had extended well beyond, although few knew it. He had his followers among the Elven people, too, those who believed in the teachings and found comfort in the power of the Seraphics.

  She was one of these.

  She was heavily wrapped in a hooded cloak, her head and face covered against what small lamplight burned through the darkness. The moon was down and clouds masked the stars, so the skies were black. But she was taking no chances. She could not afford to be revealed or to have to offer explanations for what she was doing out alone at night. Most especially, she did not want to be caught in his company.

  He stepped out of the shadows as she came up to his hiding place, bowing gracefully. “My Queen,” he greeted. “How kind of you to meet with me on such short notice.”

  Isoeld Severine did not look pleased. She lifted her beautiful face to the light and scowled. “I trust this is important. I risk much in coming to you like this.”

  “You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”

  She took his arm and pushed him back into the shadows. “Must the hag stay with us?” she whispered, bending close.

  Skeal Eile leaned past her and gestured Bonnasaint away. The assassin melted into the night. The Seraphic waited a moment more and then turned back to her. “So now we are alone.” He gave her his most endearing smile. “You are well, I hope?”

  “Well enough. Come to the point.”

  “As you wish. I’ve come to make you an offer, one that I think will benefit us both, one that I’ve been contemplating for some time. It involves your husband.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Haven’t we had this discussion already? There is nothing left to say.”

  “Only in the abstract, when discussing a future in which he would not be present. We have never conceived of a means by which that future might come about.”

  “Yes, and for good reason. My husband is a member of a long-lived family, and he shows no signs of slowing down. I will be old and gray and you will be dust in the earth before he dies.”

  “But you would like him dead, wouldn’t you?”

  “You already know the answer to that question.”

  “Let me be direct. When we spoke before, there was always the problem of how to make his death look accidental, how to avoid suspicion falling on you. As well, there was the problem of his daughter, who is next in line for the throne.”

  “Sweet little Phryne,” Isoeld sneered. Her features were no longer quite so beautiful. “I despise the very air she breathes. But I am finally on the verge of winning her over. She speaks civilly to me now and seems persuaded by my words. I may yet find a way to make use of her.”

  Skeal Eile nodded. “Perhaps you won’t need to. What if we could solve both problems at once? What if we could eliminate father and daughter in one stroke and make you Queen of the Elven people under circumstances where no one would question your right to rule?”

  She stared at him wordlessly for a moment.

  “What would you say to that?” he pressed.

  “You could do this?” she asked quietly.

  “I think so. Would you like to hear how?”

  She considered. “What would you want in return? You worship the ground I walk on, I know. But I suspect that alone is not enough to satisfy you should I become Queen.”

  A birdcall sounded in the dark, and Skeal Eile pressed himself against the Queen, flattening her close to the wall of the outbuilding, deep in the shadows. On the roadway at the head of the path, a solitary figure walked past without slowing or looking and then was gone.

  Isoeld pushed him away. “That had better not be what it will take to satisfy you, Seraphic. Though it might prove amusing.”

  “What I want, my Queen, is your support. My order requires respect from more than the handful of communities in which it is already given. I am expanding its reach into those villages that still do not believe, but it goes too slowly. If the ruler of the Elves were to become an openly admitted member of the sect and urge her people to join with her, that would give me purchase that I could exploit. If their ruler were to acknowledge the value of my order and embrace my teachings, that would give me a way to expand my influence. If I were invited to visit regularly and to speak at a forum provided and endorsed by their Queen, I would gain immeasurable stature.”

  She gave him a look. “It is one thing to be seen embracing your teachings and your sect. It is another to give you free and open access to my lands. If I open that door, I am inviting the wolf to come in among the sheep. You will devour them all eventually, and where will I be then?”

  He smiled. “Better off than you are now.”

  There was a long silence as they faced each other down.

  “Let me clarify,” the Seraphic said finally. “What I want has nothing to do with encroaching on your territory. What I want is sufficient prestige to allow me to overshadow those others who claim the title of Seraphic. If I were to become the voice of the Elven people, acknowledged as such by their Queen, I would gain immense influence throughout the villages of Men. That would be enough for me to assume the mantle of supreme leader. Besides, gaining credence for my sect with a majority of the Elves seems unlikely in any case, don’t you think?”

  He could tell from her face that she wasn’t sure. “Are you really so frightened of my influence?” he challenged. “Cannot a Queen find ways to keep her people in line? Cannot a Queen manage to consolidate her power and cement her rule? Can she not put an end to any influence a Seraphic of the Children of the Hawk might wield if bounds once set are overstepped? I would think so, my lady.”


  “What of this Troll army that threatens us? What difference if I am Queen and you are acknowledged leader of the Children of the Hawk if this horde overruns us?”

  Skeal Eile shook his head. “The inevitable is upon us, my Queen. The world is changing even as we speak, the old one fading and a new one arising. Whether we defeat this army and live to fight another day or are driven from our valley into the larger world, our peoples must still have leaders of vision and ability. Would you not rather be one of those than just another follower? Who better to lead your people? Not the King, surely. Not his child daughter. No, my Queen, whatever fate awaits us all, it would be better met if you and I were in power.”

  “I cannot argue that,” she said. She thought about it again, and he remained silent now as she did so. “You would keep your distance from my people save when you were invited to visit? You ask only my verbal support of your position? Do I understand you correctly?”

  “You do,” he acknowledged, thinking that she was a bigger fool than he had imagined.

  She nodded slowly. “I do want to be Queen,” she said. “You can make this happen?”

  He smiled. “Let me tell you how.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  DELADION INCH REACHED THE DROUJ CAMP shortly before sunset of the following day, driving his armored ATV down out of the high country where he had dropped off Sider Ament and continuing on toward the flats west. Ament had told him enough so that he would know the girl he was looking for when he found her—as if there could possibly be more than one held prisoner in the Troll camp—and provided a roughly sketched map of the way back up to the pass through which he would bring her to safety. He had accepted both without comment, knowing that either might fail to help in the end, that things might change as they frequently did in a dangerous undertaking like this one.

  In truth, although he might have said something to the contrary, he did not really expect they would see each other again. Odds were against it, and he paid close attention to the odds.

  But he liked Sider Ament—genuinely liked him—enough that he hoped he was wrong and they would find each other in better times. If he hadn’t liked the other, he would never have agreed to this fool’s errand. Walking boldly into a camp of five thousand armed Trolls with the express purpose of taking something away from them that they had no intention of giving up—now, that was just plain idiotic. Didn’t matter how carefully disguised his intentions or clever his efforts, he was putting his head in the jaws of a steel trap and handing the trigger release to his enemy. You didn’t do things like that for anyone but a friend.

  Except, of course, sometimes you did things like that for yourself, which was at least partially true here. His friendship with Sider Ament aside, spiriting the girl away would be akin to rubbing the noses of Taureq Siq and his boys in the dirt, and he found the idea immensely attractive.

  He watched the Drouj camp grow closer as he eased the big crawler ahead at dead slow, rolling and heaving through the rough terrain like a great beast. Ahead, the first of the sentries appeared from their hiding places. They would recognize the vehicle and allow him to approach without attacking. Word would already be on its way to Taureq Siq, and the Maturen would be ready to receive him when he was escorted in. A part of him relished the meeting; a part of him whispered that it would be a good idea to turn around right now. Taureq Siq was unpredictable, and he had no special love for Inch. He tolerated him and sometimes even used his mercenary skills because the big man had training and weapons that the Trolls did not. As long as he found Inch useful, he would refrain from doing anything bad to him. But all that could turn around pretty fast. It was always a gamble when you got within strangling distance of the Drouj leader.

  Well, he thought, permitting himself a wry smile, he hadn’t anything better to do with his day.

  In some of his darker, wilder moments, those times when he could afford to think about doing things that were so reckless they bordered on idiotic, he imagined riding the ATV into the Drouj camp at full speed with all weapons firing, creating a killing swath of terrible proportions, leveling the hordes that would come against him, tearing apart tents and supplies and finally, ultimately, catching the Siq family in a murderous firestorm that would put an end to them once and for all. He thought about it again now, a momentary indulgence, fueled by a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of what lay ahead. Didn’t matter that he would end up dead, too. Didn’t matter that he would go the way of the Trolls and be another of yesterday’s memories. Sometimes that was enough.

  When you were a mercenary of the sort he was, you thought about dying all the time. If it bothered you, it was time to get out of the business.

  He rolled the ATV to a stop in front of the pair of Troll sentries who blocked his way, their impassive faces hiding the fear he knew they were feeling, and switched off the engine. Opening the gull-wing door, he climbed out and stretched, taking his time about it. He wore his black leathers and his body armor and carried both the flechette and the spray, one strapped over each broad shoulder. He’d belted knives at his waist and ankles and hooked several flash-bangs to his vest. He looked and felt dangerous.

  Giving the sentries a smile, he closed the ATV door and punched the locking numbers on the keypad, alarming and arming it both. Get too close and it would howl like a banshee. Touch it and you risked finding yourself missing a few body parts. Try breaking in and you turned everything for fifty yards in all directions into charred lumps. The Drouj knew this; he had warned them often enough. Once, early on, he had given them a demonstration of his experience with explosives, one that didn’t involve any killing or maiming, but made his point about what might happen. It was sufficiently impressive that no one had chosen to test him on his warnings since. No one would today, either.

  “Cudjion!” he greeted the sentries in their own language, using a general appellation meant as a designation for warriors. He gave them a friendly wave and walked over to greet them as if they were all comrades-in-arms. “Ejow mik su keshonen Maturen Taureq Siq.”

  The sentries nodded. They already knew why he was there.

  Or thought they did.

  He followed them into the Troll camp, taller and broader than most, a big man looking easy and confident in his walk. He took his time, forcing the sentries leading him to follow his pace rather than trying to set their own. Once, early on, they had tried to take away his weapons on orders from Taureq Siq. He had advised them in no uncertain terms that they were not to do this. If the Maturen wanted his services, he had to accept Inch on the latter’s terms, not his own. Expecting him to give up his weapons while alone and surrounded by Trolls was just nonsense. Besides, what was he going to do? Was he going to suddenly start killing everyone around him when he was one man against so many? Taureq Siq had apparently decided not because he never asked him to disarm again.

  If he had known Inch better, he would have insisted on it. He would have realized that the big man always thought about killing everyone around him, just because that was how he kept his edge.

  Once, Grosha had tried to take the spray away from him. The boy was a fool, but he was dangerous, too. Inch had knocked him back a dozen feet and leveled the spray at him. He might have killed him, too, if he hadn’t thought Grosha so funny at the time. He didn’t think him funny now, and sometimes he thought everyone would have been better off if he had just done what his instincts told him when he had the chance.

  Maybe today, he told himself. It was a good day for it.

  After he found the girl.

  The sentries brought him up to Taureq Siq’s command tent, where the Maturen was waiting for him, standing in front of the tent flaps with his sycophants and retainers and his miserable younger son. No sign of the elder, which might mean he was still inside the valley. It would be too bad for him if he was. Sider Ament would find him and put an end to him; Inch was certain of it. He’d seen the look in the other’s eyes when he’d learned the truth. Revelation, rage, and murderous determina
tion—they were all visible. Scary, even to a seasoned veteran like himself. Sider wasn’t the kind you wanted to antagonize, and the Maturen’s elder son had gone way beyond that.

  Inch came up to Taureq Siq, giving him a friendly greeting in the form of hands outstretched and palms turned up. It signified that he came openly and without bad intentions. A dreadful lie, but what could you do? The Maturen gave him a small nod and nothing more. Trusted nobody, that one. Inch knew why. Taureq was always expecting the worst of everyone and was seldom disappointed. One day Inch, too, would live up to his expectations.

  He barely spared a glance at Grosha as he addressed the boy’s father in his own tongue. “Cudjion, Taureq. Word is you’ve made plans to make a new home in a valley beyond those mountains.” He pointed off to the east, toward where he had left Sider Ament to make his way back. “I thought you might need someone with my skills to help you get settled.”

  The Maturen gave him a hard look. “How do you know of this? The Trolls don’t speak of it.”

  Inch shrugged. “I met a man, one from the valley. He spoke to me about you. Said you had one of his people. He wanted to know what I could tell him about you, what I knew that might help him decide how to stop you. I told him he had better find a new home far, far away.”

  Grosha started forward a step, snarling. “You spoke to someone about us?” he demanded. “You gave him information?”

  “What I told him, he already knew.” Deladion Inch spoke to the father, ignoring the son. “What matters is that I know where to find the entrance to the valley, so maybe that’s information you can use. Maybe I can be of service, if there’s something in it for me.”