by Terry Brooks
The Rock Trolls had never been a popular choice as protectors of the Druids. Elves had been used traditionally, a practice begun by Galaphile during the First Druid Council. An Elf himself, Galaphile had felt more comfortable relying on his own people in the wake of the destruction of the Old World and a thousand years of barbarism. Elven Hunters had warded the Druids until the fall of Paranor at the hands of the Warlock Lord. When the Third Council was convened, it was thought that Elves would be called upon again. But the Ard Rhys did not trust Kylen Elessedil sufficiently to rely on him to choose her protectors. By the time of his death, she was already committed to Kermadec and his Rock Trolls. Perhaps she felt more comfortable with them because her relationship with Kermadec did not owe anything to politics. She liked the independence of the Trolls; they gave their allegiance only when they felt it necessary and did not give it lightly. If they were your allies, you could rely on them.
None of that history would help the situation if Shadea managed to manipulate it, as she obviously intended. The Rock Trolls had responsibility for the safety of the Ard Rhys, and the Ard Rhys had disappeared right under their noses. It wouldn’t take much effort for the sorceress to convince the order that the blame should be laid squarely at their feet.
Tagwen glared at Shadea. “Kermadec won’t come inside; you know that.”
“I do,” she agreed. “But if he doesn’t, then I will take that as proof of his complicity in whatever has happened and dismiss him along with all of his Trolls. I don’t want them guarding the rest of us if they can’t do any better job of it than they did with the Ard Rhys.” She paused, a finger lifting to rest lightly on one cheek. “Refusing to come into the Keep suggests he is hiding something, Tagwen. If he isn’t, he should tell us so—all of us, who depend on him for our safety. Tell him I said he should explain himself, if he can.”
“Who gave you the right to tell anyone what to do, Shadea a’Ru?” the Dwarf demanded, standing his ground. “You don’t command the Druid order.”
She smiled. “Someone has to, in the Ard Rhys’ absence. My name has already been put forth. I will serve as best I can, but serve I will. I can do no less.” She looked past him at the empty room. “Go on, Tagwen. Do what I tell you.”
He started to object again, to say something so terrible it would leave no doubt about how he felt. Then he realized that an unguarded response might be exactly what she was hoping for. Something bad was going on, and he was beginning to believe that Shadea had a part in it.
He held his tongue. Better to keep his head. Better to stay free. Someone needed to tell Kermadec what was happening, to warn him of the danger.
Nodding curtly, he went out the door and down the hallway, his eyes downcast, his face flushed. A part of him wanted to run out of there as fast as he could and not come back. He was suddenly afraid, looking about as he went at the faces of those he passed, seeing suspicion and doubt and in some cases outright anger. As Shadea had said, the word was already out. Schemes were being hatched and alliances formed. If the Ard Rhys did not resurface soon, everything was going to go Shadea’s way.
On impulse, he made a short detour to the Rock Troll living quarters in the north courtyard and asked one of the watch commanders to bring a dozen of his men to the north gates on orders of the Ard Rhys. The commander did not argue. Tagwen had carried messages of this sort to him before from time to time; there was nothing unusual about this one.
Once outside the walls of the keep, Tagwen went to the edge of the forest and called for Kermadec. He knew the Maturen was camped somewhere just beyond the north gates. Waiting, he rubbed his beard and folded his arms across his burly chest, trying to think what he could do to stop Shadea from taking control.
“Bristle Beard!” Kermadec called with a laugh. His guttural tongue was rough-edged and resonant as he stepped out of the trees and stretched out his hand in greeting. “What’s the matter with you? You look as if you swallowed something sour. Could your day be going better, old Dwarf?”
Tagwen clasped hands with the Troll. “It could. But yours isn’t looking so good, either.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Better listen carefully to me, Kermadec. I don’t know how much time we’ve got, but it isn’t much.”
Quickly, he explained what had happened to the Ard Rhys, then what had brought him down to find Kermadec. The Rock Troll listened silently and without interrupting, then looked up expectantly as his watch commander and a dozen fully armed Trolls appeared through the gates.
“I thought it best that you not be left alone, whatever you decide,” Tagwen explained. “I don’t like what’s happening in there. Shadea is manipulating things in a way that suggests she intends to take control of the order. When the Ard Rhys reappears, this will stop quick enough, but in the meantime I think you are at some risk.”
The Maturen nodded. “Shadea a’Ru wouldn’t dare this if she didn’t have reason to believe it would succeed. That isn’t good. I don’t know what’s become of the Ard Rhys, but she hasn’t been down here since she went inside after our return. I don’t suppose it will hurt to tell you we were in the ruins of the Skull Kingdom, looking into rumors of strange fires and shadow movements. We saw something of them while we were there, a clear indication of magic at work. The Ard Rhys intended to visit the shades of the Druids at the Hadeshorn to ask their advice on the matter. But I don’t think she would have gone there without me. Or at least without letting me know.”
“Or me either, though she might not tell me as much as you about what she was doing.” Tagwen looked put-upon. “But she wouldn’t just leave.”
“Something has happened to her, then,” Kermadec said, anger reflected in his blunt features. “It may have something to do with what we witnessed in the Knife Edge. Or it may have something to do with what’s happening here. I don’t trust Shadea or her friends. Or a whole lot of the others, for that matter. Druids in name only, no friends to the Ard Rhys or to the Druid cause.”
Tagwen hugged himself. “I don’t know what to do, Kermadec,” he admitted.
The Rock Troll walked over to the watch commander and spoke quietly with him for a moment. The watch commander listened, nodded, and disappeared with his men back inside the walls. Kermadec returned to Tagwen.
“I’m pulling all the Trolls out of the Keep and down to the gates. We will stand watch there for another few days. If the Ard Rhys returns, things can go back to where they were. If she doesn’t and we’re dismissed, we’ll go. As long as we hold the gates, we can keep ourselves safe. Shadea can order us out, but she can’t do much more than that.”
“Don’t be too sure of that. She has command of powerful magic, Kermadec. Even your Trolls will be at risk.” The Dwarf paused. “You won’t go inside, will you? Promise me you won’t.”
Kermadec grunted. “Oh, come now, Tagwen. You know what would happen if I did. Shadea and her bunch would have me in irons quicker than you could blink. It would suit them perfectly to announce that I was responsible for the disappearance of the Ard Rhys. Neither truth nor common sense would prove much of an obstacle to the expediency of having me locked up until things could be sorted out. Besides, the matter is likely already decided. I’m to be cast as the villain, even if no proof is ever offered. Wiser heads would prevail in different circumstances, but not here. I told the Ard Rhys she would be better off dismissing the whole lot of them and starting over. But she wouldn’t listen. She never does.” He shook his head. “I can’t help thinking that her stubbornness has something to do with what’s happened to her.”
“I wouldn’t argue the point,” Tagwen said. He was wishing he had been more insistent about her precautions while inside the walls. He was wishing he had stayed in her bedchamber last night to keep watch.
“I think I might go back into the ruins of Skull Mountain and take another look around,” Kermadec announced. His blunt features tightened, eyes shifting away from the Dwarf. “I might see something more, might find something. I don’t think I can sit around
here doing nothing. My men don’t need me; they know what to do.”
“You don’t want to go into the Skull Kingdom alone,” Tagwen said, shaking his head for emphasis. “It’s too dangerous up there. You’ve said so yourself, many times.”
The Maturen nodded. “Then I won’t go alone. I’ll take someone with me, someone who’s a match for spirits and dark magic. But what about you, Bristle Beard? You can’t go back inside, either. Shadea will have you in irons, as well, as soon as she thinks of it. Or worse. You’re in some danger, too.”
Tagwen stared at him. He hadn’t considered the possibility of anything happening to himself. But he remembered the looks cast his way by some of the Druids he had passed. Anyone capable of making the Ard Rhys disappear wouldn’t have much trouble doing the same with him. It might be convenient if he did, given the fact that he was likely to raise a considerable fuss if they tried to name a new Ard Rhys.
Which, he supposed, was exactly what Shadea a’Ru was trying to do right that minute. He was dismayed at the prospect. He could do nothing to prevent it.
“I’ll go with you,” he said, not much liking the idea of visiting the Skull Kingdom but liking less the idea of staying on alone at Paranor.
Kermadec shook his head. “I have a better idea. The Ard Rhys has a brother living at a way station called Patch Run on the Rainbow Lake. The family operates an airship service that hires out to fly expeditions into remote regions of the Four Lands. He and his Rover wife are airship pilots.”
“I know,” Tagwen interrupted. “The Ard Rhys told me about them. His name is Bek.”
“The point is, the brother has the use of magic, too. He and his sister are pretty close, even though they don’t see all that much of each other these days. Someone ought to tell him what’s happened. He might be able to use his magic to find her.”
Tagwen nodded doubtfully. “It’s worth a try, I guess. Even if she shows up in the meantime, maybe he can talk some sense into her about what’s happening at Paranor. We don’t seem to be able to.”
The big Troll reached down and placed his hands on the Dwarf’s sturdy shoulders. “Don’t be gloomy, old friend. The Ard Rhys has a lot of experience at staying alive.”
Tagwen nodded, wondering if that was what matters had come to, that his mistress was fighting for her life.
“Let’s find her,” the Maturen said quietly. “Let’s bring her safely home.”
Shadea had dismissed the Trolls standing guard at the door of the Ard Rhys’ bedchamber and was conducting a thorough search of the rooms, just in case anything incriminating or useful was lying about, when Iridia Eleri appeared. The Elven sorceress’s cold, perfect features radiated triumph, and she gave her coconspirator a satisfied nod.
“We have approached them all and won them over, or at least the larger part of them,” Iridia said. “Most have committed to supporting you as temporary Ard Rhys until this matter can be sorted out. Almost all are suspicious of the Trolls, wondering how they could have kept adequate watch and still let this happen. There is enough confusion and doubt that they are ready to blame anyone at whom a willing finger points.” She glanced around. “Have you found anything?”
Shadea shook her head. “Tagwen took her notes when he left to convey my message to Kermadec. I didn’t see him do so or I would have stopped him. He may have taken more than that, but it doesn’t matter. We have what we want. Neither he nor the Troll will be back inside.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Iridia’s strange eyes had a hard look to them, as if her thoughts were of darker things still. “The Trolls have withdrawn from the Keep and massed at the gates, taking up watch. It looks like they are expecting trouble, but intend to hold their place for as long as they can.”
Shadea a’Ru nodded slowly, staring back at Iridia, thinking that nothing was easy, not even now. “We’ll let them be for the moment. After I’ve been named Ard Rhys, I’ll deal with them myself.”
“Kermadec isn’t with them. I don’t know where he’s gone. Tagwen has disappeared, as well. We might want to think about finding them.” Iridia stepped close, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “We might want to think about another possible hindrance to our plans. Her brother, the one who lives below the Rainbow Lake—if he finds out what has happened, he might decide to do something about it. He has her magic and strong ties with the Rovers. He could cause a lot of trouble for us.”
Sen Dunsidan had said the same thing. For a moment Shadea wondered at the coincidence, then dismissed it as nothing more. It was a logical consideration for all of them, one she might have been too quick to dismiss before.
“Do we know where her brother can be found?”
Iridia nodded. “A way station called Patch Run.”
Shadea took her arm and smiled. “Let’s send someone to tell him ourselves.”
Seven
Penderrin Ohmsford came out of his crouch in the forward compartment of the cat-28’s starboard pontoon, rocked back on his heels, and surveyed his handiwork. He had just finished resplicing both sets of radian draws off the single mast to stacked sets of parse tubes mounted fore and aft on both pontoons, giving the small sailing vessel almost double the power of anything flying in her class. The stacked tubes were his own design, conceived late one night as he lay thinking about what he might do to make her faster. He was always thinking about ways to improve her, his passion for airships and flying easily a match for that of the other members of his family, and when your uncle was Redden Alt Mer, that was saying something.
He had built the cat two years earlier at the beginning of his apprenticeship with his father. It was the first major project he had undertaken on his own. It was a rite of passage experience that demonstrated he should no longer be considered a boy, although he was still only in his teens. The vessel he chose to construct was a twenty-eight-foot catamaran—thus the cat-28 designation. It was a racing vessel, not a fighting ship, its decking mostly sloped and its gunwales low, its pontoons only slightly curved and lacking rams, and its sleeping compartment set into the decking right below the pilot box and barely large enough to lie down in. Its single mast was rigged with a mainsail and a jib, and all of its spares and gear were stored in holds in the pontoons.
It was a fast ship to begin with, but Penderrin was not the sort to take something as it was and leave it alone. Even with his parents’ larger airships, the ones outfitted for long-term expeditions and rough weather, he was always experimenting with ways to make them better. He had been living around airships all his life, and working on them had become second nature. He wished his parents would let him fly more, would give him a chance at the larger ships, especially Swift Sure, their favorite, the one they were on now, somewhere out in the Wolfsktaag Mountains. But like all parents, they seemed convinced that it was better to bring him along slowly and to make certain he was old enough before he was allowed to do the things he had learned to do years earlier.
His full name was Penderrin, but everyone called him Pen except for his mother, who insisted on calling him Penderrin because it was the name she had chosen and she liked the sound of it. And his uncle, who called him Little Red, for reasons that had something to do with his mother and their early years together. Pen’s long hair was a dusky auburn, a mix between his mother’s flaming red tresses and his father’s dark ones, so he supposed Little Red was an apt nickname, even if it irritated him to be called something his mother was once called. But he liked his uncle, who his mother had told him to call Big Red, so he was willing to put up with a few things he wouldn’t have tolerated otherwise. At least his uncle let him do some of the things his parents wouldn’t, including piloting the big airships that flew the Blue Divide. His blue eyes brightened. In another couple of months, he would get a chance to visit Big Red in the coastal town of March Brume and fly with him again. It was something he was looking forward to.
He stood up and surveyed the cat-28 one more time, making sure everything was as it should be. For now, he would have
to satisfy himself with flying his single-mast, small to be sure, but quick and sturdy, and best of all, his. He would test her out in the morning to make certain the splicings were done properly and the controls for feeding the ambient light down through the radian draws operating as they should. It was tricky business, splitting off draws to channel energy to more than one parse tube, but he had mastered the art sufficiently that he felt confident this latest effort would work.
He glanced at the late afternoon sky, noting that the heavy mist lying over the Rainbow Lake had thickened with the approach of storm clouds out of the north. The sun had disappeared entirely, not even visible as the hazy ball it had been earlier. Nightfall was approaching and the light was failing fast. There would be no sunset this day. If the storm didn’t blow through that night, visibility would be down to nothing by morning and he would have to find something to do besides test out his splicing.
“Rat droppings,” he muttered. He didn’t like waiting for anything.
He finished putting his tools back into their box and jumped down off the cat-28. It was in dry dock, tethered close to the ground and out of the water until he was ready to take her out for her test run. If a storm was coming, he had to make ready for it, although the cat was secure enough and Steady Right, the other big expedition airship, was anchored in a sheltered part of the cove. With his parents gone east, he was responsible for taking care of the airships and equipment until they returned, which wasn’t likely to happen for at least another two months. It was all familiar territory to him, though. He had looked after things since he was twelve, and he knew what was needed in almost any situation. What he missed when his parents were away was being out there with them. It reminded him that they still thought of him as a boy.