by Terry Brooks
Then abruptly, light exploded from the crystals in a deep cerulean starburst, brightened until the sun itself disappeared behind the enveloping blue, then shot away into the distance in a blinding flare. It arced away through the trees and beyond, through mountains and hills and the curve of the earth itself. Some of what they saw was recognizable—the Dragon’s Teeth and the Charnals, the Mermidon and the Chard Rush, even the sweep of the Streleheim and the dismal emptiness of the Malg. Forests came and went, one a shelter for gardens that eclipsed in beauty and complexity anything they had ever seen, a profusion of flowers and silvery waterfalls painted against a shimmering backdrop of green.
When the light finally came to rest, somewhere so far away that the distance could barely be calculated, it was illuminating a strange tree. The tree was huge, larger than the black oaks of Callahorn, broad-limbed and wide-leafed. Its bark was smooth, a mottled black and gray. Its leaves were deepest green with an orange border. The tree was bathed in dappled sunlight and surrounded by a dense forest of more familiar trees—oaks, elms, hickories, maples, and the like. Beyond the trees, nothing was visible. The tree seemed incredibly old, even in the wash of the Elfstones’ light, and Pen felt certain as he looked upon it that it was as old as Faerie. He could feel its intelligence, even in what was no more than a vision. He could sense its life force, slow and rhythmic as a quiet heartbeat.
The blue light held steady for a moment, then flared once and was gone, leaving the watchers staring at nothing, half-blind and stunned by the suddenness and intensity of the experience. They blinked at each other in the ensuing silence, the image of the tree and it surroundings still vivid in their minds.
Ahren Elessedil closed his fingers about the Elfstones. “Now we know,” he said.
“Or think we do,” Tagwen grumbled.
Pen swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. He was dizzy at what seeing the tree had made him feel, deep inside where instincts governed thought. “No, Tagwen, that was it,” he said softly. “I could feel it. That was the tanequil.”
Ahren Elessedil nodded. “We are settled on what we must do.” He dumped the Elfstones back into their pouch and tucked the pouch into his tunic. “Time slips away, and it doesn’t favor us by doing so. Let’s move quickly.”
FOURTEEN
Midday at Paranor was dark and forbidding, the skies gone black with storm clouds and the air as still as death. There had been no sunlight all day, only a hazy glow at sunrise before the enveloping clouds screened even that away. Birds had long since gone to roost in sheltering havens, and the winds had died away to nothing. The world was hushed and waiting in expectation of thunder and lightning and fury.
Shadea a’Ru glanced through the open window of her chambers, her face a mirror of the weather. She should have felt triumph and satisfaction, a reward for her successes. She had dispatched Grianne Ohmsford into the Forbidding and taken her place. The Druid Council, albeit with some reluctance and after considerable debate, had named her Ard Rhys. Her cohorts controlled all the major positions on the council, and Sen Dunsidan, as Prime Minister of the Federation, had officially recognized her as head of the order. The Rock Trolls under Kermadec had been dismissed and sent home in disgrace, blamed for the disappearance of the Ard Rhys and, in more than a few corners, suspected as the cause for it, as well. Everything had worked out perfectly, exactly as she had hoped and planned.
Except for that boy.
She ran her fingers distractedly through her chopped-off blond hair, letting the short ends slip through her fingers like the loose threads of her perfect plan. It was all because of Terek Molt, who was the most reliable of her coconspirators and the one Druid she thought she could depend upon. To let that boy—that slip of a boy—make a fool of him like that was unforgivable. It was bad enough that none of them had thought to lock up Tagwen, who they should have known would not sit idly by and do nothing after his beloved Ard Rhys disappeared, but to lose the boy, as well, was too much. She should have taken care of the matter herself, but it was impossible for her to do everything.
She stalked to the door and stood staring at it a moment, thinking to go out again to calm herself. She had walked the corridors earlier, an intimidating presence to the Druids she now commanded. They would obey her because she was Ard Rhys, but also because they were afraid of her. No one would challenge her openly while she had the backing of Molt and the others and the Ard Rhys was gone, though some would plot behind her back, just as they had plotted against Grianne Ohmsford. She could do nothing about them until they tried to act, but she could let them know she was watching and waiting to catch them out.
She walked back to the window and looked out again. The first sharp gusts of wind were rippling the tree limbs, signaling the approach of the rainstorm. She had half a mind to put all of them out into it, every last Druid—to make them hike to the Kennon Pass and back again as an exercise in deprivation and humility. Some of them might not come back, and it wouldn’t make her unhappy if they didn’t.
Her thoughts returned to Tagwen and the boy. They might have escaped her for the moment, she thought, but sooner or later she would find them again. The parents, as well. She had Druids and airships looking for all of them and had put out the word to all corners of the Four Lands. She had kept it simple. The ones she sought were members of Grianne Ohmsford’s family and they were in danger. Help could be given them at Paranor, where their Druid protectors would keep them safe. Anyone seeing them was to send word. As incentive, she had offered a substantial reward. Most would ignore the offer, but the greedy among them would look around. Someone would see the boy and his Dwarf companion and report them. And when they were found, she would deal with them herself.
She was contemplating the satisfaction that enterprise would give her, when a sharp knock sounded, and without bothering to wait for her to respond, Terek Molt barged in.
“What do you think you are doing?” she snapped at him. “Rooms have doors for a reason, Molt!”
“We’ve found them,” he rumbled in his deep, subterranean voice, ignoring her. “West, across the Mermidon.”
She started. “Tagwen and the boy?”
“Only moments ago, someone used Elfstone magic. It was visible on the scrye waters in the cold chamber. Iridia was there to see it. There is no mistaking what it is.”
The cold chamber was where the Druids read the lines of power that crisscrossed the Four Lands. The scrye waters were the table of liquid on which all uses of magic revealed themselves as ripples that indicated the extent of the power expended. Grianne Ohmsford herself had implemented it at Paranor more than a dozen years ago, a tool she had employed as the Ilse Witch.
“Elfstones?” she asked. She did not yet understand the connection.
“Of course, Shadea,” he said, smiling with such satisfaction that she wanted to tear his face off. “They’ve escaped us and gone for help from the one Druid who might actually give it.”
“The Elven Prince!” she hissed. “But he doesn’t have the use of the Elfstones. His brother keeps them.”
“Not so well protected that he couldn’t get to them if he chose. He would do so to save the Ard Rhys. No, it has to be him. The readings come from that part of the Westland where he keeps his home. Tagwen would know to go there and take the boy with him.”
“I am surprised they chanced using the Stones. Ahren Elessedil must know we will be watching for any use of magic.”
“But how else can he find the Ard Rhys?” Molt pointed out. “He has no choice but to use the Stones.”
She nodded slowly, thinking it through. “True enough. He can’t know what we’ve done to her, even if he suspects we’re responsible, unless he uses the Stones.” She hesitated. “Wait. Did you say that Iridia was the one who discovered this use?”
Terek Molt’s laugh was low and rough. “I thought of that, too. I asked her if she was certain. She insisted there was no mistake. It was Elfstone magic. I told her she had better be sure, since y
ou would question it. She is waiting to speak with you in the cold chamber.” He paused, a faint smile twisting his mouth at the corners. “She wants to be the one to go after him.”
“I would expect nothing less. Such a fool.”
She walked to the window and stared out at the darkening skies. She could not leave the matter to Iridia, but then Terek Molt had not proved particularly adept at settling things, either. She should do this herself, yet she did not think it wise to leave Paranor just yet. She was too newly settled in as Ard Rhys. Someone else must make certain that Tagwen and the boy, and now Ahren Elessedil, as well, did not succeed in their efforts.
“Perhaps we should let this matter lie,” Terek Molt said quietly. “After all, even if they know what we have done with the Ard Rhys, there is nothing they can do to help her.”
“Is that so?” she asked without bothering to look at him. “Are you so certain?”
“Certain enough.”
“You assume too much. Besides, they can cause us a great deal of trouble, even if they cannot reach her. I don’t want to chance it. Better that we remove them from the picture.”
“That could cause us more trouble still. Others will know what we have done. Killing a boy and an old man is one thing. Killing a Druid is something else again. That’s what you intend, isn’t it?”
“I intend to do whatever is necessary to make certain our efforts do not fail. I expect you to do likewise.” She turned back to him. “Ready the Galaphile, but do not tell Iridia. I don’t trust her in this matter, not where Ahren Elessedil is concerned. She may think she can blind herself to her feelings, but I don’t care to chance it. Better that she remain here. I will tell her after you are gone. Given the look of the weather, you won’t leave today. If the storm passes by nightfall, leave then.”
He turned for the door.
“Stay a moment,” she said. “I have more to say to you. Heed me well. Are you listening, Terek?”
The Dwarf turned back slowly, brow darkening in anticipation of what he knew was coming. “Speak your mind, woman.”
“First,” she said, walking over to stand directly in front of him, “don’t come into this room again until you are invited. Not for any reason.”
She waited for his response. He grunted and shrugged.
“Second, don’t fail me again. I would not be pleased if you did.”
He laughed. “I am less concerned about pleasing you than pleasing myself, so spare me your threats. The matter of finding and dispatching the boy and the old man has become personal. I don’t like to be tricked. They used magic of some sort or I would have had them. I intend to see that accounts between us are settled.”
She held his fierce gaze a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. But that may not prove to be so easy now that you must contend with Ahren Elessedil, as well. Dispatching him may prove troublesome, even for you. So I am sending someone to help.”
The Dwarf glowered at her. “Who? If not Iridia …”
“Another Druid would only muck up the waters. You don’t need another Druid to get this business settled.” She paused. “I’m going to send Aphasia Wye.”
Terek Molt turned his head aside, though barely, and spit very deliberately on her carpet. “No.”
“This isn’t open to debate.”
“I won’t put that monster on any ship I command. Get someone else, if you think you can.”
“I don’t want anyone else. If I wanted someone else, I wouldn’t be talking with you! Where is your backbone? Are you afraid? Think how it will it look if you stay behind after failing so badly the first time. Some will see it as a weakness, and you can’t afford that.” She drew her robes about her in a dismissive fashion. “Be smart about this, Druid. You are the best of the lot and you know it. I depend on you. Don’t make me question my faith in you.”
“You’ve never had faith in anyone but yourself, Shadea.”
“Think what you want. What matters is that you understand that Aphasia Wye is coming with you. Stop worrying. He won’t dare to cross you.”
The Dwarf snorted derisively. “Aphasia Wye will cross anyone if opportunity allows for it. He’s a monster, Shadea. There isn’t anything that creature won’t do—or anyone he won’t do it to. Shades, we don’t even know what he really is!”
She laughed. “He’s the most efficient assassin I have ever seen! What more do you want him to be? I don’t care what sex or race or breed he is! I don’t care how loathsome you find him! You’re not partnering with him! You’re putting him to work! Stop whining!”
Terek Molt was seething, his chiseled face turned red, the muscles of his forearms knotted. He was as dangerous at that moment as she had ever seen him, and if she was foolish enough to give him an opening, he would kill her before she could blink. But she faced him down, keeping his eyes locked on hers and making him see that no matter how dangerous he was, she was more dangerous still.
“Don’t even think it, Dwarf,” she hissed softly. “Remember who I am.”
He glared at her a moment longer, then looked away, furious still, but no longer threatening. “Someday you will go too far with me, Shadea.” His voice was eerily calm. “Be careful of that day.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, reaching past him to open the door. “But until then, you will listen to me when I tell you what to do. Go ready the airship. When the storm passes, you will sail at once.”
His big hands tightened into fists as he considered saying something more. Then, without doing so, he turned his back on her and walked away.
She waited until he was well away and her frustration with his recalcitrance had faded before she departed for the cold chamber to find Iridia Eleri. The sorceress would not be happy with what Shadea intended to tell her. Unfortunately, disappointing Iridia was unavoidable, because the sorceress was only as reliable as her control over her feelings about Ahren Elessedil, which meant she was not reliable at all. Iridia had set her mind on the matter long ago, and Shadea was not going to be able to change it, even if she tried.
Love was like that.
Denial only sharpened its edges.
Shadea entered the cold chamber and found Iridia standing at the broad stone basin set in its center, bending close as she read the movement of its contents. The scrye waters were shallow and deep green, shielded from the elements by the walls of the tower and the sides of the basin. Disturbances came solely from magic channeled through the earth’s lines of power. Just then they manifested themselves as concentric ripples fanning out from a point just west of center. Iridia’s slender hands moved in time to the ripples, as if to trace their liquid ridges back to her doomed love. Her perfect features radiated her intensity, a mix of light and dark, pale skin and black hair. Her Elven features were drawn taut by her concentration, emphasizing what could be both passionate and cruel about her. Shadea stood in the doorway and watched her for a long time, observing. Iridia, captive to her memories and her dreams, didn’t even know Shadea was there. It was possible that the madness Iridia had always seemed so close to embracing was finally coming to her.
“Iridia!” she called sharply.
The sorceress turned at once. “Have you heard?”
Shadea walked over to her. “Terek told me of it. Is there no chance that you are mistaken?”
The delicate features hardened. “What do you take me for? I don’t make mistakes of that sort. It was Elfstone magic, which means it could be him. I want to make certain of it, Shadea. You will have to send someone in any case. It should be me.”
Shadea shook her head. “It should be anyone but you. What will you do if you find him and he looks at you and you cannot act? Don’t tell me it cannot happen because I know better. I was there, Iridia, when you lost him. You were inconsolable for weeks. He was the one you wanted—the one you will always want.”
“I don’t deny that!” she snapped. “But that part of my life is over. I am committed to our efforts here. If he stands in our way, if he acts to help her, then I
want him dead! I have the right to watch him die. I ask nothing more than that. If he is to be killed, I want to be there to see it. I want my face to be the last face he sees in this life!”
Shadea sighed. “You only think you want that. What you want is for him to take you back again, to tell you that he loves you still, despite what has happened. If he were to do so, you would abandon your cause and us in a heartbeat. No, wait, Iridia—don’t lie to yourself. You would, and you know it. Why wouldn’t you? I don’t condemn it. I would do the same in your place.”
“You would do nothing of the sort,” the other woman sneered. “You have never loved anyone but yourself. Don’t pretend to understand me. I know love compels me, but it compels me in ways other than those you seem so quick to attribute. Love doesn’t compel me to embrace him; it compels me to see him suffer!”
“Yes, but not at your hands.” Shadea moved away, gazing out the tower window at the enfolding darkness and roiling storm clouds. Outside, the wind began to howl and the rain to fall in heavy curtains that lashed the stone walls.
“Better at my hands, where we can be certain of the result, than at the hands of Terek Molt, who has already failed us once!”
“Better at another’s hands entirely. I am sending Aphasia Wye to make certain the job is done right.”
She glimpsed Iridia’s face out of the corner of her eye, and the look confirmed what she had already decided about the other’s feelings for Ahren Elessedil.
“Iridia,” she said softly, turning back. “Distance yourself from this matter. Leave it to others to determine what is needed. You have suffered enough at the hands of the Elven Prince. He has betrayed you already and would do so again. His loyalty is to her, not to you. That will never change. To place yourself in a position where you must test your resolve is foolish and dangerous. It asks too much of you.”
The sorceress stiffened, her lips tightening to a thin, hard line, her perfect features cast in iron. “And you think too little of me. I am not a fool, Shadea. I am your equal and in some ways your better. I have experiences you do not; don’t be so quick to dismiss me as a lovesick child.”