by Terry Brooks
“Paranor?” the boy exclaimed in surprise. He looked at Bombax with fresh eyes. “Is that where you’re from?”
Bombax nodded.
“You’re a Druid?”
He nodded again.
“You want to go back there?”
Another nod. Bombax wrote a second word in the dust:
AIRSHIP
The boy frowned. “You want me to find you an airship?”
Bombax shook his head. He was getting frustrated with being unable to talk. He pointed at himself.
“Oh, you’ve got an airship and you want me to get you to it?”
Bombax nodded.
The boy, who had been kneeling next to him, stood up. He used his boot to rub out the words that Bombax had scrawled in the dust. “Can you get on your feet and walk?”
Bombax nodded. He struggled up, but then stood in place swaying unsteadily. His legs didn’t seem to want to move and his head was spinning.
The boy laughed. “Well, you can’t walk far, that’s sure! You better let me help you. Here, put your arm around me.”
The boy moved next to him and helped him loop his arm across his shoulders. The boy adjusted himself, put an arm around the Druid’s waist, and started walking him one step at a time. Slowly, they crossed the warehouse floor toward the door at the far end, an endless, torturous process that quickly sapped what little strength Bombax could muster. They made it to the door and back outside. The day was gray and cloudy, and the air was filled with the smells of fish and kelp. Out in the bay that opened off the Runne, fishermen were working their nets and stringing lines. The boy stopped long enough to take a cautious look around the docks before starting up again.
They continued this way back along the dockside, following the wall of the warehouse to where another warehouse began. Beyond that, several more warehouses were visible, dark and looming and dilapidated. Solid ground looked to be a long, long way off.
“Don’t worry, we don’t have to go far now.” He could hear the boy huffing as he spoke. “But we can’t stop. Not out in the open like this. Should have asked you who did this so I would know who to look for. That’s it. Keep moving. Down over here. See those steps?”
They reached a set of rickety wooden stairs that led down to the water and a small platform to which a skiff was tied. Together they maneuvered down the steps to the platform and climbed into the boat, where an exhausted Bombax sat down heavily, shoulders hunched, head hanging between his legs as he gasped for air.
Deek Trink knelt next to him, the tiny boat wobbling with the shifting of his weight. “You get down on the floor between the seats and I’ll cover you with a canvas. Can’t risk you being seen until we’re away from here. I’ll row us out from this dock and back to shore where I can hide you until I get your airship close by. I don’t think you’re going to get to it on your own. Or even with me to help carry you. Can you tell me how to find it? Tell me where it’s moored? I can fly it, if it’s not too big.”
Bombax nodded. He was so dizzy and sapped of strength that it was all he could do to focus on the boy’s words. He had never felt like this. It made him wonder what sort of drug the Mwellret had fed him.
“Good enough. Save it for later, though. We need to get out of here first. Lie down, now. Let me cover you up.”
Bombax did as he was told. He lay still as the boy covered him and then felt him shift his weight onto one of the two wooden seats and heard him set the oars in their locks.
When they began to move, the sound of the oars pulling against the water and the rocking of the skiff quickly put Bombax to sleep.
19
Earlier that same morning, many miles to the south, the Federation Flagship Arishaig lifted away from the city for which she was named and started north toward Paranor. She was followed by a fleet of four other airships—two warships like herself, ships-of-the-line; one huge transport; and a scouting vessel built for speed and maneuverability. Almost a thousand men were aboard the five vessels counting crews, Federation soldiers, and Drust Chazhul. Of those, most had no clear idea where they were going, and only the Prime Minister and Stoon were aware of the real purpose of the journey.
Even Lehan Arodian, newly appointed commander of the Arishaig and Minister of Defense of the Coalition Council, whose considerable power matched that of Drust, did not know the whole truth.
It had taken some doing to bring all this about. Theoretically, Federation Prime Ministers were expected to visit other heads of state throughout the Four Lands. But in practice those who held the office rarely ventured outside the Southland, confining their visits to undisputed parts of the Federation. Only now and then, when it was necessary, would a Prime Minister go out into the other three lands or surrounding territories, and then only because such a visit would in some concrete way further Federation interests. That Drust Chazhul should choose to go to Paranor raised more than a few eyebrows, given the tensions existing between the Federation and the Druids. But he deflected criticism and doubts voiced by members of the Coalition Council by pointing out that establishing some sort of relationship with Paranor early on in his term of office would be the first step toward finding a way to change their attitude. Ignoring the Druids, as they had done for many years, had failed to work; it was time to try something more creative.
It was only a short step from there to convincing them that a sizable force was needed for the journey. If the Druids were to be persuaded, they needed to be reminded of the considerable power the Federation commanded. They needed to be shown an example of what they would be up against if they made the Federation their enemy. The arrival of a fleet of warships bearing the Prime Minister would go a long way toward accomplishing that.
They were further convinced when it was suggested that Lehan Arodian, one of their most capable and trusted soldiers and a member of the Council’s Inner Circle, be given command of the expedition. That had been Stoon’s idea. Make him a part of the supposed delegation. Name him commander of the fleet. Then drop him overboard somewhere on the way. An accident, of course. Accidents were known to happen aboard airships.
It was a gamble on Drust’s part, to be sure. But big rewards usually required big risks. Drust Chazhul was ready to take one here.
Standing on the bridge of the Arishaig, watching the towers and walls of the Federation capital city begin to diminish as the fleet eased into formation in preparation for sailing north, he paused a moment in his thinking to study the man who was now the chief obstacle to his efforts at holding on to his office.
Like Edinja Orle, Lehan Arodian came from a powerful family of politicians and army commanders dating back three centuries. He was a soldier first and foremost, but after years of service he had gone on to become a member of the Coalition Council. A dual role of this sort was allowed under Federation law, and he was a logical choice to act as Minister of Defense. Because of his family history and oratorical skills and because he was respected and liked by the soldiers he commanded, he had risen fast in political circles to become the obvious choice as successor to the old Prime Minister. He would have been so named if not for the campaign mounted by Edinja and the secretive efforts of Drust to position himself as an acceptable compromise to either.
Failure to gain the position of Prime Minister had done little to diminish Arodian’s ambitions; of that, Drust Chazhul was certain. In fact, there was every reason to think that Arodian himself had been responsible for Edinja Orle’s death. With Edinja out of the way, any real threat to his ambition to be appointed Prime Minister was eliminated. It would not take much for him to persuade the Coalition Council to reconsider their choice; and if that happened, Drust was out of a job. After all, he had been a compromise choice in the first place, and there was no longer any reason for compromise. Thus the decision to name Arodian commander of this expedition. It gave the Minister of Defense the impression that Drust was deferring to him, and at the same time it took him outside the city walls, away from the comparative safety of his famil
y, and put him in a place where he could be disposed of. Lehan Arodian might be going out on this expedition, but he was most definitely not coming back.
Drust walked over to the commander and stood next to him. “Fine day for flying, isn’t it?” he offered.
“Not as fine as you might think.” Arodian didn’t look at him, his eyes directed forward. “Clouds to the west? Storm coming on, maybe two, three hours off. We won’t be past the Prekkendorran by then. Be right out in the open when she strikes us.” He glanced over, smiling. “Hope you remember to lean over the side if you get queasy, Drust. This is new stuff for an office dweller like yourself.”
Drust smiled back, ignoring the other man’s failure to address him as Prime Minister. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”
The other nodded. “We’re flying a lot of canvas for a simple visit. This feels more like the buildup to an engagement.”
“Does it?”
“Three ships-of-the-line? A transport crammed with soldiers? Yes, it most certainly does. I know you sold the Council on this being a simple courtesy call, but I think you might have something more in mind. Maybe you know something the rest of us don’t about the state of the Druid defenses?”
Drust shook his head. “I just think a show of force doesn’t hurt when dealing with people who don’t much like you. They might come around quicker if they see what they could be calling down on themselves.”
“Especially if you find a reason to use that force. Don’t be too quick to go up against the Druids, friend Drust. They’ve got magic that puts our scientific developments to shame. Including all our diapson-crystal-powered weapons. If you want to subdue them, you need to use cunning.”
Just what I was thinking, Drust mused silently. “If you say so.”
He walked away before Arodian could say anything more. He had an uneasy feeling about the way the other was so bold in challenging his intentions, as if somehow he already knew what they were. Well, he might have guessed, of course. Arodian was no fool. But whatever he was, it wouldn’t matter after tonight.
After tonight, he would be dead.
Aphenglow Elessedil was working in the garden, her walking staff close at hand, damaged leg wrapped in a lightweight splint and carefully stretched out in front of her where she could avoid doing anything that might injure it further. Her healing was progressing rapidly, the exercises and uses of her magic producing noticeable results. She needed the splint now only for protection; she no longer required it in order to move about. Leaning on her staff and taking slow, cautious steps were protection enough. At night, she slept without the splint. And she could get to her feet by herself and wash and dress herself without assistance.
She was well enough, in fact, that she was eager to do something more active. But Arlingfant was insistent that she not rush things, making it a point to monitor her sister’s activities to make sure she didn’t.
Right now, Arling was off fetching lunch and cold drinks for a picnic. But she would be back soon enough, and Aphen was feeling lazy enough in the sun’s warmth, her hands buried in the dirt as she planted flowers and pulled weeds, that she did not feel like arguing the matter.
Across from her, Cymrian sat on a stone bench constructing a bow. He had gone out of the Keep into the surrounding forest—something Krolling had advised against—searching for the right piece of wood from which to fashion the bow. He’d come back with an eight-foot length of ash and been working on cutting it down and shaping it to form for the past two days. He was always somewhere close at hand, even now when they were safe behind Paranor’s walls. He was as much her shadow as Arlingfant, and sometimes it felt as if she was never alone. She had repeatedly suggested that he could go back to Arborlon; she would be fine where she was. In fact, he could take her sister with him so she could return to her duties as a Chosen.
That suggestion had been firmly rebuffed by both. They would leave when she was healed and when they felt she could be safely left alone. That time had not yet arrived.
Nor had Bombax, she thought suddenly.
It was getting harder and harder as the days passed not to obsess over his absence. She had been back to the cold room twice since that first time and used the scrye waters to try to detect some sign of his magic. But nothing had revealed itself, and she was stuck with wondering and worrying and waiting some more.
Which was what she was doing once again when Arlingfant came running down the pathway shouting, “He’s back!”
Aphenglow didn’t need to ask whom she meant. She scrambled to her feet, trying to be careful of her damaged leg. Her sister came charging up to her. “He’s hurt, Aphen. Some boy had to bring him back. They’re down in the healing ward.”
As quickly as Aphenglow’s injured leg would let her, she hurried to reach him. Forgotten were the warmth of the day and the enjoyment of gardening. All Aphenglow could think about was how badly Bombax might be hurt. She quizzed her sister, but Arling couldn’t give her any answers. Bombax, it seemed, had lost his voice and much of his muscular control.
“He seems delirious! I don’t think he even knows where he is!”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. They found him lying on a bed, strapped in place by the Troll guards who had carried him in from his airship. He was thrashing and crying out and looked to be in the throes of a form of madness. Aphenglow hurried to him, bent close, and called his name repeatedly. But he looked right through her, as if he didn’t know who she was and didn’t care.
“What will you do?” her sister asked, hands on Aphen’s shoulders to steady her as she backed away from the bed and its wild-eyed occupant.
For a moment, Aphenglow panicked. She didn’t recognize the illness from the symptoms she was seeing. This was something new. Her panic was exacerbated by how much she loved him and how desperate she was to do something to help him.
Then she shook off her uncertainty and went to work. She fed him teaspoons of althenin, a nightshade derivative that acted as a relaxant and calming agent. She had Arling bring her cold cloths to bathe his face and cool him down; when she felt his forehead, he was burning up. She dismissed everyone except her sister—including the boy who had apparently returned him to Paranor, flying him home in Bombax’s own airship—wanting to empty the room of everyone who wasn’t necessary to what needed to be done. Arling had worked with her before in Arborlon and knew how to behave. Besides, Aphen couldn’t move about as easily as Arling and needed her sister’s superior mobility to fetch and carry.
When the althenin had taken effect and Bombax had stopped thrashing and was lying in a semi-stupor, she examined his mouth to be certain his tongue hadn’t been damaged and then called up the magic that she hoped would heal him.
She placed her hands on his face, closed her eyes, and slowly, carefully began to probe his damaged body. Using a magic that allowed her to discover the source of the sickness attacking him, she found the residue of a liquid he had apparently swallowed that had robbed him of both his voice and his muscle control. A dangerous side effect, it appeared, was that it was rendering him increasingly delirious and psychotic. She searched for the places where the poison was doing the most damage and slowly worked it out of his body, withdrawing it through his pores and turning it into a fine mist that evaporated in the open air.
She worked on him for a long time, a tedious and thorough cleansing of every part of his body. Arlingfant kept watch over them both, standing close at hand, bringing cold cloths to lay on Bombax’s forehead and feeding him additional althenin when he started to wake and move about. Keeping Bombax still while she worked was crucial to her efforts, Aphenglow explained, and her sister saw to it that he remained immobile.
When she finally finished her ministrations, night was coming on. She sent Arling off to find them food and drink and sat alone beside her life mate while he slept. The poison was extracted now, the thrashing ended, the worst of it past. But she would not leave him until he woke and she was certain he was well again.
&n
bsp; She sat with him all night.
Aphenglow slept on and off during her long hours of keeping watch, making sure at regular intervals that Bombax was sleeping comfortably. But when she woke at sunrise she found him awake and staring at her from the bed. When he gave her that familiar smile—the one she loved so much—she leaned down and kissed him passionately.
“I was worried for you,” she whispered.
“I was worried, too.”
“You can talk again?”
“So it seems. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.”
“How do you feel?”
“Good. Much better. Whatever was in me is gone. Was that your doing?”
She nodded. He reached up and stroked her face, and they kissed again.
Then he told her everything that had happened to him after he had reached Varfleet. She listened intently, a mix of emotions surfacing as she did so: shock, relief, and anger. She was surprised at their intensity and even more surprised when anger overwhelmed everything else.
“What in the world were you thinking?” she demanded when he had finished. “Going into the worst part of Varfleet to find someone to help us? Mixing with people who would cut your throat for your shoes? Don’t you see what you did? You put yourself in danger for no good reason!”
His rough, handsome face tightened. “It seemed a good enough reason to me. A little risk was necessary. We needed magic of the sort that couldn’t be found by staying in the better neighborhoods.”
“That’s very funny. But it almost cost you your life. Or maybe something worse. Who knows what the Mwellrets had planned for you? It appears you were to be turned over to someone else. What do you think that might have led to?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.” He gave her a look.
“Not this time it doesn’t, but what about the next? You think you are invulnerable! It’s maddening! No one else takes the chances you do. Do you ever stop to think about that?”