by Terry Brooks
He beckoned her forward, then put up his hand to stop her when she was still a safe distance away. “I knew it was you, you know. You were seen and word was brought. I find it curious that you would return after having gone to such lengths to flee in the first place. Does it occur to you that coming back might be a foolish decision?”
“High Lord,” she answered, “I could do no less after seeing what has become of Arishaig and her people. I could do no less knowing that the enemy marches on Arborlon. All I ask is that you let me tell you what I have seen so that you can judge for yourself.”
She paused. “But first, my condolences on the death of your father. I should have stayed long enough to say this in the first place, but time was of the essence when I left Arborlon for Arishaig, even though I was too late to be of any service to that city.”
“Clever words, Seersha,” he replied, brushing off her regrets as if they were meaningless. “Druids always know what to say in the moment it needs saying. You must practice such deceptions endlessly. My dear cousin Aphenglow is equally talented in her use of this skill. Too bad she isn’t here now to lend you her support.”
“And lend it to you, as well,” she offered. “But we must make do with what we have at hand. May I speak? Do you wish me to do so in front of so many, or might it not be better if it were only one or two?”
He smiled knowingly. “I don’t wish to be alone with you, no matter the import of the news you bring. I don’t feel particularly safe with you, Lady Druid. Or with any of your kind. I will keep my guards close.”
Nevertheless, save for two standing to either side of his chair, he sent the rest to the back of the room. “A wrong move on your part will see you dead before you can think to do anything about it,” he warned. “Do you understand me?”
“Of course, High Lord,” she said. “I know your feelings and am aware of your intent regarding the Druids. I don’t come to please you. I come to help the Elven people. What you do about it is your own choice.”
He studied her long moments as if debating whether to let matters proceed. “Sian Aresh,” he said suddenly, his dark gaze shifting to the other. “Your own part in this charade will not be forgotten. Do not think I mistake what you have done here.”
“High Lord,” the Captain of the Home Guard replied, bowing slightly in acknowledgment.
Phaedon fixed him with eyes filled with malice and then signaled to Seersha. “Proceed.”
In simple, straightforward terms, she described what she had witnessed at Arishaig—a city in ruins, walls breached, gates thrown open, buildings on fire, and thousands dead. Some, she said, must have escaped, but clearly not many. The army garrisoned there, one of the most powerful in all of the Federation, was destroyed. The demon army had surmounted all the defenses and weaponry brought to bear against it through sheer weight of numbers and unmatched savagery and had prevailed.
Now that army marched north, spilling across the Tirfing as it came, hundreds of thousands of predatory creatures intent on continuing their destruction of the Four Lands and its people, making their way now toward Arborlon and the Elves.
“They will arrive at the Valley of Rhenn in two days’ time if I have measured their speed of travel and their course correctly. If you wish to stop them before they reach Arborlon, that seems to be the place to do it.” She paused. “I offer my services in defense of the city.”
“Do you now?” Phaedon said, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow. “You make this offer for no other purpose than to help us? With nothing to gain but our undying gratitude? Such generosity sounds too good to refuse, and yet I must.”
“Because you don’t trust the Druids.”
“Because I don’t trust the Druids. Your information is appreciated, and I will take it under advisement. Of course, I will need to verify that what you have told me is accurate.”
“I have already dispatched aircraft to do exactly that,” Sian Aresh interrupted. “We should know by tomorrow.”
“Yes, be that as it may. You, Captain, are relieved of your command and will step down when this meeting is over. I will speak with your scouts personally and decide what must be done. Other choices are available to us, and I need to consider them.”
“I have summoned the Dwarves and the Border Legion to come to your aid,” Seersha added, deciding abruptly to hold nothing back. “They should begin to arrive in the next three days.”
The King turned scarlet. “Who gave you permission to speak in my name? Who told you to ask for their help—these outlanders and miscreants who have never been there for us? The Elves need no help from them! The Elves need no help from anyone!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Home Guards exchanging worried looks. They had heard her account of the number of attackers coming for them. They had heard her describe what had happened to Arishaig. Unlike their King, they were not so confident.
Phaedon was on his feet now, his eyes hard and his mouth set in an ugly, furious line. “I think I will lock you up with my uncle, Lady Druid!” he hissed at her. “You are no better than he is. You presume when it is not your place to do so. You insult me with your very presence!”
“High Lord,” she said quickly. She gestured as if to emphasize what she was saying. “I would give you warning.”
He stared at her. “You would threaten me?”
“Not I. I am not the one who threatens you. It is another.”
“I care nothing for the threats of others!” he snapped. “Besides, you are lying. You would say anything to save yourself.”
She looked away, shrugging. “As you wish.”
“Wait!” he called out sharply, bringing her back around. “What warning would you give?”
She leaned toward him. “That you are in danger, High Lord.”
He went still, unable for a moment to respond. Then, regaining his composure, he said, “From what?”
She shook her head. “What I would tell you is for your ears only. No other must hear. The danger is closer at hand than you realize.”
She waited. Phaedon continued to stare at her, as if unable to make a decision on what to do. “May I approach?” she asked. She gestured to the guards clustered just behind her. “You are safe enough. But you should hear what I have to say.”
She said it with such urgency that she knew he took the bait. He hesitated a moment longer, then he beckoned her forward.
“But watch yourself, Lady Druid. Be mindful of what will happen if this is a trick.”
She advanced until she was standing right in front of him. She was shorter and wider and very much the stronger of the two. But he was taller, and his superior height gave him a sense of security it shouldn’t have. In a less debilitated state of mind, he might have recognized this. But here he did not.
She slumped slightly at the shoulders to add to his confidence. “There are those who would replace you as King. One of them is in this very room.”
His eyes went immediately to Sian Aresh. “Which one?”
“The one standing right in front of you,” she whispered.
The fingers of her right hand snaked about his left wrist. Druid magic flooded through him, and he was paralyzed instantly. There was no apparent effort on her part, no indication that she was doing anything other than continuing to advise him. She used her body to block what was happening, still talking while the magic she had surreptitiously summoned flooded through him, working on him as she had intended, rendering him immobile but doing something much more insidious, as well.
“You are not much of a King, Phaedon, that you would risk your people’s lives on a whim,” she whispered calmly, her fingers like iron about his wrist. “Not much of a King that you would ignore help when it was offered. Not much of a man even, if you would let your pride and your fears dictate a course of action that would bring disaster to your entire Race.”
His eyes were locked on hers, frozen in place like the rest of him. He could not manage even the smallest sound to summon help,
caught up in the trap she had set for him. She kept talking as she waited for the magic to settle in and claim him completely, still pretending she was explaining something to him, engaged in a private conversation that no one else could hear.
When she felt him start to shake, she released his hands, waited a moment until she was sure he was infected, and then backed quickly away, looking over her shoulder at the Home Guards, a look of shock and concern mirrored on her face.
“Something’s wrong!” she called out to them. “He’s having a fit!”
Indeed, the Elven King was frothing at the mouth, weird sounds coming from somewhere deep inside him—not words exactly, but grunts and gasps and other indecipherable noises. His guards rushed to him, Sian Aresh with them, taking hold of him as he thrashed and convulsed.
Then, abruptly, he went limp, collapsing into unconsciousness in their arms. Aresh caught Seersha’s eye; she met his gaze without revealing anything.
“Take the King to his sleeping chambers,” the Captain of the Home Guard ordered, “and send for Healers to keep watch on him. Have them do what they can.” He glanced at Seersha again, and this time she nodded slightly. “Don’t leave him alone,” he added.
The King was carried from the room, still unconscious but breathing and alive. Aresh waited until they were gone and he and Seersha were alone before beckoning for her to follow.
As they passed out into the hallway and moved toward the front doors of the palace, he whispered, “You did that to him, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “Druids have a strict policy of not interfering in the affairs of the Races unless threatened. I deemed this a threat. Phaedon is dangerous, and he cannot be allowed to interfere with what we need to do. He will be incapacitated for a day or so. Longer, if I come back to him a second time, which I may very well decide to do if it is needed. But those two days will allow the Elven army time to move out of Arborlon and prepare to defend the valley.” She looked over at him as they walked. “You have to do this, you know. You have to be the one.”
“He removed me as Captain of the Home Guard,” Sian Aresh pointed out. “Remember?”
“He was a man in the first stages of a fit that has laid him out like a baby,” she answered. “Anyway, he said your position would be terminated after the meeting was over. That never really happened. You’re still the leader your men will look to. You are the one they will follow.”
“And you will stand with us?”
“As I promised. Until there’s no longer anywhere for me to stand.”
They went out the palace doors into the sunshine. “We don’t have much of a chance, do we?” he said.
“Any chance is better than none.”
“What we need is a miracle.”
“What we need,” she replied softly, “is for Aphen and Arling Elessedil to find the Bloodfire and come back to us.”
23
After departing the village home of Sora and Aquinel, the Ellcrys seed recovered and their quest for the Bloodfire back under way, the Elessedil sisters and Cymrian reboarded their Sprint. With darkness already well advanced, they flew for a few more hours, then camped for the night on the edge of Drey Wood. And the following morning, they lifted away for the still-distant country of the Wilderun. They flew south through the remainder of the day past the last of Drey Wood and angled west over the Matted Breaks. Through the drifting clouds, they caught glimpses of the rock towers of the Pykon looming in the distance in solitary splendor. Dark and forbidding, they had seen centuries come and go, cities and governments rise and fall, and changes of all kinds in the world about them, and still they endured.
It was written in the Druid Histories that Amberle Elessedil had come this way centuries ago on a similar search, passing down through Drey Wood, the Matted Breaks, and the Pykon, as well. All who had come with her had been killed protecting her—all but the Valeman Wil Ohmsford. It made her think on Redden and Railing. She wondered if the latter had gone looking for his brother yet. She wondered if his brother was lost to him, as she feared Arling might be lost to her. She wondered, finally, if the twins—or even one of them—might in some way prove to be Arling’s protector as their ancestor had proved to be Amberle’s. She remembered that Allanon’s shade had told Khyber Elessedil at the Hadeshorn that an Ohmsford must come with the Druids on their search for the Elfstones—that having one along would prove essential to their success. But there had been no success, and it made her think that perhaps no Ohmsford would stand as a protector of her sister and that everything would be different this time.
Farther on, they caught sight of the silver thread of the Mermidon winding through foothills north of the Rock Spur and followed the course of the river until it disappeared into the mountains themselves. They flew on after that across the broad, rugged span of the Rock Spur—a sprawling mass of jagged peaks and deep valleys into which the emerging sun barely penetrated. In spite of the morning’s clouds, the midday sun was bright and welcoming as they passed beyond the mountains.
By early evening, they were entering the valley of the Wilderun just east of the town of Grimpen Ward. All three knew of Grimpen Ward’s reputation, and none of them thought it a good idea to spend the night there. On the other hand, continuing on deeper into the Wilderun and attempting to locate the Bloodfire with darkness likely to fall long before they were finished was not an attractive option. So they decided to find a suitable place to camp for the night and then set out again at dawn to complete their search.
They landed in a clearing within the deep forests of the Wilderun, not far from the Rock Spur. The shadows cast by the huge old growth were already darkening the pale light that penetrated the canopy of branches—a clear signal that, when night approached, it would be on them quickly.
“I’m going to use the Elfstones,” Aphenglow announced to the other two, once the three of them had climbed down from the airship. “We need to make certain we are on the right track before we go any farther. But I won’t do it now; I’ll wait until morning.”
Neither Arling nor Cymrian said anything in response. They all understood that use of the magic might draw unwanted attention—a constant risk when the Elfstones were employed. But this place was as remote as any they were likely to find, far away from Arishaig and the other major Southland cities. They had to confirm both the exact location of the Bloodfire and the possibility of wards that might interfere with their efforts in reaching it. There had been nothing in the various histories they read that revealed either, but they couldn’t rely on writings alone.
They unloaded gear and supplies for eating and sleeping, and Aphen set about building a fire. Cymrian said he wanted to have a look around to be certain they had chosen a safe enough spot, and then he moved off into the trees.
Arling began unrolling blankets and setting out food and drink. As she carried in wood for a fire, Aphen glanced repeatedly at her sister, wondering what she was thinking. On her third trip, she walked over and sat down next to her.
“How is my brave sister?” she asked.
Arling smiled. “Well enough. Better than I was before we got the Ellcrys seed back.”
“We were lucky the task wasn’t more difficult. Good thing we had the Elfstones to find it for us.”
Arling didn’t respond, but instead busied herself with removing supplies from their containers. She had an unreadable look on her face, as if whatever she was thinking confused her. Aphen waited long minutes before speaking again.
“I wish we could take back everything that’s happening and make it go away,” she said finally.
Her sister nodded. “But we can’t.”
“We can keep trying.”
Arling looked up at her and smiled. “You don’t need to. I know what’s going to happen.”
Aphen felt a surge of panic. “I don’t think you should—”
“Let’s stop pretending, you and I,” Arling interrupted. “If we find the Bloodfire and immerse the Ellcrys seed, the matter of what happens aft
erward is decided. There aren’t any choices. There aren’t any miracles that can change things. There never were. I think I knew it the moment the Ellcrys gave me her seed. She was so certain I was the one; it had to be me, she insisted. I kept telling her I wasn’t right for this, that I couldn’t do it. But she knew me better than I knew myself.”
She paused. “When I was in Arishaig, down in the streets of the city, I was trying to escape, running anywhere I could think to run. But everyone else was doing the same thing. They were trying to escape, too. Not from Edinja, of course; from the demonkind attacking their city. But it was the same thing. Our fear of what was going to happen was the same. I could feel what they were feeling; I was sharing the rawness of it. But I knew something they didn’t. I knew I could save us all, just by doing what I had been asked.
“Then later when we flew out of the city on our Sprint and I was looking down at the walls, I could see the Federation soldiers fighting and dying. I saw all those men and women struggling to survive against creatures that had no regard for them at all, and I pictured in my mind what that would look like if those people were my own—if it were Elves that were down there. I thought about what it would be like if it were Arborlon under siege rather than Arishaig.”
She took a deep breath. “And it will be Arborlon if nothing is done, won’t it, Aphen? Unless someone prevents it? Unless I prevent it because, really, there isn’t anyone else, is there? We don’t have time to find someone else; we don’t even know where to begin to look unless one of the other Chosen volunteers to replace me. And that’s not going to happen. None of it is going to happen.”
Aphen stared at her, stunned. “You’ve decided to do what the Ellcrys wants? Everything?”
Arling nodded. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because I know how all those people in Arishaig felt, when they saw their own deaths coming. There were thousands of them, Aphen! And there will be millions more. I can’t live with that. Not knowing I can do something about it. I don’t care what the cost is anymore; I have to do whatever I can to put a stop to this. No more excuses. No more delays. No more false hopes. I’m the one.”