by Terry Brooks
So the three of them had coexisted in Grimpen Ward until Shadea had come east to Paranor, bringing Iridia with her. Aphasia Wye had been left behind very deliberately so as not to complicate her induction into the Druid Council. Later, when she was firmly established and there was need, she had sent for him. The others who had joined her conspiracy against the Ard Rhys—Terek Molt, Pyson Wence, and Traunt Rowan—instinctively disliked and mistrusted her dangerous friend. Molt called him a monster from the first. Wence called him worse. Rowan, who had heard of him during his time in the Southland, kept his thoughts to himself. But when mention of Aphasia Wye was made in his presence, his face betrayed him every time.
All in all, it made Shadea a’Ru very happy to find them so unsettled by a man who answered only to her.
She turned from the window of her sleeping chamber and walked back to her desk. There was a great deal she did not know about Aphasia Wye. In truth, he unsettled her, as well, at times. There was something subhuman about him, something so primal that it was irreconcilable with human nature. It was his gift to be so, a gift she was quick to take advantage of when confronted with difficult situations. Remorseless and inexorable, he never failed. She would have used him against the Ard Rhys had she not believed Grianne Ohmsford the more dangerous of the two and the one person besides herself who would be a match for him.
But against the boy . . .
She bent down to blow out the candles.
It was late in the day, the assignment of duties given out and the members of the Druid Council dismissed to their rooms, when Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence appeared at the door to her chambers. She had not seen them since that morning, when she had advised them of the message from Aphasia Wye. Their response had been guarded—perhaps out of a sense of resignation that the unpleasant task of capturing the young boy was going to be carried out after all; perhaps out of a sense of futility they felt regarding the whole business. Neither had been overly supportive of the endeavor. It was as if they believed that eliminating Grianne Ohmsford was all that mattered, that beyond her removal lay green pastures and blue skies. They lack the fire of old, she thought, the passion that brought them into my circle of influence. But she didn’t worry. They were still committed enough to do what was needed and not likely to disappear in a pointless rage as Iridia had done.
Besides, she was already making plans for new alliances that would eliminate the necessity of maintaining the old.
“A message just reached us, Shadea,” Traunt Rowan began as soon as he had closed the door behind them. “We have found the boy’s parents.”
She felt a surge of elation. Everything was finally falling into place. Once they had the parents under their control, they could rest easy. There was no one else who would pursue the matter of the Ard Rhys’ disappearance, no one who cared enough to become involved. Kermadec might still be out there, or Tagwen, but neither possessed the magic of Bek Ohmsford. He was the one who was dangerous.
“Where?” she asked.
“In the Eastland. We have been searching that area ever since Molt discovered from the boy that his parents were on an expedition in the Anar. But no one had seen or heard anything until a week ago. Then a trader working the supply route along the Pass of Jade on the lower edge of Darklin Reach sold some goods to a man and woman piloting an airship named Swift Sure. They are the ones we seek.”
“A week ago?” Shadea frowned.
“Ah, but here is the thing,” Pyson Wence interrupted eagerly. “All this time we have been searching for them in the Wolfsktaag Mountains, because that is where we assumed they were going. But that isn’t where they have been! They have been exploring the Ravenshorn, farther east and so deep into the Anar that no word has reached them of our search. We are fortunate, Shadea, that they still have no idea of what has happened to their son or we would have lost them for sure.”
“Have they no idea now?”
Wence shook his head. “None. We learned of it by accident, our spies making inquiries everywhere until they found the trader. He, of course, had no idea of the value of his information and gave it willingly to those who did. So now we have their location. What do we do?”
She walked to her window and stood looking out, thinking it through. She must be careful; unlike the boy, Bek Ohmsford possessed enough magic to incinerate anyone foolish enough to give him reason to do so. He would not be easily disposed of. He must be brought to Paranor if it was to be done properly.
She turned back to them and gestured at Traunt Rowan. “Take the Athabasca and go east. Find our spies and get what additional information you can. Then find the boy’s parents.”
“Am I to kill them for you?” the other asked, not quite managing to keep the disdain from his voice.
She walked over to him and stood close. “Do you lack the stomach for it, Traunt? Are you too weak to see this matter through?”
There was a long pause as she held his gaze. To his credit, he did not look away. He was conflicted perhaps, but determined, too.
“I have never pretended to support what you are doing, Shadea,” he said carefully. “I would not have bothered with either the boy or his parents, but the decision was not given to me to make. Now that we are committed, I will do what is needed. But I won’t pretend that it makes me happy.”
She nodded, satisfied. “This is what you do then. Tell them that the Ard Rhys has disappeared and we are seeking her. Tell them that their son has gone looking for her, and we are seeking him, too. If they come with you to Paranor, perhaps they can help find both. None of this is a lie, and in this instance the truth is preferable. No one is to die outside these walls if we can help it.”
Traunt Rowan nodded slowly. “You will keep them alive just long enough to help you do . . . what?”
“To help us find the boy, if it becomes necessary, and perhaps to help us make certain that Grianne Ohmsford is safely locked away within the Forbidding. If we can trick Bek Ohmsford into using his magic to seek them out, we can be assured that our efforts to eliminate the Ohmsford threat will succeed.”
“I think we should kill him and be done with it,” Pyson Wence declared, brushing her suggestion aside. “He is too dangerous.”
She laughed. “Are you such a coward, Pyson? We have eliminated our greatest enemy, our most dangerous foe. What do we care for someone as unskilled as her brother? He isn’t even a Druid! He doesn’t practice his magic. He chooses to ignore it entirely. I don’t think we need spare too much concern for his abilities. We are Druids of some power ourselves, as I recall.”
The small man flushed at the rebuke but, like Traunt Rowan before him, did not look away. “You take too many chances, Shadea. We are not as powerful as you pretend. Look at how things stand with the Council. We barely control it. Our grip is so tenuous that it could slip entirely upon a single misstep. Instead of hunting down Grianne Ohmsford’s relatives and playing games with them, we should be consolidating our power and strengthening our hold on the Council. With Molt dead and Iridia gone off on her own, we need more allies. There are allies to be had, of that I am certain. But they won’t come without persuasion and enticement.”
“I am aware of this,” she replied evenly, keeping her anger in check. He was such a fool. “But watching our backs is our first order of business just now. We mustn’t let any of those who have strong feelings for the former Ard Rhys become a threat.”
There was a strained silence as they faced each other. Then Pyson Wence shrugged. “As you wish, Shadea. You are our leader. But remember—we are your conscience, Traunt and I. Don’t be too quick to dismiss us.”
I will do worse than that soon enough, little rat, she thought. “I would never dismiss you without first listening carefully to what you have to say, Pyson,” she said. “Your advice is always welcome. I depend on you to offer it freely.” She smiled. “Are we done?”
She waited until they had closed the door behind them before sitting down to write the note. Traunt Rowan would depart Paran
or for the Ravenshorn at first light, both he and Pyson Wence having agreed to accept her decision on the fate of the Ohmsfords. In truth, they didn’t care one way or the other about the Ohmsford family, so long as they could feel they had put some distance between themselves and any bloodletting. They were strong enough when it came to manipulation and deceit, but not so good when it came to killing. That was her province—hers and Aphasia Wye’s.
She sometimes thought how much easier her life would have been if she had never come to Paranor. Perhaps that would have been the wiser move. She would not be Ard Rhys of the order, but neither would she be forced to bear the burden of its members’ confusion and indecision. She could have practiced her magic alone, or even with Iridia as her partner, and accomplished much. But she had been desirous of more than that, greedy for the unmatchable power that came from leading those who could most affect the destiny of the Four Lands. Sen Dunsidan might think that the Federation was the future of the world, but she knew differently.
Nevertheless, there were times when she wished she could simply eliminate all the Druids and do everything herself. Things would be accomplished more quickly and efficiently. Events would progress with less conflict and argument. She was tired of shouldering the responsibility while being questioned at every turn by those she depended on to support her. They were a burden she would gladly shed when the time was right for it.
She wrote the note swiftly, having already decided on its contents while listening to the prattling of Pyson Wence. The time for hesitation was through. If they weren’t strong enough to do what was needed, she would be strong enough for them.
When the note was finished, she read it back to herself.
WHEN YOU FIND THE BOY,
DON’T BOTHER WITH BRINGING HIM BACK.
KILL HIM AT ONCE.
She rolled up the paper and placed it into the tube she had retrieved from the arrow swift earlier in the day. Walking over to the window, she reached into the bird’s cage and refastened the tube to its leg. The sharp-beaked face turned toward her as she did so, the bright eyes fixing on her. Yes, little warrior, she thought, you are a far better friend to me than those who just left. Too bad you can’t replace them.
When the tube was securely fastened, she withdrew the swift from its cage and tossed it into the air. It was gone from sight in moments, winging its way north into the twilight. It would fly all night and all the next day, a hardy, dependable courier. Wherever Aphasia Wye was, the arrow swift would find him.
She took a moment to think about what she had done. She had imposed a death sentence on the boy. That had not been her original intent, but her thinking about the Ohmsfords had changed since she had begun her search for them. She needed to simplify things, and the simplest way of dealing with the Ohmsfords was to kill them all and be done with it. She might tell Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence otherwise, might suggest there was another way, but she knew differently. She wanted all doors that might lead to Grianne Ohmsford permanently locked and sealed.
By this time next week, that job would be done.
THREE
Tagwen crossed his arms, tucked his bearded chin into his chest, and gave a frustrated growl.
“If this isn’t the most ill-considered idea I have ever come across, I can’t think what is!” He was losing what little remained of his patience. “Why do we think there’s even the possibility of making it work? How long have we been at it now? Three hours, Penderrin! And we still haven’t a clue about what to do.”
The boy listened to him wearily, admitted to himself that Tagwen was right, and promptly continued talking it through.
“Khyber is right about not relying on the Elfstones. We can’t do that unless we’re certain that this creature has the use of magic, as well, magic that the Elfstones can react to. I haven’t seen anything that suggests it does. It might not be human, but that doesn’t mean it relies on magic. If it does, and we find that out, then Khyber can use the Elfstones to disable it. But otherwise, we need to find a different way to gain an advantage.”
“Well, we have seen how fast it can move,” the Elven girl said. “It’s much quicker and more agile than we are, so we can’t expect to gain an advantage there.”
“What if we could find a way to slow it down?”
The Dwarf grunted disdainfully. “Now, there is a brilliant idea! Maybe we could hobble it with ropes or chains. Maybe we could drop it into quicksand or mud. Maybe we could lure it into a bottomless pit or off a cliff. There must be dozens of each in these mountains. All we need do is catch it napping and take it prisoner!”
“Stop, Tagwen,” Khyber said quietly. “This isn’t helping.”
They stared at each other in uneasy silence, brows furrowed in a mix of concentration and frustration, a little more of the latter revealed on Tagwen’s bluff face than on the those of the other two. The night before, the Skatelow had appeared in the sky above the foothills west of the Charnals. Twelve hours had passed since the horrifying discovery that the creature from Anatcherae had commandeered the airship, killed Gar Hatch and his Rovers, and taken Cinnaminson prisoner. No one had slept since, though they had pretended at it. Now that daylight had returned, they were sitting in the sunshine on a mountainside trying to decide what to do next. Mostly, they were arguing about how best to help Cinnaminson. Pen might have persuaded his companions that they should not abandon her, but that didn’t mean he’dpersuaded them there was a way to save her.
“It would be less mobile if we could lead it into a confined space,” Khyber suggested.
“Or force it to climb a tree or a cliff face,” Pen added, “where it couldn’t use its speed or agility.”
“A ledge or defile, narrow and slippery.”
“Why don’t we find a way to force it to swim out to us!” Tagwen snapped irritably. “It probably doesn’t swim very well. Then we could drown it when it got close. Bash it over the head with an oar or something. Where’s the nearest big lake?” He blew out his breath in a huff. “Haven’t we covered this ground already? What are the chances of making this happen? What in the world is going to persuade this creature to go anywhere we want it to go!”
“We have to find a way to lure it off the ship,” Pen declared, looking from the Dwarf to the Elf and back again. “Off the ship and away from Cinnaminson. We have to separate them if we are to free her.”
“Oh, that shouldn’t be so hard,” Tagwen mumbled. “All we need is the right bait.”
His face changed instantly as he realized the territory he had mistakenly entered. “I didn’t mean that! I didn’t! Don’t even think about it, Penderrin. Whatever else happens, you have to keep safe. If anything happens to you, the Ard Rhys has no chance of being saved. I know how you feel about this girl, but you should feel more strongly still about what you have been sent to do. You can’t risk yourself!”
“Tagwen, calm down,” the boy told him. “Who said anything about risking myself? I’m just looking for a way to tip the balance in our favor long enough to free Cinnaminson and make an escape. In order to do the former, we need to separate her from her captor. In order to do the latter, we need to get control of the ship.”
“Get him off the ship and away from Cinnaminson, then get us on the ship and safely away,” Khyber summarized. She stared at him. “That doesn’t seem like something that is likely to happen in the ordinary course of events.”
“Well then, we will change the course of events,” Pen declared. “This thing might be faster and stronger than we are, but it isn’t necessarily smarter. We can outthink it. We can find a way to trick it into making a mistake.”
Tagwen got to his feet, making a rude noise that left no doubt about his opinion of this proclamation. “I’ve had enough of this. I need to take a walk, young Penderrin, young Khyber. I need to leave this conversation behind and clear my head. I was secretary and personal assistant to the Ard Rhys when we began this odyssey, and I haven’t left that life far enough behind to feel comfortable with this on
e. I applaud your efforts in trying to save Cinnaminson, but I cannot think how they will lead to anything. If, while I am gone, you come up with the solution to this dilemma, I will be happy to hear all about it on my return.”
He gave them a perfunctory bow, one stiff with impatience and dismay, and walked away.
They watched him go in silence, and it wasn’t until he was well out of sight and hearing that Khyber said, “He may be looking at this with clearer eyes than we are.”
Pen bristled instantly. “I suppose you think we should give up, too? Just leave her to that monster and go on our way?”
The Elven girl shook her head. “I don’t think that at all. When I told you I would help, I meant it. But I’m beginning to wonder what sort of help we can provide. Maybe we would be smarter to continue on to Taupo Rough and ask help from Kermadec and his Trolls. Whatever this thing is, the Rock Trolls are likely a better match for it than we are.”
“You might be right,” Pen agreed. “But in order to find out, we have to go all the way to Taupo Rough, then persuade Kermadec to help, then come back this way again and find the Skatelow, which is flying while we’re on the ground. I don’t much care for our chances there, either. If we don’t do something right now, it will probably be too late. This creature won’t bother keeping Cinnaminson around if it’s not to its own advantage.”
He was remembering how Cinnaminson, blind but privy to a sort of inner mind-vision that sighted people did not possess, had deliberately led her captor away from the spot where Pen and his companions were hiding in the rocks. He could not be certain that she had known he was there, but Pen felt in his heart that she had. Her courage astonished him, and he was terrified that it might have cost her life.
“All right.” Khyber straightened and leaned forward. “Let’s try it again. We know what we need to do. We need to get this thing off the Skatelow and away from Cinnaminson. We need to keep it off long enough to take over the airship, get airborne, and escape. How much time would that take if you were piloting?”