by Terry Brooks
She stopped, gathering her thoughts. “That was a long time ago. Since then, Ardsheals have been used only rarely. The last time was not long ago. It happened when one of Abbadon’s demons penetrated the wards of Elderew disguised as a once-fairy. It was a sorcerous being, a changeling who sought entry for its fellows through the heart of the lake country. The magic harbored there, it reasoned, would then belong to them. So it disguised itself and came into the city, and it tried to kill my father.”
“Because he was the River Master?” Ben asked softly.
“Yes, because of that. Because he was the leader of his people.” Willow’s words were almost inaudible. “The demon tried and failed. But in its attempt to kill my father, it destroyed a handful of others, including several children. The demon escaped. There was terrible panic among the once-fairy. And rage. My father and the elders summoned five of the Ardsheals and sent them in search of the demon. The Ardsheals tracked the creature from house to house, caught it at last in one of its many disguises, and killed it.”
She took a deep breath. “It was my house it was hiding in when they found it. It had disguised itself as one of my sisters. It was very clever. It had worked its way back to the one place it thought it might be safe: the River Master’s own house. But the Ardsheals were relentless. They could track by touch, smell, taste, the smallest sound, even by a change of heat caused by the casting of a shadow. Nevertheless, they were not infallible. Not this day. They had been conjured quickly and imperfectly. Haste led to carelessness. The demon took several shapes before he took the one in which they caught him. The one he took before that was of my sister Kaijelln. The Ardsheals were closing on it by then, and when they came into our house, bursting through the entry, tearing apart the doors as if they were cloth, they thought the demon was Kaijelln still.
“And so,” she whispered, her voice shaking now, “they killed her without taking time to discover the truth. They acted on instinct. They killed her right in front of me.”
Ben swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “Your father couldn’t stop them?”
Willow shook her head. “They were too quick. Too powerful. An Ardsheal, when it attacks, is unstoppable. It was so that day with Kaijelln. She was gone in the blink of an eye.”
They were silent for a long time then, Ben holding the sylph tight against him, neither of them moving, eyes staring out into the darkness. Somewhere a night bird called, and another responded. Water dripped from leaves in the stillness.
“We should have left it behind,” Ben said finally. “We should have refused it.”
“No!” Willow’s voice was hard and certain this time. “Nothing can stand against an Ardsheal. Nothing! You need it to protect you against whatever else Rydall chooses to send. Besides, my father will have taken great pains to make certain that this one does what it is supposed to do and nothing more.”
She twisted suddenly in his arms and looked directly at him. “Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter that I am afraid of it. It only matters that it will keep you alive.” She leaned forward until her face was only inches away. “I love you that much, Ben Holiday.”
Then she kissed him and went on kissing him until he forgot about everything else.
At dawn they rode out once more. The day was gray and misty, but the rains had moved on. Bunion had come back during the night and this time traveled with them as they moved out onto the open grasslands, the kobold skittering ahead eagerly to lead the way. The Ardsheal appeared as well, emerging from the forest to take up a position some twenty yards to their rear. It stayed there as they journeyed, attached to them like a shadow. They watched it for a while, glancing back over their shoulders, marveling at the easy, fluid motion of its stride. It wore nothing, and its body was virtually featureless—arms, legs, feet, hands, torso, and head smooth and slick with the damp, skin stretched seamless and taut, eyes black holes boring straight ahead into the gloom. It did not acknowledge them as it traveled; it never spoke. It stopped when they did, waited patiently for them to begin moving again, then resumed its steady pace.
By midmorning they quit looking for it. By midday they stopped thinking about it completely.
The grasslands were carpeted thickly with mist, and the towns and farms of the people of the Greensward and the castle fortresses of the Lords materialized with ghostly abruptness before them. They skirted all, intent on reaching Rhyndweir and Kallendbor by nightfall. They bought hot soup from a vendor at a market on the edge of a small town and sipped it from tin cups while they rode. Bunion finished his in the blink of an eye and was off. The Ardsheal stayed back in the gloom and ate nothing.
Ben and Willow traveled in silence, riding side by side, content to be company for each other, not needing to speak. Ben spent much of the day thinking on the tale of the Ardsheal and Kaijelln. He found himself comparing the Ardsheal to the Paladin, both destroyers, both perfect fighting machines, both in his service and therefore his responsibility for whatever damage they might do. The comparison bothered him more than he could say. It made him ponder anew what his transformation into the Paladin was doing to his psyche. Would he someday reach the point where the difference between them was no longer discernible? Would he then become like the Ardsheal, a passionless, remorseless killing machine, a creature without a conscience, serving only its master? He found himself thinking about how he had felt when, as the Paladin, he had been trapped within the Tangle Box, how he had lacked identity beyond his role as King’s champion, how he had been lost to everything but his skills as a warrior. The thoughts spun and twisted together with insidious intent, making him question anew his strength of purpose in the battle with Rydall’s monsters. He struggled with his thoughts but kept the struggle carefully to himself.
By late afternoon they had come in sight of Rhyndweir. The castle of Kallendbor rose on a bluff at the juncture of the Anhalt and Piercenal rivers, walls, parapets, and towers lifting darkly above the grasslands. A town lay below the castle gates, bustling and crowded, filled with buyers and sellers of goods: tradesmen, farmers, trappers, and craftsmen of all sorts. Rain had begun falling again, a gray drizzle that mingled with the mist and shrouded buildings and people alike, turning them to dark, uncertain images in the gloom.
Ben and Willow had come with no fanfare, no escort, and no advance notice. There was no one expecting them and no one to guide them to the palace. But this fit with Ben’s intent. He wanted to surprise Kallendbor, to catch Rhyndweir’s Lord unprepared so that he would be forced to improvise a response to Ben’s coming. There was a better chance of enlisting his cooperation if he was not given time to weigh the gain and loss.
Ben slowed when they reached the Anhalt and the bridge that spanned it to the castle. He called Bunion back to him, then turned to the Ardsheal and beckoned it close. To his surprise, it did as it was asked. It came to stand directly next to him, face flat and expressionless, eyes staring straight ahead. Ben arched his eyebrow at Willow, told them all to stay close, and nudged Jurisdiction forward.
They crossed the bridge and entered the town, riding through the people and rain as the afternoon light faded toward murky dark. People were hurrying home now, so few paid much attention to the riders and their footmen. Those who did looked quickly away. An Ardsheal and a kobold were not something they wished to ask questions about.
The little company reached the castle gates and was quickly halted by the guards. There were wide eyes and protestations of all sorts, but Ben simply ordered the nearest functionary to guide them to the palace. Word would be sent ahead in any event, and he did not care to wait for its arrival. One commander, braver than his companions, questioned the presence of the Ardsheal and was silenced by Ben’s curt reply. The Ardsheal was the High Lord’s personal guard. Where the High Lord went—or his Queen—so went the Ardsheal. The commander gave ground, and they were allowed to enter.
They rode through gateways and cobblestone passages, up several levels of defenses, and past quarters for the soldiers w
ho served Kallendbor to the grassy flats on which the palace sat. Their guide tried to slow the pace to give time for word to reach his Lord and for his Lord to prepare, but Ben pushed Jurisdiction ahead and almost rode the lagging functionary down. In minutes they were before the palace entrance and dismounting.
To his credit, Kallendbor came out immediately to greet them. He was alone save for the doorman who stood waiting nervously at the entrance; apparently there had been no time to summon retainers. The Lord of Rhyndweir was a tall, rawboned man with fiery red hair and a temper to match. Battle scars crisscrossed his hands and forearms and marred an otherwise handsome face. He wore a broadsword strapped to his waist as if it were a natural part of his dress. He was flushed as he approached and his eyes were angry, but he gave his guests a deep, respectful bow.
“Had I known you were coming, High Lord, I would have prepared a better welcome,” he added, almost hiding his petulance. He took in Bunion with a glance and then for the first time saw the Ardsheal. “What is the meaning of this?” he snapped, and now his anger was obvious. “Why do you bring this creature here?”
Ben glanced at the Ardsheal as if he had forgotten it was there. “It was a gift from the River Master. It serves as my protector. Shall we go inside where it’s dry and talk it over?”
Kallendbor hesitated and looked as if he might object, then apparently thought better of it. He led them out of the rain into the front hall and then down a long corridor to a sitting room dominated by a vast stone fireplace that rose from floor to ceiling. The blaze from the logs burning in the hearth threw heat and light from wall to wall and made their shadows dance as they crossed to chairs to sit before it. Bunion had remained to see to the horses. The Ardsheal stopped by the door and merged with the shadows that crowded forward from the hall.
Kallendbor seated himself across from Ben and Willow. His anger had not abated. “Ardsheals have been the enemy of the people of the Greensward for centuries, High Lord. They are not welcome here. Surely you must know that.”
“Times change.” Ben looked at the empty glasses set next to the decanter of amber liquid on the table between them and waited for Kallendbor to fill two and pass them to himself and Willow. The Lord of Rhyndweir’s lips were set in a tight line, and his great hands were knotted into fists.
“Are you quite settled now, High Lord?” he snapped.
Ben nodded. “Thank you, yes.” He ignored the other’s curt tone. “I apologize for bringing the Ardsheal into Rhyndweir, but circumstances dictate unusual caution just now. I assume you have heard of the threat against my life.”
Kallendbor brushed at the air dismissively. “By Rydall of Marnhull? I have heard. Has he pressed the matter?”
“Two attacks so far.”
Kallendbor studied him. “Two. With five more promised, I understand. But nothing can stand against the Paladin. And now you have an Ardsheal as well. They should keep you safe enough.”
Ben leaned forward. “Will you be terribly disappointed if they do?”
For the first time Kallendbor smiled, a bitter and sardonic grimace. “We are not good friends, High Lord. I have no particular reason to wish you well. But Rydall of Marnhull is no friend, either.”
“Do you know him, then?” Ben pressed.
Kallendbor shook his head. “I know nothing of him. He must come from somewhere outside Landover.”
“But if so, how did he cross through the fairy mists?”
“As you did, I suppose.” Kallendbor shrugged. “He used magic.”
Ben sipped at his drink. A rather sweet wine. He would not have expected it of Kallendbor. At his side Willow stirred, impatient with the conversation, anxious to be finished with it. She did not like Kallendbor or Rhyndweir or much of anything about the Greensward. She was a once-fairy, and the Lords of the Greensward had never been their friends.
Ben looked over at the fire momentarily, then back at Kallendbor. “This is a brief visit. One night to dry out from the rains, and then we will be on our way. We will take our meals in our rooms, so you won’t have to trouble yourself with entertaining us. The Ardsheal will stay close to us and out of sight. Bunion can join us as well.”
Kallendbor nodded, and there was a look of obvious relief on his face. “Whatever pleases you, High Lord. I’ll send hot water for baths.”
Ben nodded. “There is one thing.” He leaned forward so that the full weight of his gaze was resting on Kallendbor. “If I thought for one minute that you knew anything of Rydall and were keeping it from me, I would have you in chains.”
Kallendbor stiffened, and his face went hot with rage. “High Lord, I do not have to—”
“Because I am reminded of how you sided with the Gorse against me not so very long ago,” Ben continued, cutting him short. “I had every cause to have you exiled for life and stripped of your holdings. I had cause to have you put to death. But you are a strong leader and a man who can bring considerable weight to bear among your peers, and I value your service to the throne. I did not want the Greensward to lose you. Besides, I believe you were misguided in that matter. All of us were to some extent.”
He paused. “But if it were to happen again, I would not hesitate to rethink my position where you are concerned, Lord Kallendbor. I want you to remember that.”
Kallendbor gave a curt, barely perceptible nod. He could barely bring himself to speak. “Is that all, High Lord?”
“No.” Ben held his gaze. “Rydall has taken our daughter. Your spies may not have told you that. She is a hostage until the Paladin either defeats or is defeated by the creatures he sends to do battle. I search for her now. But there is no sign of Rydall of Marnhull. No one seems able to help, yourself included. I am determined to get my daughter back, Kallendbor. If you can help, it would be wise for you to do so.”
He waited. Kallendbor was silent for a moment. “I do not need to take children as hostages to do battle with my enemies,” he managed finally.
He seemed to have trouble speaking the words. Ben wondered why. “Then you will send for me if you hear anything that will help me find Mistaya?” he pressed.
Kallendbor’s face closed down, flat and expressionless. There was a hard look in his eyes. “You have my word that I will do whatever I can to see your daughter safely home. I can promise no more.”
Ben nodded slowly. “I will take you at your word.”
There was a long, harsh silence. Then Kallendbor shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “If you are ready, I will show you to your rooms.”
For the moment at least they had each had enough of the other.
Midnight came and went. Rain poured down out of the heavens, brought to the grasslands by thunderheads that had broken free of the barrier of the mountains and had crossed in the dark. Lightning seared the black skies in white-hot streaks that dazzled and stunned. Below Rhyndweir’s walls the turgid waters of the Anhalt and the Piercenal churned against their banks, swollen and clogged with debris.
Ben Holiday slept uneasily. Twice already he had awakened and risen to look about. Silence had woken him the first time, the storm’s fury the second. Both times he had crossed to the doorway and stood listening, then had walked to the windows of the bedchamber tower and looked down. They were housed in the west tower in rooms reserved for important visitors, high up in the palace, away from the household staff and other guests. From their windows it was well over a hundred feet to the rocks of the bluff and the waters of the Anhalt. From their door it was a long climb down a winding set of stairs past several other floors and unoccupied rooms to the hall that led back to the main part of the castle. As was the custom, the rooms selected for the High Lord of Landover were separate and secure, offering but a single approach.
On this night, however, Ben could not stop thinking that they also offered only one way out.
Still, he was safe here. Bunion kept watch just outside the door, and the Ardsheal roamed the stairs and hall below. Without, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the w
ind howled across the plains, a vast immutable force. But the storm did not penetrate to where Ben and Willow slept, save for the sound of its passing, and there was nothing else to make the High Lord wakeful.
Yet he was.
And when the heavy thudding came from the stairs and Bunion shrieked in warning, he was already awake and sitting up in the bed. Willow lifted herself beside him instantly, her face stricken, her eyes wide. The ironbound oak door flew inward, splintered into shards that barely managed to hang together from the shattered bindings. Something huge and dark filled the doorway, tearing at the stone walls that hindered its passage. Bunion clung to the thing, ripping at it with teeth and claws, but it didn’t even seem to notice the kobold. Into the bedchamber it came, hammering apart stone and mortar, shredding the lintels and the last of the mangled door. Lightning flashed and lit up the monstrous apparition as Ben and Willow stared in disbelief.
It was a giant encased in metal from head to foot.
My God, Ben thought in stunned surprise, it’s a robot!
Iron creaked and groaned as it swung toward them, arms lifting, fingers grasping. The creature was formed of metal plates and fastenings. A robot! But there were no robots in Landover, no mechanical men of any kind! No one here had ever even heard of such a thing!
Willow screamed and tumbled from the bed, looking for room to maneuver. Ben scrambled back, slipped on the bedding, and fell. His head cracked hard on the wooden headboard, and his eyes were filled with bright lights and tears. “Ben!” he heard Willow scream, but he could not make himself respond. He knew he should do something, but the blow to his head had shaken him so that he could not think what it was.