by Terry Brooks
“It has its merits.”
“It is a lazy man’s game. We need to do more. Why don’t we fly to the Federation capital and confront them on their doorstep?”
He shook his head. “No need. Arishaig will come to us. Then we will seek an alliance with Vause.”
Ketter Vause, Prime Minister of the Federation—a man Kol’Dre had studied and come to understand during his time in the Four Lands. Vause would recognize the value Ajin represented as an ally and come to meet her. He would offer her a partnership, an agreement—one that would give her access to the power her father desired over all the Four Lands.
She made a disparaging noise. “If he did as you suggest, I would not waste time on an alliance. I would face him down as we did the Druids and so many others who chose to underestimate us, and then I would destroy him.”
Kol’Dre paused. Her answer was nonsense. What was going on? She was not thinking clearly, and that was very unlike her.
“The Federation has airships,” he pointed out. “Many more than we do. They would outnumber us considerably on the ground, as well. We might do substantial damage to them, but in the end we would be the ones destroyed.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “Do you think I don’t know this? But we must do something to keep them at bay until the king arrives with the main body of our army and we are no longer so unevenly matched.”
The king, she had said—not my father. He took note as he replied, “I would think a meeting of some sort might prove a better choice.”
“We need to keep them off balance. We need to make them afraid of us. We need to keep them uncertain of what we might do. So we set a trap. We let them send their soldiers and their airships and destroy them before they realize how foolish they are being. Do we not know how to do this? Did we not do this at Rhemms?”
He nodded slowly, remembering. At Rhemms, they had discovered that an alliance of Bosch and Zekis was moving against them. This combined force badly outnumbered the Skaar, and even with their special abilities it would have been hard to defeat the foes head-on. So they had dug in along a riverbank with fortifications and blinds. Then they had taken almost all their soldiers to the enemy side of the river and hidden them well downstream of what would become their encampment. When the Bosch and the Zekis arrived, the Skaar attacked them from the sides and behind, pinning them against the river. Surprised and unable to maneuver quickly enough, trapped with their backs to the river, the alliance was cut to pieces.
“So, something of the same sort here, only using airships?” he asked.
Ajin nodded. “But I value your opinion, Kol. So tell me. Do you think such a plan will work?”
He felt her eyes on him, studying him as she thought it over. He did not look away. He knew better than to cede her any ground. If she thought him weak, she would never talk to him as an equal again, and he could not afford to lose that standing. So he sat staring at her while he took the space and time he needed to make up his mind.
“Maybe,” he said finally.
“Then I will think on it further. But not today. I need to rest. You should sleep, too. I need my brilliant Penetrator to be sharp of mind in the days ahead.”
She rose, touched him briefly on the cheek, and walked off. He stared after her, wondering if he was still in her good graces.
With Ajin, you could never be sure.
* * *
—
It took the last of the survivors the rest of that day and the next to return to the main body of the advance force, even with the help of their recovered transport. The injured were removed from the aquaswift and taken away for treatment while the others were given food and drink and told to use the remainder of the day to rest. The advance force had been making good progress coming south toward Paranor, and Ajin immediately announced it would continue south the next morning toward the Mermidon. But she made no clear verbal indication to Kol’Dre that she had decided what to do then.
He had no doubt what it meant should the Federation deem her a threat. He knew enough about Ketter Vause and the Ministers of the Coalition Council to be very sure they would not tolerate a Skaar presence in the Four Lands unless they could control it. So a Federation command would be sent to intercept them. Thus far, they had only engaged a few Troll tribes and eliminated the Druids. That should please Vause and his Ministers. But a rash act on Ajin’s part could change everything.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“You’ve cheated death again,” Pre’Oltien observed wryly when he heard that the command had been given. “Lucky you.”
His second was a stout, blocky fellow with laughing eyes and a ready smile. His life view was simple, and his needs small. He had found his way to Kol while both were in training to be Penetrators years ago. When Pre had seen he would not be among those chosen, he had come to Kol and asked to be his second. Kol had quickly agreed. Pre’Oltien was exactly the sort of man he was looking for—solid, loyal, dependable, and willing to do what he was told.
“Lucky enough,” he agreed, realizing his second was talking about Paranor. “Things are back to normal here, it seems?”
Pre gave him a doubtful look. “Are they? Paranor gone, its treasures swept away? All those who went into the Keep save yourself and five others dead? There’s talk, Kol. There’s more than a little dissatisfaction and some real anger.”
Kol’Dre made no verbal response, although he gave his second a nod of recognition. He had sensed the mood the moment he had returned and those left behind had learned what had happened to their fellows. It would be up to Ajin—Ajin, whom they adored—to find a way to make it right.
She did this later in the day, when she called her soldiers together in the twilight hours and explained why their companions had died and what those deaths had accomplished. She promised them that no further sacrifices of this magnitude would be needed, now that the Druids and Paranor were gone. They would fight again, but never be trapped as they were at Paranor. They would remember the sacrifice of those who had died and honor it with their courage and determination in the days ahead. Victory was almost within their grasp, as the Four Lands were rendered helpless without the magic of the Druids. One by one, the governments who stood against them would fall—just as the Troll tribes and the nations in Eurodia had.
Then she went down among them and took their hands in her own, one by one, reassuring and consoling, giving them renewed heart and belief in themselves and in her. It was typical Ajin d’Amphere—and because of who she was, the grumbles ceased and talk turned to the victory that waited just ahead.
Then in a heartbeat, everything changed.
* * *
—
Later that night, as Ajin and Kol’Dre were working on the details of their plan for a Federation entrapment on the Mermidon, one of her senior commanders, Sten’Or, appeared unexpectedly in front of them and stood waiting for an acknowledgment.
Ajin nodded a greeting. “Is there a problem, Commander?”
She was not fond of Sten’Or, although he was efficient and quick to assess an enemy’s weakness when they were in the field. But of late he had become a rival for command of the Skaar army. She had repeatedly rejected his request to assume command, along with his advances as a suitable bedmate. Those alone provided him with sufficient incentive to seek to undermine her.
“There is a message from the king,” he said without preamble. “It arrived yesterday, just prior to your return.” He handed it to her. “I took the liberty of reading it, to be certain it was something worth bothering you about.”
Ajin stared at him. He was too eager by half, so she took the letter without looking at it. “And is it worth bothering me at this hour, Commander? Since you admit you have already read it?”
Sten’Or shrugged. There was a delight reflected in his features that he did not try to hide. “That
is something you will have to determine for yourself. I leave you to it.”
And he turned away dismissively and walked off.
“That was rude,” Kol’Dre declared angrily. “Who does he think he is to speak to you like that?”
Ajin did not reply, but her mind was racing. Something was very wrong for Sten’Or to treat her so. He was perpetually angry with her, but not usually so deliberately impertinent. For him to act this way, he must have reason to think he could do so with impunity.
She unfolded the message and read it through. A chill ran through her. Without looking at Kol, she read it through once more, as much to give her time to compose herself as to make certain of the contents.
Then she looked up. “My father is coming with the rest of the Skaar army. A full-fledged invasion force has been assembled. He will depart with his airships and arrive by the time of the next full moon.”
“What?” Kol exclaimed in disbelief. “Why would he do that when you did not send for him?”
“Why, indeed?”
Kol hesitated. “He knows about Paranor.”
“There hasn’t been time.”
“But why would he…”
A shake of her head. “Sten’Or is responsible for this. He was much too eager to give me the news. He might have sent my father a message earlier suggesting I had overstepped my bounds or trampled on his authority. Who knows? Such a message might have said anything, given who sent it. Sten’Or has always been ambitious, and his ambition might have gotten the better of his common sense.”
“You must relieve him of command and have him flogged!”
Her lips tightened, and a look of determination washed over her perfect features. “Though it would give me great satisfaction to hang my scheming commander from the nearest tree by his private parts, it would not improve my situation. The damage is done. There is nothing that will help now. The king will come, whether I like it or not. When he confirms that I have lost Paranor and its treasures, he will have all the incentive he needs to take control of the army. He will claim my impending victory over the Four Lands as his own achievement and my efforts will be erased. My work will have been for nothing.”
Her voice was calm and steady, but her heart was dark with anger and disappointment. “Still, he is not here yet, so perhaps I can outmaneuver him. You must help me.”
“Of course,” Kol agreed at once. Her Penetrator understood her well enough. Playing games with Cor d’Amphere carried more than a little risk for those involved—as Sten’Or would find out later. But refusing his daughter carried an even greater risk. “What do you want me to do?”
“We’ll send the army to the Mermidon as planned. Once they arrive, I can put our plan into operation and await the coming of the Federation. In the meantime, you are going to take a small trip. You should be back before any engagement occurs.”
“Where am I going?” he asked.
Her smile was cold. “Into the lion’s den.”
FOUR
It was silent and disturbingly spectral within the halls and chambers of Paranor. Everything exuded a transparency, vague and poorly defined, almost on the verge of disappearing. The absence of sound only seemed to enhance the feeling that Drisker Arc was living a ghost life. This world—this new world into which he had been banished—was a place in which color was diminished, clarity dimmed, and time suspended.
It must be like this in the netherworld where the shades were consigned, Drisker thought.
He had spent endless hours exploring a place so familiar to him he barely bothered to consider the paths his footsteps took as he struggled to come to terms with his situation. It was a confusing and disappointing effort that in the end yielded him little. Some things were apparent right away; others took forever to confirm. Others still offered no answers whatsoever and left him bereft of critical information. And none offered him even a small possibility of finding freedom.
First, no other living being was present. Even the dead had vanished, their bodies reduced to ash and bone fragments in the east courtyard. Any birds had long since flown elsewhere, and any mice had gone to ground. Tracing and retracing his footsteps was sufficient to reveal he was entirely alone.
Second, there was no way into or out of the Keep. He had tried over and over to find one and failed. He had attempted to open the gates and the smaller service doors set into the outer walls. He had tried to leave using the underground tunnel through which he had entered. He had attempted to use rope ladders and the foot- and handholds built into the walls, but there was an invisible force sealing away the entire Keep. It pressed up against the exterior of Paranor at every possible exit point and extended down into the earth. There was no way past it, and all his efforts to break through had been unsuccessful. Use of magic in every form he could think to conjure had failed. Even the talismans and magic housed in the vaults offered no answers. A few, like the Crimson Elfstones, were so powerful and unpredictable—as well as unlikely to be of help in his present situation—that he had left them alone. None of the talismans had provided him with an answer to his problem. He was trapped, and there was no way out while Paranor remained trapped in limbo.
Finally, no form of communication with the outside world existed. The scrye waters in the cold room could tell him when or where magic had been used in the Four Lands, but little else. Clizia had left him the scrye orb, but given the circumstances surrounding his imprisonment, it seemed unlikely she would respond to any summons he sent her.
Besides, no one who might want to help him even knew he was here save Dar Leah. And if anything happened to the Blade, Drisker might remain trapped in Paranor for the rest of his life—whatever sort of life he might have left in this limbo world. He couldn’t even be sure of that. There was food and water within the Keep, probably enough for a few years if he used it sparingly. After that he would starve to death. In the meantime, he could not be sure what living in this half-life world was doing to him, anyway. Was he aging at the same rate? Was he being affected in ways he couldn’t recognize? How much was he changing without even knowing it?
If all this weren’t enough, there was the complicated question of why he was even still alive. It was hard to fathom. At Clizia’s urging, Drisker had summoned the Keep’s Guardian from the bowels of the earth, waking it for the express purpose of driving the Skaar from Paranor or killing them if they resisted. That it was capable of doing both was incontestable. But whether it could or would differentiate between those it had been woken to dispatch and anyone else it found in the process was unknown. It wouldn’t have been so worrying if he were still a Druid, but he had resigned from the order, abdicated his position as Ard Rhys, and then been placed in permanent exile by his successor. There was no reason for the spirit creature to spare him. Even Clizia must have felt certain he would be killed, given how she had left him—helpless to defend himself and entirely at the wraith’s mercy.
Yet for some reason it had passed him by. It had come down that corridor leaving only dead men in its wake and passed right over him—even through him, at one point—and left him unharmed. Why had it done that? What sort of distinction had it made between him and the Skaar? What had caused it to spare his life? He had never heard of this happening in the entire history of the Druids, all the way back to the time of Galaphile. What had been different this time? Because something must have been. He had mulled it over and still not found an answer that made any sense.
The Guardian was gone now, returned to the depths of the Druid’s Well, subsumed into its slumber to await a new threat that would require it to come to the Keep’s defense. It had cleansed its lair of Druid enemies—leaving it otherwise intact, if in limbo—and had disappeared.
His survival wasn’t a riddle that required an immediate solution, but it was troublesome to ponder. Drisker knew he would not be alive without good reason, and he had no idea at this point what that reas
on was.
He sat against a passageway wall midway between the exit leading to the west gates and the assembly chamber used for convening the entire Druid order, his knees up and his arms wrapped about them, as he stared into space. If only he had the Black Elfstone. Then he could use it to bring Paranor back into the world of men and make his escape. He could go after Clizia Porse. He could help find a way to deal with the Skaar invasion.
“Isn’t anyone else here?” he shouted into the empty silence, frustrated and angry.
He listened to the echo of his voice reverberate through the building and slowly die away. He looked up and down the hallway as if someone might unexpectedly appear, as if his words would bring them. Foolishness. There was no one here but him. There would never be anyone here but him. And eventually he wouldn’t be here, either. Not alive and breathing, anyway.
“How am I supposed to figure out what to do?” he muttered into the shadowy void, his voice deliberately emphasizing each word, so that it echoed in the silence before fading.
“A little common sense might help,” a thin, wispy voice replied almost immediately.
Drisker startled. The voice was right next to him. In the wall. He jumped up and faced its stone-and-mortar surface, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. The wall had spoken to him! There was no one there, so what else could it have been? Was the wall alive? Was the Keep speaking to him?
He dismissed this idea at once. There was no record of the Keep ever having spoken to anyone, not in its entire history—not since the day the first stones had been laid to form the foundation and the mortar between them layered with Druid magic.
He waited a moment. “Who’s there?”
“Your conscience, Druid! Your inner Drisker Arc.”
Drisker smiled in spite of himself. A wall with a sense of humor. “I find that hard to believe.”