The Skaar Invasion

by Terry Brooks

  She crawled over to him and dragged him around to where she could see his face. His left eye was gone. The poison had dissolved it.

  His good eye fixed on her. “Don’t look at me like that!”

  “Like what? Like you’re missing an eye? It’s nothing. You have another.”

  “What do you mean, nothing? It’s my eye!”

  She seized the front of his tunic. “I’m tired of you, little man. I offered my help in finding your sister, and all you can do is whine about how things aren’t going your way. Did you think this would be easy? Did you think she would just lie down and let you finish her like some helpless animal? How stupid are you?”

  His face had gone white. For the first time since she had encountered him, she saw fear in his eye—a reflection of doubt that he was capable of doing what he had set out to do.

  She patted his face. “Relax, Tavo. I will help you still.”

  “I don’t need you to help me,” he blurted out, his voice shaking. There were tears in his remaining eye—the tears of a little boy. “I don’t need anyone! You said you would keep her a prisoner, but you lied! You let those men and that creature take her from me. Why should I trust you with anything?”

  Clizia fixed him with a gaze that would have turned a sane man to stone. One aged finger reached out and tapped him on his nose.

  “I have great things planned for you,” she whispered. “I would make you the most powerful man in the world—greater even than the Druids when they walked the Four Lands. But for that to happen, you must do as I say and not question me. You must give me the chance to prove I can do what I say. So decide now. Are you going to listen to what I tell you or go off on your own? If it is the latter, you will certainly cause problems for a while wherever you go, but in the end you will die. You will be killed and quickly forgotten. You will never know what you can be.”

  She held his gaze. “Which path will you take? Choose quickly; I have no more time to waste on you.”

  His eyes were bright with fear and loathing, and there was a glimmer of madness in his gaze that was unmistakable. His nod was barely perceptible. “I will go with you. Can we leave now?”

  “Soon enough,” she answered. She dragged herself to her feet and waited for him to do the same. “Come with me.”

  Together, they climbed from the forest imp’s underground lair and back out into the morning light. Clizia was already thinking ahead to what she would do next. Suddenly, her plans for Tavo Kaynin were taking shape, formulated in a moment’s inspiration while they lay exhausted and half dead underground, the poison of the barbs only just defeated. It was all so simple. That Tavo had to be killed was indisputable. He was much too dangerous to be allowed to live—too unpredictable, too wrapped up in a struggle to control his own demons. But perhaps before she disposed of him he could be made useful enough to advance her plans for the future.

  Even the most insane could sometimes serve a greater good.

  * * *

  —

  Clizia did not notice the lantern eyes watching her as she began the journey back to Drisker’s cabin. Nor did the young man. Their thoughts and their cautions were directed elsewhere. The eyes watched as they disappeared into the trees, then blinked once, and Fade materialized within the shadow of the huge old trunks of the forest, her massive body stretched out in the undergrowth. She remained where she was long after the intruders departed, her senses directed toward the lair of the forest imp.

  She was waiting for him to emerge. She had waited for him before, sometimes for hours, sometimes longer. It was a ritual they shared.

  But on this day, he did not appear.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It seemed Rocan Arneas was not one to sit around mulling things over. So once he decided he was leaving Varfleet behind, he wasted no more time. The very day after the incident at the Sticky Wicked Hall of Chance, he packed up his clothing and personal effects, strapped on his weapons, closed and shuttered his warehouse lodgings, and—hauling a somewhat skeptical and reluctant Shea Ohmsford with him—set out.

  He had brought the boy into his private quarters the previous night to explain why he wanted to bring him along, which had left Shea more confused than he had been before. The boy was nothing if not quick-witted—you didn’t survive long on the streets of a city like Varfleet otherwise. He was swift of foot, and instinctually sharp enough to recognize the truth of things long before others did, making him more than able to smell out a scam. But Rocan Arneas was every bit as smart as Shea was, and his ability to explain something without actually saying much at all was unparalleled.

  What he told Shea was that he needed someone who could provide several valuable services, including a willingness to fetch and carry, provide a second set of eyes and ears, get into and out of tight places, and be willing to work long hours without complaint. The pay would be good initially, but if he continued to excel at his job, it would eventually be great.

  Shea, he advised—in his matter-of-fact way of tacking something important on at the end of things—could end up wealthy.

  The boy took all this in without getting too excited. He liked Rocan’s enthusiasm and found him fascinating to be around. But he had learned a long time ago that lack of substance frequently meant a lack of moral commitment, and he was worried that this might be the case here. Deep involvement with games of chance like Pickroll did nothing to lessen his concerns. Rocan could persuade the bark to peel off a tree and join the logs in the fireplace, and this was not reassuring.

  “It’s this way, young Shea,” he said at one point, as they feasted on cold quail and hot bread late that first night. “What I do is collect things. I am a scavenger of a sort, but I am very particular about what I scavenge and why. I relieve other people of what they least need or understand how to use wisely. I select these people out of the wider population, and I sit them down and usually persuade them to donate what they have without realizing they are doing so.”

  Shea, no fool he, understood at once. “You’re talking about taking their money at games of chance. Like earlier this evening, playing Pickroll.”

  Rocan laughed merrily. “I knew you were the right lad! So quick to see the truth. That skill will serve you well in the years to come, young Shea. Don’t you ever lose it.”

  “So you take money from those who have plenty to spare by playing games with them. Then you pocket the money and keep it for yourself. But even if they don’t need it, why is it right for you to take it from them and call it a donation? Seems to me this makes you just like them.”

  It was bold talk directed to a man like Rocan, about whom he really knew nothing. But Shea knew that you had to stand up to such men and challenge them if you wanted their respect.

  Rocan leaned forward across the small dining room table and fixed his eyes on the boy. “I am nothing like those men. They have no other thought of what to do with their money than gamble it away. Their goal is to enrich themselves further by foolishly believing they can win, thereby ensuring a softer, more decadent life. They seek greater prosperity without purpose. I, on the other hand, game not to enrich myself, but to change the world for the better.”

  Shea stared. “How do you do that? How are you changing the world?”

  With a slow smile and a shrug of his shoulders, Rocan leaned back again. “Why don’t you come with me to Arishaig and let me show you?”

  * * *

  —

  So Shea allowed himself to be persuaded even though he hadn’t the faintest idea what this was about. He had always told himself not to get into anything he didn’t fully understand upfront, and mostly he had done so. But this time, he didn’t. He was persuaded to make the deviation from his hard-and-fast rule for several very different reasons.

  First of all, he thought it was time to move on from Varfleet. Things had been stagnant of late and now—since his last two jobs—i
ncreasingly dangerous. Besides, he had lived here his entire life and seen almost nothing of any other part of the country. Rocan was providing him with transportation out. It was a free ride to a new home.

  Second, he had a considerable amount of money in hand after combining the payments from the black-cloaked grandfather and Rocan. It was reasonable to assume there might be more to be earned from the latter, and once he had accumulated enough he could settle permanently, be it here in Varfleet or another city in another part of the Four Lands. He was working toward a better life—one in which he no longer had to scurry about like a rat gathering bits of food. He wanted a real home. He wanted sufficient credits to merit recognition. He wanted to be valued; he wanted his advice sought after.

  But as an orphan who had lived most of his life by his wits and luck, he had learned one indisputable truth—you never got anywhere without taking a few risks. He had reminded himself of that earlier with both the grandfather and Rocan. Now and then, you had to step across forbidden boundaries and jump into the fire. He felt strongly that this was one of those times. Something about Rocan suggested this was an opportunity not to be missed—even if he was still not sure he trusted the man.

  So after a quick stop to gather up his meager possessions, off he went with his benefactor, boarding a public transport that traveled once every other day from Varfleet to Arishaig. Rocan purchased passage that provided them with a private cabin and special services including food and drink and an attendant ready to see to their needs at any time during their journey. Seelah did not accompany them to the loading dock, and once inside their cabin Shea was about to ask why she wasn’t going with them when suddenly she appeared out of nowhere. She was as silky and irresistible as he remembered, and he smiled in spite of himself. Recognizing his response, she leaned into him to kiss his cheek.

  “She likes you, lad,” Rocan observed. “Should be interesting to see how that plays out down the road.”

  Shea wasn’t sure he was the least bit ready to find out something as wild and mysterious as that promised to be, so he was quick to take his seat and turn his attention to watching the countryside as their vessel lifted away. Off to one side, he could hear Rocan cooing to Seelah in an unfamiliar language, his words low and calming—as if she needed reassuring for some reason. He had to force himself not to look over at them. Some things were best left to the imagination.

  Nevertheless, when temptation got the better of him and he risked a quick peek, he found Seelah making soft noises as she rubbed against Rocan, and he looked away again quickly.

  They rode most of the way without talking, the three of them remaining in their cabin for the duration of the two-day journey. When the attendant appeared to bring them breakfast and later lunch—and much later dinner—the boy waited to see what his response would be to Seelah. But the instant the door opened, the strange creature simply disappeared, gone beyond sight and sound. Only when the door closed behind the attendant did she materialize once more.

  More than once Shea thought to ask Rocan more about where they were going and why. But in the end he decided against it, remembering that Rocan had spoken of letting Shea see for himself. So he decided it was better not to appear too eager for answers. Besides, if he needed to extract himself from this situation later, it might be easier to do so if he kept a safe distance between himself and Rocan now.

  They spent the night in their cabin sleeping on benches that were adequate, though far from comfortable. Neither Shea nor Rocan slept particularly well, but curling up on a padded bench seemed to be no problem for Seelah, who was asleep in minutes and did not stir the remainder of the night. Shea sat across from her for a long time, puzzling through what sort of creature she might be, wondering how she and Rocan came to be…To be what? A couple? Friends? The boy didn’t know. They were clearly close, but the nature of their relationship was still unknown—along with any definition of what Seelah actually was.

  At one point during the night, when he saw Rocan was awake, too, the boy leaned over and whispered, “How did you and Seelah meet?”

  Rocan blinked and smiled. “We met in a bar one hard rainy night. The shadows wrapped around us like a cloak to hide from anyone watching what we saw in each other’s eyes. We touched, we kissed, we shared a molten red ale that brought tears to our eyes. Later, much later, after we had spent ourselves in a room…”

  Shea held up his hands, making warding motions. “Seriously, even I can tell you’re making that up. Tell me the truth or don’t tell me anything.”

  Rocan shrugged. “I have no reason not to tell you. She was trapped and caged by some very misguided people. I saved her at some risk to myself. We became friends and partners. Companions. Fellow travelers on the road of life.” He paused. “To spare you time and effort, I’ll answer the question you cannot bring yourself to ask. No, we are not lovers.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask that…”

  “Maybe not, but you want to know. What do you think she is?”

  Shea turned crimson. “I wasn’t going to ask that, either.”

  “Doesn’t matter. What do you think?”

  The boy shook his head, not trusting his answer to words. “I don’t know. She’s beautiful, I can see that much.”

  “And very, very dangerous.”

  “I imagine.”

  “But not quite human, right?”

  Shea nodded again, thinking. “Kind of magical.”

  “Ah, bright lad! Right again. She’s one of the Faerie—a creature out of time, ancient.”

  “Which means she’s…what?”

  Rocan shrugged. “Hard to say. She won’t talk about it. She’s one of the Fae. Maybe the last of her species; I don’t know. She has magic; she can shape-shift when she chooses. But she’s not like the other shifters you’ve heard about, the ones that were born into the Four Lands. Not like the kind that are wicked and deceitful and sometimes go mad. She is as sane as you or I. An original.”

  “She looks a little like a cat.”

  “A form she prefers to take now and then, but cannot sustain for long. Mostly, she is what her body wants her to be. So even though she has shape-shifting abilities, she is for the most part the creature she shows us.”

  Shea looked back through the darkness at the sleeping Seelah. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful,” he repeated, unable to put the thought aside. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever known doesn’t begin to approach her.”

  “Beautiful and dangerous—a useful combination. She and I, we are a pair to draw to, as they say.”

  “Will you tell me more about how you found her?” he asked Rocan.

  The other shrugged. “One day, maybe.”

  He drifted off again after that, leaving Shea to ponder his revelations about Seelah. A strange, wild creature, the boy thought. Not one to trifle with; not one to challenge. But he was drawn to her, anyway. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted her to tell him about herself.

  He fell asleep imagining how that might happen.

  * * *

  —

  It was nearing noon the following day when Rocan shook Shea awake from a doze he had fallen into an hour or so earlier, thanks to his inadequate sleep the previous night. His eyes blinked open and he found Seelah staring at him from across the cabin, curled up on the other bench like a cat, her golden eyes glittering.

  “Take a look outside, young Shea,” Rocan told him. “There’s our destination approaching.”

  Shea shifted to a sitting position and peered through the open viewport at a sight that left him breathless. For as far as the eye could see, buildings of all sizes and shapes sprawled across the landscape. Those closest were fewer and more widely spread apart, many of them attached to fields and pasturelands. Farther on, dirt roads rutted and narrow gave way to ones that were smoother and wider, some covered with paving stones and some graveled, and the
homes became residences clustered more closely together.

  It wasn’t until well beyond the outlying buildings that the city walls appeared—sizable to begin with, but growing steadily larger as they approached. These formidable barriers encircled the city proper—huge and sheer and bracketed by weapons towers and landing pads on which various types of airships were settled. Some were huge battle cruisers, some flits and Sprints, but all were at the ready. Soldiers of the Federation were visible atop the walls, as well—hundreds patrolling the seemingly endless string of battlements as they stretched away into the distance. Within their protective grasp, at the very center of the city, great towers rose against the bright-blue skies south, closely gathered like sentinels. Other, smaller towers were gathered in clusters elsewhere within the walls, looming over the smaller warehouses and shops that filled the city from end to end.

  “They always build the strongest walls for themselves, the rich and powerful,” Rocan muttered, his bitter words so soft the boy almost didn’t catch them. “They always protect themselves, even if it’s at the expense of others.”

  Their transport continued on, and soon they were close enough to the perimeter walls that Shea could see how the city had been constructed like a wheel, with the largest buildings and highest walls at the very center and other walls radiating out toward perimeter walls like wheel spokes. It was the most astonishing achievement the boy had ever witnessed, and he could barely bring himself to grasp the whole of what he was seeing.

  “How can you even find your way around?” he asked.

  Rocan shrugged. “Practice, practice. Or asking directions, of course. It takes time to get acclimated.”

  Shea could just imagine. For the first time, he was intimidated by the idea of trying to survive here. Varfleet seemed tiny in comparison with this behemoth. It had taken him all his life to learn everything there was to know about his home city. How long would it take him to learn just a tenth of that in Arishaig? He immediately began making plans for departure, overwhelmed beyond reason by the magnitude of what he would be facing if he stayed—a cold chill running up his spine at the thought of it. And then abruptly his stubborn side surfaced and reminded him that he was not a quitter. If he had to leave at some point, fine. But he would not commit to leaving before he had even set foot on the ground. He would wait until Rocan had revealed what it was he had brought him here to see and then decide.