by Terry Brooks
“No, Ajin,” he said softly. “That is not the way.”
And so her chance was lost, and she was cast out.
* * *
—
In the aftermath of her humiliation, Kol’Dre accompanied her to where she could gather her things in preparation for the journey home. Neither said anything until they were inside her tent and alone. She turned to face him then, fighting against the tears that threatened to break through.
“That was unforgivable!” she shouted, suddenly not caring if she was heard or not.
“It was expected,” Kol corrected. “Your father likes to make examples of those who cross him. In his mind, your failure to seek his permission before you invaded Paranor and destroyed the Druids was a disobedience of the worst sort. Made worse, I might add, by the fact that you are his daughter. He could forgive the rest, but not that. You understand, don’t you, Ajin, that he could not let that pass? Even if you had consulted him on everything else. Even if he did know the truth about Sten’Or. To ignore your transgression—real or perceived—would be to show weakness to his soldiers, and he could never stand to let that happen. Especially when you are already so popular.”
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Kol,” she replied, sitting on her bedding and shaking her head in dismay, the weight of her punishment threatening to break her. “He could have settled on something besides sending me home! I fought for him when I could have stayed put in the north and simply waited for him to do his own fighting. I found a way to breach the walls of Paranor and I seized it for him. I destroyed the Druids for him. Everything I did was for him—to help him keep his promise to our people that he would find them a new home. And he throws me over because I exposed his scheming bitch-wife—that conniving pretender to the throne that rightfully belongs to my mother. He chooses to protect her even after she betrays him by trying to get to me. He knows this, and still he hides the truth!”
Kol sat next to her, nodding. “But he hides it for another reason, as well. He hides it because to reveal what she has done would expose him to ridicule. The Skaar people might even go so far as to think him a fool. He cannot abide that, so he pushes the matter aside—at least for now. He might choose to exact retribution at a later date.”
She made an exasperated sound. “I will be the one to exact retribution long before he thinks to act. If I am to be sent home, I will have my chance. And what better way to spend my time?”
Kol’Dre gave her a look. “You might want to consider the possibility that your father has already thought of this. How fitting if his treacherous wife died at the hand of his troublesome daughter?”
Ajin shook her head dismissively. “He will do nothing. He has no intention of causing her harm while she remains young and eager to provide him with male heirs. I am simply another obstacle standing in his way—just like my mother.”
“There is another consideration, Ajin, one you might want to remember. He is afraid of you. Deep down, where he hides his darkest secrets, he sees what you have become in the eyes of his soldiers. He sees how they revere you. How short a step is it to go from princess to queen? He worries that you have become more popular than he is, and what that would mean for his future as king. Given enough of an excuse to do so, the Skaar might find a reason to throw him over and make you their new ruler.”
She shook her head slowly. “If he thinks I would embrace that future, then he doesn’t know me at all. I have never sought the throne. I have never given it a thought. I am content to be what I am—a commander of soldiers, an expert on the field of battle. I want nothing of what he has.”
“But he cannot be sure of that, can he?”
She considered a moment. “I suppose not. So much the worse for him, then. Such thinking exposes him as weak and cowardly, susceptible to fears that have no basis in fact.”
“It has ever been thus in the history of the world. Rulers rule because they hold power, and their one fear is that someone will take that power from them and reduce them to nothing. Your father is no different. His biggest failing lies in not recognizing loyalty when he sees it—especially in his own daughter. He should be grateful for all you have done and encourage you to continue your good work. I despair of what will happen here once you are gone. I do not think him the equal of Ketter Vause when it comes to negotiations.”
“Perhaps he believes that in battle, with the whole of the Skaar army behind him, he will crush the Federation and take the head of its Prime Minister as a souvenir with or without me.”
“But a battle of that sort would be costly to the Skaar, as well, and there are other forces waiting in the wings that he would then have to contend with. Far better if he can find a common ground with the Federation and form an alliance that will benefit both sides.”
Ajin rose, grabbing for her weapons and few personal belongings, which she stuffed into a large pack that she then slung across her shoulder. “You must do what you can to see this happens, Kol. I may not be with you in the flesh, but I will be with you in spirit. You are the cleverer of us, and if there is a way to turn my father’s mind toward the accommodation you so rightfully point out must happen, it will be up to you to find it. I will go back to our homeland because I must, but I will look for a way to return, as well. Somehow, I will find that way and seize it. It is here with you and the army that I belong, and I will not let my father sentence me to exile so easily.”
She embraced him, pulling him against her. She saw the shock in his eyes and laughed. “Haven’t held a woman close for a while? Miss the feel of that exquisite softness?” She pushed him away dismissively. “You are my best friend, my confidant, and my loyal Penetrator. Never forget that. We belong together.”
She knew he would like hearing those words—imagining them a declaration of something that quite possibly meant much more. But in her mind—as he considered again the deeper hopes he harbored for them—she saw the chiseled features and effortless movements of Darcon Leah and found herself flushed and wanting.
“Ajin,” Kol said, interrupting her momentary lapse, “I will work to find a way, too. Perhaps a chance will come to persuade your father to bring you back. Perhaps his anger toward you will diminish, and he will come to see again how much he depends on you.”
She nodded wordlessly, the flush fading, the memories of the Blade retreating into her mind as her current circumstances again pressed in on her. She adjusted the pack once more, smiled her most winning smile, and walked from the tent without another word, back into the bustling camp and the airship waiting with its crew and guards to convey her home.
FIVE
FROZEN IN PLACE FOR what seemed like endless moments, Shea tried to decide what to do. He could not imagine how anyone had found them out; there was no chance that anyone could have seen them inside the prison. Maybe the broken-down scrubber had been discovered.
Whatever the case, the horns were still wailing.
Seelah was climbing rapidly toward the open window of the prison cell, but how safe was it for the two of them to get back down with the brilliant dawn light now bathing the walls they must descend? If anyone working as a guard was paying even the slightest bit of attention, there was no way they could descend unseen. Perhaps he was expecting too much. Tindall was now safely down, and that was the job Shea had been sent to do.
On the other hand, he didn’t much care for his chances if he stayed where he was. What did it matter now if he was seen, with alarms sounding all about him?
Then he heard the sound of voices in the hallway somewhere down the corridor outside the cell, and a scuffling of feet accompanying a clanging of iron doors opening and closing. His decision made, he climbed through the window instantly and hung there in the frame, waiting for Seelah to reach him.
His throat tightened as the sounds drew nearer. Hurry! Hurry!
She was there within seconds, offering him her back. “Ther
e are guards coming!” he warned breathlessly.
She motioned for him to climb on and he did so swiftly, fastening his arms and legs about her lithe, strong body. Almost before he was in place, she was off at an even faster pace than she had set during Tindall’s escape, propelling herself backward down the rugged stone, claws gripping and scrabbling as they descended—so quickly that Shea closed his eyes so as not to become dizzy. The voices and noises of the men in the hallway disappeared behind them, and the wind became a rough-woven blanket that whipped about him and muffled all sounds. He felt himself dropping as if stripped of support. Clinging to his rescuer with a frantic intensity—her steely cat muscles rippling beneath him, her limbs moving in synchronized rhythm, an inhuman engine of terrible force—he still seemed to be tumbling away, the two of them bereft of any real support.
Not so fast, he wanted to scream. Slow down! But he was afraid to say anything that might distract her.
Then abruptly they were on the ground and Rocan was peeling him off Seelah’s back, trying desperately not to laugh.
“You should see your face!” he exclaimed after extracting Shea and setting him back on his feet. “You look like you just witnessed your own death!”
Shea grimaced. “That’s not so far from the truth. And it’s not funny!”
He stood there shaking, rubbing his arms and legs to make the tremors stop and to regain some feeling in limbs gone numb with the effort of clinging to his rescuer. It took him a moment to regain his composure, then he remembered to turn to Seelah and give her a smile and a few quick words of thanks. The shape-shifter, her beautiful features beaming at him, returned the smile twofold.
“Come away,” Rocan urged the boy and the old man. “We’ve gotten you both safely out of the cell, but we’re not free of trouble yet. We can’t linger.”
He bundled them off toward the gates they had come through, providing each with a heavy cloak to guard against recognition, shooing them along with words of encouragement, glancing back over his shoulder anxiously. Shea found himself wondering how they were going to get through the gates. While there had been no problem getting inside Assidian Deep, thanks to Rocan bribing one of the watch, there was no reason to assume they would have help getting out.
And he was right. As they neared the gates, he saw three guards standing in their path with the opening behind them tightly sealed. In spite of everything they had accomplished thus far, they were still trapped.
He glanced around for Seelah, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Abruptly, Rocan made a sharp right turn, steering them away from the gates and the men. Shea waited for someone to try to stop them or to call out, but none of the men made any effort. They just stood there watching.
“Why aren’t they coming after us?” the boy asked Rocan in a hushed voice. “Don’t they know who we are?”
Rocan smiled. “Maybe they do, and maybe they don’t. But they don’t care. If we leave them alone and don’t try to get through their post, they have no interest in us. If anyone asks later, they can say they saw us but did as they were ordered and stayed put. After all, how could we possibly get out of here if all the gates were closed and guarded?”
He paused and smiled. “Enough credits will buy you anything, so long as what’s asked doesn’t inconvenience those who are bought. Men like those three just need to be able to say they did what they were told and the fault, whatever its nature, must lie elsewhere. Remember, this isn’t exactly the sort of job that anyone who holds it feels much attached to.”
Shea wasn’t sure he understood this rationale, but he was willing to accept it if it got them out of there. But that if remained a matter of concern. All they seemed to be doing now was following the wall of the prison to where they would find yet another closed gate with yet another contingent of guards.
Instead, though, they reached a set of stables with horses and feed, positioned back in the shadows of an overhang jutting from the north wall. Wagons and carriages in service to the men who worked the prison were parked off to one side, some of them dusty and worn, only one or two still in good working order. Here, the wall dropped lower to allow for a smaller set of gates where only a single man stood, rigid and unmoving as they approached. As they drew closer, Shea realized the guard was armored from head to foot, holding a halberd in one hand, butt resting on the ground.
When they reached the man, Rocan went right up to him and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “All right with you if we leave through these gates, my friend? It won’t get you in trouble, will it?”
The man said nothing.
Rocan nodded. “Silence is a sign of acquiescence, I believe.” He glanced back at Shea and Tindall. “Come along. These service gates will provide us with the exit we seek.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Shea asked as Rocan unbarred the smaller gates and pushed one of the two doors ajar. “Is he dead or something?”
The Rover shrugged. “He’s just the shell of the man he once was. He hasn’t been the same since he suffered a real out-of-body experience sometime last night. You know, like those astral projection followers believe happens to you once you get far enough into your own self. Never bought into it myself, but some do. Maybe this fellow was one of them.”
Shea realized, giving the motionless man another glance, what he was looking at. “He isn’t in there, is he? That armor is empty.”
Tindall gave a low chuckle. “Nothing gets by you, boy, does it?”
Shea felt like telling the old coot that if he called him “boy” one more time, he was going to flatten him. But by then they were on the other side of the wall and Rocan was pulling the door of the service gate closed behind him. There, Seelah was waiting with a carriage, holding the lead rope on a pair of horses as they stamped and shifted about impatiently.
Rocan ushered Shea and Tindall inside, then climbed into the driver’s seat. The boy looked, but he couldn’t tell what had happened to Seelah. “Hold on. The ride may get a bit bumpy before we get to where we’re going. Hah! Get on there!”
His yell sent the pair in the traces charging ahead, and the carriage and its occupants were off.
* * *
—
Assidian Deep was left behind after only a few minutes. They were traveling swiftly over whatever avenue of passage the Rover had settled on, and Shea found that even by looking out the windows of the carriage he could not tell where they were, let alone where they might be going. Seated across from him, Tindall bounced and squirmed as the wheels passed down a series of rutted and heavily pocked surfaces, groaning and grumbling the entire time as if escaping the prison wasn’t worth the cost.
Shea ignored him. Served him right for being such a grump. Maybe all the jouncing and discomfort would shake the bad disposition and lack of gratitude out of him.
The ride went on for a long time—an endless time, it seemed—leaving the boy wishing they had simply settled on walking to wherever it was they were going. On the other hand, he had gotten his wish for Tindall to stop griping. The old man was collapsed on the carriage seat and had somehow managed to fall asleep.
Several times, Shea peered out the windows to see what was happening. Not once did he notice anything troubling. No one was behaving as if an alarm had sounded or anything at all was wrong with the new day. It was as if they had moved into a different time and place entirely. The buildings and the people they charged through barely gave them a glance, save in the few instances when they were almost run down. Apparently what happened in Assidian Deep was not something that any of them cared about.
More than once, memories of what had transpired during the night intruded on Shea’s thoughts—dark images, like the whisperings of the ducts and the cleaners and the man Tindall called Steel Toe. But each time he was quick to tamp them down. Thinking on the nightmare of last night was not something he wanted to do even now that he was safel
y away from it.
Although he did pause long enough to remind himself never to let Rocan Arneas talk him into anything like that again.
When the carriage finally drew to a halt and Shea climbed down from inside, he knew at once where he was. It was the warehouse Rocan had brought him to that first night after they had escaped from Federation commander Zakonis and his men to find a new safe haven. It was in here that Annabelle was housed, high up on the second level in a room roughly the size of a small village.
Tindall stumbled out of the carriage behind him, rubbing his eyes and looking around. “Ah, home again!” he announced. “Now we’ll see!”
He did not bother to reveal what, exactly, they would see, but Shea didn’t ask because he didn’t care. He walked over to Rocan instead, who was tethering the horses in place. “What happens now?”
The Rover gestured toward the entry doors. “We go inside, of course.”
Shea glanced at the horses and carriage. “Seelah will see to those,” Rocan said. “She borrowed them yesterday and now feels an obligation to return them. It won’t take long. You and Tindall could both use a bath and some rest. It’s been a long night. Come along.”
He released the locks on the entry doors and they went inside, leaving the horses and carriage tethered outside. “Won’t someone steal them?” Shea asked, glancing back as the doors closed behind them.
“Not likely. This district is dangerous, as you know from personal experience, but nowhere near as dangerous as Seelah.”
Rocan and the boy walked side by side down the hallways to the stairs leading up, with Tindall trailing along behind, back to grumbling about one thing or another.