by Terry Brooks
She decided to be direct. “How did you meet the Blade? And how did you come to save each other’s lives? That shouldn’t happen on opposite sides of a war.”
There was a longer pause this time. “No, it shouldn’t. It’s complicated. I saw him first with a pair of Druids and some Troll guards they had brought with them. They confronted us in the Northlands and we killed them. But Darcon was still aboard the Druid airship when the fighting started, and he came down to the grasslands and charged in to rescue those he had been charged to protect. It was suicide, but I’ve never seen anything like it. He was magnificent—a warrior. He was unstoppable, even by us, and we stop everyone we face. But not him. He rescued one of the Druids and fled, although we pursued and caught them in the mountains and blew their vessel apart. That’s how I came to save him. He was hanging from the cliffs when I found him. I was in a flit and he was trapped out in the open, and I could have killed him. But I kept remembering his bravery and his skill with a sword. It just seemed wrong to take his life like that.” She shrugged. “Part of my code of honor as a soldier, I guess. So I left him hanging there. I can’t explain it. I just knew it was the right thing to do.”
“And then he saved you?”
“After we destroyed the Druids and Paranor was cast into limbo. He found me when I was alone and put his sword to my throat. But I could tell he didn’t want to kill me, so I reminded him of the debt he owed me. He let me go. He must wonder still how I talked him into it.”
“Or he talked himself into it.”
Ajin smiled. “Probably so.”
Tarsha watched the princess shift to a new position, wincing from the wound in her side. The Skaar princess bent down to look at the injury, and Tarsha moved over next to her. “I can see it better than you can,” she offered.
Ajin hesitated, then nodded her permission. The wound was not as bad as all the blood suggested. Tarsha studied it closely and then rocked back on her heels, her eyes meeting Ajin’s. “I could close that wound for you, if you want.”
“You mean stitch it up?”
“Something like that. I could help with your legs, too. Do you want me to do that?”
Ajin hesitated before nodding. “All right. Just try not to make things any worse.”
Tarsha bent forward and began to hum, calling up the wishsong magic, bringing it to her fingertips and folding it over and over like a compress. When she had it sufficiently strong, she used her voice to press it into the wound. Ajin gasped at the feelings it invoked, but held herself steady. Then Tarsha moved on to Ajin’s legs, still humming as she ran her hands up and down each one, her touch cool and soothing, even through the fabric of her clothing. When she was finished, there was no sign left at all of the injury.
“That was the oddest, most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” Ajin whispered in awe. She was looking down at where the wound had disappeared and touching the new skin gently. Then she stretched her legs, testing them for strength and flexibility. She glanced up in disbelief. “You have a rare gift, Tarsha Kaynin.”
Tarsha shrugged. “That was the first time I ever tried using it that way.”
“What?” The Skaar princess stiffened in shock.
“I thought I should be honest about it. But it worked, didn’t it?”
Ajin was still staring when Dar Leah reappeared, his arms laden with firewood. He took in the scene before him and stopped where he was. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking from one face to the other.
Nonchalantly, Ajin d’Amphere rose and walked over, peeling off the top layer of wood to relieve him of some of his burden. She caught his eye just before turning away.
“Magic,” she said, winking.
* * *
—
“What are the terms of the bargain you wish me to enter into?” Drisker asked.
Grianne Ohmsford stood before him, a frail and crooked image etched on the night air, her flesh-and-blood body still somewhere deep inside the Forbidding. Yet the power that emanated from her ethereal spirit form was unmistakable. Drisker did not for a second doubt her claim that she ruled over those unfortunates imprisoned with her. He did not doubt that if she were standing there in her corporeal form, she would be a dangerous adversary with enough magic to undo him.
But for now, she was still a shade and lacked power in every aspect save one—the words she spoke. He knew she was capable of a great deal using her voice alone. Her persuasiveness, with her friends and enemies alike, was legendary. He was not foolish enough to think that whatever bargain she was about to present would be either entirely transparent or comprehensible. But he had been given a choice, and it was a choice he would have to make. Should he make it, as he understood it now—incomplete and not fully revealed—or should he walk away?
She looked at him with those crone’s eyes in a way that told him she knew what he was thinking and was enjoying his discomfort. Not one to let the knife be twisted for too long, the Druid gave her a shrug that suggested, Doesn’t matter to me if you want to drag this out. I’m in no hurry. I have all night, and I know you well.
She gave him a nod, almost as if she understood. Her voice, when she spoke, was little better than a hiss of fury and regret.
–I have been trapped within the Forbidding for too long. I do not pretend at innocence. I know what I am. But I was dragged from my refuge—betrayed by my mistress and undone by that Ohmsford boy—all to serve a cause in which I had no interest. My life was turned upside down and taken from me as if it did not matter. I can never return to it; there is no turning back the clock. I am at the end of my life, and I do not wish to die like this–
She gestured at her crooked, emaciated form, at her deeply lined face and her stick-thin fingers. She ran her hand through her gray, lifeless hair and hugged herself.
–This creature that stands before you? This is not who I was meant to be at the end of my days! I have atoned for my sins, my failings, and my mistakes. I was living in a place where I belonged. I was happy—content to be nothing more than a flicker of motion and color on the air. I want back what was taken from me. I want to die as I was meant to die—not as what some capricious fate has bequeathed me–
“And you want me to give you this?” Drisker shook his head. “I do not know how to make you who you were.”
–Then you must find a way, mustn’t you? For that is to be your end of our agreement, and you must keep it. This is your end of the bargain. Return me to the young woman I was just before I entered into the service of Mother Tanequil—to the flesh-and-blood form that belonged to me–
Drisker shook his head slowly. “I cannot promise this.”
She cringed away from him, almost as if to lash out, then straightened so abruptly that she seemed to tower over him. –You will promise me if you want my help. And you will leave knowing that if you fail to keep your promise, you and those you love will die as a result. I do not threaten you, Druid. I simply prophesy the future I see for you–
“You could be lying.”
–If I cannot see the future, how is it that I know so much about you already? Besides, can you really afford to send me away? Ask your conscience–
She was right, of course. She was all that had come to him on his summoning, and he needed his questions answered. But the price she asked was too high. He could not think how he could honor it, even with his magic, even as Ard Rhys reborn.
“What is it you will do for me—exactly do—if I agree to your bargain?”
–Answer all your questions. Give you the information you seek. Tell you how to stop the war between the Skaar and the Four Lands. Tell you how best to deal with Clizia Porse. Tell you which direction you must go and what you must do to achieve a healing of your beloved Four Lands. That is what I will give you–
“And what if I fail in my efforts to bring you back to your former self? What if that turns out to
be more than I can do, magic or no?”
She gave him a scathing look from which he took an involuntary step back, recognition already surfacing.
–Then your life belongs to me and it is forfeit–
There it was, laid upon the table as dark as her heart. If he failed, he died. If she held up her end of the bargain and he did not, he was a dead man. That she could make this happen seemed questionable—a spirit with no power, her real self sealed away in the Forbidding. But he understood that merely by withholding crucial information or by having him take one small step in the wrong direction, she could bring him down.
But he needed to know how to save the Four Lands. He must know. If he walked away, he did so understanding that he must proceed blindly in his efforts. He did not think this was something he could do successfully. If he wanted the answer to his questions and the resolution the Four Lands and its peoples needed, he must be prepared to give up everything.
Even his life.
“Very well. We have a bargain.”
The Ilse Witch revealed nothing. She did not move; the twisted expression on her aged face did not change. She simply stood there, looking at him. Had he spoken at all, or did he simply imagine it?
–This is what you must do–
Her ragged voice and poisonous words confirmed his worst fears, but at the same time opened the door to what he sought.
ELEVEN
CLIZIA PORSE HAD RUN out of patience; it was time to go down into the Skaar encampment. She had been nearby all day, sheltering in the forest, well back from where the Skaar carried on the business of preparing to wage war.
Several things were immediately clear. First, she would no longer be dealing with Ajin d’Amphere if she wanted anything from the Skaar. Now that her father had arrived, Ajin would no longer be in command. He would insist on making all the decisions from here forward, and his approach might be entirely different from his daughter’s. Not to mention his thoughts about Clizia herself, once she told him who she was and what part she had played in Paranor’s fall. Ajin might give her some help in making her case, but she would not count on that. Everything might have changed. It didn’t matter. She needed to form a pact with the Skaar so she could quit worrying about them turning on her. It was bad enough that she had Drisker Arc hunting her. Bad as well that she had the Federation and the Elves with which to deal. The Skaar, at least, must be persuaded to let her be.
At first glance, this seemed impossible. Nothing at all worked in her favor when you considered what she would be asking of Cor d’Amphere. Nothing would suggest to him that she was anything but trouble. What she needed to do was to give the Skaar king a reason to want to ally himself and the Skaar to her.
She surprised herself with how quickly she found the reason she was searching for. It had been there all along, right in front of her. Events might have cheated her momentarily of the Keep and its magic and put her at risk from Drisker Arc’s wrath. Her plans for the future might be momentarily derailed, but now she knew she would be able to put them back on track.
Still, she must not act in haste. If she wanted to see the king, she must reach him directly. If his soldiers intervened, she might never get a chance to speak to him at all. She could not allow that to happen.
Which meant she must go into the camp unseen and unchallenged and confront him alone.
So she waited patiently, organizing her thoughts, deciding how much she should tell him and how much she should keep hidden. She worked her way through the arguments she would present, ordering and honing the words, considering alternatives to all of it should he react differently than she expected.
She considered as well how she would kill him if he proved too difficult to persuade. A last resort, but whatever happened she needed to be sure she was the one who walked away from it.
Now that it was nightfall, there was no reason to delay meeting with Cor d’Amphere.
She made her way to the Skaar encampment, choosing her path carefully, the darkness surrounding her nearly complete. It took her a long time just to get safely through the forest and close enough to allow the watch and cooking fires to lend sufficient illumination to reveal the vague outlines of the terrain about her. Once she had gotten that far, she paused to take in an overview of the camp, searching for what she supposed would be the king’s tent. As she expected, it wasn’t hard to find. It was easily the biggest structure visible, surrounded by smaller tents arranged expressly to encircle it, all flying flags that she knew to be the standard of the Skaar.
It was full night by now, and there were only a handful of sentries up and about. The bulk of those were stationed between the camp and the Mermidon, warding against the Federation. Some few would be stationed at other points to prevent a surprise attack from the rear, but in this blackness it would be all but impossible for anything of that sort to take place.
No, she thought, there would be no attacks this night. Both sides would be hunkering down, most of them catching what sleep they could while they plotted their strategies. A perfect situation for what Clizia needed to do, and she did not hesitate to consider it any longer. Down through the camp she walked, a ghost in the darkness. Keeping safely away from the hazy figures she could pick out through the curtains of gloom and rain, she stayed within the shadows. Her progress was slow, but necessarily so. Whatever else happened, she did not want to alert anyone to her presence. Twice she used magic to turn a sentry’s eyes in another direction, just long enough for her to pass unseen. Not once was she spotted. Not once was she challenged to identify herself.
The camp was mostly sleeping when she reached the king’s tent. She stood back from it for long minutes and studied the two sentries who stood watch before the closed flaps of the entrance. She would have to bypass them, but without causing them harm. It would be far easier just to kill them and be done with it but difficult to justify to Cor d’Amphere later. Nor did she want anyone to know of her visit to the king if things did not go her way. If she was forced to dispose of him, she did not want anyone to be able to report that she was the last one seen going in and out of his quarters.
No, this required a more subtle approach.
Summoning her magic, she rendered herself a part of the night, a shadow without an identity, a faceless disembodied bit of movement as she walked toward the guards through the driving rain. When she was still twenty feet away—the men still unaware of her—she caused a harsh muttering to erupt and an image of someone approaching from between the surrounding tents, all of it furtive and threatening.
The sentries noticed at once and immediately drew swords and assumed a defensive stance.
“Who’s there?” one called out. “Identify yourself!”
Clizia generated more signs of a threat—more movement amid rough muttering—still appearing to approach the king’s tent. She held her position, waiting on the sentries, knowing they must act. And quick enough, they did. Weapons held ready, they moved away from the entrance to the tent to confront this mirage, calling out for the intruder to stand and be identified. Clizia gave them time to get clear of the tent flaps and then moved quickly behind them, banishing the illusions they were confronting as she slipped inside.
The tent had several chambers, and in the one farthest away a light was burning through the otherwise heavy darkness of the canvas interior. His back turned to her, the Skaar king sat bent over a table, making notes on a document. She took a moment to look around, wanting to be sure she had not missed seeing someone else who was present before deciding that Cor d’Amphere and she were alone.
Silently, she approached until she stood next to him. “My lord?” she said quietly.
He was so startled he jerked to his feet in shock, his expression more than a little unsettled and wild-eyed. But when he saw it was an old woman who had intruded, and that she carried no weapons and offered no apparent threat, the expression turned to on
e of irritation.
“Who let you in here?” he demanded.
“No one, my lord. I did not trouble the guards to announce me. I needed to be sure we would be left alone while we talked.”
“Talked? Talked about what? Who are you?”
She glanced around, saw an unoccupied folding chair off to one side, and gestured toward it. “May I sit? My age doesn’t permit me to stand for too long without moving.”
The king gave her a long, probing look. He was a man of average size and weight, his age not immediately apparent from his appearance, his hair still dark and thick and his face handsome in a severe sort of way. There was about him an air of confidence and self-assurance that strengthened steadily as he grew more convinced she posed no threat.
The way he regarded her suggested that his curiosity had been aroused. “Sit, then. And say what you came to say.”
She took a seat, and he resumed occupying his own. She was an accepted guest now inside his lodgings, his attention fully captured by the fact she had somehow gotten there without the guards stopping her, and he wanted to know more. She stretched her limbs and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. “Much better. My thanks.”
“I’ll ask it again. Who are you?”
“My name is Clizia Porse. I was a member of the Druid order that your advance force annihilated at Paranor. The last member, as it happens. I served as your daughter’s eyes and ears inside the Keep until I was able to admit her Penetrator as a student. I was the one who provided the Skaar with a way to get inside the walls of the fortress without the Druids suspecting what was coming. Because of me, the Keep was taken and the Druids killed. I did this for a number of reasons, but what you should know is that I did it mostly as a means of arranging an alliance with the Skaar.”
She paused, giving him a chance to absorb everything and respond if he chose. “An alliance?” he questioned.
“The Druid order was rotting from the inside out. It needed a cleansing, and I was happy to provide the Skaar with the opportunity to give it one. Your daughter understood the value of my services. She is a very astute young woman. She said you would wish to have possession of Paranor and its magic artifacts—not for your own use so much as to deny their use to others. The Druids were your greatest threat. Now you face opposition only from armies inferior to the Skaar, lacking your abilities and military skills. Your position as invader is considerably improved, and for that you owe me your thanks. But I do not come seeking thanks. I am here because I believe I can give you something more.”