by Terry Brooks
“Is it something about the Elfstones?”
Aphenglow looked shocked. “How did you know? I only just found the diary three days ago! But you already know?”
Khyber smiled. “I know only a little. You can tell me the rest. Are the others waiting on you? Good, then let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” She hesitated. “Tell me. How long have I been sleeping?”
“Five years, Mistress.”
That long. She sighed, took the young Elf’s arm in her own, and side by side they walked from the sleeping chamber into the waking world.
She was hungry, even though the sleep kept her sufficiently nourished, hydrated, and muscle-toned. But she put aside thoughts of food and drink and followed Aphenglow straight to the chamber where the others were gathered.
“Rendellin disappeared two years ago,” Aphen was telling her as they neared the chamber doors, responding to her question about who still served the order. She saw Garroneck standing watch, face expressionless, only his eyes revealing a hint of surprise. “We looked,” Aphen finished, “but we never found out what happened to him.”
Bad things happened, Khyber thought. So, another gone. Now there were only five besides herself. The order was still too small and too weak. She needed to find a way to strengthen it.
She greeted Garroneck with a smile and a touch on his broad shoulder as he opened the door for her. Inside, the others were gathered about the table talking. They turned to look and went instantly silent before coming to their feet.
“She shouldn’t have woken you, Mistress,” Pleysia said at once.
“I woke without help.” Khyber motioned for them to sit. “We have business to discuss, and we should do it now.”
For the next hour, she listened to a reading of Aleia Omarosian’s diary followed by a heated discussion about its validity and intent. She let the others argue until she felt everything new or interesting had been said, and then brought the discussion to a halt.
“What are your thoughts, Mistress?” Carrick asked her.
“My thoughts?” She smiled. “In the main, I don’t think you want to know. As for the diary, it is possible we have discovered what happened to the missing Elfstones. More important, there is at least a remote chance we might be able to track them down. Aphen was right in bringing the diary to Paranor, and I am proud that she took the risk. If she had been caught, there is every chance we would not have seen her again. I am also proud of her for defending herself and protecting the diary twice when she was attacked.”
Aphenglow blushed deeply. “Thank you, Mistress.”
“I regret that you were forced to kill a man. But it is clear evidence of the determination of those involved. I would not expect that these attacks were undertaken solely for the purpose of harming you, although we cannot dismiss the possibility out of hand. But I think it more likely it was the diary they were after—that even without knowing exactly what you had found, they suspected it had value. Did you sense that you were being watched at any time during your research, Aphen?”
The young woman shook her head. “My guard was up; my wards were always in place. I made certain to secure the rooms in which I worked, and I checked my preparations each day. I was always alone save when either my sister or my uncle came to see how I was, which was infrequently. I did not sense another’s presence the entire time I was working. I could not have been spied upon without knowing it.”
“You were there for almost a year. Someone might have found a way.”
Aphenglow shook her head. “I would have sensed it. Anyway, who would go to such trouble?”
“Someone who was afraid you might find something useful regarding the old magic and either not give it to them or give it to the wrong people.”
Aphenglow shook her head, troubled and uncertain. The idea was appalling, even now.
“Do you think the Elves themselves might have done this?” Seersha asked quickly. “Attack the King’s granddaughter?”
“Or someone who hates the Druids,” Bombax broke in. “Someone who would like to see the order disbanded and their magic confiscated and destroyed.”
He explained what had happened the previous day in Arishaig with the death of the old Prime Minister and the election of Drustan Chazhul. Khyber listened and nodded. “Perhaps. Anything is possible. What matters is that someone thinks what Aphen has brought us has value.”
“Or might have value,” Pleysia corrected. “The attempt to steal the diary might have been a protective measure to assure that nothing gets taken out of those storerooms, no matter the value.”
“A preventive act?” Khyber rose and walked over to the chamber doors and opened them. “Would you find something for me to eat and drink?” she asked Garroneck as he stepped forward to see what she required. “Bring it here.”
When he was gone, she dismissed the others, all save Aphenglow, whom she asked to remain behind. With the young Elven woman sitting across from her, she read through the entirety of the diary, pausing only to eat and drink when Garroneck brought her hot food and cold ale.
“Where is Woostra?” she asked her Troll Captain as he was leaving. “He is still with us, isn’t he?”
Garroneck nodded. “Very much so. He is probably down in the library, poring through his books. Do you wish to see him?”
She nodded, and the big Troll departed to find him. Woostra was her personal secretary and the keeper of the Druid records. When she wanted to know something about the history of the Four Lands, she went first to him. She finished her meal while waiting, feeling a measure of strength and contentment return as a result. She had nearly finished reading through the rest of the diary when Woostra finally rushed in, somewhat in a state of dishevelment.
“Mistress, I didn’t realize you were awake.” Rail-thin and bent, he might have weighed a little more than a wool travel cloak soaked through. Hair stuck out of his large ears and tunneled down his neck. His chin hooked up and his nose hooked down. Odd looking didn’t begin to cover it, but his memory was astounding and his work ethic faultless. “Are you well? You look perplexed. Do you need help with something? You must tell me at once!”
That was Woostra, somewhat overbearing but always anxious to help. “I want to know if you have ever come across the name Aleia Omarosian in our books and papers.”
Woostra assumed a thoughtful pose, gaze directed outward through the nearest window in a thousand-yard stare. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Will you have a fresh look to see if there might be a mention somewhere? Look, as well, for references to the Elfstones. Any of the Elfstones, not just the blue ones. Take your time. Do a thorough search.”
“Mistress!” He straightened to his full height, which just about brought him up to Aphenglow’s shoulder. “I am not aware that I have ever performed any other kind!”
Looking misunderstood and put upon, he wheeled about and left the room without glancing back.
“Awfully thin-skinned, isn’t he?” Khyber said, mostly to herself.
She went back to reading the diary, finished a short time later, and leaned back in her chair. “I think this is real, Aphen.”
Aphenglow allowed herself a relieved smile. “I’m pleased. But what are we to do with it? Pleysia is right. It doesn’t give us any clue as to where the missing Elfstones might be found. The Darkling boy might have taken them to his home city, but he could just as easily have taken them somewhere else. If Woostra doesn’t find a mention in our records of a sighting of the Elfstones at a later time, we have nowhere to start a search. Perhaps I should go back and search the Elven histories again, this time looking for a mention of Aleia.”
“Perhaps.” Khyber thought a moment. “But I don’t want to risk you being attacked again.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Khyber smiled in spite of herself. “I know that. You are braver even than Bombax and twice as brave as me.”
Aphenglow blushed. “I doubt that. You must be thinking of Pleysia.�
�
“Pleysia?” She kept to herself the first words that came to mind. Better that her thoughts remained hidden. “Sit here a moment while I move about a bit, Aphen. The Druid Sleep has left me stiff and achy.”
She rose and walked to the far end of the chamber, looking out the window at the coming night. It was almost fully dark now, the sky gone deep blue, the first stars coming out to the north, shadows overlapping across the parapets and towers of the Keep. Torchlight blazed in tiny pockets atop the walls, and in the distance the horizon was a blood-red band of light fighting off the night’s descending blackness. She could hear the sound of the night birds and the soft tinkle of wind chimes.
What should she do?
To ignore the diary was unthinkable. She had to discover if the lost Elfstones still existed and, if they did, where they might be found. She had to gain possession of them for the Druid order before they fell into hands that would not use them well. Elfstones were a powerful magic, and while she had given back the seeking-Stones long ago, believing when she did so that the Elves would keep them safe and use them wisely, she had kept the Black Elfstone—the most powerful of them all and the only other Stone that had ever been recovered—believing its magic better off in the hands of the Druids.
Which was what she believed about all magic.
It wasn’t that the other Races were incapable of good judgment and clear thinking. It wasn’t that the Druids possessed special insight or better reasoning, though she believed they did. The difference lay in the depth and breadth of commitment to a way of life that respected what magic could do and how it should be managed. Only the Druids had given their lives to this cause. Only the Druids understood and respected the power that magic offered, both good and bad. Only the Druids studied endlessly what history had to teach about the mistakes and misuses that had doomed so many before them.
To abdicate magic of any sort to a political entity or even to any one of the Races that populated the Four Lands, no matter the promises offered or the feelings expressed, was a failing of monumental proportions, and she would not be part of it.
Everyone who knew of the missing Elfstones, Races and individuals alike, had been seeking them since their disappearance in the time of Faerie. But no one had found them. No one had found even a trace. Not a word written. Not the briefest glimpse. Nothing.
What made her think it would be any different this time?
She walked back to where Aphenglow sat watching her and stopped in front of her.
“Do you know what to do?” Aphen asked softly.
Khyber Elessedil shook her head. “But I know who to ask.”
6
KHYBER SLEPT LITTLE THAT NIGHT, HER MIND ROILING with possibilities and the plans for bringing them to fruition. She walked the halls of the Keep alone, thinking of the missing Elfstones and how finding them might help the Druids in their efforts to bring the Races together in a peaceful alliance. They had been at war for so long—struggles like the war on the Prekkendorran, which had lasted for more than fifty years. If the magic of the Elfstones could in some way serve to contain such wars or even keep the Races from instigating such conflicts, she would have accomplished something that no Ard Rhys ever had.
She basked in the warmth of the idea one minute and went cold with her doubts about the reliability of the diary in the next.
Once, she came across Pleysia sitting alone in a nook writing at a small table, but Pleysia failed to see her and she turned another way to protect her solitude. This was not a night when she wanted to visit with others. This was a night to consider what she would do on the morrow.
At daybreak, after advising Garroneck what that was and asking him to make the necessary preparations, she washed, dressed, ate her breakfast alone, and then summoned the Druids to the courtyard that housed the airships. Woostra was there as well, restless and ill at ease as he waited to see what she intended. Garroneck had refitted the Wend-A-Way with supplies and a fresh store of diapson crystals, and was working with two of his guardsmen to fasten the radian draws to the light sheaths from their links on the railing to the parse tubes. The ship was already straining at its anchor ropes in response to the power running through the lines and filling out the sheaths.
“Young ones,” she said to her followers, her friends and fellow Druids, after drawing them close. “After thinking it through, I have decided I need to seek advice from those who know more than I, from those who have access to secrets kept from me. I go to the Hadeshorn to speak with the spirits of the dead. Perhaps one of the Elder Druids will know something more than we do and consent to speak to me.”
“That form of contact is dangerous, Mistress,” Seersha said at once. “You have never done this, and there is no one to teach you how.”
Khyber smiled at the young Dwarf’s concern. “All true, Seersha. And yet there is no need for you to worry. An Ard Rhys knows instinctively what is required to summon the dead. The spirits of the dead cannot physically harm the living. Nor can their words. I will be fine.”
“Which of us will go with you?” the other pressed. “You will need at least one or two.”
“Thank you, Seersha, but I will need no one save Garroneck and his guards for this journey. I want the rest of you to stay here and continue your discussions about the diary. Try to think of ways we might make use of its contents. Look for anything we might have missed. I will be back within two days’ time.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going alone,” Seersha insisted.
“Neither do I,” Aphenglow agreed.
“But I have to.” Khyber gave them each a hard look. “It is required of me. Garroneck will be enough. Now, go on about your work. Woostra!”
She dismissed them by turning away and joining her personal secretary at the fringes of the little gathering. He bowed deeply, waiting.
She pulled him upright. “Don’t forget. I want you to find out something about this girl, this Aleia Omarosian. I want information about who she was and what became of her. Am I understood?”
He nodded quickly. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Then do as I ask before I return. Find something. Anything.”
Then she turned from him, and because she didn’t want to prolong her leaving she walked over to where Garroneck stood waiting. The big Troll’s rough, impassive face revealed nothing of what he was thinking, and he was quick to offer her the rope ladder to climb. She went up it swiftly, still strong and nimble in spite of her years. She climbed through the slot in the railing and waited for Garroneck to join her.
“Are we ready?”
“On your signal.”
“Then lift us away. I’ll take the helm. I feel like doing something. Maybe I can still do this.”
“This, and a great deal more, unless I am mistaken.”
His deadpan voice made her smile. “Let’s hope so.”
She gave a quick wave to the members of her Druid order as she walked to the cluster of thruster levers and steering gears, but she did not stop to look closely at them. She didn’t trust herself with what she might see on their faces. Instead, she set herself in place at the controls. As the anchor ropes were freed, she eased the skimmer out of its berth and into the air, wheeling south toward Kennon Pass and the far side of the Dragon’s Teeth. The Wend-A-Way responded smoothly, flying over Paranor’s walls and battlements, her towers and spires, her courtyards and ramps, and finally the deep woods surrounding them all. Sunshine beamed down out of a cloudless sky, and the wind was soft and cool on her skin.
She glanced back once to see the other Druids disbanding and moving indoors until only a couple of the Troll guards remained.
She sighed, watching it happen. It was as if her leaving made no difference to anything, and yet she could not quite shrug away the feeling that she was about to begin a journey that in the end would be life changing.
They flew on through the remainder of the day, traveling south through the Kennon before turning east, then tracking the wall of the Dr
agon’s Teeth, brief glimmerings of the Rainbow Lake visible to the south through mist and haze, the land spreading away in a patchwork carpet. By midafternoon, they had crossed over the Mermidon River where it angled south through the valley formed by the Runne Mountains and could see the land ahead turn stark and bare as the mountains broadened and the woods disappeared.
Such a beautiful, wild place, Khyber thought as she surveyed the passing landscape in the winding down of the day. Ahead, the mountain peaks rose in jagged spikes, their slopes layered as far north as the eye could see. Night was sliding out of the east in a dark wave, swallowing everything as it advanced. Behind her, the sun was edging below a horizon dominated by the broad sweep of the plains of Callahorn and Streleheim south and north respectively of the Mermidon, the whole of it green and flat and still bright with sunshine.
She found herself thinking of other times, long since past, and other trips taken to faraway places on undertakings similar to this one. She could remember the details in spite of her age and time’s passing—especially those in which Grianne Ohmsford, who had been Ard Rhys before her, had been involved. If not for Grianne, her brother Bek, and his son Penderrin, Khyber would still be living in the Westland, gone home to Arborlon and her family, and not be Ard Rhys of the Fourth Druid Order. But the events surrounding the disappearance of Grianne into the Forbidding and the ill-fated efforts of the Druid Shadea A’Ru to take control of the order had changed everything for Khyber and all those who had stood with Grianne against Shadea and her allies.
In the end, Grianne had prevailed over Shadea, but the Druids had been decimated, and in the aftermath of Grianne’s disappearance Khyber had become Ard Rhys and leader of the Fourth Order. It was not a position she had sought, but one she had accepted out of a sense of obligation for the Druid future and toward those who had fought so hard to see it secured. She was more accomplished in the use of magic than any of the others by then, and she knew she was the most likely candidate. So it came down to whether she would accept the responsibility she was being asked to assume or turn away and leave it for another to shoulder.