Jarka Ruus

FOURTEEN

Midday at Paranor was dark and forbidding, the skies gone black with storm clouds and the air gone as still as death. There had been no sunlight all day, only a hazy glow at sunrise before the enveloping clouds screened even that away. Birds had long since gone to roost in sheltering havens, and the winds had died away to nothing. The world was hushed and waiting in expectation of thunder and lightning and fury.

Shadea a'Ru glanced through the open window of her chambers, her face a mirror of the weather. She should have felt triumph and satisfaction, a reward for her successes. She had dispatched Grianne Ohmsford into the Forbidding and taken her place. The Druid Council, albeit with some reluctance and after considerable debate, had named her Ard Rhys. Her cohorts controlled all the major positions on the council, and Sen Dunsidan, as Prime Minister of the Federation, had officially recognized her as head of the order. The Rock Trolls under Kermadec had been dismissed and sent home in disgrace, blamed for the disappearance of the Ard Rhys and, in more than a few corners, suspected as the cause for it, as well. Everything had worked out perfectly, exactly as she had hoped, and exactly as she had planned.

Except for that boy.

She ran her fingers distractedly through her chopped–off blond hair, letting the short ends slip through her fingers like the loose threads of her perfect plan. It was all because of Terek Molt, who was the most reliable of her coconspirators and the one Druid she thought she could depend upon. To let that boy—that slip of a boy—make a fool of him like that was unforgivable. It was bad enough that none of them had thought to lock up Tagwen, who they should have known would not sit idly by and do nothing after his beloved Ard Rhys disappeared, but to lose the boy, as well, was too much. She should have taken care of the matter herself, but it was impossible for her to do everything.

She stalked to the door and stood staring at it a moment, thinking to go out again to calm herself. She had walked the corridors earlier, an intimidating presence to the Druids she now commanded. They would obey her because she was Ard Rhys, but also because they were afraid of her. No one would challenge her openly while she had the backing of Molt and the others and the Ard Rhys was gone, though some would plot behind her back, just as they had plotted against Grianne Ohmsford. She could do nothing about them until they tried to act, but she could let them know she was watching and waiting to catch them out.

She walked back to the window and looked out again. The first sharp gusts of wind were rippling the tree limbs, signaling the approach of the rainstorm. She had half a mind to put all of them out into it, every last Druid—to make them hike to the Kennon Pass and back again as an exercise in deprivation and humility. Some of them might not come back, and it wouldn't make her unhappy if they didn't.

Her thoughts returned to Tagwen and the boy. They might have escaped her for the moment, she thought, but sooner or later she would find them again. The parents, as well. She had Druids and airships looking for all of them and had put out the word to all corners of the Four Lands. She had kept it simple. The ones she sought were members of Grianne Ohmsford's family and they were in danger. Help could be given them at Paranor, where their Druid protectors would keep them safe. Anyone seeing them was to send word. As incentive, she had offered a substantial reward. Most would ignore the offer, but the greedy among them would look around. Someone would see the boy and his Dwarf companion and report them. And when they were found, she would deal with them herself.

She was contemplating the satisfaction that enterprise would give her, when a sharp knock sounded, and without bothering to wait for her to respond, Terek Molt barged in.

«What do you think you are doing?» she snapped at him. «Rooms have doors for a reason, Molt!»

«We've found them," he rumbled in his deep, subterranean voice, ignoring her. «West, across the Mermidon.»

She started. «Tagwen and the boy?»

«Only moments ago, someone used Elfstone magic. It was visible on the scrye waters in the cold chamber. Iridia was there to see it. There is no mistaking what it is.»

The cold chamber was where the Druids read the lines of power that crisscrossed the Four Lands. The scrye waters were the table of liquid on which all uses of magic revealed themselves as ripples that indicated the extent of the power expended. Grianne Ohmsford herself had implemented it at Paranor more than a dozen years ago, a tool she had employed as the Ilse Witch.

«Elfstones?» she asked. She did not yet understand the connection.

«Of course, Shadea," he said, smiling with such satisfaction that she wanted to tear his face off. «They've escaped us and gone for help from the one Druid who might actually give it.»

«The Elven Prince!» she hissed. «But he doesn't have the use of the Elfstones. His brother keeps them.»

«Not so well protected that he couldn't get to them if he chose. He would do so to save the Ard Rhys. No, it has to be him. The readings come from that part of the Westland where he keeps his home. Tagwen would know to go there and take the boy with him.»

«I am surprised they chanced using the Stones. Ahren Elessedil must know we will be watching for any use of magic.»

«But how else can he find the Ard Rhys?» Molt pointed out. «He has no choice but to use the Stones.»

She nodded slowly, thinking it through. «True enough. He can't know what we've done to her, even if he suspects we're responsible, unless he uses the Stones.» She hesitated. «Wait. Did you say that Iridia was the one who discovered this use?»

Terek Molt's laugh was low and rough. «I thought of that, too. I asked her if she was certain. She insisted there was no mistake. It was Elfstone magic. I told her she had better be sure, since you would question it. She is waiting to speak with you in the cold chamber.» He paused, a faint smile twisting his mouth at the corners. «She wants to be the one to go after him.»

«I would expect nothing less. Such a fool.»

She walked to the window and stared out at the darkening skies. She could not leave the matter to Iridia, but then Terek Molt had not proved particularly adept at settling things, either. She should do this herself, yet she did not think it wise to leave Paranor just yet. She was too newly settled in as Ard Rhys. Someone else must make certain that Tagwen and the boy, and now Ahren Elessedil, as well, did not succeed in their efforts.

«Perhaps we should let this matter lie," Terek Molt said quietly. «After all, even if they know what we have done with the Ard Rhys, there is nothing they can do to help her.»

«Is that so?» she asked without bothering to look at him. «Are you so certain?» «Certain enough.» «You assume too much. Besides, they can cause us a great deal of trouble, even if they cannot reach her. I don't want to chance it. Better that we remove them from the picture.»

«That could cause us more trouble still. Others will know what we have done. Killing a boy and an old man is one thing. Killing a Druid is something else again. That's what you intend, isn't it?» «I intend to do whatever is necessary to make certain our efforts do not fail. I expect you to do likewise.» She turned back to him. «Ready the Galaphile, but do not tell Iridia. I don't trust her in this matter, not where Ahren Elessedil is concerned. She may think she can blind herself to her feelings, but I don't care to chance it. Better that she remain here. I will tell her after you are gone. Given the look of the weather, you won't leave today. If the storm passes by nightfall, leave then.»

He turned for the door. «Stay a moment," she said. «I have more to say to you. Heed me well. Are you listening, Terek?» The Dwarf turned back slowly, brow darkening in anticipation of what he knew was coming.

«Speak your mind, woman.»

«First," she said, walking over to stand directly in front of him, «don't come into this room again until you are invited. Not for any reason.» She waited for his response. He grunted and shrugged. «Second, don't fail me again. I would not be pleased if you did.» He laughed. «I am less concerned about pleasing you than pleasing myself, so spare me your threats. The matter of finding and dispatching the boy and the old man has become personal. I don't like to be tricked. They used magic of some sort or I would have had them. I intend to see that accounts between us are settled.»

She held his fierce gaze a moment, then nodded. «Fair enough. But that may not prove to be so easy now that you must contend with Ahren Elessedil, as well. Dispatching him may prove troublesome, even for you. So I am sending someone to help.»

The Dwarf glowered at her. «Who? If not Iridia …»

«Another Druid would only muck up the waters. You don't need another Druid to get this business settled.» She paused. «I'm going to send Aphasia Wye.» Terek Molt turned his head aside, though barely, and spit very deliberately on her carpet. «No.» «This isn't open to debate.» «I won't put that monster on any ship I command. Get someone else, if you think you can.» «I don't want anyone else. If I wanted someone else, I wouldn't be talking with you! Where is your backbone? Are you afraid? Think how it will it look if you stay behind after failing so badly the first time. Some will see it as a weakness, and you can't afford that.» She drew her robes about her in a dismissive fashion. «Be smart about this, Druid. You are the best of the lot and you know it. I depend on you. Don't make me question my faith in you.»

«You've never had faith in anyone but yourself, Shadea.» «Think what you want. What matters is that you understand that Aphasia Wye is coming with you. Stop worrying. He won't dare to cross you.»

The Dwarf snorted derisively. «Aphasia Wye will cross anyone if opportunity allows for it. He's a monster, Shadea. There isn't anything that creature won't door anyone he won't do it to. Shades, we don't even know what he really is!»

She laughed. «He's the most efficient assassin I have ever seen! What more do you want him to be? I don't care what sex or race or breed he is! I don't care how loathsome you find him! You're not partnering with him! You're putting him to work! Stop whining!»

Terek Molt was seething, his chiseled face turned red, the muscles of his forearms knotted. He was as dangerous at that moment as she had ever seen him, and if she was foolish enough to give him an opening, he would kill her before she could blink. But she faced him down, keeping his eyes locked on hers and making him see that no matter how dangerous he was, she was more dangerous still.

«Don't even think it, Dwarf," she hissed softly. «Remember who I am.»

He glared at her a moment longer, then looked away, furious still, but no longer threatening. «Someday you will go too far with me, Shadea.» His voice was eerily calm. «Be careful of that day.»

«Perhaps," she replied, reaching past him to open the door. «But until then, you will listen to me when I tell you what to do. Go ready the airship. When the storm passes, you will sail at once.»

His big hands tightened into fists as he considered saying something more. Then, without doing so, he turned his back on her and walked away.

* * *

She waited until he was well away and her frustration with his recalcitrance had faded before she departed for the cold chamber to find Iridia Eleri. The sorceress would not be happy with what Shadea intended to tell her. Unfortunately, disappointing Iridia was unavoidable, because the sorceress was only as reliable as her control over her feelings about Ahren Elessedil, which meant she was not reliable at all. Iridia had set her mind on the matter long ago, and Shadea was not going to be able to change it, even if she tried.

Love was like that.

Denial only sharpened its edges.

Shadea entered the cold chamber and found Iridia standing at the broad stone basin set in its center, bending close as she read the movement of its contents. The scrye waters were shallow and deep green, shielded from the elements by the walls of the tower and the sides of the basin. Disturbances came solely from magic channeled through the earth's lines of power. Just then they manifested themselves as concentric ripples fanning out from a point just west of center. Iridia's slender hands moved in time to the ripples, as if to trace their liquid ridges back to her doomed love. Her perfect features radiated her intensity, a mix of light and dark, pale skin and black hair. Her Elven features were drawn taut by her concentration, emphasizing what could be both passionate and cruel about her. Shadea stood in the doorway and watched her for a long time, observing. Iridia, captive to her memories and her dreams, didn't even know Shadea was there. It was possible that the madness Iridia had always seemed so close to embracing was finally coming to her.

«Iridia!» she called sharply.

The sorceress turned at once. «Have you heard?»

Shadea walked over to her. «Terek told me of it. Is there no chance that you are mistaken?»

The delicate features hardened. «What do you take me for? I don't make mistakes of that sort. It was Elfstone magic, which means it could be him. I want to make certain of it, Shadea. You will have to send someone in any case. It should be me.»

Shadea shook her head. «It should be anyone but you. What will you do if you find him and he looks at you and you cannot act? Don't tell me it cannot happen because I know better. I was there, Iridia, when you lost him. You were inconsolable for weeks. He was the one you wanted—the one you will always want.»

«I don't deny that!» she snapped. «But that part of my life is over. I am committed to our efforts here. If he stands in our way, if he acts to help her, then I want him dead! I have the right to watch him die. I ask nothing more than that. If he is to be killed, I want to be there to see it. I want my face to be the last face he sees in this life!»

Shadea sighed. «You only think you want that. What you want is for him to take you back again, to tell you that he loves you still, despite what has happened. If he were to do so, you would abandon your cause and us in a heartbeat. No, wait, Iridia—don't lie to yourself. You would, and you know it. Why wouldn't you? I don't condemn it. I would do the same in your place.»

«You would do nothing of the sort.» the other woman sneered. «You have never loved anyone but yourself. Don't pretend to understand me. I know love compels me, but it compels me in ways other than those you seem so quick to attribute. Love doesn't compel me to embrace him; it compels me to see him suffer!»

«Yes, but not at your hands.» Shadea moved away, gazing out the tower window at the enfolding darkness and roiling storm clouds. Outside, the wind began to howl and the rain to fall in heavy curtains that lashed the stone walls.

«Better at my hands, where we can be certain of the result, than at the hands of Terek Molt, who has already failed us once!»

«Better at another's hands entirely. I am sending Aphasia Wye to make certain the job is done right.»

She glimpsed Iridia's face out of the corner of her eye, and the look confirmed what she had already decided about the other's feelings for Ahren Elessedil.

«Iridia," she said softly, turning back. «Distance yourself from this matter. Leave it to others to determine what is needed. You have suffered enough at the hands of the Elven Prince. He has betrayed you already and would do so again. His loyalty is to her, not to you. That will never change. To place yourself in a position where you must test your resolve is foolish and dangerous. It asks too much of you.»

The sorceress stiffened, her lips tightening to a thin, hard line, her perfect features cast in iron. «And you think too little of me. I am not a fool, Shadea. I am your equal and in some ways your better. I have experiences you do not; don't be so quick to dismiss me as a lovesick child.»

«I would never do that.»

«You not only would, you do!» Iridia's glare would have melted iron. «If Ahren Elessedil has used the Elfstones to try to help that woman, I want him dead as much as you do. But I want to see it happen. I want to watch him die!»

«Do you?» Shadea a'Ru paused. «I would have thought you'd had enough of that sort of thing.

How many more of those you profess not to love, but secretly do, must you watch die before you are satisfied?»

Iridia's face went white. «What are you talking about?» There was an unmistakable warning in her words.

Shadea ignored it, her gaze cold and empty. «The baby, Iridia. You remember the baby, don't you? You didn't love her, either.»

For a long moment Iridia neither moved nor spoke, but simply stared at Shadea, the look on her face one of mixed incredulity and rage. Then both drained away with frightening swiftness, leaving her features calm and dispassionate. «Do what you want," she said.

She turned and walked away without looking at Shadea. As she went through the door, she said softly, «I hate you. I'll see you dead, too.»

As Iridia disappeared down the tower stairs, Shadea glanced after her, thinking for just a moment that she should go after her, then deciding otherwise. She knew the sorceress. Iridia was quick to anger, but she would think the situation through and realize she was being foolish. It was better to let her be for now.

She looked down at the scrye waters in the basin. The ripples had disappeared; the surface had gone completely still.

Ahren Elessedil would be made to vanish just as swiftly.

* * *

One last task remained to her, the one she dreaded most. She had no more love for Aphasia Wye than did Terek Molt, but she found him useful in carrying out assignments that others would either refuse or mishandle. She had already seen enough of the latter in the hunting down of Grianne Ohmsford's family, and the task would get no easier with Ahren Elessedil added to the mix. Terek Molt might protest her decision, but it was a matter of common sense and expediency. One Druid of her inner circle was all she cared to spare for the venture, and one was probably not enough.

As she passed through the towers and hallways of the Keep, by sleeping rooms and meditation chambers, the resting and the restless, her mind focused on the task ahead. She wanted the business over, but not before she had accomplished what was necessary. She had given the matter considerable thought since Terek Molt's return. It was a mistake—her mistake, unfortunately—to have thought of the Patch Run Ohmsfords as ordinary people. The boy and his parents might not be Druids, but that did not render them commonplace. The magic that was in their blood, and their long history of surviving against impossible odds, made them dangerous. It would require a special effort to overcome both, one that she would not underestimate again.

It would help that she had the services of Aphasia Wye. But something more was needed.

She descended the winding stairways of the Keep into its depths, into the cellars and dungeons that lay far underground in the bedrock, dark places where the Druids seldom ventured. Her destination was known only to her, now that Grianne Ohmsford was gone, a place she had discovered some years ago while shadowing the Ard Rhys in an effort to discover her secrets. She had been good at shadowing even then, having developed the skill in her early years when the uses of magic were first revealing themselves to her. It was dangerous to challenge Grianne Ohmsford's instincts, but she managed it with the aid of a fine–grained, odorless dust that rendered the other's tracks visible in a wash of prismatic light. Layering the dust in the dark places she knew the other sometimes went, she would wait for her return before sneaking back down to read the trail. She had gotten lucky once or twice, but never again as lucky as with what she now sought to retrieve.

She entered the deep center of the Keep, the heart of the fortress, down where the earth's heat lifted out of its churning magma to warm the rooms above. She found it interesting that the Druids would build their home atop a volcanic fissure that might erupt and destroy them one day. But the Druids lived in harmony with the earth's elements and found strength in what was raw and new. She understood and appreciated that. A proximity to the sharp edge that divided life and death was compelling for her, as well.

The passageways narrowed and darkened further. So far down, there was no need for space or light. She thought that some of the corridors had not been walked in a thousand years, that some of the cells and rooms they fed into had not seen life in thousands more. But she sought nothing of life that day, only of death. She moved in silence, listening for sounds of the spirit creature that lived in the pit beneath the Keep and warded Paranor and its magic. It slept now and would slumber until awakened. So long as the Druids kept occupancy and life, it would lie dormant. She knew the stories of its protective efforts. The stories were legend. They did not frighten her, however. Rather, they intrigued her. One day, she would come down to take a closer look at it. Spirits were something she understood.

She pondered for a moment the circumstances that had led her to that moment. She had no regrets about how she had achieved her position, but she would have preferred that it be otherwise. She wasn't evil, just practical. She was the right choice to be Ard Rhys, the better person for the title, but that did not mean she was happy with the way she had obtained it. Climbing over the backs of others to get what you wanted was suited more to politicians and to royalty than to students of magic. She would have preferred to face Grianne Ohmsford in combat, but a decision based on the outcome of trial by magic would not have been accepted by the others—neither her allies nor her enemies. Druids, for all their examination and study, were conservative by nature. History had taught them that independence and disobedience led to disaster, so they preferred that matters progress in an orderly fashion.

That couldn't happen here. Not with the Ilse Witch as Ard Rhys and the fate of the order hanging in the balance. Shadea had understood that from the beginning. Unlike the others, she had chosen to act.

She reached a heavy iron door at the end of a corridor and stopped. Placing her fingers on a set of symbols cut into the metal, she closed her eyes and pressed in deliberate sequence. It had taken her a while to unlock the puzzle, but in the end she had done so. Tumblers clicked and a bolt slid back. The door opened.

Inside, the room was round and dark save for the light cast by a single lamp set in a raised stanchion at the chamber's center. Heavy stone blocks encircled a mosaic floor in which runes had been carved in intricate patterns that suggested story panels. There was only the one door leading in and no windows. There were no openings in either the walls or floor. The ceiling domed away in shadowed darkness.

A tomb for the dead and their possessions, Shadea thought. A space where things were placed with a strong expectation that one day they would be forgotten.

She walked to the stanchion, stood with the heel of her right boot pressed against one edge of its square base and fitted into an invisible depression beneath, then walked straight ahead until she reached the wall. Placing the palms of both hands flat against the stone at waist height, she worked the tips of her fingers around until she found the hidden depressions in the stone, then pushed.

A heavy panel swung open on hidden hinges, revealing a deep, ink–black chamber.

Her smile said everything about her expectations for what waited within.

She entered without the use of fresh light, relying on the faint glow of the lamp behind her. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw what she had come for. She walked over to a low pedestal set against one wall, opened the iron box sitting on top of it, and took out the velvet pouch that rested within. She handled it carefully, the way she might a deadly snake, taking care not to grip it too strongly but to balance it in the palms of her hands. Even more carefully still, she reached inside to extract what was hidden there.

Slowly, gingerly, she drew out the Stiehl.

It was the most deadly weapon in the world, a blade forged in the time of Faerie in the furnaces of the Grint Trolls. Infused with lethal strains of arcane fire magic, it could penetrate anything, no matter how thick or strong. Nothing could stand against it. It had been in the hands of the assassin Pe Ell in the time of the Shadowen and Walker Boh, and he had used it to kill the daughter of the King of the Silver River. The Druid had recovered it afterwards and hidden it here. No one had known where it was since. No one, but Grianne Ohmsford and now Shadea.

She held it by its handle, feeling the markings that signified its name where they were carved into the bone plates. The blade gleamed silver bright, its surface smooth and flawless. It had survived thousands of years without a mark. Grianne had kept it concealed for the same reasons as Walker Boh—it was too dangerous to reveal. It was an assassin's weapon, a killer's tool.

It belonged, Shadea told herself, in a killer's hands, in an assassin's sheath. It belonged in the hands of a master. She would see that it found its way there. She would see that it was put to the use for which it was intended. The lives it snuffed would be well spent.

She sighed. She wasn't being evil, she told herself for a second time that afternoon. She was just being practical.

She put the Stiehl away, closed the chamber anew, and climbed out of Paranor's dark cellars to the light above.