Jarka Ruus

THREE

We've talked enough!» Shadea a'Ru snapped irritably. «How much more talking does it need? This is the best chance we'll get!»

No one said anything in response. No one cared to be the first to speak. She was a big woman, and she dominated with her size as much as with the force of her personality. Fully six feet tall, broad–shouldered and strong, she had fought in the front lines on the Prekkendorran for two years, and none of them had survived anything nearly as terrible as that. The contrasting hues of her sun–browned skin, smooth and dusky, and wind–blown blond hair, short–cropped and uncombed, gave her a look of good health and vitality. When she stepped into any room, heads turned in her direction and conversation slowed.

Here, however, the reaction was different. Here, they all knew her too well to be much more than cautious. She looked from face to face, her calculating blue eyes searching out signs of doubt or hesitation, challenging them to try to hide it from her. Their responses were as different as they were. Terek Molt disdained even to look at her, his flat, hard features directed toward the doorway of the room that concealed their secret meeting. Iridia Eleri's stunningly perfect features had a cool, distant look. Neither Dwarf nor Elf had ever demonstrated any hesitation in their joint endeavor. Either would have undertaken the effort alone long ago but for Shadea's insistence on unity.

Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence glanced uneasily at each other.

The problem lay with the Southlander and the Gnome. Cowards, she thought angrily, though she knew better than to say so to their faces.

«Act in haste, regret at leisure, Shadea," the former offered softly, shrugging.

She wanted to kill him. He was the only one of them who would dare to speak to her like that, and he did so for no better reason than to demonstrate that she could push him only so far before he would dig in his heels. He wanted this as much as she did, as all of them did, but he was too cautious for his own good. It came out of being the child of Federation functionaries; the fewer chances you took in that world, the better off you were.

«Please don't fall back on platitudes to justify your reluctance to do what is necessary!» she snapped in reply. «You're better than that, Traunt. Smarter than that. We can nose this matter about like a dog with an old bone for as long as you wish, but it won't change a thing. Nothing will happen to improve matters unless we make it happen.»

«She smells out plots like ours," Pyson Wence said, his small hands gesturing for emphasis. «Step wrong with her, and you might find yourself down here for good!»

They were deep underground in the cellars of Paranor, gathered in one of the rooms used primarily for storage. The room smelled of dust and the air was cold and stale to the taste. Stone walls locked them away beneath tons of rock and earth, a safehold that few ever bothered to visit save to retrieve stores. It was the one place in Paranor where some degree of privacy was assured.

They had been meeting for almost a year, just the five of them. Shadea a'Ru had carefully selected the other four, discovering where their loyalties lay, then approached them one by one. Each shared her distaste for the Ard Rhys. One hated her openly. All wanted her gone, if for widely differing reasons. To some extent, they complemented each other, each bringing an attribute to the endeavor that the others lacked. The Southlander, Traunt Rowan, was strong of heart and body, more than a match even for Shadea—a warrior seeking to put right what he perceived as wrong. The Elven sorceress, Iridia Eleri, was cold of heart and hot of temper, but quick–witted and intuitive, as well. Her ability to stanch her emotions masked the dark truths that had set her on this path. The Dwarf, Terek Mott, while stolid and taciturn in the manner of Dwarves, was hungry for power and anxious to find a way to get past the Ard Rhys' rules and restrictions so that he could claim the destiny he so desperately craved. Pyson Wence, so frail and helpless–looking, was a snake trapped in a supplicant's body, a rare combination of treacherous instinct and decisive purpose. No superstitious tribal pagan, he wielded his magic in a cold and calculating fashion.

Had the Ard Rhys any inkling of their true dispositions when she accepted them into the order? Shadea a'Ru could not be certain. It was possible, if only because Grianne Ohmsford herself had been such a dark creature for so long—the Ilse Witch, the Morgawr's tool. She had found redemption, she believed, and so thought others could find it, as well. She was mistaken on both counts, but that was to the advantage of those gathered in this room, those who waited only on fate to provide them with the chance they needed to be rid of her.

As perhaps it did here, if their impatient leader could gain the pledge of support she required.

«You want her gone, don't you?» she asked Pyson Wence pointedly. «Dead or otherwise, but gone?» She looked around. «How about the rest of you? Changed your minds about her? Decided you like having her as Ard Rhys? Come! Speak up!»

«No one in this room and few outside of it want Grianne Ohmsford as Ard Rhys, Shadea.» Traunt Rowan looked bored. «We've covered this ground before, all of it. What keeps us from acting is the possibility of failure—a very real possibility, I might point out. Failure means no second chance. So before you start berating us for our reluctance, try to see the reality of the situation a little more clearly. When we act against her, we had better be very certain that we will succeed.»

The weight of her stare settled on him and she did not remove it for long seconds. The others shifted uncomfortably, but they said nothing for fear her eyes would seek them out instead. Traunt Rowan, to his credit, held her gaze, but she could see the uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. She might do anything; that was her reputation. If you provoked Shadea a'Ru—something not at all hard to do—you did so at great risk. One who had tested her had already disappeared. Everyone suspected that she might have caused that disappearance, even the Ard Rhys, but no one could prove it.

«I would not summon you with such urgency," she said, speaking to Traunt, but including all of them with a quick shift of her eyes, «if I did not have a way to dispose of her that would pose no risk at all to any of us. I am aware of the possibility of failure. No matter how carefully we plan and execute, something can always go wrong. The trick is to make certain that even if that happens, no suspicion or blame will fall on us. But in this instance, I do not think we will fail. I think we will succeed better than we had hoped. Are you ready to hear me out?»

All nodded or at least kept quiet. Terek Molt never agreed or disagreed with anything. He simply stayed or walked away. Dwarves were given to physical gestures over words, which suited her fine. They were given to directness, as well, and it was good to have at least one of those among so many dissemblers.

«Wait!» Iridia hissed suddenly, one hand lifting sharply.

She rose from her bench, crossed the room to the door, and put her ear against it. The door was ironbound oak two inches thick and sealed with magic to prevent even the faintest echo of their voices from escaping. None of them cared to have even the smallest whisper drift beyond this chamber. The Ard Rhys already suspected they were plotting against her; what saved them was that others were doing so, as well. There was no time for Grianne to deal with all of them. Still, if she was ever to discover the particulars of this specific plot, they would be dealt with swiftly and thoroughly. The Ard Rhys might claim to no longer be the Ilse Witch, but she could revert in the blink of an eye. Not even Shadea a'Ru cared to go up against her if that happened.

That was a good part of the problem, of course. That Grianne Ohmsford was not simply the Ard Rhys, but that she was the Ilse Witch, too. It was not something any who had come to Paranor to join the Druid order could ignore. The past was the past, but it was always with you. She might claim to be a changed woman, having taken up the Ard Rhys mantle at the behest of Walker Boh, having been given the blessing of Druids dead and gone, and having pledged herself to reestablish the Druid Council as a viable force in the Four Lands. She might claim to be committed to helping the Races become strong, independent, and peaceful neighbors, to putting an end to the war between the Free–born and the Federation, and to reintroducing a mix of science and magic into the world for the betterment of all men and women. She might claim anything she wished, but that didn't change what everyone knew about her past. It didn't erase what she had done. In some cases, nothing could. It was too close, too personal—as with Traunt Rowan and Iridia Eleri, the two among these conspirators who sought vengeance for acts committed by the Ilse Witch and forgotten by the Ard Rhys. The others were simply hungry to employ their magic and sate their ambitions in ways that were forbidden. But for each, to realize desires meant getting rid of Grianne.

This tension didn't start and end with the five gathered in secret here. It manifested itself in other splinter groups, as well, all of them working to achieve something secret, all of them with goals and hungers that were in some way in conflict with the Third Druid Council as Grianne Ohmsford had conceived it. It wasn't a question of if she would be done away with; it was merely a question of when.

And a question of who would prove clever and bold enough to make it happen, of course. And then be strong enough to take charge of the order, once she was gone and a new Ard Rhys was needed.

Some part of Shadea a'Ru, some tiny bit of reason shoved far back into the darker corners of her consciousness, accepted that not all of those who had come to Paranor to begin life as Druids felt as she did. Some admired Grianne and believed her right for the position—strong, determined, tested, and unafraid. But Shadea a'Ru would not allow herself to think well of those because to do so might give credibility to their loyalty, and she believed that to be a weakness she could not afford. Better to see them as sycophants and deceivers and to plan for their removal, as well, once the path was clear to do so.

Iridia was still standing by the door, listening. Everyone was waiting on her now, watching silently. «What is it?» Shadea asked finally, irritated and impatient.

The sorceress stepped back and stared at the portal as if it were an enemy that needed dispatching. Her distrust of everyone and everything ran deep and unchecked. Even Shadea herself merited Iridia's suspicion. She was beautiful and talented, but deeply flawed. Her personal demons ran loose through her predatory mind, and someday they were going to turn on her.

«I heard something moving," she said, turning away, dismissing the matter. «I just wanted to be certain the warding was still in place.»

«You set it yourself," Shadea pointed out.

Iridia did not look at her. «It could have been tampered with. Better to be sure.» She returned to the bench and sat down. For a moment, she said nothing more. Then she glanced up at Shadea, as if remembering her. «What were you saying?»

«She was saying she has found a way to solve our problem with the Ard Rhys.» Traunt Rowan picked up the loose thread of the conversation with his calming voice. «Without posing any danger to us.»

«There is a potion I have a chance to obtain," Shadea told them. «Mixed with a spell, it produces a magic strong enough to work against anyone, no matter how well prepared they are. The potion is called liquid night. Together with the spell, it will dispatch the intended victim to another place. It doesn't kill them; they simply disappear. No blame attaches because there is no body. There isn't even a residue to tell any searchers what happened. Everything disappears in a few hours, victim and magic alike.»

Pyson shook his head. «There is no such magic. I know most, have read about the ones I do not know, and I have never heard of liquid night.»

«That is because it isn't from this world," Shadea said. «It is from the world into which I am sending the Ard Rhys.»

They stared at her with a mix of expressions. «What world would that be?» Traunt Rowan asked finally.

She shook her head. «Oh, no, Traunt. I don't give you anything more until after I have your word that you are committed to me and to what I am proposing. I am the one who sought the potion out, and I intend to keep the particulars my own. All you need to know is that once I have implemented it, you will never see the Ard Rhys again.»

«But she will not be dead," Pyson Wence persisted doubtfully. «If she is not dead, there is always a chance she can find her way back. She has more lives than a cat. You know her history, Shadea. She is not like anyone else. I like her no better than you, but I respect her ability to stay alive.»

Shadea nodded in agreement. Idiot. «She won't be coming back from where I intend to send her, Pyson. No one comes back from where she will be going. Besides, she won't stay alive long enough to do much about her situation in any case. There are things there far more dangerous than the Ilse Witch. Once gone, she will never come back.»

They were intrigued, interested, but still hesitant. Except for Terek Molt, who was nodding vigorously. «Do it, I say. If you have a way to eliminate her, woman, do it!»

«When will this happen?» Iridia asked.

«When she returns, two or three nights from now. I can have everything in place before then. It will happen while she sleeps, so smoothly and silently that she will not wake again in this world.»

«If you have this all ready, or can make it ready, why do you have need of us?» Traunt Rowan asked. «This was begun as a joint endeavor, but it seems to me that you have taken over the effort yourself. We no longer have anything you need.»

She had been anticipating the question and was pleased to know that she was still able to keep one step ahead of them. «It might seem that way if you didn't think it through carefully," she said. «This effort will not succeed if we don't look beyond eliminating Grianne Ohmsford.»

«You would have us make you Ard Rhys in her place," Traunt Rowan declared softly. «Wouldn't you?»

She nodded. «I am best suited for it. I command the most respect among those who must be convinced of the necessity of choosing a new Ard Rhys quickly. But do not be fooled, Traunt. I do not see myself as another Grianne Ohmsford, a leader standing alone and apart, needing no one. This is exactly what set us against her in the first place. She isolates herself. She sees herself as wiser and more capable, better able to determine what is best for everyone. If I were to take that route, how would I be any different?»

«You oversimplify," Pyson Wence said. «Our dislike for the Ard Rhys goes well beyond the way she holds herself above us.»

«Indeed," she agreed. «But inaccessibility and the appearance of isolation will doom whoever stands for the position of Ard Rhys, once Grianne is gone. I need all of you to support me if I am to succeed. You each represent a faction of the order—you, Pyson, of Gnomes; Terek Molt, of Dwarves; Traunt, of Southlanders; and Iridia, of Elves. Not all of each, by any means, but a sizeable number. You are among the strongest of your respective Races, and you can bring support to me as such. I cannot serve as Ard Rhys and achieve what we have decided upon without your help.»

«Why should you be Ard Rhys?» Terek Molt snapped suddenly, his sullen features tightening.

She kept her temper. Speaking out like this was his nature. «Because the order would not have you, Terek. They might have Traunt Rowan, but none of the rest of you. And Traunt is not interested.» She looked purposefully at him. «Are you?»

He shook his head, his lips pursing with disdain. «I have no need to be leader of the order—only to see it set upon the right path, one determined by someone other than her.»

Grianne Ohmsford, he meant, but would not speak her name. In his own quiet way, he hated her most. If Shadea had found a way that would allow him to kill her himself, he would have accepted it without question. She often wondered what he thought things would be like for him after Grianne was gone. What would there be left for him to do after having burned so much energy and devoted so much time to seeing her dispatched?

«Where have you found this potion?» Pyson Wence asked. «Liquid night? If not from this world, if instead from this place you refuse to reveal, how did you come by it?»

She shook her head. «No answers until I have your commitment, Pyson. It is sufficient to say that it will do what is needed.»

«Someone gave it to you?» he continued. «You have a secret ally? Another who serves our cause? Are you keeping other secrets, Shadea?»

She was, of course, but he would never find them out. «No more questions from you, no more answers from me," she told him, told them all. «I want your oath, your Druid oath, your word and your bond. Everything that you hold sacred stands behind it, and we all bear witness to what you say. If I do this, if I rid you of the Ard Rhys, then will you support my bid to be the new leader of the order? Will you stand with me to the death to see finished what we seek to do?»

Iridia Eleri rose, cold eyes sweeping the room. «You have my oath. Let her burn a thousand years in her own magic's fire!»

Terek Molt grunted approvingly. «She's earned banishment a thousand times over, and I care nothing for where she gets banished to. Get it done, Shadea. Put this creature out of our lives!»

There was a long silence. Traunt Rowan was clearly thinking, head lowered, hands clasped. Pyson Wence, sitting beside him, glanced over, then looked at Shadea, frowning.

«If you can do as you say, then I have no quarrel with your effort.» His eyes shifted from face to face. «But if Shadea exaggerates in any way, if the power of the magic she proposes to use is less than what she thinks it is, then I want to be certain she does not exaggerate, as well, her certainty that nothing of this can come back to haunt us.»

«How could it do that, Pyson?» she spit at him. «Would it bear our names spelled out upon its liquid surface? Would it somehow speak them aloud?»

He shrugged. «Would it, Shadea?»

«It is a potion supplemented by a spell. The potion does not originate in this world. The spell is one familiar to dozens and available to all who care to read and study on it. Nothing of either attaches to us. Stop equivocating! If you want out of this business, there is the door that brought you in. Pass back through, and you have your release.»

Not that he would ever live to reach it, she thought darkly, waiting on him. Not that he would take half a dozen steps before she burned him to cinders. It was too late for backing away. Too late for anything but going forward.

Maybe Pyson knew this, for he made no move to rise, showed no inclination to do anything but ponder her words. He was so settled in place, so loose and comfortable with his legs tucked under and his arms folded into his robes that it seemed to her, infuriatingly so, that he might be thinking of a nap.

«I'll give you my oath, Shadea," he said finally. «But—" He paused, cocking his head to one side, his sharp Gnome features thoughtful. «But I think my oath must be conditional on discovering where it is that you propose to send the Ard Rhys. If it isn't sufficiently far away or secure, I intend to tell you so and back out.»

There were murmurs of assent to this, but Shadea ignored them, knowing that what she had in mind for Grianne Ohmsford would please them all. Once they heard, there would be no more mutterings. «What of you, Traunt?» she asked the Southlander.

«You've said nothing.»

«I have been thinking.» He smiled faintly. «Thinking about how much we are entrusting you with. It seems to me that more than one of us ought to be involved in this effort—not just in the planning, but in the execution. It would require a stronger commitment, which is what you are looking for. It would give us all a sense of participation beyond what you have proposed so far.»

«It would also entail a greater risk," she pointed out, not liking where his suggestion was going. «Two stand a greater chance of being detected than one. Whoever administers the potion and the spell must approach the Ard Rhys secretly. Stealth and quickness will determine success or failure.»

«Two can move as quietly as one," he argued, shrugging. «Moreover, if one falters, the other can still act. It offers us a measure of protection.»

«I don't intend to falter," she said coldly, openly angry. «We'll draw straws to see who goes with you," Iridia said, siding with Rowan.

Both Pyson Wence and Terek Molt nodded in assent. Shadea knew when she was up against a wall. She was not going to get them to back off without arousing suspicion. «All right," she agreed. «But only one.»

She rose and walked to a stack of crates containing serving ware packed in straw and drew out four strands. Breaking off three, she evened them between her fingers and offered them to the others. Terek Molt snatched the first. It was short. Iridia drew a short straw, as well.

The other two looked at each other, hesitating. Then Traunt Rowan picked from the remaining two straws. His was the long one.

«How fitting," Shadea sneered, «since taking part was your idea. Now give me your word, Traunt. Your oath and your promise as a Druid to stand with me no matter what.»

He nodded, unruffled. «You always had that, Shadea, from the moment you told me what you intended and recruited me to your cause. I am as committed as you will ever be.»

Perhaps, she thought. But we will never know for sure because there is no way to test such a claim. For her purposes it was sufficient that he was committed to support her as the new Ard Rhys after Grianne was dispatched. Once she held that office, and despite what she had told them to gain their support, they would all become expendable. Her plans were greater than they knew and did not include them.

«We are agreed then," she said, looking from face to face, seeking again any sign of hesitation.

«We are agreed," Traunt Rowan affirmed. «Now tell us where you intend to imprison the Ard Rhys. Where can you send her that she cannot find a way back to haunt us?»

Shadea a'Ru smiled at the looks on their faces when she told them.