Jarka Ruus

FOUR

Sen Dunsidan was a cautious man. He had always had reason to be cautious, but he had more reason these days since he had more to lose. His life's accomplishments were impressive, but the price exacted in exchange had been severe and permanent. It wasn't the sort of price one could measure in terms of wealth. If it had been only money, he would not have been as cautious as he was. The price levied against him was a piece of his soul here and a part of his sanity there. The price was psychological and emotional, and it left him bereft of almost anything resembling peace of mind.

Not that he had ever possessed much of that in any case. Even in the days when he was only Minister of Defense of the Federation and in the thrall of the Ilse Witch, he had compromised himself in almost every way imaginable to advance his position and increase his power. Peace of mind was a benefit that did not accrue to those who lacked moral restraint. He was cautious back then, as well, but not nearly as much so as now. He saw himself as invincible in those days, too clever for anyone to outsmart or outmaneuver, too powerful to be challenged. Harm might come to lesser men, but not to him. Even the Ilse Witch, for all her disdain and aloofness, was wary of him. He knew how she saw him—how most saw him. A snake, coiled and ready to strike. He did not take offense. He liked the image. Snakes were not cautious. Others were cautious of snakes. It was beneficial to instill a sense of uneasiness in those with whom he was compelled to deal.

Caution came to him after he broke off his relationship with the Ilse Witch—betrayed her, in fact—and allied himself with the Morgawr, her warlock mentor. It was the smart thing to do. The Morgawr was the more powerful of the two and the more likely to succeed in their battle to destroy each other. Moreover, the warlock was the one who was willing to give Sen Dunsidan what he wanted most in exchange for his support—a chance at becoming Prime Minister. Two men stood in Sen Dunsidan's way, and the Morgawr had them killed in what appeared to be for one an accident, and for the other, natural causes.

But what the Morgawr claimed from him in the bargain was much more than he had ever expected to pay. The Morgawr forced Sen Dunsidan to watch as he turned living men into the walking dead, creatures without wills of their own, things that did only as they were told. Worse, he forced Sen Dunsidan to participate in the atrocity, to bring the men to him under false pretenses and to witness their destruction. When it was finished and the Morgawr had gone, Sen Dunsidan was a changed man. Even after becoming Prime Minister, even after gaining enough power that no one dared to challenge him, he never felt safe. Devastated by watching what had been done to those men, by being an accomplice to it, he could not regain the sense of invincibility he had once thought he would never lose. Worse, he could not take any comfort in what he had gained. He could not stop thinking about those men. He became obsessed with his own vulnerability; his need to protect himself against falling victim to what he had witnessed dominated his thinking. Emotions already blunted by his lesser crimes were turned to stone. His heart hardened and his soul shriveled. He no longer felt anything for anyone other than himself, and what he felt for himself was mostly fear.

With the passing of the years, he grew steadily more unsettled, responding to fears he could not control.

Tonight was one of those times.

He sat waiting impatiently in a reading chair that did not face the doorway of the room, but a blank wall. The room itself was in a place he had never thought he would visit. He was at Paranor, a guest of the Druids and, more particularly, of his onetime nemesis, Grianne Ohmsford. Twenty years ago, when she had returned from the airship voyage she had undertaken in search of a lost magic from another time, he had thought himself a dead man. She had destroyed his ally, the Morgawr, and would certainly have determined that he had supplied the Federation ships and men under the warlock's command. Had she been the Ilse Witch still, had something not happened to change her while she was away, she would have killed him at once. Instead, she had ignored him, retreating to the confines of Paranor, secluded with the shades of dead Druids, and had done nothing.

At first, he had thought she was playing a game with him and had waited stoically for the inevitable. But after a time, he began to hear rumors of a new Druid order and an Ard Rhys who would lead it. He heard that the Ilse Witch had forsaken her name and disclaimed her past, that she was no longer who or what she had been. It was too outlandish to credit seriously, the sort of rumor that invariably proved false. But men and women from all the Races were traveling to Paranor to seek a place in the Third Druid Council, and he began to wonder.

And then the impossible happened. She summoned him to a meeting on neutral ground to discuss their relationship. He went because he saw no reason not to. If she wanted him dead, she would find a way to make him so and hiding in his compound in Arishaig, or anywhere else in the Four Lands, wasn't going to save him. To his astonishment, she told him that the past was behind them both and it was time to consider the future. There would be no more dealings of the sort that had taken place before. There would be no recriminations for what was done. She sought instead to open lines of communication between Paranor and the Federation that would facilitate a productive sharing of ideas and solutions to problems of mutual concern—like the war on the Prekkendorran, for instance. She would give him what help she could in his new position as Prime Minister, sharing knowledge that would aid the people he led. In turn, he would help her restore the credibility and effectiveness of the Druids throughout the Four Lands.

It had taken him a while to adjust to the new relationship, but in the end it gave him back the life he had thought forfeited and so he was willing to make that adjustment. There had been other meetings over the years, many of them, with visits to Paranor by him and to Arishaig by her. Discussions had been held and trades made and, all in all, they had gotten along well enough.

Which never once stopped him from trying to find a way to kill her, of course. It was impossible for him not to think of doing so. Whoever she claimed she was, Ilse Witch or Ard Rhys, she was too dangerous to be allowed to live; nothing prevented her from reverting at some point to the creature she had been, casting off her new guise, her new identity. More to the point, he knew he could never control her. If he couldn't control her, he couldn't control the Druids, and controlling the Druids was essential if he was to govern the Four Lands. That was his ambition and his intention, and he meant to see it fulfilled. Only the Free–born stood in his way, but eliminating the Free–born meant finding a way to subvert the Druids. They claimed not to be siding with anyone in the Federation–Free–born conflict, but it was clear enough that however the war on the Prekkendorran turned out, the Ard Rhys was never going to allow either side to crush the other.

Sen Dunsidan had decided long ago that crushing his enemies was the only way to survive them. Leaving them alive after you had defeated them only gave them another chance to come after you. If they were dead and gone, you had nothing to worry about. So he was in Paranor for yet another meeting with Grianne Ohmsford, for discussions concerning the Prekkendorran and the war with the Free–born and whatever else she cared to talk about, and none of it mattered to him because the meeting would never happen. It was scheduled to take place in the morning, but by then the Ard Rhys would be dead. Or would wish she was.

It had taken a long time to find a way to eliminate her, and it had come about in a most unlikely way from a most unlikely source. Assassination had always been an alternative, but her instincts were so acute that she could sense that sort of thing almost without making an effort. Her magic was formidable, the wishsong of the Ohmsford legends, passed down through the bloodline, stronger in her than in almost any other member of her family, made so by her training and her life as the Ilse Witch. You might try to catch her off guard and kill her, but you would have a better chance at growing wings and learning to fly.

He had looked for other ways to rid himself of her, but no other solution immediately presented itself. Employing another magic to overcome her own was the logical approach, but he didn't know any magic and wasn't equipped to wield it if he did. Finding an ally who could act in his place was the logical solution, but with the death of the Morgawr and the formation of the Third Druid Council, he no longer had direct dealings with magic wielders save for the one he wanted to eliminate.

Then help arrived from an unexpected source, not much more than a year ago, and he had not only his ally, but a spy in the Druid camp. The spy gave him a pair of much needed eyes and ears to monitor the Ard Rhys' movements. Sooner or later, he believed, he would find a way to get past her defenses, as well.

Now, he had found that way at last. Tonight, he would test it—without risk to himself, without danger of discovery. If it worked, Grianne Ohmsford would no longer be a problem. By morning, the world would be a different place.

Yet he was uneasy, not quite believing it would happen, afraid that his complicity in the deaths of all those men years ago at the hands of the Morgawr would take form somehow this night and devour him. It did not seem ridiculous that it might happen; it seemed almost inevitable. There was a price to be paid for what he had done, and sooner or later someone would appear to collect it.

He was thinking of that as the wall across from him slid silently open and Shadea a'Ru stepped into the room.

* * *

Grianne Ohmsford sat at the writing table in her chambers, making notes for her meeting with Sen Dunsidan, preparing herself for the bargaining that would take place. It was always a matter of give and take with the Prime Minister, a question of how much she was willing to give versus how much he was attempting to take. He had changed over the years in some ways but, when bargaining, still sought to extract more than the other party was prepared to give. A politician to the end, he remained outwardly friendly and forthright while inwardly thinking of ways to cut his opponent's throat.

Literally, in her case.

She knew how he felt about her. To him, she was still the Ilse Witch and that would never change. He was afraid of her, no matter how hard she tried to convince him that her time as the Morgawr's creature was at an end. She might be Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Council, but that was not how he saw her. Because he could not change old habits, she knew his fear would rule his thinking. That meant he would be looking for a way to eliminate her.

She didn't mind that. He had always been looking for ways to eliminate her, from the moment they had formed that first alliance, nearly twenty–five years ago. That was how Sen Dunsidan dealt with allies and enemies alike; he used them to the extent he could while searching for ways to render them ineffective, which often meant eliminating them altogether once they had served their purpose. In some cases he had been successful, but he had never posed a threat to her. He did not possess the tools to cause her harm, lacking both magic and allies to accomplish that end. Alone, he could do nothing.

Besides, he was the least of her worries. She had other, more dangerous enemies with which to contend, others with equally strong motives for seeing her dispatched, others living closer to home.

She didn't like thinking of it. So much hard work had gone into reforming the Druid order, and now it was a nest of vipers. It wasn't what she had intended or envisioned, but there it was. Kermadec was right. Her position grew more tenuous with the passing of every day, and if the erosion of her authority continued, she would lose control completely. If that happened, she would have failed, and she could not bear even to think of that.

She returned her thoughts to Sen Dunsidan and the more immediate concerns of tomorrow's meeting. She was seeking a truce in the battle on the Prekkendorran, one by both Federation and Free–born, one that would result in a standdown of both armies.

And that might lead to a gradual reduction in forces and a chance at peace. But neither side was showing much interest in the idea, even though after nearly fifty years of conflict it seemed almost inconceivable to her that they could think of anything else. Most of the people who had initiated the struggle were dead and gone. Only the inheritors were left, men and women who probably didn't have any real idea of the circumstances that had triggered the war.

Not that any of them cared, she thought darkly. War was often its own excuse.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of Tagwen. She bid him enter. The Dwarf shuffled in under a load of books and papers, which he deposited on the working table to one side, where she could pick through them. They were the detritus of her previous efforts to persuade Sen Dunsidan and the Federation to her cause. Tagwen studied the stack forlornly for a moment, then looked at her.

«Is he settled in his chambers?» she asked.

«Quite comfortably. He should be. He has the best rooms in the Keep.» Tagwen didn't like Sen Dunsidan, a fact he didn't bother to hide from her, though he was careful to hide it from others. «I left him to his ale and cogitation. More of the former, less of the latter, unless I miss my guess.»

She smiled in spite of herself. She rose and stretched. «Everyone is advised of tomorrow's gatherings?»

He nodded. «You meet privately with the Prime Minister after breakfast, then he addresses the full council, then he meets with a select few—you know them all and they know one other—and then you sit down for some serious bargaining, which will once again probably result in nothing much being decided.»

She gave him a hard look. «Thank you for your optimism. What would I do without it?»

«I prefer reality to fantasy," he said, huffing through his beard as he met her gaze squarely. «Better for you if you did the same now and then. And I am not talking about your meeting with the Prime Minister.»

«Have you been trading opinions with Kermadec again?»

«The Maturen sees things far more clearly than some people. He doesn't waste time on looking for ways to smooth things over when he sees it is a waste of effort. You ought to listen to him.»

She nodded. «I do. I just can't always follow his advice. I am not in a position to do so. You know that.»

Looking back at the stack of documents on the table, then at the half–eaten dinner sitting cold on the plates he had brought earlier, Tagwen didn't say anything for a moment. «He wants to know if you've decided yet when you are leaving.» Tagwen looked back at her.

«And I want to know where you are going.»

She walked to the window and looked out at the moonlit sky. Her rooms in the high tower were so far above the forest that wrapped the Keep that the trees seemed a black ocean stretching away to the Dragon's Teeth. She had decided that she would go to the Hadeshorn to seek the advice of Walker's shade about what she had seen in the ruins of the Skull Kingdom. Shades did not always give direct answers to questions of that sort, but they sometimes revealed insights into what was being sought. Someone or something was behind those fires that burned on air and in those strange flashes of light, and the magic invoked had come from a source she did not recognize. Walker's shade might at least be willing to tell her about it.

Wanting to see the business through and to make certain she stayed safe in the process, Kermadec had offered to go with her. She was happy for his company.

«As soon as the Prime Minister departs," she answered. «I would guess he will not stay after tomorrow night. Everything will have been said by then.»

«Everything has been said already," Tagwen said.

«Perhaps it just needs saying again.»

The Dwarf gestured toward the door. «Traunt Rowan is outside. He wants to speak with you. I told him you did not have time for him tonight, but he was quite insistent.»

She nodded. Another thorn poking at her from the Druid bramble bush. She like Rowan, admired his determination and willingness to work hard, but she knew that he did not like her. Sometimes she wondered at the source of his dislike, but she had never broached the subject with him. If she started asking everyone who disliked her why that was so, she would not have time for anything else. It pained her to think that so many in the order could not get past their bad feelings toward her. On the other hand, it said something about their resolve that they had come to study with her anyway.

«Send him in, Tagwen," she said. «I can give him a few minutes.»

Tagwen went without a word, but his parting look suggested he thought she was making a mistake. She smiled. It wouldn't be her first.

She glanced at herself in the mirror that hung by the door, reassuring herself she was still presentable so late at night. Or maybe to reassure herself that she had not faded away into her thoughts, become a ghost woman.

Traunt Rowan knocked and entered at her bidding. He was tall and broad–shouldered and in his black robes looked less a Druid than a warlock. His strong features had a calm, distant expression that belied the intensity he brought to every meeting. She had been fooled by it at first, but knew better now. Rowan never did anything haphazardly or halfway. If he ever overcame his resentment of her, he would be a valuable ally.

He bowed stiffly, a formality only. «Thank you for seeing me," he said. «What I have to say is important.»

«Say it then.»

She did not offer him a seat or anything to drink. He was all business and would have refused both. When he was with her, he was mostly anxious to be gone again.

«I think you should resign your office," he said.

She stared at him, speechless in the face of such audacity.

«I don't say this to attack you," he continued. «Or because I don't respect what you have done. I say it because I think it will help the order if you do as I suggest. You are a smart woman. You understand the situation well enough. There are too many at Paranor who do not think you should lead them. There are too many here who cannot forget your past. Or forgive you of it. I admit I am one of them. Such prejudice hamstrings your efforts at accomplishing almost anything you undertake. If you were no longer leader, the prejudice would be removed. Another might do better.»

She nodded slowly. «I don't think you intend putting yourself forward as Ard Rhys, Traunt Rowan. Who, then?»

He took a deep breath. «Whomever you name," he said finally.

It took him some effort to concede her this, and she wondered at its source. He was close with those vipers Shadea a'Ru and Iridia Eleri, who he knew she would never support, yet he had named neither. Why?

«You were chosen to form this order," he continued, his voice calm and persuasive. «No one could argue that you haven't done what you set out to do in bringing it to life. But perhaps you were not meant to lead it. Perhaps your purpose ended once the Third Council came into being. Another role might work better, one less visible in the larger scheme of things. Have you considered that?» She had. She had considered every scenario that might break the logjam the Third Council found itself enmeshed in. But she still did not judge any other alternative acceptable under the present circumstances. Things were too unsettled for her to step down, too uncertain for her to let another take her place. To begin with, there wasn't anyone strong enough of whom she approved. The factions already established within the order would tear almost anyone else apart. Anarchy would claim the Third Council and destroy it. She could not allow that.

«I admire and appreciate your honesty and your boldness," she told him. «Not many would have dared to come to me with this suggestion. I don't know that I can do what you ask, but I will consider it.»

He nodded, clearly unhappy. «I have never told you what brought me to Paranor, but I think you need to hear it now. It is no secret that we are not friends. You have probably already guessed that it has something to do with your past. My parents were Federation officials who became victims of your manipulations when you were the Ilse Witch. They were destroyed politically because of you. The reasons no longer matter. The fact remains that they died broken and despised even by their closest friends. Dannon and Cela Scio. They were members of the Coalition Council, at one time. Do you remember them?»

She shook her head.

He shrugged. «It doesn't matter. I took my mother's family name so no one here, especially you, would make the connection. My purpose in coming was to see to it that you did not subvert the Druid Council in the same way you had subverted other political bodies—to make sure that you really were Ard Rhys and not still Ilse Witch. I was willing to let go of the past if you had changed. I thought that might be enough. But it isn't. You are still linked to your past in the minds of too many, both inside and outside Paranor's walls. You are rendered ineffective by acts you committed before you became Ard Rhys. That won't change, it can never change. I have stayed on as a Druid only because I believe you must be made to leave.»

The heat of anger rose in her face, a faint blush she could not prevent. «Your opinion does not necessarily represent that of the majority. Nor is it necessarily right.»

«Resign your office," he repeated. His expression was suddenly hard and fixed. «Do so now, tonight. Announce it to all. Time does not allow for extended deliberation on the matter.»

She stared at him in surprise. He was practically ordering her to leave. «Time allows for more deliberation than you seem willing to afford me. I said I would consider your demand, Traunt Rowan. That will have to be enough.»

He shook his head. «It isn't nearly enough. I should have come to you long before this. Pay attention to me, Ard Rhys. Events have a way of piling up and stealing away our choices.»

«Do they do so here? What are you trying to say? Why is this so urgent? Tell me.»

For a moment, he hesitated as if thinking he might, then simply turned away and went out the door, slamming it behind him with such force that she felt the vibrations in the stone beneath her feet.

* * *

«Have you brought it?» Shadea a'Ru demanded as she stepped out of the darkness of the hidden passageway into the light of the room.

Sen Dunsidan regarded her with bemusement. «Good evening to you, too.»

She took her time closing the wall panel behind her, watched it slide smoothly back into place, and let her temper cool. As impatient as she was to get on with things, it would do her no good to argue with Dunsidan at this point.

«My apologies," she said, turning back to him with a smile. «I am more than a little nervous about all this, as you might guess. I am also anxious to get it over with.»

He nodded. «Understandable, Shadea. But haste often results in mistakes, and we can't afford to have any here.»

She gritted her teeth against what she was tempted to say and let the moment pass. They were never going to have much of a relationship, Sen Dunsidan and she. The one they had was one of convenience and nothing more. As much as she wanted the Ard Rhys out of the way, she was only slightly less anxious to be rid of him. He was a treacherous, self–serving snake, a man who had built his career on the misfortunes and failings of others. She had heard the stories about his despicable uses of children and women, and she believed them all. Once Grianne Ohmsford was eliminated, she would turn her attention to him. But for the moment, they must remain allies, and she would play that game as best she could.

«There won't be any mistakes," she said.

She moved over to the table with the wine carafe and poured herself a glass. His room was rich with tapestries and rugs, with wine and sweets, and with good smells. It contrasted sharply with her spare and unassuming quarters some floors below. She felt no jealousy, finery and comforts were a sign of weakness. They made demands that caused one to lose focus on what really mattered. She would not allow that in herself, but was more than willing to allow it in him. It would make it easier to break him down and destroy him when the time to do so arrived.

«How do you know that the potion you have brought me works as you think? What if you have been betrayed?»

She watched for a reaction. He merely shrugged. «I haven't tested it myself, but I am assured it is lethally effective.»

«Assured by whom?» she asked. «Who gave you this 'liquid night', Prime Minister?» she pressed. «You didn't mix it up yourself. Such a potion requires magic, and you have none. Who do you know who has such magic? Did someone at Paranor assist you? Someone not allied with me? Do you play us against each other?»

His leonine features lifted slightly. «I don't discuss my alliances. What does it matter, anyway? If it doesn't work, what have you lost? Only a little of your time. I will have lost your trust completely. I am the one at risk, Shadea.»

He lifted his own wineglass and toasted her. «But it will work. By morning, the Ard Rhys will be a memory and all the talk will be of you, the new Ard Rhys. I know something of how this works, Shadea. I know because it happened to me when I coveted the position of Prime Minister. The order will be frightened and confused. It will be looking for direction and for someone to supply it. No one else has the backing you possess. The matter will be settled quickly. I salute you, Ard Rhys to be.»

She ignored his patronizing, wondering how she could find out who had given him the potion. She would find out, she had decided. But short of torturing him on the spot, she would not find out immediately. She would have to bide her time, something at which she had gotten quite good.

«Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Prime Minister.» She finished the wine and set down her glass. «What will you do when the news comes? Stay or go?»

«I will depart immediately, the expected reaction for a head of state when someone as important as the Ard Rhys disappears. It will give you a chance to consolidate your power before we have our meeting to arrange an alliance. Perhaps by then you will have discovered evidence of Free–born participation in the matter, and I will be able to use that discovery as a lever for pressing the war.»

«Something you intend to do by any means possible.» She made it a statement of fact.

He smiled. «The fortunes of war are about to change for the Free–born and their allies, Shadea. With your support, the change will come about much more quickly.»

She nodded. The room, with its rich smells and opulent feel, was beginning to wear on her. As was this fool. «We have our understanding, Prime Minister. No need to discuss it again. No need to talk further at all, this night. Do you have it?»

He rose and walked to the bookcase at the far side of the room, moved several of the books aside, and extracted a small glass bottle with its stopper set firmly in place. The contents of the bottle were as black as a moonless night. Nothing of the room's light reflected from the surface of either the bottle or its contents.

«Liquid night," he declared, and handed her the bottle.

She took it gingerly and studied it a moment. The liquid night had an opaque texture to it that reminded her of chalk or black earth. It made her feel decidedly uneasy.

She looked back at him. «This is all there is?»

«A little is all that is needed. Nevertheless, use the whole of it. Do it while she sleeps. Do not let even a single drop touch your skin. Then carry the bottle away and destroy it. There will be no trace of what has happened, no sign of anything different. But the Ard Rhys will be gone. As if she had never been.»

«You make it sound so easy," Shadea said, giving him a sharp look.

«It will be easy, if you do it right.» He stared back at her. «You will be able to do it right, Shadea, won't you?»

«If there is any treachery attached to this gift, Prime Minister," she said carefully, «it will come home to roost on your doorstep.»

He reached over for a set of notes he had been writing and began leafing through them. «A word of caution. The Ard Rhys has a brother who possesses the gift, as well. His magic is said to be the equal of hers. You might want to consider what he will do when he discovers that his sister is missing. I understand he went through quite a lot to save her during that airship journey west twenty years back, when he discovered they were related. If not for him, she would still be the Ilse Witch. That makes her an investment he might not be quick to give up on.»

«He has little contact with her these days," she replied irritably. «He has little to do with her at all.»

He shrugged. «Sometimes a little is all that is necessary where families are concerned. Brothers and sisters are funny that way. You, of all people, should understand that.» His smile was smug and indulgent. «It just seems to me that where a potential problem exists, you would be smart to find a solution early.»

He studied her momentarily, then lowered his gaze to his notes. «Good night, Shadea. Good luck.»

She held her ground a moment longer, thinking how easy it would be to kill him. Then she tucked the bottle into her dark robes, turned away without another word, touched the wall to release the hidden catch, and left him behind.