Jarka Ruus

FIVE

When she was behind the wall panel and out of Sen Dunsidan's room, Shadea a'Ru stood in the darkness of the passageway beyond and breathed deeply to calm herself. Any encounter with the Prime Minister was unsettling, but it was the task that lay ahead of her that gave her pause now. She touched the hard outline of the bottle inside her robes, to reassure herself that it was safely under her control, then gathered her thoughts. It would have to be done that night, while the Ard Rhys slept. She believed herself safe in her chambers, and she had been until that night. Rock Trolls under the command of Kermadec stood at her doorway day and night, and her own magic warded the chamber against intruders. The passageways that honeycombed the Keep behind its stone walls had been closed off long ago so that, aside from the windows, there was only one way in or out.

But Shadea had found a way to get around all that. The Rock Trolls outside the door were of no use if the attack came from within, which it would. The magic that warded the chamber was of no use if the attack was not something it could protect against, and in this case it wasn't. Finally, although the passageways had been closed off some time back, Shadea had opened a few very recently in expectation of what was planned for that night. She had started with the passageway leading to Sen Dunsidan's quarters, so that they could meet secretly. She had ended with the passageway that led to the chambers of the Ard Rhys. The latter had taken her nearly two weeks because not only was it physically sealed, but it was warded with magic, as well. She had broken down that magic, a painfully slow process, then restored it at its perimeter to give the appearance of still being intact.

She stared into the darkness around her, her eyes adjusting, her thoughts settling. Everything was in place. Everything was as ready as it was ever going to be. Her careful planning and preparation were about to be rewarded.

She allowed herself a fierce, predatory smile and started walking.

Shadea a'Ru had experienced a hard life, but she thought her self the better for having survived its vicissitudes and misfortunes. Surviving had made her strong of body and tough of mind. With out those attributes, she would not be where she was, planning to accomplish something that others could only muse about privately. Terek Molt aside, all the others had enjoyed privileged upbringings with advantages that she had never even come close to enjoying. She didn't resent it or feel cheated because of it; she reveled in it.

She was orphaned by the age of eight, her mother dead in childbirth and her father killed on the Prekkendorran. Shadea and her siblings were separated and sent to live with the families of various relatives, but she ran away at ten and never saw any of them again. She was big for her age and initially awkward, but she was always strong. As she grew, the awkwardness disappeared and her strength increased. She lived in the streets of Dechtera for five years, staying alive by her wits and her daring and the occasional kindness of others.

At fifteen, already close to six feet tall and the physical equal of anyone her age, she began hanging out at the Federation barracks, doing odd jobs for the soldiers. A few thought to test her resistance to their unwanted advances, for she was striking by then, but after they discovered she not only was big and strong but knew how to fight, they left her alone. A few took the time to teach her to use weapons. She was a quick study and naturally gifted. By the time she was twenty, she was already more accomplished than the men she had learned from. At twenty–four, she had served two years on the front lines of the Prekkendorran and gained the respect of everyone who knew about her.

She met the cripple the following year. He was of indeterminate origin, so gnarled and deformed that it was impossible to label his Race. She never learned his name, but names were never important in their relationship. He was a practitioner of the magic arts, primarily a weaver of spells. He was infatuated with her for reasons she never fully understood, and he was willing to trade what he knew for the pleasure of her company. It was an easy bargain for her to make. She stayed with him only one year, time that passed so quickly that in retrospect it always seemed impossible to her that it had really been that long. His health was already failing when they met, and by the end of the year he was dead. But before he died, he taught her what he knew about magic, which was considerable. He was a teacher in search of a student, but he was careful in making his choices. He must have watched her first, she decided afterwards, measuring her strengths, determining whether or not she would be worth the effort. Once he had decided that she was and further determined that she was not repelled by his looks, he gave her his full attention for the time that was left him.

He never told her why he decided to spend his last few months teaching her. He must have known he was dying. She thought that maybe it helped him to have a purpose in his life rather than simply waiting for the inevitable. She thought that he took pleasure in watching his own deteriorating skills put to use by someone still young and strong. Perhaps teaching was all he knew to do in his final years, and so he did it. Perhaps he found in her company something that was sustaining and comforting. Perhaps he simply didn't want to die alone. It was hard to tell, but she accepted his gift without questioning it.

Her natural affinity for summoning and employing magic was immediately apparent to both of them. She was able to grasp and employ the subtle art of spell weaving almost from the beginning, her comprehension of the ways in which words and hand movements worked together enabling her to cast simple spells from their first session. The old man was delighted and actually clapped his hands. She progressed rapidly from there, all of it, at first, a mystery that offered such possibilities that she could not help imagining the secrets she would uncover.

After he died, held in her arms as he breathed his last, comforted in the way he deserved to be, she studied alone for several years, closeted away in quarters not far from her Federation soldier friends, whom she still spent time with regularly. But the Federation no longer held any interest for her. It was too regimented, too structured, and she was in need of freedom. She saw that her future lay elsewhere.

Her break with Federation life came about in an unexpected way. She stayed too long and perhaps spoke too freely of leaving. Some took exception, men she knew only casually and didn't much care for. One night, they drugged her and took her out of the city to an abandoned shack on the Rappahalladran's banks.

There, they held her prisoner for two days and violated her in unspeakable ways, and when they were finished with her they threw her into a river to drown. Tougher than they suspected, dragging herself to safety through sheer force of will, she survived.

When she had recovered her strength, she went back into the city, hunted them down one by one, and killed them all.

She fled afterwards, because the dead men most certainly had relatives and friends. There had been enough talk that sooner or later some of them would come looking for her. Besides, the incident had soured her on the city and the Federation and her life in general. It was time for her to go somewhere else. She had heard about the Third Druid Council and thought she might find a home there, but she didn't want to ask for admission into the order until she was certain they would not turn her away. So she went west into the Wilderun and the town of Grimpen Ward, the last refuge of fugitives and castoffs of all kinds, thinking to isolate herself and work on her magic skills until she had perfected them. Few came looking for those who hid in Grimpen Ward, where all hid secrets of one sort or another and none wanted the past revealed.

She stayed there until her twenty–eighth birthday, keeping apart from the other denizens, practicing her art with the single–mindedness that defined her personality. She expanded her field of study from potions and spells to the uses of earth power and the elements, particularly the summoning up of shades and dead things that could be made to do her bidding and to offer their insights. Her skills sharpened, but her emotional character deadened proportionately. She had never had trouble killing when it was required, now killing became a means to her magic's ends. Killing was inherent to the unlocking of many of the forms of power she sought to master. Whether of animals or humans, killing was a part of the rituals she embraced. There were other, safer ways in which to proceed, but none so quick or far–reaching in their results. She let herself become seduced. She hastened to her self–destruction.

By the time she met Iridia Eleri, an outcast and a sorceress like herself, she was deep in the throes of dark magic's lure and hungry for a larger taste. Iridia was already half–mad with her own twisted needs, her own secrets, and they formed a friendship based on mutual cravings. Magic could give them everything they desired, they believed; they needed only to master its complexities.

They decided together to go to Paranor and seek admission into the Druid order. They made the journey in a fever, but when they put forth their applications were careful to hide the inner madnesses that drove them. The Ard Rhys was surprisingly easy to fool. She was distracted by the demands of her undertaking as leader of the order, and her primary concern was to find talented individuals willing to serve the Druid cause. Shadea a'Ru and Iridia Eleri seemed to be what she was seeking. What she failed to perceive was that both women dissembled; they were willing to embrace the Druid cause, but only in so far as it was necessary for them to do so and then only for reasons that were peculiarly their own.

After the first three years of service, it was clear to both sorceresses that although Grianne Ohmsford possessed great power, she no longer commanded the authority of the Ilse Witch. She had allowed herself to become weakened by the constraints she had imposed on herself in casting off her past life. She was unwilling to take the risks or make the sacrifices that the witch would have been quick to understand were necessary. Neither Shadea nor Iridia had such compunctions. The order was foundering, and its chances of gaining control over the Races were diminishing daily. Shadea, in particular, was determined to take control of the order and to lead it in the direction she knew it needed to go. Having decided that there was only one way that could happen, she was quick to put aside her oaths of loyalty to the Ard Rhys and to take up the mantle of active dissident.

* * *

For five years, Shadea had searched for a way to fulfill her ambitions, to topple Grianne Ohmsford and to make herself Ard Rhys. That night, it was finally going to happen.

Her steps quickened as she followed the musty passageway to its secret exit, two floors farther down in a storeroom in which bedding and pallets were kept. Excitement radiated from her smooth, strong face, a palpable hunger that was fierce and alive. She would not falter, she would not fail. If the potion was good, her goal would be achieved and the waiting would end.

If it failed, she hoped only to escape long enough to return to Sen Dunsidan and cut out his heart.

* * *

Grianne Ohmsford put aside her notes and writings, her records of past meetings with the Prime Minister, her summaries of efforts undertaken and mostly failed, and prepared herself for bed. Tagwen appeared long enough to brew her a cup of sleeping tea, which she took regularly these days, and to straighten up her room. He fussed about for a time, waiting for her to say some thing to him, which she finally did. She asked if he had taken Kermadec something to eat, which he had. Trolls took pride in their independence and resourcefulness, and it was not customary for them ever to ask for anything while traveling. It had to be offered voluntarily. This habit was born out of custom and a history of being at war with almost everyone, and it wasn't likely to change anytime soon.

Tagwen also reported that the Trolls guarding her room were in place, something he did every night as a reassurance to her, but to which she paid hardly any attention. She did not feel threatened at Paranor, her prickly relationship with some of the more overtly hostile members of the order notwithstanding. Guards and stone walls, warding spells and watchful eyes were not what would save her in any case, should the need for saving arise. Instincts and premonitions were what protected her, her own resources and not those of others. Years spent as the Ilse Witch had sharpened both to a razor's edge, and she did not think time spent as the Ard Rhys had dulled either.

«Wake me early, Tagwen," she asked him as he prepared to leave.

«I won't need to," he responded. «You will be awake before me. You always are. Good night, mistress.»

He went out quietly, closing the door behind him as if it were made of glass. She smiled to herself, wondering what she would do without him. For someone so small and seemingly inconsequential, he was in many respects the most important member of the order.

She wandered over to her tea, sat down, and began to sip the hot mix gingerly. As it cooled, she finished it off, hardly aware of what she was doing, her thoughts on the coming meetings and on the ramifications of what she hoped to accomplish. She let her thoughts stray momentarily to Traunt Rowan and his strangely urgent request, but she quickly moved on to other matters. Resigning her position was out of the question. She thought she would elevate one or two members of the order to positions of greater importance, among them Ceryson Scyre, who had demonstrated repeatedly that he merited advancement. Gerand Cera was an other possibility, but she wasn't sure yet where he stood on the matter of her continuing as Ard Rhys. She toyed with the idea of elevating Traunt Rowan, in spite of his attitude toward her. It might serve to distance him from Shadea a'Ru and Iridia Eleri, something that could only help him. They were the women with the most talent in the order, and neither could be trusted for a moment. Sooner or later, they would have to be dealt with.

Her eyes grew heavy with the drink, and she moved to her bed, slipped off her robe, and climbed beneath the covers. Her last thoughts were of the strange happenings in the ruins of the Skull Kingdom and her determination to discover who had initiated them. A visit to the Hadeshorn and the shades of the Druids might provide insight into the matter, and she had already made the necessary arrangements for the journey. As soon as the meetings with Sen Dunsidan were completed, she would depart with Kermadec, perhaps even telling Tagwen where she was going, just to see the look of disapproval on his face.

She was too tired even to blow out the candles on her writing desk, and so drifted off to sleep with the light of both still flickering brightly in the overlay of the chamber's deep shadows.

* * *

Night settled over Paranor, silent and velvet black under a wash of light from moon and stars that spilled from a cloudless sky. Most of the Druids were asleep, only a few who liked working late at night still awake in their rooms and study chambers, keeping to themselves. The Troll watch was in place, not only at the door of the Ard Rhys but at the gates of the Keep, as well. There was no real concern for anyone's safety, no anticipation of the sort of danger that had existed in the time of the Warlock Lord, but the Trolls were careful anyway. Complacency had undone the Druids and their protectors in the past.

Shadea a'Ru stole through the walls of the high tower, following the twists and turns of the secret passageway that led to the sleeping chamber of the Ard Rhys. It was well after midnight, and she knew no better opportunity would offer itself than the one she acted on now. She had swept the musty corridor of magic once again only two days earlier, during the Ard Rhys' absence, and she was quite certain Grianne had not had an opportunity to reset her wardings in the short time since her return. The sorceress moved slowly in the gloom, generating a small finger of magic light to keep from stumbling. She must make no sound in her approach, offer nothing that would alert the sleeping Ard Rhys to her presence. She must maintain the presence of a tiny mouse.

She was sweating freely, her body heat elevated by the closeness of the passageway and her excitement. She was not afraid. She was never afraid. It wasn't that she was reckless or foolish; it was that she understood the nature of her risk. Failure in dangerous situations came about because of poor planning or bad luck. The former was something you could control, and if you kept your wits about you, sometimes the latter, as well. She had learned that for people like her, orphans and disadvantaged souls, gains were achieved mostly through risk. That was the nature of her lot in life, and she had long ago accepted it.

The night's activities would measure that acceptance in a way it hadn't been measured before. If she succeeded, she would have a chance at gaining everything she had wanted for so long. If she failed, she would likely be dead.

That was acceptable to Shadea a'Ru. For what was at stake, that was a price worth wagering.

She wondered anew at the source of the liquid night. It bothered her that it had come into the possession of someone who did not himself possess magic. Sen Dunsidan was a high–ranking official in a powerful government, but he lacked the skills and resources to obtain something so powerful on his own. He must have had help, and she didn't like it that help of a magical sort had not come from her. It meant he had another option and might choose to use it down the road, and that could prove dangerous to her. Still, he needed her. Without her, he could not hope to gain control of the Druid order, and without that, his plans for the Free–born could not succeed.

Ahead, the last stairway led upward to the tower chamber where Grianne Ohmsford slept. Shadea slowed automatically, her movements, her thinking, even her breathing, and calmed herself. Soundlessly, she climbed the stone steps to the landing beyond, then stood just outside the section of wall that opened into forbidden territory. She tested the fabric of warding she had left in place and found it undisturbed. The Ard Rhys had not bothered to see if anyone had tampered with her magic. She still thought herself safe.

A fierce rush of anticipation surged through Shadea as she reached into her robes and extracted the bottle of liquid night. Silence concealed her movements, extending from the place she stood to the chamber beyond and then to the Keep beyond that. Dreams and slumber blanketed the rooms of Paranor, where her occupants lay unmoving and unaware. She listened, satisfied, and set the bottle on the floor in front of her.

She was ready.

Carefully, she constructed a series of spells and incantations, setting them atop one another in the space before the door. One after another, she created them with movements and words. No one saw or heard. No one could. She breathed as if there was not enough air to waste on breathing, creating an intricate pattern of small, cautious inhales and exhales that fed her efforts. Her life force became a part of her efforts, aiding and supporting. She kept her concentration fixed on the task at hand, neither wavering nor hesitating even once, working steadily and diligently at her task.

It took her almost an hour to complete the conjurings. Then she knelt before the wall and opened the skin of magic she had left in place, giving herself clear access to the secret doorway and the chamber beyond. She could hear the sound of her heart beating and the pumping of her blood through her body. It seemed to her that she could hear the Ard Rhys breathing on the other side of the wall, deep in sleep but capable of waking in an instant.

She prepared to remove the stopper from the bottle of night liquid.

Her hands began to shake.

For just a second she faltered, thinking suddenly that she was daring too much; that she was overreaching herself: that her failure to accomplish what she was attempting to undertake was assured; that the moment she tried to place the liquid inside the bedchamber, the Ard Rhys would wake and discover her treachery; that she would have been smarter simply to feed the Ard Rhys poison and be done with it; that this more sophisticated execution would never work. How could it?

Furious with herself, she crushed her hesitation and doubt as if they were annoying insects buzzing in her ears.

She pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured it into the funnel she had created in the last conjuring of magic, sending both the liquid night and the spells that directed it into the chamber beyond.

There, it was done, she told herself, replacing the stopper once more.

She rocked back on her heels to wait.

* * *

Grianne Ohmsford woke just long enough to recognize that something was dreadfully wrong, that an alien magic had bypassed her wardings and entered her room. She threw up her defensive magic instantly, but it was already too late. The room was moving—or she was moving in it—consumed by a blackness that transcended anything she had ever known. She fought to get free of it, but could not make herself move. She tried to cry out, but no sound came forth. She was trapped, immobilized and helpless. The blackness was enveloping her, sweeping her away, bearing her off like a death shroud wound about a corpse on its way to interment, clinging and impenetrable and final.

She felt the shroud slowly begin to tighten.

Shades! she swore silently as she realized what was happening, and then the blackness was in her mouth and nose and ears, was inside her body and her mind. She struggled until her strength was gone and with it her hope, and then she lost consciousness.

* * *

Still hidden in the passageway behind the wall of the bed chamber, Shadea a'Ru listened to the faint, sudden sounds of movement on the other side, then to the enveloping silence that followed. She was desperate for a look inside, but didn't dare to open the passageway door for fear of what she would find. She held her breath, listening as the silence lengthened.

Then a finger of blackness wormed its way under the door, the leading edge of a clutch of ragged tendrils. They twisted and groped as if seeking to snare her, as if the Ard Rhys was not enough, and Shadea stepped back quickly, poised to flee. She did not know what it was—some residue of the liquid night, perhaps—but she wasn't about to find out. The fingers stretched a bit farther, crooking toward her, then slowly retreated and disappeared back beneath the door.

Shadea a'Ru was sweating heavily, the tunic beneath her Druid robes drenched. Something had happened in the Ard Rhys' bed chamber, something that was the result of what Shadea had done—of that much, she was certain. But she could not know the particulars right away—not until morning, perhaps. No matter how desperate she was to find them out, she could do nothing but go back the way she had come and wait.

She exhaled heavily, quickly, a fear she had never felt suddenly caressing her in an all too familiar fashion. She backed away, still watching the door, retreating cautiously down the steps she had climbed more than an hour earlier, listening, listening.

By the time she reached the landing below and turned into the passageway leading out of the Keep's stone walls, it was all she could do to keep from running.