Tanequil

Nine

Night had fallen across the Four Lands, and Arishaig was bright with the light of torches and candles when Sen Dunsidan made his way back from dinner to his sleeping chambers. The day had been productive. An address before the Coalition Council had produced a standing ovation following his carefully worded promise that he had found a way to resolve the war on the Prekkendorran quickly and favorably. Even those who would have liked to see his role in the Federation government diminished congratulated him afterwards for his courage and commitment. They were counting on him to fail, of course, but he was confident that he wouldn't.

This was due in part to an earlier visit to Etan Orek, who had completed all work on the first of what he was now calling his «fire launchers.» He had mounted it on a swivel that allowed it to swing left and right at a ninety–degree firing angle and was equipped with a sighting system and recoil springs to keep it from disrupting the flight of an airship, once it was in place and operating. It was also equipped with controls to manipulate the amount of energy fed through the crystals and released from the mouth of the firing tube. When Sen Dunsidan had tested it this time, the scope of its destructive capabilities had left him breathless with anticipation.

His excitement was only marginally diminished by news that no other weapons were yet complete. But after long hours of experimentation using different combinations of crystals, Orek was close to duplicating his first effort and expected to complete a second launcher before the week was out.

At the construction site for Federation airships, mercenary Rover designers and builders were at work on a huge new flagship, theDechtera, which would carry Sen Dunsidan's secret weapon into battle when she was completed. He inspected their work and was satisfied with their progress. For the first time in a very long time, he could imagine a world dominated by the Federation.

His bedchamber was lit with candles, but deeply shadowed in its corners and alcoves when he entered, and he might not have seen her at all had she not immediately moved out into the light to greet him. His heart went directly to his throat in that instant, freezing his muscles and his voice so that he was rendered completely helpless. Then he recognized her, and he gave a quick, sharp sigh.

«Iridia," he said. He straightened himself, his composure recovered and his irritation fanned. «What are you doing here?»

«Waiting for you.»

Iridia Eleri stepped forward, her slender body and white skin giving her an almost ethereal look. She was wrapped in a lightweight traveling cloak that hung open to the floor, and her dark hair fell in loose waves about her shoulders. He was captivated, as always, by her impossible beauty. He had not seen her in weeks, not since she had given him the liquid night that he, in turn, had given to Shadea a'Ru to eliminate Grianne Ohmsford and seize control of Paranor. She had been his spy within the Druid's Keep for some time, but it was not until she had provided the potion that she had proved her real value.

«Waiting for me for what reason?» he demanded. «It was our agreement that you would remain at Paranor and monitor the activities of our new Ard Rhys, so that I might have eyes and ears inside the Keep. It was our agreement that you would never come here.»

The Elven sorceress shrugged. «The agreement has been changed.»

He had never trusted her, never felt comfortable with what she was doing for him. He was more than willing to accept her offer of help and make use of her services as a spy. But she had been close to Shadea for too long for him to feel comfortable with the idea that she was ready to switch loyalties to him. It was one thing to betray Grianne Ohmsford, whom they all hated. It was another to betray a friend. Not that someone like Iridia would ever be bound too closely by friendship. But her machinations confused him. She would not tell him where she had gotten the liquid night. She would not tell him why she had chosen to pass it to Shadea through him rather than to give it to her friend directly. She would not explain her need for secrecy in working with him. Try as he might, he could not figure out what she would gain from all this. That sort of thing tended to bother a man whose life was built around understanding the nature of manipulations.

«You look tired, Sen Dunsidan," she said. «Are you tired?»

He shook his head. «I am irritated, Iridia. I don't like surprises and I don't like people who second–guess my decisions without speaking to me about it first. Why has our agreement been changed?»

She moved to one of the chairs flanking the windows looking out over the city and sat down. He could barely see her in the dim light, but he was aware suddenly that something was different about her.

«I have had a falling–out with Shadea," she said. «The damage cannot be repaired. She will no longer consult with me on things of any importance. She will seek to diminish me and ultimately to eliminate me completely. As a result, I cannot be effective as your spy.»

«A falling–out?» he repeated.

«Of a sort that has nothing to do with our agreement. She does not know about you and me. She does not even suspect. What has caused the breach between us has to do with someone I once cared for deeply.»

He had heard rumors about her involvement with another Druid, of a love affair that Grianne Ohmsford had put a stop to. Could this be whom she was talking about? But Shadea had not had anything to do with that business. He couldn't see the connection.

«So I came here," she finished, reaching for a goblet and pouring wine from the decanter that sat next to it.

«You came here to do what?» He moved forward a couple of steps to see her face better in the dim light, still trying to decide what was different about her.

She drank deeply of the wine, then set the goblet down and looked at him. «I came here to be your personal adviser. If I cannot be effective within the order, then I shall be effective from without. Our agreement still stands, Prime Minister. It has simply been altered. My usefulness must take another form. Since I can no longer spy on the Druid order, I shall advise you regarding it. I shall give you the kind of advice that no one else will, advice gained from having lived among them, of knowing how they think, of understanding what they will do. No one else can provide this.»

He hesitated, finding her argument persuasive, but not quite trusting her motives.

«You need me to tell you what to expect from them," she said. «No one knows Shadea a'Ru better than I do. You have an alliance with her and with the order through her, but you need to know how to make use of it. I know how far she will allow herself to be pushed and in what directions. I know what will persuade her when persuasion is needed. I know her weaknesses far better than you do.»

«I know her well enough to keep her at bay," he said.

She laughed softly. «You know her well enough to get yourself killed. If you think she will honor your agreement once she has no further use for it, you are a fool. She made it to gain credibility for the order and for herself. She will use you to see the Free–born smashed and the balance of power shifted, and then she will use you to gain control of the Federation, as well. Surely, you accept that this is so.

In fact, he did. He had known as much all along, although he didn't like thinking about it. He had accepted it as a necessary consequence of his alliance with her because he needed that alliance in order to end the stalemate on the Prekkendorran. Even with his new weapon, he was wary of the Druids, of their power as wielders of magic. What Iridia was telling him was nothing new, but it was making him take a fresh look at the realities.

«Your intent is to act as my adviser?» he repeated, trying to get used to the idea.

«Your Druid adviser. Yourpersonal Druid adviser. No one else in all the Four Lands will have one, save you. That will give you a measure of respect that you could gain in no other way. It will give you stature for what needs doing.»

«You would leave the order?»

She laughed again, and the sound sent a chill up his spine. It wasn't the laugh itself; it was the emptiness it suggested. «I have already left the order. Better to be your adviser in Arishaig than a whipping boy in Paranor. Understand me, Sen Dunsidan. I am a sorceress of great power. I was born with it, — I was trained to use it. I am the equal of Shadea, though she might not think so. I might have been the equal of Grianne Ohmsford. I want for myself what you want—recognition and power. Yours will come with the Federation's victory over the Free–born. Mine will come when I have replaced Shadea as Ard Rhys. Together, we can make both happen more easily. Accept my offer.»

He studied her without speaking. Could she have turned against him and become Shadea's spy? Could this be an elaborate charade, part of a plan to eliminate him? But, no, if Shadea wanted him dead, it would be easy enough to make him so. It would not require such a complicated approach. Besides, what use was he to Shadea if he was dead? Another from the Council would simply take his place, and she would risk losing her alliance with the Federation. He could think of no reason she would want that to happen.

He folded his arms across his chest. «Very well, Iridia. I accept. Your advice would be most welcome.» He held up one finger. «But I hope this isn't a game you play with me. If I find that it is, I will have you killed without another thought. You might be a Druid, but you are still only made of flesh and blood.»

Her pale face tilted slightly, as if she were seeing a strange animal. «Who was it who offered her services to you as your spy in the Druid camp? Who was it who told you of a way to dispose of Grianne Ohmsford without casting suspicion on yourself? Who brought you the liquid night? Who has stood by you every step of the way? Name another, besides me.»

There was a coldness to the challenge that warned him against any answer but one. «Your point is well taken.» He felt dangerously close to the edge of something he neither understood nor could control. What was it about her that was suddenly so troubling?

«I shall arrange rooms for you in my home," he added quickly, realizing that he was staring.

She didn't seem to notice. She rose and walked to the bedroom door. «Do not bother. I will look after myself. I am used to doing so.» Then she turned. «When you have need of me, I shall be there.»

She drew her cloak close about her and was gone.

Guards were stationed at the chamber doors and servants were at work farther down the hallway of the Prime Minister's residence, so the Moric waited until it was safely alone in an empty room at the back of the house before shedding its clothing and skin. It hated the stench of both and was anxious to return to the sewers, where it had been in hiding for several days while spying on the human Dunsidan. When the clothes and skin were removed, it folded them up and stuffed them into a bag under its cloak, strapping the bag over its sleek body. It would not wear them again until the next meeting. By then, it would be better able to bear the smell.

Relieved of its disguise and free to depart, it went out the window. It was three stories up, but since it had come in by climbing the wall, it had no difficulty leaving the same way. Using its claws to grip the stones, it went down like a lizard, crawling and skittering until it was back on the ground. From there, it scurried across the grounds and through the shadows to the edge of the compound, went over the wall, and faded into the night.

It had been in the city for the better part of a week, making itself familiar with its new surroundings. After coming out of the Forbidding, it had acted quickly to eliminate the human who had facilitated its crossing, absorbing it as a sponge would water, consuming flesh and bones and blood, but assimilating its memories and traits and keeping the skin to disguise itself. The Moric was a demon, but it was a changeling, as well. While most changelings could only pretend at being other creatures, however, the Moric could actually devour and become them. It was a useful ability, particularly here, in this world, where it would have been quickly noticed otherwise.

The woman's death had assured its secrecy, and her skin had given it a way out of the Druid safehold. Too many magic users resided there for the Moric to feel comfortable. It was powerful, but no match for large numbers. Besides, it had taken what it needed from the Druids. Misguided and corrupt, they had yielded to the temptations offered them and unwittingly opened the door that imprisoned it. So desperate were they to indulge their own greed that they had never stopped to think what it was they were really doing. How easily manipulated they had been! First the woman whose skin it inhabited, then those who shared her hatred of the one human it feared. Had she not been betrayed and sent into the Forbidding to take its place, it would still be locked away in the world of the Jarka Ruus. But the cunning and deception of the Straken Lord had deceived them all, and so for the first time in centuries, a demon was free.

Still, it would all be for nothing if the Moric did not accomplish what it had been sent to do. The human Dunsidan was the key. The Moric hadn't known as much when it had come to this city, its plans not yet fully formed, its intent for the most part to find a way to make use of its human disguise.

But yesterday it had discovered the project the human Dunsidan had sought to keep secret. It had learned of the weapon he had built and the hopes he harbored of using it against other humans. The Moric had watched as the man in charge played with the crystals. It had watched as Dunsidan used the weapon, burning through thick metal, twisting and destroying entire slabs in seconds. There was something of interest. The human thought to use the weapon as a tool of war. The Moric was not so shortsighted.

The city was sleeping, and the Moric was able to pass freely down its streets and alleyways. The few humans it encountered never saw it. It climbed the walls or hid in the darkness and waited for them to pass. It could have killed them easily and would have enjoyed doing so, but it was there for a different purpose and would not allow itself to be distracted. Its value lay not only in its adaptability, but also in its single–minded determination. There would be plenty of time for killing humans later, when its task was complete.

When it reached the entrance to its hiding place, it glanced around to be certain it was alone before going down through the grates. The smells of the sewer were sweet and welcome, and it hastened to reach the cold, dark catacombs through which they tunneled. It was the one place in that wretched world that reminded it of its own. It could feel at peace there. It could find comfort. One day, it promised, everything would be just like that.

The darkness was thick and deep beneath the earth, within the tunnels, and the Moric found a shelf submerged in several inches of fetid water and sewage and settled down to sleep.