The Darkling Child

SEVENTEEN

STANDING AT THE BOW OF THE DRUID CLIPPER, PAXON glanced around doubtfully. Clouds layered the skies north to south, east to west, the whole world blanketed for as far as the eye could see. There was a dreary, sullen cast to the day that presaged rain by nightfall. If there was a sun above those clouds, it was keeping its presence hidden, the absence of any source of light a clear indication that any appearance it made would be momentary. The air was awash in grayness at a thousand feet, and with clouds above and trailers of mist below and the light muted and diffuse, the landscape was leached of color.

It was depressing really, but Paxon tried not to feel that way. Instead, he told himself that today marked the beginning of a journey that would at last lead him to the ever–elusive Arcannen and perhaps to a confrontation that would at last put an end to that chapter of his life.

He almost glanced over his shoulder to where Avelene sat writing in front of the pilot box, but in the end managed to refrain from doing so. It would be nice if he could find in her face what he was feeling, but he knew that was asking too much. Yesterday she had come to him to tell him how much she was looking forward to another trip with him, but within moments her demeanor had changed and she had departed abruptly with no explanation. This morning she had boarded with a closed–off attitude that suggested she was in no mood to discuss much of anything, and he had left it that way. He was himself conflicted about her presence. In spite of Isaturin’s reassurances, he was not persuaded that she was as ready for another encounter with Arcannen as he was. There was a reticence to her, a tightening down, that suggested she was still haunted by memories of how Arcannen had locked her in that black cylinder and left her to die. Her behavior suggested that the trauma she had endured–presumably banished with her release–might return, given provocation. This worried him. He needed her to be strong and steady if they were to deal successfully with Arcannen. The sorcerer would exploit any weakness he found in either of them. Doubts and fears could not be allowed.

He wished she was more willing to talk so he could take her measure and decide how badly damaged she was, but she had shown no interest in conversation. Instead, she had gone straight to the spot she occupied now, opened the packet she was carrying, and begun writing. All around her, preparations for lifting off had been under way, the Druid Guard working the lines and sails, the big Trolls tightening down radian draws and light sheaths, yet she had acted as if none of it had anything to do with her.

She had offered him a perfunctory greeting and then dismissed him with a shifting of her gaze to her work.

It irritated him no end, and suddenly he decided enough was enough. She would speak with him whether she liked it or not.

He walked back to where she was sitting in front of the pilot box and sat down beside her, watching the smooth movement of her quill across the paper mounted on the writing board as the shaved tip dipped into the inkwell, transported its gathered contents to the white parchment, began to form fresh words and symbols, and then repeated the process time and again.

Finally, she looked up. “What is it?”

“Perhaps we should talk.”

She studied him a moment, then set aside her writing materials, capped the inkwell, and looked back at him. “What would you like to talk about, Paxon?”

“About what we are doing. What we are going to do. How we are going to do it. Do you have a plan?”

“Of course I have a plan. I am leader of this expedition, am I not? I am the one who will speak to the Federation Prime Minister. I am the one who will ascertain why it is he asked for us to come–for you to come, in particular.”

“Is that what you are writing out? What you intend to say?”

A wash of heavy mist coasted across the decking, and for a moment she disappeared into it as if a ghost. It was so unexpected that it caused Paxon’s nerves to jangle. “Avelene?”

She reappeared as the mist cleared. “What you want to know is whether or not I can handle another meeting with Arcannen. Why don’t you just come right out and ask me instead of going to all the trouble of working up to it?”

She sounded calm enough as she confronted him, but he could sense an undertone of anger and frustration nevertheless. “All right, I’m asking.”

She gave him a bitter smile. “Sorry. You don’t have the right to ask. Isaturin selected me for this mission. You are my protector, not my equal. You have no standing to question me.”

He saw that she was not going to make this easy. “Where we are both at risk if either of us fails, I have every right to make certain you are well. You suffered a horrendous experience, one that might easily have unhinged another person. I was impressed by how you handled it. I do not seek to question your selection as lead in this business. You are clearly the better choice to make a presentation to the Prime Minister. Nor do I suggest I am your equal in standing or that I am in any way a full member of the Druid Order.”

“But still you doubt me,” she said slowly. “Among my other skills as a student and practitioner of magic is the ability to sense other people’s hidden feelings. Not always, but now and then. Yours were so strong last night when I came to see you that there was no mistaking how you felt about me. You think it possible I am unable to carry out this mission. You worry I am weak and vulnerable. If you had your way, you would not let me come. Do you deny it?”

He stared at her. “No. Although the way you characterize my feelings is not entirely accurate. My fears are for you, not for myself. I worry that you have not had time to heal properly. I worry that if confronted by a sorcerer with the experience and power of Arcannen, you will be overmatched. I worry that I will be overmatched, for that matter. I cannot help it; it is in the nature of who I am. Would you not worry if our positions were reversed?”

She glared at him. “I have something to prove here. To myself, but to Isaturin and to you, as well. I accept that. I don’t intend to be cowed by one experience, no matter how nasty it was. I was caught by surprise, but that won’t happen again. I am confident in my training and my skills. Arcannen will not overmatch me when I confront him. And I will confront him. I want it to happen as badly as you do. And don’t try to tell me that’s not how you feel. You do. It radiates off you.”

“So what do you want to do?”

She paused. “Let’s just start over. I am sufficiently healed now. I am able to do whatever is needed. Just like you. So let’s not speak of it again.”

He nodded slowly. “All right. Let’s not.”

Her disposition improved then, although it did not quite reach the level of warmth. But she did relate how she intended to approach their interview with the Federation Prime Minister and what she believed he might be seeking. Given the ongoing threat from within the Southland government structure to any existing Prime Minister–not to mention most lesser Ministers of the Coalition Council, as well–they could suppose that Arcannen might have become a threat in a way that the Druids did not yet understand. Since the Druid search for the sorcerer was still active, it made sense for the Prime Minister to use the order in any way that would benefit him.

“He was close friends with Aphenglow Elessedil during her last years as Ard Rhys, but he does not enjoy the same closeness with Isaturin who, quite frankly, distrusts him,” she said. “So he will keep to himself as much as possible of what he knows and intends. Our job will be to worm it out of him any way we can while we have the chance.”

Paxon nodded. “I imagine you can manage that.”

“Not just me. You, as well. You are not to sit idly by if you see a chance to push him a little. I want you to engage him in conversation, argumentative or not, when and if it feels right to do so. I trust your judgment. Don’t be afraid to exercise it. Don’t ignore opportunities that present themselves.”

So they talked about it further, and then she went back to her writing and he returned to the bow to watch the land ahead as it passed beneath them. They would reach Arishaig by nightfall in this fast clipper, and after a good night’s sleep they would be given an audience with the Prime Minister in the morning. Paxon had never met the man, although he had heard Aphenglow speak of him. A good man, by all accounts. But a cautious man, as well–one who did not trust easily and who understood the value of subterfuge and duplicity in politics. If you were his friend, he would not betray you. All others were subject to the whims of his assessment in any given situation.

All of which meant they would have to be careful.

By the time nightfall came and the lights of the Capital City crested the horizon, he was fast asleep. It was Avelene who woke him, shaking him gently and whispering, “Sorry I was so hard on you,” as he pulled himself to his feet.

Although afterward, when he thought back on it, he wasn’t at all sure that was what she had said.

He slept poorly that night, in part perhaps because he had slept earlier while still aboard ship, but in part, too, because he was anticipating the events of the coming day. He went to sleep thinking of them and woke without any resolution. He was troubled by the role Avelene had assigned him–as instigator or investigator where comments merited intrusion. He had no idea how he would manage this or what he would say. He imagined it was not possible to know until the moment was at hand. He could anticipate, but probably not by more than a sentence or two. It was like lying in ambush without knowing who might be coming.

After washing and dressing, he met Avelene for breakfast in a dining hall that served members of the Coalition Council and their staff as well as visitors housed in the complex that comprised the Federation government offices. He saw a few faces he thought he recognized, but no one spoke to him. He was dressed in loose–fitting hunter’s clothes overlaid by his well–worn black cloak, which bore the emblem of the Druid Order. Avelene wore similar clothing, although her cloak was the more distinct and recognizable garb that marked her clearly as a Druid. They ate alone and with little conversation, absorbed in thoughts of the meeting ahead, focused on thinking through what they imagined the Prime Minister might have to say to them and how they might respond.

When breakfast was finished, they walked from the dining hall to a tiny garden off to one side and sat on a bench while waiting for the appointed time for their meeting to arrive.

“Have you met him?” Paxon asked finally.

Avelene shook her head. “Everyone says he is a good man.”

“Aphenglow Elessedil thought so. She had a high opinion of him. She said he could be trusted.”

“Be careful anyway.” She caught his eye. “We are babes in the woods in this business. Don’t forget it. Tread lightly.”

When the time for their appointment arrived, they rose from the bench, walked over to the building that housed the offices of the Prime Minister, and climbed the stairs three flights to where his staff greeted them. With no waiting at all, they were ushered into his empty offices and seated in chairs in front of a massive wooden desk polished to such a high sheen that the glare of the diffuse daylight off its surface caused them to squint.

There they sat, waiting. They neither spoke nor looked at each other. Paxon felt his nerves grow taut and his expectations heighten. He had removed the Sword of Leah from where it had been strapped across his back and had laid it on the floor next to his chair. He felt oddly naked without it, and wondered how fast he could reach it and draw it free of its sheath if the need should arise. It was foolish thinking, given where he was, but it was the kind of thinking he had grown used to as a protector of the Druid Order.

When the Prime Minister finally arrived, he was smiling broadly and anxious to reassure them that his tardiness was the result of another meeting and in no way intended to suggest this meeting was any less important.

“No one wants to feel as if they are being dismissed prematurely,” he added, reaching down to shake their hands warmly. “So I had to exercise some caution in ending the previous meeting. How are you? Did you sleep well? Were your quarters comfortable?”

He was a slight man, taller than average and rather spindly in appearance. He was probably in his late sixties or early seventies, and there was a somewhat worn look to his expressive face. His grip was strong, though, and he seemed to have abundant energy in spite of his age and the toll his position as leader of the Federation might have taken on him. Glancing at the glare off his desk, he asked them to sit with him off to one side where there was a small grouping of couches and easy chairs, all padded and pillowed and comfortably drawn in for private conversation.

Before joining them, he stuck his head back out the door and asked that tea and ale be brought. While waiting for that, he kept the conversation limited to small talk–how were things in Paranor, was Isaturin settling in as Ard Rhys, was the order continuing to add new members to its roster? — all of it accomplished with a smoothness and openness that attested to a lifetime spent mastering the fine art of engaging in easy communication with others.

When the beverages arrived, he asked the bearer to advise the staff not to disturb him until he was finished with his visitors.

“Now then,” he began, as the other departed, pulling the door closed tightly behind him, “where to begin.”

He rocked back slightly, considering. “I am faced with a difficult and potentially embarrassing situation. It all revolves around Arcannen Rai, but he is not the instigator of the problem. You may have already heard some of what has happened. Almost two years ago, a band of airship pirates operating out of a coastal village called Arbrox began raiding Southland freighters and transports. The thefts were annoying at first, but grew steadily more troublesome until they became intolerable. So to try to discourage further raids, I asked the Federation Army High Command to put an end to it one way or the other. Unfortunately, the command assigned the job to the Red Slash division out of Sterne, which pretty much determined how things would go. The commander of the Red Slash, a man named Dallen Usurient, has little patience and less tact. He quickly decided a scorched–earth approach was warranted. He conveyed his soldiers to Arbrox, attacked the village, and killed everyone–men, women, and children. He did this without anyone’s authorization and without any measurable consideration for the consequences. Then he tried to cover it up, insisting that only men–the pirates in question–had been killed. I found out soon enough that this was not the case. But I let the matter slide because the disciplining of soldiers in these situations is a tricky matter. How clear were their orders? How much leeway did they have? If Usurient overstepped himself, should punishment be visited on his men? What sort of resistance do I encounter if I intervene and ask that he be removed as Red Slash Commander and another be appointed to fill his shoes?”

He sipped his tea. “All questions I could only answer as Prime Minister and not as philosopher to my conscience. In any case, a new wrinkle developed shortly afterward. Unfortunately for the Federation, the pirates were sheltering Arcannen at the time of the attack, and although the Red Slash were quite thorough in killing everyone else in sight, they somehow missed him. Arcannen took the attack personally and decided to avenge the deaths of his protectors. He sent word to Usurient that–and I quote–‘Arbrox is coming.’ ”

“Odd that he used the name of the village and not his own,” Avelene noted.

“Arcannen is nothing if not enigmatic. When I learned of this–something not reported to me by Usurient, but by another who values loyalty over self–interest–I waited to see what my commander would do. What I expected was that he would not wait for Arcannen to come to him but would go after Arcannen first–most likely taking a large contingent of the Red Slash with him. He has authority to do that, although only in situations in which he views Federation interests to be in immediate and substantial peril. But Usurient has his own measuring stick for these things. Do you like the tea?”

Both Avelene and Paxon nodded. “Herbal,” the Highlander said. “A mix of mulkeet, basil brew, and lavender.”

The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. “Very good.”

“My mother used to make it. She gathered the ingredients and mixed them in proportions I have forgotten. But I remember their taste.”

They all sipped silently for a moment before the Prime Minister continued.

“So. Defying my expectations, Usurient decided on a different approach to the problem of Arcannen. Instead of sending the Red Slash, he dispatched a small band of hunters and cutthroats who have served him in various ways in the past. Their leader, Mallich, is well known; he raises fighting animals called drasks. Ugly creatures, very dangerous. He also raises others, including crince. Even more dangerous than drasks, those crince. You might have heard of them. In any case, none of them is safe to be around, even if you were the one who raised and trained it. But Mallich is more dangerous still.”

He paused. “And the men he took with him on this outing were released from the Federation prisons in Sterne. One is a killer who was supposedly locked away for life; the other is one of the keepers. I do not deceive myself. Either is capable of committing unconscionable acts without the burden of thinking on it afterward. All three will present a test even for someone as versatile and creative as Arcannen.”

“So they have been sent to kill Arcannen?” Avelene asked. “But why is this a problem? What do you care what happens to the sorcerer?”

The Prime Minister nodded, as if wondering himself. “I care nothing for Arcannen. Do not mistake me. But I would prefer it if he came to an end at the hands of proper authorities and not through a rogue enterprise sanctioned by one of my commanders acting outside his authority. I would prefer it not result in collateral damage of the sort that that occurred during the massacre at Arbrox. I alerted Isaturin and the Druid Order when I discovered what was afoot because your own interests in Arcannen are at the least equal to those of the Federation. We all want the same thing–Arcannen brought to justice. If an opportunity exists to make this happen, we should work together.”

“But you asked for us specifically,” Paxon pointed out.

“Yes, what is it exactly that you want us to do about all this?” Avelene added quickly.

“Nothing that you wouldn’t do anyway.” The Prime Minister finished his tea and set the cup down carefully. “Go to Arbrox, assess the situation, and do whatever you feel is appropriate. If Usurient’s creatures are successful, then Arcannen is no longer our problem. If they fail, perhaps an opportunity for you to succeed will present itself. I would, of course, appreciate being advised as to how this turns out by someone I can rely upon to tell me the truth.”

“Which you do not think Usurient will do?”

“Which I do not think Usurient will do.”

“Again,” Paxon said quietly, “why did you ask for us specifically?”

“For you, in point of fact, young man. So that I might speak to you directly. You know Arcannen better than anyone. You’ve fought against him, and by all accounts you are the only one to survive such an encounter–and not once, I might add, but several times. I know you serve as the High Druid’s Blade. It is logical you would be designated as both companion to and protector of whichever Druid or Druids Isaturin sent to Arbrox once you got word that Arcannen was there. I felt it important to advise Isaturin that your inclusion in this effort was important.”

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Now listen carefully. The Federation is supposed to be allied with the Druids in this matter. We are supposed to be working together. I seriously doubt that Usurient’s men will see it that way. I am admittedly anxious to avoid an incident where Druids and Federation are suddenly engaged in a life–and–death struggle with each other.”

“So this is a warning to be careful.”

“That, yes, but something more. I am offering up, here in the privacy of my office, the bitter admission that for the moment I seem to have lost control over a small faction of my army. It isn’t the first time and, quite possibly, it won’t be the last. Even more galling is the realization that there is a limit to the amount of interference the Federation Army Command will tolerate from its Prime Minister. I must tread lightly in this matter. But you need to be aware that those members of the Federation you might run across on your search for Arcannen do not represent the government’s interests. More to the point, you need to understand how dangerous they are. I do not wish you placed in needless peril, so I am telling you how things stand. If by some circumstance these creatures come to a bad end at your hands, no blame will attach to you because of it. Whatever becomes of them, I give you my word that the Federation will not hold you or anyone connected with the Druid Order responsible.”

Paxon knew at once there was more to this disclaimer than what the other was telling him, but he couldn’t decipher at that moment what the Prime Minister was keeping hidden.

“So you are saying we are free to do whatever is needed to protect ourselves,” Avelene finished. “We need not concern ourselves with what happens to Mallich or his men or their fighting animals. Or with what happens to Usurient, as well?”

The Prime Minister nodded slowly. “If it comes to that. Usurient has overstepped himself, and a reckoning is inevitable. Your safety and your assessment of what that requires take precedent over concerns for Usurient’s fate. I thought it important for you to understand how matters stand. I have sent word to recall these men and their animals, but I expect it will not reach them in time. I don’t even know if Usurient has gone with them. I don’t know if you will encounter him, as well. I do know that if there is any reason for them to act against you, they will not hesitate to do so. Any of them.”

He paused meaningfully. “Just so you know that Arcannen is not your only concern.”

The silence that followed was ominous and heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then abruptly the Prime Minister rose and extended his hands. “I must leave you now. I have another meeting to attend. Endless meetings are the pattern of my life. I sometimes wonder if there is any other point to my service as Prime Minister.”

Avelene stood with him. “Thank you for taking time to warn us about your commander and the others,” she said, taking his hands and holding them momentarily. “We will be careful.”

“I do hope so,” the old man said softly.

Then he turned from them and was gone.

When they were clear of his offices and safely out of earshot, departing the building for the airfield where their fast clipper waited, Avelene turned to Paxon. “You know something, don’t you?”

Paxon nodded. “I suspect something, anyway. He told us what he wants us to know about these rogue soldiers who act against his interests. He says he wants us to be prepared so that we can act freely against them. I think he wants them dead. If we manage to kill them, that would save him the trouble of having to dispose of them later.”

“But you also think he will throw us to the wolves afterward?”

Paxon shrugged. “I think he might. If he finds it convenient to do so. But he wants the Druid Order to continue to support him, so that would likely be a last resort. Blaming us for anything that happens won’t help him maintain a good relationship with the Ard Rhys.”

She smiled. “You are very good at this. I am impressed. But here’s something you missed. What drives the Prime Minister is something more primal than what he suggested in his analysis of the situation.”

“He’s angry?”

“No, Paxon. He’s afraid.”