Wards of Faerie

23

Drust Chazhul wasn’t thinking twice about anything, in spite of what Aphenglow believed. Sitting off to one side from where repairs were under way to his battered airships, still shaken by the fury of the response from the Keep to the Federation attack, he had nevertheless already made up his mind about what he would do next.

He would not, of course, give up and go home. Nor did he intend to launch any further air attacks on the Keep, having acknowledged by now how pointless that would be. Nor would he try using his Federation army, which was intact and unharmed, in an all-out ground assault against the fortress walls.

He would, however, get inside Paranor.

With Arodian missing and presumed dead by all aboard—all efforts at finding the commander having failed—Drust had been able to hand over command of the army to Tinnen March, Arodian’s capable if unimaginative second in command, a man the Prime Minister could work with far more easily than his predecessor. There had been little outcry following the announcement of Arodian’s disappearance. Perhaps not everyone believed that it was an accident, but those who didn’t were too afraid to say so. Better to let these things be when you were a common soldier.

The day was winding down, the sun drifting west, the night coming on, and the air turning cool. A watch on the Keep had been deployed right after the attempt to penetrate Paranor’s walls had failed, with sentries dispatched to surround the fortress. Flits and pilots were assigned to monitor any attempts at an air escape. Whatever else happened, Drust had instructed March, no one was to get in or out of the Keep. No word of what was happening here was to reach the ears of the other Races until he had settled with the Druids. He didn’t explain how he intended to do this, and the newly appointed army commander was smart enough not to ask.

In truth, Drust didn’t think for one moment that he had the means to stop an airship from leaving the Keep. His own warships were too battered to leave the ground, and his cruiser was destroyed. A transport, a scout ship, and two dozen flits could hardly be expected to stop anything. But he wanted Paranor’s defenders to know he meant business; perhaps they would hold off on any escape attempts if they believed themselves better off staying inside the safety of the walls.

By the time they realized they had misjudged the situation, it would be too late.

Stoon came up to him and stood waiting to be acknowledged. By now, no one questioned the assassin’s presence. He was a common sight, the Prime Minister’s man, his personal assistant. Stoon played his part by doing nothing to suggest that he was anything else. He kept a low profile and stayed out of the way.

Stoon started to speak, but Drust cut him off. “Not here. We’ll walk.”

They set off along the perimeter of the Keep’s walls, safely out of sight in the woods, trailed at some distance by the omnipresent guards assigned to protect the Prime Minister. There was activity all around them—the sounds of wounded men, of hammers pounding on wood and metal, of shouted orders and replies, and of timber being felled to fashion new masts and spars. The smells of dust and grime and blood wafted through the air, and the earth where the fleet had camped was already torn up and rutted. Drust tried to avoid looking at it or breathing any of it in. He tried to distance himself from the unpleasantness it caused him to feel. He had already done what was expected of him. He had made it a point to commend the airship commanders and their immediate subordinates on the courage they had displayed during the battle and had assured them they had not suffered a defeat, only a temporary setback. He had issued everyone a ration of ale and ordered a second to be served along with the evening meal.

Now he just wanted it all to go away. Or better yet, for their mission be over and done with.

“What were the final numbers?” he asked Stoon when they were safely out of hearing.

“Over five hundred dead—more than three hundred from the Wistral alone. She took everyone down with her. About twice that number injured. Some of those will die, too.” He paused. “Not a good day.”

Drust nodded. He could barely contain his rage. “You want desperately to tell me that you told me so, that you warned me an attack would fail, don’t you?”

Stoon shrugged. “You’ve just said it for me.”

“You think I accomplished nothing today?”

“Not knowing exactly what it was you wanted to accomplish, I can’t say. On the surface of things, it doesn’t appear much was achieved.”

Drust sneered. “You are so careful with how you word things. You should have considered a career as a politician; you have the skills for it.”

“I’m happy just as I am, thank you.”

“I’m a bit less happy with you than you are with yourself. You realize that, don’t you? Letting me think I was about to be thrown over the side of my own airship! I haven’t forgotten.”

“I have explained all that. It was the only way to dispose of Arodian. Anyway, with Edinja gone, as well, you have no immediate threat from within the Coalition Council. It’s what you wanted.”

Drust grunted, knowing that the other man was right but not in the least bit mollified by it. He was still shaken by how easily their assault on Paranor had been repulsed. He could still see that black cloud rising up from the Keep’s walls and swatting his airships aside.

But he would not let Stoon see this. “Today’s efforts were not made with the expectation of achieving victory,” he declared firmly, determined to put the best face possible on what had happened. “It would have been excellent if we could have seized the Keep in one day’s time, but contrary to what you might think I did not believe that was how things would go. I understood what we were up against. You notice, however, that the plan we arranged worked well enough?”

Stoon nodded. “They fired first, giving you cause to respond. Yes, I saw. But I think you believed your fire launchers and flash rips would be enough to overcome their magic.”

“I won’t argue that. I expected more from our weapons. But the Druids have had years to arm Paranor, and whatever magic protects it wasn’t conjured overnight.

“Anyway, we might have done some damage even if we didn’t get inside. You saw the walls.”

“I saw them. They didn’t look particularly damaged to me.”

Drust rubbed his forehead, further annoyed. “Do we have a way to get into the Keep yet?”

Stoon shook his head. “I’m waiting to hear.” He paused. “I think it will happen. I just don’t know when.”

“Soon would be good.” Drust gave him a look. “Very soon would be better. I need to end this quickly.” He paused. “I’ve put a lot of faith in this plan of yours.”

Stoon smiled. “You said yourself it’s worked so far. Paranor apparently attacked us first, so we were given cause to retaliate. Our key to opening the gates and sacking the place waits just inside. He’ll do what he’s supposed to do. I’ve used him before. He’s dependable. He likes this sort of thing. It makes him feel superior when he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”

“I’ll say it again—this has to happen quickly. Once word of our attack gets out, others will almost certainly attempt to intervene. I want us inside the Keep and in control of its walls before that happens. I want the Druids either disposed of or imprisoned. If your man is so smart, he should be able to do what is needed to make that happen.”

“Patience, Drust.”

“I don’t have any patience left. I don’t have any wish to be patient. I want this matter settled, Stoon.” He said it quietly, but with an edge to his voice that the other couldn’t miss. “If this turns into the debacle we both knew it might, I will be the one to face the consequences. I am fairly certain I can predict what those consequences will be. And what happens to me happens to you. Find a way to get us in!”

He wheeled away and began walking back toward the encampment, the heat of his anger rising off him like steam. He glanced at the darkening sky and felt a measure of relief. At least this day was almost over. Perhaps tomorrow would prove more favorable.

“One thing more,” he said when Stoon was back beside him again. “When you do find a way in, I want you to be one of the first to enter.” He gave the other a sharp glance and caught the small nod of agreement that served as a reply. “Not to put you in danger,” he added. “But for something else entirely.”

“Which would be?” The assassin sounded genuinely interested.

“I want you to take that Elessedil girl alive. After I have personally removed her tongue and cut off her hands, I intend to give her to the soldiers.”

He strode on in silence, the image of it burning with bright promise in his mind.

When the attack ended and the Federation withdrew, Aphenglow left the ramparts and went down to find Arling to make certain she was all right. Cymrian trailed after her, and she let him come without comment. She ignored Bombax.

After reuniting with her sister and giving her a hug and a few words of reassurance, she left her with Cymrian and went off to find the rail sling that had been used to attack the Arishaig. She found it easily enough, but there was no sign of who had used it. More telling was her examination of the angle available for attack using that particular weapon. Even under the best of circumstances, the rail sling couldn’t have done much more than dent the iron-plated underside of a Federation warship.

The ramifications of that conclusion were disturbing.

She decided to talk to Woostra. She had questions about the magic warding the Keep, and with the Ard Rhys absent she believed her best chance at getting answers was from Khyber Elessedil’s personal secretary.

She found him where she expected, ensconced in his office outside the Druid Library. His scarecrow body was hunched over his desk, eyes scanning the pages of a clutch of books and papers spread out before him. He didn’t even look up when she entered, merely gesturing to a bench to one side.

“Sit, Aphenglow. I’ll be done in a moment.”

She lowered herself onto the bench and waited patiently for the several minutes it took him to complete whatever it was he was doing. When he finally looked up, she said, “How do you do that?”

He looked puzzled. “Do what?”

“Recognize me without looking.”

“Oh, that.” He gave her a small smile. “Your footsteps. I can recognize any of you just from hearing you approach. Assuming I am paying any sort of attention.”

She smiled back. “Really?”

He shrugged. “What can I help you with? Something to do with that Federation attack?”

“You know about it?”

“Hard not to with all the noise.”

“Did you go out for a look?”

“No need to. The magic that wards Paranor repels anything or anyone not invited in. Always has. Always will.”

“So she protects us?”

He smiled anew. “Druids might choose to see it that way. But that’s not really how it is. Grianne Ohmsford put the wards in place before she left the Keep for the final time. But the wards protect Paranor, not the Druids. The Druids are simply inadvertent beneficiaries. Along with anyone else who might be inside during an attack.” He rubbed his long nose with his finger. “Easier to protect something that doesn’t move around than something that does. Druids come and go. The Keep stays right where it is.”

She thought about it a moment. “So if there were an enemy inside—say, someone who managed to get invited in one way or another—the magic wouldn’t let the rest of us know.”

He gave her a long look. “What are you saying, Aphenglow?”

She shook her head. “I’m just mulling something over. This attack was provoked by someone who fired one of our rail slings from inside the walls of the Keep. I didn’t see who it was, and no one else I talked to saw, either. But I found the rail sling that was used, and it was clear from the angle of trajectory that using it served no purpose. The angle of attack was all wrong.”

“Then why …?”

“Bother? To provoke a response to an apparent attack from us. These were Federation warships, fully manned and armed, and although they claimed to have been invited by the Ard Rhys and came expecting to be received, there was no evidence any of this was so. What they seem to have come for was pretty much exactly what happened.”

Woostra nodded slowly. “So you think it was all planned? That the firing of the rail sling was a deliberate subterfuge by someone who was in their employ?”

“I think it possible. I haven’t found a better explanation.”

“And you don’t know who this someone is?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded again, and then went back to reading the papers in front of him. “Better find out then. No point sitting around here talking to me.” He looked up quickly. “But the magic that wards the Keep can’t help you with this. It can shelter you from attacks without, but not ferret out enemies within. Good luck, Aphenglow.”

She departed his office and went back out into Paranor’s halls, wondering what to do next. As she walked, she began going over the list of those who were within the Keep. She could eliminate herself and Bombax and Woostra and Arling. That left Cymrian, the Troll guards, and the boy who had rescued Bombax from the Mwellrets. If she was right about what had happened, it had to be one of them.

She was mulling over which when Bombax caught up to her. She flinched inwardly as he did so, prepared for the worst. She kept her eyes averted and continued walking.

“Are you thinking the same thing I am about all this?” he asked quietly, surprising her. “That this attack was no accident?”

She nodded. “Someone in the Keep fired that rail sling to provoke it. The attack was planned ahead of time.”

His big hands tightened on the staff he bore. “One of the Trolls?”

“Hard to believe. They’re sworn to us. Most have been here a long time.”

“That Elf you brought into the Keep with your sister? What do you know of him?”

She stopped where she was, fighting down a surge of new anger. “That boy you brought into the Keep when you came back from Varfleet? What do you know of him?”

“I know he rescued me. He saved my life.”

“Well, Cymrian did the same for me. He killed five men doing it, too.”

She turned and walked on, forcing him to come after her. All at once, she didn’t want him there.

“Why are you so angry?” he asked, grabbing her arm.

She stopped again and carefully extracted herself. “I don’t like how you’re acting. It isn’t who you are. I’m not sure you’ve recovered from what happened with the Mwellrets.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” He stared at her a moment, and she could see the confusion in his eyes. “I love you, Aphen. I don’t like thinking that maybe you don’t love me.”

It caught her by surprise. “Why would you say that?”

“That Elf follows you around like a puppy. What am I supposed to think?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t given you any reason to doubt me.”

“Maybe you don’t see it the way I do. Do you still love me? Can you say the words?”

Impulsively, she reached up and touched his cheek. “Of course I can say them. I love you. You are my life partner. I didn’t make that choice without giving thought to it. It was not done lightly or with any intention of not honoring it.”

“I want to believe that,” he said.

She dropped her hand to his arm and gripped it. “Let’s leave this discussion for later. Let’s concentrate on what’s at hand. I want to find out who fired that rail sling. I want you to help me. Let’s be united on this.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s how I want it, too.”

“United, then.” She gave him a quick smile. “We should talk to everyone. Maybe there’s something we can learn.”

“One thing you want to keep in mind, Aphen,” he said. “It might not be one of the Trolls or the Elf or the boy. It might be someone else entirely, someone who managed to get inside Paranor without any of us knowing.”

It gave her pause. She hadn’t thought of that.

Twilight, and most within the Keep were gathered in the dining hall.

Deek Trink worked his way down the corridors, halfway certain that this time he was going to get caught. Bombax might not suspect him, but the Elven woman had already made him her prime suspect in the rail sling incident simply by process of elimination. He had hoped there would be a sufficient number of other logical suspects, once he got inside the Keep, to shift suspicion away from him. But there were only the members of the Druid Guard, the two Druids, the old man in the library, the Elven woman’s younger sister, and that really scary Elven Hunter Cymrian. Of all of them, he was the one Deek wanted least to be around.

Not that he hadn’t fooled Cymrian just like he had all the others. More that he didn’t like how being around Cymrian made him feel. Uncomfortable. Revealed. Those eyes seemed to look right into you and see everything. Being charming didn’t impress Cymrian one bit. Deek was good at winning over people, at making them believe whatever he wanted them to believe. He was clever at deceiving others, at giving a false impression of what he was like. He had always been good at it.

But Cymrian was having none of it. Nor, did it appear, was the Elven Druid he protected like a moor cat its newborn.

Deek hurried on through the lower levels of the Keep, pausing at corners and doorways to listen, all the while trying to look casual about what he was doing so that if he were caught he might still be able to talk his way free. He knew he could do it if he had to. He had gotten out of tougher situations than this one.

Well, maybe not tougher. But the knowledge of how much danger he was in was what excited him enough to make him want to take the chance.

Bombax and the Elven woman had come to him earlier to talk about the rail sling incident, and he had worked hard trying to satisfy them that he knew nothing about it. He had been hiding down below like he was told he should, frightened the Federation forces would prove too much for the Druids and he would be discovered and sent back to the Mwellrets. There was no reason for him to be firing a rail sling at a Federation warship, was there?

Of course, there was every reason if you were working for someone like Stoon. But no one here knew anything about that. All anyone knew was he had found Bombax in that warehouse, trussed up like a side of beef, and decided to help him get free, all at great personal risk. It was Bombax who had brought him to Paranor, offering safe haven. No one realized it was Stoon who had hired the Mwellrets to drug and imprison Bombax so Deek could arrange a rescue and thereby gain entrance to the Druid’s Keep. No one realized he was there for a single reason only—to open a door in the walls and let the Federation army inside.

How could they? He was just a boy.

He wondered how much longer he could parlay that into a career. Not much, given the way he was growing. His boyhood days were coming to an end, and he would have to find a new way of deceiving people. There was always a way to be found, of course. He had learned that much years ago living on the streets, even before he met Stoon.

He glanced over his shoulder, thinking he heard something, and peered into the shadows of the long hallway. He couldn’t be certain who might be down here. The Elven woman had assigned one of the Trolls in the Druid Guard to “accompany” him wherever he went so that he would stay safe. He knew what that meant. She had kept the Elven Hunter with her, which he could tell Bombax didn’t like—was there something between them?—but then Bombax hadn’t offered to keep Deek, choosing to leave him with the Troll. Not that Deek minded. It was easier to get rid of the Troll than it would have been to get rid of Bombax. Persuading the Troll to share a few glasses of ale he had surreptitiously drugged was easy enough. Deek only needed enough time to descend to the lower levels of the Keep, relocate the small, ironclad door he had found earlier, and mark it to let the Federation know it was open.

If he were quick about it, as he intended to be, no one would see him and he would be back in the guards’ common room with his Troll watchdog before the other realized he was missing, looking for all the world as if he, too, had fallen asleep after indulging in too much ale.

He reached the door he had found days earlier and released the heavy locks—three of them, the Druids weren’t taking chances—so that the door cracked open. He took a moment to make certain that no one standing watch on the walls could see him, and then, using a red dye he carried in a pouch, he drew an X on the outside of the door, tossed the pouch into a path of weeds growing against the walls, and closed the door without relocking it. Easy enough. Federation scouts would find his well-marked entrance into the Keep quickly enough and at dawn a special detachment of soldiers would sneak through and open the west gates.

By midday, Paranor would have fallen.

He turned away from the door and started back down the hall. He would have preferred to flee the Keep right away, but leaving was not an option. His absence would be noticed and would lead to discovery of the open door. Stoon had told him to stay put until the attack came and the Keep fell; if he did he would not be harmed. Deek believed him, if only because he knew Stoon would want to use him again one day.

He reached a set of stairs leading up and began to climb. By this time tomorrow, it would all be over and he would be on his way back to Varfleet. He just needed to be patient a little while longer.

Something he was good at.