by Terry Brooks
“An unnecessary precaution,” Quince said dismissively. “An overreaction, in point of fact. You’re showing your lack of confidence in those you sail with. No one is going to attack an armed Druid warship. Who do you think these people are?”
“I’m not sure,” Dar replied as the airship continued its turn, its sleek black hull cleaving clouds and mist. “Are you?”
Quince laughed. “Savages! That’s who they are. Look at them! Look at their weapons! Swords and spears. Look at them down there. Marching like it doesn’t matter if they do so in formation or not. No order to anything. Not even a visible command presence. Do you see any sign of a central command? You can’t even tell who leads this pack of animals.”
“I can count, though,” Zia pointed out, moving into the pilot box beside Dar. She gave Quince a withering look. “There are at least a thousand of them. Have you forgotten what they did to the Corrax? And to another Troll tribe, as well? What do you think they could do to us?”
Quince started to answer and then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he shook his head and made a sweeping gesture toward the army.
“Numbers aren’t everything. Where are their airships? Where are their automatic weapons? Do they even possess magic? Real magic? The kinds of magic we have at our command? We can control the elements—wind, fire, water, and earth. We can simply toss them aside. Either one of us could put a stop to their advance in five minutes. They would turn tail and run the moment they were confronted with magic like ours. If all they’ve faced are Trolls, they know nothing of real power.”
He leaned forward. “This is exactly the right time to make them aware of what they are facing. If they can be brought into line before they get any farther south, we should be able to do what Balronen wants and turn them loose on the Federation. They will probably be cut to pieces, but it will cost the Southlanders, too. And it will give our most dangerous enemy something to occupy his time.”
His words were persuasive and his voice reassuring. But there was an element of madness, too. The words were tinged with it, the speaker’s tone of voice strident. Dar stared openly. What was going on with Ruis? Why was he acting this way?
“That wasn’t the mandate we were given!” Zia snapped. Dar could hear the anger in her voice. “We aren’t supposed to start a war! We’re supposed to scout them and report back. Nothing more. You take this too far.”
The other Druid was seething. “I take it as far as I was given leave to take it, Zia. I have authority you know nothing about. I can scout or engage. I am empowered to use my own judgment. Just because you weren’t included in the conversation doesn’t mean it didn’t take place.”
Dar didn’t like the sound of it. Ruis Quince was not the sort to assume a mantle of authority that hadn’t been bestowed on him. But if Balronen had given him authority to do all he claimed, there was reason to be concerned. The risk of something going wrong was measurably increased. Drisker Arc would never have given another Druid authority to act unilaterally in a situation like this. It was another mark against Balronen’s capability to act as High Druid.
He almost turned the ship around once more. But countermanding a direct order from the expedition leader would get him exiled from Paranor or worse. Zia caught his eye and shook her head. She seemed to have decided the same thing. Why, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she knew something he didn’t.
It was enough to persuade him. He kept the airship on course.
They sailed over the heads of the marching army. More helmeted heads looked up this time, a sea of matching iron faces. The Druid warship flew past once more, headed back the way it had come as hundreds of eyes watched. Dar continued on a bit, then brought the airship down to where she was hovering above a flat stretch of rocky ground and held her there.
Locking the wheel in place, he climbed out of the pilot box to face Quince.
“You intend to wait here for them?” he asked.
Quince nodded. “Let them come to us.”
“You’ll talk? Bargain, perhaps?”
“Observe. Assess. Act according to what I determine needs doing. What is your point in asking?”
Dar nodded. “The airship stays where she is. I want her ready to leave in a hurry if the need arises. You and I will take four of the guards and go to this meeting. Everyone else stays on board.”
Quince bowed his head as if in thought. But when he raised it again there was a dangerous look in his bright eyes. “What did I tell you, Blade?”
Dar felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You are in charge.”
“I am in charge. But it doesn’t sound that way to me. It sounds as if you think you are in command.”
“I was just—”
“You were just overstepping your authority,” the other cut in. “Again. Things will happen when I command it. People will do what I say they should do. You will keep your mouth shut.”
Dar stayed silent. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t get him in worse trouble still. He watched Zia walk back from where she had been standing by the railing. Her honey-gold hair whipped about her face in the wind, strands of it blowing over her features like a veil. Her eyes were suspicious. “What are we doing?”
Quince didn’t look at her. “Taking a short walk. You and I and six of the Troll guards will go out to meet these invaders to discuss their intentions. If they act in a hostile manner, we will respond accordingly. If they seem amenable to cooperation, we will attempt to push them off onto someone else.” He paused. “The Blade stays here, aboard ship.”
Zia shook her head. “He is our protector! He is supposed to stay with us in situations like this one. He can’t do much if he’s left aboard ship!”
Quince made a dismissive gesture. “He can’t do much in any case. An ancient sword possessing ancient magic? Of how much use can that be? We are far better able to protect ourselves than he is to protect us. He stays here, out from underfoot.”
He was doing this for no better reason than to reassert his command over not only the expedition but also Zia, in particular. He was showing her he could still make her do what he wanted, even if they were no longer a couple. Dar almost hit him. He was close enough that he could have done so. But the way Quince looked at him suggested the Druid would like nothing better. Strike a Druid while serving the order and you were out on your ear.
Zia saw the look that passed between them. “Time to go, isn’t it, Ruis? We should get down there and be ready when they come.” She took his arm and pulled him away. “I will watch your back. You do the talking when these people reach us. But be careful. Don’t assume anything.”
She started away, drawing Quince after her. But just as she reached the railing, she turned back to Dar. “You can watch us well enough from on board,” she said. “But watch us closely.”
The expression on her face was an uneasy one, and Dar read more into it than what the words she spoke indicated. She was already preparing for the possibility of things going wrong. She was doing this because she had to, but she wanted to know that someone would be watching out for her.
And not just someone.
She wanted Dar.
She gave him a knowing look just before she turned away again, and then she began to descend the rope ladder.
FIFTEEN
Darcon Leah waited in the pilot box until he saw the Druids and their Troll guards appear beyond the bow of the airship, and then he hurried forward so he could better see what was going to happen. He could already spy the forefront of the faceless invaders appearing over a rise, spears raised skyward to form a forest of wood and iron. He peered out at them through a screen of mist and rain that had suddenly formed, and he searched for their leader. But no one stepped forward to indicate who was in charge.
Dissatisfied with the airship’s positioning, Dar ordered that the anchor be let out further so the airship could rise and his view improve. When the ship was somewhere around fifty feet off the ground, he ordered her secured. Still not the greatest vi
sibility, but any higher and he would be in the mix of clouds and mist that had been steadily lowering.
Ahead, Ruis Quince had called a halt. He and Zia were standing in front of their Troll guards, separated from them by perhaps a dozen yards. Dar was instantly uneasy. The distance was too great should trouble arise. At least two of the guards should be warding them closely. As it was, the Druids were unprotected on three flanks.
He thought at once about disobeying Quince and leaving the airship to go down and join them on the flats. At least then he would be there to aid them should things go wrong. But he knew what Quince’s reaction would be, and he held off doing anything. The best he could hope for was that only talk would be involved. If things went wrong, he must trust to the power and mobility of the airship to come to their aid.
His Captain of the Druid Guard, Stow Chutin, was still aboard. Quince did not like him any better than Dar, so Zia had not selected him. He loitered close by, hands gripping the ship’s railing as if to hold it in place. His face revealed nothing of how he felt about being left behind, but his restless movements betrayed his dissatisfaction.
Dar called him over. “I want this airship ready to go to their aid the minute we sense anything is wrong. When they start talking, I want men standing by to pull up the anchors and engage the thrusters. Hold us at the ready. Can you do it?”
The big Troll grunted. “You taught me, Blade.”
Indeed, Dar thought, he had. So he hardly needed reminding. “Carry on,” he said.
Chutin walked away and began positioning the ship’s crew, setting the stage for a quick response to trouble. He had the gunners stand away from the flash rips, but he left the weapons uncovered and ready for use. Dar watched for a few moments, long enough to be satisfied that everything that could be done was, and then he turned his attention back to the flats and the invading army.
The front ranks had come to an uneven halt, the helmeted soldiers standing in ragged lines with the butts of their great spears grounded, a sea of indistinguishable bodies gone completely still. They stood so far apart from one another that it almost looked like every other man was missing. Something about their formation felt wrong. Dar immediately began to cast about for anything that looked like movement behind or to either side, but he saw nothing unusual.
He turned his attention back to the confrontation. Quince was already speaking, addressing the ranks of the invader, gesturing expansively, his deep voice loud and insistent. It would have been comical if Dar hadn’t been so worried about what might happen. The Druid’s effort to attract someone’s attention failed, and he went silent. He stood waiting patiently, and the men of the army facing him did the same.
Zia stepped close to him to say something, but he brushed her away. “Does no one lead you?” he roared finally. “Speak up!”
His tone of voice demanded a response.
He got one.
A slender figure draped in a white cloak, face concealed within a closed helmet like all of the other soldiers, stepped into view, appearing as if by magic out of the center of the army’s ranks. Behind strode a company of six armored knights wearing scarlet. The party proceeded to within fifteen feet of the Druids and stopped. For a moment, no one spoke, and then the white-cloaked figure gestured toward Ruis and said something. Ruis was quick to answer back, and the tone of voice he used left no doubt as to the nature of his reply.
A further exchange ensued, but in the rush of wind and rain that was sweeping over their surroundings, the words were impossible to decipher. Whatever the speaker in white was saying, it was clear Ruis was responding with anger and defiance. Dar listened in alarm to his rising shouts and sharp-edged threats. Quince was treading on dangerous ground whether he realized it or not. More than a thousand armed soldiers stood not a hundred yards away. Did he think it wise to display such insolence?
He glanced at Stow Chutin, who was standing next to him again, and grimaced. The big Troll shook his head. “He is handling this poorly,” he growled.
On the plains below, Zia was looking around in concern at the proximity of the army they had chosen to confront. There were blank iron faces staring back at her from three sides by now, members of the enemy having somehow shifted position while Dar wasn’t watching. It had happened very quickly. He watched Zia straighten and then take a step backward from Quince.
Then suddenly no one was speaking anymore. Something had passed between Quince and his counterpart that Dar had missed while looking at Zia and the soldiers. Ruis glanced over his shoulder at Zia and said something, but she shook her head. The white-cloaked soldier stood waiting on him as he turned back, as if giving him a chance to say something more. But Quince had been rendered momentarily speechless by whatever had passed between them.
As if words were no longer of use.
Instantly Dar ordered Chutin and his crew to pull up the mooring lines and the Troll gunners to man the flash rips. There was no longer any reason to take a chance on what was going to happen next. He rushed from the bow to the pilot box, hands finding the thruster levers. Quince had shown neither caution nor tact in his negotiating attempts. He appeared to have misjudged the situation badly. His blunder, whatever its nature, had very likely convinced the white-cloaked soldier he was a fool. Dar was appalled.
He glanced up, and in that instant saw a strange shimmer run through the ranks of the enemy army. There was a kind of melting-away of bodies amid a rippling shift in their formations.
Men were disappearing.
Zia reacted instantly, perhaps already aware of the danger. Her hands swept up, bringing with them a protective covering of magic. She dropped to one knee to make herself smaller, and her arms closed over her head, drawing her magic tighter. When a barrage of arrows and darts rained down on her she deflected them easily.
The Trolls who were there to protect her were not so fortunate. Although they rushed to the aid of both Druids, they were already dead men. Caught in an iron rain of missiles, most were dropped in their tracks. Within moments a swarm of enemy soldiers had charged in from both sides and driven their great spears through the bodies of those Trolls who remained, leaving them sprawled on the ground, bloodied and dead.
They came for Ruis Quince next. But he was a practiced magic wielder and quick to recover from his initial shock. While his attackers faded and materialized all around him the Druid’s magic warded him, and he fought back fiercely. Down went the first of his enemies, unprepared for such fury, surprised by the Druid’s ferocity. Quince tried to reach Zia but was quickly besieged on all sides.
“Zia!” he called to her, as the rest closed about.
But Zia Amarodian was too busy defending herself to hear him. She had risen again, bringing her protective magic with her, trying to unleash a counterattack on the enemy fighters swarming around her. She sent several bolts of brilliant blue fire exploding into their midst, but most of those struck were nothing more than images of men who were no longer there.
Seconds later she cried out in desperation and disappeared under a blanket of attackers.
Dar was coming for her, his airship dipping toward the attacking army, all four flash rips firing steadily into the enemy ranks. But as with the Druid magic, their firepower was largely negated by the fact that the targets were mostly empty air. Attacking the main body of the army might have produced better results, but those soldiers were holding their ranks. It was the ones who were swarming Zia and Ruis Quince with whom they needed to deal, not the others.
Abandoning the pilot box to Chutin, Dar charged forward, threw a mooring rope over the ship’s railing, and leapt after it. He slid down so quickly he was momentarily thrown off balance when he struck the ground. But he scrambled up and raced for Zia. She crouched just ahead, locked in her protective covering, fighting to hold it intact.
“Leah! Leah!” He shouted the ancient battle cry of his family, a roar of incendiary rage rising above the tumult of the struggle, an attempt to draw the attention of Zia’s attackers.
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Farther ahead, Ruis Quince had fallen to his knees. His efforts at defending himself had brought down six of his attackers, but his strength was expended. He was not trained to fight as were warrior Druids, and he was poorly conditioned for prolonged struggles. Dar watched the fire of his magic begin to flicker as more and more attackers cut at him.
Then the speaker for the enemy army, white cloak whipped by the wind, armor shining with raindrops, appeared before him with sword in hand and stood looking down. The Druid looked up, and in his face Dar saw resignation and despair.
“Wait!” Dar cried out.
To his surprise, the white-cloaked figure glanced at him momentarily. Then his sword blade whipped about with frightening power, breaking through the Druid magic and driving into the exposed throat of the Druid. Then he gave the handle of the weapon a vicious twist, and Ruis Quince fell away, his head severed from his body.
The faceless soldier looked at Dar again, measuring him.
But Dar did not see that look. He was already moving, fighting his way to Zia, driving back her attackers so that she had space to rise and stand with him. Together they retreated through the dead and wounded enemy, past the bodies of the slain Trolls, to where the airship had descended far enough to allow them to reach a rope ladder. As they climbed to safety, flash rips kept their attackers at bay and within moments both were back aboard.
Dar glanced downward one last time and saw Quince’s executioner staring up at him. He experienced a cold chill. Then the airship was turning sharply southward, thrusters shoved forward and parse tubes opened wide to speed it away into the approaching darkness.
—
To escape from the enemy army and its mysterious white-cloaked leader, Dar Leah turned their Druid warship not toward Paranor but east toward the towering peaks of the Charnal Mountains. It might be that the enemy did not have the means to pursue them by air, but there was no point in taking chances.
“What are you doing?” Zia demanded immediately, watching the compass needle as it swung from south to east. She had recovered sufficiently to stand next to him in the pilot box, although she was still badly shaken.
