by Terry Brooks
A knife appeared from nowhere in the man’s hand, and he lunged forward, blade flashing in the light of the little fire’s dying embers. He was far too slow to do what he intended, and with a small series of sounds Tavo stopped him in mid-leap, knocking him backward into the fire. The man lay there a moment, and then leapt up instantly, clothes burning, screaming in terror as the flames consuming his clothing began to lick at his skin. He threw himself down and rolled on the ground, turning over and over until the flames were extinguished.
Then he sprawled panting and sobbing in the aftermath of his failed attack with Tavo standing over him, staring down. “Why did you do that?” Tavo yelled. “I thought you were my friend!”
“No one has any friends on the road,” the man whispered. “No one.” The words were spoken in a raw, damaged way, as if the fire had gotten deep into his chest. “I was just looking for a few credits.” He paused, gasping for breath. “To help pay for the food. I don’t have much, and I shared what I had with you.”
“I should kill you!”
The man laughed. “You would be doing me a favor.”
Tavo hummed softly. The man’s arm lifted involuntarily from the ground, turning the knife toward his body. The man began to sob and beg, fighting to prevent what was happening, but there was nothing he could do. The knife drew closer, the point touching his throat.
“All I wanted to do was find my sister,” Tavo said, pausing his deadly humming so that the arm and the knife remained frozen in place. “But everyone wants to attack me or steal from me.”
“No, please, don’t do this!”
Tavo looked down at the man and saw an animal. He saw a predator, turned into prey. He experienced anger and disappointment in equal measures, and his mind hardened as thoughts of retribution crowded to the forefront. But an instant later everything faded as Tarsha’s face appeared, and he was again filled with unexpected sadness at the thought of being without her. A part of him understood that if he let her live he would not be without her, but another part understood that this would never happen.
He reached down and took the knife from the man and threw it into the darkness. Without a word, he used his magic to knock the other backward into the ground so hard he lost consciousness. Giving the man a final look, he repacked his bag, rolled up the tattered blanket, and walked away.
—
He walked until dawn, when he came upon an ancient farmhouse with a few outbuildings that were crumbling and broken, and without even considering what he was doing he went to the front door of the house and knocked.
After a long wait, an old woman appeared in the doorway, staring at him in shock. Gray hair tied back, nightdress beneath an old robe, tired eyes and lined face that marked her as north of eighty years. “Shades!” she hissed.
He was covered in the blood of his victims, his face and hands bruised and scratched and his clothes torn. He had a lank, sodden appearance, his white skin and dark hair giving him the look of a dead man. He stood there waiting, his eyes fixed on her as he waited to see what she would do.
“Come in right now,” she said, stepping aside and beckoning him in. “You need to get out of the weather and get warm. Come now. In you go. I have some soup and bread to give you. Some hot apple cider. Goodness, look at you! What happened? Were you set upon by thieves and beaten? Where’s your home?”
She did not invite Fluken inside, but then nobody ever did. Fluken belonged just to him. But to his credit, Fluken did not try to warn him against entering. Tavo gave the old woman a wordless nod. Then, offering no explanation, he entered her home and the door closed behind him.
TWENTY-THREE
It took Dar Leah the rest of the day to climb to the bottom of the canyon and begin the walk out of the Charnals. He found handholds and footholds wherever he could, and used scrub and vines for additional support, but he was forced to give as much time to maneuvering laterally as vertically, and two hundred feet ended up feeling like two miles. At times, he was forced to turn back and start over in a new direction. Frequently, he despaired of ever getting down safely.
It was slow and tedious work, and it gave him too much time to think. He found himself engulfed by memories of the solid, dependable Stow Chutin, Captain of the Druid Guard, the last of an older order that had departed with the banishment of Drisker Arc. He remembered everything he had shared with Zia, who once upon a time had loved him well and might have found a way to do so again. He fought against tears as he ruminated on her courage and her sacrifice, agonizing over what might have been. Perhaps they could have found a way to be together if she had lived. He liked to think so—and he regretted not giving her more of what she needed while taking too much of what he desired for himself.
He thought, too, about the white-cloaked enemy leader, and there his thoughts were disturbing.
Why, he wondered, was he even still alive? The man had found him trapped on a cliff ledge, hundreds of feet above the valley floor. He could have killed him easily, by either using the flash rips in the flit or knocking him off his perch. He had done neither. He had looked at Dar—studied him, it seemed—then simply backed away and left him.
Why would he do something like that?
It might have been that he had left Dar in a precarious position he did not think the highlander could escape. It might have been that he had decided that, even if Dar did escape, he would never get back to Paranor in time to make a difference. He might also have believed that it was too late for Dar to do anything that mattered.
But he didn’t think it was any of those.
No, he thought it was something else altogether—but he did not, for the life of him, know what that something was.
In any case, it was troubling not to know, to be left wondering why he had been spared. The uncertainty of it, the mystery, left him consumed by thoughts of what it meant even in the midst of his grief for Zia.
Given a reversal of their roles, would he have done the same thing? What would it have taken to make him do so?
It was nearing sunset by the time he arrived at the bottom of the canyon, and fully dark when he began the journey out. He walked south to not only where sunlight through gaps in the peaks had been the strongest but also where he seemed to remember spying an opening through the mountains while flying in. He had not been looking for this feature in particular, but when you piloted an airship, you learned to pay attention to your surroundings. You never knew when you might discover something you would have need of later on.
By midnight he was dead tired and stopped for the night. Wrapping himself in his tattered cloak and huddling within a rocky shelter where the winds were partially blocked, he lapsed into an uneasy slumber. He rose early on a morning of clear skies and brisk winds and started out again. He had no food, but he found water trickling out of the rocks that was clean and cold from the mountain snows. The autumn air sweeping in from the north was chilly, but it made him feel alive and reminded him repeatedly of what he had almost lost.
Upon emerging from the Charnals and following the line of their foothills back down to the flats that provided a corridor between the Malg Swamp and the mountains, he started contemplating what he should do upon his return to Paranor. First and foremost, he must make certain to warn the Druids of the danger posed by these invaders. He must make them understand that they needed to take action to ensure the safety of Paranor.
Also, he had been thinking hard about the new initiate to the order, Kassen Drue. He was remembering how Kassen had been able to disappear so easily during his examination, leaving only an image behind while he moved undetected to another position.
As if he had been born to it.
As if it was a part of who and what he was.
He claimed to be seeking admission to the order as an initiate, but Dar wondered if he wasn’t there for some more sinister purpose. He wouldn’t have even considered the possibility if he hadn’t seen those invaders disappear in exactly the same way. But what if Kassen Drue was one o
f them? What if the invaders had plans for Paranor and the Druids that were too deeply entrenched to be dislodged? He pondered the possibility as he trudged toward the approaching dark. A spy in their midst? Why not? Kassen had gained admittance to the initiate program almost effortlessly, by displaying skills unsettlingly similar to those possessed by the enemy Dar had just barely managed to escape. If the two were not connected, it was a coincidence of monumental proportions.
His fears propelled him ahead at a much harder and faster pace than he would have set himself otherwise. A return to the Keep, whatever he might accomplish at this point, could not happen too soon.
He walked all that day, following the line of the cliffs south toward the Jannisson Pass and an entry to the forests surrounding the Keep on the north side of the Dragon’s Teeth. Nightfall found him still far short of his goal and exhausted from his efforts. He was damaged in too many places to draw on any reserves of strength he might otherwise have found.
He slept that night in a gathering of conifers at the lower edge of the foothills and rose again with the sun. Two hours into his trek, he caught a break. A freight transport flying south from the city of Anatcherae saw him, a ragged traveler walking alone. Responding to his spontaneous jumps and waves and shouts, they landed and took him aboard. Resuming their flight, they gave him food and drink and two days later dropped him close to the borders of Paranor at sunset.
By midnight, he was back in front of the gates to the Druid fortress, shouting up to the guards to be let inside.
—
Once back inside the Keep, he was taken to the healing center where his injuries were treated and he was given medicine to help him sleep. No bones were broken or fractured—a miracle, if ever there was one—but they refused to let him wake the Ard Rhys or even to leave his bed without a good night’s sleep. He resisted at first, insisting he must speak to Balronen, but the healers advised he wait until he had his wits about him. As it was, they pointed out, he was babbling and less than coherent. Dar realized, after a moment’s thought, that it might be so, and by then he was so tired he fell asleep almost immediately.
When he woke the following day, he was alone. He lay where he was in his bed and tried to recall everything that had happened. As soon as he remembered the danger to the Keep and the Druids, he forced himself to sit up and then to stand. He wore a Druid sleeping robe and nothing else. His clothes were gone. His sword, as well. He walked to the door and started out but found armed Trolls blocking his way. He protested, insisting he be allowed to see Balronen. One told him to get dressed and then he could have his audience.
Reluctantly, he stepped back, and the door closed.
He found fresh clothes, a cloak, and boots in the closet, and put them on. There was still no sign of his sword. Something was clearly wrong, but he couldn’t understand what it was.
He found out soon enough. He was escorted to chambers where Balronen and his inner circle were already waiting. The Trolls ushered him inside and left at once, closing the doors behind them. He stood at the foot of the table staring at those seated around it, and it was clear from the expressions on their faces that he was not there to be welcomed home.
Only Clizia Porse wore a neutral expression.
“A report, please,” Balronen snapped. “Skip the embellishments.”
So Dar gave his report, from the time of their initial encounter with the unknown enemy to the death of Quince, the flight east into the Charnals, the subsequent battle and deaths of all of his companions, and his long trek home.
When he was finished, there was a profound silence.
“How is it, Blade, that you failed to protect the Druids placed in your trust, yet you are still alive?” Chu Frenk snapped, not bothering to pretend he didn’t find this despicable. “One might wonder if you did anything at all to prevent what happened.”
Dar hesitated. For Frenk to speak to him like this, before Ober Balronen had spoken a word, signaled trouble. He would not have done so without knowing he was treading on safe ground.
“I thought I was pretty clear,” Dar responded quickly. “Ruis ordered me to remain on board the ship. When things went wrong, I was too far away to reach him. Zia died fighting while I was at the controls of our ship. She was using her magic to keep the others safe. No one feels worse about this than I do, but you have bigger problems.”
“You have problems of your own,” Frenk noted, turning his gaze on Balronen. “Doesn’t he?”
The High Druid looked irritated. “Don’t prod me, Frenk!” he snapped. Then, to Dar, “What did you do to be left on board the ship, Dar? There must have been a reason he chose to keep you there.”
“Ruis didn’t give a reason. He seemed to think I would be most useful if I remained behind. I argued the point. Zia argued it, too. But he was firm in his decision.”
“Again,” Balronen said slowly, “why were you at the controls while Zia was battling your attackers? Shouldn’t she have been at the controls and you doing the fighting? Shouldn’t you have suggested at some point that you change places?”
Dar glanced at the others. Most avoided his gaze. There was no help coming from any of them. “There wasn’t time for anything like that. It all happened so quickly. I was the better pilot, so I assume she believed it was best if I stayed where I was, while she used her magic.”
“Very fortunate for you,” Crace Adris observed, earning a nod from Pescarin.
“A warrior stands in front of his men, not behind them,” Prax Tolt declared. “That doesn’t appear to have happened here.”
“Ruis Quince made the choice to go without me,” Dar snapped. “I would have gone with him if he had let me. I should have gone with him, as it turned out. His efforts at any sort of interaction failed completely. As for Zia and the others, everyone aboard ship is vulnerable, no matter where they stand. I was just luckier than the others.”
“You certainly took no chances, did you?” Frenk gave him a gratuitous sneer.
“Enough!” Ober Balronen snapped. “You were given explicit instructions by me personally, Blade. You were told what was expected of you over and above attending to this encounter with the enemy. Do you have anything you wish to offer on that? Anything further to add to your report?”
So he was fishing for something he could attach to those who were dead. Dar almost said what he was thinking but stopped himself in time.
“I do need to give you warning. Ruis Quince incensed these invaders with his posturing. By aggravating them so, by threatening the might of the Druids as a deterrent, he may have drawn them to us. He may have made Paranor a target. The ease with which they dispatched Ruis and Zia and the Druid Guards suggest they might well succeed. I believe we need to do something to strengthen our position. We need to call on others to stand with us against—”
“Call on the Elves?” Frenk exclaimed in disbelief.
“On anyone who will agree to come! And there’s something else. There is an initiate within the walls of the Keep, one newly arrived, and it is possible he is not what—”
Balronen slammed his fist on the table. “Stop right there! Your efforts at speculation are embarrassing. Our Keep has stood for thousands of years against all sorts of attacks. It will not fall now. These savages who invade us, these practitioners of deception and givers of lies, will fail like all others who have threatened! No help is needed to repel such creatures, should they be foolish enough to attack. We can manage well enough on our own. We certainly do not need the services of either the Federation or the Elves!”
He rose from the table and moved around to stand directly in front of Dar. “You allowed two Druids to die unnecessarily. You failed the order, and you failed me. You were asked to be a shield for those who were in your charge and apparently thought only of yourself. Therefore, you are dismissed from the Druid order, and from Paranor. You will depart from here by morning tomorrow; that will give you enough time to gather your things. You are confined to your room until then. Your sword wil
l remain with us. I would confiscate it immediately, but you seem to have left it in your room. No matter. You may be assured you will not be taking it with you. You are not worthy of it. You are banished and exiled.”
He made a dismissive gesture as he moved away.
Dar stood where he was, seething with anger but holding it back. This was all planned. He could feel it. This was a scenario conceived and carried out to achieve something he was not privy to. There was so much more he could say, but he knew that none of it would matter. No one in this room cared to hear any of it. No one would take his side.
Of one thing, he was certain. If he was leaving Paranor, the Sword of Leah was leaving with him.
Without responding either by gesture or words, he turned and walked out of the room.
TWENTY-FOUR
That same afternoon, shortly after midday, Allis took Kassen outside the walls for a walk in the forest. It was a bright, clear sky that greeted them, the sun sending streamers of light through the thick canopy of the trees, a dappling of shadows adding to the charm. She was carrying a basket, and although he asked her repeatedly what was in it, she refused to give him an answer. She was in her usual cheerful mood and he was smiling along with her, her behavior carefree enough that it seemed to require he be carefree, too.
After all, she was working hard to make him feel that way.
The young Druid student had taken great pains to make certain that she remained his closest friend, always happy to see him, always ready to help in any way she could. She had made him her personal project, guiding him about the grounds of the Keep, investing him with a thorough knowledge of the Druids and their order, teaching him the ways in which the members worked to help the people of the Four Lands, and giving him a broader sense of the history of the Races. Every day, she made sure she had something new to impart, and he always seemed willing enough to listen and learn during the gaps that fell between classes or training.
