by Terry Brooks
She arrived at the perimeter of the Federation camp on the third day in the late afternoon. The shadows of the tents and the figures moving about within their canvas maze were lengthening as she approached the first of the sentries. She had applied a glamour to make herself look like a Federation messenger and asked to be directed to Ketter Vause. Her plan was simple enough. She would be taken to the Prime Minister, and when she had him alone she would kill him at once and leave before anyone was the wiser. Then, with Vause out of the way, she could bide her time until it was safe to return and offer her services to the new Prime Minister or whoever was in charge at that point. Once a new alliance was in place, she could move on to the next step in her ascension to the position of Ard Rhys.
A fine plan…until the sentry told her that Ketter Vause was already dead, assassinated by a disgruntled Federation soldier.
It caught her by complete surprise and required a moment to recover. What she had thought to accomplish was already done, meaning she could immediately look into creating a new alliance with the Federation. She almost laughed out loud at the irony of it.
She maintained the glamour. “When did this happen?” she asked. “How many days ago?”
The sentry told her, and she did a silent calculation. Vause had been killed while she and Drisker were maneuvering for a confrontation out in the wilderness of the Rock Spur Mountains. So who then had brought about the Prime Minister’s demise? She didn’t believe the rogue soldier story for a second.
“So whom should I deliver my message to?” she asked. “Who acts for the Prime Minister now?”
The sentry shrugged. “The commanders run the army, give the orders, and assign duties, same as always. Otherwise, it is Miss Rish who acts as the Prime Minister’s official spokeswoman. You could deliver your message to her, I suppose.”
She recognized hints of disarray. No new Prime Minister for now—or perhaps anytime soon, knowing the machinations of the Coalition Council—so things had been left in other hands for the time being.
“Can you take me to Miss Rish?” she asked.
“This way,” said the sentry.
* * *
—
Belladrin Rish was finalizing the last of the treaty details; on the morrow, the treaty would be conveyed to Arishaig, along with news of Vause’s death. Then it was just a waiting game, to see if the Coalition Council would ratify it and how long it would take them. Belladrin’s bet was at least two weeks of dickering; it was too good a deal for them to refuse outright. Once the treaty was ratified, the army could start moving out—and Cor d’Amphere’s plans could at last come to fruition.
She sat back and rubbed her eyes, then ran her fingers through her dark hair, feeling the strain of being Belladrin Rish manifest in a pounding headache. She was sick of the whole business. She had resolved that, after the deaths of Ketter Vause and Kol’Dre, this would be the end of it. It no longer mattered what Cor d’Amphere had planned for her or what threats he had made against her family. As soon as she was back in Skaarsland, she would gather them up and spirit them away to somewhere they would never be found. She could do it; she had the resources and the means.
But she would never go back to…this.
She mentally swept together all the years of deceit, treachery, and betrayal in which she had been engaged as a spy and facilitator for the Skaar and cast them away. This was not how she would end her days. This was not how she wished to live out the rest of her life. She was lucky she hadn’t been found out this time; not everyone accepted her story about what had happened to Vause and his assailant. Suspicions lingered. She knew for a fact that Choten Benz did not believe her—or at least was convinced she was hiding something. He had spoken to her a number of times since the killings, and each time he made small comments that suggested he knew she was hiding something.
It was also hard to say what her future would be if she returned to Arishaig. Her service and accomplishments might win her a position of high standing in the council, but it was equally possible they would see her as a fraud and have her executed. She could probably help facilitate the former and avoid the latter, but at what cost to herself and others?
Another few weeks at most, and she would be done with this nonsense.
When she heard the tent flaps part behind her, she continued to work while waiting for someone to speak. When no one did, she turned to face one of the camp sentries who was standing just inside the opening.
“Yes, what is it?” she said, more crossly than she had intended.
“A messenger has arrived from the Coalition Council, Miss Rish,” the sentry advised her. “Shall I send her in?”
“Please do. Then return to your post.”
She looked down to finish the last of her notations, wondering if she could just dispatch the treaty with this messenger instead of sending one of her commanders, and when she heard the tent flaps rustle once more she got to her feet and turned to face the messenger.
“What word do you…?”
Then she trailed off in confusion, because there was no messenger to be found, only an old woman—weathered and gray, hunched and hawk-eyed, dressed in a black robe that hung from her skeletal figure like a shroud. Belladrin managed to stand her ground in spite of the danger she sensed she might be in; she knew who the old woman was. Tarsha Kaynin had been right to believe she would return. But Belladrin had no weapons with which to defend herself, and there was no one else in the tent besides the two of them. She started to call for help, then stopped. What was the point? She would be dead before anyone could save her, if her death was what the old woman intended.
“You’re Clizia Porse,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The old woman nodded. “I’ve come to talk.”
“That would be a welcome change.”
A foolish comment, but it was out before she could stop herself.
Fortunately, Clizia Porse did not rise to the bait. “A much-needed change, perhaps?” Clizia gestured at a chair. “May I? I haven’t been well, and I need to sit. What is your name, young woman?”
“Belladrin Rish. And why would you want to speak to me?”
The old woman brushed back strands of her gray hair and shrugged. “I am given to understand that Ketter Vause is dead. You might be more willing than he was to listen to what I have to say.”
“I am not much more than a scribe and former assistant to a dead Prime Minister. I doubt there is much I can do for you.”
“Shall we find out? And let’s not dissemble. When I asked with whom I might speak, the sentry was quick to give your name as the person in charge. I believe you were Ketter Vause’s protégée, were you not? You are young to hold such a favorable position, but you seem very mature. He must have valued your skills rather highly.”
Belladrin already did not like where this was going. “Perhaps you could tell me why you’ve returned? You were fleeing Drisker Arc the last time you departed this camp.” She walked to a second chair and drew it over to sit next to Clizia. “Aren’t you worried you might be in danger, returning like this?”
Clizia chuckled—a deep, throaty sound that ended in a cough. “Forgive me. It is just the irony of your comment. Belladrin—may I call you by your given name?—believe me when I say I am always in danger. As for Drisker and his two young companions, I am afraid we’ve seen the last of them. So, for the moment at least, we should be able to talk undisturbed.”
Belladrin marveled. Speaking of irony! Clizia thought Tarsha Kaynin dead, while Belladrin knew otherwise. Here was a piece of knowledge that might prove useful later on. Somewhat emboldened, she filed what she knew away immediately.
“What is it you seek by returning now?”
Clizia smiled, and it reminded Belladrin of the predatory looks she had seen on the faces of those whose main desire was for power. It reminded her of Cor d’Amph
ere when he had told her which nation he intended to crush next and what part she was to play in bringing it about.
“I desire help from the Federation in reestablishing a Druid presence at Paranor,” the old woman said, “and in helping to protect them. The Skaar made easy work of the last batch because they were corrupt and ineffective caregivers to the Four Lands and to the magic they had sworn to protect, so they allowed themselves to be betrayed and annihilated through gross ineptitude. But it is to the Federation’s advantage to have a strong Druid presence aligned with them. After all, how far would the Skaar have gotten in their conquest of the Northland if the Druids had been doing their duties? How effective would their ability to vanish have been against the power of Druids under a stronger leadership? Now that the Federation has had a taste of what the Skaar can do, they cannot help but want something done to remove that threat.”
Belladrin decided she wanted to see where this was going. “Are you aware there is a truce now between the Skaar and the Federation?”
“A truce?” Clizia sneered in disgust. “And you think that will last? With a people that have conquered every land they have ever come to and now have an eye on ours? This truce, my dear Belladrin, will last precisely as long as the Skaar want it to, and then everything will come crashing down.”
How true, the younger woman thought. Truer than you know. The thought made her sick. “So you would remove this threat in a more permanent way?” she asked.
“Not I alone. But with a rebuilt Druid order and a concerted effort by its members, using magic the Skaar do not have and cannot stand against? Yes, they can be eradicated. Do you believe me?”
“What I believe is that, as matters stand, no one in all the Four Lands wants to help you—least of all the Federation. Some think you are directly responsible for the death of Ketter Vause. Most think you betrayed the Druids at Paranor. No one who matters likes you or trusts you, so what has changed to make them see you differently?”
Clizia gave her an assessing glance. “You are blunt, aren’t you?”
“You said no dissembling.”
“So I did. Well, then. You serve a government in disarray, with no Prime Minister and no reliable leadership. This truce on which the Federation is relying is a sham. It will not prevent the Skaar from taking what they want, no matter what the agreement provides. So perhaps you should listen to me.”
She leaned forward, her aged face intense and suddenly angry. “I have disposed of the last member of the old Druid order and his two young followers, and rid the Four Lands of their troublesome presence. But in addition, I have found an ally of a different sort. I have conjured up a beast you do not want to challenge and will not survive if you do. I can send my pet to kill Cor d’Amphere, and without his leadership, you can chase his army from the Four Lands for good!”
Belladrin tamped down the sudden surge of hope inside her that perhaps spelled a way out of the impossible mess she now found herself in, and forced herself into a studied calm. “You can conjure demons?”
“Would you like to see? Watch!”
Belladrin did not want to see, but before she could stop Clizia, the old woman began to speak in nearly inaudible tones while her hands wove the air. The light inside the tent dimmed as if night had descended, and the air grew chill and stale. Shadows danced, cast by invisible beings, and a grotesque shape emerged from their midst, rising in bits and pieces to coalesce.
The creature, when it appeared fully formed, was so loathsome that Belladrin shrank from it involuntarily. It was not real, she knew, but merely an image. Even so, it was frightening to look upon, and she could not imagine herself ever being in close proximity with the real thing. It appeared to be a cross between a huge cat and a wolf, with suggestions of other predatory creatures thrown in for good measure. Its huge jaws opened to expose rows of teeth, and its sinewy body rippled with muscle.
Then, just as abruptly as it had appeared, it was gone again.
“This is what I offer you,” Clizia Porse said. “It is called a Jachyra, and it is a killing machine. Once it is dispatched, there is no escaping it. It will serve well enough to bring down the Skaar king.”
Belladrin swallowed hard. “And you can summon more of these creatures? These demons? From where?”
Clizia shook her head. “That is for me to know. All I require is that someone give me leave to act. Allow me to rebuild the Druid order and see to it that no one interferes with me while I am doing so.”
Belladrin was not sure how much of all this she believed, but she knew one thing for sure. Clizia Porse was half crazed and extremely dangerous, but this could be the chance she was looking for, the chance to reclaim her own life. No one knew about her connection with Cor. So if Cor were dead…
“I lack the authority to agree to anything,” she said quickly, trying to calm her pounding heart. “Only the Coalition Council and a new Prime Minister can make the sort of agreement you seek. Surely you must know that?”
Clizia sighed. “Spare me. I am aware of how things work. I have bargained with the Federation before. But now they must listen, and you must make them do so. They are in extreme danger from this invader, and they do not have the means to protect themselves. So you must speak with them. You must speak for me. You must be the one to convince them that what I say is true.”
“I can’t promise that. Why should they listen to me? I have no real standing now that Ketter Vause is dead. I have no way of persuading them they should do as you ask.”
The old woman shook her head and was silent for a moment. “So are you telling me that you are of no value at all? That you cannot even talk to the members of the Coalition Council? That even though you are on record as having done so much to assist Ketter Vause and his army—this army that now looks to you for counsel and organization—you will be ignored? I had thought better of you, Belladrin Rish. Apparently I thought wrong.”
Belladrin went cold to the bone. She had gone too far with her disclaimers. If Clizia believed her unable to help, the hope she had unwittingly offered was gone.
“Wait!” she said, her mind racing. “I am not saying I cannot do anything. I can speak to the Federation on your behalf. But in order to help you, I need something to persuade them of your usefulness. They won’t take my word without evidence of your value. They need you to prove you can do what you promise. Can you really arrange for your creature to kill Cor d’Amphere? That would rid them of their most dangerous enemy. Then they would be much more willing to pay attention to what you might be asking for. They would, in fact, be eager to help you.”
More important, it would set her free of her obligations to the king and give her a clear path to a new life.
Clizia studied her carefully, her eyes bright with barely concealed suspicion. “That was a quick change of mind. Are you playing games with me?”
“I am telling you how I can help. This is no game. I will prove it. I will tell you something you don’t know—something you will very much want to know. Tarsha Kaynin is still alive.”
The old woman frowned. “You’re lying. I saw her go over a cliff and fall hundreds of feet to the rocks below. She is quite dead.”
Belladrin held her ground. “So it was her ghost who came to see me not two days ago?”
“You saw her?”
“And spoke with her. She told me you tried to kill her, but failed. She warned me to look out for you. And I assure you, she was looking very much alive.”
Clizia flushed a deep red. She immediately regretted leaving the Stiehl behind. “Where is she now?”
Belladrin shook her head. “Before I tell you that, I need to know we have an agreement. You will kill Cor d’Amphere, and I will help you with my superiors. What you do with Tarsha Kaynin is up to you. Do we have an agreement?”
“We do.” The old woman climbed to her feet. “How irritating to find the girl is st
ill alive! Well, I suppose I will just have to kill her again. Where is she?”
Belladrin pointed. “Two tents down. Look for the green emblem. She is waiting for you to appear so she can kill you first. But you might want to wait until dark before attempting anything. And even then, the quicker and quieter you can be, the better. I don’t want you attracting a lot of attention with this personal vendetta. That would also invalidate our agreement.”
“You might want to leave my business to me and concentrate on your own,” the witch snapped, clearly irritated. “How soon will you be able to speak to those who can help me directly? I want no delays.”
“Anything I say to the Coalition Council about an alliance must wait until you keep your end of the bargain. Once that’s over and done, we can speak further. At that point, a clear demonstration of your ability to change the dynamics between the Federation and the Skaar will be most persuasive.”
“Persuasive?” A long, very chilling pause. “Very well,” the old woman said softly. “I will take you at your word. If I do as I say, you will provide support for me in this matter and will present me with a chance to meet with the new Prime Minister. Do you understand?”
Belladrin exhaled slowly, as if even the sound of her breathing might bring about something terrible. “I will do what I can.”
The old woman moved toward the tent flaps, already changing shape and appearance. “No, you will do what I tell you. No excuses.”
Belladrin watched her go without saying more, frozen in place. Inside, she was shaking. She had managed to hold herself together in the presence of an evil so dark and unpredictable she had been sure it was going to strike her down. Belladrin believed she was capable enough of standing up to anyone, but she knew instinctively she was no match for this old woman.
