The Last Druid

by Terry Brooks

The Dwarves shrugged and passed him the aleskin they had been sharing. “We’ve been discussing it ourselves, and there are a few troubling matters,” Lakodan agreed. “For instance, if this truce is ratified, why is it taking so long to pack up and leave? And don’t give me any crap about logistics; it doesn’t take this long to decamp. Even the Skaar are mostly all cleared out. Any number of their units have already vanished, off to wherever they’ve chosen to go under the terms of this truce.”

  “Ah.” Benz smiled. “Crap is the right word. But I was thinking about something else. What if this supposed truce is just a charade?”

  Lakodan and Battenhyle exchanged a knowing look. “You think the Skaar might be planning a bit of treachery?”

  Choten Benz cocked his head. “Well, we know they are capable of it. Everything about this whole business seems wrong. Right from the time the Federation army arrived on the Mermidon through the sneak attack, the assassination of Vause, and now this reliance on a truce almost no one has seen. So I’m asking myself. Who was there when the terms of the truce were arrived at?” He paused, giving them time to think. “A handful of Federation commanders, myself, and Belladrin Rish. But who actually spoke to the Skaar king to arrange the terms?”

  Battenhyle and Lakodan exchanged a confused glance.

  “Then I asked myself another question,” the mercenary continued, as if not noticing the look. “Who was there when Vause was assassinated? Who intercepted the assassin and killed him?”

  Battenhyle stiffened. “Wait a minute!” His bluff features had darkened. “What are you suggesting?”

  “And who now finds herself substantially in charge of all the arrangements surrounding the army’s departure for Arishaig? Who speaks for Ketter Vause and the wishes he seems to have voiced only to her regarding the terms of the truce and the efforts needed to secure it? Who makes all the suggestions about how to proceed? Belladrin Rish. How odd that she should find herself in a position of such power.”

  Battenhyle shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t like what you are implying, Benz,” he growled. “Miss Belladrin has done nothing but help the Dwarves since she talked us into coming here—even when it would have been easier to throw us to the wolves. Have you forgotten that she was the one to suggest we be placed in charge of the Reveals when the Skaar attacked us from the south and Vause was off chasing his tail? And now you think she might betray the Federation army? After all that’s happened? After all she’s gone through to keep us safe? For what reason? What does she have to gain?”

  The other man shook his head. “We’re just talking, Battenhyle. I am trying to reason this through because it bothers me. Can we do this, or must I seek help elsewhere?”

  Lakodan shook his head. “Let him finish. I want to hear the rest. There is more, isn’t there?”

  Choten Benz nodded. “She was the one who spoke with the Skaar king—the only one. She claims she was able to set the truce in place because only she knew what Ketter Vause intended. So, in essence, we have only her word about that.

  “Wait,” he continued, holding up a hand to stop Battenhyle from interrupting. “Let me finish. She wasn’t the one who suggested we use the Dwarves and the Reveals to save the army when the Skaar attacked the camp; that was me. She came to get you because I suggested it, and she knew the soldiers around her saw the value of doing so. And there’s something else—something about the way Vause was killed. There were a dozen men guarding him that night, but not one saw this disgruntled soldier sneak into his tent. Not one! Nor does it appear they would have stopped him from escaping. It was Belladrin Rish who managed that trick.”

  He paused. “So I ask myself, who can get inside such heavily guarded quarters without being seen? Druids, I think. And Skaar. So this was no disgruntled soldier, no matter what anyone says. It was either that witch who tried to kill him once already, or a Skaar assassin. Now, if it was the latter—because the body was male and so could not have been the witch—how is it that Belladrin managed to kill him? How did she even manage to see him, when no one else did? And how does a young woman who is not familiar with weapons manage to kill him with a single knife thrust straight to the heart? Killing a man takes practice and experience—and I should know.”

  Battenhyle and Lakodan were silent, staring at him. “Are you suggesting she might be working with the Skaar?” the latter asked quietly.

  “There is another possibility, one that seems more reasonable to me,” Benz answered. “She might be one of them.”

  “That’s nonsense!” Battenhyle made a dismissive gesture. “Ketter Vause must have investigated her when he took her on—and look at the responsibility he’s given her! No, these are wild speculations, Benz. And it is entirely possible that striking down the assassin was due to nothing more than determination and luck. Who says the assassin remained invisible when he finished killing Vause and turned to leave? He could have revealed himself to her then. He could even have made a noise that brought her awake.”

  Lakodan shook his head. “I don’t know. Benz might have a point. I don’t like thinking of her as an enemy, but I find myself wondering.”

  “There’s one thing more.” Choten Benz leaned forward. “After Vause’s assassination, I was summoned by Miss Rish and asked if I would stand with her when the Federation commanders confronted her. By itself, that was understandable; she was looking for an ally. But she was also very direct in suggesting it would be in my best interests to do so. When I suggested she was overly ambitious and playing her own game, she did not deny it.”

  Battenhyle was still shaking his head. “I still cannot bring myself to believe any of this is true. It just doesn’t seem possible, given what we know about her. Given what we’ve seen of her conduct.”

  “If she is a Skaar spy, there is every reason to think we are still in danger of being attacked, perhaps somewhere during the journey home,” Lakodan said to Choten Benz. “You might want to warn your fellow commanders.”

  “They are not my fellows,” Benz growled dismissively. “I just happen to have been given a rank equal to theirs. A warning might be wise, but I think I have to confront Belladrin Rish first. I need to make sure of this. Then, if I still have doubts, I can speak with the other commanders.”

  He shook his head, rising to his feet and stretching before taking a last swig from the aleskin and handing it back to Battenhyle. “It’s getting so you can’t trust anyone around here.”

  Then he hopped down off the wagon and walked away.

  * * *

  —

  It was nearing nightfall on the same day, the work crews giving up their labors to eat and sleep, but most indulging in a drink or two first. Belladrin Rish was at work at the Prime Minister’s desk in order to prepare for their departure two days hence.

  Each notation recorded which percentage of each unit would be flying home aboard the transports and which would travel afoot when it came time to depart. Some soldiers would be left behind to keep watch on what Skaar forces remained, still encamped on the other side of the Mermidon, but only a few. Most of the equipment, siege machines, flash rip cannons, and Reveals that had been used against the Skaar would travel back aboard the transports. Only yesterday, she had broken the word to the Dwarves that their Reveals were to be confiscated.

  She had been able to secure a written guarantee that the villagers of Crackenrood were to be awarded a fifty-year exemption from any further Federation conscription, but that had not been secured without argument. The agreement made by Ketter Vause, as Federation Prime Minister, and Battenhyle, as village headman, had been written down, she had pointed out to a bevy of reluctant commanders, and it was necessary they honor it. But perhaps, she had added quite deliberately, the Federation might keep the larger Reveals as a precaution against unexpected attacks. One never knew about the Skaar, after all. She was hoping, when she confronted Lakodan and Battenhyle, that they would be pe
rsuaded to accept the bargain and allow the Federation to keep the machines they already had in their possession as a preventive defense against the possibility of Skaar treachery. It was the sort of trade-off they would be quick to understand and agree to, and the ploy had worked. She had told them that she had objected on their behalf but been overruled. She was, after all, a young woman with no real standing in the hierarchy of the Federation army.

  But she still hated lying to them.

  And she hated having to organize the next part of Cor d’Amphere’s plan even more. Much of what she had to do in preparation for the Skaar attack was already done, but the necessity of it bothered her.

  Everything would have been simpler if Clizia Porse hadn’t insisted on trying to kill Tarsha Kaynin. Not only had she failed, but she had clearly sustained significant enough damage to prevent her from carrying out her promise to eliminate Cor d’Amphere. Belladrin knew this because there had been no word from either the Skaar or the Federation camps about the king’s death—and there most certainly would have been if he were gone.

  The struggle between the girl and the witch had been terrible. No one had borne witness to exactly what they had tried to do to each other, although Belladrin knew enough of each to deduce that massive amounts of magic had been employed. The tent in which Tarsha had been sleeping had been totally destroyed, and any number of nearby tents had been severely damaged. The guards she had placed on Tarsha had fled for their lives, and fire had consumed everything that remained.

  That Tarsha was even still alive following her battle with Clizia was something of a miracle. For five days, the girl lay comatose and unresponsive in the Healer’s tent, in spite of the best efforts of the Federation Healers to revive her. Her surface wounds and burns had been treated easily enough—though they were extensive—but there was interior damage they could discern but do nothing about. Rest and her own strong constitution would have to find a way to bring her back to herself—if such a way existed. And yet, incredibly, it seemed that it had.

  Then, four days ago—while Belladrin was still waiting for word of the ratified treaty to come back from Arishaig—Tarsha had woken from her coma, and from there had recovered with such startling speed that she had left the Federation camp two days later, slipping quietly out in the night—perhaps worried that Clizia might return for her. And in the general jubilation over news of the ratified treaty and the army’s imminent departure, which had preceded Tarsha’s departure by mere hours, no one had seen her go. But if Clizia had similarly recovered and returned—keeping up her bargain with Belladrin in the process—then Belladrin had heard no such word. Cor d’Amphere, it seemed, was still alive. And her essential problem remained.

  So now, amid everything else, she was making a last check on how she would execute her own departure. Secretly, she was planning to leave before Cor d’Amphere’s plans to wipe out the entire advance force could come to fruition. That was not an event she had any desire to witness in person.

  Her uncertainly about this matter was distracting her from her other work when, without warning, the tent flaps to her office parted and Choten Benz walked through. She turned to greet him, noting that his approach was both intense and determined. Whatever had brought him here, he had already decided on the result he was looking to achieve.

  “Commander Benz,” she greeted him, with a small bow of deference.

  “Belladrin,” he acknowledged, with no bow or attempt at courtesy. His greeting was brusque and direct. “We need to speak.”

  She motioned to a nearby chair and did not bother to rise. This was to be a confrontation, and not a pleasant one.

  Benz sat and immediately began speaking. “When I committed myself to supporting you and your efforts, I said I would do so as long as I did not discover you were lying to me. But now I believe you have been. So I am here to ask you a few questions, and you must answer them.”

  So here it was, she thought. He had decided she was something more than what she had presented herself to be. He might have even deduced who and what she really was. She was stunned and more than a little afraid, but there was nothing she could do but weather whatever storm he was about to create.

  “Please ask me anything you wish,” she told him, managing to keep her voice steady. “I will do my best to answer.”

  “Very well. I don’t think you’ve been completely honest with me about everything that’s happened with the Skaar, including how Ketter Vause died, so let’s start with that. According to your story, the assassin got into the Prime Minister’s private tent without anyone noticing—not even one of a dozen guards. Only you. Then you intercepted him—a trained soldier supposedly—and killed him with a single stroke. Yet no one can manage such a feat who hasn’t been trained extensively in the use of blades.”

  He stopped, waiting on her. She gave him a puzzled look. “I was awake when he entered. He was not invisible, which I think is what you are suggesting. He was right there across from me. I was terrified. I watched him go into the Prime Minister’s sleeping chamber. Then I pulled myself together and went to stand just outside. I couldn’t make myself move any further or do anything but wait. I couldn’t even manage to call for help. I am ashamed of myself, but that was how frightened I was.”

  She paused, taking his measure. He was still listening and did not appear to have made any further judgments either way. “When he came back out, I reacted without thinking. An uncle I was close to served in the Federation army at one point, and he was an expert with knives. He taught me everything he knew.” This was not true; her training had come at Skaar hands, but there was no easy way to disprove this version of things. “So I fell back on my training, and I plunged the knife I was carrying right into him as he passed me. He died instantly. And then I called for help. Are you satisfied?”

  He wasn’t, and she knew before asking that he wouldn’t be. If he had doubts about that, he would have doubts about much more. So she let him ask his questions and pose his concerns, and she answered them one after another with explanations she had long since prepared, in case something like this happened. To be a Penetrator in the Skaar army was to be always ready to defend yourself, whether with words or weapons. She took her time with each suspicion, responding to it in her calmest voice, giving it the space it needed without ever sounding trapped or worried.

  It was just as I am explaining it, her tone of voice indicated. What you are hearing provides a believable, reliable answer to all your questions. Why would you ever doubt me? Think it through, and you will conclude that I am being honest and forthright on every level.

  But this was Choten Benz, who had spent a lifetime never trusting anyone too far, and never wholly believing even the most convincing of explanations. So when he had no more questions to ask—and when she had answered every single one he had presented with a solid response—he was still doubtful. And that was going to be trouble, because he was not one to keep quiet about his suspicions. A quiet word in one ear or another, and the whole camp would be buzzing about it before long, and her effectiveness would be broken.

  “So what more would you have me do?” she asked. “Shall I resign my post and go home? Should I remove myself from the camp so you can rest easy? I have no other solution for you. I am not what you suspect, but call the guards, if you wish. Tell them to place me in irons.”

  He shook his head. “I am not yet ready for that; I am still making up my mind. But at least we have talked and you have given me something to think about. And just so you know, Battenhyle and Lakodan know of my concerns and they are bothered by some of what has happened, too. I am not alone in having doubts about you.”

  The Dwarves. So he had poisoned them against her, too. She masked a surge of fury behind a flippant response. “I am sure there are others, as well. It is the lot of women to be doubted about their competence and truthfulness—especially here in the Federation army. I have learned to l
ive with it, and I expect to go on doing so. You may talk about this with whomever you like, and it will not bother me. But I think our friendship and any further alliance we might have enjoyed are over.”

  “Probably just as well,” he said, rising. He looked down at her. “You are clever, Belladrin Rish. Maybe too much so. I will be watching you.”

  She stood with him. “Do what you think necessary, Choten Benz. I will do the same.”

  He turned away and moved toward the tent flaps, shaking his head. He was halfway there when she caught up to him, a sudden burst of wind arriving with shocking quickness. Her knife slammed into the base of his neck where it connected to his head, severing the spinal column and dropping him in his tracks.

  He was dead before his body struck the ground.

  Belladrin bent over him, breathing hard, furious at what he had compelled her to do. “If you don’t trust someone,” she whispered, bending close to his corpse, “you shouldn’t turn your back on them.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  The Straken Queen’s small company departed her fortress in Kraal Reach by the same means Drisker Arc had been brought there several days earlier—a coach constructed of bones bound with ligaments and chains and pulled by huge creatures that appeared to be a hybrid mix of oxen and bears. All six passengers were jammed together in the claustrophobic, bare interior, with three seated on each side. The air was uncomfortably close, the shades drawn, and the Druid was not happy about any of it. It would have been impossible to fit them all inside if the clawrake hadn’t been able to change its size. Even so, there was nothing that could improve the conditions under which they were forced to travel—the darkness, the animal smells, and the hot, fetid stench of the slint’s breath.

  When it breathed on the Druid the first time, he thought he was going to pass out. But he caught the smirk on the Straken Queen’s face and refused to give her the satisfaction. He wanted to ask for permission to conjure a flow of fresh air to help make the journey more bearable, but he knew it was pointless. She had decided on their means of travel and was familiar enough with her companions to know what it meant to be confined in a close space with them, so there was nothing for it but to endure their presence inside what he still viewed as a “rolling coffin” until they reached the borders of Brockenthrog Weir. Those of demonkind she had chosen to bring wheezed and snarled and spit at one another and himself as the coach jounced and rattled across the rocks and hills of the wastelands that marked the kingdom of Grianne-that-was.