by Terry Brooks
“Am I wrong to worry? The Skaar have attacked us before when we did not expect it. Is it so unlikely that they might do so again?”
“Not so unlikely,” the Dwarf agreed. “Just the opposite, I think. The attack is already planned, is it not? I believe you orchestrated that, too. You suggested that most of the heavy equipment be sent on ahead, along with the warships; those are already gone. What remains behind are the transports and the bulk of the army. And you suggested this as well, I’ve learned. Your advice is far-reaching and perhaps self-serving. When will this attack happen, do you suppose?”
“I think you should go now.” She felt herself grow angry and knew she was starting to lose control. “You rant and you insinuate, and you have nothing to support your theories but supposition! I reject all of it, and I want you gone. Now!”
Battenhyle kept staring at her. “The attack won’t happen at all, Miss Rish, because Lakodan and Lieutenant Commander Oberion and I found the damage to the diapson crystals and parse tubes of the transports and repaired it. I imagine that was what brought down the airships when the advance force was destroyed as well, wasn’t it? Do you remember what happened when the last Federation advance force was destroyed? Their airships were sabotaged, and all those within them died. Those left on the ground were cut to pieces. Isn’t that right? But it won’t happen this time.”
“You found…” Belladrin Rish saw her plans for the future catch fire and burn. Everything she had been planning had turned to ash. Still, she fought to keep control. “So, I was right to think there might be an attack and you would be needed. That doesn’t mean I am involved.”
“Belladrin!” he snapped, any attempt at maintaining formalities cast aside. “Stop lying. Your lies reveal you for who and what you are. We found Choten Benz while searching the storeroom for items to be transported, jammed into a trunk of clothing, with a knife wound in the back of his neck. And—” He paused. “—you were seen dragging him there.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “But there was no one…” she started to say, then caught herself. Too late. Too late! She tried to cover her slip anyway. “No one could have seen me because I was never there.”
But Battenhyle just shook his head. “That ship has sailed, Belladrin. You are Skaar, then? All this time, you have been serving the Skaar and undermining the Federation. When they try you in Arishaig, you are not likely to receive much mercy.”
“I do not have to…”
“So why don’t you do something to make amends? Now that the Federation is prepared, another battle will leave hundreds more dead—on both sides. But you have a truce in place. The Skaar have secured the land north of the Mermidon. Is that not enough? Can your king not accept this as a reasonable settlement? There are too many of us, Miss Belladrin—far too many for the Skaar to believe they can conquer us all. Once the Elves are involved—and the Dwarves—your people will be annihilated. You simply don’t have the numbers. So put an end to all this. Go tell your king to hold to the treaty. This war is over.”
She stared at him, weighing her options. He was right; so much of what lay ahead involved further loss of life. And to what end? She was sick of it. All of it. She wanted it all to be over, but could see no way out save one.
“You would free me to return and speak on your behalf?” She had to ask; she knew that further pretense was not possible. Battenhyle and Lakodan and Oberion had made up their minds about her. “Why should I agree?”
“If you refuse my offer, then we will send word to your king that you have betrayed him and come over to our side. Either way, you will be removed from any further involvement in this war. Which do you choose?”
She saw Lakodan and Lieutenant Commander Oberion step through the flaps. Listening from outside all this time, she realized. She shook her head wearily. All of her machinations and scheming had been revealed. Everything she had worked for had come to nothing. What was the point in continuing to pretend? So, they wanted her to return to Cor d’Amphere and tell him it was pointless to continue. Confront him with the truth and hope for the best. His plans were revealed, and the Federation was prepared to stop him. His attack would fail. His soldiers would fight and die for nothing.
“This man you would send me back to—this king of the Skaar—does not accept explanations of the sort you suggest, Elder,” she said. “He will likely have me drawn and quartered and attack you anyway.”
Battenhyle shrugged. “At least we will be fully prepared for him if he does. And executing you here is an option none of us particularly care to employ. You are well regarded by our soldiers, and knowing we had harbored a spy in our midst would be detrimental to morale.” He glanced over his shoulder at his companions. “Am I not right?”
Both nodded, Lakodan with a scowl and Lieutenant Commander Oberion with a sad look that demonstrated the depth of his disappointment.
She nodded back. “Then I accept your offer. But I am surprised you trust me to do what you asked.” She paused, forcing a smile. “What’s to keep me from just flying away, once you give me a ship?”
“Who said we would give you a ship?” Oberion snapped. “You can find your own way back. And if you should wander off in the wrong direction, you will be hunted by both Skaar and Federation forces. I will see to it personally, and any freedom you think you might enjoy will not last for long.”
She considered, sighed, and nodded wearily. “Then I accept your offer. Is there anything in particular you want me to say?”
“You know him better than we do,” Battenhyle said. “What we are doing is taking a calculated risk. If you are successful, the war is finished. No attack is mounted, no lives are lost. You are most persuasive when you want to be, Miss Belladrin. I think you will find a way.”
“Pack what you need, and we will provide a lift across the Mermidon,” Oberion said. “After that, you are on your own. You are free to go anywhere you wish.”
She might have laughed under other circumstances. She almost did. Free to go? It was unlikely she would be allowed to go anywhere once Cor d’Amphere had her in hand. And her plans for the safety of her family were dashed to bits. They would all be executed along with her, victims of a man for whom forgiveness and mercy were strangers. A failure must be punished, and a life of service ended when the service could no longer be rendered. Unless…
“I will leave at once,” she told them, and she turned away to finish packing.
* * *
—
When finished, she followed Oberion to the airfield and a waiting two-man, stowed her pack behind the cockpit, and climbed inside. She would not return to Cor d’Amphere as she had said she would. She would not attempt to persuade him of anything, as such an attempt would never succeed. Instead, once deposited on the north bank of the Mermidon, she would disappear into the far reaches of the mountains west, settling into some little community where she would never be found. She could not go home, because she had no real home after so many years in service to the king. She would not even have a family anymore—not after everything that transpired today. She had sacrificed everything for years to protect them, shedding her youth and her innocence in equal measure, engaging in acts of which she had never thought herself capable. She was a good person with a good heart, yet how many lives had been lost because of what she had done? Maybe it was time to end it all, even if it also meant the deaths of those she cared for most.
She could not bear to think on it for more than a few moments. She hated herself, hated that she was being selfish and cowardly, but she intended to salvage what she could. And all that seemed possible was saving herself.
Yet once airborne, she began to have second thoughts. She had given her word to at least attempt to persuade Cor d’Amphere to give up his plans for attacking the Federation command. They had released her because she had given her word when they could have held her prisoner, taken her back to Ari
shaig, and executed her. She had escaped with her life in exchange for a single act of redemption, thanks to Battenhyle and Lakodan, who had been her friends. Even after they had revealed her as an enemy, they had given her a chance. In truth, they had been the only real friends she had ever had.
So she abandoned her plans for an immediate escape, deciding she would go to the Skaar king after all. She felt a twinge of fear at the thought of facing the king, but a clear sense of relief, too. She would keep her promise, and no one could fault her for not trying, even if she failed. The attack on the Federation was scheduled to take place tomorrow, but now that it had been uncovered and the explosives disabled, she had more than enough time left to keep her promise to the Dwarves and Oberion. A direct appeal to Cor d’Amphere’s common sense, and then it would be over and done with and she could vanish like mist in a wind.
Once landed and left on her own, she set off for the Skaar camp. Her resolve tightened as she came up to the perimeter, but she stopped there still within the forest. Finding a secluded space, she curled up in a ball and went to sleep, waiting until nightfall. She found it hard to sleep, knowing what was coming, but she did the best she could until twilight descended, napping on and off, thinking back on her life the way one does. She was not of this country, but she had grown to love it, and perhaps she could yet become a part of it. Perhaps one day, she would even return to find Battenhyle and Lakodan, go back to Crackenrood and surprise them. Perhaps she would even end up living there.
No. It was a dream, all of it. She knew the truth by now. Which was why she had decided on a fallback plan.
When it was dark she made her way into the heart of the camp—moving stealthily to avoid any chance of detection. She found the king’s tent, and made certain he was alone before slipping inside. She found him staring into space, looking old and worn. She stared at him for long minutes before interrupting.
“Your Majesty,” she said.
His head lifted. “What are you doing here? I told you to remain in the Federation camp.”
His words were angry and threatening. It was as she had said to Battenhyle. He would never listen to her, and her efforts to persuade him would come to naught.
Even so, she said, “The plan has failed. They have discovered the damage done to their airships and righted it. They suspect what you intend. An attack now would be a disaster for the Skaar.”
He stared at her. “And who are you to make such a pronouncement? I am the one who will decide what needs to be done! How is it that they discovered our sabotage of their transports anyway? You were to make certain they did not! And you have disobeyed me by coming here.”
“I thought you should know how matters stand. And I have been thinking. Can we not simply stay where we are and begin building a new home? We have possession of the entire Northland. We have a truce in place with the Federation. We will be left alone and allowed to settle if we give up our plans to attack them. This will save many lives—on our side as well as theirs.” Her sigh was deep and weary. “Do you not grow tired of all this? Of the constant wars, of the endless struggles? Should we not return home for the rest of our people and bring them here while there is still time?”
He laughed abruptly—a raw, mocking laugh. “You know nothing, Belladrin—or whatever your name is today. You are a spy who does my bidding and you are never to question me! You think they will let us live in peace as neighbors? How foolish you are. They are going to be our enemies forever, and I have to crush them while they are weakened and off balance.”
“I am only trying to ask questions you should be…”
He lurched to his feet, enraged. “I should kill you and your entire family and rid the world of your presence! You were useful enough when you were younger, but you are starting to become troublesome. Perhaps you need a lesson on who rules and who serves. It might even be enjoyable for you—take your mind off your failure and your cowardice.”
He lurched toward her, and she took a quick step back. Always, she had been afraid in his presence, and she was afraid now. She spied the decanter and glass on a table nearby. Cor d’Amphere had been drinking, and the effects were showing. She had seen him like this a few times before. When he was this way, he would not allow himself to be persuaded to anything.
As she had suspected, there was only one way to keep her promise to Battenhyle and Lakodan—only one way, and it would cost her everything.
She let him come up to her, waited for him to reach for her, then slipped free the dagger sheathed in her belt behind her back, took a firm grip, and struck. The force of her blow carried the weight of the conviction that she could bear no more from this man, fueled by a toxic combination of loathing, desperation, and fury. She drove the blade into his chest so hard that she buried it up to the hilt. This is for me and my family. This is for Kol’Dre. This is for all the times and ways you used me. This is for all I have suffered. This is for the life you have stolen from me. The king gasped, his legs buckling as he dropped to his knees and then to the floor of the tent. He lay there, one hand trying unsuccessfully to pull out the blade.
She knelt beside him, looking into his shocked eyes.
“I am free of you,” she whispered. “But at what further cost to me?”
She watched his breathing slow and then stop altogether.
What she had once dispatched Clizia Porse to do she had ended up doing herself. There would be no attack on the Federation now. There would be no war, no bloodshed, no loss of life. At least not until a decision could be reached on how to proceed now that their king was gone. A message would have to be sent home to ascertain who would now rule. Because whatever else happened, the Skaar people would no longer be ruled by Cor d’Amphere.
And for her? What would there be for her?
She smiled, shook her head, and rose. It was impossible to say just yet. She still had a chance at the life she had planned for herself—a life free of Cor d’Amphere’s domination. She had only to begin the journey that would set her on that path.
She moved to the rear of the tent, cut a slit in the fabric, slipped through soundlessly, and disappeared into the night.
THIRTY-TWO
If Clizia Porse had thought her sickness after banishing Drisker Arc was bad, her illness after her battle with Tarsha Kaynin was ten times worse. Even though she had not used the Stiehl to put an end to the girl, she was still drained and nauseous. Not knowing what else to do, she had fled back to Winstrom and the Jachyra—whose level of disobedience to her commands she had not even bothered to ascertain in the face of wounds both physical and mental.
She might have survived the encounter, but she was wondering if it had been worth it.
This time, she tried everything to improve her condition, using both healing magic and medicines to fight back. She cleaned and bandaged her wounds. She applied poultices and wraps. She tried rest and limited exercise, baths and a hot room turned steam bath by wood fires that burned in dampened iron grates. She employed fresh doses of healing magic to mend and cure. She then resorted to waiting it out when all else failed—a forced march through nightmares when she slept and hallucination when she awoke.
The effects were bad enough that, at several points, she had resigned herself to dying.
Once again, she lost track of the passage of time, but her worst fears were not realized, and slowly her wounds—both physical and magical—began to knit. Which meant, in turn, that she would soon have to discover whether Tarsha Kaynin had also survived their encounter. If she had, then Clizia was confronted by two obvious choices. She could search out and kill Tarsha Kaynin—and really kill her, this time—before the girl got to her first. Or she could eliminate the Skaar king, Cor d’Amphere, as she had promised Belladrin Rish, in order to prove her value to the Federation—for her need for that alliance had still not diminished.
Still, she would do better forgetting about the king fo
r now and focusing her efforts instead on the greater danger Tarsha Kaynin would present if she were still alive. Better to determine if that threat was real first. This girl was not some irritant to be pushed aside. She was a wielder of powerful magic—an Ohmsford descendant and bearer of the wishsong. If she became any more proficient in its use than she already was, she would be fully capable of defeating Clizia. Especially if Clizia continued to be so weakened by the use of her own magic.
Tarsha Kaynin had to be eliminated, and quickly
After locating the Jachyra and reasserting her dominance once again—fortunately, it looked like the creature had at least been more circumspect about its kills this time around—the old woman stared out the window of her cottage and into the night. Witch light played off the swamp waters and filtered through the trees. Night sounds filled the countryside air, signaling the start of a sordid dance between predators and prey.
Tarsha Kaynin, where are you? How can I find you, little girl?
And suddenly, she knew.
* * *
—
Tarsha Kaynin had returned to Emberen, where she was trying hard not to think about Drisker Arc. She had arrived in Emberen a week earlier, after she had woken at last from her coma and left the Federation camp. How long she had been in that coma she could not have said, but at some point she had woken long enough to use the wishsong to begin her healing, and after that, everything had progressed swiftly. And once she felt strong enough, she chose to slip away without notice to anyone.
