The Last Druid

by Terry Brooks

  A moment later, a wing unfolded from the massive body to form a ramp to the dragon’s back. Seeing what was intended, Drisker walked over to the lowered wingtip and scrambled up. Weka Dart followed, and finally Grianne herself. The wings were of a roughened texture, but lacked the protective scales of the rest of the dragon’s body, so climbing them was relatively easy, even though it left them feeling a bit graceless.

  Once aboard, they settled themselves in place, Grianne farthest forward to act as principal rider, the other two seated just behind.

  “Watch yourself,” the Straken Queen warned. “Those scales can shred your skin.” She glanced over her shoulder at them. “Do not waste your time looking for handholds. There are none. You will not fall, in any case. You cannot. The magic will hold you fast no matter what maneuvers the dragon performs. Remember that. Do not panic if she dips or dives or even worse. You will not fall.”

  “This beast isn’t even real, is it?” Drisker asked suddenly, realizing the truth. “It’s just a product of your magic.”

  “It is real enough, Druid. Magic is real, after all; you should know that. When I created a dragon, I created a genuine dragon, with thoughts and feelings and instincts of her own. So do not think of her as anything but what she appears to be. Our enemies will find it wise to see her that way, too.”

  Then they were lifting off, rising into the night sky, climbing through a low ceiling of clouds and mist where a wash of rain immediately began to soak them. The rain made it difficult to see anything, but then what was there to see? Drisker told himself to do as the Straken Queen had suggested and ride this creature formed of her magic. That she could make such a thing—that her power was so immense—told him that, whatever anyone might say, there had never been a more accomplished Druid.

  They rode silently through the day, heads lowered against the steady fall of the rain and press of wind, feeling the dragon shimmy and undulate with the movement of its great wings. What the country below them was like they could only imagine, because they could not see any of it. They were wrapped about by mist. After a time, Drisker simply gave himself over to the rocking movements of the dragon and the slow, steady passage of time.

  Finally, the skies ahead began to clear, and the world of the Forbidding—blasted and empty and barren—revealed itself anew, laid out below them in ragged detail. Stretches of rocky hills, swathes of empty wasteland, and now and again a creature moving far below. It was a familiar sight by now, but much more welcome than ever before. While nothing specific was recognizable and Drisker was unsure of exactly where they were, his expectations were undeniable. They could not be far from their destination.

  “We’re here,” Grianne announced suddenly—a pronouncement so abrupt it startled the Druid. But when he looked ahead, he could spy the tall spires of Kraal Reach silhouetted against the skyline.

  As they drew closer, the dragon began to descend, carrying them down onto an open patch of terrain that fronted the fortress gates, settling with such gentleness that they might have been riding a feather floating to the ground. Once landed, the dragon steadied itself, keeping its balance as it lowered one wing so that the extended tip touched the ground.

  Neither Drisker nor Weka Dart waited a single second before sliding down that wing to solid ground, moving quickly away from the monstrosity that had served as their conveyance. A moment later the Straken Queen was beside them, her worn features alight with an inner joy that Drisker guessed must come from her satisfaction at having used such powerful magic so successfully. She stood beside them for long moments, looking back at her creation appreciatively, then motioned it away. Without any hesitation, the dragon rose back into the sky and disappeared into the mist.

  “Took me two years to discover how to create it,” she told them in a voice that was distant and rife with fond memories. “Such a wonder! Such a joy to ride.”

  Drisker might have questioned such an assessment, but he chose simply to nod.

  The gates to the fortress swung open as they approached, and a bevy of guards and servants hurried out to meet them and escort them into the keep. It was an odd greeting. None of those arriving said a thing—not a word of welcome, no astonishment over the dragon—and it wasn’t hard to deduce that what bound these people to their queen was not fondness or respect but fear and self-preservation.

  No wonder she wants out of this world, Drisker thought once again.

  Once inside, Grianne wasted no time. Dismissing her escort and others who tried to approach, she ordered Drisker and Weka Dart to follow her to her quarters. Once they were inside, she closed and locked the door, then seized the latter by his throat.

  “I should kill you, little Ulk Bog,” she hissed softly, teeth bared.

  “Mistress, please, no!” He could barely get the words out, her grip was so tight. “Forgive me! Don’t you see? I did it to protect you! I did it to keep you here so you would be safe!”

  “You did it to keep me here; that much is true. But you were thinking of yourself. I would have left here years ago if I had gained possession of the staff, if you had turned it over to me!”

  “You would have abandoned me! I would have been left alone!”

  She tightened her fingers, and he began to choke. “You made a choice you had no right to make. The choice to stay or go was mine, and you stole it from me. You are a thief! You are a liar and a coward! You have betrayed me, and I should kill you here and now and be rid of you!”

  It appeared to Drisker, standing off to one side, that this was exactly what she was intending to do. “Grianne!” he called out sharply. “The darkwand!”

  She gave him a threatening look and abruptly released Weka, practically throwing him from her. “Yes, the darkwand. That, treacherous little man, is why I won’t kill you. That, and the fact that you have otherwise served me long and well.” She gestured angrily at the closed door. “Retrieve the staff and bring it to me. Do it now. No…wait!”

  She walked over to him and helped him to his feet. “Hear me well. Whatever happens now, I will not harm you once you bring me the staff. Once I have it in my hands, the fact that you hid it will be forgotten. But…”

  Again she seized him and dragged him close. “Do not think to run. Do not think to escape. Do not think to do anything other than what I have asked you to do. If you disobey me now, your life is forfeit. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, mistress,” her minion answered, his gaze lowered.

  She released him a second time, and he went out the door hurriedly, closing it behind him. “Should I go with him?” Drisker asked.

  She glared. “No. Half of me wishes he would make an attempt to escape. Then I would have an excuse to sate the anger that consumes me. What he did…What he dared to visit on me…”

  The cold light in her eyes was enough to tell the Druid to let the matter be, and he simply nodded. If Weka Dart was foolish enough to create any further obstacles to Grianne’s departure, she would hunt him down and dispatch him, even if it took her the rest of her life.

  The minutes came and went—too many of them, Drisker thought—and still the Ulk Bog did not return. Twice, as they waited, Drisker thought to say something to the Straken Queen—to suggest they go looking to be sure Weka Dart was coming back. But the rigid set of her body was evidence of the rage boiling inside her, so Drisker held his tongue. She would see if Weka Dart was still loyal, and woe be to him if he should decide to run.

  Finally, the door opened again, and the little Ulk Bog reappeared bearing a long, thick wooden staff as black as darkest night, its length gnarled and worn and riven with carved runes. He came over to her, but then stopped while still ten feet away and turned to Drisker.

  “What of your promise, Straken?”

  Drisker nodded and turned to face Grianne. “When I spoke with Weka the other night, I told him to confess the truth to you. I told him you would understan
d and forgive him. I also promised we would try to take him with us when we left the Forbidding.”

  “You had no right to promise anything!”

  “I had every right!” he snapped back in reply. “I am trapped here, too. I want out of the Forbidding every bit as much as you do, so I saw no harm in making the promise. Weka loves you, and I think he feels he must be with you if he is to survive. Besides, leaving him here alone, without your protection, is likely a death sentence. What harm if we try to grant his wish?”

  She gave him a long, considering look. “What harm? You meddle in business you know nothing about, Drisker Arc. You think you might be doing the right thing, but you might be doing just the opposite. Still…”

  She shook her head, and he sensed there was something dark she was holding back. He felt a chill run down his neck but tried to pretend he was mistaken. “It’s done,” he said. “I can’t undo it.”

  “Then I won’t ask you to,” she promised. “You did what you were supposed to do—what my visions told me you would do. You found the darkwand. Take it from the Ulk Bog and hand it to me. Fulfill the vision as I saw it.”

  He walked over to the cringing Weka Dart and held out his hand. The bearer of the staff gave him a long, malicious look and handed him the darkwand without a word. Then Drisker, in turn, walked over to the Straken Queen and passed the staff to her.

  She hefted it in both hands, and the look on her face revealed a yearning for something she had once thought lost forever.

  “Better,” she whispered, almost to herself.

  * * *

  —

  That night, after a dinner empty of conversation and rife with expectation for what was to come, Drisker returned to his room to wait for morning. In an odd gesture of forgiveness, Grianne allowed Weka Dart to eat with them. It would have been difficult to say whether or not this helped soothe the Ulk Bog’s damaged feelings about what was to come, but he must have recognized it for what it was nevertheless.

  But there was no forgiveness for Drisker Arc in the Ulk Bog’s eyes and silences. What little he said and showed of his feelings did nothing to suggest his mind had been changed about his feelings for the Druid. If anything, the anger that clearly showed in the glances he cast in Drisker’s direction demonstrated that no lessening of blame was in the offing.

  The meal was endless and marked by harsh silence and cold looks, punctuated by a few words and an occasional exchange of hopefulness between the Straken Queen and the Druid. So when Drisker reached his sleeping chambers, he was quick to lock his door and cast a spell that would warn him if the locks were tampered with while he slept.

  He sat down then with paper and penned a letter to Tarsha, taking his time, choosing his words carefully, looking off into the dark and into an uncertain future as often as not, but fully engaged. The letter was needed as a precaution, and while he hoped there would be no need for it, he was realistic enough to know that it might be required nevertheless.

  When he had finished it, he sealed it with candle and wax, then tucked it into his tunic and went off to bed.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The following morning, Grianne directed them through the cavernous halls of her fortress and out the gates to where the rolling coffin waited. She spent no time at all looking over her shoulder at the home she was leaving. She spared no words of parting to those she passed. Whatever attachment she had felt for Kraal Reach was over and done with. In her mind, she was already gone from it.

  The coach would convey them to the place she had chosen to engage the magic of the darkwand. She wanted it to happen in private, so only the three of them and a driver set out, the Straken Queen having determined from whatever source of divination she relied upon that there was no longer any real danger of pursuit. She was back in her own country, she pointed out, and the Chule seldom ventured outside of Brockenthrog Weir. Vendra Trax was dead, and in all likelihood they were already engaged in electing a new leader—a process that usually involved blades and blood. Rather like everything that happened in the Forbidding, this, too, was a case of survival of the fittest.

  They rode in silence the entire way. Grianne spent her time looking out the windows of the coach, ignoring her companions, become a gray presence dwelling in a place best avoided by everyone else. Weka Dart was having nothing to do with anyone, either, slumped in one corner of his seat, asleep almost as soon as they started to move. Drisker might have been willing to converse had anyone shown even the slightest inclination to do so, but since no one seemed interested, he remained silent. In his head, wheels were spinning. He was thinking of what he might do when he arrived back in the Four Lands—where he would begin the work that needed doing, how he would go about finding first Tarsha and then Clizia Porse. He wondered about the Behemoth and her passengers and crew. He wondered about the impending war between the Skaar and the Federation.

  So much work awaited his return; it tired him merely to think of it. But the prospect of what he might accomplish energized him at the same time.

  He was anxious to get home.

  It was only toward the end of the journey that he broke his silence, reminded of the letter to Tarsha that he had tucked in his tunic. He turned to Grianne.

  “If I don’t make it back,” he began.

  Grianne frowned. “Losing faith already, Druid?” she mocked him.

  He refused to let her goad him, but instead talked right over her. “You must promise me something. If the darkwand transports you back to the Four Lands without me, you must find Tarsha. She will likely be residing in my former house, in a village called Emberen. You must go to her, give her a letter I have written, and help her to defeat Clizia Porse. For my part in your escape, you must grant me this, at least.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Did I not already grant you the means of saving your land from the invaders? And now you would ask for more?”

  “For your freedom? I would think you would allow me almost anything. You must promise me this, Grianne.”

  She paused for a moment, then took the letter he was holding out to her. “Very well, Druid. If you do not make it back, I will go to the girl.”

  And Drisker felt some of the tension go out of him.

  They traveled for less than thirty minutes more to the chosen site. All three passengers climbed out of the coach, stretching cramped limbs and looking about at a forested stretch riven with gullies and studded with boulders. Grianne spoke quietly to the driver, then left him with the coach and led the other two into the trees a short distance before bringing them to a halt and turning back to speak to them.

  “I have something to say to both of you, and you will not like it. You can consider it a judgment of sorts on all of us, if such things exist. What it is, in any case, is a dark and terrible truth.” She looked at Weka Dart. “I fear you will not be able to come with me when I leave.”

  The Ulk Bog was dumbstruck, his face contorting into a mask of terror. “Mistress!” he managed, that single word a clear plea that she might retract what she had just said.

  “Save for your poor behavior in hiding the darkwand from me, you have been a loyal friend and helper always,” his queen continued. “Whenever I needed aid, it was always you I could turn to. That you failed me this once has nothing to do with what I have just told you. It is not something I would ever wish on you, little Ulk Bog. It is not something I ever hoped might happen or even thought could—until I gave serious thought to what it is we are attempting.”

  “Then you aren’t entirely sure?” Drisker pressed, sensing the matter wasn’t entirely decided.

  “Until we try, we can never know anything for sure. But reason and rational thinking suggest my conclusion is right. Consider. The darkwand was created to help Pen Ohmsford come into the Forbidding and bring me out. It was a corrective magic, a magic designed not to contravene or subvert, but to set right. I did not belong in the
Forbidding; I was a creature of the Four Lands. The purpose of the magic was to restore the balance. That is true now as well, but only for you and me. We are creatures brought over to a place in which we do not belong. The darkwand will take us out because the magic will work to right an obvious wrong.”

  She paused. “But you, Weka, are a creature of the Forbidding, and carrying you over to the Four Lands—no matter how right the reasons or how genuine the need—is a clear violation of the rules of the Forbidding, which do not permit any who belong here to go free. It is the fate decreed by circumstances of your birth and events that took place eons ago. It is neither fair nor deserved, but it is fact.”

  The Ulk Bog wheeled on Drisker. “This is your fault! You lied to me! You tricked me into giving my mistress the staff, and now she will abandon me!”

  “I did not lie to you,” the Druid emphasized. “Nor was it my intention to trick you. I knew nothing of what the staff’s limitations might be. It seemed reasonable to think it could convey you out of here if we wanted you with us. But Grianne may be right. The magic may not allow for it. I am sorry.”

  “Sorry?” the Ulk Bog screeched. “Oh, such misery do I see on your face! Such sorrow!” His fists were clenched. “That makes everything all right, does it? Just a whim of fate, but not your fault?”

  “We will try our best,” Grianne said, motioning him back. “We will link you to us and attempt to take you with us, as Drisker promised we would. But you need to know what might happen. It would be unfair to say nothing and see you left behind with no explanation. Do you see?”

  Weka Dart looked at her for a moment and then looked away. “I see well enough,” he said coldly.

  His words were ominous, and Drisker felt a sudden need to use the darkwand as quickly as possible. Grianne seemed to have the same thought and ordered them both to stand close to her. “Put your hands on the staff,” she commanded.