by Terry Brooks
He was thinking of that as the wall across from him slid silently open and Shadea a’Ru stepped into the room.
Grianne Ohmsford sat at the writing table in her chambers, making notes for her meeting with Sen Dunsidan, preparing herself for the bargaining that would take place. It was always a matter of give and take with the Prime Minister, a question of how much she was willing to give versus how much he was attempting to take. He had changed over the years in some ways but, when bargaining, still sought to extract more than the other party was prepared to give. A politician to the end, he remained outwardly friendly and forthright while inwardly thinking of ways to cut his opponent’s throat.
Literally, in her case.
She knew how he felt about her. To him, she was still the Ilse Witch and that would never change. He was afraid of her, no matter how hard she tried to convince him that her time as the Morgawr’s creature was at an end. She might be Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Council, but that was not how he saw her. Because he could not change old habits, she knew his fear would rule his thinking. That meant he would be looking for a way to eliminate her.
She didn’t mind that. He had always been looking for ways to eliminate her, from the moment they had formed that first alliance, nearly twenty-five years ago. That was how Sen Dunsidan dealt with allies and enemies alike; he used them to the extent he could while searching for ways to render them ineffective, which often meant eliminating them altogether once they had served their purpose. In some cases he had been successful, but he had never posed a threat to her. He did not possess the tools to cause her harm, lacking both magic and allies to accomplish that end. Alone, he could do nothing.
Besides, he was the least of her worries. She had other, more dangerous enemies with which to contend, others with equally strong motives for seeing her dispatched, others living closer to home.
She didn’t like thinking of it. So much hard work had gone into re-forming the Druid order, and now it was a nest of vipers. It wasn’t what she had intended or envisioned, but there it was. Kermadec was right. Her position grew more tenuous with the passing of every day, and if the erosion of her authority continued, she would lose control completely. If that happened, she would have failed, and she could not bear even to think of that.
She returned her thoughts to Sen Dunsidan and the more immediate concerns of tomorrow’s meeting. She was seeking a truce in the battle on the Prekkendorran, one by both Federation and Free-born, one that would result in a stand-down of both armies. And that might lead to a gradual reduction in forces and a chance at peace. But neither side was showing much interest in the idea, even though after nearly fifty years of conflict it seemed almost inconceivable to her that they could think of anything else. Most of the people who had initiated the struggle were dead and gone. Only the inheritors were left, men and women who probably didn’t have any real idea of the circumstances that had triggered the war.
Not that any of them cared, she thought darkly. War was often its own excuse.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of Tagwen. She bid him enter. The Dwarf shuffled in under a load of books and papers, which he deposited on the working table to one side, where she could pick through them. They were the detritus of her previous efforts to persuade Sen Dunsidan and the Federation to her cause. Tagwen studied the stack forlornly for a moment, then looked at her.
“Is he settled in his chambers?” she asked.
“Quite comfortably. He should be. He has the best rooms in the Keep.” Tagwen didn’t like Sen Dunsidan, a fact he didn’t bother to hide from her, though he was careful to hide it from others. “I left him to his ale and cogitation. More of the former, less of the latter, unless I miss my guess.”
She smiled in spite of herself. She rose and stretched. “Everyone is advised of tomorrow’s gatherings?”
He nodded. “You meet privately with the Prime Minister after breakfast, then he addresses the full council, then he meets with a select few—you know them all and they know one other—and then you sit down for some serious bargaining, which will once again probably result in nothing much being decided.”
She gave him a hard look. “Thank you for your optimism. What would I do without it?”
“I prefer reality to fantasy,” he said, huffing through his beard as he met her gaze squarely. “Better for you if you did the same now and then. And I am not talking about your meeting with the Prime Minister.”
“Have you been trading opinions with Kermadec again?”
“The Maturen sees things far more clearly than some people. He doesn’t waste time on looking for ways to smooth things over when he sees it is a waste of effort. You ought to listen to him.”
She nodded. “I do. I just can’t always follow his advice. I am not in a position to do so. You know that.”
Looking back at the stack of documents on the table, then at the half-eaten dinner sitting cold on the plates he had brought earlier, Tagwen didn’t say anything for a moment. “He wants to know if you’ve decided yet when you are leaving.” Tagwen looked back at her.
She walked to the window and looked out at the moonlit sky. Her rooms in the high tower were so far above the forest that wrapped the Keep that the trees seemed a black ocean stretching away to the Dragon’s Teeth. She had decided that she would go to the Hadeshorn to seek the advice of Walker’s shade about what she had seen in the ruins of the Skull Kingdom. Shades did not always give direct answers to questions of that sort, but they sometimes revealed insights into what was being sought. Someone or something was behind those fires that burned on air and in those strange flashes of light, and the magic invoked had come from a source she did not recognize. Walker’s shade might at least be willing to tell her about it.
Wanting to see the business through and to make certain she stayed safe in the process, Kermadec had offered to go with her. She was happy for his company.
“As soon as the Prime Minister departs,” she answered. “I would guess he will not stay after tomorrow night. Everything will have been said by then.”
“Everything has been said already,” Tagwen said.
“Perhaps it just needs saying again.”
The Dwarf gestured toward the door. “Traunt Rowan is outside. He wants to speak with you. I told him you did not have time for him tonight, but he was quite insistent.”
She nodded. Another thorn poking at her from the Druid bramble bush. She liked Rowan, admired his determination and willingness to work hard, but she knew that he did not like her. Sometimes she wondered at the source of his dislike, but she had never broached the subject with him. If she started asking everyone who disliked her why that was so, she would not have time for anything else. It pained her to think that so many in the order could not get past their bad feelings toward her. On the other hand, it said something about their resolve that they had come to study with her anyway.
“Send him in, Tagwen,” she said. “I can give him a few minutes.”
Tagwen went without a word, but his parting look suggested he thought she was making a mistake. She smiled. It wouldn’t be her first.
She glanced at herself in the mirror that hung by the door, reassuring herself she was still presentable so late at night. Or maybe to reassure herself that she had not faded away into her thoughts, become a ghost woman.
Traunt Rowan knocked and entered at her bidding. He was tall and broad-shouldered and in his black robes looked less a Druid than a warlock. His strong features had a calm, distant expression that belied the intensity he brought to every meeting. She had been fooled by it at first, but knew better now. Rowan never did anything haphazardly or halfway. If he ever overcame his resentment of her, he would be a valuable ally.
He bowed stiffly, a formality only. “Thank you for seeing me,” he said. “What I have to say is important.”
“Say it then.”
She did not offer him a seat or anything to drink. He was all business and would have refused both. When he was with her, he was
mostly anxious to be gone again.
“I think you should resign your office,” he said.
She stared at him, speechless in the face of such audacity.
“I don’t say this to attack you,” he continued. “Or because I don’t respect what you have done. I say it because I think it will help the order if you do as I suggest. You are a smart woman. You understand the situation well enough. There are too many at Paranor who do not think you should lead them. There are too many here who cannot forget your past. Or forgive you of it. I admit I am one of them. Such prejudice hamstrings your efforts at accomplishing almost anything you undertake. If you were no longer leader, the prejudice would be removed. Another might do better.”
She nodded slowly. “I don’t think you intend putting yourself forward as Ard Rhys, Traunt Rowan. Who, then?”
He took a deep breath. “Whomever you name,” he said finally.
It took him some effort to concede her this, and she wondered at its source. He was close with those vipers Shadea a’Ru and Iridia Eleri, who he knew she would never support, yet he had named neither. Why?
“You were chosen to form this order,” he continued, his voice calm and persuasive. “No one could argue that you haven’t done what you set out to do in bringing it to life. But perhaps you were not meant to lead it. Perhaps your purpose ended once the Third Council came into being. Another role might work better, one less visible in the larger scheme of things. Have you considered that?”
She had. She had considered every scenario that might break the logjam the Third Council found itself enmeshed in. But she still did not judge any other alternative acceptable under the present circumstances. Things were too unsettled for her to step down, too uncertain for her to let another take her place. To begin with, there wasn’t anyone strong enough of whom she approved. The factions already established within the order would tear almost anyone else apart. Anarchy would claim the Third Council and destroy it. She could not allow that.
“I admire and appreciate your honesty and your boldness,” she told him. “Not many would have dared to come to me with this suggestion. I don’t know that I can do what you ask, but I will consider it.”
He nodded, clearly unhappy. “I have never told you what brought me to Paranor, but I think you need to hear it now. It is no secret that we are not friends. You have probably already guessed that it has something to do with your past. My parents were Federation officials who became victims of your manipulations when you were the Ilse Witch. They were destroyed politically because of you. The reasons no longer matter. The fact remains that they died broken and despised even by their closest friends. Dannon and Cela Scio. They were members of the Coalition Council, at one time. Do you remember them?”
She shook her head.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I took my mother’s family name so no one here, especially you, would make the connection. My purpose in coming was to see to it that you did not subvert the Druid Council in the same way you had subverted other political bodies—to make sure that you really were Ard Rhys and not still Ilse Witch. I was willing to let go of the past if you had changed. I thought that might be enough. But it isn’t. You are still linked to your past in the minds of too many, both inside and outside Paranor’s walls. You are rendered ineffective by acts you committed before you became Ard Rhys. That won’t change; it can never change. I have stayed on as a Druid only because I believe you must be made to leave.”
The heat of anger rose in her face, a faint blush she could not prevent. “Your opinion does not necessarily represent that of the majority. Nor is it necessarily right.”
“Resign your office,” he repeated. His expression was suddenly hard and fixed. “Do so now, tonight. Announce it to all. Time does not allow for extended deliberation on the matter.”
She stared at him in surprise. He was practically ordering her to leave. “Time allows for more deliberation than you seem willing to afford me. I said I would consider your demand, Traunt Rowan. That will have to be enough.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t nearly enough. I should have come to you long before this. Pay attention to me, Ard Rhys. Events have a way of piling up and stealing away our choices.”
“Do they do so here? What are you trying to say? Why is this so urgent? Tell me.”
For a moment, he hesitated as if thinking he might, then simply turned away and went out the door, slamming it behind him with such force that she felt the vibrations in the stone beneath her feet.
“Have you brought it?” Shadea a’Ru demanded as she stepped out of the darkness of the hidden passageway into the light of the room.
Sen Dunsidan regarded her with bemusement. “Good evening to you, too.”
She took her time closing the wall panel behind her, watched it slide smoothly back into place, and let her temper cool. As impatient as she was to get on with things, it would do her no good to argue with Dunsidan at this point.
“My apologies,” she said, turning back to him with a smile. “I am more than a little nervous about all this, as you might guess. I am also anxious to get it over with.”
He nodded. “Understandable, Shadea. But haste often results in mistakes, and we can’t afford to have any here.”
She gritted her teeth against what she was tempted to say and let the moment pass. They were never going to have much of a relationship, Sen Dunsidan and she. The one they had was one of convenience and nothing more. As much as she wanted the Ard Rhys out of the way, she was only slightly less anxious to be rid of him. He was a treacherous, self-serving snake, a man who had built his career on the misfortunes and failings of others. She had heard the stories about his despicable uses of children and women, and she believed them all. Once Grianne Ohmsford was eliminated, she would turn her attention to him. But for the moment, they must remain allies, and she would play that game as best she could.
“There won’t be any mistakes,” she said.
She moved over to the table with the wine carafe and poured herself a glass. His room was rich with tapestries and rugs, with wine and sweets, and with good smells. It contrasted sharply with her spare and unassuming quarters some floors below. She felt no jealousy; finery and comforts were a sign of weakness. They made demands that caused one to lose focus on what really mattered. She would not allow that in herself, but was more than willing to allow it in him. It would make it easier to break him down and destroy him when the time to do so arrived.
“How do you know that the potion you have brought me works as you think? What if you have been betrayed?”
She watched for a reaction. He merely shrugged. “I haven’t tested it myself, but I am assured it is lethally effective.”
“Assured by whom?” she asked. “Who gave you this ‘liquid night,’ Prime Minister?” she pressed. “You didn’t mix it up yourself. Such a potion requires magic, and you have none. Who do you know who has such magic? Did someone at Paranor assist you? Someone not allied with me? Do you play us against each other?”
His leonine features lifted slightly. “I don’t discuss my alliances. What does it matter, anyway? If it doesn’t work, what have you lost? Only a little of your time. I will have lost your trust completely. I am the one at risk, Shadea.”
He lifted his own wineglass and toasted her. “But it will work. By morning, the Ard Rhys will be a memory and all the talk will be of you, the new Ard Rhys. I know something of how this works, Shadea. I know because it happened to me when I coveted the position of Prime Minister. The order will be frightened and confused. It will be looking for direction and for someone to supply it. No one else has the backing you possess. The matter will be settled quickly. I salute you, Ard Rhys to be.”
She ignored his patronizing, wondering how she could find out who had given him the potion. She would find out, she had decided. But short of torturing him on the spot, she would not find out immediately. She would have to bide her time, something at which she had gotten quite good.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Prime Minister.” She finished the wine and set down her glass. “What will you do when the news comes? Stay or go?”
“I will depart immediately, the expected reaction for a head of state when someone as important as the Ard Rhys disappears. It will give you a chance to consolidate your power before we have our meeting to arrange an alliance. Perhaps by then you will have discovered evidence of Free-born participation in the matter, and I will be able to use that discovery as a lever for pressing the war.”
“Something you intend to do by any means possible.” She made it a statement of fact.
He smiled. “The fortunes of war are about to change for the Free-born and their allies, Shadea. With your support, the change will come about much more quickly.”
She nodded. The room, with its rich smells and opulent feel, was beginning to wear on her. As was this fool. “We have our understanding, Prime Minister. No need to discuss it again. No need to talk further at all, this night. Do you have it?”
He rose and walked to the bookcase at the far side of the room, moved several of the books aside, and extracted a small glass bottle with its stopper set firmly in place. The contents of the bottle were as black as a moonless night. Nothing of the room’s light reflected from the surface of either the bottle or its contents.
“Liquid night,” he declared, and handed her the bottle.
She took it gingerly and studied it a moment. The liquid night had an opaque texture to it that reminded her of chalk or black earth. It made her feel decidedly uneasy.
She looked back at him. “This is all there is?”
“A little is all that is needed. Nevertheless, use the whole of it. Do it while she sleeps. Do not let even a single drop touch your skin. Then carry the bottle away and destroy it. There will be no trace of what has happened, no sign of anything different. But the Ard Rhys will be gone. As if she had never been.”
