by Terry Brooks
That was acceptable to Shadea a’Ru. For what was at stake, that was a price worth wagering.
She wondered anew at the source of the liquid night. It bothered her that it had come into the possession of someone who did not himself possess magic. Sen Dunsidan was a high-ranking official in a powerful government, but he lacked the skills and resources to obtain something so powerful on his own. He must have had help, and she didn’t like it that help of a magical sort had not come from her. It meant he had another option and might choose to use it down the road, and that could prove dangerous to her. Still, he needed her. Without her, he could not hope to gain control of the Druid order, and without that, his plans for the Free-born could not succeed.
Ahead, the last stairway led upward to the tower chamber where Grianne Ohmsford slept. Shadea slowed automatically, her movements, her thinking, even her breathing, and calmed herself. Soundlessly, she climbed the stone steps to the landing beyond, then stood just outside the section of wall that opened into forbidden territory. She tested the fabric of warding she had left in place and found it undisturbed. The Ard Rhys had not bothered to see if anyone had tampered with her magic. She still thought herself safe.
A fierce rush of anticipation surged through Shadea as she reached into her robes and extracted the bottle of liquid night. Silence concealed her movements, extending from the place she stood to the chamber beyond and then to the Keep beyond that. Dreams and slumber blanketed the rooms of Paranor, where the occupants lay unmoving and unaware. She listened, satisfied, and set the bottle on the floor in front of her.
She was ready.
Carefully, she constructed a series of spells and incantations, setting them atop one another in the space before the door. One after another, she created them with movements and words. No one saw or heard. No one could. She breathed as if there was not enough air to waste on breathing, creating an intricate pattern of small, cautious inhales and exhales. Her life force became a part of her efforts, aiding and supporting. She kept her concentration fixed on the task at hand, neither wavering nor hesitating, working steadily and diligently at her task.
It took her almost an hour to complete the conjurings. Then she knelt before the wall and opened the skin of magic she had left in place, giving herself clear access to the secret doorway and the chamber beyond. She could hear the sound of her heart pumping her blood through her body. It seemed to her that she could hear the Ard Rhys breathing on the other side of the wall, deep in sleep but capable of waking in an instant.
She prepared to remove the stopper from the bottle of liquid night.
Her hands began to shake.
For just a second she faltered, thinking suddenly that she was daring too much; that she was overreaching herself; that her failure to accomplish what she was attempting to undertake was assured; that the moment she tried to place the liquid inside the bedchamber, the Ard Rhys would wake and discover her treachery; that she would have been smarter simply to feed the Ard Rhys poison and be done with it; that this more sophisticated execution would never work. How could it?
Furious with herself, she crushed her hesitation and doubt as if they were annoying insects buzzing in her ears.
She pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured it into the funnel she had created in the last conjuring of magic, sending both the liquid night and the spells that directed it into the chamber beyond.
There, it was done, she told herself, replacing the stopper once more.
She rocked back on her heels to wait.
Grianne Ohmsford woke just long enough to recognize that something was dreadfully wrong, that an alien magic had bypassed her wardings and entered her room. She threw up her defensive magic instantly, but it was already too late. The room was moving—or she was moving in it—consumed by a blackness that transcended anything she had ever known. She fought to get free of it, but could not make herself move. She tried to cry out, but no sound came forth. She was trapped, immobilized and helpless. The blackness was enveloping her, sweeping her away, bearing her off like a death shroud wound about a corpse on its way to interment, clinging and impenetrable and final.
She felt the shroud slowly begin to tighten.
Shades! she swore silently as she realized what was happening, and then the blackness was in her mouth and nose and ears, was inside her body and her mind. She struggled until her strength was gone and with it her hope, and then she lost consciousness.
Still hidden in the passageway behind the wall of the bedchamber, Shadea a’Ru listened to the faint, sudden sounds of movement on the other side, then to the enveloping silence that followed. She was desperate for a look inside, but didn’t dare to open the passageway door for fear of what she would find. She held her breath, listening as the silence lengthened.
Then a finger of blackness wormed its way under the door, the leading edge of a clutch of ragged tendrils. They twisted and groped as if seeking to snare her, as if the Ard Rhys was not enough, and Shadea stepped back quickly, poised to flee. She did not know what it was—some residue of the liquid night, perhaps—but she wasn’t about to find out. The fingers stretched a bit farther, crooking toward her, then slowly retreated and disappeared back beneath the door.
Shadea a’Ru was sweating heavily, the tunic beneath her Druid robes drenched. Something had happened in the Ard Rhys’ bedchamber, something that was the result of what Shadea had done—of that much, she was certain. But she could not know the particulars right away—not until morning, perhaps. No matter how desperate she was to find them out, she could do nothing but go back the way she had come and wait.
She exhaled heavily, quickly, a fear she had never felt suddenly caressing her in an all-too-familiar fashion. She backed away, still watching the door, retreating cautiously down the steps she had climbed more than an hour earlier, listening, listening.
By the time she reached the landing below and turned into the passageway leading out of the Keep’s stone walls, it was all she could do to keep from running.
Six
In spite of the chill she experienced even coming near the bedchamber, Shadea a’Ru made certain she was among the first to discover that the leader of the Druid order was missing. She was there, waiting to speak to Grianne, when Tagwen appeared with breakfast. Employing her most subservient manner, she requested an audience at the Ard Rhys’ convenience. Tagwen gave her his patented nod of agreement, the one that said he would act on her request immediately while at the same time wishing she would disappear into the earth, and entered the chamber. As he went inside, Shadea caught a glimpse of the room and saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Maybe, she thought suddenly, nothing had happened after all. Maybe the liquid night had failed.
But a moment later the Dwarf reappeared, looking confused and not a little concerned. Had the Ard Rhys gone out already? he asked the Troll guard. They said she had not, that she had been in her room all night. When Tagwen hesitated, clearly uncertain about what to do next, Shadea stepped into the breach and took over.
“Where is your mistress?” she demanded of the Trolls. “Why isn’t she in her room? Have you let something happen to her?”
Without waiting for the response she knew they couldn’t give, she brushed past Tagwen and went in, glancing around quickly. The bed was unmade, the covers rumpled and tossed. Last night’s sleeping tea was set to one side, the cup empty. Notes for the meeting with Sen Dunsidan lay stacked neatly on her writing table, ready for use. A surreptitious glance at the wall behind which she had hidden and fed the liquid night into the chamber revealed nothing. There was no trace of the potion and none of Grianne Ohmsford, either. There was no indication at all of what had actually happened.
She spun back to face Tagwen, who had entered behind her, a furious look on his rough face. “Where is she, Tagwen?” she snapped, bringing him up short. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong!” he replied defensively, moving at once to the writing table to snatch up Grianne’s notes. �
��You can’t be in here, Shadea!”
“If nothing is wrong, then where is the Ard Rhys?” she demanded, ignoring his protest. “Why isn’t she in her room?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, a prickly tone to his words, placing himself squarely in her path. “But I don’t see that it is your concern in any case.”
“It is the concern of all of us, Tagwen. She doesn’t belong to you alone. When did you see her last?”
The Dwarf looked mortified. “Just before midnight. She took her tea and was going to bed.” He looked around doubtfully. “She must have gone out.”
“Without the Troll watch seeing her?” Shadea looked around as if to make sure the Ard Rhys wasn’t somewhere plainly in view, then declared, “We need to make a search at once.”
“You can’t do that!” he exclaimed, appalled. “You don’t know that anything has happened to her! There’s no reason for a search!”
“There is every reason,” she declared firmly. “But we’ll keep it quiet for the moment. You and I are the only ones who need know of this until we make certain nothing is amiss. Or would you prefer we stand around doing nothing?”
Clearly at a loss as to what to do, he made no response to her unspoken accusation. Already she was assuming command of the Keep, and he could do nothing to prevent it. He didn’t fully realize yet what was happening; his concern for the Ard Rhys was clouding his judgment. Had he been thinking clearly, he might have wondered at how quick Shadea was to act. She smiled inwardly at his obvious confusion. He would do better to forget the Ard Rhys and worry about himself. But he would come to that particular realization too late.
Under the supervision of the sorceress, the Troll watch conducted a search for the Ard Rhys. It took less than an hour and revealed exactly what Shadea had been hoping for: No trace of Grianne Ohmsford was to be found anywhere. At its conclusion, she demanded to know what Tagwen was going to do.
“You were the last one to see her, Tagwen, and she is your responsibility in any case. That is why you were selected to be her personal assistant.”
Tagwen looked crushed. “I don’t know what could have happened to her. She wouldn’t leave Paranor without telling me. She was preparing for this morning’s meeting with the Prime Minister just last night, when I brought her tea and said good night. I don’t understand it!”
He was clearly holding himself responsible, even though there was no reason for him to do so save out of loyalty to his mistress. That was what Shadea was counting on. “Well, Tagwen, let’s not panic,” she soothed. “It isn’t time yet for the meeting. She may have slipped away to do some thinking on it. She comes and goes like that now and then, doesn’t she? Using her magic so no one can tell what she’s about?”
Tagwen nodded doubtfully. “Sometimes.”
“Perhaps she has done so here. You wait for her in her chambers and I will look for her myself. I will use my own magic in an effort to trace her movements. Perhaps I can read something of them in the air.” She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, she’ll turn up.”
With that false reassurance to placate him, she departed the bedchamber and went to the rooms of her confederates. One by one, she advised them that the plan was working. As expected, there was some grumbling from each over her decision to act alone, but their discontent was more than offset by their euphoria. The Ard Rhys was dispatched. Now they must begin to gain control of the Druids and the Keep. Once it became known that the Ard Rhys had disappeared, confusion and indecision would quickly settle over Paranor. A vacuum would open with the loss of Grianne Ohmsford’s leadership, and no one would want to be too quick to step into it. Shadea’s name must be the first mentioned as the logical choice, in part premised on her early involvement and willingness to take action. It must appear that of all those who might be called upon to take charge, she was the one in the best position to do so.
For that to happen, she must not only have verbal support from her allies, but also have demonstrated her ability to serve. The best way to accomplish that was to offer up a scapegoat to bear responsibility for what had happened to the Ard Rhys. Someone must be made to bear the blame, and she had already decided who that would be. Her confederates were to spread the rumor that the Ard Rhys had been murdered and that the Rock Trolls who guarded her were in some way responsible. There was no proof nor could there be, of course, but in the heat of the moment, many would find reason to believe it was true. A word here and there was all that was required. With enough talk, momentum would build in favor of that explanation, and it would take on the appearance of logic.
A fierce rush of elation surged through Shadea as she left her allies and made her way back through the corridors of the Keep to the bedchamber of the Ard Rhys. It was happening just as Sen Dunsidan had promised, as she had hoped, as fate had whispered to her time and again. She was meant to lead the order. She was meant to wield its power.
“Shadea a’Ru, Ard Rhys!” she whispered to the walls and shadows marking her passage.
She found herself wondering if Grianne Ohmsford had awakened yet and discovered where she was. Perhaps the hapless Ard Rhys would not get a chance to come awake, but while she still slept would be set upon by the denizens of the place to which she had been dispatched. Perhaps she was already dead.
Shadea wished she could be there to see it for herself.
Tagwen had served the Ard Rhys for almost the whole of her time as leader of the Third Druid Council, and he believed that he knew her as well as anyone alive. Even though he was her close friend and confidant, he understood that she could not tell him everything. No one who commanded the responsibility and power that she did could afford to trust completely in anyone. But he believed that when she wished to talk out her problems, to reveal her concerns to another human being, she thought of him first. So he found it disturbing that she would slip out of her quarters during the night without telling him. The longer he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he grew. Shadea a’Ru, as much as he disliked and distrusted her, might be right to worry. That his mistress wasn’t back for her breakfast on a day in which she had such an important meeting was very unlike her.
A practical man, Tagwen understood the implications of her absence. She would not cast the day’s meeting aside without good reason. She would never act out of haste or panic; she thought everything through first, considering the ramifications of her choices. If she had left her quarters voluntarily, there would be good reason for it. If she had chosen not to confide in him, there would be good reason for that, as well. But if she did not resurface soon, he had to accept that words like voluntary and choice had nothing to do with the matter and that something bad had happened to her.
He sat in her chambers for what felt like an endless amount of time, his uneasiness and discomfort growing, his patience slipping. He could hear the sounds of increased activity in the hallways beyond, a clear indication that the Druids were beginning to discover that something was wrong. Shadea had not returned from her search, a search he was not at all confident would succeed in any case, given the Ard Rhys’ opinion of her. He walked around the room, looking at everything, trying to make some sense of what had happened. He didn’t like the look of the unmade bed, the appearance of which suggested she had departed in a rush.
But no one could get into the room, he told himself in trying to shake off his fear that she had been attacked. The Troll watch was fiercely loyal, and the Ard Rhys had installed warding spells all through the walls to protect herself. If something bad had happened to her, there would be some sign of a struggle. Besides, no enemy could slip into Paranor without being detected. Wouldn’t the watch have seen and sounded an alarm?
Unless, of course, the enemy was someone already within the walls. He rubbed his beard furiously as he considered the possibility. There were some who might take action against her, however misguided. Shadea a’Ru was one. But how likely was that, given the risk of failure and discovery? Any Druid who tried such a thing would have to be ma
d! He shook his head. It didn’t bear thinking on too closely. Not yet, at least.
Suddenly it occurred to him that she might have gone to see Kermadec. The Rock Troll was still camped outside the walls of the Keep, waiting to depart to wherever it was that the Ard Rhys had decided to go. Something important was happening in connection with these mysterious comings and goings, the one planned for the next day and the one just finished a day earlier, so it was not so farfetched to wonder if perhaps his mistress was off pursuing that business again.
He was on his feet and moving toward the doorway when Shadea reappeared from the hallway and stepped inside.
“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. “I searched everywhere in the Keep and on the grounds outside, and there is no trace of her that isn’t at least a day old. I don’t like it, Tagwen.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “How reliable is this Troll Kermadec?”
Tagwen was horrified. “Entirely. He is a trusted friend, has been so forever.” He allowed his indignation to show. “Much more so than some others I might name.”
“Yet he is responsible for choosing her guard, including the two who stood watch last night and now have no idea where she is.” She cocked her head. “He was the last to see her outside these walls, wasn’t he? Don’t bother to deny it; she was seen. What was that meeting about?”
The Dwarf was furious. “None of your business, Shadea! I don’t discuss the affairs of the Ard Rhys without her permission—with you or anyone else! Wait for her return to ask such questions!”
She gave him an indulgent look. “Perhaps I should ask Kermadec in her absence, since you seem unwilling to do so. Why don’t you ask him to come up to her chambers to discuss what has happened?”
Tagwen realized two things immediately. First, that Kermadec would never set foot inside the Keep. He had made that plain enough quite some time ago, and he was not about to change his mind for Shadea a’Ru, whom he distrusted anyway. Second, if he were foolish enough to accept the invitation nevertheless, perhaps out of concern for the Ard Rhys, he would not come out again. Shadea a’Ru was looking for someone to blame for the Ard Rhys’ disappearance. Tagwen felt that instinctively. Why she felt it was necessary—or her responsibility—was beyond him, but what was happening was clear.
