by Terry Brooks
How can this be happening?
Then the Arishaig crossed the invisible plane of the walls, and the wards that protected Paranor struck back. The magic did so as if it were an invisible giant blowing off an annoying insect, its breath slamming into the huge warship with enough force to send her spinning away. All of her crew and most of her weapons went flying across the decks in a jumble of wood and iron and bodies. Screams rent the air, spars and light sheaths snapped loose and went flying into space, and the Arishaig bobbed and yawed as if caught in a windstorm.
Shades, Aphenglow mouthed in awe and disbelief.
Then Cymrian was at her side, crouched next to her in the lee of the wall. “What happened?”
“Magic wards the Keep, and apparently it decided enough was enough,” she answered, still watching the Arishaig as she bucked and swayed and fought to keep flying. The other Federation ships were clustered about her protectively, but none of them tried to approach when she was so clearly out of control. “Where’s Arling?”
“Down below, safe. I told her if she came up here you would just worry and not be able to concentrate.” He gave her a quick once-over. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
She shook her head. Down the way, several hundred yards along the battlements, Bombax was looking at them. She waved to him, signaling that she was all right. When he pointedly looked away, she was angry with him all over again.
The Arishaig had righted herself, and her crew was scurrying about, trying to put the weapons and shields back in place, restringing the radian draws and tightening down the light sheaths. Apparently, the Federation wasn’t finished yet. Aphenglow glanced down the walls to the defensive ports and found Krolling and his Troll guards.
“Everyone stay down!” she shouted. “No weapons! The wards will protect us!”
The Federation transport had backed off and was landing in a clearing some distance off. The scout vessel had joined her. But the three warships had lined up anew in front of Paranor’s walls and were slowly turning broadside to employ the maximum number of weapons possible. Aphenglow felt helpless, crouched down and watching with no real way to stop what was happening.
Then all the Federation weapons began firing at once, one after the other—rail slings, fire launchers, and flash rips—a cacophonous roar of discharge and recoil, the rush of missiles released and the crash of targets struck. Stone blocks cracked and shattered, wooden beams collapsed, the front gates—oak fully two feet thick and reinforced with iron plating—shuddered and split, and dust and ash clogged the air with so much debris that it became impossible to see anything more than a dozen feet away. For long moments the sounds were so overwhelming that the Keep’s defenders could do nothing but crouch behind the walls and wait for the roar to subside.
When it did, Aphenglow raised her head and saw the ships turning from port to bring their starboard weapons to bear.
“We should get off these walls!” Cymrian shouted, crouched close beside her. “We aren’t doing any good here!”
But she was determined to see this through. The wards had defended them earlier; surely they would do so again. She glanced down the walls at the damage done by the Federation weapons. There were gaps and cracks in the stone, but the Keep was essentially intact.
She shook her head at him. She would stay.
Then, as the airships turned all the way to starboard and prepared to launch a fresh attack, the wards she had known were there—that she had prayed would act to save them—finally responded. The giant that had swatted the airships away once already now turned visible. A darkness rose out of the Keep—a huge swirling form that might have been smoke or brume, but was clearly something far more substantial—coalescing to form the Keep’s protector, hanging in the air over Paranor’s walls. The giant howled in fury, a whirlwind releasing the full force of its power, exploding from the Keep with an audible blast, catching up the airships like toys and sending them flying—this time for hundreds of yards. Spinning, whirling, and juddering on wind currents that tore light sheaths to shreds, snapped off spars, and even brought down entire masts, the airships were carried away. Aphenglow saw the cruiser simply fall apart, its occupants spilling out of its shattered container like discarded toys. The other two, stronger and more durable, survived, but only just.
It was over almost before it began. Their giant protector had formed out of nothing, struck out at the airships, and faded away, all in about a minute. The air over Paranor was clear again, the giant gone as if it had never existed. It was the most incredible display of power that Aphenglow had ever witnessed. Whatever wards had been set in place to protect the Druid’s Keep, they were deadly beyond belief.
Beside her, Cymrian breathed out in a harsh whisper. When she glanced down the ramparts to find Bombax, she saw mirrored on his face the same look she knew he would find on hers.
The Federation warships that had survived limped away to join the transport, each managing with some difficulty to effect a landing. Tattered, broken, and mangled, they looked as if they were derelicts destined for the scrap heap. It would take days to make them right enough to fly. Surveying the damage, she felt an undeniable sense of satisfaction.
Drust Chazhul and the rest of his command would think twice before attacking Paranor again.
23
Drust Chazhul wasn’t thinking twice about anything, in spite of what Aphenglow believed. Sitting off to one side from where repairs were under way to his battered airships, still shaken by the fury of the response from the Keep to the Federation attack, he had nevertheless already made up his mind about what he would do next.
He would not, of course, give up and go home. Nor did he intend to launch any further air attacks on the Keep, having acknowledged by now how pointless that would be. Nor would he try using his Federation army, which was intact and unharmed, in an all-out ground assault against the fortress walls.
He would, however, get inside Paranor.
With Arodian missing and presumed dead by all aboard—all efforts at finding the commander having failed—Drust had been able to hand over command of the army to Tinnen March, Arodian’s capable if unimaginative second in command, a man the Prime Minister could work with far more easily than his predecessor. There had been little outcry following the announcement of Arodian’s disappearance. Perhaps not everyone believed that it was an accident, but those who didn’t were too afraid to say so. Better to let these things be when you were a common soldier.
The day was winding down, the sun drifting west, the night coming on, and the air turning cool. A watch on the Keep had been deployed right after the attempt to penetrate Paranor’s walls had failed, with sentries dispatched to surround the fortress. Flits and pilots were assigned to monitor any attempts at an air escape. Whatever else happened, Drust had instructed March, no one was to get in or out of the Keep. No word of what was happening here was to reach the ears of the other Races until he had settled with the Druids. He didn’t explain how he intended to do this, and the newly appointed army commander was smart enough not to ask.
In truth, Drust didn’t think for one moment that he had the means to stop an airship from leaving the Keep. His own warships were too battered to leave the ground, and his cruiser was destroyed. A transport, a scout ship, and two dozen flits could hardly be expected to stop anything. But he wanted Paranor’s defenders to know he meant business; perhaps they would hold off on any escape attempts if they believed themselves better off staying inside the safety of the walls.
By the time they realized they had misjudged the situation, it would be too late.
Stoon came up to him and stood waiting to be acknowledged. By now, no one questioned the assassin’s presence. He was a common sight, the Prime Minister’s man, his personal assistant. Stoon played his part by doing nothing to suggest that he was anything else. He kept a low profile and stayed out of the way.
Stoon started to speak, but Drust cut him off. “Not here. We’ll walk.”
They set of
f along the perimeter of the Keep’s walls, safely out of sight in the woods, trailed at some distance by the omnipresent guards assigned to protect the Prime Minister. There was activity all around them—the sounds of wounded men, of hammers pounding on wood and metal, of shouted orders and replies, and of timber being felled to fashion new masts and spars. The smells of dust and grime and blood wafted through the air, and the earth where the fleet had camped was already torn up and rutted. Drust tried to avoid looking at it or breathing any of it in. He tried to distance himself from the unpleasantness it caused him to feel. He had already done what was expected of him. He had made it a point to commend the airship commanders and their immediate subordinates on the courage they had displayed during the battle and had assured them they had not suffered a defeat, only a temporary setback. He had issued everyone a ration of ale and ordered a second to be served along with the evening meal.
Now he just wanted it all to go away. Or better yet, for their mission be over and done with.
“What were the final numbers?” he asked Stoon when they were safely out of hearing.
“Over five hundred dead—more than three hundred from the Wistral alone. She took everyone down with her. About twice that number injured. Some of those will die, too.” He paused. “Not a good day.”
Drust nodded. He could barely contain his rage. “You want desperately to tell me that you told me so, that you warned me an attack would fail, don’t you?”
Stoon shrugged. “You’ve just said it for me.”
“You think I accomplished nothing today?”
“Not knowing exactly what it was you wanted to accomplish, I can’t say. On the surface of things, it doesn’t appear much was achieved.”
Drust sneered. “You are so careful with how you word things. You should have considered a career as a politician; you have the skills for it.”
“I’m happy just as I am, thank you.”
“I’m a bit less happy with you than you are with yourself. You realize that, don’t you? Letting me think I was about to be thrown over the side of my own airship! I haven’t forgotten.”
“I have explained all that. It was the only way to dispose of Arodian. Anyway, with Edinja gone, as well, you have no immediate threat from within the Coalition Council. It’s what you wanted.”
Drust grunted, knowing that the other man was right but not in the least bit mollified by it. He was still shaken by how easily their assault on Paranor had been repulsed. He could still see that black cloud rising up from the Keep’s walls and swatting his airships aside.
But he would not let Stoon see this. “Today’s efforts were not made with the expectation of achieving victory,” he declared firmly, determined to put the best face possible on what had happened. “It would have been excellent if we could have seized the Keep in one day’s time, but contrary to what you might think I did not believe that was how things would go. I understood what we were up against. You notice, however, that the plan we arranged worked well enough?”
Stoon nodded. “They fired first, giving you cause to respond. Yes, I saw. But I think you believed your fire launchers and flash rips would be enough to overcome their magic.”
“I won’t argue that. I expected more from our weapons. But the Druids have had years to arm Paranor, and whatever magic protects it wasn’t conjured overnight.
“Anyway, we might have done some damage even if we didn’t get inside. You saw the walls.”
“I saw them. They didn’t look particularly damaged to me.”
Drust rubbed his forehead, further annoyed. “Do we have a way to get into the Keep yet?”
Stoon shook his head. “I’m waiting to hear.” He paused. “I think it will happen. I just don’t know when.”
“Soon would be good.” Drust gave him a look. “Very soon would be better. I need to end this quickly.” He paused. “I’ve put a lot of faith in this plan of yours.”
Stoon smiled. “You said yourself it’s worked so far. Paranor apparently attacked us first, so we were given cause to retaliate. Our key to opening the gates and sacking the place waits just inside. He’ll do what he’s supposed to do. I’ve used him before. He’s dependable. He likes this sort of thing. It makes him feel superior when he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”
“I’ll say it again—this has to happen quickly. Once word of our attack gets out, others will almost certainly attempt to intervene. I want us inside the Keep and in control of its walls before that happens. I want the Druids either disposed of or imprisoned. If your man is so smart, he should be able to do what is needed to make that happen.”
“Patience, Drust.”
“I don’t have any patience left. I don’t have any wish to be patient. I want this matter settled, Stoon.” He said it quietly, but with an edge to his voice that the other couldn’t miss. “If this turns into the debacle we both knew it might, I will be the one to face the consequences. I am fairly certain I can predict what those consequences will be. And what happens to me happens to you. Find a way to get us in!”
He wheeled away and began walking back toward the encampment, the heat of his anger rising off him like steam. He glanced at the darkening sky and felt a measure of relief. At least this day was almost over. Perhaps tomorrow would prove more favorable.
“One thing more,” he said when Stoon was back beside him again. “When you do find a way in, I want you to be one of the first to enter.” He gave the other a sharp glance and caught the small nod of agreement that served as a reply. “Not to put you in danger,” he added. “But for something else entirely.”
“Which would be?” The assassin sounded genuinely interested.
“I want you to take that Elessedil girl alive. After I have personally removed her tongue and cut off her hands, I intend to give her to the soldiers.”
He strode on in silence, the image of it burning with bright promise in his mind.
When the attack ended and the Federation withdrew, Aphenglow left the ramparts and went down to find Arling to make certain she was all right. Cymrian trailed after her, and she let him come without comment. She ignored Bombax.
After reuniting with her sister and giving her a hug and a few words of reassurance, she left her with Cymrian and went off to find the rail sling that had been used to attack the Arishaig. She found it easily enough, but there was no sign of who had used it. More telling was her examination of the angle available for attack using that particular weapon. Even under the best of circumstances, the rail sling couldn’t have done much more than dent the iron-plated underside of a Federation warship.
The ramifications of that conclusion were disturbing.
She decided to talk to Woostra. She had questions about the magic warding the Keep, and with the Ard Rhys absent she believed her best chance at getting answers was from Khyber Elessedil’s personal secretary.
She found him where she expected, ensconced in his office outside the Druid Library. His scarecrow body was hunched over his desk, eyes scanning the pages of a clutch of books and papers spread out before him. He didn’t even look up when she entered, merely gesturing to a bench to one side.
“Sit, Aphenglow. I’ll be done in a moment.”
She lowered herself onto the bench and waited patiently for the several minutes it took him to complete whatever it was he was doing. When he finally looked up, she said, “How do you do that?”
He looked puzzled. “Do what?”
“Recognize me without looking.”
“Oh, that.” He gave her a small smile. “Your footsteps. I can recognize any of you just from hearing you approach. Assuming I am paying any sort of attention.”
She smiled back. “Really?”
He shrugged. “What can I help you with? Something to do with that Federation attack?”
“You know about it?”
“Hard not to with all the noise.”
“Did you go out for a look?”
“No need to. The magic that wards Paranor rep
els anything or anyone not invited in. Always has. Always will.”
“So she protects us?”
He smiled anew. “Druids might choose to see it that way. But that’s not really how it is. Grianne Ohmsford put the wards in place before she left the Keep for the final time. But the wards protect Paranor, not the Druids. The Druids are simply inadvertent beneficiaries. Along with anyone else who might be inside during an attack.” He rubbed his long nose with his finger. “Easier to protect something that doesn’t move around than something that does. Druids come and go. The Keep stays right where it is.”
She thought about it a moment. “So if there were an enemy inside—say, someone who managed to get invited in one way or another—the magic wouldn’t let the rest of us know.”
He gave her a long look. “What are you saying, Aphenglow?”
She shook her head. “I’m just mulling something over. This attack was provoked by someone who fired one of our rail slings from inside the walls of the Keep. I didn’t see who it was, and no one else I talked to saw, either. But I found the rail sling that was used, and it was clear from the angle of trajectory that using it served no purpose. The angle of attack was all wrong.”
“Then why …?”
“Bother? To provoke a response to an apparent attack from us. These were Federation warships, fully manned and armed, and although they claimed to have been invited by the Ard Rhys and came expecting to be received, there was no evidence any of this was so. What they seem to have come for was pretty much exactly what happened.”
Woostra nodded slowly. “So you think it was all planned? That the firing of the rail sling was a deliberate subterfuge by someone who was in their employ?”
