by Terry Brooks
Seersha had heard enough. “What I know of Elven history suggests that Eventine Elessedil did not have this problem. Nor would he have stood still for an entire week of delay while his land and people were threatened with invasion. Where is your conviction in what is right and necessary, High Lord? Where is your courage?”
“Do not speak to my brother like that!” Ellich snapped at her. “Remember your place, Druid!”
“My place?” she snapped back. “My place is to advise you! How am I to do that if I hesitate to be honest in my appraisal of things? An entire week of preparation has been lost! And whose fault is that? How much more time do you intend to waste on a Council that will not act?”
Emperowen Elessedil held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Please! Enough from both of you.” He stood, facing Seersha. “We go before that recalcitrant Council to make a plea for their support. We would like you to accompany us to this meeting and give the members of the High Council a clear picture of what it is we are facing. Word of the massing on Arishaig is already spreading, but you are the only eyewitness available who can speak to what happened in the Westland and therefore pass judgment on what’s likely to happen here. We need your help. Will you give it?”
She took a deep breath. “Of course I will. But whatever happens with the High Council in this meeting, High Lord, I am all done sitting around and waiting on others. I intend to act as I see fit afterward.”
The old King gave her a slow smile. “I would expect nothing less from you, Seersha.”
“That’s enough!”
Phaedon was on his feet, his face red with anger and frustration, his posture combative as he faced Seersha across the table where the Elven High Council was gathered.
“More than enough,” the Druid agreed, meeting his furious gaze squarely.
“Elves don’t need a Dwarf Druid to tell them how to conduct themselves!” he hissed. “We were here long before you, and we have mastered knowledge and skills far beyond anything you ever even thought of. Don’t presume to tell us how we should conduct ourselves toward those who have done so much to destroy us!”
Seersha stayed calm. “Is it presumptuous to suggest that common sense should guide your decision making, Elven Prince? Is it wrong to weigh the consequences of selflessness over selfishness? Does it really need to be explained that a preemptive strike against those who would annihilate you is a better course of action than waiting for annihilation to come knocking on your door?”
The two had been arguing for the better part of the past hour as the discussion of what to do about the demon invasion had gone back and forth between advocates of two points of view—one that favored immediate intervention in the assault on Arishaig and one that favored sticking with known friends and allies to meet the threat when it moved on from the Southland and came north.
Emperowen had made his presentation to the Council and argued that immediate action was essential. With Ellich’s support, he had pointed out the advantages of including the Federation in the alliance—an alliance against an enemy that hated all of the Races equally and would do its very best to see them ground into dust. Deliberately choosing to exclude the ally with the strongest army and most advanced weaponry seemed a dangerous choice. Perhaps in this instance, if no other, sending Elves in support of the Federation was the proper course of action.
But Phaedon was quick to slide past that argument with reminders of the Federation’s history of treachery and unpredictability. These were cities that, for centuries, had sought to subjugate not only the Elves but the other Races, as well. Less than two months ago, a Federation fleet had attempted to seize Paranor and destroy the Druid order. How could they even think of forming an alliance with creatures capable of such behavior?
At that point, without being asked, Seersha had entered the discussion. Taking her cue from Ellich, who glanced her way, she caught the attention of the King and asked permission to speak to the members of the High Council about what had happened to the Druid expedition when they had encountered a break in the Forbidding just a few weeks earlier. Granted that permission in spite of a disapproving look from Phaedon, she had launched into a graphic rendition of the events surrounding the struggle within the Fangs and the Forbidding by those who had gone with her. She described in detail the nature of the creatures they were up against and the savagery these creatures would display if allowed to gain a foothold in the Four Lands. She described the deaths of her friends and companions, and the terrible emotional toll taken on those few who had survived.
She closed with a warning. Aphenglow and Arling Elessedil were in search of the legendary Bloodfire that would quicken the Ellcrys seed and restore the failing wall of the Forbidding, but there was no guarantee how long that quest would take. There was no guarantee that it would succeed. The only sensible approach was to assume the worst and expect that it would fail utterly. Taking control of your own fate was the better choice. Fight now and fight hard, and your chances of survival were immediately improved.
Thus the two, Elven Prince and Dwarf Druid, had become locked in a combative argument.
“You make it sound as if the end of Arishaig is a foregone conclusion,” Phaedon resumed, sitting down again and giving her an irritated look. “You suggest there is only one choice, and you are the one to make it. Where is the reason and judgment in that course of action? Would you have us appoint you as our leader, as well? Should we dispense with our own military commanders and simply accept you as the better man? Or woman?”
She shook her head in reproach. “I do not propose to lead. I propose to stand with you. All I am saying is that time slips away.”
“Oh, yes. Time slips away. In point of fact, it slipped away entirely from your order, didn’t it? Taking with it most of its members. So now you need a new situation and a new cause. Because you did so well with the last, no doubt.”
“Phaedon!” his father called out in warning.
The Prince was baiting her, but Seersha did not bite. “I did poorly in my last situation, as did we all. But we learned valuable lessons, Prince Phaedon, and lessons that are paid for with blood and lives should not be ignored. So I say to you again: Do not mistake the extent of the danger that faces you. Act now to prevent it from getting closer. Put aside the past and embrace a future that can be different for all concerned. Assemble your army, convey it by airship to the walls of Arishaig, and end the demon invasion.”
“Let’s put it to a vote!” Ellich Elessedil insisted.
There was a general murmur of approval, and sensing the favorable mood of the Council the King was quick to act on his brother’s suggestion. Only Phaedon and two others voted to withhold support for the Federation and besieged Arishaig. Seven others, the King included, voted in favor.
When the Council was adjourned, Phaedon rose and departed without a word or a glance at anyone.
“Well done, Seersha,” the King whispered, his face expressionless as he escorted her from the chamber.
Deepest night.
Edinja Orle’s creature slid through the darkness like the passing of a great cat, all swift movement with only a suggestion of substance, carrying its limp burden easily. It had come from its place of hiding among the Elves, changing into its true form, discarding its disguise until it finished what it had come to do. No one had seen it, and no one would. It would do what it had been given to do before this night was out and then return to its hiding place and resume its other identity with no one the wiser. This night’s mission would remove one more obstacle to its mistress’s plans, and it would accomplish that mission and leave again with no sign of its passing.
Its instructions had been delivered earlier in the day by an arrow shrike, the favored messenger of its mistress. The creature had found the bird at the usual place, away from the city and the prying eyes of its citizens. The message had been plain and direct. There was no chance of a misinterpretation or a misunderstanding. The instructions were to be carried out this night, and they were
to be followed to the letter.
The creature understood and obeyed. This was Edinja Orle, after all. Refusals were not allowed.
It made its way through the city, keeping to the back paths and staying in the shadows. When it reached its destination, it took to the trees that grew thick and plentiful throughout the sprawling grounds, their branches closely intertwined, providing a perfect avenue to avoid being seen. Moving smoothly from branch to branch and tree to tree in spite of the weight of its burden, it passed above the heads of the guards keeping watch below, some hidden and some in view but none suspecting for a moment it was there.
It could not allow itself to be seen. It could not be detected. It must be as if it were never there at all.
From the trees, it passed above the roof of the building and dropped onto a section no one slept beneath so that the sound of its landing was not heard. Carrying its limp burden, it made its way across the tiles to where an enclosed courtyard sheltered interior gardens, and dropped down onto its stone walkway. From there, it entered the house through a pair of windowed doors and moved deeper inside, passing through living quarters and down a hallway to the bedrooms.
Security was light. Strong outside, where it was intended that any threats would be met and quickly dealt with, but absent altogether once inside the residence.
Even though it was the royal palace and the ancestral home of Kings and Queens, and the Elves should have known better.
It knew the layout of the home; it had been here many times before, always in its other form, always as a welcomed guest. It had been given many opportunities to study the home’s rooms and passageways, and it could find its way about easily.
It knew exactly where the old King slept.
When it entered his room, it found him slumbering in his bed, unaware of the danger. Edinja’s creature wasted no time. It set aside its burden, moved to the bedside, slid the knife from its belt sheath, pinned the old man to the bed with one hand covering his mouth, and drove the knife into his chest.
Emperowen Elessedil shuddered once as the knife reached his heart and then went still.
The creature withdrew the knife in a rough, jerking motion, spraying blood and creating the impression that the attack had been violent and heated. It threw bedclothes on the floor, overturned a chair, and arranged the King’s body to suggest that a terrible struggle had taken place and he had been all but dragged from his bed. Then it turned to the unconscious man on the floor, smeared the King’s blood on his clothes, and placed the knife in his hand.
Satisfied, it took a final look around, and then picked up a vase and threw it through the glass of the bedroom window, the sound reverberating in the night’s stillness.
Seconds later, it was back in the courtyard as the Home Guards rushed inside to discover what was happening, climbing the walls to the roof before leaping into the cover of the trees and disappearing.
16
Seersha did not visit the practice field the next day, although she was awake before sunrise. She had intended on going, but her body was aching from more than the pains of combat and she was feeling sick. When she laid a hand on her forehead, it was hot and clammy. Somehow she had picked up a fever. She wasn’t so unwell she couldn’t manage on her own, just uncomfortable enough not to want any strenuous movements in her life for at least the next twenty-four hours.
She rose while it was still dark to wet a cloth in cold well water and mop her forehead and cheeks. After doing so, she drank a glass of ale, then rewet the cloth and, carrying it with her, returned to her bed. Her way of dealing with sickness usually consisted of drinking liquids and getting rest, and she wasn’t inclined to vary what had always been a successful treatment.
Nevertheless, she had barely gotten back to sleep when she heard a knock at her cottage door. Because Mirai and the others were gone and she was living alone, no one else was going to answer the door. Fine with her, she told herself, intent on ignoring the summons.
But the knocking continued, steady and insistent, and it occurred to her it might be Crace Coram or a messenger from the King or something that involved plans for the Elven army’s travel south to Arishaig, so she reluctantly roused herself, threw on some clothes, and shuffled her way to the front door.
When she opened it, she found Sian Aresh standing in front of her looking decidedly agitated.
“May I come in?” he asked. Without waiting for her response, he pushed past her and closed the door quickly behind them.
“Is someone after you?” Seersha asked jokingly, cocking one eyebrow at him.
He shook his head. “No, someone is after you.”
She took a closer look and saw that his lean face was fatigued and his clothes rumpled. More troubling was the haunted look in his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked. “Who’s after me?”
“I am. I’m here to arrest you.”
She started to grin and then realized he was serious. “Why would you do that?”
“I wouldn’t, as a matter of fact. But that’s why I am here.” He glanced around the darkness of the room. The moon was down, but dawn was not far away. “Can we move away from the door and the windows to a place where someone looking in won’t see us talking?” he asked.
She took him into her bedroom where the curtains were still drawn. “I woke up feeling sick, so I’ve been trying to rest.” She gestured at the rumpled bedclothes and the cluttered floor. “Excuse the mess.”
He shook his head. “I have a bigger mess than this one to deal with, Seersha,” he said. “Emperowen was murdered last night. Stabbed to death. His brother Ellich was found on the floor of his bedroom next to him, blood on his clothes and a knife in his hand. He’s been charged with murder and locked up.”
Seersha stared. “That makes no sense at all! Why would Ellich kill his brother?”
The Captain of the Home Guard moved over to the bed and sat down, rubbing his face wearily with his hands. “He wouldn’t. He didn’t. But someone made it look like he did, and Ellich can’t explain what he was doing there. He claims he was asleep one moment, and on the floor of his brother’s bedroom the next. He denies everything, but that’s not going to save him.”
Seersha started to ask why, and then realized who was behind this. “Phaedon,” she said.
The Elf nodded. “With his father dead, he declared himself King. His father had already designated him as his successor, so crowning him is a formality. No one has a better claim, and the Elves don’t deviate from tradition without a very good reason. It’s unfortunate, but it won’t be the first time something like this has happened. In any event, he was quick to make the decision to lock up his uncle. A few objected, myself included, but he paid no attention to us.”
“Doesn’t he have to answer to the High Council? He isn’t King yet, after all.”
Sian Aresh shook his head. “Not in a situation like this. This is an emergency, a crisis. No one is going to object. People are frightened. First the demon breakout and the attack on Arishaig, and now the King is dead. Phaedon has taken advantage of this to claim the throne and to demonstrate his ability to lead by example. Unfortunately for Ellich, his example is not well considered.”
“Should you be talking to me about this?” she asked him.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you at all. I should be hauling you off to join Ellich. Phaedon has decided this is a Federation plot to subjugate the Elves and that you are a part of it. Your insistence on marching the Elven army to Arishaig’s aid is evidence of your complicity.”
“But first I decide to murder the King?” She almost laughed. “That makes no sense at all.”
“Not much of anything makes sense at the moment, which is why I am here. I am supposed to arrest you and bring you before the Prince to answer the charges, and afterward I am to lock you up until he decides what to do with you.” He paused. “That could be a very long time.”
“Maybe until it is too late to do anything about it?”
H
e nodded. “Of course, in order for me to do this, I have to find you, and so far I haven’t been able to do so. If you were to leave right now, I imagine I would have a great deal of difficulty tracking you down.”
“But that would suggest I am guilty of something,” she snapped. “I should stay and defend myself.”
Aresh shook his head. “I don’t think the rules of fair play are going to apply in this situation. Phaedon has waited a long time to be King; he is intent on elevating his stature in the eyes of the Elves. Bringing those involved in the death of his father to justice would be a good start.”
“And few would be troubled if one of those judged guilty was a Druid,” she finished. “But his own brother? Why would anyone believe Ellich would do such a thing?”
“Phaedon will come up with a reason and find a way to make others believe it. He is good at that sort of thing. I’ve watched him at work in the High Council for years. He is an accomplished manipulator.”
He stood up abruptly. “We’ve already talked for too long. You have to go now. Find Crace Coram, get down to the airfield before the search for you begins in earnest, and steal one of the smaller airships. Do it quickly.”
Seersha rose, shaking her head. “I don’t like this. It feels wrong.”
Aresh walked from the bedroom to the living quarters and peered out the window. Already, dawn had begun to lighten the eastern sky in a wash of silver and rose.
“Away from here, maybe you can do something useful. If nothing else, maybe you can warn Aphenglow of what’s happened. Phaedon has no use for her, either.”
Seersha was appalled. “He wouldn’t do anything to her. Arling wouldn’t stand for it, and she carries the Ellcrys seed! Without that, we are all as good as dead. Even Phaedon must know that.”
“Is there a back door?” he asked.
She turned away abruptly and strode through the house to the rear entry. “I’ll find her and warn her,” she said.
