The Sorcerer's Daughter

by Terry Brooks

  “Yes, Commander.” And Baliscom moved off, leaving Darz to his thoughts. He watched Paxon surveying the room while the members of the Druid delegation began the tedious process of offering formal greetings to their counterparts, accepting glasses of cold ale from service staff that appeared with trays. He surveyed the room a final time while the delegates exchanged small talk or studied notes, waiting for the Prime Minister to open the negotiations.

  Everything seemed to be sufficiently locked down. Everything appeared to be just as it should.

  So why did he have a nagging feeling that maybe it wasn’t?

  Across the Assembly chamber from Fero Darz, Paxon was conducting his own survey. While the members of the delegation continued their small talk prior to the beginning of negotiations, he checked out each of the guarded doors, the soldiers down on the floor along with the Druid protectors, and Fero Darz himself. The only oddity was the behavior of the latter. The Commander of the Ministerial Watch seemed uncomfortable, shifting about and frowning, casting glances this way and that. This made the Highlander nervous. He supposed this was just the way Darz behaved when he was on alert, but the extent of his agitation was troubling. Paxon’s own examination of the room had not revealed anything out of place, but he was experienced enough to know you must always be prepared for the possibility that you still might miss something.

  He almost left his post to confront the other man, but at that moment the Federation Prime Minister rose to begin his formal comments. He seemed much older than Paxon remembered, even though not much more than two years had passed since they’d last come into contact. But time weighed more heavily the older you got. The Prime Minister was well into his eighties, and the lines and hollows on his face gave testament to the stress and burden of responsibility he had weathered.

  “Friends, countrymen, and guests from the esteemed and highly talented Fourth Order of Druids. Welcome all! It is a momentous occasion that brings us to this table, and a formidable task that we have chosen to undertake on behalf of the people of the Four Lands. This day marks the beginning of what I hope will become a new era of cooperation and understanding between us. This day, I believe, marks the first of many that will be remembered years from now as the end of enmity among all Races and Governments, and the beginning of a new brotherhood.”

  Well spoken, Paxon told himself. At the same time, he was thinking, But they are only words.

  The welcoming speech continued, the Prime Minister warming to his subject and doing his very best to describe the euphoria and excitement he felt at the future he envisioned. Paxon should have been more encouraged, but mostly he felt the same lack of interest such speeches always seemed to generate. He wished he could feel differently, but experience said otherwise. Politicians were adept at making everything sound positive, but the results so often failed to live up to expectations.

  He glanced several times at Fero Darz and caught glimpses of a similar reaction.

  Then Paxon turned his attention to the others in the room. There were varying expressions on the faces of the delegates, most of them impossible to read. The Federation soldiers looked bored. Since the Trolls never changed expression, it was hard to tell what they were feeling. Paxon kept his place several feet behind Isaturin, but he was beginning to wish he could walk around a bit. Isaturin made his remarks quickly, then the delegates moved on to a discussion of specific issues. The Prime Minister and then the Ard Rhys would suggest a subject, and a discussion would follow. Much was said, but not much was decided. Agreements to strengthen trade routes and share information on methods of mining ore and on planting and irrigating crops came quickly enough, but that was about it. Everything else provoked heated discussion and impasse after impasse.

  The morning dragged on.

  It was nearing midday when an adjournment for lunch was announced, and the negotiations broke up long enough for serving staff to bring in platters of food and pitchers of ale. Paxon took the opportunity to walk across the floor and up into the raised seats of the forum to exchange greetings with Fero Darz.

  “You’re looking good, Paxon,” the other declared, exchanging a handshake. “Does your life go well?”

  Paxon nodded. “Well enough. How do things stand these days in the Ministerial Watch? A little more settled?”

  “Settled and mostly quiet. I have the men and women I want serving under my command, I have a budget I can live with, and I have autonomy in my work. Mostly. I listen to the Prime Minister and the senior army officers, and ignore everyone else.”

  Paxon glanced around. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are we safe enough in here?”

  “You ask this for a reason?” The other’s smile did not reach his eyes.

  “When I was looking over earlier, you seemed upset about something. Irritated? Dissatisfied? Am I wrong?”

  “No, but you can’t always read my mood from my face. I wasn’t upset exactly. I had one of those uneasy feelings people like you and me get all too frequently in our profession, as if something was amiss. I couldn’t identify what it was or even if it was real, but it was there. That’s what you saw. I don’t like mysteries.”

  “Nor I. Like you, I looked everything over, but I didn’t see anything troubling. You’ve got the room locked down and well guarded. Everything looks good. This is all rather boring, actually.”

  Darz grunted. “Might be all the talk, talk, and more talk. Worst profession in the world, being a politician. Too much of what you rely on is your own hot air. It makes it harder for you and me to keep our eyes open like we need to.” He glanced around. “I have to get back to work, but I’m glad to see you looking so well. Now go on back to your side of the aisle. We don’t want our employers thinking we’re too friendly.”

  Paxon grinned, they shook again, and the Highlander walked back down to the Assembly floor and over to the food trays. He was about to take meat and bread for a sandwich when he glanced back at Darz and saw him climbing the Assembly aisle steps toward the doors directly behind him, the urgency in his movements unmistakable.

  At the top of the steps, the doors stood unguarded.

  —

  It was right after Paxon Leah had departed that Fero Darz realized what was bothering him. When assignments for security were handed out prior to this gathering, he had hand-chosen all of the personnel. He wanted to be certain of the people he had working with him while the negotiations were ongoing. He wanted to be able to trust everyone who would be representing the Federation during the days ahead. The people he had selected were well known to him, and most had been tested on other occasions and proven reliable. As a matter of course, at the beginning of the morning while everyone was getting settled, he had scanned the faces of his guards to be certain they were all in place. At the time, everything had seemed fine. But still something had felt vaguely wrong. It was a subconscious recognition, the sort where you see it without at first realizing, the lingering sense of things not being quite right.

  Now he knew why.

  One of his guards was missing, and the doors right behind him were not secured. There was no one guarding them at all.

  He started up the aisle at once, calling to Baliscom. They were within a dozen steps of the top when a long wail rose out of nowhere, a deeply chilling sound.

  Heads turned, searching for its source.

  Then a dark shadow appeared—something that was not much more than an amorphous blob suspended against the ceiling thirty feet up, swirling like smoke stirred by intense heat. There were shouts and cries from those watching. Everyone took a step back but otherwise remained frozen in place, waiting to see what was happening.

  From across the room, Paxon Leah shouted, “Get them out! Get everyone out!”

  It took Darz a moment to realize the Highlander was shouting at him.

  But by then it was too late.

  While most were still watching the shadow expand and contract like a living, breathing organism, the doors behind Darz and Baliscom flew all the
way open and a creature out of everyone’s darkest, most terrible nightmare entered. It resembled in parts a cat and a wolf, and yet was neither. It was entirely black, its lithe, sinuous body sleek and elongated, as if it had been stretched out of shape. There was an opaqueness to it that did not reflect but absorbed the light, suggesting more emptiness than presence in the space it occupied. Its muscles flexed, ready to propel it forward. It crouched, eyeing the creatures in front of it with yellow orbs so bright they seemed to glow. It sniffed the air and made a keening sound—deep and mournful, matching the one that had come from the shadow on the ceiling seconds before.

  Down on all fours it went, swinging its flat head from side to side, a hypnotic movement that held everyone frozen in place.

  Everyone except for Darz. Delay now would be fatal. “Guards!” he screamed. “Weapons up! Fire!”

  Flash rip charges exploded across the room and slammed into the intruder. It shuddered and seemed to shrink into itself in response. Darz waited for it to go down, but the creature just shook itself and lunged, coming down the aisle directly toward Darz and Baliscom. The latter had his flash rip out of his holster and was firing wildly, but he only managed three shots before the creature was on top of him, tearing and ripping with teeth and claws. Baliscom died screaming, unable to save himself. Darz was already backing away, yelling to his men, repeating Paxon’s warning—knowing it was too late for his second-in-command, but maybe not for the delegates, his primary responsibility. Even though it was probably pointless, he drew his own weapon to try to get a shot at the creature’s head.

  But the creature was too quick for him.

  It dropped Baliscom’s lifeless body and was down the stairs and into the knot of delegates clustered behind the oval table in one shadowy flash of movement. Federation soldiers and Trolls from the Druid Guard were attempting to herd the delegates from the room, but most were frozen with fear.

  Darz saw Paxon’s sword gleam brightly, the fire of the Druid magic forming green snakes along the length of the blade. If Federation science couldn’t stop it, maybe…

  But Paxon could not seem to get himself into a position to do anything. He was blocked by the milling delegates and guards, and even shouting at them and trying to shove them aside wasn’t getting him any closer. The shadow that had been clinging to the ceiling had begun to spread, engulfing the entire chamber. The screams and cries of those trapped within rose to a new level, and a surge of bodies flooded toward the exits.

  Then the creature leapt, and the killing began.

  —

  Paxon was trying to fight his way through the fleeing delegates. He shouted at them to let him through, brandishing his sword to emphasize the urgency, but they paid no attention. He didn’t blame them. Like himself, they didn’t know what they were up against. But one thing he did know—flash rips didn’t affect this creature. He had to hope Druid magic would kill it, because otherwise they were all doomed.

  Miriya and Isaturin must have been thinking the same thing. Instead of fleeing with the others, they had turned back and positioned themselves between the creature and those fleeing it. The thing was still busy tearing apart the guards who had tried to stop it and so for a moment paid no attention to the Druids. It had already caught three of the Federation delegates, including the Prime Minister, and savaged them so badly there was nothing left but body parts. The Prime Minister’s head lay off the one side, eyes open and staring. Of the others, even less remained.

  But there was no time to dwell on that as the creature turned on the Druids. Both Isaturin and Miriya had conjured separate forms of magic to ward off or disable it. Both were trained in defensive magic; both were skilled and capable wielders of elemental power.

  Yet neither stood a chance. The black thing went through them as if they weren’t even there, ripping apart their magic-induced shields with such ease that Paxon felt his heart stop. Then the creature brushed them aside, barely slowing as it did so. It had no interest in them, Paxon realized. It was after the three Federation delegates who had escaped it.

  Now it was his turn to hold it off. He had finally gotten through those charging up the aisle and he barred its way, heart hammering, the power of the Sword of Leah thrumming in his arms and body. As the creature launched itself, he swung the blade with such force that, had it connected, he would have cut the creature in half. Green light flared and the snakes raced up and down the metal edge like sunlight on moving water.

  But his blow missed entirely.

  The creature went past him so swiftly that he found nothing but air. One black arm caught him a glancing blow, the force of it throwing him backward into the Assembly seats.

  Then it was on top of the delegates, hauling them in like fish in a net. One, two, a third, they seemed to explode with the fury of the attack, limbs separating from bodies, blood flying everywhere in red showers. The hapless men and women died almost before they knew what was happening. A few screams, a single cry for mercy, and then they were gone.

  Abruptly, the creature was standing alone in the midst of the Druids and a handful of Troll guards. The entire Southland delegation and most of its protectors had been destroyed. Not one of the former remained alive, and besides Fero Darz only two of the latter. Those three stood on the far side of the Assembly floor, staring in horror at what had happened, no longer sure what they should do. Paxon, Miriya, and Isaturin were all pulling themselves back to their feet, trying to recover sufficiently to help their fellows.

  The Druids and Trolls of Paranor stood scattered about the aisle steps, only scant yards away from a monster they had no chance against.

  Only Karlin Ryl seemed able to act. She moved a few steps closer to confront the beast, standing before it like a slender reed in a strong wind and speaking softly to it, lips moving and hands weaving—a kind of soothing action that might have calmed an animal of rational thought. But was this thing even capable of thinking rationally? Paxon feared for Karlin as he watched her trying to communicate, and he heard Isaturin cry out in warning.

  “No, Karlin!” It came out as a howl, long and sharp and unmistakable. “That’s a Sleath!”

  But if Karlin heard or understood, she did not react. She continued her efforts, and indeed the black thing seemed to be listening to her with an almost hypnotic intensity, its posture becoming less threatening. For just a moment, Paxon thought maybe she’d be able to do what the rest of them could not.

  Then the moment was gone. The creature threw back its head and wailed. The sound was terrifying as it rose to a feverish pitch. The shadow that had preceded its appearance and turned the room from day to night dissipated completely, and the chamber air cleared. Paxon struggled up and started forward, intent on reaching Karlin before the creature could turn on her.

  Yet in the next instant, the creature began to break apart into tiny fragments, like ash flying up from a fire. These whirled wildly before descending in a rush on Karlin, engulfing her momentarily and then passing through her and disappearing entirely.

  A stunned silence followed. For a few endless seconds, no one said anything. Eyes scanned the room, wanting to make certain it was gone. Hearts and breathing steadied and slowed. Memories engaged, as everyone called to mind that all those lying dead about them had been alive only minutes ago. Shock said this wasn’t possible, but experience assured them it was.

  “Paxon!” Fero Darz called from across the room. “I want everyone to remain where they are until I’ve called in new guards and had a chance to examine the room thoroughly!”

  Isaturin spoke instead. “I see no reason for us to remain in this room, or even in this city. That was a Sleath, Commander! A thing of magic. A terrible, dangerous conjuring that only a handful could have managed. I intend to take what measures I must to protect my people. We will speak of this another time!”

  “Ard Rhys!” Darz shouted, his voice raised in anger now. “Did you take note of what happened to that thing? Did you witness exactly where it went after it broke a
part?”

  Paxon knew where this was going. The black creature had passed through Karlin Ryl before disappearing. And wasn’t it strange that the creature had killed only the Federation delegates? Wasn’t it odd that it had left the Druids unscathed? There was no mistaking it. Whatever had actually happened, that was the appearance. And Isaturin might well be right about the nature of the beast. Arcannen Rai sprang to mind as one of the few who could conjure it, but strong magic was not solely the province of the sorcerer. The Ard Rhys and a few other Druids had such magic at their command, as well.

  Isaturin seemed to realize the problem, too, but his mind was made up, perhaps in no small part because of the obvious danger in waiting around for others to decide his fate.

  “We will return to our home, Commander. When all this is sorted out and you have need of us again, we will meet. We have our resources, too, and we will do our best to find out who is responsible for what was done here. But it was not our doing, nor was it in any way carried out with our knowledge or approval.”

  Only Fero Darz was no longer listening. He had leveled his flash rip at the Ard Rhys and called for his surviving soldiers to do the same. Weapons pointed, they squared off against the Druids, holding them at bay.

  “Fero, please don’t do this!” Paxon begged him.

  But the Commander of the Ministerial Watch had witnessed the death of the entire Federation delegation and two dozen of his own soldiers and been powerless to stop it. He was not likely to cede power of that sort again without trying to dredge some small measure of redemption from his self-perceived failures. Not when those most likely responsible for what had happened were standing right in front of him.

  What Fero didn’t understand was that he had no real power to cede when it came to detaining the Druids, and it took only seconds for Miriya to whisper the words and make the subtle gestures that caused the flash rips to turn so hot, all three men dropped them instantly.