by Terry Brooks
But now, at last, after more than a week of waiting, it seemed things might change and the waiting come to an end. She couldn’t imagine another reason the King would summon her. Her impatience to confirm that she was right was matched only by her exhilaration at the prospect of doing something besides sitting around.
Nevertheless, she took time to strip off her protective gear and weapons, gather them up and put them aside, and then straighten her clothes and hair. She would see the King looking somewhat better than a tavern brawler—whatever the news he was about to impart.
A part of her was anxious to make her escape from Arborlon and the Elves because of how uncomfortable she was with both. A fish out of water didn’t begin to describe it. She was a rough-featured Dwarf woman with an eye patch, multiple tattoos, and a body ridged with scars acquired in countless battles both while serving as a Druid and before. She was not openly shunned by the Elves, but she was clearly avoided. Except for a handful of the Home Guards who respected her skills as a fighter and cared nothing for the prejudices harbored by so many others against all things and people Druid, she was pretty much alone. Only Sian Aresh had shown more than a passing interest in spending time with her, talking at length about military tactics and training. But while the Captain of the Home Guard visited with her as often as he could, he was limited by the extent and demands of his duties.
At least she had Crace Coram for regular company, and they had whiled away long hours reminiscing about growing up in the Eastland and the Dwarf communities that had been home to them at various times in their lives. Coram was as impatient with their inactivity as she was, and in the last two days he begun coming to the practice field to spar with her, as well. The two shared the common bonds of Race, homeland, warrior background, and the events of the Druids’ ill-fated journey into the Westland to find the missing Elfstones.
But it was the absence of Aphenglow that really left Seersha feeling isolated and alone. The two had been friends from the beginning of their time together at Paranor. Whatever secrets or private thoughts they chose to reveal, they revealed them to each other first, even after Aphenglow fell in love with Bombax. This sense of closeness had only increased since the rest of the Druid order had been decimated. And now, with Aphen gone in search of the Bloodfire, Seersha felt increasingly isolated.
She finished cleaning up, stowed her fighting gear, and signaled the messenger that she was ready. As she departed the practice field, a few of her sparring partners called out, making tart, rough-hewn comments and wishing her well, bringing a smile to her face. She waved back to them, cheered by the sense of camaraderie.
Things really weren’t so bad, she decided.
With the messenger a few steps ahead, keeping silent and apart as they walked back through the city toward the palace grounds, Seersha found herself studying the young man’s lithe, slender frame and comparing it with her own thick, stocky build. Here was another contrast that served to point up the obvious differences between Elves and Dwarves. She was enormously powerful and could probably crush the messenger’s head between her bare hands. But while she was inordinately strong, she was slow afoot and not particularly agile. She envied him his ability to move so smoothly and with such little effort. She envied all Elves, for that matter. She could never expect to move like that.
Normally, she wouldn’t have given that jealousy more than a moment’s thought. But it was an uncomfortable reminder of why she felt so out of place in Arborlon, where there were so many Elves and almost no Dwarves.
She let that feeling persist for a few minutes longer before dismissing it as self-indulgent. There was no place or reason for that sort of thinking. She was better than this, in any case, and letting such feelings trouble her was irritating.
She had forgotten the matter and improved her attitude by the time she reached the palace grounds and walked up to the front doorway of the ancestral homes of the Elven Kings and Queens. Home Guards shadowed their progress coming in, and two were there to meet them at the door. After determining that they were expected, the guards admitted them, and the messenger took her down a hallway to a reception room and departed.
She waited no more than a few minutes before the King and his brother, Ellich Elessedil, appeared in the doorway.
“Thank you for coming,” the former greeted her, taking her hands in his own. He made it sound as if it mattered a great deal that she was there, and she was immediately suspicious. “We need your services badly, I am afraid.”
“Whatever I can do, High Lord,” she said.
Ellich closed the door behind them, and the three moved over to a gathering of chairs in a windowless corner of the room. The King seated Seersha across from him while Ellich moved over to the window as if intent on keeping watch. Outside, the gardens were flowering, and the air was thick with scents that wafted through cracks in the window sash.
“The demons have broken out of the Forbidding,” the King announced without preamble. “Sometime yesterday, they started massing around Arishaig.”
“Arishaig?” Seersha repeated, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“I thought the same,” Ellich interjected, looking over at her. “Why there? Why not here? The Elves are the obvious enemy of the creatures in the Forbidding. But we still don’t know the answer.”
“There is every reason to think the city will be taken.” Emperowen was leaning forward now, his voice lowered. “If that should happen—something we think likely because of the size of the invading army—Ellich and I believe we will be next. We can’t sit around waiting for that to happen.”
“Like you have been doing up until now,” Seersha pointed out.
The King was taken aback by her bluntness, but he nodded in agreement nevertheless. “We will follow the steps taken by Eventine Elessedil when he was King and the Forbidding failed all those hundreds of years ago. We will unite the Races and make a stand against our common enemy.”
“The Dwarves will fight,” Seersha said at once.
“I thought you would say as much. But we will need more than that. We will need the men and women of the Borderland Cities, as well. And the Trolls from the deep Northland. Word will be sent at once, asking for their help.” He paused, glancing at his brother. “Ellich and I believe we need to make an immediate effort to save Arishaig. There are hundreds of thousands of people trapped in that city, and if a way to stop the attack of the demonkind isn’t found, they will be overrun and killed. Do you agree?”
“The Federation army is the strongest in the Four Lands,” Seersha pointed out, looking from one to the other. “Their largest garrison is housed in Arishaig. The city won’t be easily taken.”
“Nevertheless,” Ellich said.
She looked at him. “Yes, the city will be taken sooner or later. The creatures of the Straken Lord will keep attacking until it has fallen. Which is why we shouldn’t be sitting around discussing the matter. We have lost time to make up for. If you can assemble an army, I will travel with them to Arishaig at once. Crace Coram will return to the Eastland to inform the Dwarf tribes and rally their fighters to our—”
Emperowen held up one hand to stop her in mid-sentence. “Our course of action is clear, but not yet approved. There is a problem.”
She nodded slowly, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “The Elven High Council?”
“I require their permission before I can declare war and dispatch an army of the size required. It is by no means certain that the Council members will grant this.”
“There are some among them who will never even consider allying the Elves with the Federation,” Ellich interjected. “Our history is a bitter one, and some among our people have long memories. There will be no problem with allying ourselves with the Bordermen or Dwarves or even the Trolls, but those alliances have traditionally been formed against the Federation.”
Seersha sat down slowly. “So the High Council may choose to leave the Federation to its fate rather than swallow their pride? They will
abandon our strongest potential ally because of a history that is now more than a hundred years in the past?”
“Sadly, yes.” Ellich left the window and walked over to a sideboard, where he poured three glasses of ale and passed them out. “There are prejudices and resentments that will be difficult to overcome.”
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! Amd 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 d
ay 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.
