The Measure of the Magic

by Terry Brooks

  Still, why had Isoeld threatened her with compromising her grandmother’s safety? What was it that she hoped to gain?

  She thought back over the words her stepmother had spoken, trying to remember them exactly, hoping for a clue. But nothing revealed itself, nothing seemed out of place. It all fit together nicely.

  Except …

  At the very end, she remembered suddenly. When Teonette was beating her to within an inch of her life, when everything was so crazy for those few seconds, what was it Isoeld had said?

  If you kill her, we’ll never find them.

  Them.

  Phryne’s triumphant smile would have been broader if it hadn’t hurt her face so much to stretch her mouth. Them. Isoeld had to be talking about the blue Elfstones! Nothing else made any sense. She would have known about them, of course—a valuable talisman, a legacy from the time of Kirisin Belloruus. How she had found out they were in the hands of Mistral, Phryne couldn’t imagine. But once her father was out of the way, her stepmother would have gone searching for them first thing.

  Apparently, she hadn’t found them. But she seemed to know that they were destined for Phryne and might now believe that they were in her possession. Hidden, perhaps, but waiting to be found. Isoeld would be intent on finding and gaining possession of them so that her hold on the throne was more than mere words; it was backed by the power of Elven magic.

  All this reasoning was something of a leap of faith, a broad extrapolation of a conclusion drawn from a raft of possibilities. Yet Phryne could feel in her heart that she was right.

  But what was she going to do about it? She had to get out of this room before she could do anything, and just at the moment that didn’t seem like a very strong possibility. Or even a weak one, for that matter. Not unless someone outside the room chose to help her.

  If she could just find a way to get word to her cousins!

  She was considering various impossible ways to do that when dinner arrived. The storeroom door opened and the little serving girl entered with her tray, setting it down carefully just over the threshold before she backed out again and the door closed anew. Phryne stared at the tray and the food for several minutes, trying to decide if she was hungry. She wasn’t, but she knew she had to eat.

  She climbed to her feet gingerly and crossed the room to the tray. She sat down again, too weary even from that little effort to try to take the tray back across the room. She would eat on the floor and then maybe sleep. It had been long enough now that she no longer felt concussions were a worry.

  The tray contained a hard roll, some cold meat and cheese, and a cup of water. Reasonable, if not very exciting.

  She began to eat.

  She had just finished pulling the hard roll apart and was about to take a bite of one section when she saw the folded slip of paper that was lodged inside.

  Something was written on the paper—three words in large block letters.

  HELP IS COMING

  WHO HAD SENT THE NOTE?

  It had been hours since she had split open that hard roll and found the slip of paper hidden inside, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. There were a limited number of possibilities that made sense, and she had gone over every one dozens of times. But none of them felt quite right.

  The Orullian brothers, Tasha and Tenerife, were her first choice. Her cousins and friends, they would be the ones best able and most likely to try to help her. But they were stationed at Aphalion Pass as part of an Elven Hunter contingent charged with keeping the Drouj army from entering the valley. They had been up there for weeks, and while they must know by now what had happened to her there was no way they could return to Arborlon without permission. Because Isoeld knew of their close relationship, permission was likely to be a long time coming. They were the first ones she would think of when it came to making a list of friends and relatives who needed to be kept far away. So unless they had abandoned their post—something they were unlikely to do, in Phryne’s estimation—they weren’t the ones who had sent her the note.

  Besides, even if they had come back into the city without permission, their absence in all likelihood would have been discovered by now and they were already being hunted. How much good could they do her in that case? How much, when they were at risk, too?

  Her second choice was Mistral Belloruus. Isoeld’s implied threat didn’t necessarily mean that her grandmother actually was a prisoner. Phryne had jumped to that conclusion on her own. Now she was rethinking this assumption, especially in light of her belief that Isoeld was hunting for the blue Elfstones. Since Phryne didn’t have them and Isoeld hadn’t found them, it stood to reason that her grandmother still had possession of them. Didn’t that mean she was still free and in hiding? If not, then why hadn’t Isoeld extracted their location from Mistral? Certainly, she wasn’t above using whatever means were available to her. Or did Isoeld know something about all this that Phryne didn’t?

  In any case, her grandmother might be out there trying to find a way to set her free. Those old men who worshipped the ground she walked on would do anything for her, including getting her granddaughter out of the clutches of the Queen.

  But somehow that didn’t feel right, either. While there was no reason to trust anything Isoeld told her, she didn’t like the way the latter seemed so confident that the threat of harm to Mistral would make Phryne falsely confess to killing the King. In truth, she was afraid for her grandmother, and as much as she would like to believe that Mistral was safe, she just wasn’t sure.

  Who did that leave?

  Only one other person. Panterra Qu.

  It wasn’t a stretch to think that the Tracker from Glensk Wood had heard the news of her imprisonment. Pan would never believe it was true; he would want to know what had really happened. He might have found Sider Ament and persuaded him to come looking for her. One of them or even both might already be on the way. The note could have come from them. Rescue might be at hand.

  But she didn’t think so. Panterra didn’t have the skills or means to effect a rescue on his own, and Sider Ament would approach the High Council first and arrange a meeting. Even the Queen would have trouble keeping the Gray Man out if he insisted on speaking with her. But no one had come to see her but the Queen. The note suggested that this was someone else entirely.

  So she lay on her pallet pondering the myriad options of being rescued, the candles burning in small bright spaces amid the shadows, until a darker possibility suggested itself.

  What if Isoeld herself had written the note?

  It was a decidedly chilling possibility and not one that could be dismissed out of hand. If she was right about Isoeld searching for the blue Elfstones, then she had to consider that her stepmother might be trying to trick her into revealing their location. If she thought Phryne knew where the Elfstones were, why not arrange for the girl to escape and lead her to them? After all, if you were a fugitive, wouldn’t you try to reach the one thing that could protect you best or with which you could bargain for your life?

  Isoeld was clever. She would not hesitate to use Phryne to get whatever she wanted, particularly if what she wanted was as valuable as the seeking-Stones.

  Phryne took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This business of the note was becoming increasingly complicated.

  She was still mulling the matter over when the door to the storeroom opened and the little serving girl entered bearing her dinner tray. Was it really dinnertime again? How long had it been since she had last eaten? She couldn’t be sure. It seemed it wasn’t that long ago, but there was no way to know when day and night looked the same and time was a mystery. She watched as the serving girl set down the tray, straightened, and then—as if in defiance of the very explicit order given her—beckoned to Phryne. Phryne stared in surprise, hesitating. The serving girl beckoned again. Curious now, Phryne climbed to her feet and walked over.

  When she got to within six or seven feet, the serving girl pulled back the hood of her cloak to reveal her f
ace.

  “Surprise,” said Xac Wen.

  “Xac!” she exclaimed rather too loudly, then quickly put a hand over her mouth. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you out of here. What does it look like? Hurry, Phryne, we haven’t much time. The guard is sleeping, but the drug I put in his ale will wear off soon enough.”

  She nodded quickly. “So it was you who sent me—”

  He ignored her, his attention focused on the storeroom door. “No talking until we’re somewhere safe. Come on, hurry!”

  They went out the storeroom door quickly, Phryne moving as fast as her battered body would let her. The Home Guard on watch was snoring loudly, slouched in one corner of the hall, his cup of ale spilled on the floor beside him.

  Xac Wen reached back and closed the storeroom door. “No reason to announce that you’re not here anymore,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  They hurried down the hallway to a set of stairs leading up to the back of the building, safely away from the main entry. They climbed slowly, listening for the sounds of other people, but everything was quiet. At the top of the stairs a short hallway led to a service door at the rear of the building. Xac reached for a hooded cloak hanging on a peg and handed it to her. She slipped it on wordlessly and pulled up the hood. When she nodded that she was ready, the boy opened the door.

  Cold air rushed in, causing her to flinch. It was nighttime, everything dark save for where lamps and candles flickered in windows and from behind glass casings on poles and porches. The trees looked stark and bare, spectral giants looming over houses that had a squat, hunkered-down look. No sounds rose out of the darkness save the low wail of the wind come down off the mountains to the north.

  It was early morning, Phryne decided, and most of the city was asleep. Hardly anyone would be up and about at this hour. Xac Wen—and the Orullians, she was guessing—had planned well.

  The boy started off right away, motioning for her to follow. He hardly needed to bother; she was right on his heels, casting anxious glances left and right, hopeful they had gotten past the worst. She breathed in the cool, fresh air and felt her head spin with the sweetness of it. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, still weak and a bit disoriented, still not quite believing she was free.

  “Where are Tasha and Tenerife?” she asked, but he put his finger to his lips and silenced her. Questions would have to wait.

  They made their way through the sleeping city, two more of night’s shadows, following narrow trails that were seldom used, a roundabout way to wherever it was they were going. Phryne had no idea of their destination. Surely not the boy’s home or the Orullians’ cottage. Some safer place, but where would she be safe in this city?

  She found out quickly enough when they arrived at the tree house that Tasha and Tenerife had been building some weeks earlier. Still unoccupied, it sat dark and silent, cradled in the bows of a huge cluster of spruce, barely visible in the darkness. A narrow wooden stairway wound upward through a series of platforms, and they climbed it as quickly as they could manage, gained the decking that surrounded the home, found the door leading in, and entered.

  “No one will look for you here,” Xac Wen advised, closing the door behind them. “It’s empty. I’m acting as caretaker, keeping watch until Tasha and Tenerife return. I like it here, living on my own. My parents don’t care.”

  Phryne took a quick look around, spying the vague shapes of cabinets and closets, but no furnishings or furniture save for a couple of sleeping pads pulled off to one side and stacked against a wall. The house had a nearly completed, but still not quite finished, look.

  “That top one’s mine,” the boy announced, pointing to the sleeping pads. “But you can have one of the others.”

  Phryne nodded absently. “Where are the Orullians? Aren’t they here?”

  The boy shook his head. “They can’t leave the pass. They’re being watched. The Queen doesn’t trust them. She’s scary the way she thinks about things. So they made a plan, got word to me to come up with tools they claimed they needed, told me what to do, and sent me back down again. I did all the rest. Did it as fast as I could. And here we are. The plan worked just like they thought it would.”

  He grinned like the little madman the Orullians always called him. “Come sit, Phryne. Over here. You look a wreck.”

  He pulled off the top mattress and sat on it, looking back at her expectantly. She shook her head and joined him. Then abruptly, she took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks for getting me out of there,” she told him.

  She could feel him squirm, but saw his grin broaden. “That’s all right.” He looked down at his feet. “They didn’t treat you very well, did they? It looks like someone hit you. Who did that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I don’t end up being caught and sent back. You know I didn’t kill my father, don’t you, Xac?”

  He looked up again quickly. “Of course I know!” He sounded indignant. “You wouldn’t do something like that! I don’t care what anyone says! But who do you think did it?”

  “I know who did it. Someone my stepmother hired. I was there when Father was killed, but I couldn’t see the face of the man who did it because he was wearing a mask. But Isoeld and Teonette knew it was going to happen. They watched and didn’t do anything to stop it. Isoeld attacked me and held me down so I couldn’t do anything, either!”

  There were tears in her eyes; they had appeared seemingly of their own volition, and she quickly wiped them away. Xac Wen looked horrified. “The first minister was part of this? He was helping the Queen? I’ve heard stories about them, but I didn’t think they were true.”

  “I didn’t, either. Not entirely, anyway. But Mistral insisted all along they were lovers.” She took a deep, steadying breath and stopped crying. “Xac, I have to find my grandmother. Do you know where she is?”

  The boy looked stricken. “No one knows. She disappeared from her house right after you were locked up in that storeroom. I went to look for her to ask if she could help you. Tasha said I should. But she wasn’t there. The house was all torn apart and there was blood …”

  He trailed off, unable to finish. “It was pretty bad.”

  Phryne stayed silent for a moment, fighting to keep her emotions in check. She was terrified now for her grandmother, no longer simply worried about what might happen, but devastated by what obviously had. Isoeld’s threats hadn’t been idle ones; she had gone after Mistral Belloruus.

  She shifted her gaze to Xac once more. “I have to go to her house. I have to see for myself. Can we do that?”

  “What? Tonight?” Xac was horrified. “But it’s almost morning, Phryne! People will be waking up! You’ll be seen!”

  “I know the risks. But no one knows I’ve escaped yet, Xac. By morning, they will be looking for me. If I go now, maybe we can get to my grandmother’s and back again before it’s light.”

  She paused. “You don’t have to go with me. You’ve done more than enough. This is too dangerous. You stay here. I’ll go alone.”

  “You stay here, I’ll go alone,” he mimicked. “Why would you say that? I’m not afraid! Don’t treat me like a child. If you go, I go.”

  She almost laughed at his efforts to sound tough and grown up. But that would have been a mistake, and she knew it. “All right,” she said, “you win. We both go.”

  He gave a small yelp and was out the door and on his way down the stairs almost before she had finished speaking.

  THEY WALKED BACK through the sleeping city, taking a more direct route this time because Xac was anxious to get this ill-advised visit over and done with and told her they would forgo the safer, but more circuitous route.

  “Can’t chance being caught out in the light once the sun comes up,” he declared. “If something happens to you now, Tasha will skin me alive!”

  “I wouldn’t want that,” she said, managing to keep a straight face.

 
; “You know why they wanted you out of there, don’t you?” He kept his voice low, talking rapidly as they walked. “Tasha and Tenerife? Why it was so important to free you?”

  She shook her head. “You mean besides giving me a chance to prove I’m innocent of what I’m accused?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Besides that. Most people don’t really think you killed your father, anyway. They did at first because that’s how things looked. But after they began to talk it over, they started asking questions. Why would she kill her father over an argument? Weren’t they especially close? She wasn’t like that before. She was a good person and she never hurt anyone. Stuff like that. Fingers were starting to point elsewhere. That’s when Tasha and Tenerife really started to worry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it. If you don’t get locked up for your father’s murder, your stepmother doesn’t get to take the throne. You do.”

  That stopped Phryne right where she was. She reached over and grabbed the boy by his arm. “What are you saying?”

  He shook her off. “What do you think? I’m saying that keeping you in prison keeps you off the throne. You’re next in line, you know. With your father dead, you should be Queen, not Isoeld.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. In the rush of things, amid all the confusion and anger and despair, she had never once thought about being heir to the throne. It was such a ridiculous idea that she could hardly consider it. She had always thought her father would be King for years to come, and the prospect of having to rule in his place seemed ludicrous. But now she saw how wrong she had been.

  “You still don’t understand!” Xac snapped, frustrated by her inability to grasp what he was trying to say. “Keeping you locked up is only a temporary solution. It would be a lot better for Isoeld if you didn’t need locking up. Now do you see?”