by Terry Brooks
Shadea looked back at Sen Dunsidan. He shrugged. “She acts as my personal adviser now. Her help has been invaluable to me. I hope you don’t intend to try to rob me of it out of jealousy or a misguided sense of prior claims.”
She grimaced. “Please, Prime Minister, try not to sound as stupid as you act. I don’t care whom you bring into your confidence. Even her. She speaks the truth. She was banished when she failed to live up to her pledge to serve the order. She would not be welcomed back now even if she sought to return voluntarily. I certainly have no intention of trying to make her return by force. But you might think about her failure to serve one master and ask yourself how likely it is that she will successfully serve another.”
“I think I am the best judge of how well a person will serve me, Shadea.” Sen Dunsidan shrugged. “After all, I was smart enough to ally myself with you, wasn’t I?”
“An alliance that no longer seems to have much merit, given what I see of your present situation.”
The Prime Minister moved over to his couch and sat down again, his earnest expression only barely concealing the satisfaction she was certain he was feeling at her discomfort. She would have liked to wipe it away with her fingernails, but she wanted to see where things were going first.
“Our alliance still has value,” he said, motioning for her to sit. She remained where she was. “As I said, I acted as I did on the Prekkendorran because the opportunity presented itself. But the war is not over, and I still have need of your support. And the support of the Druid order. If I am to successfully conclude the war with the Free-born, I must press north and west to force a resolution. I cannot do this without at least the tacit support of the Druids. By the same token, I know that you need my support, as well. You lack any other alliances. The Dwarves, the Elves, the Trolls, and the Bordermen all refuse to give you the allegiance you seek. They have not yet accepted you as Ard Rhys. For that matter, some within your own order have not accepted you.”
She said nothing, holding her temper, showing nothing of what she was feeling. When the time was right, she would squash him like a bug—assuming Iridia let him live that long. Shadea was convinced that the sorceress was making use of him for her own needs and would keep him around only so long as was necessary.
“I don’t say that you won’t find a way to deal with these troublemakers, Shadea,” the Prime Minister continued. “But you must agree that it will make things considerably easier for you if we maintain our alliance rather than cast it aside. And, of course, it will make things easier for me, as well.”
“Especially if your armies suffer another defeat like the one they suffered in the passes north of the Prekkendorran two days ago.” She smiled. “How many men did you lose? More than a thousand? At the hands of some ragtag Elven castoffs you had driven from the heights?”
She enjoyed the look of surprise that appeared on his face, a look he tried without success to conceal. He had not expected her to know of the army’s defeat, a secret he had tried hard to conceal from everyone. But there were no secrets that he could conceal from her.
“You had them beaten, Sen Dunsidan. You had them scattered and disheartened, and you let them drive your pursuit force into the ground. In all the years I served in the Federation army, I never heard of such stupidity. How could you let something like that happen?”
“Enough, Shadea. You have had your fun with me. Now let it alone. I intend to rectify matters on the Prekkendorran within a few days. When I am finished, the entire Free-born army will be in tatters, and my armies will be deep within their homelands.”
“If I decide to let you do so.” She kept Sen Dunsidan’s eyes locked on her own, chained by the steel of her gaze. “I am not certain now that I should.”
She saw the rage in those eyes, his hatred for her burning in them. She did not look away. The silence between them lengthened.
“You presume a great deal, Shadea,” Iridia Eleri said suddenly.
Her voice was as cold as winter midnight and empty of feeling. Shadea was taken aback in spite of herself. Something about Iridia Eleri was not right. Something about her was changed, something deep and abiding, invisible to the eye, but there all the same.
She broke eye contact with Sen Dunsidan and glanced over. “It worries me that I may have allied myself and my order’s cause with fools. I will presume what I must to remedy such a mistake.” She studied Iridia a moment longer, then turned back to Sen Dunsidan. “Tell me, Prime Minister—must I do so here?”
Sen Dunsidan sighed. “I don’t want you for an enemy, Shadea. You must know that. I need the Druid order to give its blessing to my efforts. I need to know you will not interfere with my plans. Surely you can see this?”
Shadea walked over to the wine pitcher, poured herself a glass, and drank deeply. She watched Iridia casually as she did so, trying to read something of what it was about her that was so troubling. It was in her eyes, she thought. It was in the way she looked out at the world. The problem was there.
“You need me,” she said, “but not enough to tell me of your plans until after they are executed.”
“I have kept nothing back from you that you couldn’t find out on your own, it seems.”
“Your attack on the Elven fleet, your destruction of their army, your own army’s subsequent setback, your alliance with Iridia—what other secrets do you keep from me?”
He sighed. “What secrets do you think I keep, Shadea?”
“I haven’t heard any mention of your new weapon, the one that so effectively destroyed the Elven fleet. An oversight?”
The Prime Minister shrugged. “It is a fire launcher, a pressure feed that sends burning liquid from a nozzle mounted on our airships into others, setting them aflame. A conventional weapon, good over short distances when properly manned. It is hardly worth mentioning.”
What a pathetic liar, Shadea thought. “Which must be why you failed to mention it. Or is there something about it I might find objectionable? A forbidden use of magic, perhaps?”
“Magic?” Sen Dunsidan laughed. “Where would I get magic? Oh, you think Iridia might have given me something from the Druid storehouse, do you? Wouldn’t that be useful! But, no, the weapon was developed long before Iridia appeared with her offer of support. She brings nothing of her Druid lore or of Druid magic to our relationship. Nothing that isn’t her own, anyway. There is no betrayal of the Druids involved in the building of this weapon, Shadea. What are you worried about? The power of the Druids is more than a match for anything I have at my command. I have only my armies and my airships.”
It was difficult to judge how deep the lie went, but it went sufficiently deep that Shadea was certain the weapon was much more powerful than he was suggesting and that he intended it for more than simple warfare. At some point, he would seek to use it against the Druids, because in his heart he could never be at rest until he had destroyed everyone who might threaten him. That was the demon that had driven him since he had begun his ascent to power all those years ago. It was a demon with which she had a fair amount of personal experience.
“Your plan,” she said, “is to use this weapon against the remaining Free-born ground forces on the Prekkendorran? On the Dwarves and Bordermen?”
He nodded. “And on the remnants of the Elves who ambushed my pursuit force. The Free-born have nothing with which to combat it. The best they have been able to do is damage the airship that transports it, and that was a fluke.” He sipped at his wine. “The war on the Prekkendorran is over, Shadea, the moment my airship returns to the skies. All I require to proceed is your clear support for my efforts. For the Federation’s efforts,” he corrected.
She walked over to the window, brushing past Iridia Eleri as if she weren’t there, but feeling something so dark and empty as she did so that she wished she had avoided the sorceress entirely. Pausing at the window, she shuddered a moment in spite of herself. Whatever had happened to Iridia wasn’t anything for the better.
She looked ou
t at the city, considering her options, giving herself sufficient space and time to choose wisely. She made several decisions in that moment, but she spoke only of one.
She turned back to Sen Dunsidan. “The Druid order will support your efforts, Prime Minister. I will announce that support on my return to Paranor. But there are two conditions. First, you will speak before the Coalition Council tomorrow in support of my ascendancy to the position of Ard Rhys. You will make your support complete and unequivocal. No half measures, no politician’s word games. Second, you will fly to Paranor within the week to speak before the Druid order so that all may hear your justification for the invasion of the other lands. You are good at explanations, Sen Dunsidan. You should be able to come up with one.”
The Federation leader studied her, thinking through the ramifications of accepting her offer, as she knew he would, then nodded. “Agreed.”
She walked back across the room, her eyes never leaving his, coming to a stop when she reached him. “A final word. Do not even think about trying to use your new weapon against me. Your hunger for power is vast, Sen Dunsidan, so I know the thought has crossed your mind. Control the Druids, and you control the Four Lands. But you lack the skill and the experience to manage such a task—even with your new ally to advise you.”
She glanced at Iridia. “She is good at what she does, and once she was great. But she is only one person and nowhere near strong enough to challenge me. So keep a tight rein on your ambitions and do not forget your place in the pecking order. The Druids wield the real power in the Four Lands, just as they always have.”
She looked back at him, waiting for his response. “I won’t forget,” he said quietly. “I won’t forget anything.”
He was making a thinly veiled threat, but she would allow that. A threat was only words until it was backed up by something more substantial than anything Sen Dunsidan could command.
She moved close to him, placing herself squarely between Iridia and himself. “Watch your back, Sen Dunsidan,” she whispered.
Then she strode from the room without looking at either of them again and made her way through the halls of the compound buildings to board her airship and fly home.
“She is too dangerous,” Sen Dunsidan declared, once she was gone. He faced Iridia Eleri in challenge. “Too dangerous for either of us. You would not argue the point, would you?”
She floated across the room into the darkness from which she had come and sat down again, cloaked in shadows. “I wouldn’t worry about Shadea a’Ru, Sen Dunsidan.”
He didn’t care for the way she said it. “Well, I do worry about her, Iridia. If you choose to pretend she isn’t a threat, that is up to you. But I intend to do something about her.”
“I can protect you,” she said.
“Perhaps. But if Shadea is dead, I won’t need your protection.”
There was a long silence. “Killing her won’t be easy,” she said. “And if you fail, she will know who to come looking for. Besides, who will you send to eliminate her? Who can you trust to make certain she is dead?”
He hesitated, unable to answer those questions.
“And we have other concerns at the moment.” Iridia sounded sleepy and bored. “Your airship is nearly ready to fly again. You need to do what I told you. You need to take it into the Westland and attack the Elven home city of Arborlon. You need to convince the Elves they are not safe anywhere so that they will agree to abandon their alliance with the Free-born.”
“If I smash the Free-born army first, I won’t need to worry about persuading the Elves to abandon their alliance. There won’t be anyone left for them to ally themselves with.”
“An ill-advised course of action.” He felt displeasure radiating from her words. “A waste of time and effort. You might smash this army, but they will simply raise another. You think too small, Sen Dunsidan. You must think in larger terms. Winning the war on the Prekkendorran will not happen until you win the war in their homes. Strike at their capital cities, and they will seek your peace quickly enough. Start with Arborlon, then fly on to the others. Soon, all resistance will end.”
Her argument made sense, as it had the first time she had made it, but something about it bothered him. It felt to him as if she was saying one thing, but meaning another—as if she had thought the situation through better than he had and knew something about it he didn’t. Besides, he could not ignore the defeat he had suffered in the Borderlands at the hands of the Elves. His army, so certain of victory after the destruction of the Elven airfleet, was stunned by the abrupt turnabout. He could not ignore what that meant to morale. If he didn’t give the army a fresh reason to believe that the war was ending, it was hard to say what might happen.
“The best approach is still the one I settled on originally, Iridia. We attack the Free-born position on the east plateau of the Prekkendorran, using the airship and her weapon to break their defensive lines. Once they are scattered and the position overrun, the Federation will hold the entire Prekkendorran. Then I will do as you suggest and fly the Dechtera to Arborlon and attack the Elven home city.”
She said nothing. She stared at him from out of the darkness, an all-but-invisible presence, faceless and silent. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. Finally, he lost patience and rose. “I am going to bed. We can talk about this later. Think about what we can do to eliminate Shadea. I won’t sleep soundly again until she’s disposed of.”
He walked quickly from the room, the weight of Iridia Eleri’s eyes pressing against his exposed back.
EIGHT
Asudden lurch of the airship brought Khyber Elessedil awake, jarring her from sleep with such abruptness that for a moment she did not know where she was. Then her scattered thoughts came together, and she remembered. She was hiding in a locker in a forward storeroom that was filled with yards of light sheaths and coils of radian draws and heavy rigging. Rough voices sounded from somewhere outside the locker and she flinched anew. Gnome guards. She blinked uncertainly, listened as the voices drew nearer and the storeroom door banged open. She caught her breath as the Gnomes rummaged about, conversed in their guttural tongue, then departed once more.
She took a deep, steadying breath, squeezed free of the sail material into which she had wrapped herself, then opened the locker door cautiously and peered out.
Shadows draped the storeroom in heavy layers, the darkness broken by slender bands of moonlight spearing through cracks in the shutters that closed off the storeroom’s solitary window. Reluctant to chance another encounter that might end less favorably, she had been hiding there since she had been discovered and almost caught the previous night. If she was discovered, she knew Pen would have no chance at all.
Not that he had much anyway. After watching the flare of magic explode from the hold of the Athabasca the previous night, she feared the worst had happened already.
She slipped from the locker and moved over to the shuttered opening, peering through its cracks into the night. The airship had landed inside a courtyard ringed by high walls and stark battlements interspersed with watchtowers. To one side, huge buildings rose against the moonlit sky like the squared-off sides of cliffs. They had landed and were inside Paranor. She glanced across the courtyard for the other airships, but at first saw only dark figures scurrying about the landing site, securing lines and fastening anchors. Lights appeared suddenly in windows in the buildings that formed the bulk of the Keep, and she heard locks release and a door open. Voices drifted on the night air, whispery and muffled. She needed to get out of the storeroom to find out what was going on, but she knew it was still too dangerous to do so.
Her patience ebbing swiftly, she forced herself to wait as the Gnome crew went about its business and finally disappeared altogether, save for a watch that patrolled the yard. That she knew because a Gnome Hunter strolled by the shuttered window, thickset and armed with a spear and short sword. There would be more stationed close by. Anchored farther down the length of the yard were other
airships, their dark shapes barely identifiable in the shadow of the walls. Within the Keep, the lights remained aglow, bright squares framed by the windows through which they shone. She wondered how late it was, whether it was past midnight or not, whether it was approaching morning. She glanced at the sky, but could not tell from the position of the stars she could see.
When sufficient time had passed and her patience was exhausted, she opened the storeroom door and stepped out into the companionway. She stood listening for a long time, making certain she was alone. Satisfied at last that she was, she moved down the passageway and climbed on deck. Crouched in the shelter of the pilot box, just beyond the hatchway, she peered around the airship decking, then beyond to the courtyard. The Athabasca was anchored right next to her own ship, and the third ship was anchored just a little farther away. All appeared deserted.
But on the ground below, Gnome Hunters patrolled, slow-moving shadows in the night.
Khyber considered her situation. She could not get off the airship without alerting the watch. Yet she had to reach Pen. She assumed he had been taken inside the Keep, but could not know that for a fact without checking the Athabasca first. That would take time, however—time she felt she didn’t have.
She studied the night sky, the position of the stars and moon, reading the time. It was after midnight and getting toward morning. The Druids would be asleep, but that would all change when it grew light. Any help she could offer Pen had to come soon.
But how could she reach him when she hadn’t the faintest idea where he was? She had never been to Paranor; her time with Ahren was spent entirely in Emberen, his place of exile. He had deliberately chosen to stay away from the Druid’s Keep and its politics. Since she had begun her studies with him, he had not gone back even once, and so she had never gone, either. It was something she had always meant to do, something she had assured herself would eventually happen.
