by Terry Brooks
As if that were possible.
His emotions overcame him—frustration, rage, and despair—and tears filled his eyes. His dark face grew darker, and he hunched over as if in pain. For an instant, he was overwhelmed. He was never getting out of Paranor. He was never going to find a way to return it or himself to the land of the living. He would never see Tarsha or Dar Leah or Fade or even Flinc again. He was going to remain trapped within the Keep’s walls until he simply faded away.
He was going to die here.
It was this last conclusion that proved intolerable and brought him back to himself. Calm once more, he cast off the negative feelings and began tightening his resolve. There would be no giving up, no quitting, no acceptance of a fate he could not envision for himself. He would simply keep searching for a way out of this prison until he found it. He stared around at the shadowed walls, searching for what he knew was hiding there.
An answer to his problems, a way out of the Keep.
Cogline.
There had to be something more the old man could tell him, even if only speaking in riddles.
But that isn’t the only way he can communicate with me, Drisker realized suddenly.
He raced for the stairs leading to the higher floors, heart pounding. The Druid Histories. Why hadn’t he thought of them earlier? All of the long and storied writings of the Druids were chronicled there. Surely something about Cogline must be included, and perhaps something about how the Black Elfstone was employed to open the Keep while he was imprisoned all those centuries ago.
So anxious was he to get there, he slipped twice on his way to the third level, where the Histories were stored, barking his shins. All of the despair and depression had dropped away, and while he knew he could not be certain what he would find or how much help it would provide, at least he had a place to begin.
The pounding of his boots on the stone energized him, the rhythm urging him to go faster, but he slowed as he reached the third floor, winded and not wanting to get ahead of himself. Before him, lounging in the hallway, he could see the ghost of Cogline waiting for him, an expectant look on his withered face.
“I was curious to see how long it would take you to figure it out.”
Drisker gave him a look. “Not all that long. But you could have told me to come here in the first place.”
“Life is an education, Drisker. It is learned mostly through what you discover on your own and not through what others tell you.”
“So you don’t have anything new to reveal, I gather?”
“Not really.”
The shade looked rather more pleased with himself than Drisker thought reasonable. “Why don’t you wait out here, then?” the Druid suggested. “Stay out from underfoot.”
Cogline shrugged and melted into the walls. It was growing annoying to watch him do this. But then, it was worse than annoying to have him hanging about when he was of so little help.
Drisker opened the doors to the office that served the Ard Rhys and walked over to the curtained wall that hid the books. When he pulled back the covering, there was nothing to be found, only the stone and mortar of the bare wall. Drisker stepped back, summoned his magic, placed his hands on the wall, palms flat, and began to murmur softly. Light rose from where his hands moved across the wall’s surface, growing steadily in intensity until it was nearly blinding.
Then the light pulsed as if expanding, enveloping the Druid completely before sharply dying away. In the aftermath of its disappearance, the gloom and shadows closed about once more, and the silence returned. Drisker stood quietly staring at the space the wall had occupied, the wall itself gone.
Beyond, a bare room waited, its walls fashioned of materials that few had ever seen. A huge table with twelve chairs dominated the center of the room. Both table and chairs were constructed of finished pieces of timber with metal enhancements and fastenings and had an ancient, immutable look to them. But the Druid ignored both and walked to the walls. Starting on the right and working his way left, he ran his hands across the smooth surface, palms brushing lightly and moving in circles—as if to scrub clean something the eye couldn’t see. It took him a long time to circle the room entirely, and when he was finished he stepped away and waited.
Slowly, the walls began to dissolve. Their surfaces ran like melting ice and faded away, leaving rows of books bound in leather and iron cord, so clean and well preserved they looked newly made. Everything about the books and the shelves shone and gleamed, the pale light of the half-world to which Drisker had been sent catching new brightness. The Druid walked around slowly, studying the tomes, pulling out one or two to judge their place in time, and then finally settling on one that recounted the events of the era surrounding Cogline’s previous life.
He laid the book on the heavy old table, opened it, and began to read. The jolt of expectation he felt at that moment was immeasurable. Hope was at hand.
Several hours later it had all but vanished. He had scanned the book from end to end and found no mention of Cogline. In disbelief, he pulled the volumes on either side of the one he’d finished and scanned them, as well. Still no mention of Cogline.
A fresh wave of frustration swept through him. How could the old man not have been mentioned somewhere? He was a seminal figure in Druid lore and in the history of the Four Lands. A failed Druid who had survived death to come back when the Druids were gone and Paranor had been consigned to limbo by Allanon just before his own demise, he had helped persuade Walker Boh to become the next High Druid and was responsible for urging him to use the Black Elfstone in order…
He caught himself.
…in order to bring Paranor back into the Four Lands.
Wait. Maybe he had this wrong. It was Walker Boh who had used the Black Elfstone and returned Paranor, not Cogline. Cogline had helped to persuade him, but he was a failed Druid. Not even a Druid at all, really. So would he even be mentioned in the Histories?
Maybe not. But Walker Boh would. Drisker saw it clearly now. That was where he should be looking for an explanation.
He was turning back to the Histories to begin his search anew when he felt the scrye orb, ever present in his pocket, begin to tingle.
He knew without looking it was Clizia Porse.
* * *
—
Clizia had waited for what she believed to be a suitably long time before using her scrye orb to attempt to contact Drisker. She had spent most of the day until then considering what approach she should take to get the Druid to do what she wanted. She had woken that morning knowing exactly how she would use Tarsha Kaynin, but she had waited through most of the day to act. Best not to rush things. Best to think them through. It was midafternoon, and the girl was napping in her bedroom. Clizia had given her tea with a little something added to keep her out of the way while she carried out her plan. The drug she had added to the tea would keep her sleeping for several hours, so there was little reason to worry while she was using the scrye orb. The time she required was assured.
All this assuming, of course, that Drisker Arc was still alive. But she couldn’t help thinking that he was. It was an irrational conclusion, given her certainty just days ago that there was no possibility that he could have survived. But she had learned over the years to pay attention to those kinds of premonitions.
She gave herself a chance to think through again what she intended to say and how she would say it. She would only get one chance, and it was important that she not make a mistake. It would be easy enough to do so, after all. Drisker was no fool.
So she waited patiently until she could be certain Tarsha was asleep, sitting on the porch and looking out into the sun-streaked trees that allowed her brief glimpses of the surrounding homes, which housed the neighbors she never seemed to see. Her secretive watcher was absent today, off doing whatever it did when it wasn’t spying on her. The whole of the forest wa
s filled with birdsong and flashes of brightness as reflective surfaces caught the sunlight and spun it away again in tiny bursts. Except for the watchers, she liked it here and could have stayed and been comfortable. But once she had Drisker and Paranor back, she needed to move ahead with her plans to deal with the Skaar. How she would do so remained a moving target, but one step led to another, and until you took each step you could not be entirely certain where the next would lead.
So when she was certain Tarsha slept, she brought out the scrye orb and called upon its magic, turning its all-seeing eye on Drisker. She wondered belatedly if it could penetrate the veil that enfolded both the Druid and Paranor, but she needn’t have worried. Within moments of her summoning, he appeared before her, very much alive. She allowed herself a quick, pleased smile.
“How nice of you to visit,” he said. His voice was calm enough, but his expression was dark and menacing and there was weariness visible in his eyes. “Surprised to see me?”
“I want to make a bargain with you,” she replied, ignoring the question. “How would you like to get out of there?”
He gave her a doubtful look. “What mischief are you up to now, Clizia?”
“It appears I was a bit hasty in sending you off in such a rude manner. I should have thought it through better. Perhaps you would like to come back and join me in creating my new Druid order? I find I am not quite equal to the task I have set myself.”
Now there was merriment in his eyes. “I would rather crawl across broken glass than help you. But thank you for asking.”
“Don’t be so hasty. I can’t believe you are so anxious to stay locked away in an empty fortress. You could be there for a long time.”
“Wasn’t that your intention?”
“It was my intention to see you dead. But as I’ve said, I’ve reconsidered.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered. Just because you failed once doesn’t mean I’m going to give you a second chance. Find another way to amuse yourself. This conversation is over.”
The scrye orb went dark. Clizia waited patiently for several minutes before summoning him again. She knew this wouldn’t be easy, and she was determined not to let him distract her from her purpose.
His face reappeared, bladed and hard. “I’m busy, Clizia. Trying to get out of here on my own. What is it now?”
“Do you know where I am?” she asked. Without waiting for his response, she flashed the orb about the entry to his cottage and then settled on herself sitting in the wicker chair. “I’m comfortable here.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m happy for you. I liked my previous home better, but as you probably know someone burned it down. Still, that one’s adequate. If you stick around awhile, I will find a way to repay you for looking after it.”
“I haven’t showed you the new addition. It was added after your departure. It brightens up the place a bit. Your decorating tastes are a bit ordinary. But this helps change that.”
She rose and walked into the house, pointing the scrye orb’s eye ahead of her so that Drisker could follow where she was going. She took her time, letting it settle in for him, giving him a chance to figure out what she had done. When she reached Tarsha’s bedroom, she was sure he knew what she intended to show him. But she entered, anyway, so he could see the sleeping girl for himself. She let him have a good look at her young face, white-blond hair sprawled on her pillows, her features relaxed and beautiful as she breathed softly.
Then she backed out of the room, closed the door behind him, and turned the orb back on herself. “She’s my guest now. We are becoming great friends. I am keeping her safe and sound for you.” She paused. “For the moment.”
“She is a child!” Drisker spit at her, not bothering to hide his disdain. “You walk dangerous ground, Clizia. More dangerous than you know.”
The old woman nodded her agreement. “I expect so, Drisker. But great risk sometimes brings great rewards. And I think it might be so in this case. I think maybe she has talent with magic.”
Drisker stared at her wordlessly.
“About my bargain,” she said. “Are you ready to listen?”
“It seems I must. What is it?”
Clizia let him wait a few unnecessary moments. “Just this. I need you to bring Paranor back into the Four Lands. I need the Black Elfstone to accomplish this. I don’t care if you want to help me or not. I don’t care if you don’t choose to be a part of a new Druid order. But I do need Paranor. You can help me with that.”
There was a long pause. “You might remember that you stole the Elfstone from me when you left me to be devoured by the Keep’s Guardian. Without it, I can’t do a whole lot.”
“This is what we both thought, but we were wrong. I took the Elfstone from you but discovered later that what I really had was a cheap imitation. I don’t know how it happened, and I don’t care. What matters is that the real Black Elfstone is still somewhere inside Paranor.”
He gave her a look. “I’m surprised you are telling me this.”
“Why shouldn’t I tell you? What do I gain if I don’t? You remain trapped, but I’ve lost Paranor. If I ever want access to the Keep again, I need the Black Elfstone. So there you are, still in the Keep, ready and able to find it and use it. It’s worth risking your anger to get you to do so.”
She did not want him to gain an advantage over her, even though she was asking for his help. The advantage, she believed, was all hers. She had Tarsha to bargain with, and she was betting that would change things considerably. Whatever the case, he would not be able to resist the prospect of freeing himself, so he would use the Elfstone to do so and bring back Paranor.
She waited, but he didn’t say anything.
“Did you hear me, Drisker? You have the means to free yourself.”
There was a funny look on his face. “Or something bad might happen to my student. You forgot that part.”
She shrugged. “I’ve made no threats. You can assume what you want.”
“Where you are concerned, I am inclined to assume the worst.” His face was expressionless. “Tell you what, I’ll think about it.”
“I wouldn’t take too long to do so,” she warned. “Things have a way of changing.”
“Now you are threatening.”
She smiled. “If you say so.”
Drisker nodded. “Goodbye, Clizia.”
Then he was gone and she was left to ponder what he might do next.
* * *
—
Drisker gripped the scrye orb tightly in his fist and stared off into space. That was unexpected, Clizia asking him to find and use the Black Elfstone, confessing she didn’t have it, insisting she needed him back in the Four Lands. But only to be sure that she got possession of the Black Elfstone before she killed him. Only to be sure he was really dead this time. She would use Tarsha to make this happen—use her as a bargaining chip and as a means to weaken him sufficiently to leave him vulnerable to her magic.
So what was he going to do?
Return himself and Paranor to the Four Lands. It was the obvious choice. But first he had to find a way to make that happen. He had to wake the Elfstone’s magic so it would do what it was supposed to do. And so far, he hadn’t discovered how to do that. But he had to figure it out soon because Tarsha was in real danger as long as Clizia Porse had her.
In all likelihood, the girl didn’t even realize how bad her situation was. Clizia was trying to win her over, and this was something she knew how to do when she set her mind to it.
He turned back to the Druid Histories and began searching anew.
Somewhere in their pages was the solution to his problem.
He pulled the volumes in which the details of Walker Boh’s life and times were chronicled and began to read. He skipped past the parts devoted to his early life—before the years leading up to his time as a Druid
—not believing he would find anything useful there. When he reached the sections involving Walker’s interactions with Morgan Leah and the elemental Quickening, he slowed and studied what was written down.
Here, for the first time, Cogline was mentioned. Drisker bore down, reading everything there was to read about the old man and Walker that led up to the search for the Black Elfstone, his return from the city of the Stone King to the former site of Paranor, and his attempts to bring back the Druid’s Keep from its limbo existence. It was a slow, tedious process, and after dozens of pages he still didn’t know why the Black Elfstone would not respond to him.
But he stopped reading when he found something else, something of equal importance.
He had found a way to save Tarsha.
FOURTEEN
Tavo Kaynin had been walking for days. How many, he didn’t know. Time had lost meaning for him. Everything had lost meaning except his search for Tarsha. Since the tavern massacre in that small Westland village, he had made it a point to stay away from everyone when not engaged in asking about his sister. Every so often he would find someone who had seen her. Tarsha was memorable, the color of her eyes and hair unusual, and those who had encountered her remembered. Most knew nothing more than from which direction she had come and in which direction she had gone. So he followed along as best he could, picking up just enough scraps of information to be able to continue his search.
Until, finally, he found someone who knew something more useful.
His source was a man he encountered on a lonely road outside another unfamiliar village he was avoiding while following the steadily disappearing trail Tarsha had left in her passing. It had been several days since there had been any new information, and he was still traveling eastward, still tracking along the southern borders of the Mermidon, when he caught sight of the man approaching. He almost stepped off the roadway, intimidated by the other’s clean, well-tended dress and air of confidence. He had endured enough raw looks and rough comments about his own dirty, disheveled appearance to want to avoid inviting any more. He was afraid of his own temper by now. He knew what he was capable of doing if he became angry or frightened, and he was intent on avoiding any further incidents.
