by Terry Brooks
A surge of satisfaction rippled through her, and she reached down to take him by his shoulders and raise him back to his feet. “I am pleased to hear you say so,” she whispered, not bothering to hide the strong emotions she was feeling. “I accept your word and will not question it again.”
Alone, in the darkness, they embraced and held each other. Kol’Dre had responded to her prodding exactly the way she wanted him to. He was still hers in all the ways she needed him to be. Ajin found the moment incredibly satisfying.
Two hours later, Kol’Dre flew out of their encampment with five other Skaar soldiers, following the north bank of the Mermidon River west for several miles before crossing over to the south and turning back toward the campfires of the Federation army.
Ajin went with them, of course. Kol’Dre objected vehemently, reminding her of how dangerous this excursion was and what the cost would be if she were killed or captured. She smiled at his concern and told him not to worry. All would be well.
Because Ajin d’Amphere never asked her soldiers to do anything she wouldn’t do herself—and after the disaster at Paranor, she felt she had something to prove.
* * *
—
Midnight along the Mermidon, and the sky was clear and filled with stars. A moon descending to the southeast gave that quadrant of the heavens an even brighter glow. The air was fresh and sweet with the smells of the forest and a river far enough removed from the city of Varfleet that none of its industrial stench was in evidence. A rustling in the grasses signaled the approach of some small nocturnal animal, its passage audible only because of the deep night quiet. Even the hunting owls and the smaller night birds made no sounds as they swooped from tree to tree, their winged flights nothing more than the passage of shadows.
The Federation guards on the western flank took disinterested note of everything, spread out in a precisely staggered pair of sentry lines stretched across the very perimeter of their encampment, keeping their eyes directed toward the space from which any danger might approach. They were seasoned veterans, and there was little they had not witnessed personally during their various tours of duty.
All were wakeful and doing precisely what they had been taught to do, the ones in the forward line keeping a lookout for what might move in the dark in front of them and the ones in the back keeping an eye on the ones just ahead of them.
A good system in most cases.
But not this night. Not when these men needed to be looking behind them.
The Skaar raiders—seven in all, including Ajin—swept in from the south, well behind the entire Federation encampment, cutting through a corridor that separated the watch on the western perimeter from the main body of the army. They had scouted the watch the night before to determine numbers and positions, so the Skaar knew whom to look for and where. They were swift and sure—seven lethal ghosts invisible to those they passed, man and animal alike. They started with the back six guards, coming up on them without a sound and silencing them with knives driven straight through the base of the skull or across the throat, lowering each dead body silently to the earth before moving on.
Not one sound was given to alert the front line of seven. And all seven went down in the same fashion as their brothers-in-arms, their lives ended in seconds.
The Skaar assassins revealed themselves long enough to be sure that all their victims were dispatched, then converged on Ajin and Kol’Dre. No words were spoken. None were necessary. The plan had been carefully detailed earlier, and all of them knew what to do. Retreating the way they had come, they melted into the darkness, disappearing as if they had never been there, making sure they were well away before allowing themselves to become visible again.
They found their aircraft, boarded, and flew westward, their return following the exact same path as their arrival, crossing the Mermidon to the north bank when well upstream and winging their way back to the Skaar encampment.
“Now we will see,” Kol’Dre whispered in Ajin’s ear as they drew near to their own fires.
She nodded wordlessly. It was a big gamble, but a necessary one. She needed it to work in order to set in motion the events that would gain her the edge she needed over the Federation. And to manipulate things once her father arrived with the rest of the army and learned of her failure to prevent the loss of Paranor.
Because she knew what would happen otherwise. He would strip her of her command and send her home in disgrace.
It was what she would do if she were him.
SIXTEEN
By the time he finally reached Emberen, Tavo Kaynin had been on the road for ten days. It would have taken longer, but in the end he had stolen a horse and ridden for the last three days of his journey. He was worn down both mentally and physically. He had killed twenty-three people—his parents and his uncle, Squit Malk, the men in the tavern, and the man on the road whom he had broken in order to find his sister—but it meant nothing to him. He no longer felt anything was wrong with killing when he could justify it by pointing to the ways he had been mistreated. Fluken was quick to reassure him that he should not allow others to abuse or mislead him—and that anyone who did should expect to pay a price. If the cost of their transgressions was their lives, it was unfortunate for them but no blame should attach to Tavo.
That was Fluken’s thinking—and now Tavo’s as well. That was who he was. He was, in short, a creature he would not have recognized a few months earlier. His mind no longer worked as it once had. Yes, he still sought his sister with the same relentless determination that had driven him from the beginning of his flight from Backing Fell, and nothing had changed to his way of thinking where Tarsha was concerned. She had betrayed him. She had left him in his uncle’s care just as their parents had and then abandoned him. Like everyone else, she deserved the retribution he planned to deliver.
He entered Emberen, a ragged and soiled creature—his demons raging inside him and his desperate need to exact revenge on his sister beyond understanding—sitting astride the stolen horse he had ridden half to death. Fluken sat behind him, invisible to all who glanced his way, whispering steadily in his ear, urging him onward, prodding him relentlessly. Fluken was his friend, and he listened. But in truth, he felt the hold that Fluken once had on him beginning to weaken. He no longer needed Fluken as he had before. He better understood how powerful he was, how much in control of a magic that for so long had been in control of him. He understood that letting the magic guide him, that letting it think it was in control when actually it wasn’t, allowed him to be its master.
He saw no problem with this reasoning. He saw nothing wrong with his newfound conviction that he had mastered something so powerful simply by deciding to go along with its urges.
It was early morning in the village and there were few people about. Most who saw him turned their heads. Most sensed in him something they did not want to get close to. But these people did not matter. They were no different from trees or storefronts or animals; he would suffer them but not allow them to deter him.
Twice he stopped people to ask after Drisker Arc—one a man, one a woman. Each time they were quick enough to respond, pointing him down the road and beyond the town. The woman gave more explicit guidance, however, telling him exactly where to go and what to look for. The Druid had moved recently, she revealed. Someone had burned down his cottage. There was in her eagerness to reveal what she knew both fear and loathing. Which of these emotions was for Tavo and which generated by mention of the man he asked after, it was difficult to say, but it didn’t matter. A path to his destination had been provided, and Tarsha would be waiting not too far ahead.
He abandoned his horse just outside of town, climbing down gingerly and setting the animal loose to wander where it wanted. A man passing gave him a questioning look, but Tavo ignored him. The horse was a burden he no longer needed. The man hesitated as if to reprimand him for his lack of care, then ap
peared to decide against it and passed on. Others he encountered gave him looks, as well. He knew he was a sight, unwashed and bloodied, his clothes ragged, his face drawn and scarred. He had eaten nothing in three days save an apple and a half loaf of bread another traveler had offered him. He had found water easily enough, but nothing else. Not that either food or water much mattered. He wasn’t thinking of sustenance and didn’t miss it. All of his attention was focused on reaching Tarsha and putting an end to this part of his journey.
Fluken walked beside him, jaunty and fresh-faced. He never seemed to change, not even in the smallest way. No dirt ever appeared on his face or hands or clothes. He never ate anything—at least not that Tavo saw—preferring to sit back and watch his friend eat. Perhaps it was his unselfish nature that caused him to forgo food for the benefit of his companion. Perhaps he just didn’t care all that much about food. It was hard to say. Everything about Fluken was confusing and vague save his insistence on tracking down Tarsha.
They passed out of Emberen, leaving its shops and businesses behind, and moved into a residential district where stretches of forest separated the houses and outbuildings. A pair of children came running out of a patch of woods off to one side, caught sight of him and hesitated, then raced back into the trees. A dog barked at him from the end of a heavy chain. The dog was big and dangerous-looking, but Tavo just stared it down. In moments the dog had turned back, slinking away with a low growl.
When he reached Drisker Arc’s cottage, he recognized it right away from the description the woman in the village had supplied. It was set well back from the road, a small building of white-painted boards and a brick chimney. A broad covered porch ran the length of the front side, enclosed by an ornate metal railing and a broad wooden capstone. A pair of ancient straight-back chairs and two small tables occupied the available space and seemed entirely insufficient for the job.
Tavo stood looking at the cottage for long minutes, trying to decide what to do. He needed to find his sister, but he didn’t want her to see him and flee. He thought to call out, then stopped himself. Better just to walk up to the door and knock.
He was on his way up the gravel pathway when the front door opened and an old woman clothed in black appeared on the porch. She didn’t see him at first; her clear intent was to sit in one of the chairs. But even without looking at him, she seemed to sense him and turned. And the expression on her face stopped him in his tracks.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a tone of voice that suggested he ought to answer.
“I’m looking for my sister,” he said.
“Why look here?”
“This is Drisker Arc’s home, isn’t it? I was told she was coming here.”
The old woman studied him a moment. “What is your sister’s name?”
Tavo was growing irritated. He didn’t like being questioned, and it felt like this delay might be purposeful. What if Tarsha was already slipping out the back?
“Tarsha,” he said.
The old woman shrugged. “She’s not here. She was, but now she’s gone.”
Suddenly Tavo was infuriated. The old woman was lying; he could feel it. She was trying to help his sister.
“I know she’s inside. You better tell her to get out here!”
“You better watch your tongue.”
Tavo smiled. “You don’t know what will happen if you don’t do what I say! You don’t have any idea what I can do.”
The old woman smiled back. She took a few steps along the porch and came down to the bottom of the steps. “No, I don’t. But I know what I can do, and it would be a whole lot worse than anything you could possibly imagine. I know about you. Your name is Tavo, isn’t it? Are you like your sister, Tavo? Do you have magic, too?”
Tavo’s face went dark with fear and anger. There was something about this old woman that made him pause. Even Fluken, standing off to one side, seemed hesitant. He did nothing to urge Tavo on, neither moving nor speaking as he stood there, eyes on the old woman.
“Now do as I say,” she said quietly, “and don’t press your luck. I have magic, too, Tavo. And I have spent many more years than you have discovering what it can do.”
Then, abruptly, the door behind her opened, and Tarsha stepped out onto the porch.
* * *
—
Tarsha was still bleary from her meeting with Drisker—real or imagined—the night before, but she had heard the voices, and even in the warm cocooning wrap of her slumber she recognized Tavo’s. She had not believed it at first, but as she became more certain she knew she had to go to him. She forced herself all the way awake, climbed from the covers, and walked through the cottage to the front door, still in her nightdress, listening as Clizia and Tavo conversed, and growing increasingly concerned over the tone of their voices.
When she opened the door and stepped onto the porch, both stopped talking instantly.
She gave Clizia a look. “I want to talk to him,” she said. “I have to.”
The Druid gave her a doubtful look, then stepped back to clear a path. Tarsha came down the steps and walked past her. “Hello, Tavo,” she said when she was a dozen paces away.
She stopped, waiting on him. His face was hard to read. There was anger, but confusion, as well. As if now that he had found her, he didn’t know what to say. Or didn’t know if this meeting was even what he wanted. He stood there for long moments without speaking or moving, his eyes fixed on her.
“You left,” he said finally.
She nodded. “To find help for you. To find the Druid who lived here so he could teach me how to help you with your magic.”
He shook his head, an angry look in his dark eyes. “No, you ran. You ran as fast and as far as you could to get away from me! You abandoned me to those creatures that called themselves my parents! And you left me to that monster, that…”
She could see him spiraling out of control, and she held up her hands quickly to placate him. “I know. I returned to Backing Fell after you left, Tavo. I know what you did to them, and why. I know you are hurting. You have to let me help you.”
“You don’t want to help me!” he screamed at her. “You wish I was dead! You hoped I was dead!”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t wish that. I never wished that. I just didn’t know what to do to help you. You told me to go away when I came to see you, even though I didn’t want to. I knew you were in trouble, but Mama and Papa couldn’t see it. But now I know better what the magic is and how it works. I know how to manage it—and how to help you manage it. Just let me…”
Tavo’s fists were balled up at his sides, and his entire body was rigid. “You filthy liar! Fluken knows! He knows you’re lying! He can see you’re trying to hide the truth, and he tells me!”
She looked to where he had glanced, but there was no one there. Who was Fluken? She tried again. “What can it hurt to let me try to make things better, Tavo? What if I really can make the pain go away and the magic behave? What if I really can help you? Tavo, I love you. You’re my brother. I would never leave you and not come back. Can’t you see that?”
And for a moment, it seemed he could. The tenseness left his body, and his face softened. He was back to being the boy he had been all those years ago when they were still close—before their parents had sent him to their uncle’s farm to live. He blinked rapidly, tears welling in his eyes, and he shook his head as if waking from a dream. “Tarsha?” he asked softly.
She nodded, sensing she still had a chance. “It’s me, Tavo. I’m glad you’ve found me. I will do everything I can to help you. I will try hard to make you feel better. We can work together…”
He seemed to be listening, responding, then suddenly he wasn’t doing either. His expression became distracted and then turned vacant. With a swiftness that was terrifying, he transformed from the boy of ten years ago to the enraged young man wh
o had come to find her. All the softness disappeared, and the hard look that replaced it was so frightening it caused her to take a step back.
“Tavo…” she whispered but got no further.
“You witch!” he screamed at her. “You were going to trick me again, weren’t you? Do you think I am so stupid I cannot see it?” His fists opened and his fingers crooked like claws. His arms came up threateningly and thrust toward her.
“Tarsha!” Clizia Porse called in warning.
“Leave us!” Tarsha shouted back. “Tavo and I must settle this ourselves!”
She was conscious of Clizia’s sharp hiss of disapproval; then the other woman stepped away. Tavo was screaming something at her—sound and fury that defied any comprehension—and abruptly the madness that had recaptured him released in the howl of his wishsong. His wild magic slammed into her with such force that she was thrown backward onto the gravel walkway. She did not lose consciousness, but she was dazed and weakened by the force of his attack. Even so, her own magic quickly sprang to her defense—a wall of sound that blocked Tavo’s attack and shattered his efforts.
Her brother staggered back but recovered quickly, staying upright as his eyes cleared, and he came at her again. His power was stronger than she remembered, more fully developed and less raw. It slammed her down once more, even before she could regain her footing, pinning her in place as he advanced. Wrapping herself in a new defense, she rolled away from his strike and managed to get to her knees before he changed tactics. But this time she was ready for him, and she lashed out in retaliation. Their magic collided in midair before bursting apart in an explosion of light and energy so powerful it shook Drisker’s cottage to its foundation and knocked Clizia backward out of view.
Tarsha rose once more, her body aching. Her brother glared at her, breathing hard, trying to recover himself. “Tavo, stop this!” she cried to him. “We need to talk! There’s no point in fighting.”
