The Skaar Invasion

by Terry Brooks

  “I made you an offer. It was yours to accept or decline. Have you come to a decision?”

  She took quick note of his surroundings. The gray tones and haze, the dimness of the light surrounding him, and the stone and mortar walls looming in the background, told her all she needed to know. He was still trapped inside Paranor.

  “I have,” he acknowledged. “I’m afraid I have to decline.”

  “You do know what will happen to the girl, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore. Nor, I think, do you. Things have changed a bit, haven’t they?”

  A cold certainty swept through her. She tried not to show anything in her expression. He knew she’d lost Tarsha, which meant he knew she no longer had a bargaining chip with which to persuade him to return.

  She gave a small shrug. “I admit she’s run off. I’ll find her and bring her back quickly enough.” She paused. “I think we both know she won’t be meeting with you, however. You’re still trapped in Paranor. Do you really like it in there so much?”

  Drisker shook his head. “I was puzzled for a time, but now I’ve figured out the solution. I won’t be here much longer.” He leaned forward to be close when he spoke next, his voice lowered. “But there’s time for me to free myself now, isn’t there? Tarsha has friends to help her, and you won’t be finding her all that easily. Your hold over me is gone, Clizia. If I were you, I would find the deepest hole in all the Four Lands in which to hide. I would be covering up and praying hard I don’t find you. Because I will be looking very hard.”

  “You don’t scare me, Drisker!” she snapped.

  He leaned back, and just before the scrye orb went dark, he said, “I’m coming for you.”

  * * *

  —

  “You have to understand,” Rocan Arneas began, still seated beside Shea, “I’ve spent a good many years of my life just knocking about, trying to stay out of trouble and mostly finding it, anyway. I didn’t have much direction in my life—which wasn’t the fault of my parents, who tried to steer me right. But they had five other children, and I was young, headstrong, and eager to experience everything I could.”

  Oh, brother, Shea thought. Now he’s going to tell me the story of his life.

  But this time it appeared Rocan couldn’t read his thoughts; he continued on. “I was making my money in gambling halls by then. I was good at games of chance; I had a knack for knowing what to do and when to do it. I’d left home while still young and gone east to the Southland cities. No one knew me there. No one knew of my reputation. The gamers in the big cities were easy pickings. They took one look at me and saw an easy mark. They thought they knew how to play, but they were amateurs next to me. I took them for everything I could wherever I went. And just before I could build a damaging reputation, I picked up my stakes and moved on. I lived frugally—sort of, if you don’t count the women and the drink—saving everything else for when I would need it. I didn’t know when that would be, but I believed I would find it one day.”

  He paused. “And then I met Seelah. You’ve already heard a little of the story. I found her locked away in a cage in an outlying village in the upper Borderlands, east of Varfleet. I was traveling through, saw the cage, and asked what was in it. The villagers didn’t know. All they knew was that they’d never seen anything like it, so that meant it was bad and probably dangerous—especially since it reminded them of moor cats. But when I looked into that cage, I saw something beautiful. I don’t know how they ever got her in there in the first place, but she couldn’t get out. I found out later it was the iron that bound her. Iron saps the strength from some of the Fae, and Seelah couldn’t break free.”

  “So you let her out,” Shea said, interested now that the story was about Seelah. “And you’ve been together ever since.”

  “We weren’t together at first. After I let her out, she raced off into the forest. It was the dead of night, so there was no one around to see it. I went back to bed, and woke the next morning to find the village in an uproar. I pretended to be just as surprised as everyone else, stayed around long enough to enjoy a bit of lunch, and left. I never saw a sign of Seelah after that. Eventually, I just chalked it up to another strange episode in my life.”

  Shea started to ask a question, but Rocan quickly held up his hand in a cautionary gesture. “Bear with me,” he said. “I haven’t finished.”

  Seelah was suddenly beside him once more, appearing out of nowhere to nuzzle his hand; he stroked her silky hair in response. Her golden eyes found Shea, and her purring was so loud it seemed to cause the air to vibrate. In that moment, she seemed more cat than woman.

  Rocan shook his head and smiled. “Several months passed, and I was working the smaller cities below Leah when I got myself in trouble. Overstayed my welcome without intending to, and a bunch of dissatisfied players who had lost a king’s ransom to me earlier came searching. They caught me unaware and hauled me off to the woods, where they were going to hang me. They had the rope and everything.

  “Unfortunately for them, they made a mistake by choosing to finish me off deep in the woods. If they’d hung me in my rooms or dragged me out onto the village green, I’d be dead. But Seelah had been following me around all those weeks—watching me, studying me maybe. She shot out of the trees like the mad, wild thing she sometimes is, and those men broke and ran so fast they must have set new land speed records. She slapped a few of the slower ones around, but let them all go in the end.

  “Then she chewed through my ropes—quicker for her that way rather than using those dainty fingers—and off we went. I didn’t know what she wanted from me at first, but she made it known soon enough. She wanted a companion. Well, she wanted me for a companion, at any rate. So that was how we ended up traveling together. Right up until now.”

  There were a whole bunch of questions Shea wanted to ask about Rocan and Seelah’s relationship, but none of them seemed quite appropriate—or any of his business. It was enough that they were partners and now he was being asked to join them. Was this good or bad? He couldn’t tell yet.

  “But none of this explains what we are doing here now, or how that machine is going to change the world,” he pointed out instead.

  “Prologue,” the other said, smiling. “I like my stories complete. But here’s the answer to your question. I stumbled on Tindall during my travels. I found him here in Arishaig, after some acquaintances had told me there was an old man working with diapson crystals in new and unusual ways. Mostly the Federation employs the crystals in weapons and vehicles—airships and flash rips and the like. War equipment that serves only a single purpose. Tindall thought that was insane. He thought the power of the crystals could serve other uses. Peaceful uses. He thought this fixation on war was leading us down a dangerous path that could well cause another Great War.”

  Shea shook his head. “I didn’t think anyone had that kind of power anymore. I was told the Great Wars were the result of massive explosions—ones that destroyed entire cities.”

  “And poisoned the air and water and food and practically everything else. Sickness was deliberately introduced into whole populations to wipe them out. And no, we aren’t yet at that point, but we could get there. Tindall believes we aren’t that far away from seeing it happen. The Federation is a militant power with ambitious plans for dominating the other Races and occupying all of the Four Lands and perhaps beyond—and their leaders reflect that ambition. So something has to be done to blunt its direction. Tindall decided awhile back to see if he couldn’t find a way.”

  “So he’s a scientist?” the boy interrupted. “Like in the old days, only with diapson crystals?”

  “A fair description. He has developed some amazing inventions. He invented a device that allows people to talk to each other from miles off through hand-sized units. Voice messaging, he calls it. But the Federation knows about it and wants to use it for mil
itary purposes—not for public communications. It’s still in the improvement stages at the moment, but it won’t be long before it’s ready.”

  “So why did he tell them about it in the first place?”

  “He thought it would be a good idea at the time. He thought they would listen to him when he suggested public communications. He thought wrong. When he realized what they intended, he refused to give them any plans. That’s probably why he’s locked up just now—he didn’t do what they wanted.”

  “But they don’t know about this?” Shea pointed toward the machine. “How did he keep that a secret?”

  “He doesn’t know where it is.”

  Shea stared at him. “How can that be? He invented it, didn’t he? Whatever it is?”

  Rocan stood. “Long story. Come with me.”

  He walked over to the strange machine with Shea following. Together they stood next to it, gazing up at all the odd components. The machine was huge—at least as big as a small house, if somewhat more strangely shaped. There was the funnel with its mouth pointed skyward, a cluster of wheels and gears, parse tubes of varying sizes, light sheaths that were furled but connected to the tubes by radian draws, catch basins closed and sealed, and cables, wires, and connector tubes going everywhere.

  “This is Annabelle,” Rocan said softly, placing one hand on the side of the machine as if to pet it.

  Shea glanced over at him. “You named it?”

  “Seemed the right thing to do, given what she is.”

  The boy frowned. “And are you going to tell me what she is?”

  Rocan turned to him and placed both hands on his shoulders. “Annabelle can control the weather.”

  Shea gave an audible sigh, now quite certain that Rocan Arneas was crazy.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Tavo Kaynin woke while it was still dark, confused and logy, his thinking clouded and his head pounding. He was not feeling well, and he wondered if something he had eaten had sickened him. But he had no memory of having eaten or, if he had, what he had eaten, so there was nothing to be done about it. His thoughts turned instantly to Tarsha and her escape. He was riddled with anger and frustration at the thought that he might have to track her down all over again. The old woman had tried to help, but her help had been insufficient, and now he was wondering if there was any reason to stay with her any longer.

  He sat up slowly and waited for his head to clear enough that he could attempt to leave his bed. He remembered the old woman bringing him back to the cottage after Tarsha had fled, and that creature that had helped her had killed itself. He remembered the old woman giving him medicine to help him sleep. He seemed to recall her saying she would help him find his sister, but that might have been his imagination. After all, his magic was much stronger than hers. She was so ancient she could barely move around.

  No, it was best if he thanked her, bid her a quick goodbye, and went on his way.

  He wondered suddenly about Fluken. It had been awhile since his companion had spoken to him. Awhile, in fact, since he had even appeared. Tavo wondered suddenly if Fluken was gone—if he had tired of waiting and simply decided to go off on his own.

  But Fluken would never do that. Fluken would always be there for him, no matter what.

  Nevertheless, he grew nervous thinking about life without his only friend. So finally he dragged himself from his bed and stumbled over to the door. It was closed, but not all the way, so he peeked out to see what might be waiting for him. There was no one there, and the cottage was as dark as the night. He paused for a few moments longer, just to be sure it was safe, then crept from the room. Down the hall he slipped, quiet as a mouse, afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. He had no reason to be afraid, of course. He was a match for anything, his magic capable of snuffing out a threat as quickly as breath could a candle. He was invincible, and that was why Tarsha was doomed.

  When he reached the front room, he could see the old woman through the window, sitting in her high-back wicker chair on the porch, staring into the night. At first he thought to turn around and slip out the other way, but he was afraid if he did that Fluken might not see him go. Besides, he wasn’t afraid of this old woman, was he? This…her name was…

  For a moment he couldn’t remember. Then it came to him. Clizia. Clizia Porse. Yes, that was it. And no, he wasn’t afraid of her. Or anyone, for that matter. Why should he be?

  He walked out onto the porch and stood looking at her. She turned her head to look back at him, and there was a coldness reflected in her eyes.

  “You thought about running off, but you shouldn’t do that,” she said. “I would have known the moment you tried and stopped you.”

  He stared at her in surprise, startled that she could somehow know what he was doing. “I’m not afraid of you!” he snapped.

  She rose to face him, taking her time. “Nor should you be,” she replied. Her voice was suddenly warm and reassuring. “I’m not your enemy. I’m your friend. I’m the one who is going to find Tarsha for you. And her friends, as well—all of whom are plotting against you.”

  Tavo nodded slowly. “They are, aren’t they? Plotting with her. She wants to hurt me. She is afraid of me!”

  The old woman smiled, her sharp eyes holding his fast, trapping him like a fly in a spider’s web. “We have to do something about them. We have to take them away from her. Then she will belong to you again.”

  “I know. They have to be taken away.” He understood without entirely knowing why. “How do we do that?”

  She stepped close. “We’ll go where they are and we’ll kill them, Tavo. All of them. One at a time. You and I. I will be there to aid you, but the most important of them is the one you must kill first. Will you be able to do so? Will you be strong enough to kill someone who is just as dangerous as either you or I? Will you be afraid of someone like that?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not afraid of anyone! My magic protects me.”

  She reached out, took hold of his wrist, and made him kneel beside her. She stroked his cheek gently. He was reminded of another woman’s touch in that moment, but he could not think whom the woman was. “I will help you,” she whispered. “I will give you something even stronger than your wishsong. I will give you a weapon nothing can stop. Would you like me to do that?”

  “What weapon?”

  “I will show you when there is daylight. And then you will practice with it. You will learn to use it. It will become a part of you. With this weapon and your wishsong magic, you will be invincible. No one will be able to stand against you. But you must listen to my instructions. You must let me teach you.”

  He nodded, his gaze gone blank and unseeing. He was seeing now with his ears, listening to the pleasant hum of her voice. He was feeling her presence—strong, reassuring, and protective. There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted to help him—that she would help him. He only needed to listen to her. He only needed to pay attention.

  “Tell me you will do as I say,” she whispered once more, closer now—so close he could feel her breath on his face. “Tell me you are my friend and my companion, and that you will never disobey me.”

  He repeated the words, not even caring what they meant, only caring that he do as she said. When he finished, she handed him a cup of tea. “Drink this, and go back to bed. Rest until the sun rises.”

  He did as she asked, draining the tea in a few quick gulps before handing her the empty cup. “Who are the ones who took Tarsha?” he asked her. “Who is it I must kill? Then will I be allowed to kill Tarsha, too?”

  “We will see about Tarsha,” said Clizia Porse. “But you most certainly must kill the others. A highlander, an Elf, and one more. A Druid. He will be the hardest one of all. Then you may decide what to do about your sister.”

  “A Druid,” he murmured. “Then Tarsha.” He was growing very sleepy, and thinking was su
ddenly very hard. He looked blankly at her. “What is this weapon you will give me? What does it look like? I want to see it.”

  He was insistent now, wanting a look. He needed to see if it was right for him. He needed to be certain. “Show me now!” he demanded.

  She seemed to think on it for a moment—or maybe it was longer—before reaching into her robes and withdrawing a wicked-looking long knife as black as night. “This,” she told him, “is called the Stiehl. See the smooth line of the blade, the way the finish glistens? See the runes carved into the handle? There is only one of these in the entire world. It can cut through anything. No armor no matter how thick, no wall of stone or weapon of any kind can withstand it.”

  Tavo reached for it, but she jerked it away. “Ah, ah, Tavo Kaynin. First you must learn how to hold it properly. You must learn what it can do by testing it. For that, we need light. Morning will be soon enough for you to begin your lessons. We mustn’t rush. There is time for what is needed. Now go back to sleep.”

  Tavo hesitated, wanting suddenly to find Fluken, to see him and know that he was still there, but Fluken failed to appear. Clizia was watching him, measuring him in the darkness, waiting on him to do as she had ordered.

  He nodded finally and rose to his feet. There was no reason to delay longer. He was so tired. He needed badly to go to his bed. He went back inside the house and down the hall to his room.

  In minutes, he was sound asleep.

  * * *

  —

  The Coalition Council was in session and an argument over the allotment of expenditures for soldiers and equipment in various locations was in progress when an aide appeared next to Ketter Vause. He looked up, reminding himself that her name was Belladrin. She was young and relatively new to the position, but smart and efficient, so he knew that his standing admonition not to disturb him unless it was an emergency had not been forgotten. The troubled look in her eyes confirmed that something was seriously wrong.