The Darkling Child

by Terry Brooks

  So they talked about it further, and then she went back to her writing and he returned to the bow to watch the land ahead as it passed beneath them. They would reach Arishaig by nightfall in this fast clipper, and after a good night’s sleep they would be given an audience with the Prime Minister in the morning. Paxon had never met the man, although he had heard Aphenglow speak of him. A good man, by all accounts. But a cautious man, as well—one who did not trust easily and who understood the value of subterfuge and duplicity in politics. If you were his friend, he would not betray you. All others were subject to the whims of his assessment in any given situation.

  All of which meant they would have to be careful.

  By the time nightfall came and the lights of the Capital City crested the horizon, he was fast asleep. It was Avelene who woke him, shaking him gently and whispering, “Sorry I was so hard on you,” as he pulled himself to his feet.

  Although afterward, when he thought back on it, he wasn’t at all sure that was what she said.

  —

  He slept poorly that night, in part perhaps because he had slept earlier while still aboard ship, but in part, too, because he was anticipating the events of the coming day. He went to sleep thinking of them and woke without any resolution. He was troubled by the role Avelene had assigned him—as instigator or investigator where comments merited intrusion. He had no idea how he would manage this or what he would say. He imagined it was not possible to know until the moment was at hand. He could anticipate, but probably not by more than a sentence or two. It was like lying in ambush without knowing who might be coming.

  After washing and dressing, he met Avelene for breakfast in a dining hall that served members of the Coalition Council and their staff as well as visitors housed in the complex that comprised the Federation government offices. He saw a few faces he thought he recognized, but no one spoke to him. He was dressed in loose-fitting hunter’s clothes overlaid by his well-worn black cloak, which bore the emblem of the Druid order. Avelene wore similar clothing, although her cloak was the more distinct and recognizable garb that marked her clearly as a Druid. They ate alone and with little conversation, absorbed in thoughts of the meeting ahead, focused on thinking through what they imagined the Prime Minister might have to say to them and how they might respond.

  When breakfast was finished, they walked from the dining hall to a tiny garden off to one side and sat on a bench while waiting for the appointed time for their meeting to arrive.

  “Have you met him?” Paxon asked finally.

  Avelene shook her head. “Everyone says he is a good man.”

  “Aphenglow Elessedil thought so. She had a high opinion of him. She said he could be trusted.”

  “Be careful anyway.” She caught his eye. “We are babes in the woods in this business. Don’t forget it. Tread lightly.”

  When the time for their appointment arrived, they rose from the bench, walked over to the building that housed the offices of the Prime Minister, and climbed three flights of stairs to where his staff greeted them. With no waiting at all, they were ushered into his empty offices and seated in chairs in front of a massive wooden desk polished to such a high sheen that the glare of the diffuse daylight off its surface caused them to squint.

  There they sat, waiting. They neither spoke nor looked at each other. Paxon felt his nerves grow taut and his expectations heighten. He had removed the Sword of Leah from where it had been strapped across his back and had laid it on the floor next to his chair. He felt oddly naked without it, and wondered how quickly he could reach it and draw it free of its sheath if the need should arise. It was foolish thinking, given where he was, but it was the kind of thinking he had grown used to as a protector of the Druid order.

  When the Prime Minister finally arrived, he was smiling broadly and anxious to reassure them that his tardiness was the result of another meeting and in no way intended to suggest that this meeting was any less important.

  “No one wants to feel as if they are being dismissed prematurely,” he added, reaching down to shake their hands warmly. “So I had to exercise some caution in ending the previous meeting. How are you? Did you sleep well? Were your quarters comfortable?”

  He was a slight man, taller than average and rather spindly in appearance. He was probably in his late sixties or early seventies, and there was a somewhat worn look to his expressive face. His grip was strong, though, and he seemed to have abundant energy in spite of his age and the toll his position as leader of the Federation might have taken on him. Glancing at the glare off his desk, he asked them to sit with him off to one side where there was a small grouping of couches and easy chairs, all padded and pillowed and comfortably drawn in for private conversation.

  Before joining them, he stuck his head back out the door and asked that tea and ale be brought. While waiting for that, he kept the conversation limited to small talk—how were things in Paranor, was Isaturin settling in as Ard Rhys, was the order continuing to add new members to its roster?—all of it accomplished with a smoothness and openness that attested to a lifetime spent mastering the fine art of engaging in easy communication with others.

  When the beverages arrived, he asked the bearer to advise the staff not to disturb him until he was finished with his visitors.

  “Now then,” he began, as the other departed, pulling the door closed tightly behind him, “where to begin.”

  He rocked back slightly, considering. “I am faced with a difficult and potentially embarrassing situation. It all revolves around Arcannen Rai, but he is not the instigator of the problem. You may have already heard some of what has happened. Almost two years ago, a band of airship pirates operating out of a coastal village called Arbrox began raiding Southland freighters and transports. The thefts were annoying at first, but grew steadily more troublesome until they became intolerable. So to try to discourage further raids, I asked the Federation Army High Command to put an end to it one way or the other. Unfortunately, the command assigned the job to the Red Slash division out of Sterne, which pretty much determined how things would go. The commander of the Red Slash, a man named Dallen Usurient, has little patience and less tact. He quickly decided a scorched-earth approach was warranted. He conveyed his soldiers to Arbrox, attacked the village, and killed everyone—men, women, and children. He did this without anyone’s authorization and without any measurable consideration for the consequences. Then he tried to cover it up, insisting that only men—the pirates in question—had been killed. I found out soon enough that this was not the case. But I let the matter slide because the disciplining of soldiers in these situations is a tricky matter. How clear were their orders? How much leeway did they have? If Usurient overstepped himself, should punishment be visited on his men? What sort of resistance do I encounter if I intervene and ask that he be removed as Red Slash Commander and another be appointed to fill his shoes?”

  He sipped his tea. “All questions I could only answer as Prime Minister and not as philosopher to my conscience. In any case, a new wrinkle developed shortly afterward. Unfortunately for the Federation, the pirates were sheltering Arcannen at the time of the attack, and although the Red Slash were quite thorough in killing everyone else in sight, they somehow missed him. Arcannen took the attack personally and decided to avenge the deaths of his protectors. He sent word to Usurient that—and I quote—‘Arbrox is coming.’ ”

  “Odd that he used the name of the village and not his own,” Avelene noted.

  “Arcannen is nothing if not enigmatic. When I learned of this—something not reported to me by Usurient, but by another who values loyalty over self-interest—I waited to see what my commander would do. What I expected was that he would not wait for Arcannen to come to him but would go after Arcannen first—most likely taking a large contingent of the Red Slash with him. He has authority to do that, although only in situations in which he views Federation interests to be in immediate and substantial peril. But Usurient has his own measuring stick for these t
hings. Do you like the tea?”

  Both Avelene and Paxon nodded. “Herbal,” the Highlander said. “A mix of mulkeet, basil brew, and lavender.”

  The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. “Very good.”

  “My mother used to make it. She gathered the ingredients and mixed them in proportions I have forgotten. But I remember their taste.”

  They all sipped silently for a moment before the Prime Minister continued.

  “So. Defying my expectations, Usurient decided on a different approach to the problem of Arcannen. Instead of sending the Red Slash, he dispatched a small band of hunters and cutthroats who have served him in various ways in the past. Their leader, Mallich, is well known; he raises fighting animals called drasks. Ugly creatures, very dangerous. He also raises others, including crince. Even more dangerous than drasks, those crince. You might have heard of them. In any case, none of them is safe to be around, even if you were the one who raised and trained it. But Mallich is more dangerous still.”

  He paused. “And the men he took with him on this outing were released from the Federation prisons in Sterne. One is a killer who was supposedly locked away for life; the other is one of the keepers. I do not deceive myself. Either is capable of committing unconscionable acts without the burden of thinking on it afterward. All three will present a test even for someone as versatile and creative as Arcannen.”

  “So they have been sent to kill Arcannen?” Avelene asked. “But why is this a problem? What do you care what happens to the sorcerer?”

  The Prime Minister nodded, as if wondering himself. “I care nothing for Arcannen. Do not mistake me. But I would prefer it if he came to an end at the hands of proper authorities and not through a rogue enterprise sanctioned by one of my commanders acting outside his authority. I would prefer it not result in collateral damage of the sort that occurred during the massacre at Arbrox. I alerted Isaturin and the Druid order when I discovered what was afoot because your own interests in Arcannen are at least equal to those of the Federation. We all want the same thing—Arcannen brought to justice. If an opportunity exists to make this happen, we should work together.”

  “But you asked for us specifically,” Paxon pointed out.

  “Yes, what is it exactly that you want us to do about all this?” Avelene added quickly.

  “Nothing that you wouldn’t do anyway.” The Prime Minister finished his tea and set the cup down carefully. “Go to Arbrox, assess the situation, and do whatever you feel is appropriate. If Usurient’s creatures are successful, then Arcannen is no longer our problem. If they fail, perhaps an opportunity for you to succeed will present itself. I would, of course, appreciate being advised as to how this turns out by someone I can rely upon to tell me the truth.”

  “Which you do not think Usurient will do?”

  “Which I do not think Usurient will do.”

  “Again,” Paxon said quietly, “why did you ask for us specifically?”

  “For you, in point of fact, young man. So that I might speak to you directly. You know Arcannen better than anyone. You’ve fought against him, and by all accounts you are the only one to survive such an encounter—and not once, I might add, but several times. I know you serve as the High Druid’s Blade. It is logical you would be designated as both companion to and protector of whichever Druid or Druids Isaturin sent to Arbrox once you got word that Arcannen was there. I felt it important to advise Isaturin that your inclusion in this effort was important.”

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Now listen carefully. The Federation is supposed to be allied with the Druids in this matter. We are supposed to be working together. I seriously doubt that Usurient’s men will see it that way. I am admittedly anxious to avoid an incident where Druids and Federation are suddenly engaged in a life-and-death struggle with each other.”

  “So this is a warning to be careful.”

  “That, yes, but something more. I am offering up, here in the privacy of my office, the bitter admission that for the moment I seem to have lost control over a small faction of my army. It isn’t the first time and, quite possibly, it won’t be the last. Even more galling is the realization that there is a limit to the amount of interference the Federation Army Command will tolerate from its Prime Minister. I must tread lightly in this matter. But you need to be aware that those members of the Federation you might run across on your search for Arcannen do not represent the government’s interests. More to the point, you need to understand how dangerous they are. I do not wish you placed in needless peril, so I am telling you how things stand. If by some circumstance these creatures come to a bad end at your hands, no blame will attach to you because of it. Whatever becomes of them, I give you my word that the Federation will not hold you or anyone connected with the Druid order responsible.”

  Paxon knew at once that there was more to this disclaimer than what the other was telling him, but he couldn’t decipher at that moment what the Prime Minister was keeping hidden.

  “So you are saying we are free to do whatever is needed to protect ourselves,” Avelene finished. “We need not concern ourselves with what happens to Mallich or his men or their fighting animals. Or with what happens to Usurient, as well?”

  The Prime Minister nodded slowly. “If it comes to that. Usurient has overstepped himself, and a reckoning is inevitable. Your safety and your assessment of what that requires take precedent over concerns for Usurient’s fate. I thought it important for you to understand how matters stand. I have sent word to recall these men and their animals, but I expect it will not reach them in time. I don’t even know if Usurient has gone with them. I don’t know if you will encounter him. I do know that if there is any reason for them to act against you, they will not hesitate to do so. Any of them.”

  He paused meaningfully. “Just so you know that Arcannen is not your only concern.”

  The silence that followed was ominous and heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then abruptly the Prime Minister rose and extended his hands. “I must leave you now. I have another meeting to attend. Endless meetings are the pattern of my life. I sometimes wonder if there is any other point to my service as Prime Minister.”

  Avelene stood with him. “Thank you for taking time to warn us about your commander and the others,” she said, taking his hands and holding them momentarily. “We will be careful.”

  “I do hope so,” the old man said softly.

  Then he turned from them and was gone.

  —

  When they were clear of his offices and safely out of earshot, departing the building for the airfield where their fast clipper waited, Avelene turned to Paxon. “You know something, don’t you?”

  Paxon nodded. “I suspect something, anyway. He told us what he wants us to know about these rogue soldiers who act against his interests. He says he wants us to be prepared so that we can act freely against them. I think he wants them dead. If we manage to kill them, that would save him the trouble of having to dispose of them later.”

  “But you also think he will throw us to the wolves afterward?”

  Paxon shrugged. “I think he might. If he finds it convenient to do so. But he wants the Druid order to continue to support him, so that would likely be a last resort. Blaming us for anything that happens won’t help him maintain a good relationship with the Ard Rhys.”

  She smiled. “You are very good at this. I am impressed. But here’s something you missed. What drives the Prime Minister is something more primal than what he suggested in his analysis of the situation.”

  “He’s angry?”

  “No, Paxon. He’s afraid.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Concentrate,” Lariana urged him, standing off to one side, safely clear of any blowback from losing control of the magic.

  Reyn tried hard not to look at her, although looking at her was what he wanted most to do. Instead, he stared out into the bleak emptiness of the rocky terrain that spread away from the ruins, poised atop what remained of one wa
ll. Arbrox was behind him—or at least what remained of it was, its cluster of shattered buildings with walls and roofs collapsed in rain-dampened heaps barely recognizable for what it once had been. There was nothing here for him to look at save her, but he knew that doing so in the midst of a summoning was dangerous for them both.

  “Concentrate,” she repeated patiently.

  They had been working at this exercise for two days—today for almost six hours, the sun by now gone so far west it had disappeared into the mountains, the light dimming as the clouds lowered and the rain increased. He was cold and miserable, but there was no help for that. He must keep practicing. He must try and try again until he found the key that would allow him to master the magic. But it was hard. And monotonous and discouraging. And now, after so many hours with no success, it was beginning to seem pointless.

  If he could just look at her once, he thought. Just once. Then he would feel encouraged enough to continue. He had been staring at nothing for so long that both his stamina and his focus were beginning to waver. His efforts at imagining something coming alive and taking form were losing strength. Six hours, and he had almost nothing to show for it but weariness and despair.

  How could he ever hope to aid Arcannen against whatever was coming for them if he could not do what was expected of him? How could he hope to protect her—she, for whom by now he would give his life if it were required?

  “Close your eyes,” she told him.

  He did so, happy to close out the cold and the gray, the rain and the dark—happy to be somewhere else, if only in his mind. Anywhere else.

  “Now picture it. Find it and hold it in place. Then use your voice. Make the image come alive.”

  Her words so calm and steady, her voice so determined. She seemed to know what to tell him, almost as if Arcannen had trained her to do so. Was that possible? He had not thought so before this afternoon, yet now he was beginning to wonder. She seemed so certain of what was required of him and of how to go about securing it. Yet Arcannen had not once appeared to witness her efforts. He was inside, away from everything that was happening—or not happening—so that they were left alone to carry on.