The Stiehl Assassin

by Terry Brooks

  “Yes, I do. Just because I tease you a bit doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

  “But why a kiss?”

  “Curiosity? I don’t get many chances to kiss pretty girls.”

  “So I’m your lucky choice?”

  He shrugged. “When opportunity knocks, you open the door. Come on. One kiss.”

  She stared at him some more, and then she nodded. “One kiss, that’s it. Then you tell me everything.”

  “That’s the agreement.”

  He leaned forward, waiting for her to do the same. She did so slowly, reducing the distance between them to inches. All she could seem to think about was how annoying this boy was and how little she wanted to do anything to please him. Kissing him seemed like a betrayal of her personal beliefs. He leaned forward a little more, very close now, his lips pursed. And then he stopped, a perplexed look on his face.

  “We don’t need to,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you would do it.”

  Her response was instantaneous. Who did he think he was messing with? She seized the back of his neck and pulled his mouth tightly against hers, holding the kiss for several long seconds, letting him savor the feel of her lips.

  Then she released him and moved back again. “A deal is a deal. Start talking.”

  FOURTEEN

  IT WAS NEARING EVENING when Drisker Arc and Shea Ohmsford appeared before Rocan Arneas and asked to speak to him in private. They had been talking for several hours, debating how to handle the boy’s revelations about Tindall and Annabelle. Someone had to confront the Rover with what he had tried so hard to keep hidden, and convince him it was better that it was out in the open. Shea had promised Rocan he would say nothing, but he had known from the moment Tarsha told him about the danger of a war and the reason behind it that he was going to have to break that promise. It wasn’t so much that he believed she could have wormed it out of him using her magic. It was more the sense of obligation he felt toward the people of the Four Lands that had persuaded him to take the leap.

  But Rocan would never forgive him. Rocan would hate him forever. He would cast Shea out of the village and into the wilds without a second thought. The Rover was a firm believer in loyalty, and the boy had violated his trust in the most egregious way possible.

  Tarsha assured him he was mistaken, that Rocan would understand his reasons and would not consider it grounds for casting him out. But Shea was certain she was wrong.

  So now the Druid and the boy stood waiting on the Rover’s reaction as he turned to face them. To the surprise of neither, Rocan read the truth in their eyes immediately. Ignoring Drisker and looking directly at Shea, he said in a calm and quiet voice, “I never thought you, of all people, would do something like this.”

  Drisker had done his best to persuade the boy not to come with him as he told Rocan what he knew must now happen—that Tindall must show them Annabelle, because there was no questioning that she was needed. If she could change the weather, then they must consider using her to discover if the winter that had engulfed the Skaar homeland for more than two years could be ended.

  “It might be better if I went alone,” he had argued. “You can speak to him later, after he has a chance to think things through and calm down.”

  But Shea shook his head. “I need to go. I’m the one who has to answer for this. I have to face up to what I did. I won’t hide like a coward.”

  Now, hearing the hurt and anger reflected in Rocan’s eyes, he wished he could reconsider. It was all he could do to meet the other’s gaze as Rocan gave a small shake of his head. “Anyone but you.”

  His disappointment made clear, the Rover beckoned and took them back to the Commons and a space with a table and chairs at one end of the meeting hall where they could close themselves off and speak in private.

  Drisker wasted no time. “Understand, Rocan,” he began, “we don’t know if it will work. But I have to think there is a good chance it will. The shade I spoke with at the Hadeshorn made it abundantly clear that following the thread that began with Shea would prevent the coming war between the Four Lands and the Skaar. If their weather can be improved and their lands made fertile once more, if crops and game can be brought back, then they have no need of our land.”

  Well, maybe, Shea thought. A lot of maybes, in fact. All sorts of things could fail to transpire, from Annabelle being able to alter the weather over an entire country to the Skaar agreeing to give up their claim to the Northland and go home again. Drisker knew this, of course, but he had nowhere else to turn and no other solution on which to rely. He needed this strange machine and its creator to prove themselves. If Rocan was intending to fly to other parts of the Four Lands to test Annabelle’s capabilities anyway, then why not try her out in a way that might save thousands of lives and a future in which a war might rage for years?

  Rocan clearly did not agree. “You are risking something that isn’t yours to risk—something that Tindall and I have spent years creating. It cost me several fortunes and a good deal of effort to make Annabelle a reality. For Tindall, it’s been his life’s work. Now you want to step in and take all that away with no promise that anything good will come of it? Why should I even listen to this nonsense, let alone consider doing it?”

  “Why is flying to Skaarsland any more risky than flying to faraway parts of the Four Lands?” Drisker persisted. “This is the perfect opportunity to test your machine—and in a situation where changing the weather might save an entire country and its people. What are you giving up to take the risk?”

  “The chance to test her in the way I think best!” Rocan snapped. “Control over how she’s tested. Everything that assures me no wrong decisions will be made. There’s always someone like you, Druid. Always someone there to say, Wait, now. I have a better use for her than you do. I have a better way to find out how she can be made to serve. How many times have I heard that? Governments, politicians, leaders of men—that’s always their excuse. They take what we have envisioned and created and claim it for themselves. That’s what the Federation was trying to do when we slipped Annabelle out of Arishaig and came here. Now you want her for the Druid order! How is it any different?”

  Shea took a quick breath. “I don’t think that’s what…”

  “You shut up!” Rocan wheeled on him so fast the boy flinched in shock. “You don’t say a word!”

  “You blame him senselessly,” Drisker cautioned, giving the Rover a hard look. “We would have discovered the truth anyway, but he had the foresight and courage to recognize that sharing it with us freely was the right thing to do. It is you who are looking at this all wrong, Rover, and I sense a decided selfishness to it.” His hand came up as Rocan started to object. “Wait. Grant me the courtesy of finishing. You are misreading the situation entirely. We don’t want to steal your idea; we want to borrow it. Not for selfish reasons, but for a good cause. We don’t want to tell you how to use Annabelle; we want you to do that. We want you to come with us. We want you and Tindall to be the ones who do the actual testing.”

  “Maybe all this is so and maybe it isn’t!” Rocan snapped. “It still requires us to do something we had not planned on doing. Just the thought of traveling across the Tiderace in a cumbersome transport is troubling enough. What if there’s a storm? What if we go down and the machine is lost? We could never build another in the time we have left—assuming any of us managed to survive.”

  “And what good will come of you not going? What if the war between the Skaar and the Federation flares up and engulfs all of us? What good is your machine to anyone then? What point is there in changing the weather if all of the people it’s meant to help are dead?”

  The two glared at each other for a long, silent moment. Then Drisker said, “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t be coming with you.”

  Rocan’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “I have somethi
ng else that needs doing here that is equally urgent. So you and your Rovers will be responsible for taking Tindall and Annabelle to Skaarsland. Yes, some of those who traveled with me will accompany you, but only to provide the help you will need. You would be traveling to a foreign region, and you and Tindall will need every protection to carry out your testing safely. And one among us knows exactly what to expect there.”

  The Rover nodded slowly. “The princess. She will know the country where you want us to travel.”

  “That, and a good deal more. It is her homeland. The Skaar are her people. She will have insights that will be helpful. Contacts, perhaps, that will prove friendly. Dar Leah and Brecon Elessedil will accompany you as well. Both have considerable magic to use for protection and guidance.” He paused. “And Shea will accompany you.”

  “Absolutely not! He stays here.”

  Drisker Arc shook his head. “No, he must go. He is the talisman you will need, the catalyst for something important. I have been told of this, Rocan. You are angry now, but you must let go of that anger. Shea is loyal to you. He cares about what he has done, and he needs you to understand that. He did what he thought was right, but it was not done to hurt you and it was not done without consideration for your feelings.”

  Rocan looked over at the boy. A slow burn of anger and resentment was evident in his expression. “He betrayed me. Why should I take him with me now?”

  Drisker shook his head. “It is not for me to answer. Let Shea speak for himself.”

  The boy hesitated, and when Rocan shrugged, he turned first to the Druid. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know if I want to go. You presume I do, but I have a choice in this, too. I’m not just some pawn in your game.”

  He paused, taking a deep breath before he spoke again, this time turning to the Rover. “I know I broke my promise and gave your secret away. For that, I am truly sorry. I didn’t want to tell what I knew, but I was not wrong to do so. There is more at stake than credits and time and dreams. There are people who will live or die depending on whether Annabelle can do what you think. That’s what’s important. More important than anything else.”

  “Your loyalty was to me, boy!”

  Shea shook his head. “My loyalty is to all the people of the Four Lands. And my responsibility is to do what I think is right, no matter what.”

  Rocan nodded slowly. “You probably believe that. It sounds about right for someone your age. But that will change soon enough. Life will change it for you.” He shifted his eyes to Drisker. “I will think on it. That’s all I can give you. No promises; not about anything. I’ll give you my answer in the morning.”

  He gave Shea a final, indecipherable look and walked from the room.

  * * *

  —

  The Druid and the boy lingered for a few minutes after the Rover had departed, at first saying nothing, just sitting there. Shea was aware that Drisker was studying him, but he refused to meet that dark, probing gaze. Instead, he looked at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and into space—anywhere but at those eyes. He wished he had never agreed to accompany Rocan Arneas. He wished he had done what he originally intended to do after escaping Assidian Deep and had just gone home to Varfleet. He wished none of this had ever happened.

  Finally, without looking at the other, he asked, “Is it really necessary that I go with the others? This isn’t some game you’re playing, is it?”

  The Druid shook his head. “No game playing. What happens with Annabelle and the Skaar is too crucial to the future of the Four Lands and her people. Your presence aboard the Behemoth is necessary.”

  “The shade told you this?” the boy asked quietly. “That I was supposed to go? How could it do that? It didn’t tell you about Annabelle. You didn’t even know where I was at that point. So how could it tell you where I was supposed to be during this journey to Skaarsland?”

  Sharp, as always, Drisker thought. Sharp as a tack.

  “It told me in ways I can’t explain. Most of it is a kind of recognition of what is needed—almost a sixth sense. It has to do with what isn’t said as much as what is. It has to do with feelings and instincts. I was given to know more than what I revealed to the others, Shea, some of it through words spoken, some of it not. I will trust you enough to tell you that. But that will have to be enough. Neither you nor they are ready to hear everything just yet. But yes—Darcon Leah, Brecon Elessedil, the princess, and yourself are the ones who must go. Tarsha and her brother must remain behind with me.”

  Shea thought about that for a moment and realized, once again, that there must be a reason for Drisker keeping the Kaynin siblings with him. But what did it matter to him why that sharp-tongued girl would be staying behind? His thoughts flashed back momentarily to the kiss she had given him. Soft, sweet, and lasting a little longer than was necessary. The memory lingered. But still, it was just a kiss.

  “Come,” the Druid said. “We need to tell the others what’s transpired.”

  They rose and left the building, walking through the village to where the others had been given quarters for the night.

  “I still don’t see what purpose my presence will serve,” the boy said.

  “Sometimes our purpose cannot be known in advance of its coming. Sometimes we sense things rather than know them. We see the possibilities without understanding the specifics. It is so here. You will have to be patient, Shea Ohmsford. But when your purpose is revealed, you will have to decide how to act on it.”

  “If I should choose to act on it.”

  “If you should choose.”

  “I might not.”

  But Shea knew that choices were frequently made for us and that fate so often dictated the direction of our lives. He did not admit this, thinking he had said enough on the matter.

  “Out of curiosity,” the Druid said, “how did Tarsha persuade you to tell her about Annabelle and Tindall?”

  The boy got a curious look on his face, and then looked away quickly. “I don’t want to discuss it. She just did. That’s all that matters.”

  After that, they stopped talking altogether.

  * * *

  —

  That night, after she presumed the others were asleep, Tarsha left Ajin d’Amphere sleeping in the bed beside hers and went into the chamber Tavo occupied with Dar Leah and Brecon Elessedil. The Blade and the Elven prince were sound asleep, their breathing heavy and their snores regular; she did not think they would wake. So she sat beside her brother and watched him as he tossed beneath the covers, his expression changing as swiftly as light changes when clouds fly across the sun. Brightness into shadow and back again, over and over. Her brother was dreaming, and his dreams were disturbing him. Asleep, he looked so young to her; she could almost see the little boy in him, the brother whom she had adored and cared for until he became someone she didn’t know.

  When his eyes suddenly opened, it caught her by surprise. But she held his gaze and waited on him as he stared at her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked finally—the first words he had spoken to her in years.

  “Keeping you company. I wanted to be sure you were all right.” She hesitated. “I want us to be friends again. To be brother and sister.”

  His voice broke. “What are you talking about? No one wants to be friends with someone like me. I know what I am. Look what I’ve done.”

  Tarsha almost started to cry, his words were so sad. He had gone through so much that he no longer felt deserving of friendship. She had to find a way to reach him.

  She swallowed hard. “That’s not so.”

  “It is. I’ve killed people. A lot of people. Including our parents. Especially our parents.” He shook his head too hard, as if he was trying to shake out the memories. “Go back to sleep.”

  She stiffened her resolve. “I want to help you. I’ve always wanted to help
you. You might not believe me, but everything I did—including leaving you behind, wrong as that turned out to be—was meant to help you. And nothing has changed that. Yes, it hurts deeply to know what you’ve done, but it wasn’t your fault. It was the magic, using you. But maybe that can change.”

  “Nothing will change for me. Not ever.” He rubbed at the collar Drisker had strapped about his neck, the movement almost reflexive. “Maybe you really do want to help, but you can’t. No one can. Not even that Druid.”

  “He can do a lot of things, Tavo. His magic lets him help people in ways that would surprise you. And I can help you, too. I want to. I don’t want to just let you go.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “There is no help for me, don’t you understand that? You can’t bring those people back to life. You can’t change the way I am by being nice to me. This collar is the only thing that keeps me under control. I hate my life!”

  “This isn’t you! This is Clizia Porse talking. I hate what she’s done to you. Lying, manipulating, trying to make you her creature. She’s the cause of your belief that no one can help you but her!”

  He sat up abruptly, and she jerked back in sudden fear. “You don’t understand. I know all this. The Druid helped me understand. He helped clear my head, helped take away her words. I hate her, too. I know she lied to me. She tried to use me, and then abandoned me. I’m rid of her, Tarsha, but that doesn’t change what I am. And do you know what I am? I’m a slave. Even free of the old woman, I am still a prisoner to thoughts that control how I think and what I do. Thoughts that come and go, that want me to do bad things. Even knowing they are bad, I still want to do them. I try to control myself, but I can’t. And I won’t ever be able to.”

  Off to the side, Dar Leah opened one eye and stared at them for a long few moments before rolling over so he was facing away.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Tavo said. “Go back to bed. Tomorrow, the Druid will tell me again what I have to do to get better. He tells me every day. Mostly, he hopes I won’t try to kill you again. I don’t want to anymore, but that doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind. I have all these thoughts, and I can’t tell which ones to listen to. That’s who I am!”