by Terry Brooks
He flinched, the words cutting to the bone. He was lying to himself. He was pretending at being someone other than who he was. Her words were true; he could feel them impressing themselves on his mind.
“I’m going to stop you from leaving,” he announced abruptly, shaking off the feelings of inevitability, clinging to his original intentions. “You have to stay here until the Druid comes.”
She laughed at him. Openly. Laughed! “Oh, Tavo, you can’t hold me! What will you do? Use your magic on me? Hurt me? Add my life to the collection of lives you have taken already? No, Tavo. You won’t do that. You won’t do anything but stand just where you are.”
He knew in that instant she was right. The Druid had bound the collar around his neck—the collar that prevented him from using his magic. He was helpless as a baby before her.
She was already moving, walking past him and giving him no consideration at all. She did not look at him. He did not exist for her—he could feel it. He stared at her helplessly as she moved away, then looked down at his boots so as not to have to watch her go. He wanted to stop her, but the Druid’s binding had prevented him. The very man who claimed he was an equal in this endeavor had blocked the magic that could maybe have helped.
Behind her, the tent flaps to the Prime Minister’s quarters flew open and Drisker Arc stumbled into view. He took in what was happening and flung out his arm as if to stop her, but Tavo realized that the act was something more. A tiny bit of light flew from his fingers and spun through the air almost too fast to follow before landing on Clizia’s robes and sinking from view into the fabric.
Then she was gone, and Drisker collapsed to his knees.
* * *
—
In the aftermath of Clizia’s escape, Tavo shuffled reluctantly up to Drisker Arc and stood looking down at him. Drisker felt weak and disoriented, and there was blood on his cheek and a deep bruise on his forehead just below the hairline. For a moment, under Tavo’s baleful glare, he felt a lick of fear.
“I was going to stop her,” Tavo said, his voice flat and dead. “I sensed she was coming and I knew what I should do. But this binding—your binding”—he gestured angrily at his neck—“prevented me. I couldn’t do anything!”
Drisker levered himself slowly to his feet, looped one arm about Tavo’s hunched shoulders, and leaned close, head bent wearily. “I am proud of you, Tavo. I might have blocked your magic, but your desire was to use it for good—and that alone shows how far you have come. And you mustn’t blame yourself. It wasn’t you who failed. It was me. I was the one responsible for taking her prisoner. I had her, and I let her escape. You have to let me accept the blame for this. It was never yours to shoulder.”
He felt Tavo’s shoulders shudder under his arm, and suddenly Tarsha was there as well, reaching out to take her brother in her arms. “Are you all right, Tavo? Are you hurt? What’s happened? Was it the witch?”
It was Drisker who answered her. “Tavo thinks it was his fault she escaped. She challenged him to stop her from leaving, and he couldn’t, because of my binding. But his instincts were correct. Tell him, Tarsha. Make him understand.”
Drisker released Tavo and moved off, leaving Tarsha whispering to her brother in urgent tones, explaining how his impulses had been correct. But like Tavo, Drisker fought back the bitter self-recrimination he was feeling for letting Clizia outsmart him. He knew she was slippery. He knew she was clever. But he hadn’t acted quickly enough to counter either. And he had bound up the magic of another who could have helped him.
Now he would have to go after her.
Movement and voices brought him around as Ketter Vause approached. “Where is she?” he demanded, red-faced and sweating. There was real fear in his eyes. “Did you let her go?”
Drisker had come to him one night earlier and advised him of the danger he was in. Skeptical at first, he had finally allowed himself to be persuaded to let Drisker take his place in his sleeping quarters to intercept Clizia. Knowing she could harm him in spite of all his precautions and his guards was enough to convince him he needed the Druid’s protection.
But now that he realized he hadn’t gotten it, he was furious.
“You said you would trap her and put an end to this!” he screamed. “You promised! Now she’s escaped and she can come back and kill me! I trusted you for no good reason!”
“You trusted me because you had no other choice,” Drisker said quietly, ignoring the other’s anger. “Yes, she escaped me. But I intend to go after her. In the meantime, find someone capable of protecting you in case she does come back.” He paused. “You should go home to Arishaig and the safety of your own quarters, at least for now. Give me a few days, and I will see what I can do.”
“A few days?” Vause asked incredulously. “Why bother?”
He turned and stalked away, and Drisker watched him go. He didn’t blame him for his anger, but his irrational response to the continued danger was foolish. Staying out here on the banks of the Mermidon wasn’t smart. He was doing this strictly because he didn’t want to appear weak to the Skaar. The Druid shook his head. He had never been able to come to terms with what it was that drove men to seek power and then protect it so jealously.
In any case, Clizia wouldn’t escape him again. His last act on stumbling from the tent after nearly knocking himself senseless had been to tag her with a bit of magic. Embedded in her black cloak, it would bring her back to him as surely as a hook and reel would snag a fish. She might be gone for the moment, but she was not safely away.
He waited for Tarsha to finish talking with her brother, staring off into the darkness, watching the guards disperse and Ketter Vause return to his tent, listening as the tumult of the moment lessened and faded, and the familiar noises of the camp reemerged in whispers and small scrapes and clinks. In the distance, he could hear the sound of tools at work, and he wondered what the Federation might be building at this time of night.
Impulsively, he made a crucial decision.
When Tarsha and her brother rose to their feet again and embraced, he walked back and stood before Tavo. The young man could not look at him.
Drisker lifted the other’s chin so they were eye-to-eye. “You have done everything any of us could ask of you, Tavo Kaynin. You have proven yourself to both your sister and myself. You no longer need this.”
And he reached up and released the inhibitor from Tavo’s neck and tucked it away inside his robes.
TWENTY-FIVE
KETTER VAUSE WAS WELL known as a man of infinite patience—slow to anger, deliberate in his thinking, nonjudgmental, and willing to take the time to weigh the advisability of his actions carefully. But he knew even Belladrin could tell he had reached the breaking point. He had glimpsed her watching his angry encounter with the Druid, Drisker Arc, and then his retreat into his tent, his posture and gestures making it all too clear how far he had been driven.
Belladrin had always held him in high regard, but she was also smart enough to know that more than one career had been cut short through foolish attempts to act precipitously. Deciding that he needed to reassure her of his self-control if he expected her to continue to have confidence in him, he summoned her to his tent.
He was seated at his desk, bent over a series of maps, but when she entered he looked up immediately, dismissing his messenger, who had been trailing behind, with a wave of his hand. He did not miss the hint of reluctance in her posture as she stood before him. “Belladrin,” he greeted her warmly. “Please sit.”
He gestured to the most comfortable chair and watched her arrange herself. He could not have said exactly why he felt it so important that he have her support, but it was there, an undeniable urge. Perhaps it was because she was so eager to be his student and he so pleased to be her mentor.
“I am a patient man,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested he was again a figure of supr
eme competence. “But this…this deliberate effort to disrupt any chance of an accord between the Federation and the Skaar is too much! An attempt was made on my life tonight, and while the attempt was thwarted this time, there is nothing to say it will not reoccur. I can abide most things, but I cannot abide this. Not when the perpetrator is an invader in my own country.”
She did not have to ask for details. He had advised her earlier of the arrangements he had made with the Druid to protect his life.
“Was the assassin captured?” she asked.
“No. She was an old woman, and still she managed to slip past the Druid and his companions. Such blatant failure is unforgivable. I have dismissed the Druid from my service.”
Discovering that even a single Druid was still alive had come as something of a shock. That he had come to deliver a warning and offered to help had seemed at first an astonishing piece of luck. But Ketter Vause hated the Druids, and it wasn’t enough that this one had saved his life. He had wanted the assassin caught and executed. As this had not happened, he saw no point in tolerating the Druid’s presence further.
“What can I do to help?” Belladrin asked quickly, the concern on her face apparent.
“Inform my commanders that I want them here at dawn tomorrow. I intend to mobilize the army and attack the Skaar. There is no further reason to think there will be any kind of peaceful settlement. There is no further reason to delay. We have the Reveals the Dwarves brought us. This should tip the balance in our favor. We will draw the Skaar out of their fortifications, we will smash their army, and we will send whatever remains of them back to wherever they came from.”
Belladrin hesitated. “Preparing the army for battle will take time. We cannot be ready for another few days. And do you know how much time it will take the Dwarves to prepare their machines?”
Vause smiled. “You are always quick to see the flaws in any plan, Belladrin. I admire that more than I can say. But this time you misjudge me. The plan of battle I intend to implement will have several phases, and the first will be a quick strike that will draw the Skaar out and bring them to us. A force needed to accomplish that can be assembled and dispatched much more easily than the entire army. So that part of the plan will be implemented as quickly as possible.”
He paused. “As for the Dwarves, I have decided that perhaps they are not the ones best suited to man their machines in the coming battle. As soon as you have summoned my commanders, you will go to their Elders and tell them I have decided to use Federation soldiers to operate the Reveals, and they are to provide the necessary instruction. They are to teach us everything they know about operating the machinery. Should they refuse to do this or fail to instruct our soldiers adequately, I will have to consider revoking the conscription agreement for their village.”
Belladrin gave him a long look, as if weighing her response carefully. “Perhaps you are right to use Federation soldiers,” she agreed. “Their loyalty and commitment would be less in doubt.”
He leaned toward her. “You are an intelligent lady, Belladrin. I admire that. The Dwarves are simply a means to an end. I trust you to do what is needed. Convince them that I mean to send them home again once the battle is won. You have a way with words, so choose them well. Go now.”
She gave him a short bow of acknowledgment and backed away. He watched her go. She knew what was expected of her. She might even suspect that he was lying about his intentions. He would have the Dwarves killed no matter what happened. He had never intended anything else. As he said, they were a means to an end and nothing more.
Politicians could be ruthless and brutal when it was needed. She was smart enough to understand this. They had to be in order to stand up to the machinations and deceptions that surrounded them. But she needed to continue to see him as a man of significant achievement and strong leadership. She needed to see him as someone she would continue to be eager to follow.
As he watched her walk from the tent to summon his Federation commanders, he was already thinking ahead to what he would say to them when they were assembled.
Wondering how much of it would be the truth.
* * *
—
It was right before dawn when Belladrin Rish appeared at the door of the building in which Battenhyle and Lakodan were being housed. Both were already up and moving about; daybreak was their normal time to rise and begin work—a habit they could not break even when there was no work to be done and no particular reason to be awake. Neither was expecting her, but both were glad that she was there because it signaled the possibility that something was finally going to happen.
Once the door was open, she walked right in. “I won’t pretend I am here with good news,” she said before either could speak. “I have been given a message and told to deliver it. So here I am, in spite of my reluctance. The Prime Minister has decided he will have his own men operate the Reveals, and not the Dwarves. He needs your men to instruct them on how this should be done. This is not a request; it is a command. If you resist him, he will consider revoking the agreement he made with you. I know him well enough by now to believe that he means it. He intends to engage the Skaar, and he is afraid of doing so without the Reveals. So he needs your help, and he will have it one way or the other. Will you do as he asks?”
Lakodan made a snorting noise and turned away. Battenhyle stepped closer to her and placed a big hand on her shoulder. “And if we agree to this, how do we know that he will keep his word?”
“You don’t,” she answered. “But I will see you freed anyway, even if I have to do it myself. My time with Ketter Vause is drawing to a close. I want you back home, safe and sound. I want my conscience cleared of what I have inadvertently done. Do you believe me?”
The big man nodded. “I do. But tell the Prime Minister that we insist on a further condition. Lakodan and I will be the ones who offer the instruction. We know the machines better than our comrades. Best we do the teaching if they are to work correctly.”
She nodded, grim-faced. “I will give him your message and urge him to agree.” She paused. “It is a small gesture. But if I ever see you again once you are gone from here, I want to be able to look you in the face and not feel ashamed.”
Battenhyle shrugged. “We are none of us responsible for the conduct of others. Sooner or later, we are all placed in uncomfortable situations not of our making.”
Lakodan glanced over. “I spoke roughly to you. I apologize. If you find a way to persuade the Prime Minister to keep his bargain, I will forgive you everything. I hope you will do the same for me.”
Belladrin smiled broadly and turned away. As she went out the door and left the Dwarves behind her, she was already feeling much better about the chances of success for the plans she was making.
* * *
—
It was four hours after dawn of the following morning that the early strike force, assembled on orders from Ketter Vause, lifted off in formation from behind Federation lines and flew north toward the Mermidon. The sky was a brilliant blue, deep and mesmerizing, its vast expanse filled with artistic clouds. Some were delicate paintbrush strokes ending in swirls and gradually decreasing ellipses; some were fluff balls tied together by slender threads; others seemed like outlines of cities faintly recalled from memories of childhood. None were large enough to blot out the sun or dim its bright glow.
Deciding on how and where to place his attack force so that this bright, inviting sun would best aid the Federation and most inconvenience the Skaar was essential. Approaching the enemy camp from the east would put the rising sun behind the attackers and more or less directly in the faces of the defenders. An even bigger advantage might have been gained if Vause had been willing to attack later in the afternoon when he could take advantage of the sunset and come in from the west. But he did not want to risk extending the battle into darkness; he wanted the matter concluded before then. If all w
ent according to plan, the Federation strike would last less than thirty minutes, and his airships would be back across the Mermidon and landed anew by midday.
That he was being unduly optimistic never occurred to him.
The complement of airships that he had requisitioned included three fully armed warships, each with a dozen flash rip cannons and numerous rail slings; six escort gunships bearing explosive devices that could be dropped from above on fortifications and soldiers; a handful of single-man flits for smaller targets; and a pair of slightly larger two-man scouts for reconnaissance. Flags of the Federation government fluttered from the mastheads, and pennants identifying each airship division and their individual squads hung from the yardarms. The airships all flew their light sheaths, drawing down the sun’s power, allowing the diapson crystals contained within parse tubes to convert it to energy so the ponderous vessels could fly.
Ketter Vause had taken control right at the start, reminding one and all of his long-standing position as a commander in the Federation army before his ascendency to Prime Minister. Naturally, he would go with them; he knew they would expect no less. He chose one of the larger vessels as his flagship—quick to assure the commander normally in charge of the craft that he was not there to usurp his authority but only to provide the necessary details as to what the strike force was expected to do. Perhaps the commander believed this; perhaps he knew better. Frankly, Vause didn’t care. The Prime Minister was tired of watching his commanders make mistakes, and he was determined it would not happen this time. His ship would lead the way, and the others would follow. Using signal flags, which would be clearly visible in full daylight, he would select the targets and the vessels responsible for destroying each, and he would see to it that his orders were carried out.
