by Terry Brooks
The other members of the Council offered a variety of looks, but none of them seemed particularly encouraging.
She felt very out of place and very much the intruder in the black Druid robes of her order. She should have worn something less confrontational, she chided herself, and immediately regretted it. She was the representative of her order and should not appear otherwise.
“Welcome, Aphenglow,” her grandfather greeted her, his voice civil but very weak. “Do you wish to speak to this Council?”
She took a step forward. “I do, High Lord. I have come to make a request, one that you might initially be inclined to reject out of hand, but if you hear me out I believe you will be persuaded to support it. I am here on behalf of the Druid order and its Ard Rhys, but it is our people who will be affected most directly by your response to what I am seeking.”
“Our people,” Phaedon repeated, not bothering to look up from the handful of papers he was shuffling. “By which you mean the Elves, I gather?”
His rudeness surprised her. “I do,” she replied.
“Yet you wear Druid robes?”
“Phaedon, let her speak, please,” the King said quietly.
“I only seek clarity,” his son replied, again without looking up.
There was a long silence, as if everyone was waiting on a further exchange.
“You said you have a request?” Ellich asked Aphenglow finally, breaking the silence.
“I do.” She gathered her thoughts. “The Druids have discovered an Elven magic from the Old World, one long thought lost. It is not certain that this magic can be found, or even that it still exists. To determine both, the Druids will go in search of it. But the way is unclear. There are no explicit directions that would aid us. It would help immeasurably if we were to be given temporary use of the blue Elfstones.”
She didn’t miss the hurried exchange of looks among the members of the High Council. Only the King, his son, and Ellich showed nothing.
“I dare to ask this of you, High Lord, because we feel we can rely on you to honor the agreement that was made between your grandmother, when she was Elven Queen, and our Ard Rhys when she was at the beginning of her service to the order. At that time, Khyber Elessedil returned the blue Elfstones to the Elven people with the understanding that should it become necessary at some later time the Druids would be allowed to borrow these Stones for limited usage. We submit that such a time is at hand. If the need were not so great, we would never ask this of you. That I have come to you with this request should indicate how important we think it is that you agree.”
“This matter will need serious discussion,” offered one member of the Council. She didn’t know him, as she didn’t know any of them save those in her family and the First Minister, an older woman who at one time had been friends with her mother.
“I am at your service,” Aphenglow said.
“If you were really at our service, you would not be here making this request,” Phaedon declared, his head lifting suddenly, his eyes fastening on her. “If you were really at our service, you would still be living in Arborlon and helping us instead of helping the Druid order.”
“It is possible to help both, Phaedon,” she replied quickly. “It is not necessary that I choose.”
“But history has taught us otherwise,” Phaedon pressed. “The Druids have deceived us time and again. They used us and then took from us. We have expended lives in our efforts to serve them, and they have done little for us in return. Consider the outcome of the war on the Prekkendorran and the onslaught of the Federation heathens. Our King was killed along with his sons. Our Elven Hunters were all but obliterated. The magic wielded by the Druids did almost nothing to help us. Your own Ard Rhys abandoned her people, stole the Elfstones, and went off with her uncle to resolve a private concern. If not for a considerable amount of luck, we might have lost everything.”
Aphenglow shook her head. “I don’t agree. I think the Druids were the ones who saved us all. If not for the leadership of the Ard Rhys—if not for Khyber Elessedil borrowing, not stealing, the Elfstones—the efforts of the Federation to overrun and occupy our homeland might well have succeeded.”
“But if Grianne Ohmsford hadn’t so foolishly allowed herself to be duped by those serving in her own order and gotten herself imprisoned inside the Forbidding, the threat from the Federation would never have materialized. Why am I even arguing the matter? This is all a waste of time. Why should we do anything you ask? You are no different than Khyber Elessedil; you have betrayed us by making the Druids your new family. And now you crawl back because you need our magic? Why shouldn’t we tell you to use your own instead of asking to use ours? Isn’t it apparent that you are no longer one of us? You have disappointed your grandfather and your mother. You have turned your back on all of us. Go back to where you came from!”
The ensuing uproar drowned out her retort. The members of the High Council were on their feet instantly, some yelling in support, some in denigration. Even Ellich was shouting at Phaedon, who calmly ignored him, keeping his eyes on Aphenglow. Only the King sat quietly, looking down at his hands.
“Enough!” he said finally, raising his hands in a gesture for order. The room slowly quieted, and the members of the Council took their seats. “We are in session,” he continued. “We will act accordingly. Personal attacks are of no help.”
“Duly noted.” Phaedon gave a dismissive wave. “What magic is it you seek, Aphenglow?” he demanded. “Does it have a name?”
“Yes, what is it you hope to find?” another member of the High Council echoed.
“Enlighten us,” Phaedon pressed. “If you really need the use of the blue Elfstones in this mysterious business of yours, then surely you have no objection to telling us what it is you seek. Surely we have a right to know what is so important.”
She nodded in agreement. “You do have that right. Yet I cannot tell you. I have been sworn to silence on the matter.”
“How very convenient!” Phaedon leaned back and shook his head in mock surprise. “So even though you will not tell us what it is you are searching for, you persist in asking us to provide you with the use of the Elfstones? And this is based on an agreement that I, for one, have never heard about? An agreement between our dead King and your half-dead Ard Rhys?”
“Phaedon!” The King’s hand slammed down on the tabletop with such force that the blow echoed through the chamber. “You will not speak this way about Khyber Elessedil! She is a member of our household and entitled to your respect!”
Phaedon shrugged. “I meant no disrespect, Father,” he said. “I speak of her as others do. She outlives us because of her magic, and some think she does not really live at all. Not as we define life. Some say she lives a kind of half life.”
“I can assure you that she is fully alive and well aware of how matters stand,” Aphenglow interjected quickly. “I was with her not three days ago. As for not being able to tell you what it is we seek, there are reasons for this. If word were to reach other ears, especially in the Federation, it would complicate matters immensely and place us all in fresh danger. The fewer who know, the better. The way to finding it will likely be treacherous enough as it is. The magic itself is not entirely understood. We do not ourselves know yet what it might do. We must act cautiously. Secrecy is important.”
“Isn’t it always important when it comes to the Druids?” Phaedon asked, shifting his eyes away from her for the first time, directing his question to the members of the High Council. “Isn’t that always the excuse? Isn’t everything you do at Paranor shrouded in secrecy?”
“Why do we not use the Elfstones ourselves to find the magic?” the First Minister asked suddenly. “Why give them over to you? If the search is so dangerous and the magic belongs to us anyway, shouldn’t we be the ones to brave it? You said the recovery of this magic most affects the Elves, that it is a magic that was lost to us in earlier times. So why shouldn’t we be the ones to undertake this quest?”
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br /> Aphenglow felt her heart sink. “With respect, First Minister, the Druids are better equipped to carry out a task of this magnitude. We have the necessary skills and experience. We have magic of our own to aid us. We are trained for this. Please let us prove it.”
“I see no reason to agree to any of this,” Phaedon said again. “The First Minister is right. The Elven people can employ the magic of the blue Elfstones better than any Druid can. Use of the Stones requires that the user be of Elven blood. Only three of the Druids now in service, you included, fit that description. We should send our Elven Hunters and Trackers on this quest and keep the Druids out of it.”
There was a murmur of agreement. Aphenglow could feel her hold on things slipping away. She tried to think of a better argument, one that would sway the Council to her side. But the one she understood best was the one they would be least likely to respond to—that all magic belonged in the hands of the Druid order and not in the hands of the people of the individual Races because the Druids were less likely to be swayed by impassioned nationalism and self-serving politics.
“Besides, don’t you already have possession of the Black Elfstone?” Phaedon snapped. “Why don’t you try using that Elfstone instead of asking for the use of ours?”
Aphenglow only barely managed to keep her temper in check this time, saying only, “You know the Black Elfstone won’t help with this.”
“Aphenglow.”
Her grandfather’s soft voice quieted the room. He had straightened in his seat, and because she knew him well from time spent in his company as a little girl, she could tell he had come to a decision.
“Grandfather.”
He nodded. “Your grandfather first and last, but a King of the Elven people, as well. A way must be found to honor both. Tell me again. You require use of the Elfstones so that you can determine if what you seek still exists and then to discover where it can be found?”
She nodded warily. This much had already been settled. There was no point in equivocating.
“Then here is what I will agree to. What I believe the members of this Council will agree to, as well. I grant your request. I will give you use of the Elfstones to accomplish your goals.” He quickly held up one hand as Phaedon and a few others started to object. “But you must use the Elfstones here in Arborlon. You may not take them out of the city. You may not take them back to Paranor. The agreement of which you speak says nothing about that. It only says that the Druids may have temporary use of the Elfstones when the need arises.”
He leaned back in his seat again. “I know you believe this is such a time. Very well. Use the Elfstones and take what you have learned with you when you go. Remember your heritage when you do so. Remember who your real family is. Remember that we depend on you. Do not disappoint us. Do not betray the Elves.”
He paused, waiting on her response. She had no choice. “I would never betray the Elves, Grandfather. Never.” She exhaled sharply. “I accept your decision. I will do as you say.”
Emperowen Elessedil, King of the Elves, nodded slowly. “I am satisfied. The matter is settled. This Council is adjourned.”
14
“APHENGLOW!”
She hadn’t quite reached the Council chamber doors when her uncle’s voice brought her about. Ellich was coming toward her, beckoning for her to wait for him. The other members were filing out, moving past her without glancing over, their expressions grave.
When Phaedon walked by he gave her a smile that was neither pleasant nor encouraging. “Good luck, Aphenglow,” he whispered.
Ellich hurried over. “Your grandfather wants to see you in his private chambers at the palace. I’m to take you to him.” He glanced over at Phaedon’s departing back. “My nephew. What a waste. Ignore him. Everyone else does.”
She didn’t believe it for a minute, but she appreciated his efforts at trying to cheer her up. She was still trying to come to terms with her grandfather’s decision to let her use the Elfstones but only here in Arborlon. She had thought all along that she would either be given the Elfstones to take with her or refused altogether. Given this new wrinkle, she would have to readjust her thinking. She would get half of what she had asked for, and she would have to make the most of it.
“I’m fine,” she told Ellich, giving him a reassuring smile.
“I doubt that. You were counting on your grandfather to do the right thing, and he allowed himself to be swayed. That can’t be easy to swallow. But what just happened is typical. A request is made. A proposal offered. Phaedon inevitably objects to all or part of whatever is voiced. My brother then splits the difference in the best way he can devise. But he will not go up against his son. There is a part of him that knows he should—even that he must—but he can’t seem to find his way to doing so.”
They were outside the Council chamber now, walking down the exterior hallway. She caught sight of Cymrian slipping through a set of doors far down the hallway. He glanced her way, gave a quick nod, and was gone.
“How long have things been like this?” she asked.
Ellich shrugged. “What year is it?”
So it was that bad. She should consider herself lucky, she realized. It could have been much worse. Fatal to her efforts, if her request had been denied altogether. She supposed she had never really thought that would happen, but she had been foolish not to anticipate that it might. Phaedon’s control over his father was much stronger than she had been led to believe.
At least she would get one chance to discover where the Elfstones could be found—one chance to look at where they might be hidden.
She would have to make good use of it.
They walked down the steps leading from the Council Hall to the roadway and started for the palace. All around them, Elves were going about their business, paying no attention to Aphenglow, oblivious to everything in which she was involved. No one greeted her; no one even seemed to know her. She felt like an intruder. She felt again how alone she was, how far removed from her home and her people. Maybe it was the Druid robes. Or maybe it was simply that Phaedon was right and she no longer belonged. It was a bitter admission, and she refused to make it.
“You made the best argument you could, Aphen,” her uncle said quietly. “I can’t think of anything else you could have said. The problem is not in your presentation or even the rightness of your cause. It lies with an innate distrust of the Druid order, a distrust that has been in place since Grianne Ohmsford’s days as Ard Rhys.”
She moved closer to him, keeping her voice down. “I can understand their distrust of Grianne. She gave everyone reason to distrust her. And to fear her, as well. But she has been gone a long time. Khyber Elessedil is one of us. She’s done nothing to earn such distrust. If anything, the Elves should be supporting her. And the Druid order. We should be allies, not antagonists.”
“You are entirely right. We should.” Ellich kept his head bent, but his eyes shifted this way and that. “But we aren’t and we won’t be anytime soon. Once settled in place, distrust is hard to dislodge. Especially when the Druids keep themselves so isolated from the rest of us. They deliberately hold themselves apart. Oh, I know the reasons for it. But that doesn’t change the impact it generates. It is the appearance of things that matters. It looks elitist. It fosters resentment and suspicion.”
She knew it was so. But having lived these past ten years with a foot in both camps, she also knew how wrong such thinking was. If anything, the Druids wanted to be accepted as allies by all of the Races. But it must be all. Any display of favoritism compromised their credibility. Staying aloof from the everyday lives of the Races was one way to reinforce their determination to remain impartial. The problem was that no one saw it that way. It felt to the average citizen as if the Druids considered themselves superior and preferred their own company to that of ordinary people.
When they arrived at the palace, Ellich led Aphenglow around to the north side and down a narrow pathway through tall hedges and flowering vines tied on
to a series of trellis frameworks. Weaving their way through the maze, they arrived at a small, windowless door that was completely hidden from any other approach. Ellich stopped and knocked twice, paused and knocked once more. She heard a stirring on the other side; then the door opened and her grandfather stepped forward to embrace her.
“Aphenglow,” he whispered as he hugged her close. “Child of light.”
It was the meaning of her Elven name, but only her grandfather called her that now. Her father had done so when he was alive and her mother until she departed to join the Druids, and she was surprised to discover how much she missed it.
“Grandfather,” she replied. “Thank you so much for helping me.”
He stepped away from her, shaking his head. “We both know I could have done more. But doing more would have risked a confrontation with Phaedon and the other members of the High Council over the purpose of your request. It was vague enough that I couldn’t put it to a vote, but not so vague that I couldn’t do what I did. One opportunity, one time. I hope you understand.”
She smiled. “Of course I understand. It isn’t much different with the Druids. We argue all the time about what we should be doing and how we should be going about it. Everything is maneuvering and compromise. Are you well?”
He shrugged. “Well enough.”
He brought her inside the room, one hand clasped possessively about her arm, and led her over to a sofa where he sat them both down. Ellich followed, closing and locking the garden door behind them.
“I have missed you so much, Aphen,” her grandfather said. “You can’t imagine. I think often of those days when you were a little girl and I was still young enough to play leapfrog with you. Do you remember? Of course you do. You used to laugh so.”
