Ilse Witch (29 page)

They reached his study and entered. The room was wood paneled and austere, an intimidating lair. Disdaining the brighter light that the torches set in wall brackets would have afforded, the minister moved to light a series of candles on a broad-topped desk. Tall and athletic, his silvery hair worn long and flowing freely, he moved from place to place unhurriedly. He was an attractive man with a magnetic personality until you got to know him, and then he was just someone else to be watched carefully. The Ilse Witch had encountered more than her share of these. Sometimes it seemed the world was full of them.

“Now, then,” he said, seating himself comfortably on one end of a long couch, taking time to adjust his dressing gown.

She stayed somewhat removed from him, still wrapped in her hooded cloak, her face hidden in shadows. He had seen what she looked like on several occasions, mostly because it was necessary to let him do so, but she had been careful never to encourage his obvious interest in her. She did not treat him as she did her spies, because he considered himself an equal and his pride and ambition would not allow for anything less. She could reduce him to servitude easily enough, but then his
usefulness would be ended. She must let him remain strong or he could not survive in the arena of Federation politics.

“Did those airships I sent you not do what was needed?” He pressed, his brow furrowing slightly.

“They did what they could,” she said in a neutral tone of voice. She chose her words carefully. “But my adversary is clever and strong. He is not easily surprised, and he was not surprised there. He escaped.”

“Unfortunate.”

“A momentary setback. I will find him again, and when I do, I will destroy him. In the meantime, I require your help.”

“In finding him or destroying him?”

“Neither. In pursuing him. He has the use of an airship, with a Captain and a crew. I will need the same if I am to catch up to him.”

Sen Dunsidan studied her thoughtfully. Already he was working it through, she could tell. He had determined quickly that there was more to this than she was telling him. If she was chasing someone, there had to be a reason. He knew her well enough to know she would not waste time hunting someone down simply to kill him. Something else was involved, something of importance to her. He was trying to figure out what might be in it for him.

She decided not to play games. “Let me tell you a little about my interest in this matter,” she offered. “It goes well beyond my determination to see my adversary destroyed. We compete for the same prize, Minister. It is a prize of great and rare value. It would benefit both of us, you and I, if I were to gain possession of it first. My request to you for aid in this endeavor presupposes that whatever success I enjoy, I intend to share with you.”

The big man nodded. “As you have always so graciously done, Dark Lady.” He smiled. “What sort of prize is it you seek?”

She hesitated deliberately, as if debating whether to tell him. He must be made to think it was a difficult decision, the
result of which would favor him. “A form of magic,” she confided finally. “A very special magic. If I was to gain possession of this magic, I would become much more powerful than I am. And if I was to share possession with you, you would become strongest among those who seek power within the Federation government.” She paused. “Would you like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, laughing softly. “Such power might be too much for a simple man like me.” He paused. “Do I have your assurance that I will share in the use of this magic on your return?”

“My complete and unequivocal assurance, Minister.”

He bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “I could ask for nothing more.” She had convinced him a long time ago that she would keep her word once she gave it. She also knew that his confidence was buttressed by his belief that even if she broke it, her betrayal would not cost him much.

“Where do you go to seek this magic?” he asked.

She gave him a long, careful look. “Across the Blue Divide, to a new land, an old city, a strange place. Only a few others have gone there. None have returned.”

She did not mention the castaway or the Elves. There was no reason for him to know of them. She gave him just enough to keep him interested.

“None have returned,” he repeated slowly. “Not very reassuring. Will you succeed where everyone else has failed?”

“What do you think, Minister?”

He laughed softly. “I think you are young for such machinations and intrigue. Do you never think of taking time for more casual pleasures? Do you never wish that you could put aside your obligations, just for a few days, and do something you never imagined?”

She sighed wearily. He was being obtuse. He was refusing to accept that his advances were not welcome. She must put a stop to it now before it got out of hand. “If I were to consider such a thing,” she purred, “do you know a place to which I might escape?”

His gaze on her was steady and watchful. “I do.”

“And would you be my guide and companion?”

He straightened expectantly. “I would be honored.”

“No, Minister, you would simply be dead, probably before the first day was out.” She paused to let him absorb the impact of her words. “Put aside your dreams of what you think I might be. Do not let them enter your mind or be persuaded to speak of them again. Ever. I am nothing of what you imagine and less of what you would hope. I am blacker than your worst deeds could ever be. Don’t presume to know me. Keep far away from me, and maybe you’ll stay alive.”

His face had stilled, and there was uncertainty in his eyes. She let him wrestle with it a moment, then whispered words of calming in the silence, and laughed like a girl, soft and low. “Come now, Minister. Harsh words are unnecessary. We are old friends. We are allies. What of my request? Will you aid me?”

“Of course,” he answered swiftly. A political animal first and always, Sen Dunsidan could recognize reality quicker than most. He did not want to anger or alienate her or sever their mutually advantageous connection. He would attempt to move past his clumsy attempt at an assignation as if it had never happened. She, of course, would let him. “A ship, a Captain, and crew,” he assured her, grateful for a chance to accommodate, to be back in her good graces. He brushed at his silver hair and smiled. “All at your disposal, Dark Lady, for as long as you need them.”

“Your best of each, Minister,” she warned. “No weak links. This voyage will not be easy.”

He rose, walked to the study window, and looked out over the city. His home sat in a cluster of Federation government buildings, some residences, some offices, all warded by a walled park into which no one was admitted without invitation. The Ilse Witch smiled. Except for her, of course. She could go anywhere she wished.

“I’ll give you
Black Moclips
,” Sen Dunsidan announced
suddenly. “She is the best of our warships, a Rover-built ship of the line, a proven vessel. Her history is remarkable. She has fought in over two hundred engagements and never been defeated or even disabled. Just now, she has a new Captain and crew, and they are eager to prove themselves. Veterans all, don’t misunderstand me, but new to this ship. They were brought aboard when her Rover crew deserted.”

She studied him. “They are seasoned and reliable? They are tested in battle?”

“Two full years on the Prekkendorran, all of them. They are a strong and dependable unit, well led and thoroughly trained.”

And a full complement of Federation soldiers, she was about to say when the Morgawr’s rough-edged voice stopped her.
No soldiers
, he hissed, so that only she could hear. It was an unmistakable reminder of his earlier warning, when she had insisted she must have soldiers to combat the Elven forces.
A ship, a Captain, and a crew—nothing more. Do not question me
. She froze under the lash of his voice, projected from the shadows behind Sen Dunsidan, where he waited in hiding.

“Lady?” the Minister of Defense asked solicitously, sensing the hesitation in her.

“Supplies for a long voyage,” she said, forging ahead as if nothing had intruded on her thinking, looking directly toward the Morgawr, unwilling to concede him anything. She resented his insistence on trying to control matters when he himself had no intention of being involved in the expedition. He saw himself as her mentor, and he was, but she was his equal now and no longer in his thrall. She had always possessed magic, even before he came to her and helped her to rebuild her shattered life. She had never been helpless or unaware, and he seemed too quick to forget how strong she was.

“The ship will be delivered to you fully outfitted and ready to sail.” Sen Dunsidan reclaimed her attention. “I’ll have her ready in a week.”

“Four days,” the Ilse Witch said softly, holding his gaze firmly with her own. “I’ll come for her myself. Have her Captain and crew under orders to obey me in everything. Everything, Minister. There are to be no questions, no arguments, and no hesitations. All decisions are to be mine.”

The Federation Minister nodded without enthusiasm. “The Captain and crew will be advised, Dark Lady.”

“Go back to bed,” she ordered, and turned away, dismissing him.

Standing with her gaze directed out the windows and into the night, she waited until he was gone, then wheeled back to face the Morgawr, who had emerged from hiding, tall and dark and spectral. He had come with her to the city, but kept hidden while she did the talking. He told her that it was best if Sen Dunsidan believed she was the one he must listen to, the one in control. As in fact I am, she had wanted to reply, but instead held her tongue.

“You did well,” he said, sliding into the faint light.

“I don’t appreciate your interference with my efforts!” she snapped, unappeased. “Or your reminders of what you think I should or shouldn’t do! I am the one who risks life and limb to gain possession of the magic!”

“I only seek to supply help where help is needed,” he replied calmly.

“Then do so!” she snapped. Her patience was exhausted. “We need soldiers! We need hardened warriors! Where are they to come from, if not from the Federation?”

He dismissed her anger and displeasure with a wave of his gloved hand. “From me,” he replied casually. “I have already arranged for it. Three dozen Mwellrets, commanded by Cree Bega. They will be your warriors, your fighters. You will have nothing to fear with them beside you.”

Mwellrets. She cringed at the idea. He knew she hated rets. As fighters, they were savage and relentless, but they were deceivers, as well. She did not trust them. She could
not see inside their minds. They resisted her magic and employed subterfuges and artifices of their own. It was why the Morgawr liked them, why he was using them. They would be effective fighters in her behalf, but they would act as her keepers, as well. Giving her Mwellrets was a means of keeping her in line.

She could refuse his offer, she knew. But to do so would demonstrate weakness. Besides, the warlock would simply insist that she do as he asked, having already made up his mind that the rets were necessary—

She caught herself in midthought, realizing suddenly what sending the rets really meant. It wasn’t just that the Morgawr no longer trusted her or that he was no longer certain she would do as he ordered.

He was afraid of her.

She smiled, as if deciding she was pleased with his suggestion, careful to keep her true feelings veiled. “You are right, of course,” she agreed. “What better fighters could we find? Who would dare to challenge a ret?”

Only me
, she thought darkly.
But by the time you discover that, Morgawr, it will already be too late for you
.

F
our days after departing the Wolfsktaag Mountains, Bek Rowe, his cousin Quentin Leah, and the Dwarf Panax arrived at the Valley of Rhenn.

Bek had heard stories of the valley his entire life, and as the trio rode their horses slowly out of the plains and down its broad, grassy corridor, he found himself remembering them anew. There, more than a thousand years ago, the Elves and their King, Jerle Shannara, stood against the hordes of the Warlock Lord in three days of ferocious fighting that culminated in the renegade Druid’s defeat. There, more than five hundred years ago, the Legion Free Corps rode to the aid of the Elven people when they were beset by the demon hordes freed from the Forbidding. There, less than 150 years ago, the Elf Queen Wren Elessedil commanded the Free-born allies in their defense against the Federation armies of Rimmer Dall, breaking the back of the Federation occupation and destroying the cult of the Shadowen.

Bek glanced upward at the steepening valley slopes and sharp ridgelines. So many critical battles had been fought and pivotal confrontations had taken place within only a few miles of that gateway to the Elven homeland. But as he looked at it, quiet and serene and bathed in sunshine, there was nothing to indicate that anything of importance had ever happened there.

Once, Bek heard a man remark to Coran that this ground was sacred, that the blood of those who had given up their
lives to preserve freedom in the Four Lands had made it so. It was a fine and noble thought, Coran Leah replied, but it would mean more if the sacrifice of those countless dead had bought the survivors something more permanent.

The boy thought about that as he rode through the midday silence. The valley narrowed to a defile at its western end, a natural fortress of cliff walls and twisting passes through which all traffic gained entry into the Westland forests leading to Arborlon. It had served as a first line of defense for the Elves each time their homeland was invaded. Bek had never been here, but he knew its history. Remembering his father’s words, he was surprised at how different it felt being here rather than picturing it in his mind. All the events and the tumult faded in the vast quiet, the open spaces, the scent of wildflowers, the soft cool breeze, and the warm sun, masked as if they had never taken place. The past was only an imagining here. He could barely put a face to it, barely envision how it must have been. He wondered if the Elves ever thought of it as he did now, if it was ever for them a reminder of how transitory victories in battle so often were.