Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (28 page)

Khyber Elessedil shook her head. “You are so eager. What if this turns out to be something other than what you expect? What if it leads to nothing? What if it is all a trick of some sort? Magic can betray even us.”

“I don’t care. I want to be there. I’m the one who found the diary. I deserve to go!”

“You do deserve to go. Not only did you find the diary and bring
it to the rest of us, but you recognized its value right away. You found the connection between Aleia Omarosian and the Elessedils. You opened so many doors, even when doing so endangered you. I do not in any way underestimate your contributions.”

She sighed. “That said, I want you to remain here. Wait, hear me out. I need someone to keep watch over Paranor, a Druid with wits enough to know what to do if anything threatens in my absence. That would be Bombax, if he were here.”

“But you need Bombax!” Aphenglow was insistent, desperate to change the other’s mind. “I’m not as skilled with magic. If you wait for him, perhaps I will be well enough for you to reconsider your decision to leave me.”

“We have no idea when he’ll return. Even use of the scrye has failed to reveal any trace of his whereabouts. We cannot wait longer for him. Our expedition will leave tomorrow. Someone either knows or suspects what we are about. If they dare to attack you in your own city—in your own home—then there is reason to believe they will come after us. The quicker we act, the more difficult we make it for whoever hunts us.”

“But, Mistress, a few more days …”

“No, Aphen. The matter is settled. I want you here. You are incapacitated through no fault of your own, but incapacitated nevertheless. You lack mobility and strength. If we are threatened or even attacked, you become a liability that risks the lives of others because you cannot defend yourself as you need to. You know this. I regret you have suffered this setback, but disappointment is a part of all our lives.”

Aphenglow fought back her tears.
I will not cry!
“How will you manage without me to guide you? What will you do when you come to a place you don’t recognize and cannot ask me what I saw in my vision? My notes are thorough, but there is no substitute for having seen firsthand what it is we seek. You cannot know what difficulties you might encounter later. I have to be there!”

“Not if I perform a skiving of those memories so they become my own.” The Ard Rhys paused. “Will you agree to that?”

A skiving
. Aphen flinched. An excising of layers of images forming
certain memories in one person’s mind and transplanting them into another’s. Few Druids—few magic wielders of any sort—had the skill to accomplish this. Khyber Elessedil was one.

But it was an intrusion into the mind, a trespass into space that was the sole property of the owner. It had never been done to Aphenglow, and she had thought it never would.

“I don’t want anyone in my mind,” she said quietly, firmly. “I cannot endure it.”

Khyber nodded. “I don’t blame you. I would not ask it of you if there were a reasonable alternative. I promise not even to glance at anything but the Elfstone vision. A quick excision and then I am gone. If you experience pain or fear, I give you leave to banish me.”

“I don’t know.”

The Ard Rhys reached over and took Aphenglow’s hands in her own. “Yes, you do. You know.”

Aphenglow nodded. She did know. She was a Druid first and always, and she would do what her Ard Rhys asked of her because that was the commitment she had given.

Khyber readjusted their hands so that Aphenglow’s were open, palms up, and her own were resting lightly on top of them, palms down. “Look at me, Aphenglow. Look into my eyes and do not look away.”

“I hate this,” Aphen said in response.

“Keep looking at me. Think about the vision. Any part of the vision. Don’t think of anything else but that. Let your mind relax and drift from one image to another. Keep remembering. Look at me. Look at me.”

Aphen obeyed, feeling the first twinges of the expected invasion, a sort of tingling that began in her hands and slowly worked its way up her arms, through her neck, and finally into her head. She forced herself not to move, not to react, just enduring it, letting the skiving happen. The presence of the Ard Rhys was unmistakable, the feel of her moving around in her mind, touching here and there, prowling. Aphenglow wanted to scream, to throw her out, to stop what was happening and erase its memory as the tide might erase all traces of passage on a sandy beach.

But she could not do that. She had given her word. She must hold fast.

Then, without warning, it ended. The presence of the Ard Rhys vanished, the invasion was over, and her mind and body were hers again. She felt Khyber’s hands withdraw, moving up to grip her shoulders.

“That was very brave of you,” the Ard Rhys whispered and kissed her on the cheek.

Aphenglow closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “Just don’t ever ask me to do that again.”

There was no response. When she opened her eyes, Khyber Elessedil was gone.

Shadows everywhere. Darkness all around.

Drust Chazhul worked his way cautiously down the deep gloom of the hallway leading to Edinja Orle’s chambers, already questioning the wisdom of his decision to visit her in this manner. He had wanted to speak to her somewhere private, somewhere their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. He knew he had no hope of persuading her to come to his own chambers, so he had decided on the bold approach of asking to come to hers. Surprisingly, she had agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

But she wanted him there after dark when he would not be seen and she could be certain of his intentions.

She could never be certain of that, he had thought at the time, but he admired that she believed she could. But then he, too, was risking something by coming alone to her, when he would be most vulnerable to whatever harm she might choose to inflict on him. So when he had agreed to her terms, he had mentioned casually that he would tell Stoon and his other retainers that they would not need to accompany him—just to advise her that someone would know where he was going, lessening the chances of her attempting anything unpleasant.

And he was not entirely without protections of his own. He was never without those.

But this darkness was annoying and made it difficult for him to
maneuver, and he wondered how she could manage to do so herself. He groped his way along the wall, recalling the distance from the entry to the first door, keeping one hand stretched out in front of him to let him know when he reached it.

Even so, he came up against its rough surface less ready than he had expected to be, banging his hand and scraping his knuckles against the iron hinges. Cursing softly, he felt around for the handle, grasped hold, and twisted clockwise, half expecting that it would be locked.

But the latch released and the door opened smoothly. Beyond, a large entry was lit with a single smokeless torch of the sort favored by those who commanded magic. Edinja’s talent was legendary; she far outstripped anyone else in Arishaig. She might have been marginalized on the political spectrum because of it, given that tolerance for any use of magic was severely limited in the Federation these days, save that her family was old and established and greatly feared. No one with any sense—which included himself—wanted to risk incurring the enmity of the Orle family. So until recently he had ignored her attraction to magic and been careful to stay on civil terms with her.

That state of affairs had lasted until he secured the position of Prime Minister. Now he was not at all certain how she felt or what she intended to do about him.

He crossed the entry to the door beyond, this one smaller and less forbidding. Perhaps it was the light that made it so. He paused and knocked softly.

“Come,” he heard her say from within.

He opened the door and found himself in a room draped with silks and layered with carpets and throws and pillows. It looked to be less a reception chamber than a bordello, but he brushed that thought aside quickly. Candles burned everywhere, and the sweet scent of incense filled the air. He tried not to breathe it in but could not avoid doing so.

Edinja reclined on a couch at the back of the room. She was robed and hooded, though her fine, soft features were visible in the candlelight. She wore silken slippers on her tiny feet, ribbons flowing from
her long silver hair. The rings that adorned her fingers glinted softly, small flashes of silver and gold. There was an unmistakable glow about her dusky skin that suggested an inner light. She was beautiful in a sharp, angular way, though he had never looked at her himself like that, only acknowledged what others said and thought. She lived alone, unmarried and unpartnered. It was said she took lovers now and then, but no one seemed clear on who or even what they were. Not that it mattered in the least to him.

Her only true companion lay stretched out a few yards away against the back wall. Cinla, sleek and sinewy, was a moor cat of average size, but striking design. Her strange reddish gold color was an exquisite rarity. Like all moor cats, she had the ability to appear and disappear at will, sometimes without even seeming to move. She accompanied her mistress outside her chambers every now and then, even on occasion into the Coalition Council chambers, but mostly she remained hidden from view. Drust himself had seen the big cat only once.

There were rumors about the relationship that existed between Edinja and Cinla, but they were of the sort that most often originated from malicious gossip and lacked any basis in truth. Still, there was a troubling intelligence in the moor cat’s green eyes as she studied Drust. He held her gaze only a moment before looking away.

“Good evening, Prime Minister,” Edinja greeted, indicating a chair close to where she rested.

“Good evening to you, Minister Orle,” Drust returned. He moved over to the chair indicated and sat down. “I appreciate your giving me this opportunity to speak with you alone.”

“And I that you were willing to come to me in my chambers so that this meeting could be conducted discreetly.”

He smiled. “I am flattered to be allowed into such a private place.”

“It must be difficult finding time for meetings such as this these days,” she responded, dismissing his compliment with a small wave of one tiny hand. “Given the demands of your new office.”

He decided not to let that pass. “Let me say something right up front. I am fully aware that you wanted the position of Prime Minister and that you are less than happy that I now own it. I didn’t seek it
out and perhaps I should have refused when it was offered. But it seemed wrong to do so when you and Commander Arodian were at such odds. I took it as a means of avoiding further conflict, not to satisfy any need of my own. You may not believe me, but this is so. I am aware that you are better qualified to be Prime Minister than I am. So is Arodian, for that matter. I have said so publicly. I am here for that very reason. I cannot do this without your help.”

“Is that so?” She said it as if it were hard for her to believe. “You think yourself inadequate? You believe you require my poor skills to help you navigate treacherous waters?”

“An overly dismissive way of phrasing the level of your skills and experience, Edinja. But however you see yourself, the time has come for us to work together. I am approaching you first. I have not spoken to Arodian. I will tell you something quite frankly. I neither like nor trust him. He is too ambitious and too arrogant for me to believe he will lift a finger on my behalf. You, I think, are more farsighted.”

“Or at least more pragmatic.” She gave him a shrug. “I don’t see the purpose in waging war with you, Drust. I haven’t the time or energy for it. My turn as Prime Minister will come soon enough. Oh, not that way. In the orderly course of events, the position will find its way to me. But for now, I would consider acting as your adviser and confidante, if that is what you are seeking from me?”

“It is exactly what I seek.”

She rose suddenly and walked across the room. “Something to drink? A little wine?”

“A little only.”

She made a point of letting him see her pour the wine into both glasses from the same decanter. Then she carried it across the room to him, tasting it herself from her own glass before handing him his, letting him know it was safe to drink.

“I don’t think you would poison me in your own chambers,” he said, taking a substantial drink. He glanced down at the wine and nodded. “Very nice.”

She laughed softly. “You would be surprised what I would dare to do. But poisoning you is not high on that list. Something else is, however.
Before I agree to work with you, we need to reach an understanding about my use of magic. You are on record as opposing its use. You wish to see all practice of it abolished. That presents a problem for someone like myself.”

“I can see that it would. But I am firm about this. Magic is unpredictable and dangerous. It is a tool of the elite. Only a few have it, and the rest of us can only look in through the window and wonder at its attractive glitter. Worse, most of it is controlled by the Druids, and the Druids are the Federation’s enemy.”

She nodded, shrugged. “I care nothing for the Druids. I dislike them as much as you do. But I cannot give up using magic simply to satisfy your obsession with furthering the use of science. We need a better approach to solving this problem.”

He watched her drink a little more wine from her glass. “Do you have a suggestion?”

“I do. Wage your campaign against magic, but confine it for now to the Druids. Their order is far and away the most obvious and unattractive congregation of magic users. No one likes or respects them, and any attacks on them will be met with widespread indifference. Perhaps somewhere down the road, a few years from now, after the Druids are destroyed and your own position secured, you can find a way to make an exception for me and those who act for me.”

Drust Chazhul frowned. He didn’t much care for making her any promises. “Perhaps,” he allowed.

She frowned. “You patronize me, Drust. I can hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes. You say what you think will keep me compliant, but you have no real intention—”