Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (33 page)

“He seems delirious! I don’t think he even knows where he is!”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. They found him lying on a bed, strapped in place by the Troll guards who had carried him in from his airship. He was thrashing and crying out and looked to be in the throes of a form of madness. Aphenglow hurried to him, bent close, and called his name repeatedly. But he looked right through her, as if he didn’t know who she was and didn’t care.

“What will you do?” her sister asked, hands on Aphen’s shoulders to steady her as she backed away from the bed and its wild-eyed occupant.

For a moment, Aphenglow panicked. She didn’t recognize the illness from the symptoms she was seeing. This was something new. Her panic was exacerbated by how much she loved him and how desperate she was to do something to help him.

Then she shook off her uncertainty and went to work. She fed him teaspoons of althenin, a nightshade derivative that acted as a relaxant and calming agent. She had Arling bring her cold cloths to bathe his face and cool him down; when she felt his forehead, he was burning up. She dismissed everyone except her sister—including the boy who had apparently returned him to Paranor, flying him home in Bombax’s own airship—wanting to empty the room of everyone who wasn’t necessary to what needed to be done. Arling had worked with her before in Arborlon and knew how to behave. Besides, Aphen couldn’t move about as easily as Arling and needed her sister’s superior mobility to fetch and carry.

When the althenin had taken effect and Bombax had stopped thrashing and was lying in a semi-stupor, she examined his mouth to be certain his tongue hadn’t been damaged and then called up the magic that she hoped would heal him.

She placed her hands on his face, closed her eyes, and slowly, carefully began to probe his damaged body. Using a magic that allowed her to discover the source of the sickness attacking him, she found the residue of a liquid he had apparently swallowed that had robbed him of both his voice and his muscle control. A dangerous side effect, it appeared, was that it was rendering him increasingly delirious and psychotic. She searched for the places where the poison was doing
the most damage and slowly worked it out of his body, withdrawing it through his pores and turning it into a fine mist that evaporated in the open air.

She worked on him for a long time, a tedious and thorough cleansing of every part of his body. Arlingfant kept watch over them both, standing close at hand, bringing cold cloths to lay on Bombax’s forehead and feeding him additional althenin when he started to wake and move about. Keeping Bombax still while she worked was crucial to her efforts, Aphenglow explained, and her sister saw to it that he remained immobile.

When she finally finished her ministrations, night was coming on. She sent Arling off to find them food and drink and sat alone beside her life mate while he slept. The poison was extracted now, the thrashing ended, the worst of it past. But she would not leave him until he woke and she was certain he was well again.

She sat with him all night.

Aphenglow slept on and off during her long hours of keeping watch, making sure at regular intervals that Bombax was sleeping comfortably. But when she woke at sunrise she found him awake and staring at her from the bed. When he gave her that familiar smile—the one she loved so much—she leaned down and kissed him passionately.

“I was worried for you,” she whispered.

“I was worried, too.”

“You can talk again?”

“So it seems. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.”

“How do you feel?”

“Good. Much better. Whatever was in me is gone. Was that your doing?”

She nodded. He reached up and stroked her face, and they kissed again.

Then he told her everything that had happened to him after he had reached Varfleet. She listened intently, a mix of emotions surfacing as she did so: shock, relief, and anger. She was surprised at their
intensity and even more surprised when anger overwhelmed everything else.

“What in the world were you thinking?” she demanded when he had finished. “Going into the worst part of Varfleet to find someone to help us? Mixing with people who would cut your throat for your shoes? Don’t you see what you did? You put yourself in danger for no good reason!”

His rough, handsome face tightened. “It seemed a good enough reason to me. A little risk was necessary. We needed magic of the sort that couldn’t be found by staying in the better neighborhoods.”

“That’s very funny. But it almost cost you your life. Or maybe something worse. Who knows what the Mwellrets had planned for you? It appears you were to be turned over to someone else. What do you think that might have led to?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.” He gave her a look.

“Not this time it doesn’t, but what about the next? You think you are invulnerable! It’s maddening! No one else takes the chances you do. Do you ever stop to think about that?”

He looked suddenly hurt. “Why are you so mad at me?”

“Because I love you, and I don’t want to lose you! I think more of you than you do of yourself! You put yourself in these dangerous situations and you expect me not to mind?”

He sighed. “I expect you to understand.”

“Well, I don’t! I don’t understand! Not any of it!”

“What if I promise not to do it again?”

“Now you are being condescending.” She was furious. “You tell me what you think I want to hear and everything will be all right. Is that it? Keep me happy until you do it again? Because you will! You can’t help yourself!”

He looked exasperated. “What am I supposed to do, Aphen? What can I do that will please you? It seems nothing will, listening to all this.”

She stood up, limped across the room, and turned back to him. “I can’t answer that right now. I’m exhausted. I’m relieved to have you back and terrified you might go away and do this to me all over again.
Remember that time you went to Arishaig and posed as a courier so that you could get inside the chambers of the Coalition Council? Remember when you penetrated the quarters of the Red Guards and had to fight your way out? Alone? In the middle of Federation country?”

He stared at her. “What happened to your leg? What have I missed while I was away?”

She smoldered. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. At least you noticed. Finally.” She glared at him. “Go back to sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.”

She stomped out of the room without looking back.

Aboard the
Arishaig
, the decks were mostly empty of life. A helmsman steered the vessel north, a lookout slouched in the crow’s nest atop the mainmast, and a pair of soldiers stood watch across from each other, port and starboard amidship. The night was dark and moonless, the cloud cover heavy over the Prekkendorran, a shroud of mist rising off the lowlands of Clete some miles ahead to drift south toward the advancing Federation fleet. Except for the creaking of the rigging and the snores of sleeping men, the warship was quiet.

Drust Chazhul came on deck and moved toward the aft railing, breathing in the night air, steadying himself for what would happen in the next few minutes. Stoon would be in place by now—although Drust did not have any idea at all where that would be—ready to spring out when needed. They had gone over the plan a dozen times. Arodian’s personal attendant had mentioned to Stoon, when the assassin had engaged him in conversation down in the servants’ quarters and plied him with considerable alcohol, that the commander liked to watch the sunrise each morning from the fantail, the launching deck for the handful of flits the airship carried. The fantail was positioned aft below the command deck and the pilot box, hidden from view from the men who would be on watch. The plan was for Drust to confront him there and hold his attention long enough for Stoon to get in position, and then the assassin would grab the commander and throw him over the side of the airship.

They were flying at somewhere around two thousand feet. No one could survive a fall from that height.

Drust was confident. There would be no witnesses. Arodian would not suspect an attack; he knew himself to be physically superior. It would all be over quickly.

Drust Chazhul could feel the flutter of expectation in the pit of his stomach. Edinja was dead and gone and, after tonight, Arodian would be on his way to join her. There would be no one to threaten him after that.

He thought momentarily of the mysterious notes he had received suggesting he was responsible for Edinja’s death, wondering again at their source. Could it possibly be Arodian? He couldn’t fathom how the man had managed it, but he didn’t dismiss the possibility outright. If the notes stopped coming after tonight, he would know.

He paused momentarily at the steps leading down to the fantail, fidgeting and edgy as he searched for and found a solitary figure standing at the aft railing. Lehan Arodian, watching the first silvery rays of sunlight creep above the horizon.

Taking a deep breath, he started down the steps to the fantail, eyes fixed on the other man.

“What’s this?” The sound of Arodian’s voice startled Drust, and he stopped where he was, still six feet away. Arodian didn’t bother to turn around. “You don’t have any bad intentions, do you, Drust? Sneaking up on me like this?”

Drust recovered his composure. “Of course not. I noticed you from the command deck and came down to say good morning. Beautiful sunrise, isn’t it?”

Arodian shook his head as he turned to face Drust. “The truth isn’t in you, is it? You knew you would find me here. Why not admit it?”

Drust feigned surprise. “You misjudge me. I am not that sort of person.”

Arodian came forward a few steps, away from the railing. “You are exactly that sort of person. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

Drust felt a twinge of uneasiness. “I don’t see how you can make such wild statements …”

Abruptly, he was seized from behind, wrapped in an iron grip. A callused hand fastened on his throat, silencing the shout he was trying to make. He was lifted off the deck, his feet left dangling as he struggled in disbelief and terror to free himself.

Lehan Arodian walked over to stand right in front of him. “Little man,” he hissed. “You should have been content to warm the Prime Minister’s seat until I was ready to take it back from you. Did you think you could make it your own at my expense? Did you, little worm?”

Drust stared at him, wide-eyed. He thrashed harder, desperate now to escape. But the hand about his throat only tightened further.

“You should have paid better attention to what was going on right under your nose, Drust. You were so concerned about Edinja and me that you missed it entirely. Throw him over.”

Drust Chazhul was carried to the railing of the fantail, still kicking and trying unsuccessfully to scream, fear the only emotion left to him.

This can’t be happening!

“Help me hold him!” he heard a familiar voice say. “He’s breaking free!”

Stoon! No!

Arodian hurried over, reaching out to seize hold of him as well, and now four hands were gripping him, hauling him right up against the railing, lifting him …

Then suddenly Stoon shifted his powerful hands to Arodian’s neck, cutting off his air and with it the cry he tried too late to give. Off balance and caught completely by surprise, Arodian went over the railing with a wild thrashing of arms and legs and disappeared into the darkness.

Stoon helped a shaken Drust Chazhul to his feet, straightened him up, and patted him on the back. “Are you all right?”

Drust shook his head, feeling anything but. “I thought you’d betrayed me!” he hissed in fury. “I thought you were really going to do it! Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?”

He was so angry he was shaking. But Stoon only shrugged. “If it
didn’t appear you believed I was betraying you, I wouldn’t have been able to get him to the railing without cutting his throat. His body might be found. We want this to appear to be an accident, don’t we?”

The Prime Minister rubbed his throat gingerly. “What was wrong with my plan? Just get his attention long enough for you to push him over! What was wrong with that?”

“It was weak. Transparent. A chance meeting at dawn on the fantail with no one else around and you come upon him without bad intentions? He would have seen through it right away. I had to convince him beforehand that he was in danger and that I, wishing to free myself of an indentured bargain, would willingly do to you what you expected me to do to him. He had to believe that his money and a promise of freedom would buy my services. He needed to think that with my help he could turn the tables on you, could make you the victim. It appealed to his sense of irony. He liked the idea.”

“I thought I was a dead man.”

Stoon laughed, infuriating Drust further. “You were never in any real danger. What would I gain by betraying you? You and I are built the same way, come from the same place. Don’t you see, Drust?”

He wasn’t at all sure he did. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how it had made him feel, to believe he was about to be killed by his supposed confidant and ally.

It would be a while, if ever, before he would put himself in another situation where his life depended on the assassin’s loyalty, he promised himself.

Then, his anger beginning to fade sufficiently that he could relish Arodian’s demise, he stood with Stoon by the fantail railing, composing himself as he stared east to watch the sunrise.

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