Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (52 page)

“We’ll go back in tomorrow,” he repeated firmly. “When it’s light again. We’ll loot her and begin tearing down the walls. That greenish stuff won’t still be there by then. You’ll see.”

“Will I?” Stoon asked mildly. “Maybe. But I’m not sure you will.”

“What are you talking about?” Drust snapped, irritated with the other’s intractability.

“I’m just saying I don’t think you’re going to be here tomorrow.”

Drust wheeled on him furiously. “Of course I’m going to be here tomorrow! Where else would I—”

A white-hot fire exploded in his chest, bringing a gasp that Stoon’s rough hand over his mouth only partly managed to muffle. He was suddenly aware of the knife protruding from his body as Stoon’s free hand grasped the hilt and twisted.

Stoon shoved the knife in deeper. “I’ve put up with you long enough, Drust,” he whispered. “I don’t have to do that anymore.” The knife slid out and then back in again, bringing new pain and shock. “You were never even half as smart as you thought.”

He released the Federation Prime Minister and let him fall. Drust Chazhul was dead before he struck the ground.

Aboard
Wend-A-Way
, Aphenglow Elessedil was crouched beside Bombax where he lay stretched out on a bed in a forward compartment, stripped of his clothing and covered with a sheet. Ointment had been spread over his entire body, providing some small relief for his burns. He had broken both legs and one arm and several ribs, and his internal injuries were so severe there was no reasonable chance of treating them. His breathing was shallow and labored, and his gaze distant and empty.

“Everything hurts,” he murmured.

She had given him medicines to help with the pain, but they weren’t doing much. She held one hand loosely, letting him know that she was there.

“I’m dying, Aphen.”

“Shhhh, shhhh,” she whispered. “Don’t talk.”

Arling, kneeling next to her, rose and cleared everyone out of the room. “I’ll be just outside,” she said before leaving.

Her sister knew. She was giving Aphen these last minutes alone. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing more any of them could do. Tears spilled down Aphenglow’s cheeks and fell on the sheet draping her life partner.

“I shouldn’t have let you go without me,” she told him, bending close. “I should have been with you.”

He sighed. “Think how much worse … I would feel … if you had done that.”

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.”

“The choice … isn’t yours … or mine.”

“Stay with me. Try to stay.”

The faintest hint of a smile twisted his burned lips. “I’m right … here.”

Then he exhaled slowly and was gone.

“Brave Bombax,” she whispered, and released his hand.

31

T
HEY FLEW
W
END
-A-W
AY
ALL NIGHT NORTH INTO TROLL
country to the village Garroneck, Krolling, and their companions called home, and left the injured Trolls to be cared for by family and friends before turning west. After that, they flew to Arborlon. The airship’s passengers caught snatches of sleep when they could, talked with one another now and then, and spent long periods of time looking out over the countryside as
Wend-A-Way
crossed the Streleheim Plains to the Valley of Rhenn and on into the Elven home city.

Leaving Woostra and the Trolls aboard
Wend-A-Way
at their own request—but only after arranging for food and water and fresh bedding to be supplied to them—Aphenglow, Arlingfant, and Cymrian wrapped Bombax in a sheet and carried his body from the airfield into the Ashenell through the fading afternoon light until they had reached a plot of ground close by that was designated for the Elessedils. Together they dug his grave, lowered him into it, and stood looking down at him in silence until Aphen began speaking. She spoke of his character and determination and of his contributions to the Druid order. She didn’t speak about them as a couple. She would have said something of that, of what he had meant to her personally, of what they had meant to each other—Bombax and she, lovers and life partners—but she could not manage to do so. It was too personal and hurt too much, and speaking of it would have been
more than she could bear. She had been saying the words to herself ever since he had died. Better that she leave it there, she decided. What he had meant to her belonged to her, cradled in her memories, safely tucked away. One day she might speak of it to someone else, but this was not that day.

They walked back together afterward to the gates of the burial grounds and stood looking out at the city. No one said anything. It had already been decided that on the morrow Aphenglow and the Trolls would fly into the Westland wilderness in search of the Ard Rhys and the rest of the Druids. Woostra would wait in Arborlon for their return. Arlingfant, in spite of her objections, would remain behind as well, resuming her duties as one of the Chosen.

Cymrian, to Aphenglow’s surprise and confusion, insisted he was coming with her to find the other Druids. She told him it wasn’t necessary; he told her it was. She told him he had done what was required of him; he told her she couldn’t be certain of that.

“You still don’t know who was responsible for sending those men to steal the diary and perhaps try to kill you. You don’t know another attempt won’t be made, even if you aren’t in Arborlon. I took the job as your protector, and I don’t think it’s time for me to give it up yet. Unless, of course, you are dismissing me.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t do that.” She felt frustrated, trapped by her sense of obligation to him. “It’s just that you’ve done so much already, and I don’t want you to feel you have to do anything more.”

He smiled enigmatically. “What else do I have to do that matters? I’ve done exactly what I wanted to do by becoming your protector. All I’m asking is to be allowed to continue.”

It was impossible to argue with him, so she let it go.

“I’ll feel better knowing he’s with you,” Arling told her later as they walked back together to their cottage. Cymrian had gone, having obtained Aphen’s agreement that he could go with her. “If I can’t go, at least he can.”

Aphen nodded noncommittally. “I suppose.” She thought about it for a minute. “I guess I just don’t understand why he’s so insistent about this. You would think he would be glad not to have to put himself at risk for me any more than he already has.”

Her sister laughed out loud. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

Aphen frowned. “Understand what?”

Arling shook her head. “I can’t tell you. I promised.”

“Tell me what?”

Her sister shook her head. “I can’t talk about it. In fact, I refuse to talk about it. You’ll just have to figure it out on your own.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Aphenglow was awake before sunrise the following morning. She dressed, slipped out of the house, and sat on the veranda steps to wait for Arling to join her. She had promised to walk her down to the Gardens of Life, where Arling would participate in the ritual greeting of the new day in the presence of the Ellcrys. By then, the sun would have risen and the day would have arrived; Aphen would be airborne and winging her way west.

In her head, she had already departed.

It was only a few minutes later before Arling was beside her, dressed and ready. “Sleep well?” her sister asked.

“I dreamed of him,” she answered.

Arling knew who she meant. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”

Aphen shook her head. “That’s what’s so strange. It isn’t all that hard anymore. It hasn’t been since he died. I can’t explain it. In the dream, he was still there, alive and well, but I couldn’t touch him. He was smiling, laughing, enjoying himself, but I wasn’t with him.” She hesitated. “I think I’ve been losing him for a long time. I think subconsciously I might have known.”

“You’ve been letting go.”

She nodded. “It feels like it. I still hurt thinking of him. I still want him back with me. But …”

She shook her head, unable to finish. Then she added. “It makes me feel disloyal to think like this.”

Arling took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re grieving, Aphen. You’re entitled to do that in the best way you can. There isn’t any right or wrong to how you do it.”

Aphenglow supposed that was so, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Overall, nothing that had happened since she had found Aleia
Omarosian’s diary had worked out for the better. Bombax was dead, Paranor was abandoned and lost, the members of the Fourth Druid Order were scattered to the four corners of the earth, and the Federation was hunting for them—all because she had thought it a good idea to find the missing Elfstones. She was beginning to question her judgment about almost everything in her life.

“I want you to be careful,” she told her sister suddenly.

Arling looked at her in surprise and then grinned. “Why would I need to do that? No one is interested in me.”

“I just want you to watch out for yourself. Just promise me. You said you’d feel better knowing Cymrian was watching over me. Fair enough. But I’ll feel better knowing you are watching out for yourself.”

She was serious enough that the smile dropped away from her sister’s face. “All right, Aphen. I’ll be careful.”

When they reached the gardens, they embraced and kissed. None of the other Chosen had arrived yet; Arling was early for the ritual greeting. Dawn was still half an hour away. They stood together for a moment, holding each other.

“Will you come back for me after you’ve found the Ard Rhys?” Arling asked.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise.”

“Even if it’s only to tell me you are safe.”

“Even if it’s only for that.”

They smiled at each other, cried a little, and parted.

Arling watched Aphenglow walk into the trees, a hundred thoughts tumbling through her head, most of them having to do with going after her sister. But Aphen wouldn’t want that, having already made it clear that Arling would not be allowed to go with her. Further insistence would achieve nothing. It would only make Aphen feel worse. Arling had tried her best to convince her sister to take her along and failed. Because she loved her sister more than anyone in the world, Arling knew when to leave well enough alone—even though it cost her something to do so.

Instead she walked down into the Gardens of Life and sat beneath
the Ellcrys, trying to calm herself. Gazing at the tree helped. The brilliant red and silver mix of leaves and bark, the grand sweep of her boughs, the shimmer of her canopy in the starlight, and the calm that seemed to envelop her like a protective mantle were a balm that soothed and comforted. Arlingfant always felt better when she was close to the Ellcrys, and that feeling infused her now, reminding her why she had sought to become one of the Chosen and why her selection had left her feeling so fulfilled.

Her thoughts drifted and she closed her eyes.

“Come back safe, Aphen,” she said softly.

She was still listening to the echo of her words in the ensuing silence when she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.

Then, as if borne on the momentary breath of wind that blew ever so softly across her face, a voice whispered.

–Child, I have need of you–

H
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B
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DARK LEGACY OF SHANNARA

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