The Skaar Invasion

  What else he might have done after that was more than Brecon cared to imagine, but Tavo never got a chance to demonstrate. Releasing his grip on Tarsha while keeping one arm locked around her waist as he swung her into an upright position, the Elven prince took two quick steps forward and slammed his fist into the side of Tavo’s head. Tavo’s face turned white from the force of the blow, and he dropped to the floor unconscious.

  Flinc was back at his side. “Give her to me!” he snapped. “You need to use the Elfstones against the witch! We may have to fight our way out of here.”

  Brecon obeyed, knowing the other was right. Clizia was still out there, possibly blocking their path. Gently, he lowered the still-unconscious Tarsha into the forest imp’s arms. To his surprise, Flinc took the girl from him and held her up with no apparent effort. Brecon hesitated a moment—just long enough for Flinc to give him a look—and then they were out the door, Elfstones in hand, running…

  Right into Clizia, who was just entering.

  Brecon ran into her with such force that he knocked her backward onto the floor. Clizia’s head slammed against the wooden planks as she fell, but it seemed to have no effect. Her eyes fixed on him, filled with malice, and her hands began to summon her dark magic.

  Then Fade was there, huge and forbidding, towering over the fallen Druid, one great paw holding her down, pushing on her chest. Clizia gasped, the breath rushing from her lungs from the weight of that paw. In seconds, she was unconscious.

  Again, the moor cat disappeared.

  Had there been more time to think about it, Brecon might have considered binding and gagging both Clizia and Tavo Kaynin, but at this point he was only thinking about getting out of there as quickly as possible—of taking Tarsha somewhere safe. And just about then he was distracted by Dar shouting the Leah battle cry, flashes from his dark blade visible through the front windows of the cottage. Yelling for Flinc to follow, he charged down the hallway, through the living quarters, and out onto the porch. The fog had risen considerably; it was now almost to the cottage roof. Deep in its midst, the magic of the Sword of Leah was scattering arcs of brightness as it cut at the vapor.

  “Dar!” Brecon yelled for him.

  “Brecon!” his friend managed to yell, and then his breath was cut off.

  The Elven prince realized what was happening and responded at once, pointing the Elfstones toward the sound of his friend’s voice. Brilliant blue light blazed to life and flashed into the thickest of the mist. As it burrowed in, the tentacles drew back with a shudder, shrinking away from the Elven magic as if burned.

  Seconds later it was back to its former depth of about three feet, and Dar could be seen standing within it. The Blade was choking and gasping as he breathed the night air, but he signaled to Brecon that he was all right. Together, they made for the concealment of the woods, anxious to get clear before either Clizia or Tarsha’s brother woke up again.

  “Where’s Tarsha?” Dar asked as they reached the fringe and plunged into the trees.

  “Flinc has her.” Brecon stopped and looked back uncertainly. “At least, he did when I came to help you. He was right behind me.”

  Dar wheeled around, seeing no one following. “We have to go back!”

  Brecon grabbed his arm. “We can’t do that. Look, that forest Gnome—or whatever he calls himself—has her safely in hand. He might have gone out the way we came in, through the rear door. We have to return to where he found us and wait for him to come back. Both Clizia and Tavo were unconscious; they couldn’t have recovered fast enough to do anything to stop him. He just went another way.”

  Dar looked uncertain, but finally nodded. “Let’s hurry, then.”

  They passed deeper into the trees and began working their way to where Flinc had found them watching the cottage and its occupants. They went swiftly, not bothering with stopping to see what was happening in the clearing, leaving that for when they reached their destination. As they crept through the trees, both were searching the dark for some sign of Tarsha and the forest imp, half expecting to see them emerge from the shadows. But neither appeared.

  They were not at the agreed-upon meeting point, either. By now, Dar was almost certain they had fallen into Clizia’s hands and were prisoners. He mentioned it again to Brecon, but the Elven prince shook his head.

  “The imp was halfway out the door behind me. He was safely away from both Clizia and Tavo. If he had fallen or been grabbed or otherwise attacked, he would have gotten off a warning and I would have heard. I still think he went the other way—out the rear door of the cottage. Maybe that moor cat found him. Maybe the three of them went somewhere and are waiting for morning. The imp might have decided that was safer than coming back here.”

  As if to emphasize this, Clizia appeared on the cabin porch, her black robes wrapped about her, with Tavo a step behind. The two stared out into the dark for a few moments and then huddled together. Dar could hear nothing of what they said, but he could guess the gist of it. He waited to see what they would do, but to his surprise they did not set out to search for their attackers or Tarsha but turned around and went back inside.

  Although Dar and Brecon waited a long time afterward for one or the other to reemerge, neither did, and the cottage remained dark and silent. Finally, Dar nudged Brecon and they slipped back through the trees, far enough away from the cottage that they could speak without risk of being overheard.

  “Something isn’t right,” the Blade said, when they were safely away. He sat down on a log, his chin in his hand, thinking. “There’s an explanation here that we’re not seeing.”

  Brecon nodded. “A different explanation than we’ve been considering.”

  They were silent a moment. “Remember when Flinc said Drisker would want him to help us, even though he was bad awhile back?” Dar asked suddenly. “Bad about what, though? What do you think he was talking about?”

  “No idea.”

  “He made their relationship sound rather tenuous. So what if it had something to do with Tarsha?”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? But then, the imp was pretty insistent that I let him carry Tarsha. I didn’t agree at first, but then it seemed I might need to use the Elfstones, so I gave her to him.”

  Dar stared at his friend. “You know what? I don’t want to wait until morning. I want to find Tarsha and Flinc right now. Can you use the Elfstones to find out where they are?”

  Brecon didn’t bother with a response. He simply brought out the Stones, clasped them in his fist, and held them up to the night.

  TWENTY

  Clizia Porse woke to discover that Tarsha was gone and Tavo was lying unconscious on the floor. She was incensed beyond words, but anger quickly turned to cold and calculating determination. Dar Leah and his friends might think they had gotten the best of her, but they would find out differently soon enough. She had not outlived and outsmarted all her enemies over the years to be tricked by the Blade and his foolhardy accomplices.

  For just an instant, as she bent to revive Tavo, she wondered if it was possible that Drisker Arc had somehow escaped his imprisonment in Paranor and come back to set things right, but she dismissed the idea almost at once. If Drisker were behind this, he would have been the one confronting her and not Dar Leah.

  She roused Tavo, brought him to his feet, and determined his head was clear enough when he began to rant about Tarsha. She leaned close, a bony finger to his lips. “Say nothing more until I tell you to,” she hissed. “We’ll get your sister back. Be quiet and come with me.”

  They walked through the house and onto the porch and stood looking out at the night. For long minutes neither spoke, and then the young man whispered, “Why aren’t we doing something?”

  She leaned close once more. “We are doing something. We’re letting those fools who have Tarsha see us. They will be out there watching. They will want to disco
ver what we intend to do. So we’re going to make them believe what we want them to believe. This is a game we’re playing, and I want to be very sure we end up the winners.”

  She turned away, took him by the arm, and led him inside again. “They split into two groups,” she whispered as she walked him through the house. “Dar Leah—formerly Blade to the High Druid and Drisker’s friend—was alone. He was the one distracting me when the others came in the back way to retrieve Tarsha. Who were they? You must have seen.”

  Tavo frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know. A small furry creature of some sort; I’ve never seen one like it before. Like a rodent that could walk. And an Elf. They took Tarsha!”

  “As I’ve already pointed out. So let’s just go find them.”

  She took him all the way through the cottage to the rear door. Once there, she made a series of gestures and spoke a few strange words. Then she led him outside, hurrying him away from the building and into the woods. She was aware of the way Tavo was looking at her—as if wondering what sort of trick she might be playing—so she stopped just inside the trees and turned to him.

  “I provided us with a momentary cloaking so we would be hidden from watching eyes. That way they will believe we have settled down to sleep for the rest of the night, intending to search for Tarsha when it is light. They likely think we will have to track them, having no idea of where they might have gone. But they are mistaken.”

  “You know where Tarsha is?” He sounded excited. His lips curled into a snarl. His hands curled into fists. “Once we find her, I’ll finish what I started and punish her for her betrayal! I’ll make sure she doesn’t get away from me again.”

  Clizia took hold of the front of his tunic and yanked him close. “You listen to me. You want to find your sister? You want to see her dead? Fine by me. But you won’t achieve either one if you don’t do exactly what I say. We’ll find her because she carries my mark and will be easy to track down. But she is not to be harmed—not until she has fulfilled her purpose. Not under any circumstance. Do you understand me, Tavo Kaynin?”

  He shook his head slowly, a sullen and defiant look crossing his face. “You don’t want to make me angry,” he spat at her.

  She laughed. “I know what sort of power you have—and I know what you can do when it’s working properly. But for the moment, it isn’t—not against me. I shut that part of it down with a little magic of my own when I took you in. Do you wish to test this? Or will you do what I say?”

  The dark look faded a shade. “All right,” he muttered.

  “Then let’s go find your sister. Remember what I said about Tarsha. No harm must be done to her.” She paused. “Though you can do what you want with her kidnappers once we find her; they don’t matter. They are bad people. They don’t deserve to live.”

  He nodded. “I know what to do.”

  She did a conjuring, and images formed on the night air, revealing Tarsha and the furry creature that had taken her. Clizia wondered where the other two were, but would be satisfied just to find the girl.

  Beckoning to Tavo, she set out.

  Together, the pair walked through the forest for a long distance, navigating by moonlight shining down from a sky cleared of clouds by the passing storm. Tarsha and her captor were easy to track, thanks to the mark she had placed on the girl. She walked without speaking, but her odd companion mumbled and growled with regularity, speaking to himself or to the one he called Fluken. The young man was unbalanced but he was also functional, and the combination made him dangerous. After this was done, she would have to decide what to do with him. It would be better to kill him and be done with it, but she kept thinking there might be a use for him—a use she hadn’t yet recognized.

  And for that, of course, she needed the girl.

  * * *

  —

  Flinc had watched Brecon Leah hurry toward the front of Drisker Arc’s cottage; he heard the Elven prince calling for him to follow. Still cradling the pretty Tarsha Kaynin in his arms, holding her close enough that he could feel the beating of her heart, he waited until the other was out of sight, then promptly turned the other way.

  There was no reason to expose this beautiful creature to further danger by going the Elf’s way. She was deep in sleep, still lost in her dreams, and he had to do what was best for her while there was yet time. She might have died if she had remained the old woman’s prisoner. She might have been tortured or been subjected to further indignities by her brother. The Elf and his companion had good hearts, and they clearly wanted what was best for her, but did they even know what that was? Did they understand how precious she was? He didn’t think so. Not like he did.

  He hurried to reach the back door, the sleeping girl no burden to him at all, in spite of his size. For a small fellow, he was surprisingly strong. He would not have stayed alive for all these centuries otherwise. Even the passage of time had done little to weaken him. He remained very much the same as he had always been—and that was true in ways that only Drisker Arc understood. Even if the Druid didn’t always approve of those ways or the choices Flinc made…

  Forest imps were unusual creatures. Some would say odd. Drisker Arc might agree, although he would never admit it to Flinc. But he understood how Flinc was susceptible to rash and selfish behavior, given the right impetus.

  Such as a reason to indulge his desperate craving for someone to love him.

  Like this pretty girl, Tarsha.

  Flinc understood this weakness, but now and then it proved too strong for him to resist. He glanced down at the girl and smiled. White-blond hair and lavender eyes, skin smooth and white as chalk. Possessed of beauty and magic and charm. Exotic in a way only great treasures were. Tarsha was a rare creature; she deserved to be cared for. No one saw this quite as clearly as Flinc did, so they were less cautious about the dangers she faced. He had looked after her when the assassins had come to Drisker’s home and set it on fire. If not for Flinc (and, to a less important degree, Fade), she might have been killed or badly injured. But he had saved her and taken her away to his home to make sure she remained safe.

  He thought about how good it had felt to have her there in his underground home—his special guest, his private treasure. She had been sleeping, of course, because it was necessary. First, because she was exhausted and damaged and needed to rest and heal. Second, because if she were to agree to stay with him permanently, she needed time to get used to the idea that living with him was something to be desired.

  Drisker hadn’t seen it that way, but the Druid didn’t understand everything about how the world worked—not even as wise as he was. Flinc, on the other hand, had more experience, having lived so much longer and thereby gained a more extensive worldview and a deeper understanding of life. Tarsha would have come to see that if she had spent more time with him. She might have come to love him. Not in a physical way because he was well beyond that, but with a deep and abiding friendship. Time was a healer and a teacher—and people just needed enough space to allow for understanding and acceptance.

  He had thought he might find this the last time he took Tarsha, but Drisker had prevented her from staying with him then. Now Drisker was no longer here, and if the Druid was truly trapped in the limbo existence of Paranor, he might never return.

  Flinc had to make plans accordingly. He had to accept that now it would be up to him to care for this lovely child.

  So he carried Tarsha Kaynin from the cottage and into the forest, moving steadily but carefully so as to leave no trail, picking his way over ground that would reveal no sign of his passing, then angling back toward his own stretch of the woods and his home. He was sorry he had to do this to the Elven prince and the Blade, but they would never have let him take Tarsha otherwise. They would have kept her with them as they tried to find a way to bring back Drisker—even when the odds were so steeply stacked against them. They would try and
fail, and in the process they might get the pretty girl killed. He could not allow that to happen. Not when he was being given a second chance. Not when he was so certain this was the right thing to do.

  It was still dark when he neared his underground home, but the first tinges of morning light were appearing through gaps in the trees, and in an hour it would be full daylight. He approached his home with caution. There were no indications yet of a pursuit, and he detected no sounds or movements. He stood before his hidden entry and prepared to trigger its release.

  Off to one side, right at the edge of the trees, something moved. He froze momentarily, his gaze shifting toward the movement. Fade slid from the shadows, her huge gray-and-black body sinuous and sleek in the near darkness. She came out of the trees and stopped, looking at him. Then she sat back on her haunches, her lantern eyes fixing on him and holding him in place. She was making a judgment, he realized. She could not communicate, but she was letting him know she was taking his measure for some reason. Likely as a warning she felt he needed.

  About the girl, perhaps? He frowned. Well, if Fade was giving him a warning about that, she was wasting her time. It was not her place to pass judgment on him—a creature so many times older, an ancient being whose ways she was not in the least familiar with.

  Yet she continued to watch him.

  Dismissing her with a mental shrug, the forest imp knelt, lowering Tarsha Kaynin to the ground. He felt for the release to his trapdoor and turned it a half twist counterclockwise, then a full twist clockwise. Then he found the handle and opened the grass-and-weed-covered hatch and laid it back. Picking the girl back up again, he carried her down the waiting stairs and into his home.