The Black Elfstone

  Dar Leah nodded. “She helped me escape the Keep. She warned me that the Ard Rhys might prevent me from trying to leave even though he ordered me to go. She helped me through the gates and out into the forest. She suggested that perhaps I might want to come to you.”

  “She wanted you out of the way,” Drisker said drily. “Did she mention the strangeness in Ober you’ve spoken about? Anything to suggest she was concerned, as well?”

  Dar Leah stared at him. “She touched on it, nothing more. What do you mean she wanted me out of the way? What’s going on?”

  “Years ago, before your time with the Druids, while I was still Ard Rhys, a Druid with substantial skills in the use of magic and a hunger for power within the order fell afoul of her. I forget the particulars, but he enraged her in a way that was unmistakable. She was already famed as a poisoner, and there were many who thought she might try to put an end to him in the same way she had disposed of others. But curiously, no attempt at a poisoning was made. Though he invited retribution by continuing to disparage her openly, none was forthcoming.

  “But then a curious thing happened. The instigator began to act oddly, as though a change in temperament had overtaken him. He made irrational claims and wild accusations against almost everyone. He began to see other Druids as enemies—men and women who had been his friends or at least his compatriots. All of them were shocked by his behavior. This went on rather a long time, and no one could discover a way to put a stop to it. His temperament did not improve. If anything, he slipped further into a sort of self-induced madness. It was terrible to watch. No one could find a cause or a cure, myself included.”

  He paused, looking off into the forest. “Until one day, he simply threw himself off the walls of the Keep.”

  “You believe it was Clizia’s work?”

  Drisker nodded. “I had no reason to think so at the time. But some weeks later, while speaking with her on another matter, she said something that suggested she had played a part in the man’s death. She said people should be careful who they choose to anger, because hate has a way of coming back to infect you with its poison.”

  “So.” The highlander paused. “Instead of killing him quickly with poison, she used something that drove him slowly mad?”

  “I think she wanted him to suffer.”

  “And she’s doing the same with Balronen?”

  Drisker looked at Tarsha, then at Dar Leah. “She wants to be Ard Rhys of the Druid order. She always has. That can’t happen while Balronen holds the position. She may think this is the time for him to be pushed out. One way or the other.”

  “If so, her timing seems incredibly poor,” Tarsha declared, unable to stay silent any longer. “What does she accomplish by killing off or removing an Ard Rhys when there are invaders threatening Paranor? Creating chaos accomplishes nothing!”

  Drisker nodded. “I don’t pretend to know exactly what Clizia is up to. But the circumstances feel too familiar not to be taken into consideration.”

  “There’s something else you need to know,” Dar Leah said suddenly. “Something I meant to bring up earlier. I think the invaders have placed a spy inside Paranor. He calls himself Kassen Drue. He arrived very recently to be examined for admittance as a Druid-in-Training and was accepted. At his examination, he was able to shift his position from one side of the room to the other without being detected—even with three Druids watching.”

  Like Drisker can disappear and reappear, Tarsha thought at once. And perhaps those invaders? Wasn’t that what the Morsk insinuated? That they became like ghosts?

  Abruptly, a suspicion surfaced, hard and quick—a reach that might not have seemed possible before, but now felt almost inevitable.

  “Describe this man,” she asked the Blade. “Physical characteristics, the nature of his voice, anything at all.”

  He did so, and even before he finished Tarsha and Drisker were exchanging a look of recognition.

  “He’s the one, isn’t he?” she hissed. “Clizia lied! She must have known who he was from your description. What sort of game is she playing?”

  Drisker shook his head. “Who is this man’s mentor at Paranor?” he asked the Blade. When he saw the look on the other’s face, he stood up instantly. “We need to go to Paranor at once.”

  Tarsha felt her heart stop. All her hopes of trying to help her brother, her plans for teaching him to manage the wishsong, and her fears and doubts about what was happening to him in her absence were being cast aside once more. As quickly as that, Drisker had broken his promise to come with her to Backing Fell.

  She stood up. “What of my brother? What of Tavo?”

  Drisker nodded, reminded of his promise. “We can go to him afterward, Tarsha. But we need to address the situation at Paranor first. The threat of what might be going on within the Keep must take priority.”

  “For you, perhaps. But not for me.” She held his gaze. “I will not go with you. I will be going home to my brother. You promised to let me, and now you must. I would have liked it if you had been able to come with me, but I will not hold you to it. Still, I must go.”

  There was a long moment of silence as the three stared at one another. Tarsha felt a cold place opening inside her as she felt the possibilities of becoming Drisker’s associate and friend dropping away. She was giving up everything for a brother who was increasingly a danger to herself and others, and there was no reason to think she would ever get any part of it back.

  “You must do what feels right,” Drisker said quietly. “If you need to go to your brother, then go. Not with me, but perhaps Darcon Leah will go with you. Someone must protect you if things are not safe for your return.”

  He turned to the highlander. “Will you accompany her, Dar? There is nothing further you can do for the Druids and Paranor. Only I can do what needs doing now. But I will rest much easier if I know that, while I cannot keep my promise to Tarsha, I can at least be reassured she will not be harmed in my absence. I know I am asking a lot of you, but it is important to me.”

  Tarsha waited for the highlander to argue or flatly refuse, but instead he nodded. “I will go with her.”

  She stared at him, searching for some indication of dismay or irritation at having been tasked with acting as her protector, but she found nothing in his expression to indicate either.

  “And when you are finished and you have done what you can for your brother,” Drisker added, “you will return to me and complete your apprenticeship. A bargain is a bargain, and you must keep it.” He rose. “Now I must pack and leave for Paranor.”

  “Wait!” Tarsha practically shouted the word. The Druid froze. “Just don’t do…just wait! This matter is not settled. You presume to make decisions for me, giving me no chance to tell you how I feel. Whether you believe this is for my own good or not, you have no right. I don’t want Dar Leah to go with me. I do not need his services. But you most certainly will. Clizia lied! Deliberately! If she has lied once, she will lie again, and maybe worse! She has something planned, and it does not look to me as if it is intended to help you. But Dar can help protect you! He is the only living member of the Druid order who knows anything useful about these invaders. What if they are coming to Paranor? What if they arrive while you are there? How will you know what to expect or do if Dar Leah isn’t there to provide advice?”

  There was a long moment of silence; then the Blade nodded. “She is right, Drisker. I know what to expect better than anyone.”

  The Druid looked from one to the other and then nodded. “I suppose Tarsha is right. Very well. Dar will come with me.”

  He rose abruptly and went into the cottage, leaving the highlander and the girl staring after him—and then staring at each other. For a moment, neither said anything. It felt to Tarsha as if the other was taking her measure. She glared at him challengingly, intimidated by those startling blue eyes, trying to decide what they were seeing.

  “Will it be a problem, going back alone?” he asked finally.

&nbs
p; “What difference does it make to you?” she snapped, her irritation with him surfacing. “You didn’t want to go with me in the first place! Why didn’t you just say so?”

  His lips tightened. “You know nothing about me and have no right to presume you do. What I want in this matter doesn’t necessarily outweigh what he wants. I respect Drisker Arc immensely, and I do not presume to know better than he does. Unlike you, apparently, who seem to think you do.”

  “You’re the High Druid’s Blade. You belong with him.”

  “I was the Blade. Now I am an exile.”

  “So we have an exiled Blade in service to an exiled Druid. A perfect fit. You may think him adequate to the task he sets himself, but do not be so certain. I do not think he is who he was when he was at Paranor. Even in the short time I’ve been his student, I have seen the signs. He was very nearly killed twice last week. You need to be there for him.”

  Dar Leah nodded slowly. “Perhaps so. But you should understand why he asked me to go with you. He worries about you and needs to know you will be safe if he is not there to protect you. He is concerned that your magic might not be sufficient. You do possess magic, don’t you? Of course, you do; he wouldn’t be teaching you otherwise. His feelings for you are great enough that he cares about your safety. You should be grateful, and you should let him know it. Attacking me is pointless.”

  While she didn’t care for the dressing-down, she understood that his assessment was correct. Drisker had done this for her. He might not have stopped to consider her feelings, but there was no denying he was focused on how best to keep her safe. It would be incredibly ungrateful of her not to tell him that she appreciated it.

  This did not change her belief that it was unnecessary, but it did temper her anger. “You’re right,” she said. “I apologize for making assumptions about you, and I will speak with him before he leaves.”

  “Would you consider telling me where it is you are going and what it is you intend to do?”

  She saw no reason not to. She was feeling less resentful of him by now, more ready to accept that he cared for Drisker, too. So she explained the circumstances that had brought her to Emberen, and the struggle she was having with her conscience because she had left her brother behind. She revealed that both siblings possessed the magic of the wishsong and needed help with mastering its power—although her brother’s need was by far the greater. She confessed she was concerned for his sanity and safety both.

  When she had finished, he just nodded. “You show great love and courage, Tarsha. Drisker must have recognized those qualities in you when he chose to take you on as his student.”

  She gave him a brief smile. “I think he just got tired of hearing me argue over why he should agree.”

  “So we must promise, the two of us, to do whatever we can to help Drisker and each other in the days that lie ahead.”

  She hesitated only a moment before nodding in agreement. “I think we must, Dar Leah. If we are all to make it through this, I think we must.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tarsha Kaynin left the village of Emberen the following morning, after the abrupt departure of Drisker and Dar Leah the day before. She saw no reason to leave in a rush or without planning, but took time to pack traveling clothes and food and drink, and to stow emergency equipment in the small flit the Druid had provided for her use. She hiked into the village and retrieved the little craft from the field manager who stored the airship for Drisker’s personal use, flew it back to the cottage, and loaded it for the flight. By midday she was ready and set out for the deep Westland.

  Her plan was simple enough—find her brother, although she did not know for certain where he might be. She was hoping he was still where she had left him, at their uncle’s farm. She would fly to the village of Backing Fell and decide where to go from there. Hopefully, she would also figure out how to set things right with Tavo.

  She flew out on an overcast day in which clouds curtained the sky in jagged strips and the sun appeared and vanished again in the wake of their steady movement. A westerly wind propelled them hither and yon, buffeting Tarsha in her flit as she flew crosswise on her passage over forests east of the Rill Song and Arborlon and then south toward Drey Wood and west again into the Sarandanon.

  She journeyed onward through the rest of the day, reaching the southern edge of the Sarandanon by sunset and deciding not to go farther that day. Her sense of urgency suggested she should, but her common sense told her she needed to eat and sleep first. It would require another day and possibly two to reach Backing Fell—much of that time passing over wild country with a sparse populace—and she did not want to arrive exhausted and starving. So she set down near a village resting on the north bank of the Rill Song where it channeled its way west, disabled her flit so it could not fly without her and alarmed it, and then walked into town to find an inn where she could eat her dinner and find a bed to sleep in.

  For the rest of the journey, this would not be a luxury she could allow herself, for the towns she would pass through were not ones a single woman wanted to be walking around in alone. Granted she had her magic to protect her, but it was always wisest not to tempt fate by using it. So this was probably her last best chance to eat and sleep indoors until she reached home. This would be the last time she could feel safe in her surroundings and not need to be watchful everywhere she went, and she wanted to make the most of it.

  Naturally, things did not work out quite as she expected.

  Wending Way was larger than she had expected, a town more than a village with multiple streets and a thriving business district that serviced a population of farmers and shepherds and a steady flow of river traffic from trappers and traders. Not far east, a community of Rovers was engaged in salvage operations and airship repairs and restoration. Taken altogether, the surrounding community was a crossroads of commerce.

  Tarsha made her way down the streets that led to the center of the village in search of a suitable inn. Nightfall was fast approaching, and shadows cast by the failing sunlight were rapidly spreading over the streets and alleyways. Lights were coming on at the entrances to taverns, their pale glow fighting for purchase on turf already claimed by insistent shadows, their struggle perhaps a warning for the unwary. Tarsha noted the way as she went, but kept her head down and her business her own.

  At the charmingly named Cock & Crow, she slowed for a closer look. The building was reasonably pleasant outside, and through the curtained windows she could see tables set with linen and real dinnerware. The second and third floors appeared to offer sleeping rooms. Fair enough. She walked through the door, abruptly stopped, turned around, and walked out again.

  A pleasure house! Shades!

  She reached the end of that street and turned up another, heading back the way she had come. Darker here, less heavily trafficked, most retail businesses closed for the day. She kept on, searching. Soon enough she found the Wayfarer, which had a less cheerful exterior but was more clearly a normal inn with a bar and stools, tables and chairs, and signs of housing on the upper floors. She entered with fewer expectations, and they were promptly met. A huge bearded man behind the bar called out to her.

  “Well met, young lady!” he bellowed. “Come in, come in, all are welcome here, travelers and locals alike. No one turned away. A table for the lady? Right this way.”

  He thundered out from behind the bar, bearish and round, and guided her to a place by a window. He held her chair for her and pushed it in as she sat. She almost laughed. Who had done that for her lately? “Thank you. A glass of ale?”

  He was off as quickly as he had come, filling her order. She watched him with amusement. He probably did not see many single young women come into his establishment. But this inn still felt safe enough to risk taking a room, unlike everything else that she had passed.

  She ordered a meal and found the food decent. The patrons mostly ignored her. She ordered a second glass of ale and inquired about a room for the night. The barkeep, who w
as also the owner, promised her a good room with a sturdy lock. In case she was concerned about being bothered, he added knowingly.

  She assured him she wasn’t and accepted the room.

  She took her time with the second glass, watching the patrons come and go, looking out the window at the street as the night settled in and the clouds thickened overhead, blocking out moon and stars. As the darkness deepened, the people passing by grew more shadowy and less distinct, as if they were being shrouded against the bright intrusion of the lamplight. Tarsha began thinking of her brother, imagining how he would react on seeing her and what she would say to him. Perhaps it would be enough just to be together. Perhaps the words would come naturally, born of the life experiences they had shared for so long. Maybe she would find a bridge to ways in which she could reach out and help him.

  Pipe dreams, but she indulged them anyway.

  An old woman hobbled by, supporting herself with a gnarled staff etched with markings. She was dressed in a brightly colored robe with tassels and ribbons trailing from the sleeves and hem. Tarsha looked more closely at the markings on the staff. Were those runes? She couldn’t be sure in the poor light.

  She thought about Drisker Arc, imagining what might be happening to him. Wondering, too, about Dar Leah. She found him refreshingly direct and unpretentious. She probably wouldn’t have minded if he had come with her. But he would have been a distraction, and she would have felt guilty about Drisker. Dar belonged with the man he had sworn to ward, Ard Rhys or no. He was the Blade, and that meant he was charged with the responsibility of providing protection to the Druids, not to her.

  She sighed, finished the last of her ale, and was about to rise when she glanced out the window.

  The old woman she had noticed earlier was standing right in front of her on the other side of the glass, leaning on her staff and staring. Tarsha would have jumped out of her skin if such a thing had been possible, but instead she held steady and stared back. After a moment, the old woman gestured to her empty glass and then the empty chair on the other side of Tarsha’s table. Tarsha hesitated and then nodded, beckoning the other inside.