“Grehling said he rescued Chrys when Mischa went out to retrieve some potions and ran into her just outside while she was coming back with them. So her store of supplies should be here.” He looked around. “But she’s hidden it well. We’ve searched everywhere.”
“She would, wouldn’t she? She was a witch, and she would have been careful to protect herself.” She paused. “If it were me, I would use magic to conceal everything.”
He nodded slowly. “Of course. It’s here, but we just can’t see it.”
Leofur nodded. “A Druid could show us. We should have brought one along.”
Paxon thought instantly of Starks, who would have come without hesitating. He compressed his lips and shrugged. “There’s someone else who likely knows.”
She nodded slowly. “I knew we’d get to that. You won’t let go of it, will you?”
“Not when it’s the only way.”
“We don’t even know where he is.”
“Dark House.”
She nodded reluctantly. “Probably. But why would Arcannen help you?”
“He wouldn’t. Not willingly.”
Her face tightened and despair reflected in her eyes. “Don’t do this, Paxon. Wait for some help.”
“If I wait for help, he’ll get away. He’ll be gone, and I might not find him again. I might not have any chance of finding whatever Mischa’s got hidden in here.”
“You’re thinking of Starks. This is about avenging his death.”
He stepped close. “I promise you it isn’t. I’m doing this for Chrys. That’s the truth. Believe me, please.”
She shook her head. “I suppose I do believe you. Although I don’t know why.” She sighed heavily, and then took hold of his arms and turned him toward the doorway. “I want to believe you, so I will. Don’t disappoint me. Let’s go find him.”
At Paranor, Aphenglow Elessedil had come awake. She ached from head to foot from Chrysallin’s attack, but her thinking was clear and sharp. She lay in her bed for long minutes, gathering her thoughts. In a chair nearby, one of the Druid Healers dozed, head lowered, hands clasped in his lap. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, so she could not tell what time it was, although she could see slivers of light through tiny gaps in the fabric.
She was thinking of what had happened to her when she had come face-to-face with Chrysallin, but mostly she was thinking about what she now knew of the theft of the artifacts from the Druid vault. She was carrying this burden alone for the moment, unwilling to speak with anyone else about it. She had known who the thief was for a short while now, but had let the matter be because she wasn’t certain how to handle it. Unusual for her—but then the truth about who had committed the thefts was unusual, as well.
Worse, it exposed a failing in her with which she had not managed to come to terms. It made her realize how very long she had been Ard Rhys. She found herself thinking of Arling, now gone for more than a century and a half—the sister she loved so much and had tried so hard to protect. In the end, she had failed her sister because Arling had sacrificed herself to save the Four Lands, and Aphen had let her. With Arling gone, her mother and her beloved uncle Ellich long since dead, and even steady, dependable Seersha passed away, she had been left alone. She had other family, but they were not close. She had separated herself from Arborlon and made her home at Paranor. The Druids were her family now, and she had given her entire life to caring for them.
Perhaps that was why it hurt so much to know that one of them had betrayed her.
She sat up finally, unwilling to remain abed any longer, and when she did so the Druid dozing in the chair woke up. “Mistress!” he exclaimed in horror, and he leapt up to prevent her from rising.
“No, no,” she insisted, warding him off with arms extended. “I’m well enough to get up and walk around. Please let me do so.”
He did, but only after he had helped steady her and made certain she wouldn’t fall. “I should examine you, Mistress.”
“Why don’t you wait on that and go find Sebec for me, instead,” she said gently. “Ask him to come here. When we are finished, you can conduct whatever examination is needed.”
He left reluctantly, and she took the opportunity to wash her face in the basin by her bedside and run a comb through her long gray hair. She watched herself in the mirror as she did this, thinking she really had lived too long. The Druid Sleep was a gift but it didn’t make her happy. It didn’t bring back the time she had lost. It didn’t bring back the people who were gone. It didn’t even provide a sense of contentment.
There was a knock on the door and Sebec entered on her invitation. The young Druid looked haggard, his face drawn, his eyes mirroring his concern, but he smiled at once when he saw her back on her feet. “Mistress! Thank goodness!”
He came over to her and knelt at her feet, taking her hands in his own and kissing them. “I’m so sorry for what happened. It was my fault. I didn’t know the doctors hadn’t sedated her yet. They said they were going to. I almost killed you!”
She grasped his hands and brought him to his feet. “Hardly. I was just a bit stunned from the blow. She has real magic in her voice—a dangerous power for one so young—but I don’t think she knows anything about it. Is she sleeping now?”
“The Healers gave her a strong potion. They want her to rest for several days before they begin treating her again. The shock was significant, they say.”
“I imagine so. Where is Paxon?”
Sebec hesitated. “He flew the boy and the young woman back to Wayford.”
She gave him a measured look. “And you let him do this?”
“I don’t think I could have stopped him.”
“You know what he intends, don’t you? He intends to go looking for Arcannen.”
“He said he just wanted something to do.”
Aphenglow released his hands and walked over to pour herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the dresser. “I want you to get him back here. I want a contingent of Druid Guards to fly to Wayford, find him, and escort him home. Send Oost Mondara. Right now, Sebec.”
She said it with enough emphasis that her disapproval was clearly evident, and he almost ran out the door to do her bidding. She watched him go, disappointed all over again. Some things you couldn’t do anything about, she supposed. Some things had to be left to run their course.
She walked to the window and pulled open the curtains. Daylight streamed in. From the position of the sun, it appeared to be midmorning. A new day had arrived.
She walked to her wardrobe, pulled out fresh clothing, shed her nightgown, and began to dress.
She did not see Sebec again until midafternoon. She imagined he had decided to keep his distance until he was certain her anger had abated, occupying himself with other duties. She was confident he would do as she had told him and dispatch Oost and the Druid Guards immediately, so she saw no reason to follow up on that. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Paxon, still so young and headstrong. She worried that he would find Arcannen before help could reach him.
She was afraid that the rescue attempt would come too late.
But she had done what she could, and there were other matters she must deal with.
She’d spent the morning with the Druid Healers being poked and prodded, listening to advice—don’t try to do too much right away, get lots of sleep, drink liquids, if you feel weak sit down and wait for it to pass. All of it was well meant but unnecessary. She was sore, but getting better by the minute, ready to resume her duties as the Ard Rhys of the order.
So after she had eaten lunch—her first meal since waking—she returned to her office to examine documents that had now been awaiting her attention for days. Much of it was busywork, the sort of paper shuffling she deliberately put aside and ignored for as long as possible. But with her limited strength and mobility, this seemed an excellent time to catch up.
She was still in the midst of her efforts when Sebec knocked on her door and entered. She coul
d tell at once from his expression that something was seriously wrong. But she forced herself to sit back and wait for him to get up enough nerve to tell her.
“Mistress, we have visitors,” he announced. “A Federation warship has arrived. It carries a full complement of Federation soldiers and the Prime Minister himself. He wishes to speak with you at once.”
She gave him a measured look. “What does he want to speak to me about?”
“He wouldn’t say. He said it was strictly between the two of you. He is waiting just outside the north gates.”
She took a moment to digest this news. The current Prime Minister of the Federation was a welcome change from Drust Chazhul and Edinja Orle and a few others she had been forced to deal with over the years. By all accounts, he was a decent and honorable man whose service to his people and conduct toward the other Races of the Four Lands had proven exemplary. Hard-nosed and fiercely loyal, he was nevertheless neither venal nor treacherous. She believed she could trust him.
She rose. “Arrange for a contingent of the Druid Guard to accompany me. No one is to act precipitously. No one is to do anything unless I am attacked. Am I clear about this, Sebec?”
The young Druid nodded hastily and backed out of the room. She gathered up her black robes and followed him into the hallway beyond and along its length to the stairs leading down. Once outside the building, she crossed the open courtyard to the north gates, squinting against the bright sunlight. By then, the contingent of Druid Guards she had requested had caught up to her, flanking her protectively, a silent presence. She ordered the gates opened and walked outside the Keep into a broad splash of sunshine.
The Federation warship was moored right in front of her, its huge dark hull casting its black shadow over her as she walked forward, leaving the Druid Guards behind. A small gathering of Federation officials and soldiers stood off to one side of the warship.
The Prime Minister separated himself from the others and came toward her. He was a spare, elderly man, white-haired and bearded, his blue eyes still sharp and knowing.
“Well met, Mistress Elessedil,” he greeted her. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me like this. It is important that everything be done out in the open. An appearance of trust is crucial in this situation.”
She wondered what he was talking about, but let him steer her aside, well away from the others, choosing a spot where they were out of hearing. “What’s happened?” she asked, facing him squarely.
He met her gaze and held it. “Yesterday morning, a Druid entered the chambers of Fashton Caeil, our Minister of Security, and murdered both him and his assistant. The Druid who did this was seen and recognized by Federation soldiers stationed at the entry to the Minister’s chambers. He was positively identified. It was Isaturin.”
Aphenglow pursed her lips. “So have you come to Paranor to ask me to turn him over to you?”
The Prime Minister shook his head. “Not exactly. The identification is suspect. I have reason to believe it is false even though the soldiers were quite clear about seeing him and hearing his name spoken. Or perhaps it is exactly because of both. It seems odd to me that a killer would allow these things to happen if he had any intention at all of hiding his identity. Then there’s this.”
He reached into his robes and pulled out a long black knife. “It is the murder weapon. It was found lying on the floor next to the body of Minister Caeil. Do you recognize it?”
She nodded. “It is called the Stiehl. It is a Druid artifact that was stolen from our archives some weeks ago. May I see it?”
The Prime Minister handed it to her. “That blade is very sharp.”
“That blade,” she said, giving the weapon a careful examination to be certain of what she was holding, “will cut through anything. There is no defense against it except for certain forms of magic.” She looked up at him. “It was left behind by the killer?”
The other nodded. “And so it proves a further cause for my suspicion. Who would be foolish or careless enough to leave behind clear evidence that they were in some way affiliated with the Druid order? Was it simply forgotten in the heat of things? Was it dropped by accident? All of these seem unlikely to me.”
“The Stiehl was last seen in the hands of a sorcerer called Arcannen several days ago in Wayford. It was used to kill one of my Druids—a man who had gone to find him and bring him back for punishment.”
The Prime Minister’s smile was chilly. “I thought as much. Arcannen’s name has surfaced repeatedly during our investigation of this killing. He was listed on Minister Caeil’s register as visiting him at least six times in the last four months. He was clearly a man known to the Minister who came and went regularly.” He paused. “Rumor has it that he has significant use of magic, including the ability to change his appearance.”
Aphenglow nodded. “I expect that is true. So you don’t think Isaturin is responsible for any of this?”
“I would be surprised if he was. Fashton Caeil was an ambitious man with plans for improving his situation in the Coalition Council. I have heard he coveted my own position. It seems likely that he overstepped himself with this sorcerer and paid the price for doing so.”
He paused. “My only confusion comes from not understanding why the killer believed I would be convinced it was Isaturin. Given what we know, his efforts seem amateurish.”
“I agree. Whatever else he might be, Arcannen is no fool. There is something else at work here.” She considered. “I wonder if his intent in all this was not to fool us, but simply to delay us in our efforts to come after him. He knows we hunt him for his killing of our Druid brother. Perhaps this additional killing was meant to cause enough confusion to give him an opportunity to escape. And to make certain at the same time that the exact details of what was going on between the two never came to light.”
“Perhaps he hoped I would act precipitously and simply assume the worst about you,” the Prime Minister added ruefully. “It would not be the first time such a thing happened in the history of Druids and the Federation. And, in point of fact, it is happening to some extent now, as well. Others are already making judgments about these killings, which is why I came to you myself so we could have this talk. Can you be certain Isaturin was here yesterday when the killing was done?”
“I can find out immediately,” she answered.
She called back to her guards and asked for Sebec to be sent to her. When the young scribe appeared, she asked him about Isaturin. “I want to know if he was here all day yesterday and the day before. I want to know if he left the Keep to go anywhere at all in that time. Will you check the logs and speak with the airfield watch?”
Sebec set off at a run. She turned back to the Prime Minister. “So the rumor of a Druid murderer is already being given credence?”
“He was seen and identified.” The Prime Minister shrugged. “On the surface, it seems unquestionable that he is guilty. But you and I know better than to rely on what appears on the surface.”
She nodded. “I am grateful to you for coming to settle this matter yourself.”
“I fear we do less than we should to cooperate. Our inbred suspicions and long history of conflict drive us apart more often than not. This seemed a good opportunity to try to change this rather unfortunate habit.”
She offered the blade back to him, a gesture she felt appropriate, but he quickly held up his hands, indicating he did not want it. “It belongs here, locked safely away. Do you think you might have better luck doing that this time?”
She didn’t miss the irony in his voice. “When we lock it up this time, it will not be taken from us again,” she replied.
“I am pleased to hear that.”
So they stood together in silence for what seemed to Aphen an endless amount of time, waiting on Sebec. When he finally returned, he was flushed and out of breath. Before saying anything, he looked questioningly at the Ard Rhys.
“Just give your report, Sebec,” she told him.
“Isaturin ret
urned from Arishaig five days ago. He has not left here since. The logs and the guards all confirm it.”
She sent him away and turned back to the Prime Minister.
“Well, Mistress, we have our answer,” he said. “I am satisfied. But let me ask a favor of you. Would the Druid order be willing to undertake a hunt for the real killer? Would you be willing to assume responsibility for finding him?”
She nodded slowly. “I had already decided on this. If I can bring him back in one piece, he will be brought before you and made to answer directly for his actions.”
The Prime Minister held out his hands. “I offer peace to you, Mistress. Now and in the future.”
“I offer friendship, Prime Minister,” she replied. She took his hands in her own and squeezed gently. “Safe journey home.”
She watched him return to his companions and board the warship. She continued to watch as the vessel released its moorings and lifted away. She kept watching until it was out of sight.
A crisis averted, a promise of peace offered, and an affirmation of friendship given in return—all in a matter of minutes, she thought. What other surprises does this day have in store?
TWENTY-SIX
THE CITY STREETS WERE TEEMING WITH PEOPLE AND CLOGGED with carriages and animals by the time Paxon and Leofur exited Mischa’s building and began walking toward Dark House. To all appearances, they were just another couple passing through the city, but that was only because Leofur had slung her flash rip over one shoulder and closed it away beneath her cloak. While one or two pairs of eyes might have strayed to the black sword strapped across Paxon’s back, it didn’t draw nearly the attention the flash rip would.
In any event, no one stopped them. Midday was approaching, and the smell of foods cooking and the laughter and voices of men and women enjoying their noon meal rose on all sides. The Highlander was acutely aware of how hungry he was; he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night. He glanced at the girl and took note of her pinched face.