"You should go to sleep," he said, turning back to stop her, reaching out to touch her cheek. "You'veslept less than anyone."
She nodded. "I'll sleep soon enough. But I have to say something to you first. Whatever else happens, Bek, I intend to make certain that once Penderrin gets free of the Forbidding, he is kept safe. I intend to protect him from Shadea a'Ru and the rest of those monsters. I don't care what it takes. I don't even care what happens to me."
She was almost in tears as she finished. He tried to hold her, but she pushed him away, refusing to be comforted, defiance on her features. "Promise me that you will do the same."
"You know you don't have to ask me this," he said. "You know I feel the same way you do."
Tight-lipped, she nodded. "I do know it. But I also know that your sister is involved, and that her interests may conflict with ours. Her plans for Pen may not be acceptable. So I need to hear you say it, just in case that happens. I need to hear you promise that if a choice is necessary, you will choose our son."
A sadness inside left him hollow and sick at heart. He knew he would never be able to resolve his wife's feelings-her mistrust and her suspicions-for his sister. He understood why, and he did not blame her.
Had he been in her shoes, he would have felt the same.
He reached for her hands, and this time she did not back away. "I promise," he said. "Nothing bad will happen to Pen. No chances will be taken with his safety. His needs come before those of Grianne and the Druid order."
She came into his arms then, reaching to hold him close, her cheek placed against his, her mouth so close to his ear that he could hear her breathing.
"I'm sorry I had to ask that," she whispered.
"Don't be. Don't be sorry for anything."
"I wish Big Red were here."
"I wish Quentin were here."
But her brother was somewhere off the coast of the Blue Divide, flying his airship in service to whoever had paid him most recently, and Quentin Leah was dead two years, never fully recovered from the wounds he had received in Parkasia. Bek thought often of them both, and thinking of them made him wish he could turn time back far enough for them all to be together just once more. But life didn't give you second chances at such things. Life just swept you along and never took you back to where you had been.
"It will be all right," he whispered.
He had said that to her once before and had not been certain it was true. This time, for reasons he could not explain, he felt that it might be.
Fifteen.
When he was finished speaking, Shadea a'Ru studied Pyson Wence as if studying an interesting insect, glanced momentarily at Traunt Rowan, and then turned her back to both of them and looked out the window into the fading afternoon light.
"Tell it to me again," she said softly.
She managed to keep the rage from her voice, but it radiated from her body like heat off sunbaked earth in midsummer. She sensed their trepidation, their uncertainty, but she let them live with it as the silence between them lengthened.
"I really don't see the point in going over it a second time," Pyson Wence replied.
She could picture his exchange of looks with Traunt Rowan, could picture as well the sullen, gimlet-eyed stare, the one that waffled between boredom and disdain, he was giving her back. She could picture the way his sharp Gnome features were tightening, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting into a crooked line.
She had seen that look often enough to have it memorized. She knew when to expect it. Even thinking of it enraged her further.
"I just want to be sure I didn't miss anything," she said.
She remained turned away so that they couldn't see her face. The silence returned and lengthened slowly as she waited to see which of them would speak next. Until then, Pyson had done all the talking.
That was unusual, given the fact that it was Traunt Rowan who normally did the talking for them both.
He was the one who stayed calm when there was bad news to deliver or an untenable position to defend.
He was the steady one. Pyson was the weasel, the sly one, the manipulator, and perhaps they had decided that his skills were what would work best in their current predicament.
If they had possessed an ounce of sense between them, they would have realized that nothing would save them.
Pyson cleared his throat. "There is nothing to be gained from going over it all-"
"Tell it to me again!" she screamed, wheeling now to fix him with her white-hot glare.
Her tall, muscular body was taut and flexed, as if she might attack him. He blanched at her words, at her posture, he wilted under her glare. He turned small and insignificant. But he was quick-witted and adaptable, and he could return to form in a moment's time, so she gave him no hint of compassion, no suggestion that his lifeline would extend beyond the next moment.
"Cat got your tongue, Pyson?" she spit, taking a quick step toward him, causing him to take several back. "Is the task too difficult for you? Is repeating the words you just spoke too onerous, too demanding? I want to hear them again, Pyson. I want to hear you tell it all to me again! Now!"
"Let him be," Traunt Rowan said, speaking for the first time.
She shifted her angry gaze instantly. "Oh, so you would speak in his place, then? Do so, Traunt Rowan.
Amuse me." "No one is amused, Shadea. Your sarcasm is wasted. We are as angry as you are about what has happened. But it isn't anything we could have avoided. We thought the boy safely locked away."
"Yes, I'm sure you did!" she snapped. "Very much the way you thought his parents were safely locked away. But they escaped as well, didn't they? In fact, they escaped first! Odd. You were given some indication that your security was not all that tight, but that doesn't seem to have made any difference because you didn't change anything and so the boy escaped, too!"
Traunt Rowan shook his head. "The parents escaped because two of our number, misguided believers in the right of Grianne Ohmsford to be considered Ard Rhys even past all reasonable hope, helped them escape. Young Druids-Trefen Morys, whom we mistrusted already, and a girl about whom I know almost nothing. If not for them, the boy's parents would still be here, locked away. But we will get them back again."
She laughed at him. "You sent out word that you have their son, thinking that they will march right back to Paranor when they hear the news. You are deluded. They know what will happen if they return. Even to save their son, whom we don't, in fact, have anyway! You underestimated them once and you are doing so again! Besides, it makes no difference now whether we have them or not, does it?"
She stalked across the room to where the door to her sleeping chamber stood closed, flung it open, and knocked the Gnome guard who crouched with his ear to the door all the way across the hall and into the wall beyond, where he lay stunned and bleeding.
"Try to listen in on my conversations again, and I will cut your throat," she hissed, speaking to him in his own tongue, her voice thick and guttural in the Gnome way. "No one is to come near this door again until I open it!"
Without waiting for a response, she slammed the door shut, wheeling back on the other two. "They listen to everything, your trusted followers, Pyson. They listen and report to you, but that's going to stop right now."
Terror flickered in Pyson Wence's yellow eyes. She watched it shift into a hint of desperation and shook her head in disgust. "You are hopeless." She glanced disdainfully at Traunt Rowan. "Both of you."
She stalked across the room to the window and stared out into the coming night. She wished it would close around the Keep and swallow up everyone in it who had failed her. She wished it would swallow those traitors who had helped the Ohmsfords escape. She wished it would swallow up those fools who had taken sides against her in the matter, starting with Sen Dunsidan and Iridia Eleri.
She wheeled back around. "The parents escaped because you weren't smart enough to expect them to try!" she snapped at Traunt Rowan. "The boy escaped because you weren't smart enough to learn from the example of the parents! You took away the staff, you locked him in a cell, and you thought that was the end of it.Wait for Shadea to return, you thought. That was all that was necessary."
"I thought it sufficient, yes," Traunt Rowan replied tightly.
She gave him a withering glare. "It never occurred to you, I don't suppose, that you were bringing the boy to the one place he should never have been brought."
He frowned. "What do you mean?" She stared at him without speaking, the weight of her gaze enough to crush another man. "You don't understand anything, do you? Neither of you understands what's happened."
Pyson Wence exhaled sharply. "We understand, Shadea. They've escaped, all of them. If you want to blame us, then do so. But we will get them back again."
"Will you?" she whispered.
She walked over to her writing desk and sat behind it, thinking that it might be time to put an end to them both. Why wait? With Terek Molt dead and Iridia turned traitor and perhaps something worse, these two were the last of those who had conspired with her to eliminate Grianne Ohmsford. Her grip on the Third Druid Order was strong enough now that she could afford to do away with them.
She considered the idea a moment longer before dismissing it. It was still too soon.
"You took a staff from the boy," she said to Traunt Rowan. "It had rune markings carved up and down its length. The boy tried to hide it from you, but you knew it was a talisman." She paused. "Do you know what it does?"
The tall man shook his head. "No."
"You took it away from him and you put it in this room?"
"I used magic to suspend it in a cradle so that it would wait undisturbed for your return."
"Except that the boy or this Elven girl who helped him escape found a way to undo your magic. So now the staff is gone as well as the boy."
He stared at her wordlessly.
"Where, Traunt Rowan? Where do you think they went?"
He shook his head. "He was trapped in this room with the girl when we found them. The girl has the use of Druid magic. Rudimentary, but effective. She held us off long enough for him to find another way out.
Perhaps out one of the windows or maybe into a secret passageway, like the one you used to get access to Grianne Ohmsford while she slept."
"But you searched?"
"Everywhere."
She rose from the desk and came out to stand in front of him. "Think back. That boy has been on a mission from the beginning. He has been searching for something that will help him find his missing aunt, his beloved aunt. Tagwen went with him, then Ahren Elessedil and Kermadec. They all went with him.
That suggests they believed in him. What is it that they thought this boy could do? I'll tell you what. They thought he could find a way to get inside the Forbidding."
"That's ridiculous," Pyson Wence snapped.
"They didn't think so," she snapped back. "Ahren Elessedil gave his life to help that boy. We might assume that he had a good reason for doing so. We might even assume he thought the boy's life moreimportant than his own. Why would he think that? Because the boy was the best hope any of them had of reaching Grianne Ohmsford inside the Forbidding! That being so, the one thing we didn't want to do was to bring him anywhere near the place where she went in! Especially after you caught him trying to hide a talisman of unknown origin and power!" She paused, looking from face to face. "But that was exactly what you did. Now both are gone, the boy and his staff, vanished into thin air in this very room."
She took a deep breath. "Take a moment and think it through carefully. Where do you think they are?"
Traunt Rowan's face had gone white. "That isn't possible," he whispered. "No one can get into the Forbidding."
She gave him a tight smile. "We did."
He stared at her, unable to put words to what he was thinking.
"There is one way to find out if I am right," she said softly. "You do still have the Elven girl locked away, don't you? She hasn't escaped with the others, has she?"
Traunt Rowan flushed. "We have her."
"Bring her to me."
He left at once, taking Pyson Wence with him. Eyes straight ahead as they stalked through the doorway, neither of them glanced at her on their way out.
Good,she thought.Let them think about what they have done. Let them dwell on it a little and consider what might be in store for them if I am right.
She stood alone in her chambers and despaired over how convoluted things had become. Their plan had been a simple one in the beginning-confine Grianne Ohmsford to the Forbidding and take control of the Druid order. Sen Dunsidan had given them the liquid night, and she had found a way to use it. The plan had worked exactly as it was supposed to work, but since then the situation had spiraled steadily out of control. It had begun with that boy, Penderrin Ohmsford. Why it had begun with him rather than with his more experienced and more deeply talented father, she still didn't know. Nor did she know even now exactly what it was that he had set out to do, even though she was pretty sure that he had found a way to do it. If this Elven girl confirmed her suspicions about where he was, she would have to take new measures to protect herself. She had come too far and suffered too much to think of giving up what she had gained. The rest of them could do as they wished, if she let them live long enough, but she had set her mind on her own course of action and did not intend to deviate from it.
Grianne Ohmsford was powerful, but she was also mortal. By now, she could be dead. By now, she should be.
But a nagging certainty whispered that she wasn't.
Better I die than that I concede anything to her. Or to that boy.
She imagined momentarily what she would do to Penderrin Ohmsford if she somehow managed to get her hands on him. The image that came to mind made her shiver.
When Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence reappeared with the Elven girl, Shadea was surprised to see how small and vulnerable looking she was, she had imagined the girl larger and more imposing. The Gnome Hunter clothing she wore, obviously stolen to provide her with a disguise, was ill fitting, loose, and made her look smaller still. But when she saw Shadea, she displayed a look of such obvious defiance that it instantly infuriated the sorceress.
Little fool!
She walked up to the girl without a word, snatched her by her clothing so that she was off balance, and struck her hard across the face. The blow was delivered open-handed, so as not to break anything, but the sound of it caused Traunt Rowan to flinch. The force of the slap sent the girl sprawling. Without waiting for her to recover, Shadea stalked over to where she lay, grabbed another handful of clothing, and hauled her back to her feet.
Then she placed her face inches from the girl's. "That was to give you some small idea of how I feel about what you have done. It should also indicate what sort of trouble you are in."
The defiance was gone from the girl's face, replaced by a sullen acceptance of her fate. Shadea gave her a moment to recover, to let the words sink in, then struck her again, knocking her to the floor once more.
This time when she stood the girl up again, there were tears in her eyes. "It hurt more this time, didn't it?" Shadea asked softly. "But I haven't begun to hurt you yet. What is your name?"
When the girl didn't answer fast enough, Shadea struck her again, twice, the open-handed blows delivered first to one side of her face and then to the other. The girl's head snapped back and forth with the blows, and she gasped audibly with each one. Shadea gripped her clothing with her free hand so that she couldn't fall, kept her standing upright, sagging slightly from the attack.
"Your name, girl," she repeated. "You are an Elessedil or you are a thief because only one or the other would possess the Elfstones. Which is it?"
"Khyber Elessedil," the girl whispered. Her face was already beginning to redden and swell.
Shadea glanced at her companions, both of whom shook their heads. Neither recognized anything beyond theEkssedil part of the name.
"What are you to Kellen Elessedil?" Shadea snapped.
"He is my brother."
"Was," Shadea corrected. "He's dead. Killed on the Prekkendorran almost a week ago."
She watched the girl's gaze lift to meet hers and saw more tears fill her eyes. Good. She was already beginning to come apart. This wouldn't be so hard.
"You are all alone, Khyber Elessedil," she whispered, her voice flat and emotionless. "No one even knows you are here, save those you left stranded in the ruins of Stridegate and the boy you helped escape. I wouldn't expect any help from them, if I were you. Nor from any other source. You no longer possess the Elfstones, I have them safely tucked away. You have no real Druid magic to help you escape, you are a neophyte. Your fate is sealed. If you want to live, you will tell me exactly what 1 wantto know. Are you listening to me?"
The girl nodded, but there was a hint of defiance still in her dark eyes. Shadea smiled. Foolish bravado.