Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (6 page)

“That won’t happen.” She met his gaze squarely. “The Druids won’t allow it.”

He nodded. “So you think. But the Druid order is tiny and isolated. How many of you are left? Six? Eight? And your Ard Rhys hasn’t been seen in how many years? Even the Elves want nothing to do with you. How much can you accomplish with so few?” He paused. “This is not to say we are any better off. We aren’t. We have some use of magic, but nothing of real consequence beyond the blue Elfstones. We study the use of magic, and a few of us possess talismans handed down over the centuries, but by and large we are bereft. Once, the use of magic defined us. Now it seems an oddity, a remnant of another time.

He sighed. “It is a worrisome state of affairs, Aphenglow. Without magic, we are vulnerable on many fronts. Our army is well trained, but dwarfed by that of the Federation. We disdain the help of the Druids; our only meaningful alliance is with the Dwarves. If that should fail, we would be susceptible to an all-out attack.”

“The Federation wouldn’t dare. The other Races wouldn’t stand for it.”

“I think they would. I think the other Races would stay clear of the whole mess, very much the way they have in other times. If the
Dwarves were persuaded to stay out of it, the Gnomes and Trolls would do the same. The Federation would have the match they seek.”

She leaned back and studied him. “Why are you telling me all this? What does my status as a Druid have to do with anything?”

“Just this. As the King’s granddaughter and an Elf and Druid both, you occupy a unique position in the Elven hierarchy. Even disliked as you are by some, you still command respect. I wish you would consider using it. Come back to us and be the leader we need.”

“My grandfather is King and his son Phaedon after him. Since Phaedon has no children, you would be next in line. And after that, there are others who would be favored over me.”

Ellich shook his head, eyebrows arching high on his forehead. “My brother is failing. My nephew would be a dangerous and foolish choice, and I would be a worse one. All of the others lack your skills and training. You are the right person to lead the Elves.”

“This is dangerous talk, Ellich. You might not want to repeat it to anyone else.”

“I am not suggesting that you should claim the throne, Aphen. But as a member of the Elessedil family, you can help by sharing the magic that is rightfully ours.”

For just a second she thought he had uncovered her secret and was speaking of the missing Elfstones. She hesitated, uncertain of what to say. But then she realized he was speaking in more general terms.

“The Elven magic is lost, Uncle. What there is of it is being sought out by the Druids. The Elves do nothing to help. They might have created the magic in the time of Faerie, but they let it slip away. They put it aside and forgot it.”

He nodded slowly. “But it is theirs by right of prior ownership, Aphen. It doesn’t belong only to the Druids.”

“No. Nor do they claim it does. It belongs to everyone. The Druids seek only to keep it available to all.”

“That might be so, but the goal is unattainable. Not everyone can have use of it. Much of it, like the blue Elfstones, can be used only by Elves. It is specific to us; it
belongs
to us. I don’t suggest that the Druids shouldn’t have a say in its use. But in practical terms, the Druids
must come to an understanding with the Elves on what that use should be. You are the one who can make that understanding possible. You need only change your thinking sufficiently to allow that to happen.”

She paused, realizing now what he was asking. “You want me to act as an intermediary between the Druids and the Elves on the subject of using magic?”

“I do. I want you to remember that you have one foot solidly planted in both camps. You know this. Don’t try to take sides. Don’t think you must make a choice. Serve both. It won’t be easy, but it will be necessary.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t even think of how to approach such a task.”

Her uncle took her hands and squeezed them gently. “Begin by promising me this. If you uncover magic in your search, either here or later, tell me about it first. Don’t go to the King or the High Council. Come to me. Together we can form a strategy for making the necessary alliance between Druids and Elves. We can find a way to form an agreement that will unify the two camps so that they may stand against the Federation.”

She thought about the missing Elfstones—the only real lead she had come across in a year’s hard work. Was there a way to share that magic if it were to be recovered? She knew the danger posed by the Federation. Her uncle did not exaggerate. But she could not speak for the other Druids and knew that her mandate was to gather and place control of all magic in her order—not to allow any other claim to it. Grianne Ohmsford herself had declared that this was the only way to keep power among the Races in balance.

But she also knew that advancements in the development of new science were threatening that balance. And the Druids were poorly equipped to do anything to change that.

“I will give it some thought,” she told him, “but I can’t promise anything more. I have to think on it. I respect what you are saying, Ellich. I just don’t know if there is a way to bring about what you would like to see happen.”

He smiled. “Nor do I. But if you are willing to try, if you will trust
me enough to talk to me about it when there is need, I think we might find that way. Come, now. Enough talk. Let’s walk back and see if Jera might have something sweet prepared to complete our dinner.”

No more was said that evening about their discussion. Conversation returned to something more or less approaching normal, and when Aphenglow departed for home and bed it was with a sense of renewed warmth toward her uncle and aunt. She was not done thinking about what she had been asked to do or even close to any sort of decision, but she cared enough for her uncle that she would give his suggestion careful consideration. There was no question in her mind that she would rather take him into her confidence than anyone else at Arborlon.

Except perhaps for her mother, but confiding in her mother was no longer possible.

Ellich offered to accompany her home, but she dismissed the idea out of hand. She was a Druid trained in the use of magic; she needed no other protection. She walked with her backpack slung over one shoulder, inhaling the cool night air, enjoying the sweep of the starlit sky and thinking of Afrengill, wishing things could be different between them, knowing they might never be. How could they? Her mother didn’t speak to her anymore. They had been close once, but Aphenglow’s decision to become a Druid had brought an end to that.

Her father had died years earlier in a hunting accident, when Arlingfant was still very little, so Aphen and her mother had become the foundation and heart of the family unit. When she had decided to leave for Paranor, her mother had begged her not to go. She had insisted she could not manage on her own. Arlingfant was ten by then and old enough to give what help was needed, but it made no difference to their mother. Afrengill was no longer being rational, would not even try to be so, and they had parted ways screaming at each other while Arlingfant hid in her bedroom and cried.

On her first visit back, Aphenglow had gone to see her mother, intent on patching things up. She had walked up to the door and knocked. Afrengill had opened the door, stared at her wordlessly as she attempted to say how sorry she was, and closed the door again
without a word. Arlingfant had been forced to sneak away to come see her, forbidden by their mother to have anything to do with her sister.

Each time on her return, Aphenglow went to her home and knocked on the door. By now, her mother rarely bothered to answer. Arlingfant said she wouldn’t even allow Aphenglow’s name to be spoken. Her daughter was dead to her, she declared. She was dead to all of them.

It hurt so much that even thinking of it brought a quick sob that caused her to catch her breath. Her mother, whom she loved, would have nothing to do with her, and even though Arlingfant insisted she would come around in time, Aphenglow was no longer sure.

In light of this, her uncle’s plea that she consider departing the Druid order to return to Arborlon had merit. Everything that was wrong with her life, that made her unhappy, could be traced to her decision to join the order. Was it time for her to leave? Was she not seeing things as clearly as she thought? She loved her work, her Druid companions, and the cause for which she labored so hard.

But maybe that wasn’t enough.

Maybe …

She was aware of the possibility of danger after the other night’s attack, her senses alert and her wards spread wide, so she sensed as much as heard the almost inaudible whisper of fabric as the black-clad figure hurtled out of the darkness behind her, and she threw herself aside in plenty of time to avoid his blade. She knew at once it was the same man who had attacked her last night. But last night he had caught her by surprise, and she had already made up her mind that he would not do so again. Ever since she had set out from the palace to have dinner with Ellich and Jera she had been watching and listening, anticipating that he might try again.

Even so, he had almost gotten to her.

She rolled and came back to her feet in a single fluid movement, dropping the backpack in the grass and bracing herself as he flew out of the darkness once more. Whoever he was, he did not give up easily. Instead of waiting on him, she counterattacked. She dropped sharply as they came together, rolled and swept her legs into his ankles, and
took him off his feet. He lost his balance and went down, but was up again instantly. He came at her again, and she sidestepped another lunge with the blade. He was quick and practiced, and given enough time he would find his target. But she had her magic in place by then, flaring at her fingertips, and when he attacked once more, she used it. White light exploded out of her hands, picked him up, and flung him away like a rag doll. She used more force than she had intended, but there was no time to modulate or adjust. He catapulted backward as if yanked by a rope, slamming into a tree, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to cushion the blow and failed.

Down he went in a crumpled heap and lay there.

She approached him cautiously. There was no movement. She toed him gingerly, ready for him to spring up and attack anew. But he failed to respond. Still using her boot, she rolled him over. His head was bent awkwardly to one side, loose and unhinged.

His neck was broken.

Shades
, she thought, appalled at what she had done.

She picked up the knife he had been carrying, which was lying to one side. It was a Southland weapon, forged in one of the Borderland Cities, probably in Varfleet where they did such skilled work with blades. She knelt next to him, still watchful, ready to respond if he moved. But when she pulled back the black hood that concealed his features, his eyes were fixed and staring. She studied his features, trying to place him.

She had never seen him before.

A search of his clothing turned up nothing that revealed who he was or where he had come from. He was a Man, not an Elf, and she felt a small ripple of gratitude for that. She did not want to think that there were Elves this anxious to see her dead.

Was killing her the dead man’s idea, or did he serve another?

She remembered there had been two of them last night …

She turned to look for the backpack, scanning the ground where she had dropped it, but it was gone. So, she thought: one man to attack her and one to steal the bag. A small variation on last night’s attack, and this time they’d had better success.

She glanced out into the darkness and down the pathway, but
there was nothing to see. The second attacker would be far away by now. He would not stop until he was safe and could examine the contents of her bag at his leisure. She wished she could be there to see his face when he opened it and found it stuffed with old maps and a couple of books on the care and feeding of hogs.

She smiled in spite of herself. She knew a trick or two. She had been expecting the attack and had left nothing to chance. The diary was back at the palace, down in one of the storerooms, safely tucked away where only she could find it. After last night’s assault, she wasn’t about to take foolish chances.

What she could not decide was how her attackers knew about the diary in the first place. How could anyone have found out about it in so short a time?

Whatever the answer to her question, it was clear that someone wanted it as badly as she did and would kill to get it. Using an assassin as skilled as the dead man was a clear indication of their determination. It changed her thinking measurably. She was no longer equivocating about what she must do.

She went back to the assassin, knelt beside him, and spoke a Druid grace to give him peace and forgiveness. Even the worst of the dead deserved that much.

Then she rose and went to find her sister to say good-bye.

It was time to return to Paranor.

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