High Druid of Shannara: Jarka Ruus
Forthcoming: August 26, 2003 - A Del Rey Hardcover
Chapter Two
They departed Paranor at midnight, flying north out of the Druid
forestlands with a full moon to light their way, riding the edge of their
expectations just ahead of their doubts and fears. They chose to use Grianne's War
Shrike, Chaser, to make the journey, rather than a Druid airship, thinking that
the Shrike would draw less attention and be less cumbersome. And airship
required a crew, and a crew required explanations. Grianne preferred to keep secret
what she was investigating until she better understood what it meant.
Tagwen accepted the news of her sudden and mysterious departure
stoically, but she read disapproval and concern in his eyes. He was desperate for her
to tell him something more, a hint what she was about so that if that need
arose, he might be able to help. But she thought it best he know only that she
would be gone for a few days and he must see to her affairs as best he could,
There would be questions, demands perhaps, but he couldn't reveal what he didn't
know. She braced his shoulders firmly with her hands, smiled her approval and
reassurance, and slipped away.
It went without mentioned that Tagwen would make no mention of Kermadec
unless she failed to return; a visit from the Rock Troll was always to be kept
secret. There were too many who disapproved of the relationship, and the Dwarf
understood the importance of not throwing fuel on a fire already dangerously
hot. Grianne could depend on Tagwen to use good judgment in such matters. It
was one of his strongest attributes; his exercise of discretion and common
sense was easily the equal of her own. Had he the inclination or the talent, he
would have made a good Druid. That accolade bestowed, she was just as happy to
have him be what he was.
The flight took the rest of the night and most of the following day, a
long, steady sweep out of Callahorn and across the Streleheim to the peaks of
the Knife Edge and the Razors, where ruins of the Skull Kingdom lay scattered in
the valley between. As she guided Chaser onward, the rush of the air in her
ears wrapping her in its mindless sound, she had plenty of time to think. Her
thoughts were both of what lay ahead and behind. But while the former merely
intrigued, the latter haunted.
Her efforts at this new life had started so promisingly. She had returned
to the Four Lands with such confidence, her identity regained, her life
remade, the lies that had misled her replaced by truths. She had found her lost
brother Bek, whom she had never thought to see again. She had broken the chains
that the Morgawr had forged to hold her. She had fought and destroyed the
warlock with her brother at her side. She had done this so that she might be given
a chance at redemption she had never thought to find. The dying touch of a
Druid, his blood on her forehead marking her as his successor, had set her on her
path. It was a destiny she would never had chosen for herself but that she
had come to believe was right and had therefore embraced.
Walker, a shade with a shade's vision, had reappeared to her at the
Hadeshorn, and given her his blessing. Druids dead and gone passed in review, their
shades materializing from the ether, rising out of the roiling waters,
infusing her with their knowledge and a share of their collective power. She would
rebuild their order, resuming the task that Walker had undertaken for himself
and failed to complete. She would summon members of all the Races to a Third
Druid Council and from it found a new order, one in which the dictates of a
single Druid would no longer be all that stood between civilization and anarchy,
between reason and madness. For too long, one Druid had been required to make
the difference. Those few who had done so-Bremen, Allanon, and Walker-had
persevered because there had been no one else and no other way. She would change
that.
Such dreams. Such hopes.
Ahren Elessedil had talked his brother, the Elven King Kylen Elessedil,
into supplying the first of the new order, the two handfuls of Elves Ahren had
led to Paranor personally. After Kylen discovered he had bee tricked, that
Walker was dead and the hated Ilse Witch had replaced him, he had sought to
recall those he had sent. Bit it was too late, the Elves who had come were
committed to her and beyond his reach. In retaliation he attempted to poison the minds
of the leaders of the other Races against her at every opportunity. That did
not prove to be too difficult with Sen Dunsidan, by then the Prime minister of
the Federation, who already detested her. But the Dwarves and Trolls were
less easily persuaded, especially after she made the effort to go directly to
them, to speak in council, and to insist that she would place the order at their
disposal so far as it was possible to do so. Remember what the Druids were
created to do, she kept reminding them. If you seek a source of strength in the
cause of peace and goodwill among all nation, the Druids are the ones to whom
you should turn.
For a time, they did so. Members of both Races came to her, and some from
Callahorn, as well, for they heard good things about her from the Rover
Captain Redden Alt Mer and from the Highlander Quentin Leah, men they respected.
Besides, once they learned that the Federation did not support her, they were
inclined to think that was reason enough for them to do so. The war between the
Federation and the Free-born was still being fought, mighty armies still
locked in combat on the Prekkendorran, leaders still waging war that had been waged
since the passing of Allanon-a war pitting unification against independence,
territorial rights against free will. The Free-born wanted Callahorn to be its
own country; the Federation wanted it to be a part of the Southland. At times
it had been both, at time neither.
There was more to it, of course, as there always is in the case of wars
between nations. But that was the justification most often given by those
involved, and into the breach left by the absence of any sensible attempt to
examine the matter stepped the Ard Rhys.
It was a fateful decision, but one she did not see how she could avoid.
The Federation-Free-born war was a ragged wound that would not heal. If the
Races were ever to be brought together again, if the Druids were to be able to
turn their attention to bettering the lives of the people of the Four Lands,
this war must be ended.
So, even as she struggled to strike a balance in the diversity of
temperaments and needs of those who came to Paranor to study the Druid ways, she was
attempting, as well, to find a way too resolve the conflict between the
Federation and the Free-born. It involved dealing with the two leaders who hated her
most-Kylen Elessedil of the Elves and Sen Dunsidan of the Federation. It
required that she put aside her own prejudices and find a way to get past theirs.
She was able to do this in large part not through fear or intimidation but by
making herself appear indispensable to them. After all, the Druids were still
in possession of knowledge common, more so than ever since the events in
Parkasia. Neither man knew for certain what knowledge she had gained from the Old
World that might prove invaluable. Neither understood how little of that
knowledge she actually possessed. But perception is often more persuasive than
truth. Without the Druids to offer support, each worried that crucial ground would
be lost to the other. Without her help, each believed he risked allowing the
other a chance to frow more powerful at his expense. Sen Dunsiden had always
been a politician. Once he understood that she did not intend to revert to her
ways as the Ilse Witch or hold against him his temporary alliance with the
Morgawr, he was more than willing to see what she had to offer. Kylen Elessedil
followed along for no better reason than to keep pace with his enemy.
Grianne played at this game because it was the only choice she had.. She
was as good at is now as she had been when she was the Ilse Witch and
manipulation was second nature. It was a slow process. Mostly, she settled for crumbs
in exchange for the prospect of a full loaf. At times, brought close by
promises made and fitfully kept, she thought she would succeed in her efforts, her
goal no more than a meeting away. Just a truce between the two would have
opened the door to a more permanent solution. Both were strong men, and a small
concession by one might have been enough to encourage the other to grant the
same. She maneuvered them both toward making that concession, gaining time and
credibility as she did so, making herself the center of their thinking as they
edged toward a resolution to a war no one really wanted.
Then Kylen Elessedil was killed on the Prekkendorran, the blame for it
was laid at her doorstep, and in an instant everything she had worked for nearly
six years to achieve was lost.
When they stopped at midmorning to rest Chaser, Kermadec reopened the
wound.
"Has that boy King come to his senses yet, mistress?" he asked in a tone
that suggested he already knew the answer,
She shook her head. Kellen Elessedil was his father's son and, if it was
possible, liked her even less than his father had. Worse, he blamed her for
his father's death, a mindset she seemed unable to change,
"He's a fool. He'll die in the same way, fighting for something that to
right-thinking men makes no sense at all." Kermadec snorted softly. "They say
Rock Trolls are warlike, but history suggests that we are no worse than Men and
Elves and in these times perhaps better. At least we do not carry wars on for
fifty years."
"You could argue the Federation-Free-born war has been going on for much
longer than that," she said.
"However long, it is still too long." Kermadec stretched his massive arms
over his head and yawned. "What is the point?"
It was a rhetorical question and she didn't bother to attempt an answer.
It had been a dozen years since her efforts at finding a solution had broken
down, and since then she had been preoccupied with trouble much closer to home.
"You are due for a change of guards," Kermadec offered, handing her his
aleskin. "Maybe you should think about a change of Druids at the same time."
"Dismiss them all and start over?" She had heard this from him before.
Kermadec saw things in simple terms; he thought she would be better off if she
did so, too. "I can't do that."
"So you keep saying"
"Dismissing the order now would be perceived as weakness on my part. Even
dismissing the handful of troublemakers who plague me most would have that
effect. The nations look for an excuse to proclaim the Druid Council a failure,
especially Sen Dunsiden and Kellen Elessedil. I cannot give them one. Besides,
if I had to start over at this point, no on would come to Paranor to aid me.
All would shun the Druids. I have to make do with things as they are."
Kermadec took back the aleskin and looked out over the countryside. They
were just at the edge of the Streleheim, facing north toward the misty, rugged
silhouette of the Knife Edge. The day was bright and warm and it promised
another clear, moonlit night in which to explore the ruins of the Skull Kingdom.
"You might think about the impracticality of that before you give up on my
suggestion."
She had thought about alternatives frequently as of late, although her
thinking was more along the lines of restructuring and reordering so as to
isolate those most troublesome. But even there she had to be careful not to suggest
and appearance of weakness to the other or they would begin to shift
allegiance in ways that would undo her entirely.
At times, she thought it might be best if she simply have them all what
they wanted, if sh resigned her position and departed for good. Let another
struggle with the problem. Let someone else take on her responsibilities and her
obligations as Ard Rhys. But she knew she couldn't do that. No one else had
been asked to shoulder those responsibilities and obligations; they had been
given to her, and nothing had happened t chance that. She could not simply walk
away. She had no authority to do so. If Walker's shade should appear to tell
her it was time, she would be gone in a heartbeat-though perhaps not without
disappointment at having at having failed to accomplish her task. But neither
Walker's nor the shade of any other Druid had come to her. Until she was
discharged, she could not go. The dissatisfaction of others was not enough to set her
free.
Her solution to the problem would have made an example of the more
troublesome members of her order and cowed the rest by doing so. She would not have
hesitated to eliminate her problems in a way that would have appalled even
Kermadec. But she had lived enough of that life, and she would never go back to
it. An Ard Rhys must find other, better ways to act.
By late afternoon, they had crossed the Streleheim and flown through the
lower wall of the Knife Edge into the jagged landscape of the Skull Kingdom.
She felt a change in the air long before she saw one on the ground. Even
aboard Chaser, several hundred feet up, she could sense it. The air became dead and
old, smelling and tasting of devastation and rot. There was no life here, not
of a sort anyone could recognize. The mountain was gone brought down by
cataclysmic forces on the heads of those who had worked their evil within it,
reduced to a jumble of rocks within which little grew and less found shelter or
forage. It was a ruined land, colorless and barren even now, a thousand years
later, and it was likely to be a thousand more before that changed. Even in the
wake of a volcano's eruption, in the path of the resultant lava flow, life
eventually returned, determined and resilient. But not here. Here, life was
denied.
Ignoring the look and feel of the place, even though it settled about
them with oppressive insistence, the cir4cled the ruins in search of the site
where the fires and the flashes had been observed. After about an hour they found
it at one end of a long shelf of rock balanced amid a cluster of spikes that
jutted like bones from the earth. A ring of stones encircled a fire pit left
blackened and slick from whatever had burned. When Grianne first saw it from
the air, she could not imagine how anyone could even manage to get to it, let
alone make use of it. Rock barriers rose all about, the crevices between them
deep and wide, the edges sharp as glass. The she amended her thinking. It would
take a Shrike or a Roc or a small, highly maneuverable airship to gain access,
but access could be granted. Which had been used in this instance? She stored
the question away to be pondered later.
Guiding Chaser to one end of the shelf, they dismounted and walked back
for a closer look.
"Sacrifices of some sort, " Kermadec observed, glancing around uneasily,
his bug shoulders swinging left and right, as if he were caged. He did not
like being there, she knew, even with her. The place held bad memories for
Trolls, even after so long. The Warlock Lord might be dead and gone, but the feel
of him lingered. In the history of the Trolls, no one had done more damage to
the nation's psyche. Trolls were not superstitious in the manner of Gnomes, but
they believed in the transference of evil from the dead to the living. They
believed because they had experienced it, and they were wary of it happening
again.
She closed her eyes and cast about with her other senses for a moment,
trying to read in the air what had happened here. She tracked the leavings of a
powerful magic, the workings of a sorcery that was not meant to heal or
succor. A summoning of some sort, she read in the bits and pieces that remained. To
what end, though? She could not determine, though the smells told of something
dying, and not quickly. She looked down at the fire pit and read in the
greasy smears dark purpose in the sacrifices clearly made.
"This isn't good," she said softly.
He stepped close. "What do you find, mistress?"
"Nothing yet. Nothing certain." She looked up at him, into his flat,
expressionless features. "Perhaps tonight, when darkness cloaks the thing that finds
this dead place so attractive, we shall find out."
She tethered Chaser some distance away, back in the rocks where he
couldn't b seen, giving him food and waters and speaking soothing words to steady
him against what might happen later. Afterwards, she ate a cold dinner with
Kermadec, watching the light fade from the sky and the twilight descend in a
flat, colorless wash that enveloped and consumed like smoke. There was no
sunset, no change in the look of the land and sky save an almost rushed transition
from light to dark. The sensation it generated in Grianne was on of possibility
draining into despair.
She pushed such dark thoughts away but could not change her feelings
of the place. It was wretched ground for living things, a wasteland in which
she did not belong. The pervasive feelings of hopelessness and isolation gave
notice that for some transgression there could be no redemption. If she lived
another thousand years, she did not think to see a rebirth of life in the Skull
Kingdom. Perhaps given the types of life that might find purchase in such a
land, it was for the best.
"Sleep," she told Kermadec. "I will keep watch the first half of the
night."
He grunted agreement and was asleep in seconds. She envied him a rest that
came so easily. She watched him for a time, his rough skin looking smooth in the
darkness, his hairless body and nearly featureless face giving him the
appearance of a smoothly faceted shape hewn from stone. Sleek-that was the way he
struck her. Like a moor cat, big and powerful and smooth. She liked him better
than almost anyone. Not so much for the way he looked as for the way he was.
Direct and uncomplicated. That wasn't to say he was slow-witted or combative;
he was neither. But Kermadec didn't complicate matters by overanalyzing and
debating. When something needed doing, he spent as little time and effort as was
possible in getting it done. He had a code of conduct that served him well,
and she did not think he had ever varried from it. She wished her own life could
be as straightforward.
Time slipped away, and Grianne watched the moon rise and the stars
paint the sky in a wash of white pinpricks. The rocks around her remained silent.
The fire pit, its rings of rocks looking like hunched Gnomes in the gloom,
sat cold and untended. Perhaps nothing would happen this night, the one night
she was here to see it happen. Perhaps whoever built the fires and created the
flashes had sensed her presence and would stay away. She wondered if she could
force herself to keep watch another night if nothing happened on this one. She
had no good reason to do so, her presence now was generated by her
instinctive reaction to the possibilities of what she feared might happen, not to what
actually had.
Then, as midnight approached, the fire pit abruptly flared to life. It
did so without warning or reason. No one had appeared to tend it; no fuel had
been laid or tinder struck. It burned sharp and fierceon nothing more than
air, and Grianne was on her feet at once.
"Kermadec!"
The Rock Troll awoke and rose to stand beside her, staring at the
phenomenon without speaking. The intensity of the fire increased and diminished as
if the flames were breathing, as if the air were changing in some indefinable
way, first lending strength to the invisible fuel, then leeching it away. All
around, illuminated by tendrils of light, the jumbled rocks became ghostly
spectators. Grianne eased forward cautiously, just a step or two at a time, eyes
shifting back and forth among the shadows in an effort to find what was out
there. Something had to be; something had to have initiated the blaze. But she
could detect no life, no signoff anything living save Kermadec and herself.
Someone had lit the flames from another place, someone or something that did not
need to be present to work whatever magic was intended.
"Mistress!" Kermadec hissed.
Flashes of light appeared in the air above the fire, sudden flaresof
brightness suggested small explosions. But they made no sound and left no
residue of smoke or ash, as if giant fireflies in the darkness. They were moving in
a circular fashion, widening their sweep and rising higher as their numbers
increased. Below, unchanged, the fire continued to burn.
Grianne reached out with her magic to explore this mix of burning air
and flameless light, ising the wishsong to investigate wat was there that she
wasn't seeing. She found the other magic at once, concentrated and powerful,
dispatched from another place to this one. It was as she had thought. She
detected, as well, that something was responding to it, something that was able to
find purchase in this ruined land where it might not have been able to do so
in one less poisoned. It was not something she could put a name to, but it was
there nevertheless, pressing up against the fire and the light.
A face in the window, she thought suddenly.
Perhaps not just from somewhere in this world, but from another plane
of existence altogether.
She probed harder with her magic, trying to break through to whatever
was out there, to generate a response that would reveal something more. Her
efforts were rewarded almost at once. Something small and dark appeared at the
edges of the light, like a wraith come out of the netherworld, not altogether
shapeless, but lacking any clear definition. It slid in and out of the light
like a child playing hide and seek, first here, then there, never quite
revealing itself altogether, never quite showing what it was.
Kermadec was whispering hurriedly, anxiously, telling her to back
away, to give herself more space. It wasn't safe to be so close, he was saying.
She ignored him; she was caught up in the link she had established between the
foreign magic and her own. Something was there, quick and insubstantial, just
out of reach.
And then all at once it wasn't hiding anymore. It was there, right in
front of her, its face turned full into hers, edges and angles caught in the
light. She caught her breath in spite of herself. The face was vaguely human,
but in no other war recognizable. Malevolence masked its features in a way she
had not thought possible, so darkly threatening, so hate-filled and
remorseless, that even in her time as the Ilse Witch, she had not experienced its like.
Dark shadows draped it like strands of think hair, shifting with the light,
changing the look of it from instant to instant. Eyes glimmered like blue ice,
cool and appraising. There was recognition in those yes; whoever was there,
hiding in the light, knew who she was.
Grianne lashed out at the face with ferocious intent, surprising even
herself with her vehemence. She felt such loathing, such rage, that she could
not stop herself from reacting, and the deed was done before she could think
better of it. Her magic exploded into the face, which disappeared instantly,
taking with it the flashes and the burning air, leaving only darkness and the
lingering smell of expended magic.
She compressed her lips tightly, fighting back the snarl forming on
them, consumed by the feelings this thing had generated. It was all she could do
to pull herself together and turn back to and obviously unnerved Kermadec.
"Are you all right?" he asked at once.
She nodded. "But I wasn't for a moment, old bear. That thing radiated
such evil that I think letting it come even that near was a serious mistake.
If I didn't know better, I would say it lured me here."
Which it had, she knew at once, though she would not say so to him. It
had known she would come, would respond to its advances, and would step close
enough to feel it. It wanted her to know it was there. But why? What did it
want? Where did it hide that she could not find it, and that it could not do
more than it had?
"Do we stay here another night?" the Rock Troll asked cautiously.
She shook her head. "I think we've seen all we are going to see. We'll
fly to Paranor at first light. I'll find better answers back there to what is
happening."
Jarka Ruus will be available on August 26th, 2003!
Copyright © 2003 by Terry Brooks
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