The Measure of the Magic (9 page)

I
T WAS WELL INTO THE AFTERNOON BY THE TIME PANTERRA
Qu reached the outskirts of Glensk Wood, his reluctant prisoner in tow. The day was unusually bright and sunny, the skies clear even where they were brushed by the peaks of the surrounding mountains, swept clean of clouds and mist by a north-bearing wind infused with unusual warmth. The people of the village who saw him coming stopped whatever they were doing and stared in surprise. He understood it was as much because of his ragged and worn appearance as it was the Troll he was leading on a chain. Some of those who watched him pass waved and greeted him uncertainly, and he responded with whatever small gesture or word he could manage.

By now, he had gone almost two days without sleep, and the combination of physical and mental stress expended in capturing Arik Siq had left him exhausted. He was functioning on instincts and muscle memory, unable to see or think as clearly as he otherwise might, but unwilling to stop and rest until this business was finished. Whatever his own deficiencies, whatever his needs, they would have to wait until he had settled the matter of what to do with the Drouj.

He marched Arik Siq through the center of the village to the building that housed the council chambers and inside.

There was no one there.

He stood for a moment wondering what to do next. Then he shoved his prisoner onto a bench and called out for someone to come.

No response.

“Maybe they don’t want to see you, boy,” the Drouj taunted. “Maybe they have less use for you than you realize.”

Pan ignored him. He walked to the door and flagged down the first person he saw. As it happened, it was Collwyn, a friend from the old days and someone he knew he could depend upon.

“Collwyn!” he called. “Can you help me?”

The other boy, the same age as Pan, though considerably smaller, hurried up the steps to embrace him. “What’s happened to you, Pan? You look a wreck!”

Pan nodded, managed a small smile. “I need you to find Pogue Kray and the Seraphic and bring them to me. Can you do that? It’s important that they come right away.”

Collwyn nodded wordlessly and dashed off. To his credit, no questions were asked and no objections raised. Pan watched him go, glanced over his shoulder to where Arik Siq sat slumped on the bench, and stepped back inside, taking a position by a window where he could watch who was passing by without losing sight of his prisoner. The Drouj might look tired, but given the opportunity he would be gone in a second. Pan was not underestimating the other’s cunning.

His weariness washed over him suddenly in a massive wave that threatened to knock him off his feet. It had taken everything he had just to get this far, and he still hadn’t resolved what he was going to do now that he was here. He had brought back Arik Siq, but he needed to find a way to exchange Taureq’s son for Prue. What help did he think he could expect from Pogue Kray or Skeal Eile? Why would they want to help him at all? They had already pronounced him a nuisance and would have preferred it if he simply went somewhere else and stayed there. He knew this. Yet here he was, back in a place where he wasn’t wanted.

He exhaled slowly, watching the road. He supposed he was here because there was nowhere else for him to go. He couldn’t get any farther without sleep. This was his home; he should be allowed to rest
here. He knew it was possible that he wasn’t seeing things clearly. But so much had happened so quickly. Without Prue to advise him, to act as his conscience and be his friend, he was adrift. Aislinne would help if she could. Yet he did not care to take the man who had killed Sider Ament into her presence. No, he would not do that.

But what would he do?

The enormity of his situation reared in front of him. He was the new bearer of the black staff, the successor to the Gray Man, and he was only seventeen years old. How could he possibly expect anyone to take him seriously? Why would anyone listen to him? They would brush him aside as a boy who had been in the right place at the right time and so had inherited the staff. But he had no stature that would justify it as right and proper. He lacked any credentials, any evidence that would suggest he could wield the magic. They would not accept him for who he had become, or believe he could do what he claimed.

How could he prove them wrong? How could he convince them they should listen?

Movement near the front of the building caught his attention. Collwyn was approaching with Pogue Kray following, the latter’s burly form striding ahead with clear determination and purpose. Pogue’s bearded face was dark with emotion and the big fists were clenched. Not an auspicious beginning to things, Pan thought.

He stepped away from the window as boots clomped up the steps to the veranda and slowed. “Leave,” Pan heard Pogue Kray order Collwyn.

Then Collwyn was gone, and the big man shouldered through the door and stopped dead, staring first at Panterra, then at Arik Siq, and then back again at Pan. “Boy, what’s happened to you?” he whispered.

There was genuine concern in the query, and it took Pan by surprise. He had expected to be attacked straight off; he hadn’t expected this softer response. For a moment, he was speechless.

“Who is this?” Pogue asked, nodding toward Arik Siq, who was now sitting up straight and watching carefully.

“Someone who would betray us all,” Pan answered, meeting his prisoner’s dark gaze. “Someone who pretended to be my friend so I would bring him into the valley.” He paused. “Even worse, only a day ago he killed Sider Ament.”

Pogue Kray’s face went white. “The Gray Man is dead?”

“Killed at the far end of the pass at Declan Reach. Poisoned by darts from a blowgun. He was caught unawares. The poison was too strong for him to fight off, even with his magic to aid him.”

“Sider Ament is dead?” a voice demanded. “You’re certain?”

Skeal Eile stood in the doorway, staring at him. The way he asked the question did not suggest it was voiced out of concern, but out of a need to make certain the deed was done and no mistake.

“I was there when it happened,” Panterra answered him, trying to keep his voice from shaking, suddenly dismayed by the presence of the other man. “I held him in my arms while he died.”

“Then we don’t have the magic of his staff to help us against the Trolls,” the Seraphic declared, directing his remarks now to Pogue Kray. “Do you see what that means? We have to make peace with these invaders. We have to use this prisoner as a tool for negotiation.”

Arik Siq was on his feet instantly. “I have been telling this to the boy, but he refuses to listen. I see you have more sense than he does. If you let me act as emissary, I will negotiate—”

Panterra didn’t stop to think. He simply charged Arik Siq and struck him so hard across the head with his staff that the Drouj went down and did not move again. Then he wheeled back to face Skeal Eile.

“You had better listen to me before you start deciding what needs doing. I’m the one who’s been out there, outside the valley where the real danger lies. I’m the one who knows about the Drouj—this one especially.” He thrust the staff out in front of him, hands clasping it tightly. The runes blazed with white fire. “Do you see? I’m the one who carries the black staff now, the one to whom Sider Ament entrusted it, the one who now wields its magic and must exercise the responsibility that goes with it. Not you! Not either of you!”

He saw a flicker of fear in the Seraphic’s lean face, and he was emboldened. “I tracked down this killer of men, this betrayer. I caught up to him and I captured him and I brought him here. But not so you could decide what needs doing! It is not your place to do that!”

His gaze shifted to find Pogue Kray’s features twisted with confusion. “But it is yours, Pogue. Will you hear me out?”

“No one has to listen to you, little pup!” Skeal Eile screamed at
him. He had recovered himself enough to remember who it was that was chastising him, and he was immediately enraged. “You are a boy with no talent or ability beyond your Tracker skills! You know nothing of that staff, and we have no reason to think that you didn’t steal it from a dying—”

“Hold your tongue, Seraphic!” Pan advanced on him swiftly, stopping him midsentence. “Another word from you, another baseless accusation, and I will lay you out alongside the Drouj!” He leaned forward, close to the other. “I didn’t come all the way back for this! You are here because I asked for you to be here—not because you have any right to be here. Nor any right to slander me!”

“I will not be lectured to by a foolish boy who—”

Pan swung the black staff around and held it up in front of him, so angry by now he had forgotten to be afraid or even cautious. “Be careful of what you say next, Seraphic.”

But it was Pogue Kray who spoke instead. “Enough. I am council leader of this village. The safety of its people and their homes is my responsibility. I will decide who speaks. Skeal Eile, you will allow the boy to tell us what he knows. Is that clear?”

The Seraphic managed a small nod, the venom in his eyes unmistakable as he shot a quick glance at Pan.

“Panterra,” the big man said, turning to him, “don’t waste our time. Get right to the point.”

Pan slumped against the wall, his exhaustion overtaking him anew. He wanted so badly to sleep. But first he must deal with this. Choosing his words carefully, he related everything that had happened since they had last met at Pogue’s house with Aislinne and Sider Ament. He told them of the attack on the defenders at Declan Reach and their annihilation by the Drouj. He told them of his own escape and how he had hidden just out of reach of his pursuers, of Sider’s coming to his rescue and of the ensuing battle and the deaths of all but Arik Siq and himself. He said nothing of Prue. To do so would have given Skeal Eile leverage to use against him, something he dared not do until this matter was resolved. He knew he must not lose control of the situation if he was to save her.

“This man is the son of the Maturen of the Trolls who seek to invade the valley?” Pogue asked in surprise. “Then isn’t Skeal Eile correct? Don’t we need to use him to bargain for our safety?”

“It might seem so,” Pan replied, searching for a reason to dismiss this line of thinking. “But Arik Siq himself has told me repeatedly that his father would kill him before he made a bargain with us. Taureq Siq is a brutal man. He has destroyed whole tribes of Trolls who resisted him. He would kill his son as quick as thought if it suited his purposes.”

“But you cannot know this,” Pogue persisted. “Not for sure. Not without testing it in some way.”

“I know. What I haven’t figured out yet is how to do that without compromising our safety in the process. I can’t simply march the Maturen’s son out there and try to make a trade; we would both be dead in an instant.”

“You also risk giving away the location of the passes leading into the valley,” Skeal Eile added, his voice soft again, but still tinged with anger. “As you have already done. You and your Elf friends, both.”

“Sooner or later, the Drouj are going to find their way in anyway,” Pan pointed out. “We can’t pretend it won’t happen. Which is why Sider thought it so important to fortify the passes at Aphalion and Declan Reach. The Elves have done their part, but Declan Reach is unprotected with its defenders all dead. More have to be sent, Pogue. Right away.”

The big man nodded. “I don’t need you to tell me that. But what about the help we were promised from those who live south? No one has come to stand with us. Not even Esselline. We cannot be expected to do this alone. Perhaps the Seraphic is right: some sort of accord with the invaders is required, if only to stall them until we get help.”

“They will not bargain, and they cannot be trusted to keep their word even if they do.” Pan looked down at the slumped form of Arik Siq. “They have built a reputation for treachery. If we even think of trusting them, we are fools. We need to wait for Esselline. He will come. Sider was sure of it.”

“The Gray Man is dead,” Skeal Eile snapped.

Panterra held his temper in check. “So it is left to us to be as selfless and strong-minded as he was.” He turned to Pogue Kray, an idea suddenly taking shape. “What of this? What if you keep Taureq Siq’s son a prisoner, locked away and not allowed out for any reason? The stronger the prison, the better; he is clever and dangerous. While you hold him, I will travel south to meet with Esselline and be certain he is coming. After that, we can discuss how best to deal with the Drouj.”

Panterra was telling them a dreadful lie, and he felt no small amount of guilt in doing so. But he couldn’t stop to worry about that. Desperate circumstances demanded desperate measures. He might indeed go to Esselline, as he had said, but first he intended to go after Prue. Somehow he must find a way to reach her and, if he could, rescue her. Failing that, he would bargain for her life in exchange for Arik Siq’s. He still did not believe the Maturen would kill his own son; he had made that determination some time back, in spite of what Arik said. The latter would say anything if he thought it might gain him his freedom.

As for protecting the secret of the passes, he would find a way to do that, too. But he would not abandon Prue.

“Also,” he added, “someone should go to the Elves and let them know what’s happened. They guard Aphalion, and we must work with them if we are to keep the Drouj out of the valley.”

“I will go,” Skeal Eile volunteered quickly, speaking directly to Pogue Kray, ignoring Pan. “I promised Sider Ament I would stand with him in this, and I keep my promises. Even though I think this boy should not have been given the staff or be listened to just because he carries it, I know we are all agreed on the danger that threatens. I will speak to Oparion Amarantyne and his Queen on our behalf and make certain we are united.”

Pan could not object without looking foolish, and so he kept still. Pogue was enthusiastic, clasping the Seraphic by his shoulders and telling him how much this meant. Pan thought he caught the latter casting a veiled glance in his direction, but impaired by his exhaustion he couldn’t be certain. He wondered momentarily if there wasn’t something else at work here, something he didn’t know about. But the moment passed, and Pogue was speaking again.