Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (40 page)

Woostra nodded slowly. “So you think it was all planned? That the firing of the rail sling was a deliberate subterfuge by someone who was in their employ?”

“I think it possible. I haven’t found a better explanation.”

“And you don’t know who this someone is?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded again, and then went back to reading the papers in front of him. “Better find out then. No point sitting around here talking to me.” He looked up quickly. “But the magic that wards the Keep can’t help you with this. It can shelter you from attacks without, but not ferret out enemies within. Good luck, Aphenglow.”

She departed his office and went back out into Paranor’s halls, wondering what to do next. As she walked, she began going over the list of those who were within the Keep. She could eliminate herself and Bombax and Woostra and Arling. That left Cymrian, the Troll guards, and the boy who had rescued Bombax from the Mwellrets. If she was right about what had happened, it had to be one of them.

She was mulling over which when Bombax caught up to her. She flinched inwardly as he did so, prepared for the worst. She kept her eyes averted and continued walking.

“Are you thinking the same thing I am about all this?” he asked quietly, surprising her. “That this attack was no accident?”

She nodded. “Someone in the Keep fired that rail sling to provoke it. The attack was planned ahead of time.”

His big hands tightened on the staff he bore. “One of the Trolls?”

“Hard to believe. They’re sworn to us. Most have been here a long time.”

“That Elf you brought into the Keep with your sister? What do you know of him?”

She stopped where she was, fighting down a surge of new anger. “That boy you brought into the Keep when you came back from Varfleet? What do you know of him?”

“I know he rescued me. He saved my life.”

“Well, Cymrian did the same for me. He killed five men doing it, too.”

She turned and walked on, forcing him to come after her. All at once, she didn’t want him there.

“Why are you so angry?” he asked, grabbing her arm.

She stopped again and carefully extracted herself. “I don’t like how you’re acting. It isn’t who you are. I’m not sure you’ve recovered from what happened with the Mwellrets.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” He stared at her a moment, and she could see the confusion in his eyes. “I love you, Aphen. I don’t like thinking that maybe you don’t love me.”

It caught her by surprise. “Why would you say that?”

“That Elf follows you around like a puppy. What am I supposed to think?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t given you any reason to doubt me.”

“Maybe you don’t see it the way I do. Do you still love me? Can you say the words?”

Impulsively, she reached up and touched his cheek. “Of course I can say them. I love you. You are my life partner. I didn’t make that choice without giving thought to it. It was not done lightly or with any intention of not honoring it.”

“I want to believe that,” he said.

She dropped her hand to his arm and gripped it. “Let’s leave this discussion for later. Let’s concentrate on what’s at hand. I want to find
out who fired that rail sling. I want you to help me. Let’s be united on this.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s how I want it, too.”

“United, then.” She gave him a quick smile. “We should talk to everyone. Maybe there’s something we can learn.”

“One thing you want to keep in mind, Aphen,” he said. “It might not be one of the Trolls or the Elf or the boy. It might be someone else entirely, someone who managed to get inside Paranor without any of us knowing.”

It gave her pause. She hadn’t thought of that.

Twilight, and most within the Keep were gathered in the dining hall.

Deek Trink worked his way down the corridors, halfway certain that this time he was going to get caught. Bombax might not suspect him, but the Elven woman had already made him her prime suspect in the rail sling incident simply by process of elimination. He had hoped there would be a sufficient number of other logical suspects, once he got inside the Keep, to shift suspicion away from him. But there were only the members of the Druid Guard, the two Druids, the old man in the library, the Elven woman’s younger sister, and that really scary Elven Hunter Cymrian. Of all of them, he was the one Deek wanted least to be around.

Not that he hadn’t fooled Cymrian just like he had all the others. More that he didn’t like how being around Cymrian made him feel. Uncomfortable. Revealed. Those eyes seemed to look right into you and see everything. Being charming didn’t impress Cymrian one bit. Deek was good at winning over people, at making them believe whatever he wanted them to believe. He was clever at deceiving others, at giving a false impression of what he was like. He had always been good at it.

But Cymrian was having none of it. Nor, did it appear, was the Elven Druid he protected like a moor cat its newborn.

Deek hurried on through the lower levels of the Keep, pausing at corners and doorways to listen, all the while trying to look casual about what he was doing so that if he were caught he might still be
able to talk his way free. He knew he could do it if he had to. He had gotten out of tougher situations than this one.

Well, maybe not tougher. But the knowledge of how much danger he was in was what excited him enough to make him want to take the chance.

Bombax and the Elven woman had come to him earlier to talk about the rail sling incident, and he had worked hard trying to satisfy them that he knew nothing about it. He had been hiding down below like he was told he should, frightened the Federation forces would prove too much for the Druids and he would be discovered and sent back to the Mwellrets. There was no reason for him to be firing a rail sling at a Federation warship, was there?

Of course, there was every reason if you were working for someone like Stoon. But no one here knew anything about that. All anyone knew was he had found Bombax in that warehouse, trussed up like a side of beef, and decided to help him get free, all at great personal risk. It was Bombax who had brought him to Paranor, offering safe haven. No one realized it was Stoon who had hired the Mwellrets to drug and imprison Bombax so Deek could arrange a rescue and thereby gain entrance to the Druid’s Keep. No one realized he was there for a single reason only—to open a door in the walls and let the Federation army inside.

How could they? He was just a boy.

He wondered how much longer he could parlay that into a career. Not much, given the way he was growing. His boyhood days were coming to an end, and he would have to find a new way of deceiving people. There was always a way to be found, of course. He had learned that much years ago living on the streets, even before he met Stoon.

He glanced over his shoulder, thinking he heard something, and peered into the shadows of the long hallway. He couldn’t be certain who might be down here. The Elven woman had assigned one of the Trolls in the Druid Guard to “accompany” him wherever he went so that he would stay safe. He knew what that meant. She had kept the Elven Hunter with her, which he could tell Bombax didn’t like—was there something between them?—but then Bombax hadn’t offered to keep Deek, choosing to leave him with the Troll. Not that Deek
minded. It was easier to get rid of the Troll than it would have been to get rid of Bombax. Persuading the Troll to share a few glasses of ale he had surreptitiously drugged was easy enough. Deek only needed enough time to descend to the lower levels of the Keep, relocate the small, ironclad door he had found earlier, and mark it to let the Federation know it was open.

If he were quick about it, as he intended to be, no one would see him and he would be back in the guards’ common room with his Troll watchdog before the other realized he was missing, looking for all the world as if he, too, had fallen asleep after indulging in too much ale.

He reached the door he had found days earlier and released the heavy locks—three of them, the Druids weren’t taking chances—so that the door cracked open. He took a moment to make certain that no one standing watch on the walls could see him, and then, using a red dye he carried in a pouch, he drew an X on the outside of the door, tossed the pouch into a path of weeds growing against the walls, and closed the door without relocking it. Easy enough. Federation scouts would find his well-marked entrance into the Keep quickly enough and at dawn a special detachment of soldiers would sneak through and open the west gates.

By midday, Paranor would have fallen.

He turned away from the door and started back down the hall. He would have preferred to flee the Keep right away, but leaving was not an option. His absence would be noticed and would lead to discovery of the open door. Stoon had told him to stay put until the attack came and the Keep fell; if he did he would not be harmed. Deek believed him, if only because he knew Stoon would want to use him again one day.

He reached a set of stairs leading up and began to climb. By this time tomorrow, it would all be over and he would be on his way back to Varfleet. He just needed to be patient a little while longer.

Something he was good at.

24

W
HEN
A
PHENGLOW
E
LESSEDIL WORE AT DAWN ON THE
following morning, Bombax was already up and gone. She lay where she was for a moment, reflecting on last night, and on how they had bridged the gap that had opened a few days earlier by recapturing a little of what had brought them together in the first place.

But soon she was out of bed, washing and dressing, wondering what was happening outside with the Federation army. She was aware as she pulled on her black robes and laced them to her body that it was unusually quiet, even for Paranor. There was an air of expectancy that was troubling. No birdsong, no kitchen sounds, no voices coming from the walls.

Where was Arlingfant?

She went next door to see and found her sister gone, as well.

Now she was moving quickly—or as quickly as she could manage on her damaged leg—passing down the hallways and out into the courtyard. She could see Arling standing on the walls with Cymrian and what looked to be the entire complement of the Druid Guard still in residence at the Keep. They were staring out toward the Federation encampment, watching something she couldn’t see. They had their backs to her and were so absorbed by whatever was out there, they didn’t see her coming.

Aphen limped across the courtyard to the walls and climbed the
stone steps to the ramparts, leaning heavily on the staff she had brought to support herself. She was much stronger by now, her broken leg mostly healed. It still ached, of course, but it was nothing compared with what she had experienced earlier, and she was good at ignoring pain. Everyone turned as she approached, and the looks on their faces were enough to tell her something was wrong. She slowed beside Arling, who pointed wordlessly out toward the Federation army camp.

Except that what she was pointing at was much closer. The entire Federation command was positioned right in front of Paranor’s walls. Rank upon rank of armored men faced the Keep, their lines neat and straight amid a forest of spears, bowmen on the flanks and to the rear. They were standing silently, looking straight ahead, shields up, tense and ready as if awaiting a signal.

She was so shocked that for a moment she couldn’t speak. “What are they doing?” she managed finally.

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Bombax answered drily.

“They look as if they’re getting ready to attack! But they can’t intend to do that! It would be suicide!”

“So it would seem. But maybe they know something we don’t.”

Cymrian shook his head. “This looks like a feint. They can’t scale these walls, so they’re drawing our attention here while trying to get in some other way.” He pushed off the wall. “I’m going to have a look around.”

Swift and fluid, he jogged down the ramparts, heading toward the north wall. Aphen watched, envious of his agility and strength, anxious to regain her own.