Терри Брукс - Tanequil

She crumpled the note in her hand, then set it in a small bowl on her desk, fired it with magic, and scattered the ashes out the window. She watched the breeze carry the ashes away and wished her anger and disappointment could be made to vanish as easily.

What was she going to have to do to finish this business?

For a moment, for just an instant, she toyed with the idea of breaking off the hunt entirely. It was requiring much more time and effort than she cared to spend and netting no favorable results at all. She had the boy's parents safely locked away in her dungeons. Couldn't she just wait for him to come for them? He would surely do so, once he found out where they were, and it would be easy enough to make him aware.

Her frustration building toward a headache, she rubbed at her temples with her fingers. The trouble with ignoring him was that she was almost certain she knew what he was doing. He was trying to find a way to reach his aunt. She had no idea how he planned to do that and believed it beyond his or anyone else's capability. But she could not chance being wrong. If he had found a way into the Forbidding, if he had discovered an avenue about which she knew nothing, then she had to stop him from using it. Because if he managed the impossible and actually reached Grianne Ohmsford from Paranor's side of the wall, he might find a way to guide her back again.

If that happened, Shadea knew she was finished. They were all finished, all who had conspired with her.

The chance of that happening was so small that it was scarcely measurable, but she knew better than to put anything past the Ohmsfords. Their history spoke for itself. They had survived impossible situations before, several generations of them. They were imbued with both magic and luck, and the combination had kept them from harm more times than anyone could count.

She could not afford to allow that to happen again.

So she would leave things as they were. She would allow Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence to continue to hunt down the boy. Perhaps Aphasia Wye still tracked him as well, even though she had heard nothing from her assassin in days. One never knew about that creature. One could never predict.

The ashes of the burned note were gone, turned to dust and blown away. She breathed in the morning air, calming herself, reassuring herself that everything was going to be all right. In the next few days, she would journey to Arishaig to meet with Sen Dunsidan.

The Prime Minister was seeking her support for a sustained assault on the Free–born, a course of action on which they had already tacitly agreed but had yet to act. The Federation required the backing of the Druids if they were to succeed in their plans to break the stalemate on the Prekkendorran and advance into Callahorn. The Prime Minister needed to know that Shadea, as head of the Druid order, would not act to stop him. She, in turn, needed to know that he would continue to support her as Ard Rhys.

She was less concerned about his backing than she had been at the beginning, when her support was so small and her position as acting Ard Rhys so tenuous. But things had changed. Once she'd bedded Gerand Cera and made him her consort, she began working to gain the support of his followers as well. One by one, using promises and threats, she had subverted them. Even though Cera still thought of himself as leader of his own faction, she had long since replaced him in that position.

She glanced at the rumpled bed to one side and grimaced. She had played at that game long enough. She had allowed him enough liberties. It was time to put an end to it. It was time to toss him from her bed and from her life.

Intent on going out to confer with a handful of those on whom she believed she could depend, she threw off her nightclothes and dressed in her Druid robes. Matters would get rough before the day was out, and she must know who would stand with her when they did. She knew better than to leave such things to chance.

Wrapped in her black garments, her chain of office hung about her neck, she was moving toward the chamber door when it burst open and Gerand Cera strode through, his hatchet face dark with anger.

«We have been betrayed, Shadea," he announced without preamble. He flung off his robe and threw himself down in one of the cushioned chairs. «By the very ally you were so confident would not dare to do so.»

She stared at him. «Sen Dunsidan?»

A sneer twisted his lean face. «Sen Dunsidan. Last night, the Elves launched an airship strike against his army. The strike failed because the Federation forces knew about it in advance and were waiting. They have invented a weapon that produces a light beam of such intensity and power that it can burn an airship right out of the sky. It did so in response to the attack, destroying virtually the entire Elven fleet before the Federation airship that bore it was damaged and had to set down.»

He leaned forward. «But that was just the beginning. During the airship battle, the Federation army attacked the Elven defensive lines and broke through. The Elves were driven right off the Prekkendorran. They might still be running, for all I know. Their allies are trying to hang on, but they're surrounded. I wouldn't give them much chance.»

He shook his head in disgust. «So tell me, Shadea. What do you think of your precious Prime Minister now?» His sharp eyes fixed on her. «You didn't know about this attack beforehand, did you? 1 would hate to think you were keeping things from me.»

She hadn't known a thing about it, of course. She was as surprised by the news as he was. But there was no reason for her to tell him so. Better that he thought her one step ahead of him.

«There was some discussion about it. I hadn't thought he intended to act so quickly.»

«It would have been nice if you had told me.»

She shrugged. «We both keep some things to ourselves, Gerand. Don't pretend otherwise. As I said, I hadn't thought he was going to do this until later. Apparently an opportunity presented itself that he couldn't afford to pass up. We can hardly begrudge him that.»

Gerand Cera frowned. «I don't like it that he's acted without seeking our approval. It will look to everyone as if he no longer cares whether we stand with him or against him. It will look as if he considers our support irrelevant.»

Just so, she was thinking. Sen Dunsidan would have to be called to account once she was able to confront him. It might be that it was time for her to end their relationship in a way that left no doubt as to who was the real power in the Four Lands.

«This weapon," she said, changing the subject. «It doesn't sound like anything I have ever heard of. It sounds as if it employs a form of magic.»

Gerand Cera shook his head in disagreement. 'The Prime Minister doesn't have the use of magic.»

«Perhaps he has acquired the aid of someone who does.» Her eyes locked on his. «One of us.»

He snorted. «Who? Who would want to give aid to Sen Dunsidan, knowing that you would view it as a—" He stopped himself. «Are you thinking of Iridia?»

«Do we know where she is? Did we ever find out where she went after she left here?»

Cera shook his head slowly. «No. But she wouldn't dare to betray us. She knows what would happen if she did.»

She cringed at his use of the word us, at the implication that he was somehow a part of the decision–making process, when in fact he was little more than another obstacle. She glanced away to hide her disgust, then turned and walked to the window. She stood there for a moment, thinking.

«What do you intend to do?» he asked, rising and coming over to put his hands on her shoulders.

She felt the strength of those hands as they gripped her. They were possessive and commanding as they turned her about to face him. They suggested in no uncertain terms that he was the one in control. She smiled agreeably as he leaned down and kissed her mouth. She kissed him back, waited for the kiss to end, then broke away.