« Those red spots are the weaknesses,” Khyber whispered.
Bek took a long moment to study them, and then whispered back, «Good work, Khyber. Now hold the Elfstone magic steady.»
He called up the wishsong in a soft, barely audible hum. Building it slowly, he honed it to a cutting edge, a trick he had learned twenty years earlier from Grianne. When he had the edge sharp enough, he eased it up to the ceiling to where the brightest of the crimson spots could be found and began to cut. He was slow and careful, weakening each strand just a little at a time. Relying on his magic to give him a sense of its strength, he would cut the strand as deeply as he felt he could, and then move on to the next. The process took him a little longer each time, his concentration faltering, his strength was still not back after the injuries suffered in the escape from Paranor two weeks earlier.
« Hurry,” Khyber whispered, the word evidence that her own efforts were beginning to fail.
He continued until he had cut into ten strands. It was tedious, demanding work. His eyes watered and his body cramped, but it was his mind that screamed for release. Still, he was afraid to stop, afraid that starting up again would be too dangerous, that it risked discovery through the sheer repetitiveness of the magical activity. Too much of anything would be noticed in a place like Paranor, especially with the scrye waters able to detect any usage of magic at all.
Bek cut two more strands, making his tally an even dozen. When he had finished with the twelfth, he was too tired to go on. He withdrew the cutting edge of his magic and let the wishsong go still. He closed his eyes wearily and leaned back against the passageway wall. «That’s all I can do,” he whispered to Khyber.
She exhaled sharply, and when he opened his eyes again, the Elf–stones had gone dark. She was slumped down across from him, her fingers closed tightly about the talismans. «Do you think it was enough? Will it break apart for your sister and Pen? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t feel the weakening at all. All I could do was make out the places where it might give way.»
He shook his head. «I don’t know.»
He reached over from behind the open door and pushed against it. The door closed softly, and the latch caught. They were left in darkness again save for where greenish light leaked through the cracks, blade–thin and knife–sharp. In the ensuing silence, they stared at each other wordlessly, wondering if they had done enough.
Shadea a’Ru had finished rechecking the strength and positioning of the triagenel and was on her way back down the hall when Traunt Rowan reappeared from the cold chamber. She noticed for the first time how much he had aged over the past few weeks. His strong face was lined and gray, the way he held himself was less confident and erect. He had been the most dependable of her allies, the strongest–minded if not the strongest wielder of magic, and she was dismayed that he had not held up better. It pointed up again a truth she regretted.
In the end, she was the only one she could depend on. In the end, she was in the battle alone.
« You were right to have me check the serve waters,” he announced perfunctorily. «The Druid on watch said there was a noticeable disturbance perhaps eight or ten hours ago, one that clearly indicated the presence of a powerful magic. He said he failed to report it because he thought it was Druid magic. The truth is he was afraid he would stumble into something he shouldn’t know about and pay the price for doing so.»
« What does that mean?»
His laugh was bitter. «It means our decision to keep everyone guessing about who is expendable is having unavoidable consequences. We have created a climate of fear, Shadea, in which no one wants to risk drawing attention. Better to keep silent than to make a mistake and become another unfortunate example.»
She glared at him, then looked away. He was right, of course. What was the purpose in getting mad at him for pointing out something she already knew? She had the Druids well in line and working to complete their tasks, but they were frightened and uncertain. Her early, unexplained dismissals had made them that way. Now she was in danger of losing them all.
She was no better than Grianne Ohmsford.
But that would change, she promised herself. She would make it change.
She looked back at him. «What was the source of the disturbance?»
« The furnace chamber, where we sent the Elven girl to be killed. I think we must assume she is still alive. Pyson sent an armed unit to search that whole area. They found evidence of blood, but nothing else.»
Shadea shook her head. «What is she up to? What does she think she can accomplish?» Her hard gaze fixed on him. «I want her found, Traunt. I want her found and killed. I don’t care how it’s done or who knows. We have to put an end to this business.»
He nodded wordlessly. There was nothing for him to say.
They walked back down the hall toward her chamber. «I received word from our spies in Arishaig,” he said quietly. «Iridia has disappeared.»
She looked over in surprise. «How long ago?»
« Several days, at least. She simply vanished. Sen Dunsidan doesn’t seem bothered, though. That leads me to believe he may have had something to do with it.»
She nodded, thinking that Sen Dunsidan couldn’t have gotten rid of Iridia on the best day of his life. It was far more likely that her Gnome assassins had been more successful than she had believed, even if they hadn’t gotten word back to her yet.
They reached her door. «Find that girl,” she repeated, turning to face him. «And anyone else she might have brought with her into Paranor. Tell Pyson to have his Gnome Hunters sweep the Keep again—every passageway, every room.»
She paused. «And double the guard on the sleeping chamber. I have a feeling that Grianne Ohmsford is about to reappear. I want to be sure we are ready for her when she does.»
She saw the stricken look on his face and smiled. «What’s the trouble? Don’t you think we are a match for her? We dispatched her once, we can do so again. Only this time, I intend to make sure she won’t ever come back.»
She turned away. «I need to rest. Wake me when something happens.» She glanced back at him. «And make sure that something happens soon.»
He was still standing there in the hallway when she closed the door.
Bek was sitting next to Khyber in the darkened passageway off the sleeping chamber of the Ard Rhys. They had slept for several hours, and now Tagwen and Rue were sleeping. Bek wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Not that it mattered; there was nothing they could do but wait. He found himself wondering how long that might be. They couldn’t wait indefinitely. Sooner or later, someone would find them. They would need food and drink, as well, although they had brought a little of each with them into the Keep. He guessed that the waiting would end either when Grianne and Pen reappeared out of the Forbidding or Paranor fell to Kermadec and his Trolls.
He wondered about the chances of the latter. The Trolls were formidable, but no one had taken Paranor since it had been betrayed to the Warlock Lord in the time of Jerle Shannara. The Druids were a powerful order, even if dissatisfied with their leadership and their present situation. Their command of magic gave them an edge that no one else possessed. Bek hoped that Kermadec was right when he said that most of them would not support Shadea a’Ru, but he had a feeling that if faced with an assault on Paranor, they might.
But he couldn’t do anything about that. He could only do something about the things he had control over.
He leaned close to Khyber. «There is something I have to tell you,” he whispered. «About Pen and the staff.»