“I regret that you were forced to kill a man. But it is clear evidence of the determination of those involved. I would not expect that these attacks were undertaken solely for the purpose of harming you, although we cannot dismiss the possibility out of hand. But I think it more likely it was the diary they were after—that even without knowing exactly what you had found, they suspected it had value. Did you sense that you were being watched at any time during your research, Aphen?”
The young woman shook her head. “My guard was up; my wards were always in place. I made certain to secure the rooms in which I worked, and I checked my preparations each day. I was always alone save when either my sister or my uncle came to see how I was, which was infrequently. I did not sense another’s presence the entire time I was working. I could not have been spied upon without knowing it.”
“You were there for almost a year. Someone might have found a way.”
Aphenglow shook her head. “I would have sensed it. Anyway, who would go to such trouble?”
“Someone who was afraid you might find something useful regarding the old magic and either not give it to them or give it to the wrong people.”
Aphenglow shook her head, troubled and uncertain. The idea was appalling, even now.
“Do you think the Elves themselves might have done this?” Seersha asked quickly. “Attack the King’s granddaughter?”
“Or someone who hates the Druids,” Bombax broke in. “Someone who would like to see the order disbanded and their magic confiscated and destroyed.”
He explained what had happened the previous day in Arishaig with the death of the old Prime Minister and the election of Drustan Chazhul. Khyber listened and nodded. “Perhaps. Anything is possible. What matters is that someone thinks what Aphen has brought us has value.”
“Or might have value,” Pleysia corrected. “The attempt to steal the diary might have been a protective measure to assure that nothing gets taken out of those storerooms, no matter the value.”
“A preventive act?” Khyber rose and walked over to the chamber doors and opened them. “Would you find something for me to eat and drink?” she asked Garroneck as he stepped forward to see what she required. “Bring it here.”
When he was gone, she dismissed the others, all save Aphenglow, whom she asked to remain behind. With the young Elven woman sitting across from her, she read through the entirety of the diary, pausing only to eat and drink when Garroneck brought her hot food and cold ale.
“Where is Woostra?” she asked her Troll Captain as he was leaving. “He is still with us, isn’t he?”
Garroneck nodded. “Very much so. He is probably down in the library, poring through his books. Do you wish to see him?”
She nodded, and the big Troll departed to find him. Woostra was her personal secretary and the keeper of the Druid records. When she wanted to know something about the history of the Four Lands, she went first to him. She finished her meal while waiting, feeling a measure of strength and contentment return as a result. She had nearly finished reading through the rest of the diary when Woostra finally rushed in, somewhat in a state of dishevelment.
“Mistress, I didn’t realize you were awake.” Rail-thin and bent, he might have weighed a little more than a wool travel cloak soaked through. Hair stuck out of his large ears and tunneled down his neck. His chin hooked up and his nose hooked down. Odd looking didn’t begin to cover it, but his memory was astounding and his work ethic faultless. “Are you well? You look perplexed. Do you need help with something? You must tell me at once!”
That was Woostra, somewhat overbearing but always anxious to help. “I want to know if you have ever come across the name Aleia Omarosian in our books and papers.”
Woostra assumed a thoughtful pose, gaze directed outward through the nearest window in a thousand-yard stare. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Will you have a fresh look to see if there might be a mention somewhere? Look, as well, for references to the Elfstones. Any of the Elfstones, not just the blue ones. Take your time. Do a thorough search.”
“Mistress!” He straightened to his full height, which just about brought him up to Aphenglow’s shoulder. “I am not aware that I have ever performed any other kind!”
Looking misunderstood and put upon, he wheeled about and left the room without glancing back.
“Awfully thin-skinned, isn’t he?” Khyber said, mostly to herself.
She went back to reading the diary, finished a short time later, and leaned back in her chair. “I think this is real, Aphen.”
Aphenglow allowed herself a relieved smile. “I’m pleased. But what are we to do with it? Pleysia is right. It doesn’t give us any clue as to where the missing Elfstones might be found. The Darkling boy might have taken them to his home city, but he could just as easily have taken them somewhere else. If Woostra doesn’t find a mention in our records of a sighting of the Elfstones at a later time, we have nowhere to start a search. Perhaps I should go back and search the Elven histories again, this time looking for a mention of Aleia.”
“Perhaps.” Khyber thought a moment. “But I don’t want to risk you being attacked again.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Khyber smiled in spite of herself. “I know that. You are braver even than Bombax and twice as brave as me.”
Aphenglow blushed. “I doubt that. You must be thinking of Pleysia.”
“Pleysia?” She kept to herself the first words that came to mind. Better that her thoughts remained hidden. “Sit here a moment while I move about a bit, Aphen. The Druid Sleep has left me stiff and achy.”
She rose and walked to the far end of the chamber, looking out the window at the coming night. It was almost fully dark now, the sky gone deep blue, the first stars coming out to the north, shadows overlapping across the parapets and towers of the Keep. Torchlight blazed in tiny pockets atop the walls, and in the distance the horizon was a blood-red band of light fighting off the night’s descending blackness. She could hear the sound of the night birds and the soft tinkle of wind chimes.
What should she do?
To ignore the diary was unthinkable. She had to discover if the lost Elfstones still existed and, if they did, where they might be found. She had to gain possession of them for the Druid order before they fell into hands that would not use them well. Elfstones were a powerful magic, and while she had given back the seeking-Stones long ago, believing when she did so that the Elves would keep them safe and use them wisely, she had kept the Black Elfstone—the most powerful of them all and the only other Stone that had ever been recovered—believing its magic better off in the hands of the Druids.
Which was what she believed about all magic.
It wasn’t that the other Races were incapable of good judgment and clear thinking. It wasn’t that the Druids possessed special insight or better reasoning, though she believed they did. The difference lay in the depth and breadth of commitment to a way of life that respected what magic could do and how it should be managed. Only the Druids had given their lives to this cause. Only the Druids understood and respected the power that magic offered, both good and bad. Only the Druids studied endlessly what history had to teach about the mistakes and misuses that had doomed so many before them.
To abdicate magic of any sort to a political entity or even to any one of the Races that populated the Four Lands, no matter the promises offered or the feelings expressed, was a failing of monumental proportions, and she would not be part of it.
Everyone who knew of the missing Elfstones, Races and individuals alike, had been seeking them since their disappearance in the time of Faerie. But no one had found them. No one had found even a trace. Not a word written. Not the briefest glimpse. Nothing.
What made her think it would be any different this time?