Aphenglow tried to conceal her alarm. This was her discovery, and she did not want to turn it over to someone else, especially Pleysia. “I can ask my uncle to assign an Elven Hunter to keep watch over me, if you wish. But I should do this, Mistress. I have the King’s permission already and have been given access to the records. Pleysia would have to start all over, and there is nothing to say that my grandfather would be favorably disposed toward anyone who is not a member of the royal family.”
The two women faced each other in silence for a moment, each knowing that the other understood perfectly the implications not only of what had just been said, but of what hadn’t, as well.
“I am not happy with the idea,” Khyber Elessedil said at last, “though I recognize the need for it. But you will secure protection, and you will make certain whoever you choose can protect you adequately. Agreed?”
Aphenglow nodded quickly. “I promise. I won’t stay any longer than it takes to complete my search of the Chosen histories. But they suffer from the same deficiencies as the others. There are gaps and omissions throughout, particularly from the early years when record keeping was less meticulous. Some of what was known then was recovered from personal journals and stories passed down from the families who lived in those times. But not all.”
“Do what you can.” The Ard Rhys took Aphenglow’s hands in her own. “I wish I had been awake and able to spend more time with you, Aphen,” she said suddenly. “You have great potential, great promise. You are skilled, and your mind is sharp. But I am troubled by the weight you bear in your heart. Choosing to come here, to leave your people and your city to serve us, left you little better than an exile in the eyes of many. Worse than that, in the eyes of a few. I know this causes you great pain.”
Aphenglow blushed at the unexpected praise. “It does. But I have made my choice and learned to live with it. I would not take it back now.”
“Even so, it is a burden, and it might never be lifted from your shoulders. No one should have to bear such a stigma, especially when it is so undeserved. I worry for you, Aphen.”
Aphenglow stared in surprise, unable to respond to such deep concern with anything remotely appropriate. Should she thank the Ard Rhys for her solicitude? Should she declare it unnecessary?
Khyber Elessedil saved her the trouble by releasing her hands and standing. “Woostra comes. I will hear his report now and pretend that I have heard nothing of it before.” She smiled. “I think I can do that well enough. So say nothing.”
Aphen rose with her, turning to watch the scribe’s approach, a stiff-legged shuffle that suggested not all of his parts were functioning. Woostra gave them a nod.
“Go find the others,” the Ard Rhys said quickly to Aphen. “Tell them to gather in the main Council chamber at midday. We will discuss this further at that time.”
Then Woostra was next to her and she was guiding him by the elbow into his offices, closing the doors behind them. Aphenglow stood looking after them for a moment longer, almost expecting the Ard Rhys to reappear. But she didn’t, and the young woman finally turned away.
Midday brought a change in the weather, which at sunrise had seemed bright and clear but had now turned gray and chilly. The winds had picked up, clouds scudded across the sky in waves, and it was clear that a storm was on the way. The Druids were seated around the huge table that dominated the main Council chamber. Khyber Elessedil had just finished her report on meeting with the Shade of Allanon, confirming what Woostra had discovered in his search about Aleia Omarosian’s ties to the Chosen, and in the silence that ensued she was now looking from face to face. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for. Maybe some hint of inner strength and determination to see through what must inevitably happen next. Maybe some sense of how strong each could be when their metal was placed in the fire. She didn’t know, but she searched anyway.
“What are we to do?” Carrick asked finally, his lean figure draped in his chair like a straw man’s.
It was the question, of course. But she had already thought it through after leaving Aphenglow. She had returned to her chambers, bathed and dressed in clean clothes, had Woostra bring her food and drink, and then sat by her window and considered her options. It wasn’t so much what she should do as what she should do first. They needed to undertake a search for the Elfstones, but before doing so they needed to be better prepared. She had listened carefully to Allanon’s shade. She might have dismissed such advice coming from anyone else, but not from him. Even dead, he knew people and their vicissitudes better than most. That he could sense things hidden from others came as no surprise to anyone who had studied his life, and she had studied it thoroughly.
In particular, if he said they needed help from others more talented and better trained in areas where they were not, she knew to pay attention to his advice.
“If we are to find the Elfstones, we will need the help of others,” she said when the silence following Carrick’s question had lengthened sufficiently. “Allanon’s shade made it clear that we could not do this alone. No reason was given, nor was any argument encouraged. I felt strongly that the matter was not open to discussion or equivocation. So we will do as we have been advised. We will seek out others who will accompany us on our search.”
Pleysia shook her head. “I don’t like involving other people. People who are not Druids.”
“Others have always been there to aid us.” Khyber met her dark gaze and held it. “Any number of times. Have you forgotten your history?”
“Members of the Ohmsford family,” Seersha interjected, “helped Allanon three times, Walker Boh twice, and Grianne Ohmsford twice. Other families have aided us, too. The Leahs. The Elessedils, as well.”
“But it was the living who made that decision, not the dead.” Pleysia would not back down. “And in each case the decision was made because those who went possessed magic that was necessary to the success of the quests undertaken. This isn’t the same.”
“You are splitting hairs, Pleysia,” Bombax observed quietly.
“Am I? Then perhaps they need splitting.”
“And perhaps you need to consider your words more carefully before you speak them.”
Pleysia was on her feet, furious. “Why don’t you consider what it meant to rely on Allanon’s word in those earlier times? He was duplicitous and manipulative in life; why would he be any different in death? Some essential part of any truth he knew was always hidden from those who relied on his words! Why do you think it would be any different here?”
She wheeled on Khyber. “You might trust this shade. You might believe the advice it gives you is valuable and should be heeded. But I suggest you forget more of history than I do. How many of us will be sacrificed in this effort because of that?”
Khyber Elessedil shook her head slowly. “None, I hope. Some of what you say is right. But that doesn’t mean everything I was told is a lie or duplicitous. If that were so, I would sense it. My mind is made up on this, Pleysia. I have accepted Allanon’s warning as valid. I accept that we must heed it. We must seek help to complete this quest. Starting right away.”
She paused, making sure they were done arguing the point. Pleysia shrugged and looked away. “Allanon’s shade warned me that there must be at least one Ohmsford who comes with us,” Khyber continued. “It will be my responsibility to find that one. An Ohmsford has been involved with the Druids on every quest since the return of the Warlock Lord. Grianne Ohmsford was Ard Rhys before me. The history is there, and I don’t intend to ignore it.”
“Perhaps the history you rely on is not applicable to this situation,” Pleysia muttered. “Perhaps we should consider another approach.”