Khyber considered how she would approach the business at hand. Sarys Ohmsford had not been speaking to her at the time Khyber had gone into the Druid Sleep. In large part it was because her husband had been killed while flying with the Druids, and she had decided for reasons best known to herself that a failure of their magic was the root of the cause. She had forbidden her sons to have contact with any of the Druids and especially Khyber. While she slept, it wasn’t an issue. Now it most certainly would be. But there was no getting past what needed doing, and somehow she must persuade Sarys to allow her sons to aid the very people she distrusted most.
She might as well have been trying to persuade pigs they could fly.
The airship glided toward the docks and settled into the largest of the slips, rolling slightly with the motion of the disturbed waters before coming to rest. While the Troll guards set about securing the mooring lines, Khyber walked back to where Garroneck stood at the ship’s helm.
“When we are secured, I want you and your men to wait here for me. Let me go up to the house alone.”
He looked at her doubtfully. “Yes, Mistress.”
She relented. “You can wait for me on the dock, if you wish. But Sarys Ohmsford is a difficult woman, and she won’t like it if I trudge up to the front door of her house with Troll guards at my back.”
“She won’t like having you here under any circumstances.” Garroneck’s implacable face showed no hint of humor. “But that is as it may be. My men and I will wait.”
She left him where he was, walked over to the railing door, slipped the latch, and climbed down the rope ladder ten rungs to the dock. By now, Sarys would know who had arrived. She would already be angry and worried. Something would have to be done quickly to diffuse both. Khyber was already thinking about what that something might be.
Redden and Railing Ohmsford had grown from boys to young men in the time she had slept the Druid Sleep. She had known them when they were little. She had visited them and spoken with them and taken them for airship rides with their father. But with their father’s death, all that had stopped. Most of their growing up had taken place without her. She had no idea how they would see her now. She had made certain the family was watched over from afar, and so she knew something of how the boys had turned out. Wild, unpredictable, brash, and daring—that was the report on their involvement with airships, particularly Sprints. They were frequently in trouble, but always able to extricate themselves, although sometimes it required help from their Rover cousins. Their mother knew less than half of a half of what they did, but she had been successful, mostly, in keeping them from using the magic.
That, of course, would have to change.
How could she get Sarys to agree? Perhaps the boys would help her with this. If they were present, they might find her offer intriguing enough to take her side. But she didn’t want to pit a mother against her sons in this matter, creating a breach that might never be repaired, so she had to be careful in her choice of words. Telling Sarys too much would be fatal to her chances; she would have to skirt the edges.
She climbed the trail from the docks to the house, her legs stiff-gaited with age and her breath shortened long before she completed the climb. She had aged and worn down while she slept, though not nearly as much as she might have had she been awake. The problem was that she was already aging when she went to sleep, though she might try to deny it. Elves lived longer than humans, but their longevity wasn’t as pronounced as it had been in the time of Faerie.
Listen to me, she thought. Indulging in self-pity and remorse. What next? Regret for lost youth and no child of my own?
She said it to herself, in the privacy of her mind, where no one could hear. But she said it only half in jest, and her smile was bitter.
She had gotten to within a dozen feet of the porch when the door opened and Sarys stepped out to confront her, tall and slender and regal, eyes as hard as stones.
“You are not welcome here,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, blocking the way.
Khyber stopped where she was and nodded. “I know that. But I am here because I have no other choice.”
Sarys made a face. “The reason doesn’t matter. You have been told not to come. You waste my time and yours. Go back to Paranor.”
“I cannot do that until you hear what I have to say.”
“Nothing you have to say is of any interest to me. Nothing ever will be. Get back aboard your ship and fly out of here. Do it right now.”
Khyber held her ground, not moving, not speaking. She just stood there, her eyes locked on Sarys, waiting her out.
“I thought you were in the Druid Sleep,” the other woman said finally.
“I was, but something happened that brought me awake. The Four Lands are in danger, Sarys—threatened by the very thing that you fear most. By magic. By magic so powerful that if it were to fall into the wrong hands, it would put us all at desperate risk.”
“But those ‘wrong hands’ would not be your own, of course.” Sarys shook her head. “No, never the clever hands of the Druids. You would use the magic wisely, wouldn’t you?”
“We would at least use it in an informed way. Or perhaps not use it at all, but put it away where it could not be misused.” She paused, holding the other woman’s gaze. “May I please come inside so that we can sit down and talk? If you find what I have to say repellent, ask me to leave then. I will have had my say and be gone from here. But I must at least speak to you first.”
Sarys shook her head, and suddenly there was a glint of tears at the corners of her eyes. “You took Kierst from me, and now you want to hurt my boys. Whatever you intend, that will be the unavoidable result.” She wiped furiously at her face. “Look what you’ve done to me, just by coming here like this.”
“I didn’t come here to hurt your boys. You know better. I came because I am compelled. Please let me explain.”
“Go away, Ard Rhys. Go away, and never come back.”
“I can’t do that. If I don’t speak to you, I must at least speak to Redden and Railing.”
“No!” She shrieked the word. Her face transformed into something terrifying, and she came halfway down the steps, her posture suddenly menacing. “You will not speak to my boys! Not ever! Do you hear me, witch? Not ever!”
“Then you must let me speak to you. Let me explain what has brought me and then you can decide how necessary this visit is.”
Sarys was incensed, her hands clenched, her face contorted in fury. “Get out of here!”
“If I don’t speak with you, I will have to speak with your sons.”
“If you say one word to them—just one word—I will see you dead!”
Sarys’s voice was low and quiet and hard. There was no mistaking her commitment to carrying out her threat if she were forced to do so. But Khyber had been threatened before, and she knew when threats were real and when they were simply born of desperation.
She came forward until she was standing at the bottom of the veranda stairs within arm’s reach of Sarys Ohmsford. “I came to you out of respect. I could have avoided you entirely and gone straight to Redden and Railing. You wouldn’t have known if I had. I could still do so. And I will, if you continue to refuse me. No, Sarys.” She held up one hand in warning as the other started to speak. “No more threats. Threats are beneath you. You are better than that. Stop arguing with me and listen to what I have to say or you will force me to do exactly what I have been trying to avoid. You will force me to go behind your back.”