He leaped down off the platform and headed for the outer door. Aphenglow and Arling followed on his heels, all of them moving out of the tower and onto the catwalk that led to the parapets. They navigated the walkways until they had reached Krolling and a gathering of other Trolls standing just above the south gates, watching the Federation fleet approach.
“Any signals from them yet?” Bombax asked, immediately assuming command.
Aphenglow might have resented this more if he hadn’t been senior to her. As it was, she felt a hint of annoyance that he did not say anything to her first. But she recognized it as an irrational response born of her ongoing irritation with his poor judgment in Varfleet, so she kept silent.
“No signal of any kind.” Krolling was big and burly and had the size and look of an immovable boulder. Garroneck’s second in command was steady and capable.
Druids and Trolls and Arlingfant stood in a cluster atop the south gate, waiting for the airships to reach them.
“You should get under cover,” Aphen whispered to Arling.
But her sister shook her head. “You might need me to help you.”
They stayed silent after that, although Aphen moved down the parapets so that she and Arling were standing apart from the others. It was an automatic response to the realization that they should not all stand in one place where there was at least the possibility of an attack.
The airships drew to within three hundred yards before slowing to a stop, with only the Arishaig advancing much closer. Big and black, it loomed over them as it pushed through Druid airspace, hovering just outside the walls of Paranor before it swung broadside to the gate and the watchers on the walls.
There was a long silence as each side took the measure of the other, and then a voice rang out in the near silence.
“Greetings from Drust Chazhul, Prime Minister of the Coalition Council and leader of the Southland Federation! This is a diplomatic mission dispatched for the purpose of forming a working partnership with the Fourth Druid Order! We seek admittance to Paranor and an audience with the Ard Rhys! May we advance the Arishaig to the Druid landing station and be received?”
They were using a voice enhancer to magnify the speaker’s words and lend them additional weight and importance. Aphenglow tried to identify who was speaking, but the decks of the warship were crowded with men, and it was impossible to tell.
“Did you send notice of your coming to the Ard Rhys?” Bombax called back, using magic to enhance his own voice.
A long pause. “Notification was dispatched more than a week ago,” the answer came back. “A response signed by the Ard Rhys invited us to fly to Paranor for a conference.”
A lie. Khyber Elessedil would have mentioned it. Aphenglow exchanged a quick glance with Bombax, shaking her head.
“No message was received,” Bombax said at once. “No arrangements were made for the Ard Rhys to receive a Federation delegation. She cannot do so at this time.”
Another long pause. “We have come all the way from Arishaig for this meeting. It is important we speak with the Ard Rhys. Will you inform her we are here?”
Bombax turned angry and frustrated; Aphenglow could see it in his face. Don’t say it, she thought.
But she was too late. “The Ard Rhys isn’t here!” Bombax snapped, his voice louder still. “Turn your ships around!”
Stupid! In the stunned silence that followed, she hurried over to him. “Why did you tell them that?”
He looked at her in surprise. “They already knew. You said so.”
“I said I thought so. Now you’ve confirmed what they might only have suspected. Let me speak to them.”
Without waiting for his approval, she turned toward the Arishaig. “We apologize, but we are in mandated lockdown and cannot receive visitors until the Ard Rhys returns. An emergency has taken her away and your request, regretfully, must have been set aside. Our deepest apologies to the Prime Minister and the Federation. Please let us give you another date for your requested meeting.”
There was no immediate response. Bombax, embarrassed and now angry with her, moved over by Krolling. On the wall, the members of the Druid Guard shifted restlessly. Arling came over to stand with her sister. “Will they leave now?”
Aphenglow shook her head to indicate she wasn’t sure.
“We would like to leave a written declaration of intent for the Ard Rhys to read,” the speaker aboard the Arishaig said suddenly. “May we land a flit inside the compound to deliver it?”
Aphenglow felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in warning. “We are in lockdown,” she repeated. “We cannot receive visitors. Can we meet you outside the gates to accept delivery?”
“Will you identify yourself, speaker?” A different voice now, one less practiced at disguising impatience.
Aphenglow looked over at Bombax for guidance, but he was deliberately looking away. “I am Aphenglow Elessedil,” she answered.
“This is Drust Chazhul. I am familiar with lockdowns, and they do not include diplomatic missions. I regard this refusal as a deliberate rebuke and a rejection of my efforts to establish a fresh rapport between the Federation and your order. If I am correct in my reasoning, say so and we will leave without further discussion. If not, then remember your place and allow us to land.”
She felt herself flush. “Prime Minister, I appreciate your disappointment. But a lockdown at Paranor makes no exceptions, not even for diplomatic missions. Moreover, I am not simply authorized, but required, to refuse your request. This is neither a rebuke to you personally nor a rejection of your efforts. If you wish, you can land outside the walls and wait for the Ard Rhys to return. But I cannot tell you how long the wait might be.”
The silence this time was chilling. On the decks of the Arishaig, men were moving about, taking up stations as if they knew what was coming. Aphenglow had the unpleasant feeling that a prearranged plan of action was being carried out.
She walked over to Krolling and Bombax and whispered to the former. “Are we protected against them?”
“Fully,” the big Troll answered. Bombax caught her eye and nodded in agreement.
From the deck of the Arishaig: “I think you mean us harm, Aphenglow Elessedil,” Drust Chazhul called out suddenly. “I think this refusal has nothing to do with a lockdown and everything to do with seeking to gain an advantage over us. I am beginning to suspect you lured us here. The history of the Druids is one of duplicity and subterfuge. An invitation was extended and is now suddenly withdrawn for no discernible reason. Are you hiding something behind those walls that we are not intended to see? Are you engaged in activity harmful to the governments and peoples of the Four Lands? If not, let us come inside!”
“Get down off the walls,” she said at once to everyone around her, giving particular attention to Arling, who had been joined by Cymrian. To his credit, Cymrian immediately guided her sister to the stairs in spite of her obvious reluctance.
Bombax was beside her instantly, and the Trolls were off the wall and behind protective battlements and ramparts, weapons drawn.
“Your accusations are offensive and baseless, Prime Minister,” she called back to the warship. “Move your vessel away from the walls at once. Our conversation is over.”
To her disappointment and dismay, the Arishaig instead swung her bow back around toward the gate and began to inch forward. She was coming directly for the walls she had been told to move away from, weapons uncovered and soldiers in place. This was the prelude to the attack she had feared all along, and she could do nothing to stop it. The wards that protected Paranor would engage automatically once the airship crossed the vertical plane of the south wall. Since the time of their creation and placement soon after the end of the war on the Prekkendorran, no one had ever challenged them or witnessed what they could do. The Ard Rhys might know, but neither Aphenglow nor Bombax had the faintest idea.