Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Home Guards exchanging worried looks. They had heard her account of the number of attackers coming for them. They had heard her describe what had happened to Arishaig. Unlike their King, they were not so confident.
Phaedon was on his feet now, his eyes hard and his mouth set in an ugly, furious line. “I think I will lock you up with my uncle, Lady Druid!” he hissed at her. “You are no better than he is. You presume when it is not your place to do so. You insult me with your very presence!”
“High Lord,” she said quickly. She gestured as if to emphasize what she was saying. “I would give you warning.”
He stared at her. “You would threaten me?”
“Not I. I am not the one who threatens you. It is another.”
“I care nothing for the threats of others!” he snapped. “Besides, you are lying. You would say anything to save yourself.”
She looked away, shrugging. “As you wish.”
“Wait!” he called out sharply, bringing her back around. “What warning would you give?”
She leaned toward him. “That you are in danger, High Lord.”
He went still, unable for a moment to respond. Then, regaining his composure, he said, “From what?”
She shook her head. “What I would tell you is for your ears only. No other must hear. The danger is closer at hand than you realize.”
She waited. Phaedon continued to stare at her, as if unable to make a decision on what to do. “May I approach?” she asked. She gestured to the guards clustered just behind her. “You are safe enough. But you should hear what I have to say.”
She said it with such urgency that she knew he took the bait. He hesitated a moment longer, then he beckoned her forward.
“But watch yourself, Lady Druid. Be mindful of what will happen if this is a trick.”
She advanced until she was standing right in front of him. She was shorter and wider and very much the stronger of the two. But he was taller, and his superior height gave him a sense of security it shouldn’t have. In a less debilitated state of mind, he might have recognized this. But here he did not.
She slumped slightly at the shoulders to add to his confidence. “There are those who would replace you as King. One of them is in this very room.”
His eyes went immediately to Sian Aresh. “Which one?”
“The one standing right in front of you,” she whispered.
The fingers of her right hand snaked about his left wrist. Druid magic flooded through him, and he was paralyzed instantly. There was no apparent effort on her part, no indication that she was doing anything other than continuing to advise him. She used her body to block what was happening, still talking while the magic she had surreptitiously summoned flooded through him, working on him as she had intended, rendering him immobile but doing something much more insidious, as well.
“You are not much of a King, Phaedon, that you would risk your people’s lives on a whim,” she whispered calmly, her fingers like iron about his wrist. “Not much of a King that you would ignore help when it was offered. Not much of a man even, if you would let your pride and your fears dictate a course of action that would bring disaster to your entire Race.”
His eyes were locked on hers, frozen in place like the rest of him. He could not manage even the smallest sound to summon help, caught up in the trap she had set for him. She kept talking as she waited for the magic to settle in and claim him completely, still pretending she was explaining something to him, engaged in a private conversation that no one else could hear.
When she felt him start to shake, she released his hands, waited a moment until she was sure he was infected, and then backed quickly away, looking over her shoulder at the Home Guards, a look of shock and concern mirrored on her face.
“Something’s wrong!” she called out to them. “He’s having a fit!”
Indeed, the Elven King was frothing at the mouth, weird sounds coming from somewhere deep inside him—not words exactly, but grunts and gasps and other indecipherable noises. His guards rushed to him, Sian Aresh with them, taking hold of him as he thrashed and convulsed.
Then, abruptly, he went limp, collapsing into unconsciousness in their arms. Aresh caught Seersha’s eye; she met his gaze without revealing anything.
“Take the King to his sleeping chambers,” the Captain of the Home Guard ordered, “and send for Healers to keep watch on him. Have them do what they can.” He glanced at Seersha again, and this time she nodded slightly. “Don’t leave him alone,” he added.
The King was carried from the room, still unconscious but breathing and alive. Aresh waited until they were gone and he and Seersha were alone before beckoning for her to follow.
As they passed out into the hallway and moved toward the front doors of the palace, he whispered, “You did that to him, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “Druids have a strict policy of not interfering in the affairs of the Races unless threatened. I deemed this a threat. Phaedon is dangerous, and he cannot be allowed to interfere with what we need to do. He will be incapacitated for a day or so. Longer, if I come back to him a second time, which I may very well decide to do if it is needed. But those two days will allow the Elven army time to move out of Arborlon and prepare to defend the valley.” She looked over at him as they walked. “You have to do this, you know. You have to be the one.”
“He removed me as Captain of the Home Guard,” Sian Aresh pointed out. “Remember?”
“He was a man in the first stages of a fit that has laid him out like a baby,” she answered. “Anyway, he said your position would be terminated after the meeting was over. That never really happened. You’re still the leader your men will look to. You are the one they will follow.”
“And you will stand with us?”
“As I promised. Until there’s no longer anywhere for me to stand.”
They went out the palace doors into the sunshine. “We don’t have much of a chance, do we?” he said.
“Any chance is better than none.”
“What we need is a miracle.”
“What we need,” she replied softly, “is for Aphen and Arling Elessedil to find the Bloodfire and come back to us.”
Twenty-three
After departing the village home of Sora and Aquinel, the Ellcrys seed recovered and their quest for the Bloodfire back under way, the Elessedil sisters and Cymrian reboarded their Sprint. With darkness already well advanced, they flew for a few more hours, then camped for the night on the edge of the Drey Wood. And the following morning, they lifted away for the still-distant country of the Wilderun. They flew south through the remainder of the day past the last of Drey Wood and angled west over the Matted Breaks. Through the drifting clouds, they caught glimpses of the rock towers of the Pykon looming in the distance in solitary splendor. Dark and forbidding, they had seen centuries come and go, cities and governments rise and fall, and changes of all kinds in the world about them, and still they endured.
It was written in the Druid Histories that Amberle Elessedil had come this way centuries ago on a similar search, passing down through Drey Wood, the Matted Breaks, and the Pykon, as well. All who had come with her had been killed protecting her—all but the Valeman Wil Ohmsford. It made her think on Redden and Railing. She wondered if the latter had gone looking for his brother yet. She wondered if his brother was lost to him, as she feared Arling might be lost to her. She wondered, finally, if the twins—or even one of them—might in some way prove to be Arling’s protector as their ancestor had proved to be Amberle’s. She remembered that Allanon’s shade had told Khyber Elessedil at the Hadeshorn that an Ohmsford must come with the Druids on their search for the Elfstones—that having one along would prove essential to their success. But there had been no success, and it made her think that perhaps no Ohmsford would stand as a protector of her sister and that everything would be different this time.