Tarsha’s face grew grave. “Things are very bad, Flinc. The boy who was with Clizia? My brother? She killed him.” Unbidden tears filled her eyes. “She tried to kill me, too. She believes me dead. And she did something to Drisker. He’s disappeared.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him. If the chil’haen russ’hai is alive, disappeared or no, all will be well. And what of your companions? The highlander with the black blade and the Elf? What of them?”
“They have left the Four Lands to try to stop the Skaar invasion. I am completely on my own. I came here for help, but I did not think to find you; that is something I never could have imagined!”
She hugged him anew and was buried under a wave of relief and gratitude as she did so.
“Stop, please,” the imp protested, struggling to free himself. “It was nothing special for me to fool the witch. She is not nearly so clever as she thinks. She thought it my intent to kill myself and take her and your brother with me, but for the Faerie reality is not a constant. It shifts and moves like the wind, and we ride its currents and turn them to our purposes.” He paused, eyes bright and questioning. “I could show you more, if you were to decide to stay with me. I have rebuilt my home and put it back the way it was. You would be safe there.”
Tarsha shook her head in disbelief. As if she would risk another kidnapping, well intended or not. “You never change, do you, Flinc? I cannot stay with you. I must find Drisker and help him. And Clizia Porse has to be stopped.” She gave him a wry smile. “My kind is not so much inclined to be homebodies as your kind are. I am happy you are alive and well, but I have my own path to follow. Will you help me?”
“Have you any doubt? Have I ever not helped you—or at least tried my best? You need only ask.”
“All right.” She brushed back the strands of white-blond hair that had fallen over her face and wiped her eyes. “Here is what I need. I have to find Drisker, and I don’t know how to do that. I thought maybe if I found Drisker’s books of magic—the ones you took from me—I might find something in them that would help me. I know Drisker took them back from you, but where are they now?”
Flinc seemed surprised. “This is all the help you require? Such an easy task! Come with me.”
He turned toward his tunnel entry and invited her to follow. The trapdoor was back in place and the tunnel lighted and clean. When they reached the entry to his underground lair, she found the heavy door there as before, looking very much as if it had never been damaged. Once inside, she found almost everything put back exactly the way it had been. There was no sign of the damage inflicted by Clizia, and no evidence of whatever had happened in the ensuing struggle.
Tarsha moved over to the little table and sat in one of the two chairs. “This is real magic,” she offered, gesturing to his rehabilitated home.
Flinc looked pleased. “I like keeping everything neat and tidy. I lost a few treasures, but most I was able to save. Would you like a cup of tea?”
She gave him a look. “That depends on what you intend to put in the tea. I wouldn’t like to think you hadn’t learned your lesson.”
“Oh, no, it will be ordinary tea. You have my promise, lovely Tarsha. Only tea, and nothing more.”
So she accepted the offer, and while he brewed the tea, she sat pondering the fact of his continued existence. She had been so sure his life had been snuffed out, and yet here he was, much as he always had been. It gave her hope that not all of Clizia’s schemes were successful. That, under the right circumstances, Clizia could be defeated.
When the tea was ready, Flinc brought it to the table with two cups and poured it in front of her, making a point of tasting it first so that she would not be worried about his intentions.
“I am sorry for what I did,” he said quietly, taking his seat. “I apologize. I do not want you to hate me. I value your friendship.”
“You have it,” she replied. “We will always be friends.” She sipped her tea and let the warmth settle inside her. “So you can help me find Drisker? You have a way?”
“Perhaps.”
He finished his tea and carefully poured himself another cup. When he gave her a questioning look, she nodded her acquiescence and he refilled hers, as well. Then he sat back and looked at the ceiling for a moment.
“I was very bad a while back. I brought you here under false pretenses because I wanted to keep you for my own. There is no kinder way of putting it. No, don’t say anything just yet.” He motioned for her to stop as she tried to object to his characterization of what he had done. “Just let me finish. I helped to save you after you fled the Druid’s burning home to hide in the deep woods, but then I made several bad decisions. I took you for myself and hid you from the russ’hai. After lying to him—to my friend who trusted me—about your fate, I returned his books of magic to him and claimed it was I who had saved them. But he is a Druid, and Druids are not easily fooled. He saw through me and had me bring him here and return you safely. He told me in no uncertain terms what would happen if I ever attempted such trickery again.”
He paused. “And then he did something extraordinary. He came back the following day carrying the books of magic and asked if I would look out for them. He said he was going to go away and did not know for how long. He was worried that something would happen to the books if they were left unprotected. This was before his house was attacked and burned, before all the trouble with the witch began. But Druids are often prescient, and it was so here, because eventually the witch did come looking for the books.”
“But she didn’t find them.”
He shook his head. “She did not.”
“And you still have them?”
“Indeed. Would you like to see them?
She gave him a relieved smile. “Very much.”
* * *
—
They spent the remainder of the day poring over the books, each taking one as both were able to read the old Elfish language in which they were written. For the forest imp, it was just another language of the people of his time, and so entirely familiar. For Tarsha, reading the language was possible because of her wishsong magic, which allowed for an immediate translation of any written language into her own.
Still, it was slow going. The language was archaic and filled with words that lacked any meaningful translation, so she was forced to constantly ask Flinc for help. As well, each book was long, and the writing was small and cramped. Much of it could be skipped over, but not too hastily, because small references to the relevant magics could be missed.
By day’s end, they were halfway through, and Tarsha accepted the forest imp’s invitation to spend the night so they could finish their work on the following day. She was gradually growing less concerned that he might try to keep her there permanently. All of his efforts seemed directed solely toward helping her find a way to either reach out to Drisker, wherever he was, or at least discover his location. She remembered Drisker’s ability to appear to her as an astral projection when he was trapped in Paranor, and she kept hoping she might find a way to make that happen here. But she had no way of knowing how Drisker had managed it so that she might go to him.