From then on, she had manipulated and deceived relentlessly, waiting for her chance to make the changes she had deemed necessary. In the beginning, she had only intended to rid the order of Balronen and one or two others. But when the Skaar had invaded, she seized upon the opportunity they presented and switched from ridding herself of a few Druids to ridding herself of the lot. A clean slate was always best, and this next time around she would hand-select the members of the new Druid order.
Her Druid order, with herself as Ard Rhys.
She finished the soup, and when the boy passed by again she handed him the empty bowl. In two more days, they would reach Varfleet, and she would find lodgings and begin planning for the future. Alliances must be formed, agreements must be reached, and the groundwork must be laid for what in five years would bring about the return of Paranor and the forming of the new Druid order. The whole process, she suspected, would take at least five years. So for now, she must bide her time.
Although there were a few tasks she must carry out fairly quickly.
She knew Drisker had taken books of magic from Paranor—books he had compiled on his own—and she wanted them. So first she must go to his cottage in the village of Emberen, which was north of Arborlon, up along the southern boundaries of the Streleheim. That way, his knowledge could live on through her.
There was also the girl. Tarsha. His student. She smiled, thinking of her. That girl was more than some callow acolyte. She possessed serious magic of her own; Clizia had sensed it the moment she had looked into her strange lavender eyes. You didn’t get to be as old as she was if you couldn’t recognize magic. Tarsha Kaynin could become a valuable ally if properly persuaded, and there were ways to make that happen.
Finally, there was the matter of what to do about the Skaar. She couldn’t very well ignore them, or await the inevitable. She had to make contact with them and persuade them to support her when the time came. The rest of the Four Lands might believe the Skaar were nothing more than a temporary distraction, but Clizia saw things differently. In her judgment, the Skaar were here to stay.
So there was much to do, and she must start quickly. The larger plan could wait, but in the end it would only work if she successfully carried out the smaller parts first.
She picked herself up, still wrapped in her robes, and went off into the darkness to find a place to sleep. She would have been more comfortable by one of the many fires the traders were gathered around, but she preferred not to get too close to anyone. The less these people knew about her, the better. She would use them to reach Varfleet, then never see them again. They would remember her in a vague sort of way, but never with any real clarity. An old woman, quiet and aloof, her worn face immediately forgettable. She would leave them with no clear impression and disappear into the city to begin her new life.
Settling herself against the mossy trunk of an old-growth chestnut, she leaned back contentedly and patted the hard bulk of each of the treasures she hid inside her clothing. When she had taken the Black Elfstone from Drisker Arc, she had barely glanced at it before stuffing it into her robes. There had been no time for that, no time for anything but getting out of Paranor. Since then, she had left it where she’d put it that night, safely hidden away. After all, it would not be of use until the five years she had allotted for her plan and Drisker’s lifetime were up.
Nor had she bothered with unwrapping the Stiehl once she had removed it from the archival vaults. It had taken her only moments; her knowledge of where it was and how its locks could be released was information she had persuaded a foolish Ober Balronen to entrust to her in a moment of weakness. She had coveted the blade since she had known it was there, but had been content to leave it where it was until she knew the Keep was going to fall.
Yet now, for the first time, she gave in to a sudden urge to look upon both, to revel for just a few moments in what she had accomplished.
She reached into her robes and drew out the Stiehl first, keeping her actions furtive and swift. A quick glance around and a scanning of the darkness with her Druid senses confirmed she was alone. She placed the blade in her lap where the moonlight could provide a sufficiently clear look once she had removed its wrappings. Her hands were shaking with excitement as she tore open the layers of leather and soft cloth and found the dagger nestled within. It was a wicked-looking weapon, its ebony handle carved with runes darker still and its blade matte black, deeply striated, and well over a foot long. She stared at it with keen anticipation for what it might be used for. It was the most dangerous weapon in the world, and now it was hers to do with as she chose.
After a few moments more, she slipped the Stiehl back into her clothing and brought out the Black Elfstone. She could feel the angles and planes of it through the fabric of the pouch in which it was kept. Such a pleasant feeling, she thought, as she caressed it lovingly.
Carefully, she loosened the drawstrings to the pouch and let the Elfstone tumble out into the palm of her hand…
And saw at once that it was something else entirely.
For a second, she was certain she must be mistaken. It was a stone. It had edges and planes. It was the right size. But it was not an Elfstone. It wasn’t even black! It was just an unremarkable stone.
Her rage surfaced in a rush of white-hot heat that left her flushed. She put the rock aside and rummaged through her clothing and pack. Nothing. But she had known that, hadn’t she? She had taken what she believed to be the Black Elfstone and put it right where she could find it when she was ready to take it out. Except something had gone wrong. Had Drisker somehow scooped up the wrong talisman when he was rummaging through the archives? Had he mistaken this ordinary rock for the Black Elfstone, snatching it from its concealment and pocketing it without looking while she kept urging him to hurry?
Or had she somehow mistaken what she was stealing from him while he lay helpless on the floor of the Keep?
Everything was suddenly scrambled—all of her plans and schemes and thinking jumbled together in a confusing mix. Everything she had planned would fail if she could not get her hands on the Black Elfstone. Without Paranor, there could be no reformation of the Druid order. Without the magic and the talismans contained within, there could be no starting over. Did Drisker know she didn’t have the Elfstone? Did he still have it himself? How could she find out without telling him the Stone was still inside Paranor? Only if she did so could the Stone’s magic be used to bring Paranor back into the Four Lands!
Her ancient face, deep-etched by age and taut with renewed expectations, assumed an expression of cunning. She had to be careful about what she did next. She had to think of a way to get Drisker to reveal what he knew without his realizing it. Or find a way to turn him into her ally, willing or not. She needed leverage for this. But what sort of leverage could she apply that would rid her of Drisker and still allow her plans to go forward?
At the moment, she had no idea.
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