“Tarsha,” he said, interrupting her quickly. “I mean him no harm. He has been ill-used since setting out to find you. Yes, he has killed men and destroyed property, but he has suffered abuse that no one survives unscathed. He has been a damaged creature for many years, if what I have been given to understand is true, so he responds in the only way his mind will allow him to. He cannot reason as you and I can. He cannot see the difference between right and wrong. Not yet. But he can be made to see. He can be made to come to terms with how his mind works.”
She brushed back loose strands of her white-blond hair where the wind had blown them across her face. “I wish that for him. I wish he could be made to understand.”
“Then go, Tarsha. Leave me to do what I must to begin his healing, and come back only when you are summoned. Will you do that?”
She was already turning away. “That and much more, if it will help my brother. Thank you, Drisker, for all you are doing for him. But I will not hold you to more than that. I will not blame you if you fail.”
She walked from the clearing and into the shadows of the trees beyond, fading into the mist.
But I will blame myself, Drisker thought, keeping the words to himself.
TWO
DRISKER ARC WAS NOT at all sure he was making the right decision, but having settled on it, he was determined to follow through. He moved back over to Tavo Kaynin, who had slumped to the ground, head lowered, shoulders hunched. He knelt next to Tarsha’s brother and lifted his head by his chin so that their eyes met.
“You know what I should do with you, don’t you?” he asked softly.
Tavo nodded, his gaze averted.
“Look at me!” Drisker demanded.
He waited until the other did, letting Tavo see the cold fury that burned in his eyes.
“But that isn’t what’s going to happen, Tavo. You are going to live because your sister loves you—and because she has pleaded for your life. She thinks you are a good man somewhere deep inside, and that, with time and effort, you can rid yourself of the creature you have become. I am more doubtful, but I think Tarsha deserves the chance she seeks. So no one is going to hurt you.”
He paused. “On the other hand, you are not going to be allowed to hurt anyone else. So what shall we do with you? We must keep you with us, but we must watch you constantly. We will allow you to be a part of our company and share in our efforts to save the Four Lands—not that you care about any of this just now, but you will.”
“She…left me,” Tavo croaked weakly, his voice carrying no more than a glimmer of the strength it had possessed earlier. “She abandoned me.”
Drisker bent close. “If you mean Tarsha, you are mistaken. She left to find help for you, and she succeeded. I am that help. If you mean that poisonous witch Clizia Porse, you are correct. She cast you away the moment you became useless to her. You have been her tool all along. She crafted you into a killing weapon using the dark magic of that blade, and sent you to kill your sister for reasons…”
He paused. Tavo was shaking his head in disagreement. “She…told me to…kill you. You were the one…she wanted dead. I disobeyed. I wanted…to kill Tarsha…not you. That’s…what I meant.”
Drisker nodded slowly. There was hope yet, if Tavo was seeing that much clearly. “Now you know, then, what you were worth to her. She would never have helped you unless it served her own interests. But your sister? Tarsha would help you in any way she could. She believes in you. Are you worth believing in?”
Tavo shook his head once more. “I…don’t think so.”
“Are you willing to help her prove you wrong?”
A nod, but no further words.
“Then this is what is going to happen. I am going to restore your voice, but you are not going to be able to use your magic again without my permission. You will have to prove yourself in order for that permission to be granted—and that may not happen for a long time. You will be one of us, but you will be given no weapons. You will travel where we decide and do only what we tell you to do. If you try to run away, you will be returned. If you try to hurt any of us, you can expect to be punished. No exceptions. You will talk with Tarsha when she asks you to, and if she chooses to speak to you about what happened when you were sent to your uncle, you will answer. And you will listen to what she says. You will be her patient and she will try to heal you.”
Tavo’s eyes were blank, and his expression was vacant. It was difficult for Drisker to tell if he understood what he was being told or not. But he did not harbor a great deal of hope that Tavo, once he was feeling stronger, would remain this docile.
Drisker pulled him up so that their faces were only inches apart. “If I find that you are deceiving me—even in the smallest of matters—the kindness I am extending you will end. You can imagine the rest. Do we have an understanding?”
A nod.
“Say the words. Make the promise.”
“I…understand.”
Drisker studied his face carefully, and then set him back on the ground. “If you are lying to me, I will kill you.”
He pulled from his pocket a long strand of polished wire and began to burnish it with his fingers, whispering words and chanting softly as he did so. The wire began to glow with a soft bluish light, and heat began to radiate from its surface. Magic filled the air—a pungent smell that caused Tavo to shrink back and squeeze his eyes closed in response. The Druid ignored him, working the wire, smoothing and polishing it until it shone a brilliant silver and small markings began to appear.
“Come alive, precious thing,” he whispered. And the wire began to writhe and twist in his fingers.
He worked it for almost an hour—a slow and arduous effort that left him sweating within his robes. But he did not desist or slacken, keeping a steady pace. To Tavo, he gave no thought, unworried that he might bolt or attack him or otherwise misbehave; he had seen it in Tavo’s eyes when he had warned him. For now, there would be no foolish acts.
The time crept by, but Tarsha and the others stayed away as he had directed, leaving him alone with his work. The fine wire—part of a string drawn from a metal created centuries ago and housed in the Druid archives—continued to gain strength and brilliance, lengthening now as well as softening, steadily becoming close to a living presence. The day was advancing, but a wintry gloom persisted and the air did not warm. All around him lay the snowfall, a white covering over limbs and trunks, over ground and brush, soft and feathery. The forest was still. No animals asserted their presence, and no birds flew or sang.
The world felt hushed and waiting, invisible eyes watching.
When he had finished working the wire to his satisfaction, it had become less round and more flat. The runes he had summoned earlier had become deeply etched on both sides and still glowed with silvery light. He wound it twice about itself, then turned to Tavo.