When the Prime Minister finally arrived, he was smiling broadly and anxious to reassure them that his tardiness was the result of another meeting and in no way intended to suggest this meeting was any less important.
“No one wants to feel as if they are being dismissed prematurely,” he added, reaching down to shake their hands warmly. “So I had to exercise some caution in ending the previous meeting. How are you? Did you sleep well? Were your quarters comfortable?”
He was a slight man, taller than average and rather spindly in appearance. He was probably in his late sixties or early seventies, and there was a somewhat worn look to his expressive face. His grip was strong, though, and he seemed to have abundant energy in spite of his age and the toll his position as leader of the Federation might have taken on him. Glancing at the glare off his desk, he asked them to sit with him off to one side where there was a small grouping of couches and easy chairs, all padded and pillowed and comfortably drawn in for private conversation.
Before joining them, he stuck his head back out the door and asked that tea and ale be brought. While waiting for that, he kept the conversation limited to small talk—how were things in Paranor, was Isaturin settling in as Ard Rhys, was the order continuing to add new members to its roster?—all of it accomplished with a smoothness and openness that attested to a lifetime spent mastering the fine art of engaging in easy communication with others.
When the beverages arrived, he asked the bearer to advise the staff not to disturb him until he was finished with his visitors.
“Now then,” he began, as the other departed, pulling the door closed tightly behind him, “where to begin.”
He rocked back slightly, considering. “I am faced with a difficult and potentially embarrassing situation. It all revolves around Arcannen Rai, but he is not the instigator of the problem. You may have already heard some of what has happened. Almost two years ago, a band of airship pirates operating out of a coastal village called Arbrox began raiding Southland freighters and transports. The thefts were annoying at first, but grew steadily more troublesome until they became intolerable. So to try to discourage further raids, I asked the Federation Army High Command to put an end to it one way or the other. Unfortunately, the command assigned the job to the Red Slash division out of Sterne, which pretty much determined how things would go. The commander of the Red Slash, a man named Dallen Usurient, has little patience and less tact. He quickly decided a scorched-earth approach was warranted. He conveyed his soldiers to Arbrox, attacked the village, and killed everyone—men, women, and children. He did this without anyone’s authorization and without any measurable consideration for the consequences. Then he tried to cover it up, insisting that only men—the pirates in question—had been killed. I found out soon enough that this was not the case. But I let the matter slide because the disciplining of soldiers in these situations is a tricky matter. How clear were their orders? How much leeway did they have? If Usurient overstepped himself, should punishment be visited on his men? What sort of resistance do I encounter if I intervene and ask that he be removed as Red Slash Commander and another be appointed to fill his shoes?”
He sipped his tea. “All questions I could only answer as Prime Minister and not as philosopher to my conscience. In any case, a new wrinkle developed shortly afterward. Unfortunately for the Federation, the pirates were sheltering Arcannen at the time of the attack, and although the Red Slash were quite thorough in killing everyone else in sight, they somehow missed him. Arcannen took the attack personally and decided to avenge the deaths of his protectors. He sent word to Usurient that—and I quote—‘Arbrox is coming.’ ”
“Odd that he used the name of the village and not his own,” Avelene noted.
“Arcannen is nothing if not enigmatic. When I learned of this—something not reported to me by Usurient, but by another who values loyalty over self-interest—I waited to see what my commander would do. What I expected was that he would not wait for Arcannen to come to him but would go after Arcannen first—most likely taking a large contingent of the Red Slash with him. He has authority to do that, although only in situations in which he views Federation interests to be in immediate and substantial peril. But Usurient has his own measuring stick for these things. Do you like the tea?”
Both Avelene and Paxon nodded. “Herbal,” the Highlander said. “A mix of mulkeet, basil brew, and lavender.”
The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. “Very good.”
“My mother used to make it. She gathered the ingredients and mixed them in proportions I have forgotten. But I remember their taste.”
They all sipped silently for a moment before the Prime Minister continued.
“So. Defying my expectations, Usurient decided on a different approach to the problem of Arcannen. Instead of sending the Red Slash, he dispatched a small band of hunters and cutthroats who have served him in various ways in the past. Their leader, Mallich, is well known; he raises fighting animals called drasks. Ugly creatures, very dangerous. He also raises others, including crince. Even more dangerous than drasks, those crince. You might have heard of them. In any case, none of them is safe to be around, even if you were the one who raised and trained it. But Mallich is more dangerous still.”
He paused. “And the men he took with him on this outing were released from the Federation prisons in Sterne. One is a killer who was supposedly locked away for life; the other is one of the keepers. I do not deceive myself. Either is capable of committing unconscionable acts without the burden of thinking on it afterward. All three will present a test even for someone as versatile and creative as Arcannen.”
“So they have been sent to kill Arcannen?” Avelene asked. “But why is this a problem? What do you care what happens to the sorcerer?”
The Prime Minister nodded, as if wondering himself. “I care nothing for Arcannen. Do not mistake me. But I would prefer it if he came to an end at the hands of proper authorities and not through a rogue enterprise sanctioned by one of my commanders acting outside his authority. I would prefer it not result in collateral damage of the sort that that occurred during the massacre at Arbrox. I alerted Isaturin and the Druid Order when I discovered what was afoot because your own interests in Arcannen are at the least equal to those of the Federation. We all want the same thing—Arcannen brought to justice. If an opportunity exists to make this happen, we should work together.”
“But you asked for us specifically,” Paxon pointed out.
“Yes, what is it exactly that you want us to do about all this?” Avelene added quickly.
“Nothing that you wouldn’t do anyway.” The Prime Minister finished his tea and set the cup down carefully. “Go to Arbrox, assess the situation, and do whatever you feel is appropriate. If Usurient’s creatures are successful, then Arcannen is no longer our problem. If they fail, perhaps an opportunity for you to succeed will present itself. I would, of course, appreciate being advised as to how this turns out by someone I can rely upon to tell me the truth.”
“Which you do not think Usurient will do?”
“Which I do not think Usurient will do.”
“Again,” Paxon said quietly, “why did you ask for us specifically?”
“For you, in point of fact, young man. So that I might speak to you directly. You know Arcannen better than anyone. You’ve fought against him, and by all accounts you are the only one to survive such an encounter—and not once, I might add, but several times. I know you serve as the High Druid’s Blade. It is logical you would be designated as both companion to and protector of whichever Druid or Druids Isaturin sent to Arbrox once you got word that Arcannen was there. I felt it important to advise Isaturin that your inclusion in this effort was important.”