He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Now listen carefully. The Federation is supposed to be allied with the Druids in this matter. We are supposed to be working together. I seriously doubt that Usurient’s men will see it that way. I am admittedly anxious to avoid an incident where Druids and Federation are suddenly engaged in a life-and-death struggle with each other.”
“So this is a warning to be careful.”
“That, yes, but something more. I am offering up, here in the privacy of my office, the bitter admission that for the moment I seem to have lost control over a small faction of my army. It isn’t the first time and, quite possibly, it won’t be the last. Even more galling is the realization that there is a limit to the amount of interference the Federation Army Command will tolerate from its Prime Minister. I must tread lightly in this matter. But you need to be aware that those members of the Federation you might run across on your search for Arcannen do not represent the government’s interests. More to the point, you need to understand how dangerous they are. I do not wish you placed in needless peril, so I am telling you how things stand. If by some circumstance these creatures come to a bad end at your hands, no blame will attach to you because of it. Whatever becomes of them, I give you my word that the Federation will not hold you or anyone connected with the Druid Order responsible.”
Paxon knew at once there was more to this disclaimer than what the other was telling him, but he couldn’t decipher at that moment what the Prime Minister was keeping hidden.
“So you are saying we are free to do whatever is needed to protect ourselves,” Avelene finished. “We need not concern ourselves with what happens to Mallich or his men or their fighting animals. Or with what happens to Usurient, as well?”
The Prime Minister nodded slowly. “If it comes to that. Usurient has overstepped himself, and a reckoning is inevitable. Your safety and your assessment of what that requires take precedent over concerns for Usurient’s fate. I thought it important for you to understand how matters stand. I have sent word to recall these men and their animals, but I expect it will not reach them in time. I don’t even know if Usurient has gone with them. I don’t know if you will encounter him, as well. I do know that if there is any reason for them to act against you, they will not hesitate to do so. Any of them.”
He paused meaningfully. “Just so you know that Arcannen is not your only concern.”
The silence that followed was ominous and heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then abruptly the Prime Minister rose and extended his hands. “I must leave you now. I have another meeting to attend. Endless meetings are the pattern of my life. I sometimes wonder if there is any other point to my service as Prime Minister.”
Avelene stood with him. “Thank you for taking time to warn us about your commander and the others,” she said, taking his hands and holding them momentarily. “We will be careful.”
“I do hope so,” the old man said softly.
Then he turned from them and was gone.
When they were clear of his offices and safely out of earshot, departing the building for the airfield where their fast clipper waited, Avelene turned to Paxon. “You know something, don’t you?”
Paxon nodded. “I suspect something, anyway. He told us what he wants us to know about these rogue soldiers who act against his interests. He says he wants us to be prepared so that we can act freely against them. I think he wants them dead. If we manage to kill them, that would save him the trouble of having to dispose of them later.”
“But you also think he will throw us to the wolves afterward?”
Paxon shrugged. “I think he might. If he finds it convenient to do so. But he wants the Druid Order to continue to support him, so that would likely be a last resort. Blaming us for anything that happens won’t help him maintain a good relationship with the Ard Rhys.”
She smiled. “You are very good at this. I am impressed. But here’s something you missed. What drives the Prime Minister is something more primal than what he suggested in his analysis of the situation.”
“He’s angry?”
“No, Paxon. He’s afraid.”
EIGHTEEN
“CONCENTRATE,” LARIANA URGED HIM, STANDING OFF TO ONE side, safely clear of any blowback from losing control of the magic.
Reyn tried hard not to look at her, although looking at her was what he wanted most to do. Instead, he stared out into the bleak emptiness of the rocky terrain that spread away from the ruins, poised atop what remained of one wall. Arbrox was behind him—or at least what remained of it was, its cluster of shattered buildings with walls and roofs collapsed in rain-dampened heaps barely recognizable for what it once had been. There was nothing here for him to look at save her, but he knew that doing so in the midst of a summoning was dangerous for them both.
“Concentrate,” she repeated patiently.
They had been working at this exercise for two days—today for almost six hours, the sun by now gone so far west it had disappeared into the mountains, the light dimming as the clouds lowered and the rain increased. He was cold and miserable, but there was no help for that. He must keep practicing. He must try and try again until he found the key that would allow him to master the magic. But it was hard. And monotonous and discouraging. And now, after so many of hours with no success, it was beginning to seem pointless.
If he could just look at her once, he thought. Just once. Then he would feel encouraged enough to continue. He had been staring at nothing for so long that his stamina and his focus both were beginning to waver. His efforts at imagining something coming alive and taking form were losing strength. Six hours, and he had almost nothing to show for it but weariness and despair.
How could he ever hope to aid Arcannen against whatever was coming for them if he could not do what was expected of him? How could he hope to protect her—she, for whom by now he would give his life if it were required?
“Close your eyes,” she told him.
He did so, happy to close out the cold and the gray, the rain and the dark—happy to be somewhere else, if only in his mind. Anywhere else.
“Now picture it. Find it and hold it in place. Then use your voice. Make the image come alive.”
Her words so calm and steady, her voice so determined. She seemed to know what to tell him, almost as if Arcannen had trained her to do so. Was that possible? He had not thought so before this afternoon, yet now he was beginning to wonder. She seemed so certain of what was required of him and of how to go about securing it. Yet Arcannen had not once appeared to witness her efforts. He was inside, away from everything that was happening—or not happening—so that they were left alone to carry on.
Reyn did as he was told, humming softly, making the man become real enough to move about in his mind, turning him this way and that, an image of what he would create. But the process felt cumbersome and awkward, and he could not quite get comfortable with it.
“Relax, Reyn. I can feel you straining. You can’t make it happen that way. You have to let it come naturally. Just breathe in and out slowly and steadily and let go of your tension. Just see what it is you seek. Envision it as real.”
Lariana, I would do anything for you.
He settled deep into himself and began to form the image he was seeking, the tonal vibration of his voice building it piece by piece. A man. No one he knew—a figure identifiable only as any of a hundred anonymous men. He shaped him slowly, building his body and then his clothing and finally his features so that he was real and measurable and present. He turned him about, examining him from several angles, making sure he was perfect.