others.

  She glanced down at the note she held in her hand, at the words written on it, then looked away again. Idiots! She brushed absently at her short, spiky blond hair and flexed her shoulders. Her muscles were stiff and tight. She missed the training and fighting that had been so central to her life when she had been a soldier in the Federation army. She missed the discipline and the routine. She had never thought she would feel that way, but after weeks of struggling as Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Order, she was ready to abandon it all for a chance to go back to a time when things were less complicated and more direct.

  Her gaze drifted back to the note. It had arrived during the night, while she slept, and she had found it on waking, tied to the leg of the arrow swift. The bird's dark, fierce face had peered out at her from its enclosure, almost daring her to reach inside. But it was her bird, one of the many she had appropriated and trained to carry her messages from her co–conspirators and servants in the plot against Grianne Ohmsford. Its countenance only mirrored the intensity that could be found in her own.

  She knew the bird.Split was its name, chosen for the strange wedge in its tail feathers, an accident of birth. The arrow swift was one of those assigned to Traunt Rowan on his departure to the Northland; it had been sent by him.

  She had reached inside for the message, untied it from Split's leg, withdrawn it from the cage, opened it, and her face had gone dark with rage immediately.

  THE BOY AND HIS COMPANIONS

  ESCAPED FROM TAUPO ROUGH.

  HAVE FOLLOWED THEM INTO THE KLU.

  And lost them there, of course, though the writer had been careful not to say so.

  She looked back at the message again, still furious with its contents and its incompetent sender. She had expected better of Traunt Rowen. She had expected better of Pyson Wence, as well, and better still of the two of them working together to track that boy!

  She gritted her teeth. Why was it so difficult for anyone to find and hold him? The effort had cost Terek Molt his life. It had cost Aphasia Wye her respect, a respect she had thought nothing could diminish. What would it cost her this time? The lives of two more of her allies, men whose support she could scarcely afford to lose, even if they were proving less competent than she had imagined possible? Her respect for them had long since vanished, so there was no danger of losing that.

  She crumpled the note in her hand, then set it in a small bowl on her desk, fired it with magic, and scattered the ashes out the window. She watched the breeze carry the ashes away and wished her anger and disappointment could be made to vanish as easily.

  What was she going to have to do to finish this business?

  For a moment, for just an instant, she toyed with the idea of breaking off the hunt entirely. It was requiring much more time and effort than she cared to spend and netting no favorable results at all. She had the boy's parents safely locked away in her dungeons. Couldn't she just wait for him to come for them? He would surely do so, once he found out where they were, and it would be easy enough to make him aware.

  Her frustration building toward a headache, she rubbed at her temples with her fingers. The trouble with ignoring him was that she was almost certain she knew what he was doing. He was trying to find a way to reach his aunt. She had no idea how he planned to do that and believed it beyond his or anyone else's capability. But she could not chance being wrong. If he had found a way into the Forbidding, if he had discovered an avenue about which she knew nothing, then she had to stop him from using it. Because if he managed the impossible and actually reached Grianne Ohmsford from Paranor's side of the wall, he might find a way to guide her back again.

  If that happened, Shadea knew she was finished. They were all finished, all who had conspired with her.

  The chance of that happening was so small that it was scarcely measurable, but she knew better than to put anything past the Ohmsfords. Their history spoke for itself. They had survived impossible situations before, several generations of them. They were imbued with both magic and luck, and the combination had kept them from harm more times than anyone could count.

  She could not afford to allow that to happen again.

  So she would leave things as they were. She would allow Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence to continue to hunt down the boy. Perhaps Aphasia Wye still tracked him as well, even though she had heard nothing from her assassin in days. One never knew about that creature. One could never predict.

  The ashes of the burned note were gone, turned to dust and blown away. She breathed in the morning air, calming herself, reassuring herself that everything was going to be all right. In the next few days, she would journey to Arishaig to meet with Sen Dunsidan.

  The Prime Minister was seeking her support for a sustained assault on the Free–born, a course of action on which they had already tacitly agreed but had yet to act. The Federation required the backing of the Druids if they were to succeed in their plans to break the stalemate on the Prekkendorran and advance into Callahorn. The Prime Minister needed to know that Shadea, as head of the Druid order, would not act to stop him. She, in turn, needed to know that he would continue to support her as Ard Rhys.

  She was less concerned about his backing than she had been at the beginning, when her support was so small and her position as acting Ard Rhys so tenuous. But things had changed. Once she'd bedded Gerand Cera and made him her consort, she began working to gain the support of his followers as well. One by one, using promises and threats, she had subverted them. Even though Cera still thought of himself as leader of his own faction, she had long since replaced him in that position.

  She glanced at the rumpled bed to one side and grimaced. She had played at that game long enough. She had allowed him enough liberties. It was time to put an end to it. It was time to toss him from her bed and from her life.

  Intent on going out to confer with a handful of those on whom she believed she could depend, she threw off her nightclothes and dressed in her Druid robes. Matters would get rough before the day was out, and she must know who would stand with her when they did. She knew better than to leave such things to chance.

  Wrapped in her black garments, her chain of office hung about her neck, she was moving toward the chamber door when it burst open and Gerand Cera strode through, his hatchet face dark with anger.

  «We have been betrayed, Shadea,' he announced without preamble. He flung off his robe and threw himself down in one of the cushioned chairs. «By the very ally you were so confident would not dare to do so.»

  She stared at him. «Sen Dunsidan?»

  A sneer twisted his lean face. «Sen Dunsidan. Last night, the Elves launched an airship strike against his army. The strike failed because the Federation forces knew about it in advance and were waiting. They have invented a weapon that produces a light beam of such intensity and power that it can burn an airship right out of the sky. It did so in response to the attack, destroying virtually the entire Elven fleet before the Federation airship that bore it was damaged and had to set down.»

  He leaned forward. «But that was just the beginning. During the airship battle, the Federation army attacked the Elven defensive lines and broke through. The Elves were driven right off the Prekkendorran. They might still be running, for all I know. Their allies are trying to hang on, but they're surrounded. I wouldn't give them much chance.»

  He shook his head in disgust. «So tell me, Shadea. What do you think of your precious Prime Minister now?» His sharp eyes fixed on her. «You didn't know about this attack beforehand, did you? 1 would hate to think you were keeping things from me.»

  She hadn't known a thing about it, of course. She was as surprised by the news as he was. But there was no reason for her to tell him so. Better that he thought her one step ahead of him.

  «There was some discussion about it. I hadn't thought he intended to act so quickly.»

  «It would have been nice if you had told me.»

  She shrugged. «We both keep some things to ourselves, Gerand. Don't pretend otherwise. As I said, I hadn't thought he was going to do this until later. Apparently an opportunity presented itself that he couldn't afford to pass up. We can hardly begrudge him that.»

  Gerand Cera frowned. «I don't like it that he's acted without seeking our approval. It will look to everyone as if he no longer cares whether we stand with him or against him. It will look as if he considers our support irrelevant.»

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