Just so, she was thinking. Sen Dunsidan would have to be called to account once she was able to confront him. It might be that it was time for her to end their relationship in a way that left no doubt as to who was the real power in the Four Lands.
«This weapon,' she said, changing the subject. «It doesn't sound like anything I have ever heard of. It sounds as if it employs a form of magic.»
Gerand Cera shook his head in disagreement. 'The Prime Minister doesn't have the use of magic.»
«Perhaps he has acquired the aid of someone who does.» Her eyes locked on his. «One of us.»
He snorted. «Who? Who would want to give aid to Sen Dunsidan, knowing that you would view it as a—' He stopped himself. «Are you thinking of Iridia?»
«Do we know where she is? Did we ever find out where she went after she left here?»
Cera shook his head slowly. «No. But she wouldn't dare to betray us. She knows what would happen if she did.»
She cringed at his use of the word us, at the implication that he was somehow a part of the decision– making process, when in fact he was little more than another obstacle. She glanced away to hide her disgust, then turned and walked to the window. She stood there for a moment, thinking.
«What do you intend to do?» he asked, rising and coming over to put his hands on her shoulders.
She felt the strength of those hands as they gripped her. They were possessive and commanding as they turned her about to face him. They suggested in no uncertain terms that he was the one in control. She smiled agreeably as he leaned down and kissed her mouth. She kissed him back, waited for the kiss to end, then broke away.
«I intend to drink my morning cup of tea before speaking with those in the order who will keep an eye on things in our absence.»
He stared after her. «Our absence? Are we going somewhere?»
«To confront Sen Dunsidan, of course.»
She had told him nothing of her plans to visit Arishaig before this. The reason was simple. She had not intended for him to go. She still didn't, but it was best to let him think she did.
«To confront him? In his own home, his own city, surrounded by his own people?» Gerand Cera considered the prospect. «A bold course of action, Shadea. How safe can we expect to be?»
She shrugged, pouring tea into cups, slipping into his the tiny pill she had been saving for that moment and watching it dissolve instantly. «We are Druids, Gerand. We can't afford to worry about being safe. We can't afford to be seen to be afraid.»
She handed him his tea, stood in front of him as she sipped from her own, and watched with satisfaction as he drank.
«Sit with me on the bed.» She took his arm and moved over. She pulled him down next to her. «Perhaps we needn't go down right away. The tea is making me warm all over. I need to find a way to cool off.»
She smiled and sipped again. «Come, Gerand. Finish your tea. Don't keep me waiting.»
He drank it in a single gulp and reached for her. His appetites were so pathetic, so predictable. She eased away playfully. He was still grinning when the drug took effect. An abrupt change came over his hatchet features. His face went slack and empty, and he lurched forward, falling onto his side.
That was quick,she thought. She rose and looked down at him, at the way his eyes rolled frantically from side to side as he tried to understand what was happening to him. She eased a pillow under his head, then reached for his legs and lifted them onto the bed so that he was lying stretched out along its length.
«Comfortable, Gerand? Much better to rest while this is happening.» Knowing he could no longer reach for her, could no longer move at all for that matter, she bent over him. His lungs and his heart still worked, but not very efficiently. He barely had the strength of a baby.
«I've given you a drug,' she explained, sitting next to him. «It saps the strength from your muscles and leaves you paralyzed. It only lasts a little while. There is no trace of its presence afterwards. Unlike poison, for example, which I considered using but decided against. After all, I can't afford to be seen as a murderess.»
She leaned close. «You see what is to happen, 1 expect. Your eyes tell me you know. So now you no longer love me. Now, you despise me. Love is like that. It only lasts for as long as both parties require it, and then it becomes a burden, which is one reason I do not permit myself to love anyone too much. You should have learned that lesson a long time ago. I am surprised you didn't. Now you must learn it the hard way.»
He was staring fixedly at her, and she read the hatred in his eyes. In contrast, his face was empty of expression, and it seemed as if the eyes must belong to someone else. Yet the eyes were really all that was left of him. Everything else had been stripped away by the drug.
She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the forehead. «Try not to think too harshly of me, Gerand. You would have done the same, if you had paid closer attention to how I looked at you.»
Then she took the pillow from under his head, placed it firmly over his face, and pressed down on it with all of her considerable strength until he stopped breathing.
When the cell door closed and the locking bolts were thrown, Bek Ohmsford was engulfed in blackness. He sat down, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and after a time they did. A sliver of light crept under the door and through the seams on the latch side, permitting him just enough illumination to find his way around. The cell was tiny, and it didn't take him long to explore it. He found nothing that would help. The walls, floor, and ceiling were hewn from bedrock, and the only exit was through the barred door. The room contained only the bed, straw, and bucket he had seen upon being brought in. There were no implements that might be used for tunneling or prying. There were no fissures or seams on which to employ such a tool in any event. And there was nothing he could use for a weapon.
He sat on the bed and thought about his situation for a long time. If Shadea was to be believed—and he had no reason to assume she wasn't—there was a guard stationed on the other side of the door, watching for any attempt at escape. Down the hall and up the stairs, there would be others. A relay was in place to send word faster than he could run, should he attempt to break free. He couldn't know all the particulars, but he had to assume the guards had a form of communication that would allow them to know if one or more of their number had been overpowered.
Time passed, and eventually the door opened far enough to permit a Gnome Hunter to slide a tray of food inside before the locks were thrown anew. Accustomed by then to the dark, Bek was blinded by the sudden glare of torchlight and barely caught a glimpse of what was happening before the door was closed again. He took that into account as he continued to make his plans, sitting on the floor of his cell and eating his meal. The food, he found, was reasonable; apparently, Shadea didn't intend to do away with him through starvation. But he hadn't changed his mind that she intended to do away with him in some manner.
He waited through three more meals, measuring the time it took the Gnome to pull back the lock bolt, open the cell door, slide the food tray inside, close the door, and throw the bolt again. It was clear to him that any escape would have to come then. It would not be possible to escape if he had to break down or lever open the door. The noise such an effort would require, even if time and opportunity allowed for it, would alert the Gnome Hunters immediately, and any chance of surprise would be lost.
Even then, once he was through, what would he find on the other side? At least one Gnome Hunter, but how many more would be keeping him company? If he were Shadea, he would insist on at least two, possibly more, being present anytime the cell door was opened. That would eliminate the chance that he could successfully overpower one guard without alerting the others.
He began positioning himself so that he could see something of the hallway outside when the cell door was cracked, and through two further meals, he tried to catch a glimpse of what was out there. But it was impossible to see more than a little of what lay beyond, never enough to be certain. He did catch sight of movement once, a shadow thrown by torchlight that indicated the presence of another man. But it was clear that he would have to make his break into the hallway without knowing how many Gnomes he would find.
How could he do that and still make certain they could not sound the alarm?
He puzzled it through with an increasing sense of desperation; he needed to find a solution quickly, because time was slipping away and with it his chances of freeing Rue and warning Penderrin. In spite of what Shadea had learned of Taupo Rough, he had to assume that his son was still free and his exact whereabouts still undiscovered. But that could change in a hurry.
He decided in the end that what he must do was use the wish–song in a blanket assault, stunning everyone
