Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

She followed him back through the woods to the village, her strides matching his, thinking that food would be good and his company over a glass of ale even better. She loved talking with her uncle—just talking with him. He was so interesting; he had done so many things in his life. He was not yet forty, and he was recognized everywhere as a Druid of immense importance and power. The Ard Rhys herself considered him indispensable, and she had visited him many times over the years, although Khyber had never been fortunate enough to be present when she did. Ahren Elessedil had sailed on the Jerle Shannara with the Ard Rhys, her brother Bek, and a handful of others whose names were now legendary. He had been one of the fortunate ones to survive. If not for him, the Ard Rhys might have failed in her efforts to restore the Druid Council at Paranor. It was his support of Grianne Ohmsford that had cost Ahren his place at court, that had earned him rebuke and exile from first his brother and now his brother's son. He had deserved neither, in her opinion, but she was alone in her support and was herself increasingly isolated by the male members of the Elessedil house.

Well, it hardly mattered in her uncle's case, given the use to which he had put his life. He had gone to Paranor with the first of the new Druids and studied the Druidic arts with the Ard Rhys. He was not blessed with natural talent, his sole use of magic previously confined to the Elfstones he had retrieved on his long–ago voyage. But he was a quick study and had an affinity for tapping into earth magic, which was at the heart of all Druid studies. He learned quickly, becoming strong enough to take his talent back into the Westland fifteen years ago, to the village of Emberen, where he had devoted his life to caring for the land and its people. He was good at what he did, and all had benefited greatly, no matter what the others in her family thought.

The problem, of course, was that none of them could get past what they perceived as Ahren's betrayal of his father, who had died at the hands of assassins dispatched by the Ard Rhys, when she was still the Ilse Witch. They could not forgive Ahren for tricking his elder brother, who became King afterwards, into sending Elves to serve as Druids under the woman who had killed their father. That he would be a part of such subterfuge, knowing as he did the truth of things, proved to be incendiary, once it was discovered. An order of exile was issued immediately, and all were forbidden even to speak his name. By then, he was already gone, of course, studying with the Ard Rhys and those he had brought to serve her, the first of many who would come to Paranor. Even the fact that the Ard Rhys had been transformed so utterly by the power of the Sword of Shannara made no difference to the Elessedils. Nothing would satisfy them, short of seeing her dead and gone. That would change when enough time had passed and enough new Kings had ascended the Elessedil throne, but change of that sort was very slow.

«How much longer will you be able to stay with me?» Ahren asked her suddenly.

She laughed. «Anxious for me to be gone, now that you've seen how inept I am?»

«You have put your finger on it," he agreed. «Nevertheless, I am concerned about your brother's response to your increasingly frequent visits.»

Kellen hated her visits to Emberen, but even as King he could not do much to prevent them. She had told him as much, suggesting that he had enough to worry about with the war on the Prekkendorran. He had inherited the war after their father was killed, and Kellen had made it his life's mission to see it concluded with a Free–born victory—something that at present looked none too likely. Between governing the Elves and waging his pet war, Kellen had little time for her. She knew he hated his uncle, but he ignored Ahren because it was easier than taking more direct action. Of course, Kellen didn't yet realize the nature of her visits. If he discovered what she was up to—or, more to the point, when he discovered it—he would put a stop to things in a heartbeat. But by then, she hoped, she would be a student at Paranor and beyond his reach. She hadn't told her uncle yet, but she thought he must suspect as much. She was not in line for the throne, since her brother had produced male heirs and the line of succession ran down the male side of the family ladder until it stopped and females were all that were left. So it shouldn't matter to the rest of her family what she did so long as she stayed out of the way.

For the moment, she was willing to accept that compromise, any event, though there were times when her resolve was sorely tested.

«My brother is off visiting the Prekkendorran," she said, brushing Ahren's concerns aside. «He gives little thought to me. For the most part, he doesn't even know where I am. He doesn't know now, as a matter of fact.»

Ahren looked at her. «Does anyone?»

«Mother.»

He nodded. «Your passion for the Druidic arts, for elemental magic's secrets, can't sit well with her. She sees you married and producing grandchildren.»

Khyber grunted. «She sees poorly these days. But then I don't do much to enlighten her. She would only worry, and Kellen gives her reason enough for that. Besides, she has grandchildren—my brother's sons, good, stout, warrior lads, all three. They fill her grandmotherly needs nicely.»

They walked into the village and down the single road that formed its center, to Ahren's small cottage at the far end. He had built it himself and continued to work on it from time to time, telling her he found working with his hands relaxing. He kept a project in the works at all times, the better perhaps to get through the demands of his service to the Westland. At present, he was installing a new roof, a shingle–shake overlay that required hand–splitting new shingles to replace the old. It was taxing and time–consuming, which she supposed was just what he wanted.

They sat at a small outdoor table in the sunlight and ate cheese, apples, and bread washed down with cold ale from his earth cellar. Food and drink always tasted better in Emberen than at home. It had to do with the company, but also with the life of the village. In Emberen she was just Khyber to everyone she knew, not Princess or Highness or some other deferential term. Nothing was expected of her save common courtesy and decent manners. She was just like everyone else, or as much so as was possible in a world of inequities.

Her command of the Druid magic set her apart, of course, just as it did Ahren. Well, not as much so as Ahren, who was much more highly skilled in its use. But the point was that the villagers regarded the use of elemental magic as a trade, a craft of great value and some mystery but, ultimately, of much good. Her uncle had never done anything to persuade them otherwise, and she intended to follow in his steps. She knew the history of magic in the Four Lands, both within and without the family. All too often, magic had caused great harm, sometimes unintentionally. In many places, it was still mistrusted and feared. But with the formation of the new Druid Council, the Ard Rhys had mandated that magic's use embody caution and healing in order for it to be sanctioned. In spite of her checkered past—or perhaps because of it—she had dedicated the Druid order to that end. Khyber had witnessed the results of that commitment in the nature of the service undertaken by Druids like her uncle, who had left Paranor and gone out into the Four Lands to work with its people. The effect of their efforts was apparent. Slowly, but surely, the use of elemental magic was being accepted everywhere.

She would undertake such a mission, as well, one day soon. She would study at Paranor and then go out into the Four Lands to apply her skills. She was determined to make something of her life beyond what the others in her family had envisioned. It was her life, after all, not theirs. She would live it the way she chose.

«I want to work with the stones again this afternoon," she announced, thinking suddenly of something else entirely and feeling a sudden heat rise to her face.

One of their lessons was in the cracking open of rocks by touch and thought applied in precise combination, a technique in which envisioning a result leads to its happening. A Druid could manage it, just as easily as tearing paper between fingers. She hadn't found the skill for it herself, but she was determined it would be hers.

«We can do that," he agreed. «So long as you swear to me that you are not violating any promises or arousing any concerns by being here.»

«Nothing out of the ordinary. I have another week before my brother returns and looks to find everything the way he left it. I will be back by then.»

But not before you show me what you know about what I carry, she thought to herself. My secret, for now, but I will reveal it to you before I leave and you will teach me to make use of it.

Her heart pounded at the prospect. She was uncertain how her request would be received—uncertain, for that matter, of his reaction to what she had done. She had taken an enormous chance, but she had learned a long time ago that if you didn't take chances now and then in a royal family, nothing ever was permitted you that you really wanted. Mostly, her family wanted to keep her safe and compliant, and she had never wanted to be either of those.

It was surprising to her that after all these years, any of them really thought she would ever be docile. When she was little, she was her brother's worst nightmare. Kellen was older and stronger, but she was always the more daring. She learned everything first and learned it quicker. She was the better rider, her bond with horses instinctual and passionate. She was better with weapons, able to battle him to a draw when he was a head taller and she barely strong enough to wield the practice blades. When he was intent on his studies of court practices and statesmanship, she was off wandering the forests and river country that surrounded her home. At eight, she ran away and got as far as the Sarandanon before a family of wheat farmers recognized her and brought her back. At twelve, she had already flown in an airship all the way to Callahorn, stowed away in the hold until she was discovered.

And all that didn't even touch on the times she had disguised herself as an Elven Hunter to go off on dangerous forays into country so wild that if her father had been alive, she would have been locked in her rooms for a month when she was brought back. But he wasn't alive, by then; he was dead, killed on the Prekkendorran. Her brother was King, and he was still intimidated by her. He gave her a lecture that would have scorched paint in a rainstorm before turning his mind to less troublesome concerns, but a lecture was nothing to her.

She brushed back her thick, unruly hair. Sometimes she thought she should just cut it all off and be done with it, but her mother would have reacted to that much the same way she would have reacted if Khyber had announced she was going to marry a Troll. There was no point in antagonizing her mother, who was her sole source of support and confidence.

She finished off her cheese and bread, watching her uncle surreptitiously. It was hard to know what he was thinking. His expression never really changed, the result of his Druid discipline, which taught that emotions must be contained if magic was to be successfully wielded. She wanted to tell him what she had done when he was in a good mood. But how could she know? She grimaced. She recognized what she was doing. She was procrastinating. She should just tell him. Right here. Right now.

Nevertheless, she did not. She finished her glass of ale, rose, and began to clear the table of plates and glasses. It was one of the small services she could perform on her visits, and she liked doing something for her uncle that no one else would. He lived alone, and some said he did so because he preferred it that way. He had been in love a long time ago with a seer on the Jerle Shannara, though he had never said as much when speaking of her. He had been only a boy himself in those days, younger even than she was now, and much more sheltered. The seer had been killed on the voyage, and Khyber was fairly sure he had never gotten over it. She had done something important for him, something that had helped him grow into the man he was, although once again he never said exactly what that something was.