Tanequil by Terry Brooks Page B

to have pulled the two central factions together, so that there would no longer be bickering and dissatisfaction. She was the one who would be seen to have allowed common sense to prevail over pride. She was the one who would be seen as the real leader of the order, and Gerand Cera, though he might claim otherwise, would be only the consort of the Ard Rhys.
    A consort, she had already decided, whose usefulness at Paranor would quickly run its course.
    She climbed to the tower and walked out onto the parapet. A wind blew chilly and brisk out of the west, but anxious to feel something cold against her skin, she let it wash over her without shivering. She closed her eyes and breathed in the night, listening to its faint sounds, to its soft voice. She was at peace there, alone on the top of the Druid’s Keep, her fortress, her world. She had won it, and she would keep it. Those who could help her might do so, but they had better know their place.
    In the morning, Gerand Cera would address the Council. Ostensibly, he was to speak to the state of the Four Lands and the role of the Druids in monitoring its vicissitudes. But the true purpose of his speaking was to make clear that he was now allied with her, had become her consort, her shadow self. He would do so thinking to impress upon the listening Druids that he had gained control of her. None would believe it. It didn’t matter what he said or did. None would believe.
    If they did, they had better not let her find out.

  S EVEN  
    It was late in the day when
Swift Sure
sailed out of the shadows enfolding the Dragon’s Teeth toward the brightly lit towers of Paranor, sharp-edged and spiraling against a horizon colored crimson and gold by the setting sun. Bek worked the rigging and sails in preparation for their arrival, while Rue stood in the pilot box, easing the big ship into position. It was a still, windless day, and sailing her required little in the way of skill, her steady progress reliant mostly on the power fed out of the diapson crystals. The journey had taken barely forty-eight hours, the weather clear and uncomplicated, the voyage made by flying day and night, the senior Ohmsfords taking turns at catching a few quick hours of sleep when needed. It was a schedule they were used to, having followed it on numerous occasions when there were weather reasons to do so. They might have anchored and slept in this instance, but both were anxious to get to their destination and find out the truth about Pen.
    Of one thing they were quite certain. Traunt Rowan was holding something back, and whatever it was, it had everything to do with why they had been summoned.
    Bek glanced over to where the Druid sat on a viewing bench with his back against the foremast and his safety line cinched tightly about his waist. He was not comfortable in the air, so he had spent much of his time in that position. He was friendly, though. He was more than willing to talk whenever they approached, always amenable to a discussion of the facts surrounding the disappearances of Grianne and Pen, seemingly anxious to help them find their family. Yet as Bek had observed at the start of this journey, it was what Traunt Rowan didn’t say as much as what he did that kept giving him away. There was no mention still of why the Druids had decided to go in search of Tagwen after his departure from Paranor or why that pursuit had led them to Pen. There was no mention of what had become of the Troll guard that had served his sister so faithfully from the beginning of her term as Ard Rhys. Most important of all, he offered no suggestion as to what might have happened to Grianne.
    Bek was aware that he might be overreacting to omissions that were nothing more than oversights on the part of a distraught messenger, omissions easily explained once broached. But Bek had always trusted his instincts on such things, and his instincts in this case warned him that something was not right. Because Rue felt