The Dark Queen by Michael Williams Page A

growing flowers or watching a waterfall.
     Vaananen stared intently at the red, lava-pocked stone. Sedative, indeed. The Istarian
     brothers did not know the half of it. He passed a hand over the large, squat cactus in the
     center of the sand, feeling its aura of moisture and expectancy. Rain. Rain within the
     hour. But still no rain in the desert. Slowly he stood, pacing softly about the garden,
     his eyes on the center of the square, where the combed dunes spiraled tightly like a
     whirlpool around the three glyphs he had drawn in the sand. Rolling up the white sleeves
     of his robe, Vaananen rubbed off a patch of concealing potion on the inside of his left
     wrist and focused on the red oak leaf tattooed there. He had hidden this mark from his
     comrades for the six years he had served with the Kingpriest's clergy.
    The red oak leaf. The druid's hand. Vaananen focused, and the glyphs glowed and shimmered
     and then disappeared. Now, miles away, they would rest in the floor of the kanaji. The
     rebels would find water now. They would also learn of the Istarian withdrawals. Briskly,
     without ceremony, he crouched and raked over the smooth sand where the glyphs had been.
     The area once again matched the rest of the garden's surface. From the rumors that swirled
     about the temple, through the corridors, towers, and the roseate Audi- ence Hall of the
     Kingpriest, Vaananen was certain that all his meticulously drawn symbols had done their
     distant work. So it had been for years. His heart had gone out to the eccentric, alien
     Plainsman lad who had found the ancient kanaji, the boy who searched for water. And so,
     through the first years of Fordus's Water Prophecy, Vaananen had guided the young man, and
     with druidic augury located the underground sources of water for the Que-Nara, informing
     Fordus through glyph and kanaji. When, after the inexplicable dream a year ago, the Water
     Prophet became the War Prophet, and the rebellion against Istar began, the druid had begun
     to shroud even more information in the ancient symbols: the location of Istarian troops
     and their movements. He also kept a constant warding spell upon the golden tore around
     Fordus's neck. This, too, was magic at a distance, and the druid's sleep was fitful and
     unsettled as his incantations protected the wandering Plainsman from the elements, the
     Istarians ... And from something else, far more grim and dark and powerful. Vaananen was
     not sure exactly what this larger menace was, but he had his suspicions. Zeboim, perhaps.
     Or Hiddukel. Or an evil god even more powerful. Of one thing Vaananen was certain. He was
     safe, and so were the rebels he protected, only as long as he was beneath Istarian notice.
     So he stayed obscure and low, and helped Fordus quietly. Obviously, the lad had a gift. He
     could discover both weather and tactics in the shimmering lines on the sand. And then the
     elf would translate Fordus's reverie, and the Plainsmen would travel, and Istar would fall
     to another desert defeat. So it had been, and so it was. With his finger he traced the
     next of the spirals inward, then sat back on his heels. Slowly, the sand began to boil and
     turn about the white stone. Good, the druid thought. A sign from the present. Suddenly,
     the white stone dulled and grayed, its brilliance transformed to a sick, fish-belly white,
     and the whirling sand sent out ripple after ripple, the white stone sinking slowly into
     the garden until it rested at the bottom of a widening coil of sand. Then the stone itself
     began to bristle and swell. Vaananen watched in horrified fascination as the thing
     sprouted eight white, rootlike legs, which suddenly began to twitch and wave ... Like the
     funnel trap of a springjaw, the druid thought, and felt the hair on his arms rise. Peace.
     Tis but a vision. Yet despite himself, Vaananen shrank from the image. A human form
     appeared at the edge of the