Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [142]
As if being close would make a difference in the outcome of things, she thought darkly. As if much of anything they did down here in the city made a difference.
She wondered about Prue Liss, as well, but she could not bear thinking on the girl’s dangerous situation.
The walk to her grandmother’s cottage took only twenty minutes, and when they arrived she was surprised to find her grandmother fully dressed and sitting in a rocker on the front porch. Her gray hair had been combed and pinned up, her makeup had been carefully applied, and her favorite shawl was wrapped around her thin shoulders. She even managed a small smile.
“Thank you, Gardwen, you may go,” she greeted the oldster, giving him a small wave of one bony hand. “Well done, my dear.” As soon as he turned his back, she shifted her attention to Phryne. “You are very prompt. I take that as a good sign.” She gestured toward the empty rocker pulled up beside her own. “Sit next to me, please.”
Phryne did as she was asked, curious to learn why she had been summoned.
“Your father faces the worst crisis in the history of the Elven nation since the time our people were brought into this valley by Kirisin Belloruus,” her grandmother said quietly, leaning back in her rocker and looking at her granddaughter with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It is a terrible responsibility.”
“Father will know what to do,” Phryne said.
“No one knows what to do. It hasn’t become clear to anyone yet what is needed.” Mistral Belloruus was in no mood for platitudes. “Except perhaps to me, which is why I have summoned you. I am an old lady, Phryne. No, don’t say something foolish about how youthful I am or how I might live for many more years. Just listen to what I have to say. I am old. This is not a bad thing, but it does limit what I can do. I still think of myself as young in many ways—still remember being young, for that matter—but I am old. It is important to accept truths, even when they are inconvenient.”
She rocked back slightly and looked up at the sky. “So here we are, come to the end of an era and threatened by a grave danger. What are we to do? Most would say they don’t know. But I do, Phryne. I always have. Because of who I am. Because of my ancestry.”
Phryne had no idea what her grandmother was talking about, and she refused to sit by silently and wonder if an explanation was forthcoming. “What do you think we must do, Grandmother? If you know, then tell me. I am frightened for all of us. I’ve seen what’s out there. The Troll army is massive, and I don’t know that we have the strength to stop it if it wants to force its way into the valley. Not even if all the Races agree to stand together, which I don’t think they will.”
“Very perceptive of you,” her grandmother replied. “They won’t unite because they don’t know how. They will learn eventually, but it will take time. Meanwhile, something has to be done to give them that time. In the old days, it would have been the Knights of the Word that stood foremost. But now they forget their duty. Or at least the descendant of the Belloruus staff did, and paid the price for his foolishness. So there is only Sider Ament, and he is not strong enough alone.”
She shifted her eyes back to Phryne and leaned forward. “Help me to my feet, girl. I want to walk.”
Phryne rose and took her grandmother’s arm, helping her to stand. The old woman felt as light and fragile as fine crystal. But Phryne knew that perception was deceptive; Mistral Belloruus had steel running through the bones of her body.
“This way, down the steps,” her grandmother ordered, directing her with small gestures of her thin arms.
They descended, Phryne holding tightly to her grandmother, afraid with every step that she might fall. But the old woman’s movements were steady and direct, and she did not falter. They reached the moss-grown walkway and began easing down its spongy length into the gardens planted out back.
“This isn’t something I had planned to talk about so soon,” her grandmother said as they