Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [146]
She gave him a look. “It is one thing to be seen embracing your teachings and your sect. It is another to give you free and open access to my lands. If I open that door, I am inviting the wolf to come in among the sheep. You will devour them all eventually, and where will I be then?”
He smiled. “Better off than you are now.”
There was a long silence as they faced each other down.
“Let me clarify,” the Seraphic said finally. “What I want has nothing to do with encroaching on your territory. What I want is sufficient prestige to allow me to overshadow those others who claim the title of Seraphic. If I were to become the voice of the Elven people, acknowledged as such by their Queen, I would gain immense influence throughout the villages of Men. That would be enough for me to assume the mantle of supreme leader. Besides, gaining credence for my sect with a majority of the Elves seems unlikely in any case, don’t you think?”
He could tell from her face that she wasn’t sure. “Are you really so frightened of my influence?” he challenged. “Cannot a Queen find ways to keep her people in line? Cannot a Queen manage to consolidate her power and cement her rule? Can she not put an end to any influence a Seraphic of the Children of the Hawk might wield if bounds once set are overstepped? I would think so, my lady.”
“What of this Troll army that threatens us? What difference if I am Queen and you are acknowledged leader of the Children of the Hawk if this horde overruns us?”
Skeal Eile shook his head. “The inevitable is upon us, my Queen. The world is changing even as we speak, the old one fading and a new one arising. Whether we defeat this army and live to fight another day or are driven from our valley into the larger world, our peoples must still have leaders of vision and ability. Would you not rather be one of those than just another follower? Who better to lead your people? Not the King, surely. Not his child daughter. No, my Queen, whatever fate awaits us all, it would be better met if you and I were in power.”
“I cannot argue that,” she said. She thought about it again, and he remained silent now as she did so. “You would keep your distance from my people save when you were invited to visit? You ask only my verbal support of your position? Do I understand you correctly?”
“You do,” he acknowledged, thinking that she was a bigger fool than he had imagined.
She nodded slowly. “I do want to be Queen,” she said. “You can make this happen?”
He smiled. “Let me tell you how.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
DELADION INCH REACHED THE DROUJ CAMP shortly before sunset of the following day, driving his armored ATV down out of the high country where he had dropped off Sider Ament and continuing on toward the flats west. Ament had told him enough so that he would know the girl he was looking for when he found her—as if there could possibly be more than one held prisoner in the Troll camp—and provided a roughly sketched map of the way back up to the pass through which he would bring her to safety. He had accepted both without comment, knowing that either might fail to help in the end, that things might change as they frequently did in a dangerous undertaking like this one.
In truth, although he might have said something to the contrary, he did not really expect they would see each other again. Odds were against it, and he paid close attention to the odds.
But he liked Sider Ament—genuinely liked him—enough that he hoped he was wrong and they would