High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [11]
They had been meeting for almost a year, just the five of them. Shadea a’Ru had carefully selected the other four, discovering where their loyalties lay, then approached them one by one. Each shared her distaste for the Ard Rhys. One hated her openly. All wanted her gone, if for widely differing reasons. To some extent, they complemented each other, each bringing an attribute to the endeavor that the others lacked. The Southlander, Traunt Rowan, was strong of heart and body, more than a match even for Shadea — a warrior seeking to put right what he perceived as wrong. The Elven sorceress, Iridia Eleri, was cold of heart and hot of temper, but quick-witted and intuitive, as well. Her ability to stanch her emotions masked the dark truths that had set her on this path. The Dwarf, Terek Mott, while stolid and taciturn in the manner of Dwarves, was hungry for power and anxious to find a way to get past the Ard Rhys’ rules and restrictions so that he could claim the destiny he so desperately craved. Pyson Wence, so frail and helpless-looking, was a snake trapped in a supplicant’s body, a rare combination of treacherous instinct and decisive purpose. No superstitious tribal pagan, he wielded his magic in a cold and calculating fashion.
Had the Ard Rhys any inkling of their true dispositions when she accepted them into the order? Shadea a’Ru could not be certain. It was possible, if only because Grianne Ohmsford herself had been such a dark creature for so long — the Ilse Witch, the Morgawr’s tool. She had found redemption, she believed, and so thought others could find it, as well. She was mistaken on both counts, but that was to the advantage of those gathered in this room, those who waited only on fate to provide them with the chance they needed to be rid of her.
As perhaps it did here, if their impatient leader could gain the pledge of support she required.
“You want her gone, don’t you?” she asked Pyson Wence pointedly. “Dead or otherwise, but gone?” She looked around. “How about the rest of you? Changed your minds about her? Decided you like having her as Ard Rhys? Come! Speak up!”
“No one in this room and few outside of it want Grianne Ohmsford as Ard Rhys, Shadea.” Traunt Rowan looked bored. “We’ve covered this ground before, all of it. What keeps us from acting is the possibility of failure — a very real possibility, I might point out. Failure means no second chance. So before you start berating us for our reluctance, try to see the reality of the situation a little more clearly. When we act against her, we had better be very certain that we will succeed.”
The weight of her stare settled on him and she did not remove it for long seconds. The others shifted uncomfortably, but they said nothing for fear her eyes would seek them out instead. Traunt Rowan, to his credit, held her gaze, but she could see the uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. She might do anything; that was her reputation. If you provoked Shadea a’Ru — something not at all hard to do — you did so at great risk. One who had tested her had already disappeared. Everyone suspected that she might have caused that disappearance, even the Ard Rhys, but no one could prove it.
“I would not summon you with such urgency,” she said, speaking to Traunt, but including all of them with a quick shift of her eyes, “if I did not have a way to dispose of her that would pose no risk at all to any of us. I am aware of the possibility of failure. No matter how carefully we plan and execute, something can always go wrong. The trick is to make certain that even if that happens, no suspicion or blame will fall on us. But in this instance, I do not think we will fail. I think we will succeed better than we had hoped. Are you ready to hear me out?”
All nodded or at least kept quiet. Terek Molt never agreed or disagreed with anything. He simply stayed or walked away. Dwarves were given to physical gestures over words, which suited her fine. They were given to directness, as well, and it was good to have at least one of those among so many dissemblers.
“Wait!