Free Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara by Terry Brooks

you are.” Bombax came all the way into the room and stood looking from face to face. He was a big man, much taller andstronger than she was and almost as tall as Garroneck, though more limber and rangy. His thick mop of black hair fell to his shoulders in a tangle, and his travel-worn cloak was dusty and weathered. He had the look of a man who had journeyed hard and fast.
    “Nice of you to drop in on our discussion,” Pleysia purred. “But you might want to learn all the facts before you offer an ill-advised opinion. Though I realize that is not your way.”
    “No, it really isn’t,” the other readily agreed, giving her a quick sideways glance. “But then I know something about this that you don’t. So I might say the same about you.”
    She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
    He moved over and sat down beside Aphenglow, taking a deep, slow breath as he faced her, as if trying to breathe in her scent. “Just this. We have a new Federation Prime Minister as of midnight yesterday, and it isn’t good news for us.”
    “Drustan Chazhul,” Seersha guessed, leaning forward to look past Aphenglow and meet his gaze. “Isn’t it?”
    “Chosen last night after only one ballot. No opposition besides the few who have always opposed him—And their number steadily dwindles. Unfortunate things keep happening to them. So we are left with the worst possible choice. He has sworn he will see the order disbanded and Paranor razed. I fully expect him to try to carry out that threat.”
    Carrick shrugged the threat away. “What happened to the old Prime Minister?”
    “One of those unfortunate accidents I mentioned. He poisoned himself. Perhaps with help.”
    Even Pleysia laughed at that, all of them aware of how desperately Chazhul wanted to be Prime Minister and how blind his predecessor had been to the duplicity of those around him. It was difficult to overestimate the machinations engaged in by the Ministers of the Federation High Council in their efforts to advance their positions. And Drustan Chazhul was the worst of the lot.
    “He is a dangerous man,” Seersha said quietly, and gave each of them a look.
    “Well, we can’t do anything about the Federation’s choice of a newPrime Minister,” Carrick said. “But beyond the obvious, how does this impact the business at hand?”
    “Drust Chazhul’s reach is long and sure. He will have at least one spy in the Elven camp. Which suggests in turn the possibility he might have had something to do with the attacks on Aphenglow.”
    Everyone went silent, thinking. “That’s a stretch, isn’t it?” Pleysia said finally. “How would he have found out about the diary quickly enough to order an attack? Besides, he has no interest in magic. He mistrusts and dislikes it. He wants it eliminated.”
    “A good reason for seeing to it that no new discoveries come to light, don’t you think? As for the attacks, he might have planned for that a long time ago, thinking the day might come when they would be needed and needed quickly. Don’t underestimate him. He intends to rule us all. And now he has the means to find a way to do so.”
    “He’s ambitious, but not flawless.” Seersha made a dismissive gesture. “He will have trouble finding allies.”
    “We’re not here to discuss the Federation or the boundless ambitions of its Ministers,” Pleysia snapped. “We are here to decide whether or not to awaken the Ard Rhys from the Druid Sleep. Again, I do not think we have an emergency that requires it. How do the rest of you vote?”
    The five Druids stared at one another, waiting to see who would speak first. Finally, Carrick came to his feet. “You are outnumbered four to one, Pleysia. I will wake the Ard Rhys.”
    “No, I will,” Aphenglow said at once. “This is mostly my doing. I will take the responsibility.”
    Without waiting for a response, she pushed back her chair, rose, and went out the chamber door, feeling the weight of their eyes against her