Tarsha nodded. “I am grateful.”
Clizia made a dismissive gesture. “You must be hungry. Let’s get you something to eat. Then I will sew up your wound.” She paused. “Proper young ladies don’t fight with knives.”
Tarsha grimaced. “It wasn’t much of a fight.”
The old lady nodded. “I imagine it wasn’t.”
As she prepared a meal for them, Tarsha was surprised to find herself liking Clizia Porse better than when they had first met. In spite of Drisker’s warning, Clizia appeared to have good intentions toward her. If the old woman had not cleaned and bandaged her infection and given her the healing medicines to drink, it was hard to say how things would have turned out.
On the other hand, she was still not convinced that she knew where Clizia’s loyalties lay. After all, she had lied to Drisker about knowing Kassen. And Tarsha felt that, in spite of her kindnesses, Clizia was keeping something back from her. So it might be best if she kept a secret or two of her own for now.
While they were eating, Tarsha asked again about Drisker, and this time Clizia told her what had happened. While the two of them were inside Paranor attempting to summon the Guardian of the Keep, Drisker had decided at the last minute to go in search of Kassen. On his orders, Clizia had gone ahead, relying on Drisker’s promise that he would quickly follow. But once she was safely outside, she had witnessed the conjuring of a Druid spell that must have been cast by Drisker and Paranor had disappeared, sent into a limbo existence.
“He has the means to bring himself and the Keep back,” she finished, giving a perfunctory shrug. “I am certain of that much, if nothing else. But it will not be easy. In the meantime, he is trapped there.”
“Is there nothing we can do?” Tarsha pressed.
Clizia shook her head. “Nothing of which I am aware. Although…” She hesitated, as if she had remembered something. “Drisker brought several books of old magic with him when he left the Keep and went into exile. I searched for them everywhere, but could not find them. There might be something in there that could help him, if we just knew where they were hidden.”
A whisper of warning surfaced in the back of Tarsha’s mind. Be careful. “I know of the books,” she said, “but I think they were still here when I left for Backing Fell. Are you sure they’re gone?”
The old woman nodded. “I’ve run out of places to look. Maybe someone else has them. But let that go for now. You said you went to Backing Fell? In the deep Westland? Whatever for?”
Tarsha had been open and aboveboard with Clizia until now, and it was tempting to be so again. But she was bothered about the woman’s rather too keen interest in Drisker’s books of magic. Besides, she had kept the secret of her brother’s use of the wishsong for so long she found it easy to do so now.
“My family lives there. I went home to see how they were.”
“An odd time for a visit all the way back there when Drisker was risking himself at Paranor. Are you not his student and is he not your mentor?”
Tarsha hesitated. “I am and he is. For about a month now. I would have gone with him, but he insisted I remain behind. He also insisted I go back to see how my brother was doing. Tavo has been very ill, and Drisker knows I am worried about him.”
The sharp old eyes studied her. “There’s more to this story, I suspect, but it can keep until you are stronger. I want to know why Drisker took you on as his student. This is very out of character for him, you understand. There must be something rather special about you for him to make an exception.”
Tarsha smiled. “I guess he must have thought so. We never discussed it.” She pushed back her plate. “Can we go outside now? I think it might be good for me.”
So they cleaned up their dishes and put them away, and then left the cottage for a walk. They traveled a couple of miles down the roadway, ambling along companionably. They were a good match this day, the old woman and the still-recovering girl—the former asking questions at every turn while the latter answered those she didn’t object to and slid past the ones she did. It was an odd cat-and-mouse game that Tarsha quickly found required cautious navigation. Clizia Porse was no fool, and she knew how to find things out. But the questions she pursued—of family and of magic—were ones Tarsha was used to avoiding, and she was able to do so here, too.
They walked until the sun had moved well past midday before returning, and then Tarsha went off to have a nap. She remained in her bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, trying to decide how much more she wanted to reveal and what she was going to do with herself now that Drisker was gone. At one point, she wondered what had become of the highlander, Dar Leah. Had he gone into the Keep with Drisker? Was he trapped in lost Paranor, too?
By bedtime that night, she still had more questions than answers.
* * *
—
When Tarsha had retired for the night and Clizia Porse was certain she slept, she went out onto the porch and sat in a high-back wicker chair to think things through. While the girl was skillful and practiced at avoiding questions when she did not wish to provide answers, she had nonetheless revealed herself in other ways. Clizia was now in possession of answers she had not known she was looking for.
That the girl was hiding something was undeniable. Why she was dissembling was a matter of debate, but the evidence was there. Something was wrong with her family, and she had been hiding it long enough that doing so was second nature. She was also hiding the reason that Drisker Arc had taken her on as a student when he had refused to do this for anyone else since leaving Paranor. Clizia was certain it had something to do with a magic she either possessed or could access. But the exact nature of that magic remained unclear.
Even without knowing the answers to any of these riddles, the old woman had found out something more important—what she should do about Drisker Arc and the Black Elfstone. When the girl spoke of him, she did so with special fervor and respect, with compassion and tenderness. It wasn’t overt, but it was there. She cared for the Druid, and Clizia was willing to bet he cared for her, as well.
So if Drisker still lived, Tarsha Kaynin could provide Clizia with the leverage she needed to persuade the Druid to do something he clearly would not do otherwise—to use the Black Elfstone to bring Paranor back into the Four Lands. The trick was in determining how best to present an offer he could not refuse—one that would seem to be the key to his freedom while at the same time hiding the fact that it would lead him to his doom.
After all, she still needed to find a way to rid herself of him. Once she had possession of the Black Elfstone, she could do this.
She was aware suddenly of another presence. A shadowy figure that lacked substance or identity was passing through the trees just beyond the fringe of the clearing and her range of vision. She recognized it as the shadowy movement she had sensed earlier. She sought it out anew with her magic, trying to reveal its identity. But it blocked her efforts, a conscious act that shut her out, almost as if it sensed what she was doing—which meant it had the use of magic.