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that welled up within him. He had called Athabasca a fool, but maybe he was the real fool. Kinson had
been right. Coming to Paranor had been a waste of time. The Druids were not prepared to listen to their
outcast brother. They were not interested in his wild imaginings, in his attempts to insinuate himself back
into their midst. He could see them turning to one another with amused, sarcastic glances as the High
Druid informed them of his request. He could see them shaking their heads in resentment. His arrogance
had blinded him to the size of the obstacle that he was required to surmount in order to gain their belief. If
he could just speak to them, they would listen, he had thought. But he had not gotten the chance to do
even that much. His confidence had undone him. His pride had tricked him. He had miscalculated badly.
Still, he countered, trying to salvage something from his failed effort, he had been right to try. At least
he did not have to live with the guilt and pain he might feel later for having done nothing. Nor could he be
certain of the result of his effort. Some good might yet come of his appearance, a small change in events
and attitudes that he would not be able to discern until much later. It was wrong to dismiss his effort out
of hand. Kinson might have been right about the end result, but neither of them could know that nothing
would come of this visit.
I am sorry you were not allowed to speak, Bremen, Caerid said quietly, glancing over his shoulder.
Bremen looked up, aware how depressed he must seem. This was no time for self-indulgence. He had
lost his chance to speak directly to the Council, but there were other tasks to be completed before he
was dismissed from the Keep forever, and he must see to them.
Caerid, would there be time for me to visit Kahle Rese before leaving? he asked. I need only a few
moments.
They stopped on the stairs and regarded each other, the frail-looking old man and the weathered Elf.
You were told to gather what you needed for your journey, Caerid Lock observed. There was
nothing said about what those needs might be. I think a short visit would be in order.
Bremen smiled. I will never forget your efforts on my behalf, Caerid. Never.
The other man gave a short wave of dismissal. They were nothing, Bremen. Come.
They continued along the stairs to a back passageway that took them through several doors and down
another flight of stairs. All the time, Bremen was thinking. He had given his warning, for better or worse.
It would be ignored by most, but those who would harken to it must be given what chance there was to
survive the foolishness of the others. In addition, some effort must be made to protect the Keep. There
was not a great deal he could do in the face of the Warlock Lord s power, but he must do what little he
could.
He would begin with Kahle Rese, his oldest and most trusted friend even though he knew that once
again he faced almost certain disappointment in his intended effort.
When they reached the doorway that led into the main hall, just a short distance from the libraries
where Kahle spent his days, Bremen turned again to Caerid.
Will you do me one more favor? he asked the Elf. Will you summon Risca and Tay Trefenwyd to
speak with me? Have them wait in the passageway until I finish my visit with Kahle. I will meet them
there. I give you my word I will go nowhere else and do nothing to violate the terms of my visit.
Caerid looked away. Your word is not necessary, Bremen. It never has been. Have your visit with
Kahle. I ll bring the other two and meet you here.
He turned and went back up the stairs into the gloom. Bremen thought how lucky he was to be able to
count Caerid among his friends. He remembered Caerid as a young man, still learning his craft, but
intense and steady even then. Caerid had come from Arborlon and stayed on past his initial appointment,
committed to the Druid cause. It was rare for a non-Druid to take such an interest. He wondered if
Caerid would do so again, if given the chance to live his life over.
He stepped through the door into the corridor beyond and turned right. The hall was arched and
framed with great wooden beams that gleamed with polish and wax. Tapestries and paintings hung from
the castle walls. Pieces of ancient furniture and old armor occupied protected space in small alcoves, lit
by slowburning candles. Age and time were captured within these walls where nothing changed but the
hours of the day and the passing of the seasons. There was a sense of permanence to Paranor, the oldest
and strongest fortress in the Four Lands, the guardian of its givers of knowledge, the keeper of its most
precious artifacts and tomes. What few advancements had been made coming out of the wilderness of
the Great Wars had originated here. Now it was all in danger of ending, of being forever lost, and only he
seemed aware of it.
He reached the library doors, opened them quietly, and stepped inside. The room was small for a
library, but it was crammed with books. There were few books to be found since the destruction of the
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