“Then bring them. I have removed the guards and opened the door. When we are finished here, you can just walk out. No one will stop you. Go from this village back to your people. Tell them what you know. Advise your father to attack Aphalion Pass because that is where most of those who will resist your invasion will be waiting. The Elves are the real danger. But you will take one hundred of your Drouj and go to Declan Reach. Do not enter the pass. Wait for me outside. Stay hidden. Look for that boy. If you see him, take possession of the staff and do with him whatever you choose. But keep the staff safe and wait for me to come to you.”
“All you want is the staff? Nothing more? What if you change your mind and want the valley, as well?”
The ragpicker smiled. “The staff will be sufficient.”
“The staff has magic?”
“It does. But not of the sort that would be of any use to you. Don’t be foolish. Do what you have promised. Once I have the staff, I will be on my way to other places.”
Arik Siq nodded, but the doubt in his eyes was clear. When you were possessed of a deceitful mind, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that everyone else was the same. There was nothing the ragpicker could do about that. Not now. But if the Troll failed to do as he was told …
He reached down and broke the chain that held the Drouj bound to the iron ring as if it were paper. “Get out of here,” he ordered. “Don’t let anyone stop you. Don’t forget what you are supposed to do. If you fail to follow my instructions, I will find you. Now go.”
He stepped back. The Troll climbed to his feet, rubbed his arms and legs where the chain had bound him, looked once more at the old man, pulled up the hood of his cloak
so that his face was obscured, and without a word went through the door and up the stairs. The ragpicker listened to the sound of his footsteps receding, staying where he was until everything was silent once more.
Then he walked from the room, satisfied that things were going as he had intended.
Setting the Troll free should stir things up nicely. With luck, he would return with his father’s army in tow, which should bring the boy with the black staff running.
After all, that was the only way this matter would be settled. He didn’t think for a moment that Arik Siq would manage any better than Skeal Eile to find and claim the staff and bring it to him. He would have to do that for himself. Creating the right conditions for luring the bearer to where he would be waiting was the trick.
He went up the stairs and out the door of the council hall, the night black and empty around him. Sunrise was still hours away; the people of the village still slept.
He allowed himself a small smile. One more task needed doing this night. He was anxious to get it done.
THE DEMON HAD COME into the valley for the express purpose of finding the man and the black staff and destroying both. It was a search that had been ongoing for months, so there was no particular expectation that it would happen quickly. The demon was patient in the way of most demons, and so encountering obstacles and overcoming difficulties was expected. Moreover, it had no special plan for achieving its goals, but simply waited to see what it would find once it got close enough to determine that an end to its search was in sight.
Encountering the girl in the ruins had been the first real indication that the hunt was winding down. Finding his way to this village and speaking with its people had reinforced that hope. But it was Skeal Eile who had provided him with the necessary tools. The Seraphic had given him so much more to work with, information and insights alike, and now it could employ its usual tactics to create the sort of disruption that would bring the bearer of the staff right to him.
He was sowing the seeds that would grow that crop this very night. Not in a way that anyone would suspect—because he needed to go unnoticed among humans if he were to be effective—but by letting the humans themselves do his work for him.
It was so easy. Humans were predictable creatures. They were prisoners of their own emotions, unable to prevent themselves from repeating the same mistakes over and over. They might try to change, but in the end they always reverted. Their moral codes and need for a sense of place in the world and dependency on one another doomed them from the cradle and led them to the grave. They would never change, and the demon would not have it any other way.
The ragpicker found Aislinne Kray’s cottage without difficulty, remembering correctly the paths that led there. The house was dark and quiet, but he stood outside for a time making sure he was missing nothing. He had not forgotten the gnarled little man who had appeared out of nowhere on his last visit, an ugly little watchdog clearly much more dangerous than he appeared. He could see the proprietary interest in the woman reflected in the little man’s eyes, and he suspected that it was not to be taken lightly. He could kill the other easily enough, but once again that might draw attention he was trying to avoid.
Especially this night.