Jarka Ruus by Terry Brooks Page A

the inheritors were left, men and women who probably didn’t have any real idea of the circumstances that had triggered the war.
    Not that any of them cared, she thought darkly. War was often its own excuse.
    A knock at the door announced the arrival of Tagwen. She bid him enter. The Dwarf shuffled in under a load of books and papers, which he deposited on the working table to one side, where she could pick through them. They were the detritus of her previous efforts to persuade Sen Dunsidan and the Federation to her cause. Tagwen studied the stack forlornly for a moment, then looked at her.
    â€œIs he settled in his chambers?” she asked.
    â€œQuite comfortably. He should be. He has the best rooms in the Keep.” Tagwen didn’t like Sen Dunsidan, a fact he didn’t bother to hide from her, though he was careful to hide it from others. “I left him to his ale and cogitation. More of the former, less of the latter, unless I miss my guess.”
    She smiled in spite of herself. She rose and stretched. “Everyone is advised of tomorrow’s gatherings?”
    He nodded. “You meet privately with the Prime Minister after breakfast, then he addresses the full council, then he meets with a select few—you know them all and they know one other—and then you sit down for some serious bargaining, which will once again probably result in nothing much being decided.”
    She gave him a hard look. “Thank you for your optimism. What would I do without it?”
    â€œI prefer reality to fantasy,” he said, huffing through his beard as he met her gaze squarely. “Better for you if you did the same now and then. And I am not talking about your meeting with the Prime Minister.”
    â€œHave you been trading opinions with Kermadec again?”
    â€œThe Maturen sees things far more clearly than some people. He doesn’t waste time on looking for ways to smooth things over when he sees it is a waste of effort. You ought to listen to him.”
    She nodded. “I do. I just can’t always follow his advice. I am not in a position to do so. You know that.”
    Looking back at the stack of documents on the table, then at the half-eaten dinner sitting cold on the plates he had brought earlier, Tagwen didn’t say anything for a moment. “He wants to know if you’ve decided yet when you are leaving.” Tagwen looked back at her.
    She walked to the window and looked out at the moonlit sky. Her rooms in the high tower were so far above the forest that wrapped the Keep that the trees seemed a black ocean stretching away to the Dragon’s Teeth. She had decided that she would go to the Hadeshorn to seek the advice of Walker’s shade about what she had seen in the ruins of the Skull Kingdom. Shades did not always give direct answers to questions of that sort, but they sometimes revealed insights into what was being sought. Someone or something was behind those fires that burned on air and in those strange flashes of light, and the magic invoked had come from a source she did not recognize. Walker’s shade might at least be willing to tell her about it.
    Wanting to see the business through and to make certain she stayed safe in the process, Kermadec had offered to go with her. She was happy for his company.
    â€œAs soon as the Prime Minister departs,” she answered. “I would guess he will not stay after tomorrow night. Everything will have been said by then.”
    â€œEverything has been said already,” Tagwen said.
    â€œPerhaps it just needs saying again.”
    The Dwarf gestured toward the door. “Traunt Rowan is outside. He wants to speak with you. I told him you did not have time for him tonight, but he was quite insistent.”
    She nodded. Another thorn poking at her from the Druid bramble bush. She liked Rowan, admired his determination and willingness to work hard, but she knew that he did not like her. Sometimes she