He was in his coach and riding back toward his bedchamber when he decided he would not have Etan Orek killed right away. He would keep him alive until he had constructed at least a handful of these marvelous weapons. He would keep him alive until after the Free–born army had been smashed and the Prekkendorran reclaimed. Six weeks ought to be just long enough.
Two
Dawn's faint silver tinge was creeping over the eastern horizon in a dull wash when Shadea a'Ru heard the tinkle of the bell. She was already awake, sitting at the desk in the chambers reserved for the Ard Rhys of the Druid Council, the chambers that had once belonged to Grianne Ohmsford but now belonged to her. She was already awake because she could not sleep, preoccupied by her ever–shifting plans for the order and troubled by her inability to bring them to pass.
Her lack of success wasn't entirely unexpected, of course. Even though the Use Witch had been enormously unpopular with the Druids in general, Shadea was not much better liked. She had alienated almost as many members of the order as her predecessor, using her superior talents and physical prowess to intimidate and bully when she would have been better advised to use more subtle means. Now it was taking all of her efforts to persuade her followers that she had changed her ways and would be for them the understanding, concerned leader they all foolishly believed they needed.
In the meantime, the order languished. She had secured her hold on the office of the High Druid through the aid of her allies, especially Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence, either of whom was better suited to the role of diplomat than she was and who together had worked tirelessly to bring as many Druids into line as they could manage. But the effectiveness of the Druid Council continued to be limited, its shadow no more intimidating or impressive than it had been with Grianne Ohmsford at its head.