The Tangle Box by Terry Brooks

But Ben held his ground, reached into his tunic, and brought forth the medallion. “We are both who we were. Do not test your strength against mine. I will hear from my scribe on what has been happening in our absence before I make a decision about Horris Kew.”

Nightshade stood frozen in place, livid with fury. “Start talking, Abernathy,” Ben advised quietly.

Abernathy did. He told the High Lord all about the Tangle Box and Horris Kew, the mind’s eye crystals, the black-cloaked stranger, Kallendbor, and the siege of Sterling Silver. Ben listened without comment, his eyes fixed on Nightshade. When Abernathy was finished, Ben stepped back to stand beside Horris Kew. “Well?”

“My Lord, I have nothing to say in my defense.” The conjurer seemed totally defeated. His tall, skinny frame was hunched over in submission. “The stranger is a fairy being come out of the Tangle Box—my fault, as well—a thing of great magic and evil called the Gorse. It plans revenge of some sort against the people of the fairy mists after it conquers Landover. I am sorry I did anything to help it, believe me,” He paused, swallowing. “I would say in my behalf that I did help set you free.”

“After you trapped us, of course,” Ben pointed out. He looked at Nightshade. “I’ll have to keep him with me for a time. I may have need of him in dealing with this fairy creature.”

Nightshade shook her black-maned head. “Give him to me.”

“He is not the real enemy, Nightshade. He never was. He was used as thoroughly as we were, if not as badly. Put aside your anger. Come with us to Sterling Silver and confront the Gorse. Your magic would be a great help. We worked together in the mists; we can do so again.”

“I have no interest in your problems!” Nightshade snapped. “Solve them on your own!”

She stared at Ben challengingly. Ben took a deep breath. “I know that what happened in the mists, what passed between us …”

“Stop!” she shrieked with such fury that Fillip and Sot scattered into the trees and disappeared. She was white with rage. “Don’t say a word! Don’t say anything! I hate you, play-King! I hate you with every bone in my body! I live only to see you destroyed! What you did to me, what you pretended … !”

“There was no pretense .,.”

“No! You cannot speak to me!” Her cold, hard, beautiful face was a twisted mask. “Take the conjurer! I want nothing to do with either of you! But…” Here she fixed Horris Kew with her gaze as a pin might a butterfly. “If I should ever see you again, if I should ever catch you alone …”

Her gaze shifted back to Ben. She gave him a withering glare. “I will hate you forever!” she whispered, the words a curse that hung in the following silence like razors waiting to cut.

Then she lifted her arms in a sweeping motion, brought smoke and mist about her in a rash, and disappeared into the dawn.

Ben stared after her, mixed emotions running through him as he considered the impact of her anger. It seemed strange that it should be like this after what they had shared—and at the same time inevitable. He wondered briefly if there was any way it might have been avoided and decided there was not.

“High Lord!” Abernathy cried urgently, and grabbed at his sleeve.

Ben turned.

A huge shadow fell over them, and Strabo descended once more out of the sky, snapping off branches and stirring up dust and debris as he settled his great bulk down upon the forest floor.

“Holiday,” he rasped in friendly fashion. “We are not finished yet, you and I. Is this the one responsible for what was done to us?”

Ben shook his head. “No, Strabo. The one we want is back at Sterling Silver, engaged in further mischief.”

The dragon’s great horned head swung about, and the yellow eyes gleamed in the half light. “We started this journey together, though we did not choose to do so. Shall we end it together as well?”

Ben smiled in pleasant surprise. “I think we should,” he agreed.