XIV

When they awoke the following morning, Artaq was missing. At first they thought that he might have wandered off during the night, but a quick check of the woods in which they were camped and the open grasslands beyond filed to turn up any sign of the big black. It was at this point that an unpleasant suspicion began to form in the back of Wil’s mind. Hurriedly, he examined the area in which Artaq had been left to graze, moving from there along the perimeter of their campsite, dropping to his knees from time to time as he went to smell the earth or touch it with his fingers. Amberle watched him curiously. After a few minutes of this, the Valeman seemed to find something. Eyes still fixed on the ground before him, he began walking southward through the small stand of timber and into the grasslands-one hundred feet, two. He began to angle toward the river. Wordlessly, the Elven girl trailed after. Moments later, they both stood at the edge of the Mermidon, staring out across a series of shallows several hundred yards downstream from their camp.

“Rovers.” Wil spat the word out like a bitter pill. “They crossed here during the night and stole him.”

Amberle looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Wil nodded. “I found their tracks. Besides, no one else could have managed it. Artaq would have called out if it were anyone but an expert horse handler, and the Rovers are the best. Look, they’re already gone.”

He pointed across the river to the spot on the empty grasslands the caravan had occupied the previous night. They stared at it silently for a moment.

“What do we do now?” Amberle asked finally.

Wil was so mad he could barely speak. “First we go back and pack our things. Then we cross the river and have a look at their campsite.”

They returned to their own camp, hastily put together the few items they had carried with them, and returned to the river. They crossed at the shallows without difficulty. Minutes later they stood at the now-deserted Rover camp. Once more Wil began studying the ground, moving more quickly this time as he paced the area from end to end. Finally he walked back to where Amberle stood waiting.

“My Uncle Flick taught me to read signs when I hunted the woods about my home in Shady Vale,” he informed her conversationally, his mood considerably improved. “We used to fish and trap the Duln Forests for weeks at a time when I was little. Always thought I might again have need of what I learned someday.”

She nodded impatiently “What did you find?”

“They’ve gone west, probably just before daybreak.”

“Is that all. Isn’t there some indication of whether or not Artaq is with them?”

“Oh, he’s with them, all right. Back at the shallows, there are signs of a horse going into the river from the other side and coming out again over here. One horse, several men. No mistake, they’ve got him. But we’re going to get him back again.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “You mean you’re going after them?”

“Of course I’m going after, them!” He was getting angry all over again. “We’re both going after them.”

“Just you and me, Valeman?” She shook her head. “On foot?”

“We can catch up to them by nightfall. Those wagons are slow.”

“That assumes that we can find them, doesn’t it?”

“There’s no trick to that. At one time, I could track a deer through wilderness timber where there hadn’t been rain for weeks. I think I can manage to track an entire caravan of wagons across open grasslands.”

“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” she announced quietly “Even if we do find them and they do have Artaq, what are we supposed to do about it?”

“We’ll worry about that when we catch up to them,” he replied evenly.

The Elven girl did not back away. “I think that we should worry about it right now. That’s an entire camp of armed men you’re talking about chasing after. I don’t like what’s happened any better than you do, but that’s hardly sufficient excuse for failing to exercise sound judgment.”

With an effort, Wil held his temper. “I am not about to lose that horse. In the first place, if it weren’t for Artaq, the Demons would have had us back at Havenstead. He deserves a better fate than spending the rest of his years in the service of those thieves. In the second place, he is the only horse we had and the only horse we are likely to get. Without him, we will be forced to walk the rest of the way to Arborlon. That will take more than a week, and most of that week will be spent crossing these open grasslands. That increases rather substantially the chances of our being discovered by those things still searching for us. And I don’t like the sound of that. We need Artaq.”

“You seem to, have made up your mind on this,” she said expressionlessly

He nodded. “I have. Besides, the Rovers are traveling toward the Westland anyway; at least we’ll be headed in the right direction.”

For a moment she didn’t say anything; she merely looked at him. Then finally she nodded.

“All right, we’ll go after them. I want Artaq back too. But let’s think this through a bit further before we catch up to them. We had better have some sort of plan worked out by then, Valeman.”

He grinned disarmingly. “We will.”

They walked all day through the open grasslands, following the trail of the Rover caravan. It was hot and dry, and the sun beat down on them from out of a cloudless blue sky. They found little shade along the way to relieve them from the heat. What water they carried was soon gone, and they did not run across even a small stream to replenish their supply. By late afternoon, all they could taste in their mouths was the dust of the plains and their thirst. Leg muscles ached and their feet blistered. They spoke to each other only infrequently, conserving their strength, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, watching the sun sink slowly into the horizon ahead of them until all that remained of the day was a dull orange glow above the sweep of the land.

A short time later, it began to darken, the day to disappear into dusk, the dusk into night. Still they walked on, no longer able to find the marks of the wagon wheels in the plains grass, relying now on their sense of direction to keep them moving in a straight line westward. Moon and stars brightened in the night sky, casting down upon the open grasslands their faint light to guide the Valeman and the Elven girl as they moved steadily forward. Dirt and sweat cooled and dried on their bodies, and they felt their clothing stiffen uncomfortably. Neither suggested stopping to the other. Stopping meant admitting they would not catch up to the caravan that night, that they would be forced to go on like this for another day. They kept walking, silent, determined, the girl as much so as the man now, a fact that surprised him and caused him to feel genuine admiration for her spirit.

Then they saw light in the distance ahead, a fire burning through the dark like a beacon, and they realized that they had found the Rovers. Wordlessly, they trudged to within shouting distance of the firelight, watching the peaked roofs of the wagon homes gradually take shape in the night until finally the entire caravan stood revealed, wound into a loose circle as it had been on the banks of the Mermidon.

Wil took hold of Amberle’s arm and gently pulled her down into a crouch.

[[pg 137 picture]]

“We’re going in,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the Rover camp.

She looked at him in disbelief. “That’s your plan?”

“I know something of these people. Just go along with whatever I say and we’ll be fine.”

Without waiting for her response, he stood up and began walking toward the caravan. The Elven girl stared after him for a moment, then rose to her feet and followed after. As they drew closer to the circled wagons, the faces of the men, women, and children passing within the firelight grew visible. Laughter and bits of conversation became audible and distinct. The Rovers had just finished their evening meal and were visiting casually with one another. From somewhere within the camp came the soft thrum of a stringed instrument.

Twenty yards from the perimeter of the circle, Wil called out. It surprised Amberle so that she jumped. Within the camp, everyone instantly stopped what was being done, and all heads turned in their direction. There was a sudden scrambling of feet as a handful of men appeared at the gap between the wagons nearest the approaching pair. Wordlessly, the men peered out into the night, the firelight behind them now, leaving them shadowed and faceless. Wil did not slow. He kept walking directly toward them, Amberle a step or two behind. The entire caravan had gone suddenly still.

“Good evening,” Wil said cheerfully as he reached the gathering of Rovers who blocked their passage into the camp.

The men said nothing. In the glimmer of the firelight, the Valeman caught a glimpse of metal blades.

“We saw your fire and we thought you might give us something to drink,” he continued, still smiling. “We’ve been walking since daybreak without water and we’re about worn out.”

Someone pushed his way through the knot of silent men, a tall man in a cloak of forest green and a broad-brimmed hat the man they had seen at the river.

“Ah, our young travelers from last evening,” he announced quietly and not in greeting.

“Hello again,” Wil responded pleasantly. “I’m afraid we’ve had some very bad luck. We lost our horse during the night he must have wandered off while we were sleeping. We’ve been walking all day without water and we could use something cool to drink.”

“Indeed.” The big man smiled without warmth. He was tall, well over six feet, lean and rawboned, his dark face shaded with a black beard and mustache that gave his smile an almost menacing appearance. Eyes that looked blacker than the night about them peered out from beneath a lined and weathered brow that sloped into a nose hooked slightly at the bridge. The hand that came up to beckon to the men behind him was ringed on each finger.

“Have water brought,” he ordered, his eyes still on the Valeman. His expression did not change. “Who are you, young friend, and what is your destination?”

“My name is Wil Ohmsford,” the Valeman replied. “This is my sister, Amberle. We’re on our way to Arborlon.”

The tall man repeated the name thoughtfully. “Well, you’re Elves, of course-in part, at least. Any fool can see that. But now, you say that you lost your horse. Would you not have been wiser to stay along the Mermidon in your travels, rather than coming straight west as you did?”

Wil smiled some more. “Oh, yes, we thought about that; but you see, it’s important that we reach Arborlon as soon as possible, and walking would take much too long. Of course, we saw you camped across the river from us last night and we saw, too, that you seemed to have a number of very fine horses. We thought that if we could manage to catch up with you by nightfall, we might trade something of value for one of your horses.”

“Something of value?” The big man shrugged. “Possibly. We would have to see what it is that you propose to trade, of course.”

Wil nodded. “Of course.”

An old woman appeared, carrying a pitcher of water and a single wooden cup. She handed these to Wil, who accepted them wordlessly. With the Rovers looking on, he poured some of the water into the cup. He did not offer it to Amberle, who looked at him in surprise as he ignored her completely and drank the water down. Then he poured a second cup and drank it as well. When he was finished, he handed her the empty cup and pitcher without comment.

“You know something of the Way,” the tall man remarked, interest showing in his dark eyes. “You know also that we’re Rovers, then.”

“I have treated Rovers before,” Wil said. “I’m a Healer.”

A quick murmur went through the assemblage, which had grown considerably since the conversation had begun and now consisted of almost the entire camp, some thirty men, women, and children, all dressed colorfully in bright silks with woven ribbons and scarves.

“A Healer? This is unexpected.” The tall man stepped forward, removed his hat with a flourish, and bowed low. Straightening once more, he extended his hand in greeting. “My name is Cephelo. I am Leader of this Family.”

Wil accepted the hand and shook it firmly. Cephelo smiled.

“Well, you mustn’t stand out here while the night grows cold about you. Come with me. Your sister is welcome, too. You both look as if you could do with a bath and something to eat.”

He led the way through the crowd of Rovers into the circle of the wagons. An immense fire burned at the center of the camp, a tripod and iron kettle suspended above it. The glow of the fire reflected off the gaily painted wagons, mixing the rainbow of colors with shadows of the night. Wooden benches sat beneath the wagons, intricately carved and polished, their broad seats cushioned by feather pillows. Brass-handled windows stood open to the light, laced with curtains and strings of beads. On a long table to one side, lay an assortment of wicked-looking pikes, swords, and knives, all carefully arranged. Two small boys were diligently oiling the metal blades.

They reached the cooking fire and Cephelo turned abruptly.

“Well now, which shall it be first a meal or a bath?”

Wil did not even glance at Amberle. “A bath, I think my sister, as well, if you can spare the water.”

“We can spare it.” Cephelo nodded, then turned. “Eretria!”

There was a whisper of silk, and Wil found himself face to face with the most stunning girl he had ever seen. She was small and delicate, in the manner of Amberle, but without the childlike innocence that marked the Elven girl. Thick, black hair tumbled in ringlets to her shoulders, framing eyes that were dark and secretive. Her face was beautiful, her features perfectly formed and immediately unforgettable. She was wearing high leather boots, dressed in pants and tunic of scarlet silk that failed to hide anything of the woman beneath. Bands of silver flashed on her wrists and neck.

Wil looked at her in astonishment and could not look away.

“My daughter.” Cephelo sounded bored. He motioned toward Amberle. “Take the Elven girl and let her bathe herself.”

Eretria smiled wickedly. “It would be much more interesting to bathe him,” she offered, nodding toward Wil.

“Just do as you’re told,” her father ordered sharply.

Eretria kept her eyes on the Valeman. “Come along, girl,” she invited. She turned and was gone. Amberle followed after, looking none too happy.

Cephelo led Wil to the far side of the encampment where a series of blankets hung across a small area between two of the wagons. Within stood a tub of water. Stepping behind the blankets, Wil stripped off his clothing and laid it neatly on the ground beside him. He was well aware that the Rover was watching everything he removed, looking to see if he possessed anything of value, and he was careful to see to it that the pouch containing the Elfstones did not fall loose from its pocket within his tunic. He began to pour water over himself with a ladle, washing away the dirt and sweat of the day’s travel.

“It is not often that we encounter a Healer who will treat Rovers,” Cephelo said after a moment. “We usually must care for our own.”

“I was trained by the Stors,” Wil answered him. “Their help is given free.”

“The Stors?” Cephelo was surprised all over again. “But the Stors are all Gnomes.”

The Valeman nodded. “I was an exception.”

“You appear an exception in many, ways,” the tall man declared. He seated himself on a nearby bench and watched the Valeman towel dry and begin rinsing his clothes. “We have work for you that will enable you to pay for your food and rest, Healer. There are some among us who have need of your skills.”

“I will be happy to do what I can,” Wil replied.

“Good.” The other man nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll find you some dry clothing to use.”

He rose and walked away. Instantly Wil slipped the Elfstones from his tunic pocket into his boot, then quickly resumed washing out his clothing. Cephelo was back almost at once; carrying Rover silks for Wil to wear. The Valeman accepted the clothes and dressed himself. Despite the uncomfortable knot at the toe of his right boot, he pulled it on firmly, then the left boot. Cephelo summoned the old woman who had brought the water earlier to take Wil’s damp clothing. The Valeman handed the clothes over without comment, knowing they would be thoroughly searched and nothing found for the effort.

Then they returned to the fire at the center of the encampment, where Amberle joined them, washed clean and dressed in clothing similar to Wils. Each was given a plate of steaming food and a cup of wine. They sat next to the fire and ate silently while the Rovers settled about them, watching curiously. Cephelo took up a position across from them, sitting cross-legged on a wide, goldtasseled cushion, his dark face expressionless. There was no sign of Eretria.

When the meal was finished, the Rover Leader assembled the members of his Family who needed Wil’s attention. Without comment, the Valeman examined them one by one, treating a series of infections, internal disorders, skin irritations, and minor fevers. Although she was not asked to do so, Amberle worked next to him, providing bandages and hot water, aiding in the application of simple herb medicines and salves. It took the better part of an hour for Wil to complete his work. When he was finished, Cephelo stepped up to him.

“You have done your work well, Healer.” He smiled a bit too pleasantly. “Now we must see what we can do for you in return. Walk with me a bit this way.” He put one long arm about the Valeman’s shoulders and steered him away from the fire, leaving Amberle by herself to clean up after their work. They walked toward the far side of the Rover camp.

“You say that you lost your horse last night near where we camped on the Mermidon.” Cephelo’s voice was thoughtful. “What did this animal look like?”

Wil’s face remained expressionless. He knew the game that was being played.

“A stallion, all black.”

“Well, now.” Cephelo appeared even more thoughtful. “We found a horse such as you have described, a very fine animal, just this morning, quite early. It wandered into our camp from out of the grasslands as we were getting our teams hitched for the day’s travel. Perhaps this was your horse, Healer.”

“Perhaps,” Wil agreed.

“Of course, we didn’t know whose animal he was.” Cephelo smiled. “So we brought him along with our own. Why don’t we take a look at him?”

They passed through the ring of wagons into the plains beyond. Fifty feet from the camp, the Rover horses were tethered in a line. Two dark forms materialized from out of the night, Rovers armed with pikes and bows. A word from Cephelo sent them back into hiding. The tall man led Wil down the tether line to its furthest end. There stood Artaq.

Wil nodded. “That’s the horse.”

“Does he bear your mark, Healer?” the other man asked, almost as if the question embarrassed him. Wil shook his head. “Ah, that is most unfortunate, for now we can’t be certain that he really is your horse, can we? After all, there are a fair number of black stallions in the Four Lands, and how are we to tell them apart if their owners do not mark them? This presents quite a problem, Healer. I wish to give this horse to you, but there is a great risk to me in doing so. I mean, suppose I give him to you, as I wish to do, but then another man comes to me and tells me that he has lost a black stallion as well, and we then discover that I have mistakenly given his horse to you. Why then, I would be responsible for that man’s loss.”

“Yes, that’s true, I guess.” Wil nodded with just the right touch of doubt, carefully avoiding any argument with the big man’s ridiculous supposition. It was, after all, just a part of the game.

“I believe you, of course.” Cephelo’s bearded face turned solemn. “Certainly a Healer is to be trusted, if anyone is to be trusted in this world.” He grinned at his own humor. “However, there is still some risk to me if I choose to hand this animal over to you-I must accept that fact, being a practical mart in an often hard business. And then there is the matter of feed and care given to this animal. We groomed him and tended him as we do our own; we fed with meal we carry for our own. You will understand if I tell you that I feel we are owed something for all this.”

“Indeed.” Wil nodded.

“Well, then.” Cephelo rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “We are in agreement. All that requires settling is the price. You spoke earlier of trading something of value for a horse. Perhaps now we can make a fair exchange-whatever you carry with you in satisfaction of your debt to us. And in the bargain, I would say nothing of finding this horse to any other who might claim the loss of a black stallion.”

He winked knowingly. Wil walked up to Artaq and stroked his sleek forehead, letting the horse nuzzle up against his chest.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value, after all,” he said finally. “I brought nothing with me in my journey that could possibly repay you for what you’ve done”

Cephelo’s jaw dropped. “Nothing?”

“Nothing at all.”

“But you said you brought something of value...”

“Oh, yes.” Wil nodded quickly. “I meant that I could offer you my services as a Healer-I thought that might have some value.”

“But you’ve given those services in payment of food and shelter and clothes for yourself and your sister.”

“Yes, true.” The Valeman looked less than happy with the thought. He took a deep breath. “Perhaps I could suggest something?” A look of renewed interest appeared in the other’s face. “Well, it seems that we are both traveling to the Westland. If you would allow us to accompany you, we might find some opportunity to repay you yet possibly you might have need of my skill another time.”

“That seems unlikely” Cephelo pondered the thought. He shook his head. “You’ve nothing of value to give for the horse-nothing at all?”

“No, nothing.”

“That seems a poor way to travel,” the Rover muttered, rubbing his bearded chin. The Valeman said nothing, waiting. “Well, I suppose it will do no harm to have you travel with us as far as the forestland. That’s only a few days travel, though, and if you’ve done nothing for us by then, we may have to keep the horse for our trouble. You understand that.”

Wil nodded wordlessly.

“One thing more.” Cephelo stepped close, his face no longer pleasant. “I trust that you would not be so foolish as to try to steal that horse from us, Healer. You know us well enough to realize what would happen to you if you were to try such a thing.”

The Valeman took a deep breath and nodded once more. He knew.

“Good.” The big man stepped back. “See to it that it doesn’t slip your mind.” He was clearly unhappy at the way in which matters had worked out, but he shrugged his indifference. “Enough of business. Come to my home and drink with me.”

He led the way back through the caravan circle, clapping his hands sharply as he entered, calling to those within to gather and to join with wine and music in celebrating the good fortune of the day and in welcoming the young Healer who had shown them such kindness. Wil was seated next to the Leader on a cushioned bench set before the big man’s, wagon home as the men and women and children of the Rover camp crowded about eagerly. Wine was drawn from a great vat and cups were passed about to everyone. Cephelo came to his feet and offered a flowery toast to the good health of his Family. Cups were raised high in answer and quickly drained. Wil drank his with the rest. He looked about hurriedly for Amberle and found her seated near the perimeter of the circle of faces surrounding him. She did not look at all pleased. He wished he could take time to explain all that had happened, but that would have to wait until they had a moment alone. For now, she would simply have to bear with him.

Cups were refilled now, another toast was proposed, and they all drank again. Cephelo called loudly for the music. Stringed instruments and cymbals were brought forth, and their owners began to play. The music was at once wild, haunting, and free as it rose into the night. The laughter of the Rovers rose with it, careless and gay. More wine was poured and quickly consumed, followed by shouts of encouragement for the musicians. Wil felt himself growing light-headed. The wine was strong, too strong for one not used to drinking it as the Rovers did. He must be careful, he thought to himself, raising his cup once more as a new toast was proposed, yet sipping this time rather than draining the amber liquid. In the toe of his right boot, he felt the, reassuring bulk of the Elfstones pressed against his foot.

The musicians played faster, and now the Rovers were on their feet and dancing, half a dozen or eight, forming a circle with arms interlocked as they wheeled about the fire. More rose quickly to join the procession, and those still seated began to clap wildly Wil joined them, setting his cup on the bench beside him. When he reached down for it a moment later, it was full again. Caught up in the spirit of the music, he drank it down without thinking. The dancers broke apart, pairing off now, spinning and leaping before the flames. Someone was singing, a wistful cry that blended eerily with the music and the dance.

Then suddenly Eretria was there before him, dark and beautiful, her slender form clad all in scarlet silk. Her smile was dazzling as she reached down for his hands and brought him to his feet. She pulled him into the midst of the dancers, broke from him for an instant, and twirled away in a flash of ribbons and trailing black hair. Then she was before him once more, slim arms holding him as they danced. The fragrance of her hair and body mingled with the warmth of the wine coursing through his blood. He felt her press close against him, feather light and soft, speaking words that he could not seem to hear clearly. The movement of the dance dizzied him; everything about him began to blend in a maze of colors that whirled against the backdrop of the night. The music and the clapping roared louder, and the shouts and whistles of the Rovers. He felt himself begin to leave the ground, still holding Eretria close.

And then she was gone as well, and he began to fall.

XV

He came awake with the worst headache of his life. It was the sensation of being shaken like a slender branch in a high wind that brought him around, and it took him several long minutes to realize that he was stretched out in the back of one of the Rover wagons. He lay on a straw-filled pallet in a wooden frame bed against the rear wall of the mobile house, staring upward at a strange assortment of tapestries, silks and laces, and metal and wooden implements, all swaying with the motion of the wagon as it bounced and rolled across the grasslands. A shaft of bright sunlight slipped through a partly cracked window, and he knew he had slept the night.

Amberle appeared next to him, a look of reproof in her sea-green eyes.

“I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling this morning, do I?” she declared, her words barely audible above the rumble of the wheels. “I hope it was worth it, Valeman.”

“It wasn’t.” He sat up slowly, feeling his head throb violently with the movement. “Where are we?”

“In Cephelo’s wagon. Since last night, if you can remember that far back. I told them that you were still recovering from a fever and that you might be sick from more than the wine. So they put me in here with you to look after you until I was sure you were feeling better. Drink this.”

She handed him a cup with some dark liquid in it. Wil eyed the unpleasant-looking concoction suspiciously.

“Drink it,” she repeated firmly. “It’s an herbal remedy for excessive use of wine. There are some things you don’t need to be a Healer to know.”

He drank it down without arguing. It was then that he noticed that his boots were gone.

“My boots! What happened to...”

“Be quiet!” she warned, motioning quickly toward the front of the wagon where a small wooden door stood closed. Wordlessly, she reached beneath the bed and produced the items in question, then pulled from the sash about her waist the small leather pouch containing the Elfstones.

The Valeman sat back with a look of relief.

“The party proved to be a bit too much for you,” she continued, a trace of sarcasm in her voice. “After you passed out, Cephelo had you carried to his wagon to sleep. He was about to have that old woman strip you when I convinced him that if the fever had come back, it would be contagious and that, any case, you would be offended if your clothes were taken without your permission. Apparently he didn’t consider the matter all that important because he ordered the old woman out. After he was gone, as well, I searched you and found the Elfstones.”

He nodded approvingly. “You’ve kept your wits about you.”

“Good thing one of us did.” She brushed aside his compliment with an arch of her eyebrows. She glanced again toward the closed door: “Cephelo left the old woman in the next compartment to keep an eye on us. I don’t think he was entirely persuaded that he knows everything he should about you.”

Wil leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “That wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Then why are we still here-other than the fact that you drank too much wine last night?” she wanted to know. “For that matter, why are we here in the first place?”

He reached for the Elfstones and she gave them to him. He put the leather pouch back into his right boot and pilled both boots on firmly. Then he motioned for her to lean close.

“Because we have to find a way to get Artaq back from these people and we can’t do that if we don’t stay with them,” he whispered loud enough for her to hear him over the creaking of the wagon. “And there’s another reason. The Demons that chased us from Havenstead will be looking for just two people-not an entire caravan. Perhaps traveling with the Rovers will throw them off. Besides, we’re still traveling west, which is where we want to go, and we’re traveling faster than we could on foot.”

“Fine. But this is dangerous as well, Valeman,” she ‘pointed out. “What do you plan to do when we reach the Westland forests and Cephelo still refuses to give you Artaq?”

He shrugged. “I’ll worry about that when it’s time.”

“We’ve been over this ground before.” She shook her head in disgust. “At least you might try confiding in me a bit more than you have so far. It is not very reassuring to have to rely on you and not have the faintest idea what you’re about.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I’m sorry about last night. I should have told you more before we entered the camp, but, to tell you the truth, I hadn’t made up my mind what we were going to do until just after we found it.”

“I believe that.” She frowned.

“Look, I’ll try to explain some of it now,” he offered. “Rovers travel in Families-you already know that much. The term ‘Family’ is somewhat misleading though, because its members are not always blood-related. Rovers frequently trade or even sell wives and children to other camps. It is a kind of communal property situation. Each Family has one Leader-a father figure who makes all the decisions. Women are considered subservient to men; that is what is called the Way. For the Rovers, that is the natural order of things. They believe quite firmly that women are to serve and obey the men who protect and provide for them. It is a tradition among them that those entering their camp should observe this custom in order to be made welcome. That’s why I took the water first. That’s why I left you to clean up after we treated the sick. I wanted to convince them that I understood and honored their beliefs. If they believed that, there was a chance they would give Artaq back to us.”

“It doesn’t seem to have worked out that way,” Amberle remarked.

“No, not yet,” he admitted. “But they have let us come along with them; ordinarily they would not even consider such a thing. Rovers have little use for outsiders.”

“They have let us come along because Cephelo is curious about you and wants to find out more than he has been told..” She paused. “Eretria has more than a passing interest in you as well. She made that quite apparent.’

He grinned in spite of himself. “And I suppose you think I enjoyed all that dancing and drinking last night?”

“If you really want to know-yes, that is exactly what I think.”

She said it without the faintest trace of a smile. Wil sat back, his head throbbing with the movement.

“All right, I admit that I overdid it. But there was a good reason for what I did, despite what you may think. It was necessary for them to believe that I wasn’t smarter than they were. If they believed that I was, we would both be dead. So I let myself drink and dance and behave as any other outsider would under the same circumstances, just to keep them from becoming suspicious.” He shrugged. “I cannot help what Eretria thinks about me.”

“I am not asking you to.” She grew suddenly angry. “I don’t care what Eretria thinks about you. I only care that you don’t give us both away by being foolish!”

She saw the look of surprise that crept into his eyes and she flushed darkly.

“Just be careful, will you?” she added quickly, took the empty cup from his hands, and turned away, moving to the far end of the wagon. Wil stared after her curiously,

A moment later she was back, calm and collected once more.

“There is something else you should know about. Early this morning the caravan met with an old line trapper traveling east. He had just passed through the Tirfing-the lake country fronting the Westland forests below the Mermidon. He warned Cephelo not to go in. He said there was a Devil there.”

Wil frowned. “A Devil?”

“He called it a Devil-it is a name the Rovers use for something not human, something evil.” She paused meaningfully. “It may be that this Devil is one of the Demons that has broken through the Forbidding.”

“What did Cephelo say about this Devil?”

Amberle smiled faintly. “He is not afraid of Devils. He intends to go into the Tiding anyway-his mind is made up on that. I think he has business that requires that he pass that way. The rest of the Family is not too happy about his decision.”

Wil nodded. “I would be inclined to go along with them.”

The Elven girl gave him a long, careful look. “I would not be inclined to go along with anyone in this camp, if I were you. Keep that in mind if you are offered any more wine.”

She wheeled without a word and moved back once again to the far end of the wagon, hiding her movements from the Valeman. Wil started up after her irritably, but the pain in his head made him reconsider quickly. He sat back carefully, resting his throbbing head against a piece of woven reed backing lining the wagon wall. One thing was certain, he thought glumly She need not worry about him drinking any more of that wine.

The caravan traveled steadily westward until midday, then halted long enough for the Rovers to partake of a quick lunch. By this time, Wil was feeling much improved and was able to eat some of the dried meat and vegetables that comprised the meal. Cephelo spoke to him briefly, inquiring politely as to his health, then moved away, his mind clearly on other matters. There were vague mutterings among the Rovers of the rumored Devil, and it was apparent to the Valeman that the Family was more than a little concerned with the old trapper’s report. Rovers were a superstitious lot anyway, and Cephelo’s decision to ignore a warning such as this one was not popular.

The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly. Wil took a turn at driving Cephelo’s wagon while the old woman napped in the back. Amberle rode beside him as he guided the four-horse team forward in the caravan line through the broad expanse of the grasslands, humming and singing softly to herself but saying very little to him. The Valeman left her alone, concentrating on the task at hand, staring out thoughtfully into the emptiness of the plains. Several times Cephelo rode a big sorrel past them, his forest green cloak bollowing out behind him, his dark face covered with a sheen of sweat from the heat of the day. Once Wil caught a quick glimpse of Artaq as the Rover relief horses were driven past the wagons toward a watering hole somewhere ahead of the caravan. He was not being ridden, and it appeared that as yet Cephelo had not decided how he would use the big black-which meant, hopefully, that he had not decided if he intended to keep him.

A little more than an hour before sunset, they entered the Tirfing, a land of small lakes and surrounding woodlands spread out beneath the rim of the grasslands. Far to the west, beneath the red ball of the setting sun, lay the dark mass of the Westland forests. The Rover wagons wound their way down out of the plains into the wooded stretches of the Tirfing along a rutted earthen trail worn by the passing of countless other travelers before them. The heat of the open grasslands dissipated quickly as they entered the sheltering trees, shadows lengthening across the trail before them with the onset of dusk. Through, breaks in the woodlands, they began to glimpse bits and pieces of the lakes that dotted the country about them.

It was dark when Cephelo finally brought them to a halt in a large clearing, ringed by oaks and overlooking a small lake several hundred feet to the north. The wagons swung into the familiar circle, rumbling and creaking to a weary halt. Wil was so stiff that he could barely move. While the Rover men worked to unhitch the teams and the women began preparations for the evening meal, the Valeman climbed down gingerly from the hard board seat and tried walking off the stiffness. Amberle chose to walk another way, and he did not bother to follow her. He limped through the caravan circle to the fringes of the surrounding trees, pausing there to stretch himself painfully and allow the blood to circulate through cramped limbs.

Moments later he heard footsteps and turned to find Eretria approaching, her slim form another shadow in the evening dusk. She was dressed in high boots and leather riding clothes, a red silk scarf about her waist and another at her throat. Black hair tumbled down about her shoulders, loose and windblown. She smiled as she came up to him, her dark eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Do not stray too far, Wil Ohmsford,” she advised. “A Devil might find you and then what would you do?”

“Let him have me.” Wil grimaced, rubbing his backside. “Anyway, I do not plan on doing much straying until after I’ve been fed.”

He eased himself down into the tall grass, placing his back against one of the oaks. Eretria watched him wordlessly for a moment, then sat down beside him.

“Where have you been all day?” the Valeman asked conversationally.

“Watching you,” she replied, then smiled wickedly as she saw the look that appeared on his face. “You didn’t see me, of course. You weren’t supposed to.”

He hesitated uncomfortably. “Why were you watching me?”

“Cephelo wanted you watched.” She arched her eyebrows. “He doesn’t trust you-or the Elven girl you claim is your sister.”

She was staring at him boldly now, as if daring him to contradict her. Wil felt a quick moment of panic.

“Amberle is my sister,” he stated as assertively as he could.

Eretria shook her head. “She is no more your sister than I am Cephelo’s daughter. She does not look at you as a sister would; her eyes say that she is something else. Still, it makes little difference to me. If you wish that she be your sister, then so shall she be. Just don’t let Cephelo catch you playing this little game.”

Now it was Wil’s turn to stare. “Wait a minute,” he said after a moment’s pause. “What do you mean she is no more my sister than you are Cephelo’s daughter? He said you were his daughter, didn’t he?”

“What Cephelo says and what is true are not necessarily the same-in fact, very seldom the same.” She leaned forward. “Cephelo has no children. He bought me when I was five from my father. My father was poor and could offer me nothing. He had other daughters, so one would not be missed. Now I belong to Cephelo. But I am not his daughter.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment Wil could think of nothing to say in response. She saw his confusion and laughed merrily.

“We are Rovers, Wil-you know our ways. Besides, it could have been much worse for me. I could have been given to a much lesser man. Cephelo is a Leader; he has respect and position. As his daughter, I benefit from this. I have more freedom in my life than most women. And I have learned much, Healer. It has made me more than a match for most.”

“I would not want to be the one to test that,” he admitted. “But why are you telling me this?”

She pursed her lips teasingly. “Because I like you-why else?”

“That is what I am wondering.” He ignored the look.

She straightened abruptly, her face petulant.

“Are you married to this Elven girl? Is she promised to you?”

His surprise was evident. “No.”

“Good. I thought not.” The petulance disappeared. She paused, her smile wicked once more. “Cephelo does not plan to return your horse to you.”

Wil considered the statement carefully “You know this?”

“I know how he is. He will not return your horse. He will let you go on your way if you do not cause him any trouble or try to take back the horse, but he will never give it back to you willingly.”

The Valeman’s face was expressionless. “I’ll ask again-why are you telling me this?”

“Because I can help you.”

“And why should you do that?”

“Because you, in turn, can help me.”

Wil frowned. “How?”

Eretria crossed her legs before her and placed her hands on her knees, rocking back. Her dark eyes danced with amusement.

“I would guess, Wil Ohmsford, that you are much more than what you have told us-that you are most certainly more than a simple Healer traveling the grasslands of Callahorn with your sister. I would guess that this Elven girl has been given into your care and that you accompany her as an escort, perhaps a protector.” One brown hand came up hurriedly. “Do not bother to deny this, Healer-a lie from your lips would be wasted on me, for I am the daughter of the world’s foremost liar and know the art far better than you.”

She smiled and put one hand on his arm. “I like you Wil-there is no lie in that. I want you to have your horse back again. Obviously it is important that you get him back or you would not have come after us. Alone, you will not be successful. But I could help you.”

Wil looked doubtful. “Why would you do that?” he asked finally

“If I help you regain your horse, then I want you to take me with you when you go.”

“What!” The exclamation was spoken before he could think better of it.

“Take me with you,” she repeated firmly.

“I cannot do that!”

“You can if you wish your horse back.”

He shook his head helplessly. “Why would you want to leave? You just finished telling me that...”

She cut him short. “All that is in the past. Cephelo has decided that it is time that I married. In Rover tradition, he will select my husband and for a price, turn me over to him. My life has been good, but I have no intention of being sold a second time.”

“Couldn’t you just leave on your own? You seem capable of that.”

“I am capable of a great deal more, should it come to that, Healer. That is why you have need of me. If you take back your horse-something I doubt you can do without my help-the Rovers will come after you. Since you will be pursued in any event, it will cause you no further burden to take me as well as the horse-especially since I know enough of Rovers to give you the guidance you will need to elude them.”

She shrugged. “As for leaving on my own, I have given thought to that. If there were no other choice, I would do so rather than be sold again. But where would I go? A Rover is welcome nowhere and, like it or not, a Rover is what I am. Alone, I would be little better than an outcast among the races, and my life would not be a pleasant one. But with you I could find acceptance; you are a Healer and you have respect. I could even travel with you. I could aid you in the mending of the ill. You would find that I...”

“Eretria,” Wil cut in gently. “There is no point in discussing it. I cannot take you with me. I can take no one with me but Amberle.”

Her face darkened. “Do not be so quick to spurn me, Healer.”

“This has nothing to do with spurning you,” he responded, at the same time trying to decide how much he could tell her. Not very much, he quickly realized. “Listen. It would not be safe for you to travel anywhere with me right now. When I leave, Cephelo will not be the only one looking for me. There will be others, much more dangerous than he. They search for me now. If I took you along, you would be in great danger. I cannot allow that.”

“The Elven girl travels with you,” she insisted.

“Amberle travels with me because she must.”

“Words. I do not believe them. You will take me with you, Wil Ohmsford. You will take me with you because you must.”

He shook his head. “I cannot.”

She rose abruptly, her beautiful dark face angry and set. “You will change your mind, Healer. The time will come when you will have no other choice.”

She turned and stalked away. A dozen yards from him, she paused and glanced back suddenly, her black eyes fixing on his. From out of the shadow of her face flashed that wondrous, dazzling smile.

“I am for you, Wil Ohmsford,” she called.

She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and continued walking back toward the Rover caravan. The Valeman stared after her in mild amazement.

XVI

Dinner was set out and eaten, and it was shortly thereafter that the deep, booming cough broke through the peaceful sounds of the night and froze them into stillness. It came from the south end of the lake on which the Rovers were encamped-once, twice and then was gone. All heads turned as one, faces startled and expectant. Moments later the cough sounded again, rumbling out of the darkness like the huffing roar of some monstrous bull calling in challenge. The Rovers scrambled hurriedly for their weapons, then rushed to the perimeter of the circle of wagons and peered out into the night. But the sound died, and this time it did not repeat. Cephelo and more than a dozen of his men stood waiting for a time, anticipating something further. When nothing happened, he gruffly ordered everyone back to the fire and the evening wine. Joking loudly about Devils and things that prowled the night, he boasted that none of these would dare to come into a Rover camp without first seeking permission. Cups of wine were refilled and distribute and everyone drank heartily. Yet glances continued to stray in the direction of the sound.

Half an hour later it came again, closer than before, sudden and heavy in the night. Startled Rovers sprang to their feet, snatching up their weapons a second time and racing for the edge of the camp. Wil went with them this time, Amberle only a step behind as he reached a gap between two of the Rover wagons and stared out guardedly. There was nothing to be seen. Nothing moved. Hesitantly, Cephelo stalked to the very edge of the woods surrounding the small clearing both hands securely grasping the handle of a heavy broadsword. He stood for a time, his tall form black against the trees, poised to defend himself. There was only silence. Finally he turned and walked back again, his face set. There was ho further joking. The horses, which were tethered on a line along a small inlet from the lake, were brought close in to the caravan in order that they could be better watched. Guards were placed all about the perimeter of the clearing and warned to keep their eyes open. Everyone else was taken back inside the circle of the wagons where they settled themselves within the comforting light of the fire. The wine was passed about, though fewer drank this time. Conversation resumed, but it was low and guarded and the word “Devil” was mentioned frequently. The men kept the women and children close, and everyone looked thoroughly disquieted.

Wil walked Amberle several paces back from the anxious group, his head lowered.

“I want you to stay close,” he said quietly. “Do not leave me for any reason.”

“I won’t,” she promised. Her eyes were intense as they found his and then glanced away quickly. “Do you think...”

Cephelo cut short her thought, calling suddenly for music, clapping his hands and encouraging those about him to do likewise. The Valeman and the Elven girl joined in obediently. A few weak cheers greeted Cephelo as he moved about the fire.

Wil glanced about uneasily. “If there is anything out there, and if whatever it is attacks this camp, then you and I are getting out. We will try to reach Artaq, then make a run for it. Are you willing to risk it?”

She nodded. “Very.”

Cymbals shivered their silver cry, and the stringed instruments hummed softly. Hands began to clap, steady and confident.

Then the cough broke almost on top of them, booming out of the darkness with frightening suddenness, heavy and terrible. Shouts sounded from the guards-shouts filled with terror, shouts that cried, “Devil, Devil!” Those gathered about the fire scattered, the men rushing for their weapons, the women and children fleeing in confusion. A scream rose above the clamor, high and quick, dying almost immediately into stillness. Beyond the circle of the wagons, something huge and dark moved in the night.

“Demon!” Wil whispered the name almost without thinking.

An instant later the creature appeared through a gap between two of the wagons, pushing aside the wooden homes as if they were made of paper. It was unquestionably a Demon but much bigger than anything, the Valeman and the Elven girl had encountered fleeing Havenstead. It stood on two legs; more than fifteen feet tall, its massive body bent and heavy and covered with mottled brown and gray hide that hung from it in thick folds. A crest of scales ran from its neck the length of its back and down either leg. Its face was blasted and empty, a mass of teeth curving out from jaws that opened wide to emit its deep, booming cough. From two great, clawed hands dangled the broken body of a Rover guard.

It flung the dead man aside and came forward. Cephelo and a dozen more Rovers met it with pikes and swords. A few thrusts penetrated the thick hide, but most were turned aside. The creature was slow and ponderous, but incredibly strong. It shambled forward through the wall of defenders, swatting them aside effortlessly. Cephelo threw himself directly into the Demon’s path, leaping up to thrust his broadsword deep into the creature’s gaping mouth. The monstrous thing barely slowed, jaws snapping the sword into splinters, clawed hands reaching for the Rover Leader. Cephelo was too quick, but another Rover went down, tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. The Demon’s foot dropped on the struggling man like a rock.

Wil was already moving Amberle toward the far side of the encampment, intent on reaching the tethered horses, when he saw Cephelo go down as well. The defenders were attempting to entangle the Demon’s legs when one massive arm caught the big man a glancing blow and sent him tumbling head over heels. Hesitating in a gap between the wagons, Wil watched the other Rovers spring to Cephelo’s defense, two grabbing the inert form and pulling it to safety, while the others feinted and jabbed at the monster to draw its attention. The Demon swung about, pikes and swords hacking at its armored body, and reached for the nearest Rover wagon. It seized the heavy carrier and, with a single lunge, threw it over. The wagon fell with a crash, splitting apart, metal ornaments and silk roll spilling into the firelight. The defenders cried out in fury and resumed their hopeless attack.

Amberle was pulling urgently on Wil Ohmsford’s arm, but still the Valeman hesitated. He could not bring himself to believe that something so huge and so slow had managed to track them all the way from Havenstead. No, this creature had escaped through the wall of the Forbidding on its own, wandered down into the Tirfing, and simply stumbled on their caravan. It had come alone, blindy, stupidly-but a thing of such destruction that it was clear already that the Rovers were no match for it. Despite their efforts to turn or stop it, the Demon would surely destroy the entire caravan.

But the Rovers would not run. The garish wagons, the cumbersome wheeled houses-these were their homes. Everything they owned was in them. No, the Rovers would not run. They would stand and fight; and if they did so, they would die. The Demon was a thing of another age; its power was greater than that of flesh and blood and bone. It would take power as great as its own to stop it. Only he possessed that power. But this was not his fight. These people had stolen from him; he owed them nothing. His first and only responsibility was for Amberle. He should take her and go quickly. Yet if he did, what would become of the Rovers-not only the men, but the women and children as well? Had they harmed him? Without his help, the stood no chance at all against the Demon.

His decision was complete when he remembered that his grandfather had once told him that when he had used the Elfstones in his flight from the Warlock Lord, he had inadvertently told his enemy exactly where he could be found. It might well be the same now. Some of these Demons were creatures capable of using magic; Allanon had told him this was so. If he were to use the Elfstones, he might lead them right to him.

He looked quickly at Amberle. What she saw in his eyes told her at once what he intended to do. Wordlessly she released his arm. He pulled off his, right boot and reached into it for the Elfstones. At least he must try, he told himself. At least he must do that much. He could not let these people die. He opened the pouch and poured the three blue Stones into his open palm. Closing his fists over them tightly, he stared back into the camp.

“Stay here,” he told the Elven girl.

“No, wait...” she called after him, but he was already running.

The Demon had turned away from the wagons and was driving the Rovers before it as it advanced toward the center of the encampment. Cephelo was back on his feet, swaying unsteadily as he leaned against a wagon at one side and yelled encouragement to the defenders. Wil closed the distance between himself and the combatants until no more than twenty yards separated them. Raising his fist above his head, he willed forth the power of the Elfstones.

Nothing happened.

He experienced a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. The one thing he had feared most had come to pass-he could not control the power of the Elfstones. Allanon had been wrong. Only his grandfather could invoke their power, not he. They were not his to command. They would not obey him.

Yet they must! He tried again, concentrating on the feel of the Stones in his hand, calling down to the magic that lay buried somewhere within them. Still nothing. Yet this time he sensed something he had missed before-a barrier of some sort that blocked his efforts, a barrier somewhere within himself.

The shouts of the Rovers broke sharply through his thoughts, and he saw that the Demon was coming directly toward him. The defenders were behind the creature now, stabbing and thrusting with their weapons at its legs and flanks, trying to turn it from the Valeman. One massive arm swung out, knocking two men sprawling, and scattering the rest. The booming cough rolled out of its throat. Cephelo began hobbling frantically toward the battle, supporting himself with a broken pike, his dark clothing torn and covered with dust and blood. Wil saw them all as if they had been frozen in a single instant of still life, struggling as he did so to free the power that lay locked within the Elfstones. It did not occur to him to run; he simply stood there in the center of the Rover camp, a solitary figure with one arm raised to the night sky.

Then Eretria appeared from out of nowhere, darting forward, her slender form a shadow of sudden movement that flashed between the Demon and the Valeman, one brown hand hurtling a fiery torch into the monster’s face. The creature caught the burning stick of wood in its jaws, snapping at it reflexively-yet slowing as it did, as if somehow bothered by the fire and smoke. Taking advantage of its momentary hesitation, Eretria caught hold of Wil and began pulling him backward until both lost their footing, stumbled and went down. The Rover defenders rallied at once, snatching up brands from the fire and throwing them at the Demon in an effort to confuse it. But the monster had already started forward again. Wil scrambled back to his feet hurriedly, pulling Eretria up with him. At that same moment Amberle reached his side, a long pike held firmly in both small hands as she prepared to defend them all. Wordlessly the Valeman grabbed her arm, pushed both women behind him, and turned to face the advancing Demon.

The creature was almost on top of them. Wil Ohmsford held forth the hand that gripped the Elfstones. There was no hesitation, no confusion within him now. Driving inward, he smashed aside the barrier that stood between himself and the power of the Stones, smashed it aside through strength of will born of desperation and need, without yet understanding what it was. As he did so, he sensed something change within himself that he could not explain and did not feel was altogether good. There was no time to give it thought. Reaching down within the heart of the Elfstones, he brought them to life at last. Brilliant blue light flared up from his clenched hand, gathered itself, then burst forward to strike the Demon. The monstrous thing roared as the power of the Stones burned through it. Still it came on, its cawed hands grasping. Wil did not give ground. He took himself further into the Stones, feeling their power intensify. Everything about him grew hazy with their glow, and again the Elfstones lashed out at the Demon. This time the creature could not withstand the Elven magic. Its massive form erupted in flames and became a pillar of blinding light. For an instant it burned deep blue in the night, then exploded into ash and was gone.

Wil Ohmsford brought his arm down slowly. Where the Demon had stood, there was only charred earth and a wisp of black smoke rising into the night. The whole of the surrounding woodlands had gone deathly still, and only the crackling of the Rover fire disturbed the silence. The Valeman looked about uncertainly. Not a single Rover moved; they just stood there, the men with their weapons still poised to do battle, the women and children huddled close to one another, all with disbelief and fear reflected in their faces. Wil felt a moment of panic. Would they turn on him, knowing now that he had deceived them? He looked back quickly at Amberle, but she, too, stood frozen, her deep green eyes filled with wonder.

Then Cephelo hobbled forward, casting aside the broken spike as he came up to the Valeman, his dark bearded face streaked with blood and soot.

“Who are you?” he asked softly. “Tell me who you are.”

The Valeman hesitated. “I am who I said I was,” he said finally

“No.” Cephelo shook his head. “No, you are surely no simple Healer. You are more than that.” His voice was hard and insistent. “I was right about you all along, wasn’t I?”

Wil did not know how to respond.

“Tell me who you are,” Cephelo repeated; his voice low and dangerous.

“I have already told you who I am.”

“You have told me nothing!” The Rover Leader’s face flushed with anger. “I think you knew of this Devil. I think that he came here because of you I think that all of this was because of you!”

Wil shook his head. “The creature found you by chance; it was chance that I was with you when he did.”

“Healer, you are lying to me!”

Wil felt his temper slip. “Who has lied to whom, Cephelo? This was your game we played-you made all the rules!”

The big man took a quick step forward. “There are rules you might yet be taught.”

“I do not think so,” the Valeman replied evenly.

He brought the fist that held the Elfstones up slightly Cephelo did not miss the gesture. He stepped back slowly. The smile that followed was painfully forced.

“You said you carried nothing of value, Healer. Did you forget these?”

Wil shook his head. “The Stones have no value to anyone but me. They would be worthless to you.”

“Indeed.” The Rover did not bother to conceal the sneer in his voice. “Are you a sorcerer, then? A Devil yourself? Why not tell me who you are?”

Wil hesitated. He was getting nowhere this way. He had to put an end to this whole conversation. Amberle stepped up beside him, one small hand reaching out to take his arm, touching it lightly. It was reassuring to have her there.

“Cephelo, you must return my horse to me,” he said quietly. The Rover’s face went black. “Amberle and I must go at once. There are more Devils than this one I destroyed-that much I will tell you. They track both the Elven girl and me. Because I used the Stones, they will know now where we can be found. We must go-and you must leave here, as well.”

Cephelo stared wordlessly at him for several long moments, obviously trying to determine if what he was being told was the truth. In the end, caution overruled mistrust. He nodded curtly. “Take your horse and go. I want no more of either of you.”

He wheeled and walked away, calling loudly to his people to strike camp. Clearly he wished to be gone from the Tirfing as well. Wil watched him for a moment, then dropped the Elfstones into their leather pouch and tucked the pouch back within his tunic. Taking Amberle by the arm, he began moving toward the horses. Then he remembered Eretria. He looked for her and found her in the shadow of the wagons, her dark eyes watching him.

“Goodbye, Wil Ohmsford,” she said quietly.

He smiled faintly. She knew that she had lost her chance to go with him. For an instant, he hesitated. She had saved his life; he owed her something for that. Would it be so wrong for him to help her now? Yet he knew that he could not. His sole concern now must be for Amberle. He could not distract himself from that, even for this Rover girl he found so enchanting. The debt he owed her must be paid another time.

“Goodbye, Eretria,” he replied.

A touch of that dazzling smile broke through the shadow of her face.

“We will meet again,” she called, then whirled and was gone.

Five minutes later, Wil and Amberle rode Artaq north out of the Rover camp and disappeared into the night.

XVII

With little more than an hour remaining before dawn, they arrived at the south bank of the Mermidon several miles downstream from where the river emerged from the forests of the Westland into Callahorn. They had ridden Artaq for most of the night, maintaining a steady pace as they journeyed north through the open, more easily traveled grasslands, seeking to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Tirfing.

They had rested only once, a brief stop for water and relief from rapidly cramping muscles, then remounted and gone on. By the time they reached the river’s edge, both horse and riders were close to exhaustion. The Valeman could discern no readily accessible point for crossing, the Mermidon being both wide and deep for as far as the eye could see in both directions, and it quickly became apparent that they either would have to swim the river or follow its banks until a shallows was found. Having no wish to attempt either while it was still dark, Wil decided that the best thing for them to do was to rest until daylight. Turning Artaq into a grove of cottonwood, he unsaddled and tethered the big black, then spread blankets for both Amberle and himself. Screened by the trees, all three fell quickly asleep.

It was almost noon when Wil awoke once more, feeling the warmth of the summer day filter through the cottonwoods from out of yet another clear, sunlit sky The Valeman touched Amberle gently, and she came awake. They rose, washed, ate a brief meal, and resumed their journey toward Arborlon.

They rode Artaq upstream for several miles, almost to the edge of the Westland forests, but found no shallows that would afford their a safe crossing. Rather than waste further time retracing their steps downstream, they decided they would chance swimming the river. Strapping their few possessions about Artaq’s neck, they tied themselves to his saddle with a length of rope, led the big black down to the water’s edge, and plunged in. The water was chill, and the shock of the sudden immersion numbed them. They thrashed wildly for a few minutes, fighting the cold and the pull of the current, then settled into a steady kick, hands gripping the safety rope tightly. Artaq swam strongly. Even though the river swept them downstream for nearly half a mile, they reached the far bank unharmed.

From there they rode north at a leisurely pace, walking Artaq frequently to rest him. Wil believed that they had traveled far enough from the Tirfing to confuse any immediate pursuit, and he saw no reason to tire the black further. The previous night’s run had taken a lot out of the gallant horse, and he needed a chance to regain his strength. If he were not given that chance now, he would be useless to them later-and Wil was not about to discount the possibility that they might have great need for him before Arborlon was reached. Besides, even at this slower pace, they would reach the Valley of Rhenn by the following morning. That was soon enough, he reasoned. They would be safe until then.

Amberle might have had a different opinion, but she kept it to herself. Free of the Rovers, her spirits were noticeably improved. She sang and hummed once more as they walked, pausing frequently to observe small flowers and plants, bits and pieces of tiny life that would have gone unnoticed by the Valeman in the vast carpet of the grasslands. She had little to say to Wil, although she answered pleasantly when he spoke to her and smiled patiently at his questions about the growing things she was drawn to. But for the most part, she stayed reserved and distant in her attitude toward him, refusing to engage in general conversation, walled away in that private world she had chosen for herself since the time they had begun this journey north from the banks of the Rainbow Lake.

As the day wore on, Wil found himself thinking of Eretria, wondering if she would leave Cephelo and the caravan as she had threatened and if he would indeed see her again one day. There was an excitement to the Rover girl that he found fascinating. She reminded him of a brief vision created by the Sirens that grew on the Battlemound-mesmeric and alluring, stirring within the mind wild and beautiful thoughts. He smiled at the comparison. It was foolish, really. She was flesh and blood, no vision. Still, if he were to probe the surface of her, would he find that she, like the Siren, was a thing of deception? There was something to her that suggested this, and it bothered him more than a little. He had not forgotten how she had risked her own life to save his; he would hate to discover that there had been any deception in that.

By nightfall, they were angling west, following the line of the forestland as it wound northward toward the vast expanse of the Streleheim. As darkness closed about them, Wil turned Artaq into the woods, trailing a small, stream through the trees for several hundred feet until it pooled below a rapids, providing them with suitable drinking water. There they made camp, bedding down Artaq in a patch of thick grass, feeding and watering him before turning to their own needs. A cooking fire would call attention to their presence, so they settled for fruits and vegetables provided by Amberle. Once again, these were unfamiliar foods to the Valeman, but he enjoyed them nonetheless. He sensed that, given enough time, he might even become used to the strange fare. He was almost finished with the last of the peculiar, elongated, orange fruits when the Elven girl turned to him suddenly, a quizzical look on her face.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” she wanted to know.

He Finned. “How do I know if I mind, if I don’t know what it is you plan to ask?

“Well, you needn’t answer if you don’t wish to-but this has been bothering me ever since we left the Rover camp.”

“In that case, ask.”

The small clearing in which they sat was very dark, the pale light of the moon and stars screened by the tangle of tree limbs that interlocked above them, and she moved close to him so that she could see his face clearly.

“Will you be honest with me?” Her eyes fixed on his.

“I will.”

“When you used the Elfstones, did you...?” She hesitated, as if not sure of the word she wanted. “Did you... hurt yourself?”

He stared at her, a sudden premonition stirring at the back of his mind, undefined still, but there nevertheless.

“That is a curious question.”

“I know.” She nodded, and a faint smile escaped before her face grew serious once more. “I cannot explain it, really-it was a feeling I had when I watched you. At first you could not seem to control the Elfstones. You held them up and nothing happened, although it was clear enough that you were trying to use their power to stop the Demon. Then, when they did at last come alive, there was a change in you-a change that showed in your face... almost like pain.”

The Valeman was nodding slowly. He remembered now, and the memory was not pleasant. After it had happened, he had blocked it from his mind-blocked it without thinking, almost as a reflex action. Even now, he did not know why. It was not until this moment, when she recalled it to him, that he remembered what he had felt.

There was concern mirrored in the Elven girl’s eyes as he stared into them now. “If you do not wish...” she began quickly.

“No.” His voice was quiet, firm. He shook his head slowly. “No. I do not know if I understand it myself, tough-but it would help to talk about it, I think.”

He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully “There was a block somewhere within me. I do not know what it was or what caused it, but it was there and it would not let me use the Stones. I could not seem to pass around it or go through it.” He shook his head again. “Then the Demon was almost on top of me, and you and Eretria were both there, and all of us were going to die, and I somehow smashed the block-smashed it apart and reached down into to Stones...”

He paused. “There was no pain, but a sense of something unpleasant happening within me, something... I don’t know how to describe it. A sense of having done something wrong-yet there was nothing wrong in what I did.”

“The wrong may have been to yourself,” she murmured after a moment’s consideration. “Perhaps the Elven magic is harmful to you in some way.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Yet my grandfather never spoke of this. Can it be that the magic did not affect him, yet does affect me? Why would it be different with me?”

She shook her head doubtfully. “Elven magic causes different reactions in different people. It has always been so. It is a magic born of the spirit, and the spirit is never a constant.”

“But my grandfather and I are so much alike-even more so than my father and I were.” Wil pondered. “Kindred spirits, you might say-and not so diverse as to cause this... this difference in our use of the Stones. Surely he would have felt this as well-and he would have told me.”

Amberle’s hand reached for his arm; holding it firmly.

“I do not think you should use the Elfstones again.”

He smiled. “Even to protect you?”

He said it lightly, but she did not return the smile. There was nothing humorous in this to her.

“I would not be the cause of any injury to you, Healer,” she announced quietly. “It was not my choice that brought you on this journey, and I feel badly that you are here at all. But since you are here, I will speak my mind. Elven magic is nothing to be toyed with; it can prove to be more dangerous than the evil it was created to protect against. Our histories have left us with that warning, if little else. The magic may act against not only the body, but the spirit as well. Wounds of the body may be treated. But what of wounds to the spirit? How will you treat them, Healer?”

She bent close. “No one is worth such injury-no one. Especially me.”

Wil stared at her silently for a moment, startled to see tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. He reached out his hand to cover hers.

“We shall be careful for each other,” he promised. He tried a quick smile. “Maybe we won’t have need of the Stones again.”

The look she gave him in response suggested that she did not believe a word of it.

It was midnight when the howl of the Demon-wolves rose out of the stillness of to grasslands, shrill, hungry, and filled with hatred. Wil and Amberle came awake at once, the contentment of their sleep twisted with fear. For an instant they did not move, their bodies pushed upright from beneath the blankets, their eyes wide and staring as they sought each other out in the dark. The cry died, echoed in the silence that followed, then rose again, piercing and high. This time neither Valeman nor Elven girl hesitated. Without a word, both were on their feet, pulling on their boots; slipping their riding cloaks about their shoulders. In seconds they had saddled Artaq, mounted, and were riding north once more.

They moved ahead at a steady trot, keeping to the open plains where the way was clear and lit by moon and stars, following the line of the forestland. Cool night air rushed over them as they rode, damp with moisture gathering into morning dew, filled with the smells of the dark. Behind them, the howling continued, far back still, somewhere above the line of the Mermidon. The Demon-wolves were searching. The trail they followed was a day old; they did not realize yet how close they actually were to their prey.

Artaq ran smoothly, his great body working effortlessly as he raced across the grasslands, little more than another shadow slipping through the summer night. He had gotten most of the rest he needed for this run and he would not be winded quickly. Wil rated him carefully, keeping the pace steady, not letting the black overextend himself. It was early still; the chase had just begun. Their pursuers would discover soon enough the truth of matters. The Valeman was angry with himself; he had not believed they could be found again so quickly. The Elfstones must have revealed their presence in the Tirfing The Demon-wolves had come for the Valeman and the Elven girl immediately, tracked them north, and now flushed them from the Westland forests. Once they found the campsite their quarry had abandoned, the wolves would come after them with a vengeance. The Demons would run them until they were caught.

They rode on for better than an hour without sighting the valley, the howling trailing after them as they fled. It was answered now by cries that rose out of the grasslands below the Dragon’s Teeth and the plains to the north. Wil felt his heart sink. The wolves had them ringed. Only the Westland had been left open to them. He wondered suddenly if that way, too, might be closed. He remembered how it had been at the Silver River. The Valley of Rhenn might be a trap as well. Perhaps they were purposely being driven into the valley and it was there that the Demons planned to finish them. Yet what other choice was left them but to take that chance?

Moments later the howls behind them rose in a frenzy. The Demon-wolves had found their camp.

Wil put Artaq into a full gallop. The Demons would come quickly now, certain that their prey was close ahead, knowing that they could be caught. Cries north and east of them sounded in answer to those behind, shrill and ragged as the hunters began to run. Artaq was sweating, his head extended forward, his ears laid back. The grasslands thinned into barren scrub; they had crossed into the Streleheim. The Valley of Rhenn could not be far. Wil stretched himself low over Artaq’s straining neck and urged the gallant horse onward.

It was during the third hour of the chase, when the grasslands of Callahorn had been left far behind and the earth beneath Artaq’s pounding hooves had gone hard and cracked, when the howls of the Demon-wolves had drawn so near that it seemed the huge gray forms must spring into view at any moment, when wind and dust had blinded them and sweat from fear had streaked their bodies beneath their tangled clothes, that Valeman and Elven girl at last caught sight of the broken ridges that formed the mouth of the Valley of Rhenn. They rose out of the flatlands below the Elven forests, rock and scrub black against the night sky. The riders turned toward the pass without slowing. Artaq’s flanks were heaving, his nostrils flaring, sweat and lather coated his sleek black body He stretched out further, racing through the darkness, the two hunched forms on his back holding on desperately.

In seconds, the pass was before them, craggy ridges looming up on either side. Down into the narrow slot of the valley thundered the black. Wil peered frantically through tear-filled eyes as the wind ripped across his face, searching for the Demons that he had feared would be waiting to trap them. Astonishingly, he found none. They, were alone in the valley. He felt a quick sense of exhilaration. They were going to escape! Their pursuers were too far back to catch them before they were safely into the Westland forests, into the country of the Elves. By then there would be help...

The incomplete thought hung suspended in his mind, repeating itself over and over in cadence with the sound of Artaq’s pounding hooves as the black raced along the floor of the valley. Wil went cold. What was he thinking? There would be no help for them. No one even knew they were coming-no one but Allanon, and the Druid was gone. Help? What help did he expect? Already the Demons had gone into the very heart of the city of Arborlon to destroy the Chosen. What did he think would stop them from trailing. one incredibly foolish Valeman and an unarmed Elven girl into forestland miles from anything? All he had succeeded in doing in gaining the Valley of Rhenn was to take Artaq out of the open grasslands, where he could run, into the confinement of the woods, where he could not. There was nothing there that would prevent the wolves from coming after them-creatures that were quicker and more agile than they, better able to penetrate the maze of trees and brush, better able to pursue than they would be able to flee. He wanted to scream what he was feeling. Stupid! His shortsightedness had taken away their one slim chance of escape. He had been so concerned with what they had been running from that he had forgotten to consider what they had been running into. They were not going to escape at all. They would be caught. They would be killed. It was his fault. He had done this to them.

He must do something.

His mind raced, searching desperately. He had only one weapon left.

The Elfstones.

Then Amberle screamed. The Valeman jerked about, following the Elven girl’s-rigid arm as it pointed skyward.

Through the mouth of the valley flew a monstrous black creature with leathered wings that spanned the line of the ridges and a head hooked and bent like some twisted limb. Shrieking, it swept out of the Streleheim into the crease of the valley and came for them. Wil had never seen anything so huge. He yelled frantically to Artaq, but the black had nothing left to give-he was running now on spirit alone.

A hundred yards away loomed the draw that marked the far pass. Beyond lay woods that would hide them from this nightmare, woods into which a thing of such size could not possibly go. All they needed was a few seconds more.

The creature dove for them. It seemed to fall toward them like some massive rock, plummeting downward out of the night. Wil Ohmsford saw it come and glimpsed momentarily at the rider it bore, a thing vaguely manlike, yet hued and misshapen, its eyes red against the black of its face. The eyes seemed to transfix him, and he felt his courage melt.

For an instant he thought they were finished. But then, with a final lunge, Artaq gained the far pass, broke clear of the high ridges, and plunged into the darkness of the trees.

Down a narrow rutted earthen trail the big horse thundered, barely slowing as his sleek body dodged and twisted through the tangle of trunks and heavy brush. Wil and Amberle hung on desperately, limbs and vines whipping across them, threatening to unseat them at every turn. Wil tried to slow the black, but Artaq had taken the bit between his teeth. The Valeman had lost control of him entirely He was running his own race now.

In seconds the riders lost all sense of direction, confused by the forest dark that had closed about them and by the winding trail. Although he could no longer hear the howl of the Demon-wolves nor the shriek of that flying monster, Wil was terrified that they might inadvertently become turned about and end up traveling back toward the very creatures from whom they sought to escape. He sawed away on the reins in an effort to free the bit, but Artaq held on firmly.

The Valeman had just about given up hope of ever stopping the black when the big horse abruptly slowed and then stopped altogether. Standing in the middle of the forest trail, sides heaving, nostrils flaring, he lowered his finely shaped head and nickered softly. A long moment of silence followed. Wil and Amberle glanced at one another questioningly.

Then a tall, black form appeared right in front of them, slipping from the forest night without a sound. It happened so quickly that Wil did not even have time to think to reach for the Elfstones. The dark figure stepped forward, one hand touching gently Artaqs sweating neck, slowly stroking the satin skin. From out of the shadow of a hooded cloak, his face lifted to the light.

It was Allanon.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, reaching up to take Amberle from the saddle and lower her carefully to the ground.

The Elven girl nodded wordlessly, astonishment filling her sea-green eyes-astonishment, and a touch of anger. The Druid frowned, then turned to aid Wil, but the Valeman was already scrambling down from Artaq’s back.

“We thought you dead!” he burst out in disbelief.

“It seems that someone is forever declaring me dead before the fact,” the mystic remarked somewhat petulantly. “As you can see, I am quite...”

“Allanon, we have got to get out of here.” Wil was already glancing anxiously over his shoulder. His words tripped over one another in his haste to get them out. “The Demon-wolves chased us north all the way from the Mermidon, and there’s a black, flying thing that...”

“Wil, slow down.”

“...almost caught us in the valley, bigger than anything I’ve ever...”

Wil Ohmsford went silent. Allanon shook his head reprovingly.

“Would you please let me get a word in edgewise?” The Valeman flushed and nodded. “Thank you. First of all, you are quite safe now. The Demons no longer pursue you. The one who leads them can sense my presence. He is wary of me and has turned back.”

The Valeman looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure. No one has followed you. Now come over here with me, both of you, and sit down.”

He led them to a fallen log that lay next to the trail, and the Valeman and Elven girl seated themselves wearily Allanon remained standing.

“We must go on to Arborlon tonight,” he advised them. “But we can spare a few moments to rest before we leave.”

“How did you get here?” Wil asked him.

“I might ask you the same question.” The big man hunched down on one knee, drawing the black robes close about him. “Do you understand what happened to you at the river?”

The Valeman nodded. “I think so.”

“It was the King of the Silver River,” Amberle interjected quietly. “We saw him; he spoke to us.”

“It was to Amberle that he spoke,” Wil corrected. “But what happened to you? Did he help you as well?”

Allanon shook his head. “I am afraid I did not even see him-only the light which enveloped and took you away. He is a reclusive and mysterious being, and he shows himself to very few. This time, he chose to appear to you. His reasons must remain his own, I suppose. In any case, his appearance caused considerable confusion among the Demons, and I took advantage of that confusion to make my own escape.”

He paused. “Amberle, you said that he spoke with you. Do you recall what it was that he said?”

The Elven girl looked uneasy. “No, not exactly. It was like a dream. He said something about... joining.”

For an instant there was a flicker of understanding in the Druid’s dark eyes. But neither Wil nor Amberle saw it, and it disappeared at once.

“No matter.” The mystic brushed the incident aside casually. “He helped you when you needed help, and for that we are in his debt:”

“His debt, to be sure-but certainly not yours.” Amberle did not bother to disguise her anger. “Where have you been, Druid?”

Allanon seemed surprised. “Looking for you. Unfortunately, when he helped you, the King of the Silver River caused us to become separated. I knew you were safe, of course, but I did not know where you had been taken or how to go about finding you again. I might have used magic, but that seemed unnecessarily risky. The one who leads these Demons who have broken through the Forbidding has power as great as my own-perhaps greater. Using magic might have led him to us both. So I chose instead to continue on toward Arborlon, searching for you as I went, believing that you would remember and follow accordingly the instructions I had given you. Because I was forced to go afoot-your gray, Wil, was lost in the battle-I was certain that you were ahead of me the entire time. It was not until you used the Elfstones that I realized I was mistaken.”

He shrugged. “By then I was almost to Arborlon. I started back at once, traveling south through the forestland, thinking that you would seek sanctuary by entering the woods below the Mermidon. Again, I was mistaken. When I heard the howling of the Demon-wolves, I realized that you were trying to reach the Valley of Rhenn. That brought me here.”

“It appears that you have been mistaken much of the time,” Amberle snapped.

Allanon said nothing, his eyes meeting hers.

“I think you were mistaken in coming to me in the first place,” she continued; her voice accusing now.

“It was necessary that I come.”

“That remains to be seen. What worries me at the moment is that the Demons have been one step ahead of you from the beginning. How many times now have they almost had me?”

Allanon rose. “Too many times. It will not happen again.”

Amberle rose with him, her face flushing darkly. “I no longer feel particularly reassured by your promises. I want this journey finished. I want to go home again-to Havenstead, not to Arborlon.”

The Druid’s face was expressionless. “Understand-I do what I am able to do for you.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps you only do what suits you.”

The Druid stiffened. “That is unfair, Elven girl. You know less about this than you suppose.”

“I know one thing. I know that neither you nor your choice for my protector have proven very capable. I would be much happier if I had never seen either one of you.”

She was so angry she was almost in tears. She stared at them furiously, daring them to contradict her. When they did not, she turned away and started walking down the darkened trail.

“You said we must go on to Arborlon tonight, Druid,” she called out. “I want this finished!”

Wil Ohmsford stared after her, resentment and confusion showing in his face. For a moment he seriously considered just sitting there and letting the Elven girl go her own way. She obviously had little enough use for him. Then he felt Allanon’s hand on his shoulder.

“Do not be too quick to judge her,” the Druid said softly.

The hand withdrew, and Allanon moved, over to gather up Artaq’s reins. He looked back at Wil inquiringly. The Valeman shook his head and rose. After all, he had come this far. There was nothing to be gained by not going on.

The Druid had already started after the slender figure of the Elven girl as she disappeared up the pathway into the trees. Grudgingly, Wil followed.

XVIII

It was evening of the following day. Shadows lengthened across the forested city of Arborlon and gray dusk deepened steadily into night. Eventine sat alone in the seclusion of his study, poring over Gael’s list of matters that would require his attention in the morning. Fatigue lined his face, and his eyes squinted wearily in the Light of the oil lamp that sat atop the wooden desk he occupied. The room was still, closing the aged King of the Elves away in the silence of his thoughts.

He glanced over briefly at Manx, who lay sprawled across the room against a bookcase, sleeping soundly. The wolfhound’s graying flanks rose and fell rhythmically, his breath exhaling through his nose with a curious nasal whine. Eventine smile. Old dog, he thought, sleep comes easily to you, deep and dreamless and troublefree. He shook his head. He would give much to enjoy just a single night’s undisturbed sleep. There had been little rest for him. Nightmares crowded his slumber-nightmares that were distortions of the unpleasant realities of his waking hours, carried with him into sleep. They teased and tormented him; they stole wickedly, through his slumber, disruptive and hateful. Each night they returned, prodding at his subconscious, fragmenting his sleep so that time and again he shook himself awake, until at last dawn brought an end to the struggle.

He rubbed his eyes, then his face, closing off the light with his hands. He would have to sleep soon because sleep in some form was necessary. But he knew that he would find little rest.

When he took his hands away again, he found himself staring at Allanon. For an instant he did not believe that he was seeing the Druid; this was only a trick of his mind, brought on by his weariness. But when he squinted sharply and the image did not disappear, he came to his feet with a start.

“Allanon! I thought I was seeing things!”

The Druid came forward and they locked hands. There was the barest flicker of uncertainty in the Elven King’s eyes.

“Did you find her?”

Allanon nodded. “She is here.”

Eventine did not know how to respond. The two men started at each other wordlessly. Against the bookcase, Manx raised his head and yawned.

“I did not think she would ever come back,” the King said finally. He hesitated. “Where have you taken her?”

“Where she can be protected,” Allanon responded. He released the King’s hand. “We do not have much time. I want you to summon your sons and the most trusted of your advisers-those to whom you have confided the truth of the danger that threatens the Elves. Be certain of your choice. Have them gather in one hour in the chambers of the Elven High Council. Tell them that I would speak with them. Tell no one else. See to it that your guard and keeps watch without. One hour. I will meet you then.”

He turned and started back toward the open windows he had come through.

“Amberle...?” Eventine called after him.

“One hour,” the Druid repeated, then slipped through the curtains and was gone.

The allotted hour passed, and those summoned by the Elven King assembled in the High Council. The council room was a cavernous, hexagonal chamber built of oak and stone with its cathedral ceiling peaked starlike overhead at a joinder of massive beams. A set of huge wooden doors opened into the room, lighted by low-hanging oil lamps suspended at the ends of black iron chains. Against a facing wall was settled the dais of the King, a riser of steps leading to a great, hand-carved oaken throne flanked by a line of standards from which hung flags bearing the insignia of the houses of the Elven Kings. Gallery seats bored the remaining walls, each set a dozen rows deep, all overlooking a broad expanse of polished stone flooring encircled like an arena by a low iron railing. At the exact center of the room stood a wide oval table with twenty-one chairs where sat the members of the Elven High Council.

Only six of these chairs were occupied this night. At one of them sat Ander Elessedil. He spoke little to the five seated with him, his eyes straying restlessly to the closed double doors at the far end of the chamber. Thoughts of Amberle crowded together in his mind. Although the girl had not been mentioned by his father when he had come to him with the news of Allanon’s return, he was certain nevertheless that the Druid had succeeded in bringing her back to Arborlon; if not, this Council would not have been convened in such haste. He was equally certain that Allanon intended to bring her before the Council and ask that they entrust to her the search for the Bloodfire. He was not certain what the Council would say in response. If the King chose to speak first on the Druid’s request and to lend it his support, then the others would probably acquiesce to his wishes-though this was by no means a foregone conclusion, given the strong feelings the Elves bore about Amberle. In any case, he did not believe that his father would do that. He would listen first to the advice of the men he had gathered about him. Then he would decide.

Ander glanced briefly at his father, then looked away again. What would his own advice be, he wondered suddenly? He would be asked to speak, yet how could he trust himself to be objective where Amberle was concerned? Conflicting emotions colored his reason with their intensity. Love and disappointment intermingled. His hands locked before him on the table in response to what he was feeling. Perhaps it would be best if he said nothing. Perhaps it would be best if he simply deferred to the judgment of the others.

His gaze shifted momentarily to their faces. Other than Dardan and Rhoe, who kept watch outside the chamber doors, no one else had been told of this meeting. There were others his father might have called-good men. But he had chosen these. It was a balanced choice, Ander thought to himself as he considered the character of each. But what sort of judgment would they exercise when they heard what was being asked?

He found that he was not sure.

Arion Elessedil sat on his father’s right, the place at the Council table reserved for the Crown Prince of the realm. It was Arion to whom the King would look first, just as he always did whenever an important decision was required. Arion was his father’s strength, and the old man loved him fiercely. Just his presence lent Eventine a sense of reassurance that Ander knew he could not provide, however he might try. But Arion lacked compassion and at times exhibited a stubbornness that obscured his good sense. It was difficult to predict what he might do where Amberle was concerned. Once he had been fond of the girl, the only child of his beloved brother Aine. But all that was long since past. His feelings had changed with the death of his brother-changed further with Amberle’s betrayal of her trust as a Chosen. There was great bitterness within the Crown Prince, much of it caused by the obvious hurt that this girl had brought to the King It was impossible to tell how deep that bitterness ran. Deep, Ander thought and was troubled by what that might mean.

The King’s Fist Minister, Emer Chios, occupied the chair next to Arion. As First Minister, it was Chios who presided over the Council in the King’s absence. An articulate, persuasive man, he could be depended upon to express his feelings candidly. Although Eventine and his First Minister were not always in agreement on matters that came before the Council, they nevertheless had great respect for each other’s opinions. Eventine would listen closely to what his First Minister had to say.

Kael Pindanon, Commander of the Elven Army, was the King’s oldest and closest friend. Though ten years younger than the King, Pindanon looked at least that much older, his face seamed like dry wood, his gnarled frame rawhide tough, scarred and knotted from a lifetime of combat. White hair flowed down below his shoulders, and a great, drooping mustache arched about the thin line of his mouth. Iron hard and fixed of purpose, Pindanon was the most predictable of Eventine’s advisers. The old soldier was completely, devoted to the King; he always advised with the King’s interests foremost in mind. It would be so with Amberle.

The last man at the table was not a member of the High Council. He was younger even than Ander, a slim, darkhaired Elf with an alert air and anxious brown eyes. He sat next to Pindanon, his chair drawn back slightly from the oval table, not speaking to the others but watching them in silence. Twin daggers were strapped about his waist and a broadsword hung in its scabbard from the back of his chair. He wore no insignia of office save for a small medallion that bore the crest of the Elessedils and dangled from a silver chain about his neck. His name was Crispin. He was Captain of the Home Guard, the elite corps of Elven Hunters whose sole duty was the protection of the King. His presence at this Council was something of a mystery; he was not a man from whom Ander would have expected his father to seek advice. But then, his father did not always do what Ander expected.

He paused in his evaluation. With different backgrounds and different personalities, the men his father had gathered were alike only in their absolute loyalty to the old King. Perhaps because of that loyalty, they were men to whom Eventine felt he might safely entrust the decision, however difficult, that must be made concerning Amberle. Perhaps, too, they were here because they were the ones whose counsel he would seek when it came time to defend the Elven homeland.

And that time was near. The inevitability of a terrible struggle between Elves and Demons confronted them at every turn. Each day the Ellcrys weakened further, decay and wilt spreading inexorably through her branches, stripping her of beauty and life, weakening the power that maintained the Forbidding. Each day new reports were received of strange and frightening creatures, things born of nightmares and dark fantasies, prowling the borders of the Westland. Elven soldiers patrolled from the Valley of Rhenn to the Sarandanon, from the Matted Brakes to the Kershalt, and still the number of these creatures grew. It was certain that more would follow, until at last enough had broken free to unite and attack the Elves in force.

Ander rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands together against his forehead, shading his eyes against the light. The Ellcrys was failing so quickly that he wondered whether enough time remained to reach the Bloodfire, even if Allanon had succeeded in his quest. Time! It all came down to that.

The massive doors at the far end of the chamber swung open and six heads turned as one. Allanon strode through, tall and forbidding in his black robes. With him came two smaller figures, cloaked and hooded, their faces hidden.

Amberle! Ander thought at once. One of them must be Amberle!

But who ways the second?

All three moved wordlessly to the opposite end of the wide oval table. There the Druid seated his companions, then raised his dark face toward the King.

“My Lord Eventine.” He bowed slightly.

“Allanon,” the King replied. “You are welcome.”

“All are assembled”

“All,” Eventine assured him, then named them one by one, “Please say what you have come to say.”

Allanon came forward several paces until he stood midway between the Elves and the two cloaked figures.

“Very well. I would say this once only, so I ask that you listen and heed. The Elven nation stands in grave peril. The Ellcrys is dying. She fails quickly now, more quickly with the passing of each day. As she fails, the wall of the Forbidding weakens. Already the Demons your forefathers imprisoned within begin to break loose once more into your world. Soon all will be free and, once free, they will seek your annihilation.”

The Druid came forward a pace. “Do not disbelieve this, Elven Lords. You do not yet appreciate, as I do, the extent of the hatred that drives them. I have seen but a handful of these creatures, a handful that have crossed already through the Forbidding, but even those few conveyed to me the whole of the hatred that has consumed them all. That hatred is awesome. It gives them power-more power than they possessed when they were first shut from the earth. I do not think that you will be able to stand against it.”

“You do not know the Elven army!” Pindanon’s face was dark.

“Commander.” Eventine spoke softly. The old soldier turned at once. “Let us hear him out.”

Pindanon sat back, frustration lining his jaw.

“The Ellcrys is the key to your preservation,” Allanon continued, ignoring Pindanon. “When the Ellcrys dies, the Forbidding will be lost. The magic that created it will be lost. One thing can prevent that, and one thing only. In accordance with the Elven legend and the laws of magic that gave her life, the Ellcrys must undergo a rebirth. That can be accomplished in only one way. You know it well. A Chosen in service to the tree must carry her seed to the source of all life, the earth’s Bloodfire. There the seed must be wholly immersed in the Fire, then returned to the earth where the mother tree roots. Then will there be new life for the Ellcrys. Then will the wall of the Forbidding be restored and the Demons shut once more from the earth.

“Men of Arborlon. Two weeks earlier, having discovered that the Ellcrys was dying, I came to Eventine Elessedil to offer what aid I could. I came too slowly. The Forbidding had begun to weaken already, permitting, a few of the Demons imprisoned within to escape. Before I could act to prevent it, they had slain the Chosen, killing them as they slept, killing all they found.

“Nevertheless, I told the King that I would seek to aid the Elves in two ways. First, I would travel to Paranor to the castle of the Druids and there search the histories of my predecessors in an effort to learn the secret of the word ‘Safehold.’ I have done this. I have discovered where the Bloodfire can be found.”

He paused, studying the faces of the men who listened. “I told the King as well that I would seek out one who might bear the seed of the Ellcrys in quest of the Bloodfire, for I believed that such a person existed. I have done this also. I have brought that person with me to Arborlon.”

Ander tensed expectantly as a murmur of disbelief rose out of the men assembled. Allanon turned and beckoned to the smaller of the two cloaked figures.

“Come forward.”

Hesitantly, the dark form rose, then walked to stand beside the Druid.

“Lower your hood.”

Again there was hesitation. The Elves leaned forward impatiently-all but Eventine, who sat rigidly in his chair, hands gripping the carved wooden arms.

“Lower your hood,” Allanon repeated gently.

This time the cloaked figure obeyed. Slim brown hands reached from beneath the folds of the robe and pulled back the concealing hood. Amberle’s sea-green eyes, frozen with uncertainty, met those of her grandfather. There was an instant of stunned silence.

Then Arion sprang to his feet, livid with rage. “No! No, Druid! Take her out of here! Take her back to wherever it was you found her!”

Ander rose halfway out of his chair, shock reflected in his face at his brother’s words, but his father caught his arm and brought him back to his seat. Quick, angry comments were exchanged, but the words were lost in a jumbled mix of voices that drowned one another out.

Eventine’s hand went up sharply, and the room was still again.

“We will hear Allanon out,” he repeated firmly, and Arion slipped back into his chair.

The Druid nodded. “I would ask you all to remember this. Only a Chosen in service may bear the seed of the Ellcrys. When the year began, there were seven. Six are dead. Amberle Elessedil is your last hope.”

Arion leaped up. “She is no hope! She is no longer a Chosen!” The Elven Prince’s voice was hard and bitter. Kael Pindanon nodded in agreement, distaste showing on his seamed face.

Allanon came forward a step. “You would question whether she is still a Chosen?” The faint, mocking smile passed quickly across his lips. “Know then that she questions this as well. But I have told her, and I have told her grandfather, and now I tell you, that no feelings in this, neither yours nor hers, will determine the truth of what she is. Your feelings are not of any consequence. King’s grandchild or outcast from her people-what matter, Elven Prince? Your concern should be with the survival of your people-your people and the peoples of all the Lands, for this danger threatens them as well. If Amberle can be of service to you and to them, then what has gone before must be forgotten.”

Arion stood his ground. “I will not forget. I will never forget.”

“What is it that you ask of us?” Emer Chios interrupted quickly, and Arion sat down once more.

Allanon turned to face the First Minister. “Just this. Neither you nor I nor Amberle herself has the right to determine whether she is still a Chosen. Only the Ellcrys has that right, for it was the Ellcrys who determined that she should be a Chosen in the first place. Therefore we must know the tree’s feelings. Let Amberle go before the Ellcrys; let the Ellcrys decide whether to accept, or reject her. If she is accepted as a Chosen, she will be given a seed and she will go in search of the Bloodfire.”

“And if she is rejected?”

“Then we had best hope that Commander Pindanon’s faith in the Elven army is well placed.”

Arion rose once more, ignoring the warning glance his father gave him.

“You ask too much of us, Druid. You ask that we place our trust in one who has already proven untrustworthy.”

Allanon’s voice was steady. “I ask that you place your trust in the Ellcrys, much, as you have done for countless centuries. Let the decision be hers.”

Arion shook his head. “No, I sense a game being played here, Druid. The tree speaks to no one; she will not speak to this girl.” His angry gaze shifted to Amberle. “If the girl would have us trust her, let her tell us why she left Arborlon in the first place. Let her tell us why she disgraced herself and her family.” Allanon seemed to consider the request for a moment, then finally looked down at the Elven girl beside him. Amberle’s face was white.

“I did not mean to bring disgrace to anyone,” she replied quietly. “I did what I felt I had to do.”

“You disgraced us!” Arion exploded. “You are my brother’s child, and I loved my brother very much. I would like to understand what you did, but I do not. What you did brought shame to your family-to all of us. It brought shame to the memory of your father. No Chosen has ever rejected the honor of serving. None! But you, you discarded the honor as if it meant nothing!”

Amberle was rigid. “I was not meant to be a Chosen, Arion. It was a mistake. I tried to serve as did the others, but I could not. I know it was expected of me, but could not do it.”

“Could not do it?” Arion came forward threateningly. “Why? I want to know why. This is your chance to explain-now do so!”

“I cannot!” she answered in a tight whisper. “I cannot. I could not make you understand, not if I wished, not if...” She looked imploringly at Allanon. “Why did you bring me back, Druid? This is senseless. They do not wish me here. I do not want to be here. I am frightened, do you understand? Let me return home.”

“You are home,” the Druid answered gently, a sadness in his voice that had not been there before. He looked over at Arion. “Your questions are pointless, Elven Prince. Give thought to the purpose for those questions. Give thought to their source. Hurt gives way to bitterness, bitterness to anger. Travel too far that road and the way is lost.”

He paused, dark eyes fixing those of the Elven Council. “I do not pretend to understand what caused this girl to leave her people. I do not pretend to understand what caused her to choose a life different from that which was offered her in Arborlon. It is not my place to judge her, nor is it yours. What has gone before is done. She has shown courage and resolve in making the journey back to Arborlon. The Demons have learned of her; they have hunted her. They hunt her still. She has endured hardship and risked danger in returning. Should that have been for nothing?”

At the mention of danger to Amberle, alarm flickered briefly in Eventine’s eyes. Ander saw it; it was there and then quickly gone.

“You might have taken this girl before the Ellcrys without consulting us,” Emer Chios pointed out suddenly. “Why didn’t you?”

“Amberle did not wish to return to Arborlon,” Allanon responded. “She came because I persuaded her that it was necessary, that she must help her people if she could. Still, she should not be forced to come in secrecy and stealth, but openly. If she is to go before the Ellcrys, it should be with your approval.”

His arm slipped about her slender shoulders. She glanced up at him, surprise reflected in her child’s face.

“You must make your choice.” The Druid’s face was impassive. “Which of you will stand beside her, Elven Lords?”

The chamber grew still. Elves and Druid stared wordlessly at one another, eyes locked. All but forgotten by now, the second cloaked form shifted nervously at the far end of the table. The seconds slipped away. No one rose.

Then suddenly Ander Elessedil found Allanon looking directly at him. Something unspoken passed between them, an understanding almost. In that instant Ander knew what he must do.

Slowly he came to his feet.

“Ander!” he heard his brother protest.

He glanced quickly at Arion’s dark face, saw the warning mirrored in the other’s hard eyes, then looked away again. Wordlessly, he moved around the table until he stood before Amberle. She stared up at him, frightened, like a wild thing poised to flee.’ Gently he took hold of her shoulders and bent to kiss her forehead. There were tears in her eyes as she hugged him back.

Emer Chios rose. “I do not see that there should be any difficulty in making this decision, my Lords,” he addressed them. “Whatever, options we may have, we should certainly take advantage of them.”

He stepped over to join Ander.

Crispin glanced briefly at Eventine. The King sat rigid, his face expressionless as he met his Captain’s eyes. Crispin stood up and crossed to stand beside Ander.

The Council had divided evenly. Three stood with Amberle; three remained seated at the table. Eventine looked at Arion. The Crown Prince of the Elves met his father’s gaze squarely, then turned his bitter eyes on Ander.

“I am not the fool that my brother is. I say no.”

The King looked at Pindanon. The old soldier’s face was hard.

“My trust is in the Elven Army, not this child.” Then he seemed to hesitate. “She is your flesh and blood. My vote will be-as yours, my King. Cast it well.”

All eyes fixed now on Eventine. For an instant he did not seem to have heard. He sat staring at the table before him, a look of sadness and resignation on his face. His hands slid slowly across the polished wooden surface, then locked tightly.

He came to his feet.

“It is decided then. Amberle shall go before the Ellcrys. This Council is adjourned.”

Arion Elessedil rose, cast a withering glance at Ander, and stalked from the High Council without a word.

Within the concealing shadow of his cowl, Wil Ohmsford saw the pain and disbelief mirrored in Ander Elessedil’s eyes as he stared after his brother. A breach had been opened between these two that would not quickly be closed again. Then the Elven Prince’s gaze shifted suddenly to meet his own, and he looked away self-consciously.

Allanon was speaking again, advising those who remained that Amberle would rest a day or two before going to the Ellcrys and that after she had done so they would meet once more. Wil rose, keeping his robes drawn close about him, for Allanon had warned that he was not to reveal himself. The chamber began to empty, and he moved over to stand with Amberle. He saw Ander Elessedil cast a glance back at them, hesitate, then follow the others out. Allanon had drawn Eventine aside and was speaking to him, their words hushed and secretive. There appeared to be some argument between them. Then, with a reluctant nod, the Elven King departed as well. Wil and Amberle were left alone with the Druid.

Allanon beckoned. “Follow me.”

Quickly he led them from the council room, ushering them back down the outer hallway until they stood once more in the cool dark of the entry beyond. The Druid paused, listened, and then turned to them.

“Amberle.” He waited until her eyes were fixed on his. “I want you to go to the Ellcrys tonight.”

Surprise and confusion registered on the Elven girl’s face.

“Why?” she asked in disbelief, then quickly shook her head. “No. No, this is too quick! I want time to prepare myself before I do this. Besides, you just finished telling my father and the others that it would be a day, or two before I went to her!”

Allanon nodded patiently. “A small but necessary deception. As for preparation, what preparation will you make? This is not a test of skill or endurance; no amount of preparation will help you. Either you are still a Chosen in service to the tree or you are not.”

“I am tired, Druid!” She was angry now: “I am tired and I need to sleep! I cannot do this thing now!”

“You must.” He paused. “I know that you are tired; I know that you need sleep. But that will have to wait. You must first go to the tree-and you must do so now.”

She went rigid at his words, a trapped look springing into her eyes. Then she began to cry, uncontrollably. It was as if everything that had happened-the unexpected appearance of the Druid at her cottage, the news that the Ellcrys was dying and the Chosen slain, the realization that she must return to Arborlon, the harrowing flight north from Havenstead, the confrontation with the Council and her grandfather, and now this-had caught up with her all at once and overwhelmed her completely. All of her defenses seemed to give way She stood before them, small and vulnerable, sobbing, choking on words that would not come. When Allanon reached for her, she pulled quickly away, stepping apart from them both for several long minutes. Wil Ohmsford stared after her helplessly.

She stopped crying finally, her face still turned away from them. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“Is it truly necessary, Allanon-truly necessary-that I go to her tonight?”

The Druid nodded. “Yes, Elven girl.”

There was a long silence. “Then I will do so.”

Quiet and composed once more, she rejoined them. Without a word, Allanon led them out into the streets of the city.

XIX

Pale silver moonlight spilled down out of the heavens and washed the summer night. Sweet smells and comforting hums rose out of the dark in slow, dizzying waves that floated, and danced in the warm breezes and brushed the hedgerows and stands, the flower banks, and the bushes of the Garden of Life. Dappled shadows layered the Gardens’ colors in oddly knit patterns of black and white. Tiny life forms that awoke with darkness skittered and flew with sudden, invisible bursts that left no trace of their passing.

In the midst of it all, solitary and ignored atop the small hillock that overlooked the homeland of the Elves, the wondrous tree they called the Ellcrys continued its slow, inevitable march toward death. The long journey had begun to take its toll. The perfect beauty that had marked the Ellcrys in health was gone, the perfect symmetry of her form marred and broken. Silver bark peeled away from trunk and limbs, black and rotting, hanging in strips like tattered skin. Blood-red leaves curled tight with wilt, a scattering of those that had already fallen dotting the earth beneath, dried and withered husks rustling with the wind. Like some weathered scarecrow set upon a pole above the fields, she stood stark and skeletal against the night horizon.

Allanon, Wil Ohmsford, and Amberle stared up at her wordlessly from the base of the rise, cowled faces lifted against the screen of moonlight. For a long time they were still, motionless save for the ripple of cloth garments in the light breezes, silent. When Amberle finally spoke, her whisper filled the quiet with deep, sudden poignancy.

“Oh, Allanon, she looks so sad.”

The Druid did not respond, his tall spare frame rigid beneath the robes, his face hidden within the shadow of the cowl. The smell of lilacs wafted past them, lingered momentarily, and was gone. After a moment, Amberle glanced over at the big man, arms folding tightly into her robe.

“Is she in pain?”

The movement of the Druid’s head was barely perceptible. “Some.”

“She is dying?”

“Her life is ending. Her time is almost gone.”

There was a long pause. “Can you do nothing for her?”

“What can be done for her must be done by you.” Allanon’s deep voice was a gentle murmur.

Amberle’s sigh was audible, a shiver of acceptance that passed through her slender body. The seconds slipped away Wil shuffled his feet wearily, waiting for the Elven girl to come to terms with herself. This was not easy for her. She had not expected even to be here tonight; neither of them had. They had expected that, with the adjournment of the Council, they would be allowed at long last to sleep. There had been no sleep since before their flight into the Valley of Rhenn and their unexpected reunion with Allanon. They were exhausted.

“She is sleeping,” Amberle whispered suddenly.

“She will wake for you,” the Druid responded.

She does not want this, Wil thought. She has never wanted this. She is not simply unwilling, she is frightened. She said so that first night in the little garden behind her home. Yet she has never said why.

Wil looked toward the summit of the rise. What was it about the Ellcrys that frightened her so?

“I am ready.”

She said it simply, her voice calm. Allanon was silent for a moment, then nodded, the cowl bending slightly with his response.

“Then go. We will wait for you here.”

She did not move at once, but stood quietly for a moment as if seeking something more from the Druid. But there was nothing more offered. Gathering her robes about her, she started forward, moving up the gentle slope, face lifted toward the still, ragged tree that waited at the top.

She did not look back.

She completed the climb in only moments and stood alone before the Ellcrys,. She stood, not yet within reach of the tree, but just beyond, her small form withdrawn into the concealing folds of the dark robe, her arms-clenched tightly against her sides. From atop the rise, the Westland lay open to the sweep of the horizon, and she felt small and unprotected. The night breeze blew across her face, laced with the scents of the garden, and she breathed it deeply, steadying herself.

I need only a moment, she told herself. Just one moment.

But she was so afraid!

She still did not understand why this was, not even now, after all this time. She should be able to understand it; she should be able to control it: Yet she could not. That made it all the worse. The fear was unreasoning, senseless, blind. It was always there, lurking in the back of her mind like some beast of prey, slipping from its place of hiding whenever she gave thought to the Ellcrys. She fought against it, struggled determinedly, but it swept through her nonetheless, irrepressible, dark. She had been able to suppress it in Havenstead, for in Havenstead the cause was distant and past. But now, returned once more to Arborlon, standing less than a dozen feet away, remembering the touch of the Ellcrys...

She shuddered at the memory. It was the touch she really feared. Yet why should that be? No harm came from it, no injury. It served only to allow the Ellcrys to communicate her thoughts through images. But there was this sense of something more that had always come with the touch, ever since that first time the Ellcrys had spoken with her. Something.

Her thoughts scattered at the sound of an owl’s soft hoot. She was aware that she had been standing there for several minutes and that the two men waiting below must be watching her. She did not want that.

Quickly, she began to walk around to the far side of the tree.

Druid and Valeman watched silently as the dark figure of the Elven girl circled the Ellcrys and disappeared from view. They remained standing a moment longer; but when she did not reappear, Allanon seated himself wordlessly on the grass. Wil paused, then sat down next to him.

“What will you do if the Ellcrys decides that she is no longer one of the Chosen?”

The Druid did not turn his head. “That will not happen.”

The Valeman hesitated a moment before speaking again.

“You know something about her that you have not told either of us, don’t you.”

Allanon’s voice was cold. “No. Not in the sense that you mean.”

“But in some sense.”

“What must concern you, Valeman, is seeing that nothing happens to her after you leave Arborlon.”

The way he said it left Wil with the very distinct impression that this particular subject was closed. The Valeman shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Can you tell me something else, then?” he asked a moment later. “Can you tell me why she is so afraid of the Ellcrys?”

“No.”

Wil flushed heatedly within his cowl. “Why not?”

“Because I am not sure that I understand it myself. Nor do I think that she does. In any case, when she is ready for you to know about it, she will tell you herself.”

“I doubt it.” Wil slouched forward, arms resting loosely on his knees. “She does not seem to think much of me.”

Allanon did not respond. They sat in silence for a time, glancing periodically toward the summit of the rise and the solitary tree. There was no sign of Amberle. Wil glanced over at the Druid.

“Is she safe up there alone?”

The mystic nodded. Wil waited for him to explain why she was safe, but he did not offer an explanation. The Valeman shrugged. Being this close to her, he must have some means of seeing to it that she was protected, he decided.

At least he hoped so.

For along time Amberle did not move. She could not. Her fear had paralyzed her. She stood rigid and chilled not five feet from the nearest branches, staring hypnotically at the Ellcrys. Within her, the fear ran like liquid ice, numbing even her thoughts. She lost all sense of time, of place, of everything but her inability to take those last few steps forward.

When at last she did take them, it seemed that it was someone else who took them for her. She remembered only the distance between herself and the Ellcrys closing and then disappearing altogether. She was beneath the canopy of the tree, lost in shadow. The night breeze died into stillness, and the cold within her turned to heat.

Wordlessly, she dropped to her knees amid the clutter of dead leaves and broken twigs that blanketed the ground, her hands folding tightly in her lap. She waited.

Moments later, a ragged branch dipped downward and wrapped gently about her shoulders.

Amberle-

The Elven girl began to cry.

There had been silence between them for quite some time when Wil suddenly recalled something odd that Allanon had said earlier. He had determined that he would ask nothing further of the Druid following their last exchange, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Allanon?”

The Druid looked at him.

“Something is bothering me.” He took a moment to arrange his words. “When you told Amberle that we must come here tonight, she reminded you that you had informed the Elves at the High Council that she would be given a day or two to rest. You answered her by saying that what you told them was a necessary deception. What did you mean by that?”

Moonlight revealed the familiar mocking smile as it slanted across the mystic’s lean face.

“I was wondering when you would get around to that question, Wil Ohmsford.” He laughed softly. “Your inquisitiveness is all-encompassing.”

Wil grinned ruefully. “Do I get an answer to my question?”

Allanon nodded. “An answer that will not please you. The deception was necessary because there is a spy within the Elven camp.”

The Valeman went cold. “How do you know that?”

“Logic. When I arrived at Paranor, the Demons were waiting for me. Waiting for me, Valeman-I was not followed. That suggests rather strongly that they knew in advance that I would be coming there. How did they know that? For that matter, how did they know about me in the first place? Only Eventine knew that I had returned to the Four Lands. Only Eventine knew of my plans to travel to Paranor; I told him in confidence that I would go there to study the Druid histories in an effort to discover the location of Safehold. Eventine was cautioned to say nothing and would have done exactly that.”

He paused. “That leaves only one possibility. Someone listened in on our conversation-someone who had reason to betray us to the Demons.”

Wil looked doubtful. “But how could that have happened? You said yourself that no one even knew that you had returned to the Four Lands before you spoke to Eventine.”

“That puzzles me, also,” the Druid admitted. “The spy must be someone with easy access to the King, someone who would know everything that he is about. One of his household staff, perhaps.”

He shrugged. “In any case, it was fortunate that I did not mention to the King where Amberle could be found or the Demons would almost certainly have reached her before I did.” He paused, black eyes fixing on the Valeman. “They would have reached you, as well, I imagine.”

Wil felt his skin crawl. The suggestion was a thoroughly disconcerting one, even now. For the first time since he had met Allanon, he was grateful that the Druid was so closemouthed about what he knew.

“If all this is so, then why did you tell the Elves at the High Council so much?” he asked. “If there is a spy, isn’t there a rather good possibility that he may discover everything that was said at that meeting?”

The Druid leaned forward. “A very good possibility. In fact, I intend to make certain that he does. That is the reason for the deception. You see, the Demons already know that we are here, and they know why we are here. They know who I am; they know who Amberle is. They do not yet know who you are. All this they have discovered from my conversation with Eventine and from what they have seen in pursuing us from Havenstead. We have told the Elves at the High Council nothing new-except for one small item. We have told them that Amberle will rest for several days before she goes to the Ellcrys. So, for the next several days, at least, the Demons will expect us to do nothing. That deception, I hope, will give us a small but very useful advantage.”

“What kind of advantage?” Wil frowned. “What do you have in mind, Allanon?”

The Druid pursed his lips. “As to that, Wil, I am afraid that I will have to ask you to be patient for a bit longer. But I promise that you will have your answer before the night is done. Fair enough?”

There was nothing particularly fair about any of this, Wil thought glumly. Still, there was no point in pressing the matter. When Allanon had made up his mind, Wil knew that that was the end of it.

“One thing more.” The Druid put a cautionary hand on his shoulder. “Say nothing of this to Amberle. She is frightened enough as it is, and there is no reason that she should be frightened further. Let this remain a secret between you and me.”

The Valeman nodded. That much, at least, they could agree upon.

Only minutes later, Amberle appeared suddenly from beneath the shadow of the tree. She stood for a moment silhouetted against the night sky, hesitated, then started toward them. She walked slowly, carefully, as if uncertain of her movements, hands held clasped together against her breast. Her cowl was lowered, her long, chestnut hair fanning out behind her in the breeze. As she neared them, they could see plainly her stricken face. It was pale and drawn and streaked with tears, and fear reflected brightly in her eyes

She came up to them and stopped. Her slender form was trembling.

“Allanon...?” she cried softly, choking on his name.

The Druid saw that she was on the verge of collapsing. He reached for her at once, took her in his arms and held her close against him. She allowed herself, to be held this time, crying soundlessly. For a long time he held her, all the while saying nothing. Wil watched uncomfortably and felt generally useless.

After a time, the crying stopped. Allanon released the Elven girl and stepped back. Her face remained lowered for a moment, then lifted to his.

“You were right,” she whispered.

Clasped hands came away from the folds of her robe and slowly opened. Nestled in her palms, like a perfectly formed silver-white stone, was the seed of the Ellcrys.

[[pg 199 picture]]

XX

Moments later, Allanon led them from the Gardens. Cowls drawn close about their faces and cloaks laced tight, they slipped through the gates and past the sentries of the Black Watch and started back toward the city. The Druid did not offer any explanation as to where he was taking them, and they did not ask. They walked in silence, Allanon a step or two ahead, Wil and Amberle following. Both were exhausted. The Valeman glanced often at the Elven girl, more worried about her than he cared to admit even to himself, but she gave little indication of her emotional state, and he caught only an occasional glimpse of her face within the covering of the hood. Once he asked quietly if she was all right, and she nodded back to him without speaking.

A short time afterward, they found themselves approaching the manor house of the Elessedils. Beckoning wordlessly, Allanon led them onto the grounds surrounding the darkened home, directing them through a screen of pine that bordered the south lawn, then along a series of hedgerows to a small alcove and a pair of floor-length glass windows draped in heavy shadow. Standing before the doors, Allanon tapped softly on the glass. There was a moment’s wait, then the curtains covering the window moved slightly. A latch within was released, and the doors swung open. Quickly Allanon motioned them through, glanced furtively about and followed, closing the doors behind him.

They stood for a few seconds in darkness, listening to the faint sound of footfalls as someone moved slowly about the room. Then a light was struck to a candle’s wick. Wil found that they were in a small study, burnished oak from walls and shelving gleaming in the candle’s dim flame, soft tracings of color from leather-bound books and tapestries visible through the heavy shadows. At the far side of the little room, an aged wolfhound raised his grizzled head from a small earthen-colored rug on which he lay and thumped his tail in greeting.

Eventine Elessedil placed the candle on a small worktable and turned to face them.

“Is everything arranged?” Allanon’s deep voice broke the stillness.

The old King nodded.

“And your household?” The Druid was already moving across the room to the single door that led into the rest of the home. He opened it, looked through briefly, then closed it again.

“Everyone sleeps but Dardan and Rhoe, and they stand watch at my bedroom door, believing me asleep as well. There is no one here, but old Manx.”

The wolfhound glanced over at the mention of his name, then lowered his head between his paws and closed his eyes.

Allanon walked back across the room. “Then we can begin.”

He motioned Wil and Amberle to take chairs about the worktable, drawing a third chair over for himself. The Valeman sat down wearily Amberle started forward, then stopped, her eyes on her grandfather. Eventine looked back at her, hesitated, then moved quickly to embrace her. The Elven girl went rigid for a moment, then her arms went about him.

“I love you, grandfather,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

The old King did not speak, but nodded into her shoulder, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. Then he took her head gently in his hands and tilted it back so that she was facing him.

“What has happened is behind us, Amberle. Forgotten. There will be no more harsh words between us. This is your home. I want you here with me, with your family.”

The Elven girl shook her head sadly. “I have spoken with the Ellcrys, grandfather. She has told me that I am her Chosen. She has given to me her seed.”

The old man’s face went pale, and his eyes dropped. “I am sorry, Amberle. I know that you wish it could be otherwise. Believe me, I wish it could be otherwise, too.”

“I know you do,” she replied, but there was despair in her eyes.

She separated from him and seated herself at the table with Allanon and Wil. The King remained standing for a moment, his eyes staring over at his granddaughter. There was a lost and frightened look to him that suggested a child strayed. Slowly he recovered himself, then moved to sit with the others.

Allanon leaned forward, hands folding carefully atop the table.

“Eventine and I agreed at the close of the High Council that we would meet in secret later this night. What is said here shall remain between the four of us and no other. Time slips away from us, and we must act quickly if we are to save the Elven people. The Ellcrys is failing. Soon the Demons contained within the Forbidding will break through into the Four Lands. Eventine and I shall be there to meet them when they do. But you, Amberle, and you also, Wil, must go in search of the Bloodfire.”

He turned to the Elven girl. “I would go with you if I could. I would go with you if there were any possible way to do so, but there is not. One of the Demons that has already broken through the Forbidding, as well as some still locked within, possess powers that your grandfather and the Elven people cannot stand against without my help. It will be my task to shield the Elves from those powers. Sorcery to withstand sorcery. It must be so.

“But in my place, I send Wil Ohmsford, and I have not chosen lightly to entrust your care and safety to him. It was his grandfather who went with me in search of the Sword of Shannara, who found it, and who then stood alone against the Warlock Lord and saw him destroyed. His great-uncle Flick once saved your grandfather’s life. Wil has the strength of character that marked both men; he has their sense of honor. You have seen that he holds the Elfstones that I once gave to his grandfather. He will protect you as I would. He will stand with you, Amberle-he will not fail you.”

There was a long moment of silence. The Valeman felt embarrassed by the Druid’s words-embarrassed and uneasy. He was not so sure of himself. He glanced quickly at Amberle and found her staring back at him.

“You are a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys,” Allanon continued, drawing the Elven girl’s eyes back to meet his own. “Though we all might wish it were otherwise; the matter has been settled as we agreed that it should be. You are the last of the Chosen; and therefore the last hope of your people. You alone can restore the Forbidding. A terrible responsibility, Amberle, but it belongs to you. If you fail, Demon and Elf will do battle until one or both have been utterly destroyed. The Ellcrys has given you her seed, and so you must take it in quest of the Bloodfire. That will not be easily done. The Bloodfire lies within a place called Safehold, and Safehold is a part of the old world. That world is gone, forever changed. Down through the ages, the place called Safehold has been all but forgotten. Even the Ellcrys no longer recognizes the path that leads there. If not for the Druid histories, Safehold might have been irretrievably lost to us. Yet the histories are a link between past and present. I have read them and know where Safehold lies.”

He paused. “It lies within the Wilderun.”

No one said a word. There was no need. Even Wil Ohmsford, a Southlander and a Valeman who until now had never set foot in the Westland, had heard of the Wilderun. Buried within the forests that lay south of the Elven homeland; it was a treacherous and forbidding stretch of wilderness virtually encircled by mountains and swamp. Fewer than half a dozen hamlets could be found there, and those were peopled by thieves, cutthroats, and outlaws of every conceivable sort. Even they seldom strayed far from their villages or the few well-worn trails that crisscrossed the region, for in the timber beyond, the rumors said, were creatures no man would care to encounter.

Wil took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t happen to know where within the Wilderun we are to find the Bloodfire?”

Allanon shook his head. “I cannot be sure. Even the Druid histories refer in part to the geography of the old world, and the landmarks that existed then are gone. You will have to rely on the Elfstones.”

“I thought as much.” The Valeman sagged back in his chair. “Use of the Elfstones will tell the Demons where we can be found.”

“Unfortunately true. You will have to exercise great discretion, Wil, I will relate to you what the Ellcrys told the Chosen about Safehold before they were slain-what she later told also to me. This may help you in your search. The Bloodfire lies within a wilderness with mountains and swamp all around-obviously the Wilderun, as the Druid histories record. Now here is the rest of what she said. There is a deep mist that comes and goes. Within the wilderness can be found a lone peak; beneath the peak is a maze of tunnels that burrow deep within the earth. Somewhere within the maze is a door made of glass that will not break. Behind the door you will find the Bloodfire.”

He cocked his head reflectively. “As you can see, the general description of the Wilderun remains surprisingly accurate, even after the passage of so many years and the cataclysmic changes wrought in the geography of the earth by the Great Wars. Perhaps the balance of the description remains accurate as well. Perhaps the Bloodfire may still be found beneath a lone peak, within a maze of tunnels.” He shrugged. “I would give you more help if I had it to give, but I do not. You must do the best you can with that.”

Wil managed a faint, if somewhat forced, smile of encouragement. He did not dare look over at Amberle.

“How do we reach the Wilderun?” he asked.

The Druid glanced questioningly at Eventine, but the Elven King appeared preoccupied. At last, distracted by the silence, he looked over at Allanon and nodded absently.

“Everything has been arranged.”

The Druid seemed to hesitate, then turned to Amberle. “Your grandfather has selected Captain Crispin, who commands the Home Guard, to be your guide and protector on this journey. Crispin is a very resourceful and courageous soldier; he will serve you well. He has been instructed to choose half a dozen Elven Hunters as your escort. Six is a small number, but a small number may be best in this case. It will attract far less attention than a large command and it should enable you to travel more swiftly.

“The plan that the King and I have settled on is this. You will be taken from the city in secret; the means have been left to Captain Crispin. Only Crispin will be aware of your mission. He and the Elven Hunters under his command will go with you as far as you need them. All will have been instructed that no harm is to befall you, that they are to do whatever is necessary to protect you.”

“Allanon.”

It was Eventine who spoke, glancing over suddenly, a worried look on his face. His penetrating blue, eyes found those of the Druid.

“There is something I have not yet told you. I did not speak of this before because we had only those few moments at the close of the Council. But I think something should be said now. There is reason for concern in this venture beyond the obvious danger of being tracked by the Demons who have pursued you this far.”

He leaned forward, arms crossing loosely on the table to support his weight. His face, caught in the dim light of the candle, seemed very old.

“You know how the Chosen died-perhaps Wil and Amberle do not.” His gaze shifted. “They were torn apart, mangled almost beyond recognition.”

Horror reflected in the faces of the Elven girl and the Valeman. The King put his hand gently on his granddaughter’s shoulder.

“I do not tell you this to frighten you more, Amberle, nor you, Wil, but because of this.” He looked back at Allanon. “Since you have been gone from Arborlon, there have been more deaths like those of the Chosen. A great many deaths. Whatever it was that killed them has been roaming the surrounding country, systematically destroying everything and everyone it encounters, man or beast, young or old. Over fifty Elves have died-all in the same manner, all by being ripped apart. Three nights ago, an entire Elven patrol was waylaid and destroyed. Six armed men. A week earlier, an army compound at the north edge of the city was invaded and twenty men were killed while they slept. There has been an increasing number of Demons sighted in the Westland since the Ellcrys began to fail and more than a few unpleasant pitched fights as well but nothing on this order, nothing as deliberate and premeditated. This creature knows what it is about; it kills with purpose. We have tried without success to track it. We cannot find it. We have not even seen it. No one has. But it is out there-and it hunts us.”

He paused. “It was sent once, Allanon, for the purpose of destroying the Chosen. It did so-all but one. It may be that it will be sent again.”

Amberle had gone white. Allanon rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully.

“Yes, there was such a Demon in the old days,” he mused. “A Demon that killed out of instinctive need. They called it a Reaper.”

“I don’t care what they called it,” Wil spoke up suddenly. “What I want to know is how to avoid it.”

“Secrecy,” the Druid offered. “However vicious and cunning this Demon, it will have no more reason than its brethren to suspect that you have; left Arborlon. If it believes that you are still here-if they all believe that you are still here-they will not be looking for you elsewhere. Perhaps we can give them that impression.”

He turned to Eventine. “The time will come very soon now when the Ellcrys can no longer maintain the wall of the Forbidding with sufficient strength to contain the remainder of the Demons still imprisoned within. When that time comes, the Demons will concentrate their strength at the wall’s weakest point and break free. We cannot wait for that to happen. We must find the place where they will attempt their crossover and do what we can to prevent it. Even if we fail, we can fight a delaying action which will slow them in their march on Arborlon. They will try to march here, for they will seek to destroy the Ellcrys. They must. They cannot tolerate her. Remember that while she was strong, she was anathema to them. But as she weakens, she becomes less so. Once they have broken through her wall, they will move quickly to destroy her. We must do what we can to prevent that. We must give Amberle time to reach the Bloodfire and return again. We must keep the Demons from Arborlon until then.

“So.” He let the word hang for a moment in the silence, of the little room. “We shall deceive the Demons who are already through the Forbidding by acting as if preparations to seek the Bloodfire are yet to be completed. We shall make it appear as if you have not left. The Demons know that it was I who brought Amberle here; they will expect me to be with her when she leaves. We can make use of that. We can focus their attention on me. By the time they realize that they have been misled, you should be well beyond their reach.”

Unless their spy is more resourceful than you anticipate, Wil wanted to say; but he decided not to.

“It all sounds very promising,” he said instead. “That seems to settle everything except the matter of when we should leave.”

The Druid leaned back in his chair. “You will leave at dawn:”

Wil stared at him in disbelief. “At dawn? Tomorrow?”

Amberle sprang to her feet. “That is impossible, Druid! We are exhausted! We have not slept in almost two days-we have to have more than a few hours rest before setting out again!”

Allanon held up his hands. “Peace, Elven girl. I understand this as well as you. But consider. The Demons know that you have come here for the purpose of carrying the seed of the Ellcrys to the Bloodfire. They know that you will attempt to leave the city, and they will be watching closely. But they will not be watching as closely now as they will in a day or two. Do you know why? Because they will expect you to rest first. That is exactly why you must leave at once. Surprise offers you your best chance to slip past them.”

Understanding flickered in Wil’s eyes. This was the advantage that the Druid had hoped his deception at the High Council might yield them.

“There will be sufficient rest for you after you are gone from the city,” Allanon promised. “Two days of travel will enable you to reach the Elven outpost in Drey Wood; you can catch up on your lost sleep there. But delay in Arborlon is dangerous. The quicker you are gone from here, the better your chances.”

Wil hated to admit it, but there was logic in the Druid’s argument. He glanced quickly at Amberle. She stared down at him silently for a moment, frustrated and angry, then turned back to Allanon.

“I want to see my mother before I leave.”

The Druid shook his head. “That is not a good idea, Amberle.”

Her jaw tightened. “You seem to think that you have the final say in whatever I wish to do, Druid. You don’t. I want to see my mother.”

“The Demons know who you are. If they know also of your mother, they will expect you to go to her. They will be waiting for just that. It is dangerous.”

“Just being here is dangerous. Surely you can find a way for me to spend five minutes with my mother.” Her eyes dropped. “Do not be so foolish as to suggest that I should see her when I return.”

There was an unpleasant moment of silence. Allanon’s dark face turned suddenly expressionless, as if he were afraid he might reveal something he wished to remain hidden. Wil did not miss the change, and it puzzled him.

“As you wish,” the Druid agreed. He rose. “Now you must sleep while you can. We must go.”

Eventine stood up with him, turning to face his granddaughter.

“I am sorry that Arion spoke so harshly at the Council,” he apologized, looking as if he had something more to say, but could not. He shook his head. “I think that in time he will come to understand as I did...”

He trailed off awkwardly, then put his arms around Amberle and kissed her cheeks.

“If I were not so old...” he began emotionally, but the girl put her fingers to his mouth to stop him. She shook her head.

“You are not so old that you do not see that you are needed here more than you are needed to go with me.” She smiled, and there were tears in her eyes as she kissed him back.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, Wil stepped away from the table and moved quietly over to the sleeping Manx. The aged wolfhound heard his approach. One eye stared up at him questioningly. On impulse, Wil reached down to pet the dog, but Manic gave a low, barely audible growl of warning. Wil drew back.

Unfriendly beast, the Valeman thought to himself.

He returned to the others. Eventine shook hands with him and wished him well. Then with Amberle beside him, Wil followed Allanon back through the floor-length windows into the night.