Ilse Witch

6

At first light, the Druid known as Walker slipped from the sleeping room he had been given in the summer house on his arrival the night before. Arborlon was still sleeping, the Elven city at rest, and only the night watch and those whose work required an early rising were awake. A tall, spare, shadowy figure in his black robes, hair, and beard, he glided soundlessly from the palace grounds and through the streets and byways of the city to the broad sweep of the Carolan. He was aware of the Home Guard who trailed him, an Elven Hunter assigned to him by the King. Allardon Elessedil was not a man who took chances, so the presence of a watchdog was not unexpected, and Walker let the matter be.

On the heights, where the Carolan fronted the sprawl of the Westland forests, visible all the way to the ragged jut of the Rock Spur south and the Kensrowe north, he paused. The first glimmer of sunlight had crested the trees behind him, but night still enfolded the land west, purple and gray shadows clinging to treetops and mountain peaks like veils. In the earthen bowl of the Sarandanon, small lakes and rivers reflected the early light in silvery flashes amid the patchwork quilt of farms and fields. Farther out, the waters of the Innis-bore shimmered in a rough, metallic sheen, their surface coated with broken layers of mist. Somewhere beyond that lay the vast expanse of the Blue Divide, and it was there that he must eventually go.

He looked all about the land, a slow, careful perusal, a drinking in of colors and shapes. He thought about the history of the city. Of the stand it had made in the time of Eventine Elessedil against the assault of the demons freed from the Forbidding by the failure of the Ellcrys. Of its journey out of the Westland in the Ruhk staff and the magic-riven Loden to the island of Morrowindl—buildings, people, and history disappeared as if they had never been. Of its journey back again, returned to the Four Lands by Wren Elessedil, where it would withstand the onslaught of the Shadowen. Always, the Elves and the Druids had been allies, bound by a common desire to see the lands and their peoples kept free.

What, he asked himself in dark contemplation, had become of that bond?

Below the heights, swollen with snowmelt off the mountains and spring’s rainfall, the Rill Song churned noisily within its banks. He listened to the soothing, distant sound of the water’s heavy flow as it echoed out of the trees. He stood motionless in the enfolding silence, not wanting to disturb it. It felt strange to be back here, but right, as well. He had not come to Arborlon in more than twenty years. He had not thought he would come again while Allardon Elessedil lived. His last visit had opened a rift between them he did not think anything could close. Yet here he was, and the rift that had seemed so insurmountable now seemed all but inconsequential.

His thoughts drifted as he turned away. He had come to Arborlon and the Elven King out of desperation. All of his efforts at brokering an agreement with the races to bring representatives to Paranor to study in the Druid way had failed. Since then, he had lived alone at Paranor, reverting to the work of recording the history of the Four Lands. There was little else he could do. His bitterness was acute. He was trapped in a life he had never wanted. He was a reluctant Druid, recruited by the shade of Allanon in a time when there were no Druids and the presence of at least one was vital to the survival of the races. He had accepted the blood trust bestowed by the dying Allanon hundreds of years earlier on his ancestor Brin Ohmsford, not because he coveted it in any way, but because fate and circumstance conspired to place him in a position where only he could fulfill its mandate. He had done so out of a sense of responsibility. He had done so hoping that he might change the image and work of the Druids, that he might find a way for the order to oversee civilization’s advancement through cooperative study and democratic participation by all of the peoples of the Four Lands.

He shook his head. How foolish he had been, how naive his thinking. The disparities between nations and races were too great for any single body to overcome, let alone any single man. His predecessors had realized that and acted on it accordingly. First bring strength to bear, then reason. Power commanded respect, and respect provided a platform from which to enjoin reason. He had neither. He was an outcast, solitary and anachronistic in the eyes of almost everyone. The Druids had been gone from the Four Lands since the time of Allanon. Too long for anyone to remember them as they once were. Too long to command respect. Too long to serve as a catalyst for change in a world in which change most often came slowly, grudgingly, and in tiny increments.

He exhaled sharply, as if to expel the bitter memory. All that was in the past. Perhaps now it could be buried there. Perhaps now, unwittingly, he had been given the key to accomplishing what had been denied him for so long.

The Gardens of Life rose ahead of him, sun-streaked and vibrant with springtime color. Members of the Black Watch stood at their entrances, rigid and aloof, and he passed them by without a glance. Within the gardens grew the Ellcrys, the most sacred of the Elven talismans, the tree that kept in place the Forbidding, the wall conjured in ancient times to close away the demons and monsters that had once threatened to overrun the world. He walked to where she rooted on a small rise, set apart from the rest of the plantings, strikingly beautiful with her silver limbs and crimson leaves, wrapped in serenity and legend. She had been human once. When her life cycle was complete and she passed away, her successor would come from among the Chosen who tended her. It was a strange and miraculous transition, and it required sacrifice and commitment of a sort with which he was intimately familiar.

A voice spoke at his elbow. “I always wonder if she is watching me, if by virtue of having been given responsibility over all of her people I require her constant vigilance. I always wonder if I am living up to her expectations.”

Walker turned to find Allardon Elessedil standing beside him. It had been many years since he had seen him last, yet he recognized him at once. Allardon Elessedil was older and grayer, more weathered and careworn, and the robes he wore were pale and nondescript. But he carried himself in the same regal manner and exuded the same rocklike presence. Allardon Elessedil was not one of the great Elven Kings; he had been denied that legacy by a history that had not given him reason or need to be so and by a temperament that was neither restless nor inquisitive. He was a caretaker King, a ruler who felt his principal duty was to keep things as they were. Risk-taking was for other men and other races, and the Elves in his time had not been at the forefront of civilization’s evolution in the Four Lands.

The Elven King did not offer his hand in greeting or speak any words of welcome. It remained to be seen, Walker judged, how their meeting would conclude.

Walker looked back at the Ellcrys. “We cannot hope to know what she expects of us, Elven King. It would be presumptuous even to try.”

If the other man was offended, he did not show it. “Are you rested?” he asked.

“I am. I slept undisturbed. But at first light, I felt the need to walk here. Is this a problem?”

Allardon Elessedil brushed the question off with a wave of his hand. “Hardly. You are free to walk where you choose.”

Yes, but not to do as I please, Walker thought. How bitter he had been on leaving all those years ago. How despairing. But time’s passing had blunted the edges of those once sharp feelings, and now they were mostly memory. It was a new age, and the Elven King was growing old now and in need of him. Walker could achieve the result that had been denied him for so long if he proceeded carefully. It was a strange, exhilarating feeling, and he had to be cautious to keep it from showing in his voice and eyes.

“Your family is well?” he asked, making an effort at being cordial.

The other shrugged. “The children grow and take roads of their own choosing. They listen to me less and less. I have their respect, but not their obedience. I am more a father and less a King to them, and they feel free to ignore me.”

“What is it you would have them do?”

“Oh, what fathers would usually have children do.” The Elven King chuckled. “Stay closer to home, take fewer chances, be content with the known world. Kylen fights with the Free-born in a struggle I do not support. Ahren wanders the north in search of a future. My sons think I will live forever, and they leave me to be ruler alone.” He shrugged. “I suppose they are no different than the sons of other fathers.”

Walker said nothing. His views would not have been welcomed. If Allardon Elessedil’s sons grew up to be different men than their father, so much the better.

“I am pleased you decided to come,” the King ventured after a moment.

Walker sighed. “You knew I would. The castaway elf—is he Kael?”

“I assume as much. He wore the bracelet. Another elf would have carried it. Anyway, we’ll know tomorrow. I hoped the map would intrigue you sufficiently that you would be persuaded. Have you studied it?”

Walker nodded. “All night before flying here yesterday.”

“Is it genuine?” Allardon Elessedil asked.

“That’s difficult to say. It depends on what you mean. If you are asking me whether it might tell us what happened to your brother, the answer is yes. It might be a map of the voyage on which he disappeared. His name appears nowhere in the writings, but the condition and nature of the hide and ink suggest it was drawn within the last thirty years, so that it might have been his work. Is the handwriting his?”

The Elven King shook his head. “I can’t tell.”

“The language is archaic, a language not used since the Great Wars changed the Old World forever. Would your brother have learned that language?”

The other man considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. How much of what it says were you able to decipher?”

Walker shifted within his dark robes, looking out again toward the Carolan. “Can we walk a bit? I am cramped and sore from yesterday’s journey, and I think it would help to stretch my legs.”

He began moving slowly down the pathway, and the Elf King fell into step beside him wordlessly. They walked in silence through the gardens for a time, the Druid content to let matters stay as they were until he was ready to speak to them. Let Allardon Elessedil wait as he had waited. He turned his attention to other things, observing the way in which the gardens’ plantings flowed into one another with intricate symmetry, listening to the soft warble of the resident birds, and gazing up at the clouds that drifted like silk throws across the clear blue of the spring sky. Life in balance. Everything as it should be.

Walker glanced over. “The guard you assigned to watch me appears to have lost interest in the job.”

The Elven King smiled reassuringly. “He wasn’t there to watch you. He was there to let me know when you awoke so that we could have this talk.”

“Ah. You sought privacy in our dealings. Because your own guards are absent, as well. We are all alone.” He paused. “Do you feel safe with me, then?”

The other’s smile was uneasy. “No one would dare to attack me while I was with you.”

“You have more faith in me than I deserve.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, if you consider that I wasn’t referring to an attack that might come from a third party.”

The conversation was clearly making the King uncomfortable. Good, Walker thought. I want you to remember how you left things between us. I want you to wonder if I might be a greater threat to you than the enemies you more readily fear.

They emerged from the gardens onto the Carolan, the sunlight illuminating the green expanse of the heights in bright trailers that spilled over into the forests below. Walker led the way to a bench placed under an aging maple whose boughs canopied out in a vast umbrella. They sat together, Druid and King, looking out over the heights to the purple and gold mix of shadow and light that colored the horizon west.

“I have no reason to want to help you, Allardon Elessedil,” Walker said after a moment.

The Elven King nodded. “Perhaps you have better reason than you think. I am not the man I was when last we spoke. I regret deeply how that meeting ended.”

“Your regret can be no greater than my own,” Walker replied darkly, keeping his gaze averted, staring off into the distance.

“We can dwell on the regret and the loss or turn our attention to what we might accomplish if we relegate both to the past.” The Elven King’s voice was tight and worried, but there was a hint of determination behind it, as well. “I would like to make a new beginning.”

Now Walker looked at him. “What do you propose?”

“A chance for you to build the Druid Council you desire, to begin the work you have sought to do for so long, with my support and blessing.”

“Money and men would count for more than your support and blessing,” the Druid remarked dryly.

The Elven King’s face went taut. “You shall have both. You shall have whatever you need if you are able to give me what I need in return. Now tell me of the map. Were you able to decipher its writings?”

Walker took a long moment to consider his answer before he spoke. “Enough so that I can tell you that they purport to show the way to the treasure of which your mother’s seer dreamed thirty years ago. As I said, the writing is archaic and obscure. Some symbols suggest more than one thing. But there are names and courses and descriptions of sufficient clarity to reveal the nature of the map. Travel west off the coast of the Blue Divide to three islands, each a bit farther than the one before. Each hides a key that, when all are used together, will unlock a door. The door leads to an underground keep that lies beneath the ruins of a city called Castledown. The ruins can be found on a mountainous spit of land far west and north of here called Ice Henge. Within the ruins lies a treasure of life-altering power. It is a magic of words, a magic that has survived the destruction of the Old World and the Great Wars by being kept hidden in its safehold. The magic’s origins are obscure, but the map’s writings say it surpasses all others.”

He paused. “Because it was found on the blind and voiceless Elven castaway together with your brother’s bracelet, I would be inclined to believe that if followed, it would reveal your brother’s fate and perhaps the nature of the magic it conceals.”

He waited, letting the King collect his thoughts. On the heights, the Elves were beginning to appear in clusters for the start of the workday. Guards were exchanging shifts. Tradesmen and trappers were arriving from the west, crossing the Rill Song on ferries and rafts bearing wagons and carts laden with goods, then climbing the ramps of the Elfitch. Gardeners were at work in the Gardens of Life, weeding and pruning, planting and fertilizing. Here and there, a white-robed Chosen wandered into view. Children played as teachers led them to their study areas for lessons on becoming Healers in the Four Lands.

“So you support a quest of the sort my brother undertook all those years ago?” the King asked finally.

Walker smiled faintly. “As do you, or you would not have asked me to come here.”

Allardon Elessedil nodded slowly. “If we are to learn the truth, we must follow the route the map chronicles and see where it leads. I will never know what happened to Kael otherwise. I will never know what became of the Elfstones he carried. Their loss is perhaps the more significant of the two. This is not easy to admit, but I can’t pretend otherwise. The stones are an Elven heritage, passed down from Queen Wren, and the last of their kind. We are a lesser people without them, and I want them back.”

Walker’s dark face was inscrutable. “Who will lead this expedition, Allardon?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “You will. If you agree to. I am too old. I can admit it to you if to no one else. My children are too young and inexperienced. Even Kylen. He is strong and fierce, but he is not seasoned enough to lead an expedition of this sort. My brother carried the Elfstones, and even that was not enough to save him. Perhaps a Druid’s powers will prove more formidable.”

“And if I agree to do this, you give me your word that the Elves will support an independent Druid Council, free to study, explore, and develop all forms of magic?”

“I do.”

“A Druid Council that will answer to no one nation or people or ruler, but only to its own conscience and the dictates of the order?”

“Yes.”

“A Druid Council that will share its findings equally with all people, when and if those findings can be implemented peacefully and for the betterment of all races?”

“Yes, yes!” The King made an impatient, dismissive gesture. “All that you sought before and I denied. All. Understand, though,” he added hurriedly, “I cannot speak for other nations and rulers, only for the Elves.”

Walker nodded. “Where the Elves lead, others follow.”

“And if you disappear as my brother did, then the matter ends there. I will not be bound to an agreement with a dead man—not an agreement of this sort.”

Walker’s gaze wandered across the Carolan to the Gardens of Life and settled on the men and women working there, bent to their tasks. It spoke to him of his own work, of the need to care for the lives of the people of the races the Druids had sworn long ago to protect and advance. Why had their goals been so difficult to achieve when their cause was so obviously right? If plants were sentient in the way of humans, would they prove as difficult and obstructive to the efforts of their tenders?

“We understand each other, Allardon,” he said softly. His eyes found the King’s face. He waited for the lines of irritation to soften. “One more thing. Any treasure I discover on this journey, be it magic or otherwise, belongs to the Druids.”

The Elven King was already shaking his head in disagreement. “You know I will not agree to that. Of money or precious metals, I care nothing. But what you find of magic, whatever its form, belongs to the Elves. I am the one who has sanctioned and commissioned this quest. I am the one whose cause requires it. I am entitled to the ownership of whatever you recover.”

“On behalf of your people,” Walker amended casually.

“Of course!”

“Suggesting that the cause and ownership rights of the Elven people are greater than those of the other races, even if the magic recovered might benefit them, as well?”

The King flushed anew, stiffening within his robes. He leaned forward combatively. “Do not try to make me feel guilt or remorse for the protections I seek to give to my own people, Walker! It is my duty to do so! Let others do so, as well, and perhaps a balance will be struck!”

“I have trouble understanding why, on the one hand, you support a Druid Council giving equal rights to all nations and peoples while, on the other, you seek to withhold what might benefit them most. Should I undertake a quest only for you, when what I would most covet at its end is forbidden me?” He paused, reflecting. “Magic belongs to everyone, Elven King, especially when it impacts all. A sharing of magic must begin somewhere. Let it begin here.”

Allardon Elessedil stared hard at him, but the Druid held his gaze and kept his expression neutral. The seconds dragged past with neither man speaking further, eyes locked.

“I cannot agree,” the Elven King repeated firmly.

Walker’s brow creased thoughtfully. “I will make a bargain with you,” he said. “A compromise of our positions. You will share fully in what I find, magic or no. But we shall make an agreement as to the nature of that sharing. That which you can use without my help, I will give to you freely. That which only I can use belongs to me.”

The King studied him. “The advantage is yours in this bargain. You are better able to command the use of magic than I or my people.”

“Magic that is Elven in nature will be readily understood by Elves and should belong to them. The Elfstones, for example, if found, belong to you. But magic that has another source, whatever its nature, cannot be claimed by Elves alone, especially if they cannot wield it.”

“There is no magic in the world except that which was handed down by the Elves out of the world of Faerie! You know that!”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

The King shook his head helplessly. “There is a trick in all this.”

“Describe it, then.”

“All right, all right!” The Elf sighed. “This matter has to be resolved. I’ll accept your compromise. That magic that is Elven in nature and can be commanded by us is ours. The rest stays with the Druid Council. I don’t like this bargain, but I can live with it.”

They shook hands wordlessly. Walker rose, squinting against the sharp glare of the sunrise as he looked east over the trees. His black robes rippled softly in the breeze. Allardon Elessedil stood up with him. The sharp features looked pinched and tired despite the early hour. “What do you intend to do now?”

The Druid shifted his gaze back to the King. “I’ll need the use of the Wing Rider and his Roc.”

“Hunter Predd? I’ll speak with him. Will you fly to Bracken Clell?”

“Will you go with me, if I do?” the Druid countered. “Or have you done so already?”

Allardon Elessedil shook his head. “I’ve been waiting on you.”

“It is your brother, perhaps, who lies dying in the Healer’s home, Elven King.”

“Perhaps. But it’s been thirty years, and he’s been dead to me a long time already.” The King sighed. “It complicates things if I go with you. Home Guard will insist on going as well, to protect me. Another Roc will be needed. It might be better if I remain here.”

Walker nodded. “I’ll go alone then, and afterwards farther on to find a ship and crew.”

“I could help you with that.”

“You could, but I would prefer that you helped me in another way if you choose to remain here. There are certain things I want from a ship and crew that will take us in search of the map’s treasure, things that I must determine for myself. But I will rely on you to select those who would defend us. Elven Hunters, of course, but perhaps a handful of others as well. Bordermen and Dwarves, I should think. Are you willing to find them for me?”

The Elven King nodded. “How many do you wish?”

“Two dozen to choose from, no more.”

They began to walk back across the heights, moving toward the gardens once more, taking their time. All around them, the city of Arborlon was waking.

“Two dozen is a small number of blades and bows on which to depend,” the King observed.

“Three ships with full crews and dozens of Elven Hunters were apparently too few, as well,” Walker pointed out. “I prefer to rely on speed and stealth and on the heart and courage of a few rather than on sheer numbers.”

“One ship is all you will take, then?”

“One will suffice.”

Allardon Elessedil hunched his shoulders, his eyes lowered. “Very well. I will not go with you myself, as I have said, but I will want to send someone in my place.”

“Send anyone you like, only …”

Walker was shading his eyes against the sun’s brightness as he spoke or he would have missed the flash of the metal blade as it was hurled. The assassin was one of the gardeners, inconspicuous in his working clothes, just another worker at his job. He had come to his feet as if to move his tools, and suddenly the knife appeared.

Walker’s swift gesture sent the blade spinning harmlessly, knocked aside as if it had struck a wall.

By now, the second assassin was attacking, this one with a blowgun. Another of the seeming gardeners, he knelt in a patch of bright yellow daffodils and fired three darts in rapid succession. Walker yanked the King aside and blocked that attack as well. A third assassin came at them with a rapier and a knife. All of the assassins were Elves, their features unmistakable. But their eyes were fixed and unseeing, and the Druid knew at once that they had been mind-altered to assure their compliance in making the attack.

Screams rose across the Carolan as the other Elves realized what was happening. Black Watch soldiers charged to the King’s defense, massive pikes lowered. Elven Hunters appeared, as well, lean, swift forms bolting from the trees. All were too far away.

Walker gestured toward the assassin with the rapier and knife, and a massive, ethereal form materialized before the man, a giant moor cat lunging out of nowhere to intercept him. The man screamed and went down, weapons flying as the beast sailed into him and vanished, leaving him huddled and cringing against the earth. The remaining two assassins charged, as well, silent and determined, skirting the third man, madness in their empty eyes. They barreled into the Druid and were cast aside as if made of paper. Black robes flaring like shadows released, Walker turned from one to the other, stripping them of weapons and blunting their attacks.

But the Home Guard and Black Watch were close enough now to respond as well. Frightened for their king, they acted instinctively and unwisely to protect him. A hail of spears and arrows took down the assassins, leaving them sprawled on blood-soaked earth, their lives draining away. Even the third man was caught in the barrage, come back to his feet too quickly to be spared. Walker yelled at the Elves to stop, to leave the assassins to him, but he was too late to save them.

Too late, as well, to save Allardon Elessedil. An arrow meant for the assassins struck the Elf King squarely in the chest. He gasped at the impact, lurched backwards, and went down in a heap. Walker had no chance to save him. Focused on stopping the assassins, he could not react to the King’s guards in time.

The Druid knelt at the King’s side, lifted his shoulders, and cradled his head in his lap. “Elven King?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Allardon Elessedil’s eyes were open, and his gaze shifted at the sound of the Druid’s voice. “I’m still here.”

Elven Hunters had surrounded them, and there were calls for a Healer and medicines. The heights were a maelstrom of activity as Elves pushed forward from every quarter to see what had happened. Black Watch formed a ring about their stricken ruler and pushed the crowds back. The assassins lay dead in their own blood, their lifeless forms bathed in sunlight and bedded in deep grasses.

Allardon Elessedil was coughing blood. “Call a scribe,” he gasped. “Do it now.”

One was found almost at once, a young man, barely grown, his face white and his eyes frightened as he knelt next to the king.

“Move everyone back but this boy, the Druid, and two witnesses,” Allardon Elessedil ordered.

“High Lord, I cannot …,” a Captain of the Home Guard began softly, but the King motioned him away.

When an area had been cleared around them, the Elven King nodded to the scribe. “Copy down what I say,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on Walker as he spoke. “Everything.”

Carefully, detail by detail, he repeated the agreement that he had reached with the Druid moments earlier. A voyage was to be undertaken with Walker as its leader. The purpose of the voyage was to follow the route described on a map carried by the Druid, a copy of which was held by the King’s scribe at the palace. A search for the missing blue Elfstones was to be undertaken. And on and on. Slowly, painstakingly, he repeated it all, including the bargain struck regarding the recovery of magic. A Healer appeared and began work on the injury, but the King kept talking, grimacing through his pain, his breathing raspy and thick and his eyes blinking as if he was fighting to see.

“There,” he said, when he was finished. “They have killed me for nothing. See this through, Walker. Promise me.”

“He’s bleeding to death,” the Healer announced. “I have to take him to my surgery and remove the arrow at once.”

Walker lifted the Elven King as if he weighed nothing, cradling him in the crook of his good left arm and with the stump of his right, and carried him from the plains. All the while, he talked to him, telling him to stay strong, not to give up, to fight for his life, for it had worth and meaning beyond what he knew. Surrounded by Home Guard, he bore the King as he might a sleeping child, holding him gently within his arms, head cushioned against his shoulder.

Several times, the King spoke, but the words were so soft that only Walker could hear them. Each time the Druid replied firmly, “You have my promise. Rest, now.”

But sometimes even a Druid’s exhortations are not enough. By the time they reached the surgery, Allardon Elessedil was dead.