Jair glanced about. Slanter was nowhere to be seen.

      All will be as it was...

      Abruptly he remembered everything that had happened the night gone past and sat up with a start. The King of the Silver River-or had it all been just a dream? He looked down at his hands. There was no vision crystal. When he had fallen back asleep, the crystal-if there really were one-had been clutched in his hands. He felt about the ground for it, then through the travel cloak. Still no crystal. Then it had been a dream. He felt hurriedly for the pockets of his tunic. A bulge in one pocket revealed the presence of the Elfstones-or was it the pouch that contained the Silver Dust? Quickly his hands flew over the rest of his body.

      "Looking for something?"

      Jair's head jerked up and he found Garet Jax staring at him. He shook his head hurriedly. "No, I was just..." he stammered.

      Then his eyes detected agleam of metal against his chest where the tunic opened in front. He looked down, tucking his chin back. It was a silver chain.

      "Do you want something to eat?" the other man asked.

      Jair didn't hear him. It hadn't been a dream after all, he was thinking. It had been real. It had all happened just as he remembered it. One hand felt down the front of his tunic past the length of the silver chain, touching upon the orb of the crystal fastened at its end.

      "Do you want something to eat or not?" Garet Jax repeated, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

      "Yes, I...yes, I do," Jair mumbled, rising and coming over to kneel beside the other. A plate was passed to him, filled with food from the kettle. Masking his excitement, he began to eat.

      "Where's Slanter?" he asked after a moment, recalling once more the absent Gnome.

      Garet Jax shrugged. "He never came back. I scouted around for him before breakfast. His tracks led down to the river and then turned west."

      "West?" Jair stopped eating. "But that's not the way to the Anar."

      The Weapons Master nodded. "I'm afraid your friend decided he had come far enough with us. That's the trouble with Gnomes-they're not very reliable."

      Jair felt a twinge of disappointment. Slanter must indeed have decided to go his own way. But why did he have to sneak off like that? Why couldn't he at least have said something? Jair thought about it a moment longer, then forced himself to resume eating, pushing the disappointment from his mind. He had more immediate problems to concern himself with this morning.

      He thought back over everything the King of the Silver River had told him last night. He had a mission to perform. He had to go into the deep Anar, into the Ravenshorn and the lair of the Mord Wraiths to the peak called Heaven's Well. It would be a long, dangerous journey-even for a trained Hunter. Jair stared hard at the ground. He was going, of course. There was no question about that. But as game and determined as he might be, he had to admit nevertheless that he was far from being a trained Hunter-or a trained anything. He was going to need help with this. But where was he going to find it?

      He glanced curiously at Garet Jax. This man shall be your protector, the King of the Silver River had promised. I give to him strength to withstand the dangers that will beset you on your journey. When you have need of him, he shall be there.

      Jair frowned. Did Garet Jax know all this? It certainly didn't appear that way. Obviously the old man hadn't come to the Weapons Master last night as he had come to Jair. Otherwise the man would have said something by now. That meant it was up to Jair to explain it to him. But how was the Valeman supposed to convince the Weapons Master to come with him into the deep Anar? For that matter, how was he supposed to convince him that he hadn't simply been dreaming.

      He was still mulling the problem over when, to his complete astonishment, Slanter stalked out of the trees.

      "Anything left in the kettle?" Slanter asked, scowling at them both.

      Wordlessly, Garet Jax handed him a plate. The Gnome dropped the pack he was carrying, sat down next to the fire, and helped himself to a generous portion of the bread and meat. Jair stared at him. He looked haggard and irritable, as if he hadn't slept all night.

      The Gnome caught him staring. "What's bothering you?" he snapped.

      "Nothing." Jair looked away quickly, then looked back again. "I was just wondering where you'd been."

      Slanter stayed bent over his plate. "I decided to sleep down by the river. Cooler there. Too hot by the fire." Jair's eyes strayed down to the discarded pack, and the Gnome's head jerked up. "Took the pack so I could scout upriver a bit-just in case. Thought I'd be certain that nothing..."

      He broke off. "I don't have to account to you, boy! What's the difference what I was doing? I'm here now, aren't I? Let me be!"

      He went back to his breakfast, attacking it with a vengeance. Jair glanced furtively at Garet Jax, but the Weapons Master seemed to take no notice. The Valeman turned again to Slanter. He was lying, of course; his tracks led downriver. Garet Jax had said so. Why had he decided to come back?

      Unless...

      Jair caught himself. The idea was so wild that he could barely conceive of it. But just perhaps the King of the Silver River had used his magic to bring the Gnome back again. He could have done that, Jair thought, and Slanter would never have been the wiser or realized what was being done to him. The old man could have seen that Jair would have need for the tracker-a Gnome who knew the whole of the Eastland.

      Then suddenly it occurred to Jair that perhaps the King of the Silver River had brought Garet Jax to him as well-that the Weapons Master had come to his aid in the Black Oaks because the old man had wanted it so. Was that possible? Was that the reason that Garet Jax had freed him-all without realizing it?

      Jair sat there in stunned silence, his food forgotten. That would explain the reluctance of both tracker and soldier-of-fortune to discuss the reasons for their actions. They didn't understand it fully themselves. But if that were true, then Jair, too, might have been brought here by similar manipulation. How much of what had happened to him had been the work of the old man?

      Garet Jax finished his breakfast and was kicking out the fire. Slanter, too, was on his feet, wordlessly pulling on the discarded pack. Jair stared at them in turn, wondering what he should do. He knew that he couldn't just stay silent.

      "Time to go," Garet Jax called over, motioning him up. Slanter was already at the edge of the clearing.

      "Wait...wait just a minute." They turned to stare at him as he climbed slowly to his feet. "I've got something to tell you first."

      He told them everything. He had not intended it to happen that way, but telling one thing led to telling another by way of explanation; before he knew it the whole story was out. He told them of Allanon's visit to the Vale and of his story of the Ildatch, of how Brin and Rone Leah had gone east with the Druid to gain entry into the Maelmord, and lastly of the appearance of the King of the Silver River and of the mission he had given to Jair.

      When he had finished, there was a long silence. Garet Jax walked back to the fallen log and sat down, gray eyes intense.

      "I am to be your protector?" he asked quietly.

      Jair nodded. "He said you would be."

      "What if I were to decide otherwise?"

      Jair shook his head. "I don't know."

      "I have heard some wild tales, but this is the wildest it has ever been my misfortune to suffer through!" Slanter exclaimed suddenly. "What are you up to with all this nonsense? What's the purpose of it? You don't think for a minute anyone sitting here believes a word of it, do you?"

      "Believe what you want. It's the truth," Jair insisted, refusing to back away as the Gnome advanced on him.

      "The truth! What do you know about the truth?" Slanter was incredulous. "You spoke with the King of the Silver River, did you? He gave you magic, did he? And now we're supposed to go traipsing off into the deep Anar, are we? And not just into the Anar, but right into the teeth of the black walkers! Into the Maelmord! You're mad, boy! That's the only truth there is in any of this!"

      Jair reached into his tunic and brought forth the pouch containing the Silver Dust. "This is the Dust he gave me, Slanter. And here." He pulled the vision crystal on its silver chain free of his neck. "You see? I have the things he gave me, just as I said. Look for yourself."

      Slanter threw up his hands. "I don't want to look! I don't want anything to do with any of this! I don't even know what I'm doing here!" He wheeled about suddenly. "But I'll tell you this-I'm not going into the Anar, not with a thousand crystals or a whole mountain of Silver Dust! Find someone else who's tired of living and leave me be!"

      Garet Jax was back on his feet. He came over to Jair, took the pouch from the Valeman's hand, slipped the drawstrings open, and peered inside. Then he looked up again at Jair.

      "Looks like sand to me," he said.

      Jair glanced down hurriedly. Sure enough, the contents of the pouch looked exactly like sand. There was not a sparkle of silver to be seen in the supposed Silver Dust.

      "Of course, the color might be a guise to protect against theft," the Weapons Master mused thoughtfully, a distant look in his eyes.

      Slanter was aghast. "You don't really believe..."

      Garet Jax cut him short. "I don't believe much of anything, Gnome." His eyes were hard again as they shifted to Jair. "Let's put this magic to the test. Take out the vision crystal and sing to it."

      Jair hesitated. "I don't know how."

      "You don't know how?" Slanter sneered. "Shades!"

      Garet Jax didn't move. "This seems like a good time to learn, doesn't it?"

      Jair flushed and looked down at the crystal. Neither of them believed a word he had told them. He couldn't really blame them, though. He wouldn't have believed it himself if it hadn't happened to him. But it had, and it had been all too convincing not to be real.

      He took a deep breath. "I'll try."

      He began to sing softly to the crystal. He held it cupped within his hands like a fragile thing, the silver chain dangling down through his fingers. He sang without knowing what it was he should sing or how he could bring the crystal to life. Low and gentle, his voice called to it and asked that it show him Brin.

      It responded almost instantly. Light flared within his palms, startling him so that he nearly dropped the crystal. A living thing, the light shimmered a brilliant white, expanding until it was the size of a child's ball. Garet Jax bent close, his lean face intense. Slanter edged his way back from across the clearing.

      Then abruptly Brin Ohmsford's face appeared Within the light, dark and beautiful, framed by mountains whose slopes were stark and towering against a dawn less friendly than their own.

      "Brin!" Jair whispered.

      He thought for a moment she might reply, so real was her face within the light. Yet her eyes were far distant in their vision, and her ears were closed to his voice. Then the vision faded; in his excitement, Jair had ceased to sing, and the crystal's magic was spent. The light was gone in the same moment. Jair's hands cupped the crystal once more.

      "Where was she?" he asked hurriedly.

      Garet Jax shook his head. "I'm not sure. Perhaps..." But he did not finish.

      Jair turned to Slanter, but the Gnome was shaking his head as well. "I don't know. It happened too fast. How did you do that, boy? It's that song, isn't it? It's that magic you have."

      "And the magic of the King of the Silver River," Jair added quickly. "Now do you believe me?"

      Slanter shook his head glumly. "I'm not going into the Anar," he muttered.

      "I need you, Slanter."

      "You don't need me. With magic like that, you don't need anyone." The Gnome turned away. "Just sing your way into the Maelmord like your sister."

      Jair forced down the anger building within him. He shoved the crystal and the pouch with the Silver Dust back into his tunic. "Then I'll go alone," he declared heatedly.

      "No need for that quite yet." Garet Jax swung his pack over his shoulder and started across the clearing once more. "First we'll see you safely to Culhaven, the Gnome and me. Then you can tell the Dwarves this story of yours. The Druid and your sister should have passed that way by now-or word of their passing reached the Dwarves. In any case, let's find out if anyone there understands anything of what you've been telling us."

      Jair stalked after him hurriedly. "What you're saying is that you think I made this all up! Listen to me a minute. Why would I do that? What possible reason could I have? Go on, tell me!"

      Garet Jax snatched up the Valeman's cloak and blanket and shoved them at him as they went. "Don't waste your time telling me what I think," he replied calmly. "I'll tell you what I think when I'm ready.

      Together they disappeared into the trees, following the trail that led east along the banks of the Silver River. Slanter watched them until they were out of sight, his rough yellow face twisting with displeasure. Then, picking up his own pack, he hastened after, muttering as he went.

 

 

      12

For the better part of three days, Brin Ohmsford and Rone Leah rode north with Allanon toward the Keep of Paranor. The path chosen by the Druid was long and circuitous, a slow hard journey through country made rugged by steep slides, narrow passes, and choking forest wilderness. But at the same time the path was free of the presence of Gnomes, Mord Wraiths, and other evils that might beset the unwary traveler, and it was for this reason that Allanon had made his choice. Whatever else must be endured on their journey north, he was determined that in the making of that journey he would take no further chances with the life of the Valegirl.

      So he did not take them through the Hall of Kings as he had once done with Shea Ohmsford, a match that would have forced him to leave their horses and proceed afoot through the underground caverns that interred the kings of old, where traps could be triggered with every step forward and monsters guarded against all who trespassed. Nor did he take them across the Rabb to the Jannisson Pass, a ride through open country where they might be easily seen and which would take them much too close to the forests of the Eastland and the enemy they sought to avoid. Instead; he took them west along the Mermidon through the deep forests that blanketed the lower slopes. of the Dragon's Teeth from the Valley of Shale to the mountain forests of Tyrsis. They rode west until at last they reached the Kennon Pass, a high mountain trail that led them far into the Dragon's Teeth to emerge miles further north within the forests that bound the castle of Paranor.

      It was at dawn of the third day that they came down from the Kennon into the valley beyond, a dawn gray and hard as iron, clouded over and cold with winter's chill. They rode in a line, traversing the narrow pass through mountains bare and stark as they loomed against the morning sky, and it was as if all life had ceased to be. Wind swept the empty rock with fierce gusts, and they bent their heads against its force. Below, the forested valley that sheltered the castle of the Druids stretched dark and forbidding before them. A faint, swirling mist hid the distant pinnacle of the Keep from their eyes.

      As they rode, Brin Ohmsford struggled with an unshakable sense of impending disaster. It was a premonition really, and it had been with her since they had left the Valley of Shale. It tracked her with insidious purpose, a shadow as murky and cold as the land she rode through, an elusive thing that lurked within the rocks and crags, flitting from one place of hiding to another, watching with sly and evil intent. Hunched down within her riding cloak, drawing what warmth she could from the bulky folds, she let her mount choose its path on the narrow trail and felt the weight of the presence as it followed after.

      It had been the Wraith mostly, she thought, that fostered that premonition. More than the harshness of the day, the dark intent of the Druid she followed, or the newfound fear she felt for the power of her wishsong, it was the Wraith. The Druid had assured her that there were no others. Yet such a dark and evil thing, silent in its coming, swift and terrible in its attack, then gone as quickly as it had appeared, with nothing left but its ashes. It was as if it were a being come from death into life, then gone back again, faceless, formless, a thing without identity, yet above all, frightening.

      There would be others. How many others she did not know nor care to know. Many, certainly-all searching for her. She sensed it instinctively. Mord Wraiths-wherever they might be, whatever their other dark purposes-all would be looking for her. One only, the Druid had said. Yet that one had found them; and if one had found them, others could. How was it that that one had found them? Allanon had brushed aside her question when she asked it. Chance, he had answered. Somehow it hid crossed their trail and followed after, choosing its moment to strike when it thought the Druid weakened. But Brin thought it equally possible that the thing had tracked the Druid since his flight from the Eastland. If that were so, it would have gone first to Shady Vale.

      And to Jair!

      Odd, but there had been a moment earlier, a brief, fleeting moment as she wound her way down through the grayness of the dawn, alone with her thoughts, wrapped in the solitude of wind and cold, when she had felt her brother's touch. It was as if he had been looking at her, his vision somehow reaching past the distance that separated them to find her as she made her way out of the great cliffs of the Dragon's Teeth. But then the touch had faded, and Jair was as distant once more as the home she had left him to keep watch over.

      This morning she was worried for Jair's safety. The Wraith might have gone first to Shady Vale and found Jair, despite what Allanon said. The Druid had dismissed the idea, but he was not to be trusted completely. Allanon was a keeper of secrets, and what he revealed was what he wished known-nothing more. It had always been that way with the Ohmsfords, ever since the Druid had first come to Shea.

      She thought again of his meeting with the shade of Bremen in the Valley of Shale. Something had passed between them that the Druid had chosen to keep hidden-something terrible. Despite his assurances to the contrary, he had learned something that had disturbed him greatly, had even frightened him. Could it be that what he had learned involved Jair?

      The thought haunted her. Were anything to happen to her brother and the Druid to learn of it, she felt he would keep it from her. Nothing would be allowed to interfere with the mission he had set for her. He was as dark and terrible in his determination as the enemy they sought to overcome-and in that he frightened her as much as they. She was still troubled by what he had done to Rone.

      Rone Leah loved her; it was unspoken between them perhaps, but it was there. He had come with her because of that love, to make certain that she had someone with her whom she could always trust. He did not feel Allanon was that person. But the Druid had subverted Rone's intentions and at the same time silenced his criticism. He had challenged Rone's self-designated role as protector; when the challenge was accepted, he had turned the highlander into a lesser version of himself by the giving of magic to the Sword of Leah.

      An old and battered relic, the Sword had been little more than a symbol Rone bore to remind himself of the legacy of courage and strength-of-heart attributed to the house of Leah. But the Druid had made it a weapon with which the highlander might seek to attain his own oft-imagined feats-at-arms. In so doing, Allanon had mandated that Rone's role as protector be something far more awesome than either she or the highlander had envisioned. And what the Druid had made of Rone Leah might well destroy him.

      "It was like nothing I could ever have imagined," he had confided to her when they were alone that first night after leaving the Valley of Shale. He had been hesitant in his speech, yet excited. It had taken him that long just to bring himself to speak of it to her. "The power just seemed to explode within me. Brin, I don't even know what made me do it; I just acted. I saw Allanon trapped within the fire and I just acted. When the Sword cut into the fire, I could feel its power. I was part of it. At that moment, I felt as if there were nothing I could not do-nothing!"

      His face had flushed with the memory. "Brin, not even the Druid frightens me anymore!"

      Brin's eyes lifted to scan the dark spread of the forests below, still misted in the half-light of the harsh autumn day. Her premonition slipped through the rocks and across the twist of the pass, cat-quick and certain. It will show no face until it is upon us, she thought. And then we will be destroyed. Somehow I know it to be so. The voice whispers in my thoughts of Jair, of Rone, of Allanon, and of the Mord Wraiths most of all. It whispers in secrets kept from me, in the gray oppression of this day, and in the misty dark of what lies ahead.

      We will be destroyed. All of us.

 

      They were within the forests by midday. All afternoon they rode, winding their way through mist and gloom, threading needles of passage through massive trees and choking brush. This was an empty woods, devoid of life and color, hard as iron in autumn's gray, with leaves gone dusty brown and curled against the cold like frightened things. Wolves had once prowled these woods, great gray monsters that protected against all who dared to trespass in the land of the Druids. But the wolves were gone, their time long past, and now there was only the stillness and the emptiness. All about, there was a sense of something dying.

      Dusk had begun to fall when Allanon at last bade them halt, weary and aching from the long day's ride. They tied their horses within a gathering of giant oaks, giving them only a small ration of water and feed so that they might not cramp. Then they went ahead on foot. The gloom about them deepened with night's coming, and the stillness gave way to a low, distant rumble that seemed to hang in the air. Steady and sure, the Druid led them on, picking his way with the sense of one familiar with the region; there was no hesitation in his step as he found the path. As silent as the shadows about them, the three slipped through the trees and brush and melted into the night.

      What is it that we go to do? Brin whispered within her mind. What dark purpose of the Druid's do we serve this night?

      Then the trees broke before them. Out of the gray dusk rose the cliffs of Paranor, steep and towering, and at their rim was the ancient castle of the Druids, called the Keep. It rose high within the darkness, a monstrous stone and iron giant rooted in the earth. From within the Keep and the mountain upon which it rested sounded the rumble they had heard earlier, and which had grown steadily louder as they approached, the deep thrum of machinery grinding in ceaseless cadence against the silence that lifted all about. Torches burned like devil's eyes within narrow, iron-barred windows, crimson and lurid against the night sky, and smoke trailed into mist. Once Druids had walked the halls beyond, and it was a time of enlightenment and great promise for the races of Man. But that time was gone. Now only Gnomes and Mord Wraiths walked in Paranor.

      "Hear me," Allanon whispered suddenly, and they bent close to listen. "Hear what I tell you and do not question. The shade of Bremen has given warning. Paranor has fallen to the Mord Wraiths. They seek within its walls the hidden histories of the Druids so that their own power may be strengthened. Other times, the Keep has fallen to an enemy and it has always been regained. But this time that cannot be. This marks the end of all that has been. The age closes, and Paranor must pass from the land."

      Highlander and Valegirl stared at the Druid. "What are you saying, Allanon?" Brin demanded fiercely.

      The Druid's eyes gleamed in the dark. "That in my lifetime and yours-in the lifetime of your children and perhaps your children's children-no man shall set foot within the walls of the Druid's Keep after this night. We are to be the last. We shall go into the Keep through its lower passages that are yet unknown to the Wraiths and Gnomes who search within. We shall go to where the power of the Druids has for centuries been seated and with that power close away the Keep from mankind. We must pass quickly though, for all found within the Keep this night shall die-even we, if we prove too slow. Once the needed magic is brought forth, there will be little time left to escape its sweep."

      Brin shook her head slowly. "I don't understand. Why must this be done? Why can no one again enter Paranor after tonight? What of the work that you do?"

      The Druid's hand touched her cheek softly. "It is finished, Brin Ohmsford."

      "But the Maelmord-the Ildatch..."

      "Nothing we do here can help us in our quest." Allanon's voice was almost lost to her. "What we do here serves another purpose."

      "What if we're seen?" Rone broke in suddenly.

      "We shall fight our way free," Allanon answered at once. "We must. Remember first to protect Brin. Do not stop, whatever happens. Once the magic has been called forth, do not look back and do not slow." He bent forward, his lean face close to that of the highlander. "Remember, too, that you now possess the power of Druid magic in your sword. Nothing can stop you, Prince of Leah. Nothing."

      Rone Leah nodded solemnly, and this time did not question what he was told. Brin shook her head slowly, and the premonition danced before her eyes.

      "Valegirl." The Druid was speaking to her, and her eyes lifted to find his. "Stay close to the Prince of Leah and to me. Let us shield you from whatever danger we may encounter. Do nothing to risk your own life. You, most of all, must be kept safe, for you are the key to the destruction of the Ildatch. That quest lies ahead of you and it must be completed."

      Both hands came up to grip her shoulders. "Understand. I cannot leave you here safely or I would do so. The danger is greater than it will be if you go with us into the Keep. Death flies all through these woods on this night, and it must be kept from you."

      He paused, waiting for her response. Slowly she nodded. "I'm not afraid," she lied.

      Allanon stepped back. "Then let us begin. Silently, now. Speak no more until this is done."

      They disappeared into the night like shadows.

 

 

      13

Allanon, Brin, and Rone Leah crept through the forest. Stealthy and swift, they traversed a maze of trees that jutted skyward like the blackened spikes of some pit-trap. All around them, the night had gone still. Between boughs half-shorn of their leaves by autumn's coming, bits and pieces of a clouded flight sky rolled into view, low and threatening. The flame's of torches high within the towers of the Keep flickered angrily with crimson light.

      Brin Ohmsford was afraid. The premonition whispered in her mind and she screamed back at it in soundless despair. Trees and limbs and brush flashed all about her as she hurried on. Escape, she thought. Escape this thing that threatens! But no, not until we are done, not until...Her breath came in quick gasps, and the heat of her exertions turned quickly to chill against the skin. She felt empty and impossibly alone.

      Then they were up against the great cliffs upon which the Keep stood. Allanon's hands flitted across the stone before him, his tall form bent close in concentration. He moved right perhaps a half dozen feet, and again his hands touched. Brin and Rone went with him, watching. A second later he straightened and his hands withdrew. Something in the stone gave way, and a portion of the wall swung clear to reveal a darkened hole beyond. At once Allanon motioned them through. They groped their way forward, and the stone portal closed closed behind them.

      They waited sightlessly for a moment within the dark, listening to the faint sounds of the Druid as he moved about close beside them. Then a light flared sharply and flames licked at the pitch-coated head of a torch. Allanon passed the torch to Brin, then lighted another for Rone and a third for himself. They stood within a small, sealed chamber from which a single stairway wound upward into the rock. With a quick glance back at them, Allanon began to climb.

      They went deep into the mountains, one step after the other, hundreds of steps becoming thousands as the stairway went on. Tunnels bisected the passage they followed and split their path in two, yet they did not depart from the steps they were on, following the long twist and turn upward into the blackness. It was warm and dry within the rock; from somewhere further ahead the steady churning of furnace machinery rumbled through the stillness. Brin fought down the panic she could feel building slowly within her. The mountain felt as if it were alive.

      Long minutes later, the stairway came to an end at a great iron-bound door whose hinges were seated in the stone of the mountain. There they halted, their breathing harsh in the stillness. Allanon bent close to the door, touched briefly the studs of the iron bindings, and the door swung back. Sound burst in on them-the pumping and thrusting of pistons and levers rolling through their small passageway like the roar of some giant breaking free. Heat seared their faces, dry and raw as it sucked away the cool air. Allanon peered past the open portal momentarily, then slipped through. Shielding their faces, Brin and Rone followed.

      They stood within the furnace chamber, its great black pit opening down into the earth. Within the pit the furnace machinery churned in steady cadence, stoking the natural fires of the earth and pumping their heat upward into the chambers of the Keep. Dormant since the time of the Warlock Lord, the furnace had been brought to life once more by the enemy that waited above, and the sense of intrusion was vibrant and oppressive. Quickly Allanon led them along the narrow metal catwalk that encircled the pit to one of a number of doors leading out from the chamber. A touch of its bindings and it swung inward into blackness. Clutching their torches before them, they stumbled from the terrible heat and pushed the small door shut behind them.

      Again a passageway opened before them, and they followed it for a short time to where a stairway branched off to one side. Allanon turned onto the stairway, and they began their ascent. Slowly now, more carefully-for there was the unmistakable feel of others close at hand-the three wound upward through the dark, listening...

      Behind them, below somewhere, a door slammed shut with a crash, and they froze motionlessly on the steps. The echo reverberated into stillness. There was nothing more. They went on cautiously.

      At the head of the stairs, there was another door where they paused and listened. Allanon touched a hidden lock to slip the door open, passed through, and went on. Beyond was another passage with another door at its end, then another passage, a stair, a door, and another passage. Hidden corridors honeycombed the aged fortress and ran empty and black through the walls of the Keep. Must and cobwebs filled the air with the smell and feel of age. Rats scurried ahead through the blackness, small sentinels warning of their approach. Yet in the castle of the Druids, no one heard.

      Then voices sounded from somewhere within the halls of the Keep that ran where the intruders crouched, furtive and hidden. The voices were deep and low, a muted mutter that rose and faded, but much too close. Brin's mouth was dry and she could not swallow. The smoke from the torches stung her eyes, and she felt the weight of the rock close down about her. She felt trapped. All about her, hidden in hazy half-light and shadow, the premonition danced.

      And finally this newest tunnel ended. The gloom gave way suddenly before the light of their torches, and a stone wall blocked their passage. No portals opened to either side, and no corridors led away. Allanon did not hesitate. He went at once to the wall, bent close to its surface for a moment as if listening, then turned to Brin and Rone Leah. A finger lifted to touch his lips, and his head inclined slightly. Brin took a deep breath to steady herself. The Druid's meaning was clear; they were about to pass into the Keep.

      Allanon turned back to the faceless wall. At touch upon the stone, a small doorway hidden within swung silently back. In a line, the three passed through.

      They stood within a small, windowless study filled with dust and smelling of age. The contents of the room lay scattered about in complete disarray. Books had been pulled from the shelves that lined the study's walls and strewn about the floor, their bindings broken and pages torn. Stuffed armchairs had been cut apart, and a reed table and high-backed chairs had been thrown over. Even pieces of the plank flooring had been ripped from their seatings.

      Allanon surveyed the ruin through the smoky light of the torches, his dark face filled with rage. Then he moved wordlessly to the far wall, reached within the empty shelves and touched something he found there. Silently the bookcase swung back to reveal a darkened vault beyond. Motioning for them to wait without, the Druid stepped through the entryway, slipped his torch into an iron bracket fastened to a support, and moved to the wall on the right. The wall was constructed all of granite blocks, smooth and tightly sealed against air and dust. Lightly, the Druid began to run his fingers over the stone.

      Still within the study, Brin and Rone watched for a moment as the Druid worked, then glanced suddenly away. A thin seam of light outlined a door in the blackness of the room, a door that led from the study into the halls of the Keep. From somewhere beyond that door came the sound of voices.

      Within the vault, Allanon's fingers bridged against the granite wall and his head lowered in concentration. Abruptly a deep blue glow began to spread outward through the stone from where his fingers touched. The glow turned to fire that erupted soundlessly through the granite, flared and was gone. Where the wall had been, shelves of massive, leatherbound books stood revealed: the Druid histories.

      In the corridor beyond the study, the voices were coming closer.

      Swiftly Allanon lifted one of the massive volumes from its place upon the shelves and carried it to an empty wooden table that occupied the center of the chamber. Placing the book upon the table, he opened it. Still standing, he began to page through it quickly. He found what he was looking for almost at once and bent close to read.

 

[[pg 137 picture]]

 

      Muted and rough, the voices without were joined by the sound of booted feet. There were at least half a dozen Gnomes beyond the door.

      Brin mouthed Rone's name wordlessly, her eyes frightened in the glare of the torches. The highlander hesitated, then quickly passed her his torch and drew forth the Sword of Leah. Two steps carried him to the door, where he slipped tight the latch-lock.

      The voices and the thudding feet passed and went on-all but one. A hand worked the latch, trying to open the door. Brin backed further into the shadows of the study, praying that whoever paused without could not see the light of her torch or smell its smoke, praying that the door would not open. The latch jiggled a moment longer. Then whoever was out there began to force it.

      Abruptly Rone Leah drew back the latch, threw open the door, and dragged a startled Gnome inside. The Gnome managed a single yelp of surprise before the highlander's sword pommel hammered against his head and knocked him unconscious to the floor.

      Hurriedly, Rone closed the open study door, locked it again and stepped back. Brin hurried to join him. In the vault, Allanon was returning the tome he had been reading to its place on the shelf. With quick circular motion of his hand before the Druid histories, the granite wall was restored. Snatching his torch from its bracket, he hastened from the vault, pushed back into place the shelving that hid its entry, and motioned both Valegirl and highlander to follow as he slipped again into the passageway that had brought them. A moment later, the study was left behind.

      They went back through the maze of tunnels, sweating now with fear and exertion. All about them was as before, bits and pieces of voices appearing and fading in small snatches, and the deep thrum of the furnace rising up from somewhere far below like distant thunder.

      Then again Allanon brought them to a halt. Another door stood before them, sealed with dust and cobwebs. Wordlessly the Druid motioned for them to extinguish their torches in the dust of the passageway. They were going into the Keep once more.

      They stepped from the blackness of their passage into a hallway bright with torchlight and gleaming with brass and polished wood. Though dust lay over everything within the ancient Keep, still the trappings shone through its covering, small bits of fire in the dappled shadows. A great hallway disappeared into the dark, walls of oak hung thick with tapestries and paintings, fronted in tall niches by the ornaments of another age. Flattened against their small entry, Valegirl and highlander peered quickly about. The hall was empty.

      Hurriedly Allanon led them left along the darkened corridor, slipping from one set of shadows to the next, past small pools of smoky torchlight and past glimmerings of night that shone deep gray through tall, latticed windows that arched skyward above the battlements without. A strange quiet hung across the halls of the ancient fortress, as if suddenly all life save their own had been stripped from the Keep. Only the constant hum of the machinery below broke the quiet. Brin's eyes darted from the darkened hall to the torchlit entry, searching. Where were the Mord Wraiths and the Gnomes they commanded? A hand gripped her shoulder and she jumped. It was Allanon, drawing her back into the shadows of an alcove that sheltered a tall set of iron doors.

      Then suddenly, as if to answer Brin's unspoken question, a cry of alarm rang out, shrill and harsh in the silence of the Keep. The Valegirl whirled at the sound. It came from the study behind them. The Gnome that Rone had knocked unconscious had come awake.

      There were footsteps everywhere then, thudding against the stone flooring and pounding through the stillness. There were cries all about them. Rone Leah's sword flashed darkly in the half-light, and the highlander pushed Brin behind him. But Allanon had the iron doors open now; and with a yank he pulled Brin and Rone from sight, slamming the doors behind them.

      They stood upon a narrow landing, squinting through a haze of smoky torchlight given off by brands that burned along the length of a stairway coiling upward like a snake about the stone block walls of the massive tower that rose about them. Huge and black, the tower seemed to lift to impossible heights; yet at their feet, beneath the tiny landing that supported them, it dropped into the earth, a bottomless pit. Save for the landing and the stairway, there was nothing to break the smooth surface of the walls as they stretched away into impenetrable shadow with neither beginning nor end.

      Brin shrank back against the iron doors. This was the tower of the Keep that guarded the sanctuary of the Druids. Those who had once come with Shea Ohmsford from Culhaven had believed it contained the Sword of Shannara. A monstrous thing, it had the feel of a giant's well made to bore through the whole of the earth.

      Rone Leah took a step toward the edge of the landing, but Allanon pulled him back instantly. "Stand away, highlander!" he whispered darkly.

      Without, the shouts and cries rose louder, and the running of feet scattered all about. Allanon started up the narrow stairs, his back to the tower wall.

      "Stay clear of me!" he whispered down at them.

      After a dozen steps, he moved to the stairway's edge. Lean hands lifted from within the black robes, fingers curling. Words slipped from his lips that Valegirl and highlander could not understand, low and muted with rage.

      From within the pit of the tower, a sharp hiss sounded in response.

      The Druid's hands lowered slowly, his fingers crooked like claws and his palms downward. Steam leaked from the corners of the hard mouth, from eyes and ears, and from the stone on which he stood. Brin and Rone scared in horror. Below, the pit hissed again.

      Then the blue fire exploded from Allanon's hands, a huge burst of flame that flew downward into the blackness. Trailing sparks, it flared sharply far below, turned a sudden wicked green in color, and died.

      The tower went suddenly still. Beyond the iron doors, the shouts of alarm and the thudding of feet sounded, faint and chaotic, but within the tower there were no sounds. Allanon sagged backward against the wall, his arms clutched tightly about his body and his head lowered as if in pain. The steam that had come from within him was gone, but the stone on which he stood and against which he leaned looked charred.

      Then once more the pit hissed, and this time the tower itself shuddered with the sound.

      "Look into its throat!" Allanon's voice was harsh.

      Highlander and Valegirl peered downward from the edge of the landing into the pit. Deep within, a roiling green mist was stirring like liquid fire against the walls of the tower. The hiss it gave forth was like a voice, eerie and filled with hate. Slowly the mist fastened to the walls, weaving through the stone as if it were water. Slowly the mist began to climb.

      "It's coming out!" Rone whispered.

      The mist began to claw its way up the stone block walls like a thing alive. Foot by foot, it hauled itself closer to where they stood.

      Now Allanon was beside them once more, pulling them away from the edge of the landing, drawing their faces close to his own. His dark eyes glinted like fire.

      "Flee, now!" he ordered. "Don't look back. Don't turn aside. Flee from the Keep and from this mountain!"

      Then he threw open the tower doors with a mighty thrust and stepped out into the halls of the Keep. There were Gnome Hunters everywhere, and they turned at his appearance, their rough yellow faces frozen with surprise. Blue fire burst from the Druid's outstretched hands and burned into them, flinging them back like leaves caught in a sudden wind. Screams rose from their throats as the fire caught them, and they scattered in terror from this dark avenger. One of the Mord Wraiths appeared, a black and faceless thing within its robes. Blue fire swept into it with stunning force as the Druid wheeled on it, and an instant later it was ash.

      "Run!" Allanon called back to where Brin and Rone stood frozen within the empty doorway.

      Quickly they followed after him, sprinting past the Gnomes that lay fallen across their path, racing through the smoky torchlight toward the passages that had brought them. The halls stayed empty for only a moment. Then the Gnomes reappeared, counterattacking, a solid wedge of armored yellow forms howling in anger, spears and short swords bristling from their midst. Allanon broke apart the assault with a single burst of the Druid fire, clearing the way. A second group surged at them from a cross corridor as they tried to push past, and Rone turned, the Sword of Leah lifted. Sounding the battle cry of his homeland as the Gnomes came at him, he launched himself into their midst.

      Behind them, another Wraith appeared, and ahead still another. Red fire burst from their black hands, arcing toward Allanon, but the Druid blocked the assault with fire of his own. Flames scattered everywhere in a wild shower, and walls and tapestries began to burn. Brin shrank back against one wall, shielding her eyes, Rone and Allanon on either side of where she crouched. Gnomes came at them from every direction, and now there were more Wraiths as well, silent black monsters that lifted out of the dark and struck at them. Rone Leah broke off the battle with the Gnomes and sprang at one who had ventured too close. Down came the ebony blade of the Sword of Leah and shattered the Wraith into fragments of ash. Flames burned his own body from attacks all about him, but he shrugged them aside, the black blade absorbing the brunt of their force. With a howl of anger, he fought his way back to where Brin hunched down beside the wall. A fierce exhilaration lit his face, and lines of mist green swirled wildly within the black metal of the sword. Seizing her arm, he brought her to her feet and propelled her ahead. There Allanon battled to gain the door they had come through from the catacombs, his black form towering out of smoke, fire, and struggling bodies like death's shadow come to life.

      "Through the door, highlander!" the Druid roared, flinging his attackers from his side as they fought to pull him down.

      A sudden explosion of red fire engulfed them all, stunning them with its force. Allanon turned, and the Druid fire thrust from his own hands, a solid blue wall that shielded them momentarily from those who came after. Somehow they were through the Mord Wraiths' fire then, racing past a few scattered Gnomes who sought vainly to prevent their escape. Cries and screams echoed through the Druid's Keep as they reached the door they sought. They had it open an instant later and were safely through.

      Sudden darkness closed about them like a shroud. The howls of their attackers faded momentarily behind the door through which they had come. Snatching up the discarded torches, Allanon quickly relighted them and the three companions began a race back through the catacombs. Down through passageways and stairwells they sped. Behind them, the cries of the pursuit grew strident once more, but the way ahead was clear now. They rushed downward into the furnace room once more, past earth's fire and the rumble of machinery, to where the stairs took them deep into the mountain's core. Still no one barred their way.

      Then abruptly a new sound reached their ears, distant yet, but shrill with terror. It came to them in a single, endless wail, alive with horror.

      "It begins!" Allanon called back to them. "Quickly now, run!"

      They ran frantically as the wail grew more frenzied behind them. Something unspeakable was happening to those yet within the Keep.

      Ah, the mist! Brin cried silently.

      They fled down the stairs that led to the mountain's base, following the twists and turns of the passageway, hearing all the while the shrieks of those trapped behind them. Stairs came and went in countless number, and still they ran on.

      Then finally the stairs ended, and the entry hidden in the rock of the cliff face loomed before them once more. Pushing through hurriedly, Allanon led them from the mountain into the cool dark of the forest beyond.

      Still the screams followed after.

 

      Night slipped away. It was nearing dawn when at last they walked their horses clear of the valley of Paranor. Weary and ragged, they paused on an outcropping of rock on high ground east of the pinnacle of the Keep and looked back to where green mist swirled wickedly about the aged fortress and hid it from their view. The sky lightened, and the mist burned away a little at a time, a shroud lifting. Silently they watched as it dissipated into air.

      Then the dawn broke, and the mist was gone.

      "It is finished," Allanon whispered in the stillness.

      Brin and Rone Leah stared. Below, the pinnacle the Druid's Keep had once rested upon rose high into the light of the morning sun-barren and empty save for a scattering of crumbling outbuildings. The castle of the Druids had vanished.

      "Thus was it written within the histories; thus was it foretold," Allanon continued quietly. "Bremen's shade knew the truth. Older than the time of the Keep was the magic conceived to close her away. Now she is gone, drawn back into the stone of the mountain, and with her all those she trapped within." There was a terrible sadness in the dark face. "So it ends. Paranor is lost."

      But they were alive! Brin felt a fierce determination rushing through her; brushing aside the Druid's somber tone. The premonition had been wrong and they were alive-all of them!

      "So it ends," Allanon repeated softly.

      His eyes found those of the Valegirl then, and it was as if they shared some unspoken secret that neither quite fully understood. Then slowly Allanon turned his horse about. With Brin and Rone trailing after, he rode east toward the forests of the Anar.

 

 

      14

Late in the afternoon, Jair Ohmsford and his companions reached the Dwarf community of Culhaven. It was a journey just as well over and done with in the Valeman's opinion. Leaden skies and a chill wind had followed them east through the Silver River country, and even the changing colors of the great Eastland forests had a gray and wintry cast to them. Geese flew southward over the land through threatening autumn skies, and the flow of the river whose course they followed was rough and unfriendly.

      The Silver River had begun to show signs of the poisoning foretold by its King. Blackish scum laced its waters, and its clear silver color had turned murky. Dying fish, small rodents, and fallen birds floated past, and the river was choked with deadwood and scrub. Even its smell was bad, the fresh cleanness become a rank and fetid odor that assailed their nostrils with each change in the wind. Jair remembered his father's tales of the Silver River, tales told since the time of Shea Ohmsford, and what he saw now made him sick at heart.

      Garet Jax and Slanter did little to improve his mood. Even without the constant reminder of the river's ill and the harsh cast of the day, Jair would have found it difficult to keep a smile on his face or cheerfulness in his voice with the Weapons Master and the Gnome for traveling companions. Withdrawn and taciturn, they trudged beside him with all of the enthusiasm of mourners at a death watch. Not a dozen words had been exchanged since the march had resumed early that morning, and not a smile had crossed either face. Eyes riveted on the path ahead, they went forward with a single-minded determination that bordered on fanaticism. Once or twice, Jair had ventured to speak, and the response each time had been little more than a muted grunt. The noontime meal had been a strained and awkward ritual of necessity, and even the silent march east had been preferable to that.

      Thus their approach into Culhaven was more than a little welcome to the Valeman, if for no other reason than that it meant he would soon have a chance to talk to someone civil for a change-although there was some reason to doubt even that. Dwarves had sighted them as far west as the border of the Anar, silent watchers who had made no effort to make them feel welcome. All along the trail leading in, there had been patrols of Dwarf Hunters-hardened men wrapped in leather waistcoats and forest cloaks, armed and purposeful in their walk. None of these had given greeting, or paused for even the briefest that. All had passed and gone their way without inquiry. Only their eyes had strayed over to view these visitors-and their eyes had not been friendly.

      By the time Jair and his fellow travelers reached the edge of the Dwarf village, they were being studied openly by every Dwarf they passed, and there was more than a hint of suspicion in those looks. Still in the lead, Garet Jax seemed oblivious to the eyes that followed after them, but Slanter was growing increasingly edgy and Jair was almost as uncomfortable as the Gnome. Garet Jax led along the roadway that crisscrossed the village, clearly familiar with the community and certain of what he was about. Neatly kept homes and shops lined the pathways they walked, sturdily built structures fronted by immaculate lawns and hedgerows, and brightened by lines of flowerbanks and carefully tended gardens. Families and shopowners looked up as they passed, hands gripping tools and wares as they paused in their day's work. But there were armed men even here-Dwarf Hunters with hard eyes and belted weapons. This might be a community of families and homes, Jair thought to himself, but just at the moment it has more the look of an armed camp.

      Finally, as they entered the central part of the village, they were brought to a halt by a foot patrol. Garet Jax spoke briefly with one of the sentries and the Dwarf disappeared on the run. The Weapons Master stepped back with Jair and Slanter. Together they faced the remaining members of the patrol in studied silence and waited. Dwarf children came to stand about them curiously, eyes fixed on Slanter. The Gnome ignored them for a time, then tired of the game and gave a sudden growl that sent the entire bunch scurrying for cover. The Gnome glowered after them, glanced irritably at Jair, and withdrew into a determined funk.

      A few minutes later, the sentry dispatched by Garet Jax returned. With him was a rugged-looking Dwarf with a great curling black beard and mustache and a bald head. Without slowing, he went directly to the Weapons Master, his hand extended in welcome.

      "Took your sweet time getting here," he growled as the other clasped the callused hand in his own. Sharp brown eyes peered out from beneath heavy brows, and the look of the man was hard and fierce. His stout, compact body was clothed in loose-fitting forest garb, belted and booted in soft leather, and he wore a brace of long knives at his waist. In one ear, a large gold earring dangled.

      "Elb Foraker," Garet Jax introduced the Dwarf to Jair and Slanter.

      Foraker studied them wordlessly for a moment, then turned back to the Weapons Master. "Strange company you're keeping, Garet."

      "Strange times." The other shrugged. "How about a place to sit and something to eat?"

      Foraker nodded. "This way."

      He led them past the patrol to where the roadway branched right and from there into a building that housed a large eating hall filled with benches and tables. A handful of the tables were occupied by Dwarf Hunters absorbed in their evening meal. A few glanced up and nodded to Foraker, but no one this time showed any particular interest in the Dwarf's companions. Apparently it made a difference whom you were with, Jair thought. Foraker chose a table for them well back against one wall and signaled for food to be brought.

      "What am I supposed to do with these two?" the Dwarf asked when they had seated themselves.

      Garet Jax turned to his companions. "Direct sort of fellow, isn't he? He was with me ten years ago when I was training Dwarf Hunters for a border skirmish along the Wolfsktaag. He was with me again in Callahorn a few years back. That's why I'm here now. He asked me to come, and he doesn't take no for an answer."

      He looked back at Foraker. "The Valeman is Jair Ohmsford. He's looking for his sister and a Druid."

      Foraker leaned back frowning. "A Druid? What Druid? There aren't any Druids anymore. Haven't been any Druids since..."

      "I know-since Allanon," Jair interjected, unable to keep still any longer. "That's the Druid I'm looking for."

      Foraker stared at him. "That right? What makes you think you'll find him here?"

      "He told me that he would be going into the Eastland. He took my sister with him."

      "Your sister?" The Dwarf's brows were fiercely knit. "Allanon and your sister? And they're supposed to be here somewhere?"

      Jair nodded slowly, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Foraker looked at him as if he were crazy. Then he looked at Garet Jax.

      "Where did you find this Valeman?"

      "On the way," the other replied vaguely. "What do you know about the Druid?"

      Foraker shrugged. "I know that no one has seen Allanon in the Eastland for more than twenty years-with or without anybody's sister."

      "Well, you don't know much, then," Slanter spoke up suddenly, the faintest hint of a sneer in his voice. "The Druid's come and gone right under your nose!"

      Foraker's fierce countenance swung around on the speaker. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you, Gnome."

      "This one supposedly tracked the Druid out of the Eastland," Garet Jax offered, gray eyes wandering off casually about the empty hall. "Tracked him from the Maelmord right to the Valeman's doorstep."

      Foraker stared at him. "I'll ask again-what exactly am I supposed to do with these two?"

      Garet Jax looked back at him. "I've been thinking about that. Does the Council meet tonight?"

      "Every night, these days,"

      "Then let the Valeman speak to them."

      Foraker frowned. "Why should I do that?"

      "Because he has something to tell them that I think they're going to want to hear. And not just about the Druid."

      Dwarf and Weapons Master eyed each other in silence. "I'll have to make a request," Foraker said at last, his lack of enthusiasm evident.

      "Now seems like a good time to do it." Garet Jax rose to his feet.

Foraker sighed and stood up with him, glancing down at Jair and Slanter as he did so. "You two can eat your meal and stay put. Don't try wandering off." He hesitated. "I don't know anything about a Druid passing through, but I'll look into it for you, Ohmsford." He shook his head. "Come along, Garet."

      The Dwarf and the Weapons Master left the eating hall. Jair and Slanter sat alone at the table, lost in thought. Where was Allanon? Jair asked himself in silent desperation, head lowered to study his hands as he clasped them before him. The Druid had said he was going into the Eastland. Wouldn't he come through Culhaven? If he hadn't, then where had he gone? Where had he taken Brin?

      A Dwarf in a white bib apron brought them plates of hot food and cups of ale, and they began to eat. No one said anything. The minutes slipped past as they consumed the meal, and Jair felt his hopes fading with each bite he took-as if somehow he were consuming the answers his questions demanded. Pushing the plate back from where he sat, he scuffed one boot against the plank flooring nervously and tried to decide what he would do if Elb Foraker were right and Allanon and Brin had indeed not come this way.

      "Stop that?" Slanter growled suddenly.

      Jair glanced up. "Stop what?"

      "Stop rubbing your boot against the floor. It's annoying."

      "Sorry."

      "And quit looking like you'd lost your best friend. Your sister will turn up."

      Jair shook his head slowly, still distracted. "Maybe."

      "Humph," the Gnome muttered. "I'm the one who should be worrying-not you. I don't know how I ever let you talk me into this fool's errand."

      Jair propped his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands. There was determination in his voice. "Even if Brin didn't come through Culhaven, even if Allanon went another way, we've still got to go into the Anar, Slanter. And we've got to persuade the Dwarves to help us."

      Slanter stared at him. "We? Us? You'd better take a moment and rethink that `we and us' nonsense! I'm not going anywhere but back to where I came from before I got involved in this whole mess!"

      . "You're a tracker, Slanter," Jair said quietly. "I need you."

      "Too bad," the Gnome snapped, his rough yellow face suddenly dark. "I'm also a Gnome, in case you hadn't noticed! Did you see the way they looked at me out there? Did you see those children looking at me like I was some sort of wild animal brought in from the forest? Use your head! There's a war going on between Gnomes and Dwarves, and the Dwarves aren't likely to listen to anything you have to say so long as you persist in making me your ally! Which I'm not, in any case!"

      Jair bent forward. "Slanter, I have to reach Heaven's Well before Brin reaches the Maelmord. How am I going to do that without someone to guide me in?"

      "You'll find a way, knowing you." The Gnome brushed the matter aside. "Besides, I can't go back there anymore. Spilk will have told them what I did. Or if not him, then that other Gnome that ran off. They'll be looking for me. If I go back, someone will recognize me. When I'm caught, the walkers..." He stopped abruptly and threw up his hands. "I'm not going and that's that!"

      He went back to eating his food, his head lowered to his plate. Jair regarded him silently, wondering if perhaps he were making a mistake in seeking Slanter's help in the first place; perhaps the King of the Silver River hadn't intended him as an ally after all. Slanter didn't really seem like much of an ally when you thought about it. He was altogether too clever, too opportunistic, and his loyalty changed as often as the wind. He wasn't one to be depended on, was he? Yet despite all that, there was still something about the Gnome that Jair liked. Maybe it was his toughness. Like Garet Jax, Slanter was a survivor, and that was the sort of companion fair needed if he were to reach the deep Anar.

      He watched as the Gnome drank down the last of the ale in noisy gulps, then said quietly. "I thought you wanted to learn about the magic."

      Slanter shook his head. "Not anymore. I've learned all I care to know about you, boy."

      Jair frowned in annoyance. "I think you're just scared."

      "Think what you like. I'm not going."

      "What about your people? Don't you care what the Mord Wraiths are doing to them?"

      Slanter's eyes snapped up. "I don't have a people anymore, thanks to you!" Then he shrugged. "Doesn't matter, though. I haven't really had a people since I left the Eastland. I'm my own people."

      "That's not true. The Gnomes are your people. You went back to help them, didn't you?"

      "Times change. I went back because it was the smart thing to do. Now I'm not going back because that's the smart thing to do!" Slanter was growing angry. "Why don't you just give it up, boy? I've done enough for you already. I don't feel obliged to do anything further. After all, the King of the Silver River didn't give me any Silver Dust to help clean up his river!"

      "That's fortunate, isn't it?" Jair flushed, a bit angry now himself. "A fat lot of good you'd be, changing sides every five minutes when things got a little rough! I thought you helped me back in the Oaks because you'd made a choice! I thought you cared what happened to me! Well, maybe I was wrong! What do you care about, Slanter?"

      The Gnome was nonplussed. "I care about staying alive. That's what you'd care about, too, if you had any brains."

      Jair went rigid with indignation. He came halfway out of his seat, arms braced on the table. "Staying alive! Well, just exactly how are you going to do that when the Mord Wraiths poison the Eastland and then move west into the other lands? That's what's going to happen, isn't it? That's what you said! Where will you run to then? Plan on changing sides one time more-become a Gnome again long enough to fool the walkers?"

      Slanter reached up and shoved Jair back. "You have a big mouth for someone who understands so little about life. Maybe if you'd been out in the world looking after yourself instead of having someone do it for you, you'd not be so quick to point the finger at others. Now, shut up!"

      Jair lapsed into immediate silence. There was nothing to be gained by pushing the matter any further. Slanter had made up his mind not to help, so that was the end of it. He was probably better off without the Gnome anyway.

      The two were still glowering at each other when Garet Jax returned a few moments later. He was alone, and he came directly to where they sat. If he noticed the tension between them, he gave no indication of it. He took a seat next to Jair.

      "You're to go before the Council of Elders," he said quietly.

      Jair shook his head slowly. "I don't know about this. I don't know if this is the right thing to do."

      The Weapons Master pinned him with his eyes. "You don't have a choice."

      "What about Brin? And Allanon?"

      "There is no news of them. Foraker checked, and they haven't been to Culhaven. No one knows anything about them." The gray eyes studied the Valeman intently. "Whatever help you're to find in this quest of yours, you'll have to find it on your own."

      Jair glanced quickly at Slanter, but the Gnome refused to meet his gaze. He turned back to Garet Jax. "When do I go before the Council?

      The Weapons Master stood up. "Now."

 

      The Dwarf Council of Elders had convened in the Assembly, a large and cavernous hall settled within the bowels of a squarish building that housed all of the offices governing the affairs of the village of Culhaven. Twelve strong, the members of the Council sat behind a long table on a dais at the head of the chamber and looked down upon rows of benches separated by aisles that ran back to a pair of wide double-doors leading in. It was through these doors that Garet Jax brought Jair and Slanter. Shadows cloaked all but the very forefront of the Assembly, where oil lamps cast their harsh yellow light across the dais. The three who entered made their way to the edge of the light and stopped. A gathering of others occupied seats on the benches closest to the dais, and heads lifted and turned at their approach. A haze of pipe smoke hung over the men gathered, and the pungent smell of burning tobacco filled the air.

      "Come forward," a voice called.

      They proceeded until they stood even with the foremost line of benches. Jair glanced around uneasily. The faces that stared back at him were not simply the faces of Dwarves. A handful of Elves sat immediately to his right, and half a dozen Bordermen from Callahorn far to his left. Foraker was there as well, black-bearded face dour and set as he leaned against the far wall.

      "Welcome to Culhaven," the voice spoke again.

      The speaker rose from behind the table on the dais. He was a gray-bearded Dwarf of some years, rough-faced and bluff, skin browned and lined in the harsh light of the lamps. He stood centermost among the Elders at the Council.

      "My name is Browork, Elder and citizen of Culhaven, First at this Council," he informed them. His hand lifted and beckoned to Jair. "Come forward, Valeman."

      Jair came toward him a step or two and stopped, glancing at the line of faces that looked down at him. All were aged and weathered, yet with eyes still quick and alert as they studied him.

      "Your name?" Browork asked him.

      "Jair Ohmsford," he replied. "Of Shady Vale."

      The Dwarf nodded. "What would you say to us, Jair Ohmsford?"

      Jair glanced about. The faces all about him waited expectantly-faces he did not know. Should he reveal what he knew to them? He looked back at the Elder.

      "You may speak freely." Browork assured him, sensing his concern. "All gathered here are to be trusted; all are leaders in the fight against the Mord Wraiths."

      He sat down again slowly and waited. Jair looked about once more, then took a deep breath and began to speak. Step by step, he revealed all that had happened since the arrival of Allanon in Shady Vale those many nights past. He told of the Druid's coming, of his warning of the Mord Wraiths, of his need for Brin, and of their departure east. He described his subsequent flight, the adventures that had befallen him in the highlands and the Black Oaks, his meeting with the King of the Silver River, and the prophecy foretold by the legendary King. It took him some time to tell it all. While he spoke, the men gathered about him stayed silent. He could not bring himself to look at them; he was frightened of what he might see in their faces. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the seams and hollows that molded Browork's weathered countenance and the deep-set blue eyes that stared fixedly back at him.

      When at last he was finished, the Dwarf Elder leaned forward slowly, his rough hands folding on the table before him, his gaze still holding Jair's.

      "Twenty years ago, I fought with Allanon to keep the Demon hordes from the Elven city of Arborlon. It was a terrible battle. Young Edain Elessedil-" He indicated with his hand a blondhaired Elf barely older than Brin. "-was not even born then. His grandfather, the great Eventine, was King of the Elves. That was when Allanon last walked the Four Lands. Not since that time has the Druid been seen, Valeman. He has not come to Culhaven. He has not come to the Eastland. What say you to that?"

      Jair shook his head. "I don't know why he didn't come this way. I don't know where he has gone. I only know where it is that he goes-and my sister with him. And I know, too, that he has indeed been within the Eastland." He turned toward Slanter. "This Hunter tracked him from the Maelmord west to my home."

      He waited for confirmation, but Slanter said nothing.

      "No one has seen Allanon for twenty years," another Elder of the Council repeated quietly.

      "And no one has ever spoken with the King of the Silver River," a third said.

      "I spoke with him," Jair said. "And my father also spoke with him. He helped my father and an Elf girl flee the Demons to Arborlon."

      Browork continued to study him. "I know of your father, youngster. He did come to Arborlon to aid the Elves in their fight against the Demons. It was rumored that he was the possessor of Elfstones, just as you have said. But you say that you took the Elfstones from your home and then gave them up to the King of the Silver River?"

      "In exchange for magic I could use," Jair affirmed quickly. "For a wish I could use to save Brin. For a vision crystal to find her. And for strength for those who would help me."

      Browork glanced now at Garet Jax. The Weapons Master nodded. "I have seen the crystal of which he speaks. It is magic. It did show to us the face of a girl-one he says is his sister."

      The Elf identified as Edain Elessedil came suddenly to his feet. He was tall and fair-skinned, his blond hair reaching to his shoulders. "My father has spoken to me of Wil Ohmsford many times. He has said that he is an honorable man. I do not think a son of his would speak anything but the truth."

      "Unless he mistook fantasy for truth," one of the Council suggested. "This tale is difficult to swallow."

      "But the waters of the river are indeed fouled," another pointed out. "We all know that in some way the Mord Wraiths poison them in an effort to destroy us."

      "As you say, common knowledge," replied the first. "Hardly proof of anything."

      Other voices rose now, arguing the merits of Jair's tale. Browork raised his hands sharply.

      "Peace, Elders! Give thought to what we are about!" He turned back to Jair. "Your quest, if it be true, requires that we give you aid. You cannot succeed without that aid, Valeman. Armies of Gnomes lie between you and the thing you seek-this place you call Heaven's Well. Understand, too, that none among us have ever been where you would go or seen the source of the waters of the Silver River." He glanced about for confirmation; heads nodded and no one spoke in contradiction. "For us to help you then, we must first be certain of what we do. We must believe. How are we to believe a thing of which we have no personal knowledge? How are we to know what you tell us is the truth?"

      "I would not lie," Jair insisted, flushing.

      "Not knowingly, perhaps," the Elder mused. "Yet all lies are not intended. Sometimes what we believe to be truth is but a falsehood which deceives us. Perhaps that is what has happened here. Perhaps..."

      "Perhaps if we waste enough time talking about it, it will be too late to do anything to help Brin!" Jair lost his temper completely. "I have not been deceived in anything! What I spoke of happened!"

      The voices murmured in dissatisfaction, but immediately Browork signaled for quiet. "Show to us this pouch of Silver Dust that we might gain some measure of belief in what you say," he ordered.

      The Valeman stared at him helplessly. "It will not aid you. The dust appears as common sand."

      "Sand?" One of the Council members shook his head in disgust. "We are wasting our time, Browork."

      "Let us at least see the crystal, then," Browork sighed.

      "Or prove to us in some other way that what you say is true," another demanded.

      Jair felt his chance of convincing the Dwarves of anything slipping rapidly away. Few, if any, of the Council believed what he was telling them. They had seen nothing of Allanon or Brin; none of them had ever heard of anyone speaking with the King of the Silver River; for all he knew, they didn't even believe that such a being existed. Now he was telling them he had given away Elfstones for magics they could not even see.

      "We waste time, Browork," the first Elder muttered once more.

      "Let the Valeman be questioned by others while we get on with our business," another said.

      Again the voices rose, and this time they drowned out Browork's pleas for silence. Almost to a man, the Dwarves of the Council and those gathered with them called for the matter to be disposed of without further delay.

      "I could have told you this would happen," Slanter whispered suddenly from behind him.

      Jair went crimson with anger. He had come too far and endured too much to be shoved aside now. Give us proof, they were telling him. Make us believe.

      Well, he knew how to make them believe!

      Stepping forward suddenly, he lifted his hands high, then pointed into the shadows of the aisle leading back from where he stood. So dramatic was the gesture that the voices went abruptly still, and all heads turned to look. There was nothing there, nothing but darkness...

      Then Jair sang, the wishsong quick and strident, and a tall, black figure wrapped in cloak and cowl emerged from out of the nothingness of the air.

      The figure was Allanon.

      There was a sharp gasp from those assembled. Swords and long knives slipped from their sheaths, and men bounded from their seats to defend against this shade that had emerged from the dark. Within the cowl, a dark lean face lifted to the light, eyes fixing on the men of the Council. Then Jair's song faded and the Druid was gone.

      Jair turned once more to Browork. The Dwarfs eyes were wide. "Now do you believe me?" the Valeman asked quietly. "You said you knew him; you said you fought with him at Arborlon. Was that the Druid?"

      Slowly Browork nodded. "That was Allanon."

      "Then you know that I have seen him," Jair said.

      All assembled turned back now to stare at the Valeman, uneasy and shaken by what had happened. Behind him, Jair heard Slanter chuckle, a low nervous laugh. He caught a glimpse of Garet Jax from the corner of his eye. The Weapons Master had a curious, almost surprised look on his face.

      "I have told you the truth," Jair said to Browork. "I must go into the deep Anar and find Heaven's Well. Allanon will be there with my sister. Now tell me-will you help me or not?"

      Browork glanced at the other Elders. "What say you?"

      "I believe what he says," one old man ventured quietly.

      "But it could yet be a trick!" another said. "It could be the work of the Mord Wraiths!"

      Jair glanced quickly about. A few heads were nodding in agreement. In the smoky light of the oil lamps, suspicion and fear clouded many eyes.

      "The risk is too great, I think," yet another Elder said.

      Browork rose. "We are pledged to give aid to any who seek the destruction of the Wraiths," he said, blue eyes quick and hard. "This Valeman has told us he is allied with others of like mind and purpose. I believe him. I believe we should do what we can to aid him in his quest. I call for a vote, Elders. Give me your hands in support if you agree."

      Browork's hand lifted high. Half a dozen more from the Council lifted with it. But the dissenters were not to be silenced so easily.

      "This is madness!" one shouted. "Who will go with him? Are we to send men from the village, Browork? Who is to go on this quest to which you have so unwisely given your blessing? I call for volunteers if this is to be done!"

      A scattering of voices muttered in support. Browork nodded. "So be it." He looked about the chamber silently, his eyes shifting from one face to the next, searching, waiting for someone to accept the challenge.

      "I will go."

      Jair looked around slowly. Garet Jax had come forward a-single step, gray eyes expressionless as he faced the Council.

      "The King of the Silver River promised the Valeman that I would be his protector," he said softly. "Very well. The promise shall be kept."

      Browork nodded, then looked about the room once more. "Who else among you will go?" he called out.

      Elb Foraker pushed away from the wall against which he was leaning and walked over to stand with his friend. Again Browork looked out among those gathered. A moment later there was a stirring from among the men of Callahorn. A giant Borderman rose to his feet, black hair and beard close-cropped about his long, strangely gentle face.

      "I'll go," he rumbled and came forward to stand with the others. Jair took a step back in spite of himself. The Borderman was almost as big as Allanon.

      "Helt," Browork greeted him. "The men of Callahorn need not make this quest their own."

      The big man shrugged. "We fight the same enemy, Elder. The quest appeals to me, and I would go."

      Then suddenly Edain Elessedil came to his feet. "I would go as well, Elder."

      Browork frowned. "You are a Prince of the Elves, young Edain. You are here with your Elven Hunters to repay a debt your father feels he owes from the time the Dwarves stood with him at Arborlon. Well and good. But you carry the price of the debt too far. Your father would not approve of this. Reconsider."

      The Elven Prince smiled. "There is nothing to reconsider, Browork. The debt owed in this matter is not to the Dwarves but to the Valeman and his father. Twenty years ago, Wil Ohmsford went with an Elven Chosen in search of a talisman that would destroy the Demons who had broken free of the Forbidding. He risked his life for my father and for my people. Now I have a chance to do the same for Wil Ohmsford-to go with his son, to see to it that he finds the thing he quests for. I am as able as any man here and I would go."

      Still Browork frowned. Garet Jax glanced at Foraker. The Dwarf merely shrugged. The Weapons Master looked over at the Elven Prince for a moment as if measuring the depth of his commitment or perhaps simply his chance of surviving, then slowly nodded.

      "Very well," Browork acquiesced. "five, then,"

      "Six," Garet Jax said quietly. "An even half-dozen for luck."

      Browork looked puzzled. "Who is the sixth?"

      Garet Jax turned slowly about and pointed to Slanter. "The Gnome."

      "What!" Slanter's jaw dropped. "You can't choose me!"

      "I have already done so," the other replied. "You are the only one here who has been where we want to go. You know the way, Gnome, and you are going to show it to us."

      "I'll show you nothing!" Slanter was livid, his face contorted with rage. "This boy...this devil...he put you up to this! Well, you have no power over me! I'll throw you all to the wolves if you try to make me go!"

      Garet Jax came up against him, the terrible gray eyes as cold as winter. "That would be most unfortunate for you, Gnome, for the wolves would reach you first. Take a moment and think it through."

      The Assembly went deathly still. Weapons Master and Gnome faced each other without moving, eyes locked. In the eyes of the man in black, there was death; in the eyes of Slanter, hesitation. But the Gnome did not back away. He stood where he was, seething with anger, trapped in a snare of his own making. Slowly his gaze shifted to find Jair, and in that instant the Valeman actually found himself feeling sorry for the Gnome.

      Slanter's nod was barely perceptible. "I've no choice, it seems," he muttered. "I'll take you."

      Garet Jax turned back once more to Browork. "Six."

      The Dwarf Elder hesitated, then sighed in resignation. "Six it is," he declared softly. "Fortune go with you."

 

 

      15

Late the following morning, their preparations completed, the little company departed Culhaven for the deep Anar. Jair, Slanter, Garet Jax, Elb Foraker, Edain Elessedil and the Borderman Helt, armed and provisioned, slipped quietly from the village and were gone almost without notice. Only Browork was there to see them off, his aged countenance reflecting a mix of conviction and misgiving. To Jair, he gave his promise that warning of the Mord Wraiths would be sent to the elder Ohmsfords before their return to the Vale. To each of the others, he gave a firm handshake and a word of encouragement. Slanter alone evidenced an understandable lack of appreciation for the good wishes. No other fanfare accompanied their departure; the Council of Elders and the other leaders, both Dwarf and outlander, who had participated in last night's gathering remained divided in their feelings as to the wisdom of this undertaking. More than not, were the truth to be made known, felt the entire venture doomed from the start.

      Yet the decision had been made, and so the company went. It went alone, without escort, despite strenuous objection from the Elven Hunters who had accompanied Edain Elessedil east from the home city of Arborlon and who felt more than a little responsible for the safety of their Prince. Theirs was but a token force, after all, dispatched hurriedly by Ander Elessedil upon his receiving a call for aid from Browork and, until a larger force could be mobilized, dispatched in recognition of an obligation owed the Dwarves for their aid in the Demon-Elf struggle of twenty years earlier. Edain Elessedil had been sent in his father's place, but without any real expectation that he would see battle unless the Gnome armies advanced all the way to Culhaven. His offer to join the company on their quest into the heart of enemy country had been completely unexpected. But there was little that the Elven Hunters could do about it-since the Prince was free to make his own decision in the matter-other than to insist that they, too, be made a part of the undertaking. There were those among the Dwarves and Bordermen who would have gone as well, but all were refused. Garet Jax made the decision, and it was supported by the others who comprised the company of six, even Slanter. The smaller the group, the greater its mobility and stealth and the better its chances of slipping through the great forests of Anar unseen. With the unavoidable exception of Jair-and he had the magic to protect him, he kept reminding them-all were skilled professionals, trained in survival. Even Edain Elessedil had been tutored by members of the King's Home Guard during the years he had grown to manhood. The fewer they numbered, they all agreed, the better off they would be.

      And so only six went-on foot, for the forest wilderness prevented any other form of travel-eastward from the Dwarf village into the darkened woods, following the bend of the Silver River. Browork watched them until they were lost from sight in the trees, then turned reluctantly back to Culhaven and the work that awaited him there.

      It was a clear, cool autumn day, the air sharp and still and the skies bright with sunlight. Trees shimmered in myriad hues of red, gold, and brown, leaves falling to blanket the forest earth in a soft carpet that rustled beneath the feet of the six as they marched ahead. Time slipped quickly away. Almost before they knew it, the afternoon was gone, the evening settling in across the Anar in dark shades of gray and violet, and the sun sinking slowly from view.

      The company made camp next to the Silver River in a small grove of ash, sheltered on their eastern fringe by an outcropping of rocks. Dinner was prepared and eaten, and then Garet Jax called them all together.

      "This will be our route." It was Elb Foraker who spoke, kneeling in their midst to clear the leaves away, a broken stick tracing lines in the bare earth. "The Silver River flows thus." He marked its passage. "We stand here. East, four days or so, is the Dwarf fortress at Capaal that protects the locks and dams on the Cillidellan. North of that, the Silver River runs down out of the High Bens and the Gnome prisons at Dun Fee Aran. Further north still lie the Ravenshorn and Graymark."

      He looked about the little circle of faces. "If we can do so, we must follow the river all the way into Graymark. If we are forced to leave the river, the path through the Anar becomes a difficult one-all wilderness." He paused. "Gnome armies hold everything north and east of Capaal. Once there, we will have to watch ourselves carefully."

      "Questions?" Garet Jax glanced up.

      Slanter's snort of derision broke the silence. "You make it seem a whole lot easier than it is," he growled.

      "That's why we have you along." The Weapons Master shrugged. "Once beyond Capaal, you'll be the one choosing the path."

      Slanter spit disdainfully on the drawing. "If we get that far."

      The group broke up, each member moving off to make up his bed for the night. Jair hesitated, then started after Slanter. He caught up with the Gnome on the far side of the clearing.

      "Slanter," he called. The Gnome glanced about momentarily, saw who it was and looked away at once. Jair stepped around in front of the Gnome and faced him. "Slanter, I just want to tell you that it was not my idea to bring you with us."

      Slanter's eyes were hard. "It was your idea, all right."

      Jair shook his head. "I wouldn't force anyone to come who didn't want to-not even you. But I'm glad you're here. I want you to know that."

      "How very comforting," the Gnome mocked. "Be sure to remind the walkers of that when they have us all in their prisons!"

      "Slanter, don't be like this. Don't..."

      The Gnome turned away abruptly. "Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you. I want nothing to do with any of this." Then he glanced back suddenly, and there was a fierce determination in his eyes. "First chance I get, boy, I'll be gone! Remember that-first chance! Now-are you still glad I'm here?"

      He whirled and stalked away. Jair stared after him helplessly, both saddened and angered by the way things had worked out between them.

      "He's not as angry at you as he seems," a low voice-rumbled. Jair turned and found the Borderman Helt beside him, the long gentle face looking down. "He's mostly angry at himself."

      Jair shook his head doubtfully. "It didn't look that way."

      The Borderman moved over to a tree stump and sat, stretching his long legs. "Maybe not, but that's the truth of it. The Gnome's a tracker; I knew him in Varfleet. Trackers are not like anyone else; they're loners, and Slanter is more alone than most. He feels trapped in this, and he wants someone to blame for that. Apparently he finds it easiest to blame you."

      "I suppose I am to blame in a way." The Valeman stared after the retreating Gnome.

      "No more than he himself," the other said quietly. "He came into the Anar on his own, didn't he?"

      Jair nodded. "But I asked him to come."

      "Someone asked all of us to come," Helt pointed out. "We didn't have to come, though; we chose to come. It's no different with the Gnome. He chose to come with you to Culhaven-probably he wanted to come. It may be that he wants to come now, but can't admit it to himself. Maybe he's even a little frightened by the idea."

      Jair frowned. "Why would he be frightened of that?"

      "Because it means he cares about you. There isn't any other reason that I can think of that he would be here."

      "I hadn't thought of that. I guess that I thought just the opposite from what he's been saying-that he didn't care about anything."

      Helt shook his head. "No, he cares, I think. And that frightens him, too. Trackers can't afford to care about anyone-not if they expect to stay alive."

      Jair stared at the Borderman a moment. "You seem pretty sure about all this."

      The big man rose. "I am. You see, I was once a tracker, too."

      He turned and walked away into the dark. Jair stared after him, wondering what it was that had prompted the Borderman to speak, but rather grateful nevertheless that he had done so.

      Dawn broke gray and cheerless, and a mass of rolling dark clouds swept east across the morning sky. The wind blew chill and harsh out of the north, biting at their faces it! fierce gusts, whistling through the skeletal limbs of the forest trees. Leaves and dirt swirled all about them as they resumed the march, and the air smelled heavily of rain.

      Jair Ohmsford walked that day in the company of Edain Elessedil. The Elven Prince joined him at the start of the journey, conversing in his loose, easy manner, telling Jair what his father the King had told him of the Ohmsfords. There was a great debt owed Wil Ohmsford, the Elven Prince explained, as they bent their heads against the wind and trooped forward through the cold. If not for him, the Elven nation might have lost their war with the Demons, for it was Wil who had taken the Elven Chosen Amberle in search of the Bloodfire so that the seed of the legendary Ellcrys might be placed within its flames, then returned to the earth to be born anew.

      Jair had heard the tale a thousand times, but it was different somehow hearing it from Edain, and he welcomed the retelling. He, in his turn, recounted to the Prince his own small knowledge of the Westland, of his father's admiration for Ander Elessedil, and of his own strong feelings for the Elven people. As they talked, a sense of kinship began to develop between them. Perhaps it was their shared Elven ancestry, perhaps simply the closeness in age. Edain Elessedil was like Rone in his conversation at times-serious and relaxed by turns, anxious to share his feelings and ideas and to hear Jair's-and bonds of friendship were quickly formed.

      Nightfall came, and the little company took shelter beneath an overhang along a ridgeline that shadowed the Silver River. There they had their dinner and watched the sullen rush of the river as it churned past through a series of rocky drops. Rain began to fall, the sky went black, and the day faded into an unpleasant night. Jair sat back within the overhang and stared out into the dark, the fetid smell of the poisoned river reaching his nostrils. The river had grown worse since Culhaven, its waters blackened and increasingly choked with masses of dying fish and deadwood. Even the vegetation along the riverbanks had shown signs of wilting. There was a murky, depthless cast to the river, and the rain that fell in steady sheets seemed welcome, if only to help somehow wash clean the foulness that lay therein.

      The members of the company began to fall asleep after a time. As always, one among them stood guard for the rest. This watch was Helt's. The giant Borderman stood at the far end of the outcropping, a massive shadow against the faint gray of the rain. He had been a tracker a long time, Edain Elessedil had told Jair more than twenty years. No one ever talked about why he wasn't a tracker anymore. He'd had a family once, it was rumored, but no one seemed to know what had become of them. He was a gentle man, quiet and soft-spoken; he was also a dangerous one. He was a skilled fighter. He was incredibly strong. And he possessed night vision-extraordinary eyesight that enabled him to see in darkness as clearly as if it were brightest day. There were stories about his night vision. Nothing ever crept up on Helt or got past him.

      Jair hunched down within his blankets against the growing cold. A fire burned at the center of the outcropping, but the heat failed to penetrate the damp to where he sat. He stared a while longer at Helt. The Borderman hadn't said anything further to him after their brief conversation of the previous night. Jair had thought to talk again with him, and once or twice had almost done so. Yet something had kept him from it. Perhaps it was the look of the man; he was so big and dark. Like Allanon, only...different somehow. Jair shook his head, unable to decide what that difference was.

      "You should be sleeping."

      The voice startled Jair so that he jumped. Garet Jax was next to him, a silent black shadow as he settled in beside the Valeman and wrapped himself in his cloak.

      "I'm not sleepy," Jair murmured, struggling to regain his composure.

      The Weapons Master nodded, gray eyes peering out into the rain. They sat there in silence, huddled down in the dark, listening to the patter of the rainfall, the churning rush of the river, and the soft ripple of leaves and limbs as the wind blew past. After a time, Garet Jax stirred and Jair could feel the other's eyes shift to find him.

      "Do you remember asking me why I helped you in the Black Oaks?" Garet Jax asked softly. Jair nodded. "I told you it was because you interested me. That was true; you did. But it was more than that."

      He paused, and Jair turned to look at him. The hard, cold eyes seemed distant and searching.

      "I am the best at what I do." The Weapons Master's voice was barely a whisper. "All my life I have been the best, and there is no one even close. I have traveled all of the lands, and I have never found anyone who was a match for me. But I keep looking."

      Jair stated at him. "Why do you do that?"

      "Because what else is there for me to do?" the other asked. "What purpose is there in being a Weapons Master if not to test the skill that the name implies? I test myself every day of my life; I look for ways to see that the skill does not fail me. It never does, of course, but I keep looking."

      His gaze shifted once more, peering into the rain. "When I first came upon you back in that clearing in the Oaks, bound and gagged, trussed hand and foot, guarded by that Gnome patrol-when I saw you like that, I knew there was something special about you. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was there. I sensed it, I guess you'd say. You were what I was looking for."

      Jair shook his head. "I don't understand what you mean."

      "No, I don't guess you do. At first, I didn't understand either. I just sensed that somehow you were important to me. So I freed you and went with you. As we traveled, I saw more of what had intrigued me in the first place...something that I was looking for. Nothing really told me what I should do with you. I just sensed what I should do, and I did it."

      He straightened. "And then..." His eyes snapped back to find Jair's. "You came awake that morning by the Silver River and told me of the dream. Not a dream, I guess-but something like it. Your quest, you called it. And I was to be your protector. An impossible quest, a quest deep into the heart of the lair of the Mord Wraiths for something no one knew anything about but you-and I was to be your protector."

      He shook his head slowly. "But you see, I had a dream that night, also. I didn't tell you that. I had a dream that was so real that it was more...vision than dream. In a time and place I did not recognize, I stood with you as your protector. Before me was a thing of fire, a thing that burned at the touch. A voice whispered to me from within my mind. It said that I must do battle with the fire, that it would be a battle to the death, and that it would be the most terrible battle of my life. The voice whispered that it was for this battle alone that I had trained all of my life-that all of the battles that had gone before had been to prepare me for this."

      His gray eyes burned with the heat of his words. "I thought after hearing of your vision that perhaps mine, too, came from the King of the Silver River. But whatever its source, I knew that the voice spoke the truth. And I knew as well that this was what I had been looking for-a chance to match my skill against power greater than any that I had ever faced and to see if I was indeed the best."

      They stared silently at each other in the dark. What Jair saw in the other man's eyes frightened him-a determination, a strength of purpose-and something more. A madness. A frenzy, barely controlled and hard as iron.

      "I want you to understand, Valeman," Garet Jax whispered. "I choose to come with you that I might find this vision. I shall be your protector as I have pledged that I would. I shall see you safely past whatever dangers threaten. I shall defend you even though I die doing so. But in the end it is the vision that I seek to test my skill against this dream!"

      Pausing, he drew back from the Valeman. "I want you to understand that," he repeated softly.

      Silent again, he waited. Jair nodded slowly. "I think I do."

      Garet Jax looked out into the rain once more, withdrawing into himself. As if alone, he sat and watched the rain fall in steady sheets and said nothing. Then, after a time, he rose and slipped back into the shadows.

      Jair Ohmsford sat alone for a long time after he was gone, wondering if he really did understand after all.

 

      The next morning, when they came awake, Jair brought forth the vision crystal to discover what had become of Brin since last he had sought her out.

      Rain and gray mist shrouded the forest as the members of the little company crowded about the Valeman. Holding the crystal before him so that all could see, he began to sing. Soft and eerie, the wishsong filled the dawn silence with its sound, rising up through the patter of the rain on the earth. Then light flared from within the crystal, fierce and sudden, and Brin's face appeared. She stared out at the members of the company, searching for something their own eyes could not see. There were mountains behind her, stark and barren as they rose against a dawn as gray and dismal as their own. Still Jair sang, following his sister's face as she turned suddenly. Rone Leah and Allanon were there, haggard-looking faces lifted toward a deep, impenetrable forest.

      Jair ceased to sing, and the vision was gone. He looked anxiously at the faces about him. "Where is she?"

      "The mountains are the Dragon's Teeth," Helt rumbled softly. "No mistaking them."

      Garet Jax nodded and looked at Foraker. "The forest?"

      "It's the Anar." The Dwarf rubbed his bearded chin. "She comes this way, she and the other two, but farther north, across the Rabb."

      The Weapons Master gripped Jair's shoulder. "When you used the vision crystal before, the mountains were the same, I think the Dragon's Teeth. Your sister and the Druid were within them then; now they come out. What would they be doing there?"

      There was a moment's silence, faces glancing one from the other.

      "Paranor," Edain Elessedil said suddenly.

      "The Druid's Keep," Jair agreed at once. "Allanon took Brin into the Druid's Keep." He shook his head. "But why would he do that?"

      This time no one spoke. Garet Jax straightened. "We won't find out huddled here. The answers to such questions lie east."

      They rose, and Jair slipped the vision crystal back into his tunic. The march into the Anar resumed.

 

 

      16

On the fourth day out of Culhaven, they arrived at the Wedge.

      It was late afternoon, and the sky hung gray and oppressive across the land. Rain fell in steady sheets as it had fallen for three days past, and the Anar was sodden and cold. Trees stripped bare of autumn color shone black and stark through trailers of mist that slipped like wraiths across the deepening dusk. In the empty, sullen forest, there was only silence.

      All day the land had been rising in a steady, gentle slope that lifted now into a mass of cliffs and ridgelines. The Silver River churned through their midst, swollen by the rains, cradled within a deep and winding gorge. Mountains rose up about the gorge and blocked it away with walls of cliffs that were sheer and stripped of trees and scrub. Shadowed by mist and coming night, the Silver River was soon lost from sight entirely.

      It was the gorge that the Dwarves had named the Wedge.

      The members of the little company came high upon its southern slope, heads bent against the wind, cloaks wrapped tightly about their bodies as the cold and the rain seeped through. Silence hung over everything, the roar of the wind sweeping from their ears all sound save its own, and there was a deep and pervasive sense of solitude in each man's mind. The company walked through scrub and pine, making its way upward with slow, steady progress, feeling the whole of the skyline close down about it as the afternoon faded and night began to creep slowly in. Foraker led the way; this was his country and he was the most familiar with its tricks. Garet Jax followed, as black and hard as the trees they slipped through; then came Slanter, Jair, and Edain Elessedil. Giant Helt brought up the rear. No one spoke. In the stillness of their march, the minutes dragged by.

      They had passed over a gentle rise and come down into a stand of glistening spruce when Foraker suddenly stopped, listened, then motioned them all into the trees. With a word to Garet Jax, the Dwarf slipped from them and disappeared into the mist and rain.

      They waited in silence for his return. He was gone a long time. When he finally reappeared, it was from a different direction entirely. Signaling for them to follow, he led them deep into the trees. There they knelt in a circle about him.

      "Gnomes," he said quietly. Water ran from his bald head into his thick beard, curling in its mass. "At least a hundred. They've secured the bridge."

      There was shocked silence. The bridge was in the middle of supposedly safe country-country that was protected by an entire army of Dwarves stationed at the fortress at Capaal. If there were Gnomes this far west and this close to Culhaven, what had befallen that army?

      "Can we go around?" Garet Jax asked at once.

      Foraker shook his head. "Not unless you want to lose at least three days. The bridge is the only passage over the Wedge. If we don't cross here, we have to backtrack down out of these mountains and circle south through the wilderness."

      Rain spattered down their faces in the silence that followed. "We don't have three days to waste," the Weapons Master said finally. "Can we get past the Gnomes?"

      Foraker shrugged. "Maybe-when it's dark."

      Garet Jax nodded slowly. "Take us up for a look."

      They climbed into the rocks, circling through pine, spruce, and scrub, boulders damp and slick with rain, and mist and deepening night. Silent shadows, they worked their way ahead, Elb Foraker in the lead as they crept cautiously into the gloom.

      Then a flicker of firelight shone through the gray, its faint, lonely cast washed with rain. It slipped from beyond the rocks ahead of them. As one, they crouched from its eyes and crawled slowly on, up to where they could peek above the rim of a ridgeline and look down.

      The sheer walls of the Wedge dropped away below, misted and rainswept as the night came down. Spanning the massive drop was a sturdy trestle bridge built of timber and iron, fastened to the cliff rock at a narrows, and pinioned with Dwarf skill and engineering against the thrust and bite of the wind. On the near side of the bridge, a broad shelf ran back to the ridgeline, thinly forested and covered now by Gnome watchfires in the shelter of makeshift lees and canvas tents. Gnomes huddled everywhere-about fires in shadowed knots, within the cents silhouetted against the firelight, and along the shelf from ridgeline to bridge. On the far side of the gorge, nearly lost in the dark, a dozen more patrolled a narrow trail that ran back from the drop over a low rise to a broad, forested slope that fell away a hundred yards further on into the wilderness.

      At both ends of the trestle bridge, Gnome Hunters stood watch.

      The six who crouched upon the ridgeline studied the scene below for long moments, and then Garet Jax signaled for them all to withdraw into the shelter of a clump of boulders below.

      Once there, the Weapons Master turned to Helt. "When it's dark, can we slip past?"

      The big man looked doubtful. "Maybe as far as the bridge."

      Garet Jax shook his head. "That's not far enough. We have to get beyond the sentries."

      "One man might do it," Foraker said slowly. "Crawl under the bridge; crawl along the braces. If he were quick enough, he could slip across, kill the sentries and hold the bridge long enough for the others to follow."

      "This is madness!" Slanter exclaimed suddenly, his rough face shoving into view. "Even if you manage somehow to make it to the far side-past those dozen or so sentries-the rest will be after you in a minute! How will you escape them?"

      "Dwarf ingenuity," Foraker growled slowly. "We build things better than most, Gnome. That bridge is rigged to collapse. Pull the pins on either side and the whole thing drops into the gorge."

      "How long to pull the pins?" Garet Jax asked him.

      "A minute, maybe two. It's been expected for some time that the Gnomes would try to flank Capaal." He shook his head. "It worries me, though, that they've done it now and no one's stopped them. They're bold to seize the bridge as openly as this. And the way they've camped suggests they aren't much concerned about being caught from the other direction." He shook his head once more. "I'm worried for the army."

      Garet Jax brushed the rain from his eyes. "Worry about them another time." He glanced quickly at the others. "Listen carefully. When it's dark, Helt will lead us through the camp to the bridge. I'll cross underneath. When I dispose of the sentries, Elb and the Gnome will cross with the Valeman. Helt, you and the Elven Prince use long bows to keep the Gnomes on this side of the bridge until the pins ate pulled. Then cross when you're called and we'll drop the bridge."

      Elb Foraker, Helt, and Edain Elessedil nodded wordlessly.

      "There's more than a hundred Gnome Hunters down there!" Slanter pointed out heatedly. "If anything goes wrong, we won't have a chance!"

      Foraker looked coldly at the Gnome. "That shouldn't bother you, should it? After all, you can pretend you're with them."

      Jair glanced quickly at the Gnome, but Slanter turned away without comment. Garet Jax came to his feet.

      "No sound from here forward. Remember what we have to do.

      They climbed back onto the ridgeline, then huddled patiently within the rocks and watched as the night descended. An hour slipped away. Then two. Still the Weapons Master kept them where they were. Darkness fell over the whole of the gorge, and the rain and the mist passed across it like a veil. The cold began to deepen, settling through them with numbing bitterness. Below, the fires of the Gnome Hunters grew brighter against the black.

      Then Garet Jax brought his arm up, and the little company rose. They slipped from the rocks like bits of scattered night and began their descent toward the Gnome encampment. They went one after another, Helt leading the way, slow and cautious as he picked his path downward. The fires burned closer, and then voices became audible in the rush of wind and rain-low, guttural, and sounding of discomfort. The six forms crept past fire and tent, bent low within shadows that spread from rock and trees into the night. The company circled left about the encampment, and only Helt's night vision kept them from wandering off the drop.

      The minutes slipped away, and the slow crawl through the enemy camp dragged on. Jair could smell food cooking as the wind blew the odor back in his face. He could hear the voices of the Gnomes, their laughter and grunts, and see the movement of the toughened bodies passing in the faint light of the fires. He tried hard not even to breathe, willing himself to become one with the night. Then suddenly it occurred to him that if he wanted to, he really could become one with the night. He could use the wishsong to make himself invisible.

      And then he realized that he had just stumbled on a better way to get them all across the bridge.

      But how was he going to let the others know what it was?

      They had crept to the edge of the gorge and were beyond the shelter of rocks and trees. Only the open face of the cliff stretched ahead. They edged forward, crouched low against the night. There were no fires here, and so they stayed hidden in the mist and the rain. Ahead, the bulk of the trestle bridge loomed through the dark, its wooden beams glistening with rain. Gnome voices came softly from above, brief and cryptic as the sentries hunched down within their cloaks and stared longingly at the warmth and cheer of the camp behind them. Silently, Helt took the company down beneath the bridge to where the supporting beams were anchored in the rock. Yards away, the empty depths of the Wedge opened in a monstrous chasm, wind howling through its cavernous stomach across the rock.

      They crouched in a knot, and now Jair reached tentatively for Garet Jax. The hard face swung about. Jair pointed to the Weapons Master, then to himself, then to the sentries above them on the bridge. Garet Jax frowned. Jair pointed to his mouth and said soundlessly "Gnome" and pointed again to each of them. The wishsong can make the two of us appear as Gnomes to the sentries and we can cross without being stopped, he was trying to say. Should he whisper it? But no, the Weapons Master had said that no one was to speak. The wind would carry the sound of their voices; it was too dangerous. Again he made the same motions. The others crowded closer, glancing at one another uneasily as Jair continued to motion to Garet Jax.

      Finally the Weapons Master seemed to understand. He hesitated for a moment, then took Jair's arm in his own, pulled him close and pointed to the others, then to the bridge above. Could the Valeman disguise them all? Jair hesitated; he hadn't considered that. Did he possess strength enough to carry the disguise that far? It was dark, raining, and they were all cloaked and hooded. It would only be for moments. He nodded that he could.

      Garet Jax braced him firmly with both hands, gray eyes fixed upon his own. Then he motioned the others to follow them up. All understood. The Valeman was going to use the wishsong to get them across. They did not know how he was going to do that, but they had seen the power he commanded. Moreover, excepting only Slanter-and even he might have deferred to the other under those conditions-they trusted implicitly the judgment of Garet Jax. If he believed in Jair, so would they.

      They rose in a knot from where they crouched hidden and walked boldly up the bluff rise coward the bridge. Before them, shadowed forms huddled in idle conversation. Aware suddenly of their approach, the Gnome sentries turned. There were only three. Jair was already singing; his voice blending into the wind in a harsh, guttural song that whispered of Gnomes. For an instant the sentries seemed to hesitate, and a few brought their weapons up guardedly. Jair pushed harder, probing with the wishsong to make them all appear as Slanter. The Gnome tracker would surely think I'm mad now, he thought fleetingly. Still he sang.

      Weapons lowered then, and the sentries stepped aside. A changing of the watch? A relief for those on the far side of the gorge? Jair and his companions left them wondering, passing through their midst with faces lowered and cloaks wrapped close. They trooped onto the bridge, their booted feet thudding softly on the heavy wooden planks. Still Jair sang, shading them all in Gnome disguise.

      Then abruptly his voice faltered, drained by the use to which he had put it. But they were past the line of sentries now, lost in a shroud of mist and rain to any eyes that might follow them. They reached the center of the bridge, the wind howling past them in stinging swipes. Hastily Garet Jax motioned for Helt and Edain Elessedil to drop back. For just an instant Jair had a fleeting glimpse of Slanter's face, filled with wonder as he stared at the Valeman. Then Garet Jax motioned both of them behind him, and with Elb Foraker at his side started forward once more.

      They emerged from rain and night at the far side of the bridge, little more than hooded shadows to the Gnomes who kept watch there. Jair's throat tightened. This time there could be no wishsong to see them safely past; there were too many. A gathering of faces turned at their approach. For a few uncertain moments, the sentries simply stared at the figures who came at them, surprised by their appearance, yet certain that only Gnomes could come from the encampment they knew to hold the far cliff. Then before surprise could turn to alarm, or size and shape could properly register, Garet Jax and Foraker were upon them. Short sword and long knife glistened in the night. Half a dozen Gnomes lay dead before the others even realized what was happening. Their attackers swept into their midst, and now shouts of alarm broke wildly from their throats, calling to those on the far side.

      Answering cries came back a moment later. Jair and Slanter crouched low at the far end of the bridge, watching the battle before them as it swept into the dark and hearing disembodied cries rise all about them. The sharp twang of Elven ash bows sounded above the rush of wind and raid, and more Gnome Hunters began to die.

      Then a single Gnome burst from the darkness before them, bloodied and disheveled, his yellow face frantic in the dim light. He rushed onto the bridge, a two-edged axe in his hands. He saw Slanter and stopped, confused. Then he caught sight of Jair and sprang forward. The Valeman stumbled back, trying vainly to protect himself, so startled by the other's appearance that he momentarily forgot about the long knife he carried at his waist. The Gnome howled, weapon lifting, and Jair threw up his hands protectively.

      "Not the boy, you..." Slanter cried out.

      The Gnome screamed in rage, and again the axe came up. Slanter's sword swept down, and the attacker dropped to his knees, dying. Slanter drew back, a shocked look on his rough face. Then he had Jair by the arm, yanking him to his feet and pulling him ahead until they were clear of the bridge.

      Abruptly Elb Foraker appeared. Without a word, he dropped below the trestle bridge to where the pins that held it fixed were concealed. With frantic motions, he began to pull them free.

      Renewed cries sounded from the center of the bridge. Booted feet raced onto the wooden planks and from out of the mist and night Helt and Edain Elessedil burst. Still upon the bridge, they turned, and the great ash bows hummed. Gnomes howled in pain in the dark behind them. Again the bows hummed, and more cries rose. The sound of running feet disappeared back into the night.

      "Hurry with those pins!" Helt bellowed sharply.

      Garet Jax appeared now, joining Foraker beneath the bridge. Together they knocked the remaining pins free, one after the other-all but two. Again the thudding of booted feet rang out.

      "Heft!" the Weapons Master called a moment later, scrambling back onto the ledge. Foraker was a step behind him. "Get off the bridge!"

      The Borderman and the Elven Prince raced from out of the night, bent low against the wind. Spears and arrows flew after them. Lighter and quicker, Edain was first off the bridge, springing past the crouched forms of Jair and Slanter.

      "Now!" Foraker called over to Garet Jax.

      They stood opposite each other, pry bars anchored in hooks faced to the last of the concealed pins. As one, they pulled them free. In the same instant, Helt sprang clear of the bridge.

      With a groan, the wooden beams wrenched free of their pinnings, and the bridge began to sink downward into the night. Screams rose from the throats of the Gnomes still caught upon its length, but it was too late for them. The bridge dropped away with a sudden heave, falling downward into the mist and the rain, spinning away against the cliffs until it broke free on the far side, dropped into the gorge, and was lost.

      On the northern cliffs of the Wedge, six shadowed forms slipped swiftly into the darkness and were gone.

 

 

      17

The rain stopped that night, sometime in the early morning hours while the members of the little company from Culhaven lay sleeping within a shallow cavern half a dozen miles east of the Wedge. No one knew exactly when it happened-not even Edain Elessedil, who had been given the late watch. Exhausted by the harrowing flight across the Wedge, he had fallen asleep with the others.

      So it was that dawn brought with the new day a change in the weather. North, almost lost in the horizon's bluish haze, stood the vast mountain range they called the Ravenshorn, and from down out of her giant peaks blew a wind chill with the promise of autumn's demise and winter's coming. Bitter and stiff, it swept the clouds, the rain, and the mist that had cloaked the Silver River southward, and once again the sky turned depthless blue. The damp and discomfort were gone. The sodden earth dried hard once more, the rain water evaporated in the wind, and the whole of the land came back into focus with stunning clarity, sharp-edged and brilliant in the sun's golden light.

      Once more the company matched ease, wrapped close in their still-damp woolen forest cloaks to ward off the wind's biting chill. Ridgelines and grassy bluffs flanked the Silver River now as she churned through her forested banks. As the six pushed ahead, the whole of the Anar spread away beneath them. All day the clustered peaks of Capaal loomed eastward of where they marched, jutting from out of the forest trees like massive spikes to pierce the fabric of the sky. Still distant when the day began, they grew steadily closer with the passing of the hours until, by midafternoon, the company had reached their; lower slopes and begun the climb in.

      They had not gone far, however, when Edain Elessedil brought them to a halt. "Listen!" he cautioned sharply. "Do you hear it?"

      They stood silently upon the open slope, heads turned eastward toward the peaks as the Elven Prince pointed. Wind blew fiercely from out of the rocks, and there was no sound save its mournful howl.

      "I hear nothing," Foraker murmured softly, but no one moved. The Elf's sense of hearing was much sharper than their own.

      Then abruptly the wind seemed to shift and die, and a deep, steady booming came from far in the distance. It sounded faint and muffled, lost in the myriad twists and turns of the rock.

      Foraker's black-bearded face went dark. "Gnome drums!"

      They went forward again, more cautiously now, eyes scanning the cliffs and drops ahead. The pounding drums grew deeper and harder, throbbing against the rush of the wind, rumbling ominously through the earth.

      Then, as the afternoon lengthened and the shadow of the peaks stretched farther down to where the six climbed, a new sound reached their ears. It was a strange sound, a kind of chilling howl that seemed almost a part of the wind at first, then grew distinct in its pitch and fury. Lifting out of the distant heights, it rolled down across the mountain slopes and gathered them in. Faces glanced one from the other, and at last it was Garet Jax who spoke, a hint of surprise in his voice.

      "There is a battle being fought."

      Foraker nodded and started ahead once again. "They've attacked Capaal!"

      They climbed into the mountains, working their way through an increasingly jumbled maze of fragmented boulders, crevices, drops, and slides. The sunlight fell away as the afternoon died into dusk, and shadows lengthened over the whole of the southern exposure. The wind faded as well, and the chill it carried lost its edge. Silence descended across the land, its empty corners reverberating with the harsh echo of drums and battle cries. Far beyond where they climbed, through gaps in the barren peaks, great birds of prey circled in lazy sweeps-scavengers that watched and waited.

      Then at last the company was atop the ridgeline of the nearest peak, turning into a deep and shadowed defile that ran through the rock into coming night. Cliff walls hemmed them in on all sides, and they squinted sharply through the half-light for signs of movement. But the way forward lay open, and all of the life among these rocks seemed to have been drawn to where the battle ahead was being fought.

      Moments later they emerged from the defile and drew to a sudden halt. The cliff face dropped away before them and the whole of what lay beyond stood revealed.

      "Shades!" Foraker whispered harshly.

      Across a narrows, high within the peaks through which the waters of the Silver River flowed, stretched the locks and dams of Capaal. Huge, rough, and startlingly white against the dark rock, they rose high within the gathering of the mountains and cupped the waters of the Cillidellan in giant's hands. Atop their broad, flat crest, extending through three levels, was the fortress that served as protection, a sprawling mass of towers, walls and battlements. The greater portion of the citadel was settled upon the northern edge of this complex and faced onto a plain that ran back at a gentle slope into the sheltering peaks beyond. A smaller watch stood sentinel at the near end where the peaks ran down to the banks of the reservoir and only a series of narrow trails gave access to her walls.

      It was here that the battle had been joined. The army of the Gnomes stretched all across the broad expanse of the far shelf and the slopes beyond, and all along the trails and rock slides running down. Huge and massive, it surged against the stone battlements of Capaal in a dark wave of armored bodies and thrusting weapons, seeking to breach the fortifications that held it out. Catapults flung huge boulders through the fading light, which smashed with crushing force into the armor and flesh of the Dwarf defenders. Screams and howls rose up through the ringing clash of iron, and men died all across the length and breadth of the fortress. Tiny, faceless beings, they struggled before the battlements, Dwarves and Gnomes alike, and were swept away in the carnage that resulted.

      "So this is what the Gnomes have chosen for Capaal!" Foraker cried. "They have put her under siege! No wonder they were so bold in seizing the Wedge!"

      Jair pushed forward for a better look. "Are the Dwarves trapped?" he asked anxiously. "Can't they escape?"

      "Oh, they can escape easily enough-but they won't." Elb Foraker's dark eyes found the Valeman's. "Tunnels bore underground to the mountains on either side, secret passages built for escape should the fortress fall. But no army can breach the walls of Capaal, Ohmsford, and so the Dwarves within will stay and defend."

      "But why?"

      Foraker pointed. "The locks and dams. See the waters of the Cillidellan? The poison of the Mord Wraiths has blackened and fouled them. The dams hold back those waters from the lands west; the locks control the flow. Should the fortress be abandoned, the locks and dams would fall into the hands of the enemy. The Gnomes would open the gates and drain through the whole of the Cillidellan. They would flood the lands west with the fouled waters, poison as much of the land as they could, and kill as much of its life as they were able. The Wraiths would see to it. Even Culhaven would be lost." He shook his bearded face somberly. "The Dwarves will never permit that."

      Jair stared down once more at the battle below, appalled by the ferociousness of the struggle. So many Gnomes besieged the defenders of the fortress; was it possible for the Dwarves to withstand them all?

      "How do we get past this mess?" Garet Jax was studying the drop.

      The Dwarf seemed lost in thought. "When it's dark, work your way east along the heights. That should keep you above the Gnome encampment. Once past the Cillidellan, come down to the river and cross. Then turn north. You should be safe enough then." He straightened and extended his hand. "Luck to you, Garet."

      The Weapons Master stiffened. "Luck? You're not thinking of staying, are you?"

      The other shrugged. "I'm not thinking of anything. It's decided."

      Garet Jax stared. "You can't do any good here, Elb."

      Fraker shook his head slowly. "Someone has to warn the garrison that the bridge at the Wedge has been dropped. Otherwise, if the worst happens and Capaal falls, they might try to escape back through the mountains and be trapped there." He shrugged. "Besides, Helt can lead you in the dark better than I. And after Capaal, I don't know the country anyway. The Gnome will have to guide you."

      "We made a pact-the six of us." The voice of the Weapons Master had gone cold. "No one goes his own way. We need you."

      The Dwarf's jaw tightened stubbornly. "They need me, too."

      An unpleasant silence descended over the group as the two faced each other. Neither showed any intention of backing away.

      "Let him go," Helt rumbled softly. "He has a right to choose."

      "The choice was made at Culhaven." Garet Jax gave the Borderman an icy stare.

      Jair's throat tightened. He wanted to say something-anything-to break the tension between the Dwarf and the Weapons Master, but he couldn't think of what it should be. He glanced at Slanter to see. what the Gnome was thinking, but Slanter was ignoring them all.

      "I have an idea." It was Edain Elessedil who spoke. All eyes shifted toward him. "Maybe this won't work, but it might be worth a try." He bent forward. "If I could get close enough to the fortress, I could tie a message to an arrow and shoot it in. That would let the defenders know about the Wedge."

      Garet Jax turned to Foraker. "What do you think?"

      The Dwarf frowned. "It will be dangerous. You'll have to get much closer than you'd like. Much."

      "Then I'll go," Helt announced.

      "It was my idea," Edain Elessedil insisted. "I'll go."

      Garet Jax held up his hands. "If one goes, we all go. If we become separated in these mountains, we'll never find each other again." He glanced at Jair. "Agreed?"

      Jair nodded at once. "Agreed."

      "And you, Elb?" The Weapons Master faced the Dwarf once more.

      Elb Foraker nodded slowly. "Agreed."

      "And if we can get the message to the garrison?"

      The other nodded again. "We go north."

      Garet Jax took a final look down at the battle between Gnome and Dwarf armies, then motioned for the others to follow him back into the rocks. "We'll sit it out here until nightfall," he called back over his shoulder.

      Jair turned to follow and found Slanter at his elbow. "Didn't notice him bothering to ask me if I agreed," the Gnome muttered and shouldered his way past.

      The little company slipped down into a cluster of boulders, passing into the shadow of their concealment to wait until dark. Seated about the rocks, the six consumed a cold meal, wrapped themselves in their cloaks and settled back in silence. After a time, Foraker and Garet Jax left the cover of the rocks and disappeared down the slide for a closer look at the passage east. Edain Elessedil took the watch, and Helt stretched out comfortably on the rocky ground and was asleep almost at once. Jair sat alone for a few moments, then got up and walked over to where Slanter sat staring out into the empty dusk.

      "I appreciate what you did for me back at the Wedge," he said quietly.

      Slanter didn't turn. "Forget it."

      "I can't. That's three times now that you've saved my life."

      The Gnome's laugh was brittle. "That many, is it?"

      "That many."

      "Well, maybe next time I won't be there, boy. What will you do then?"

      Jair shook his head. "I don't know."

      There was an uncomfortable silence. Slanter continued to ignore the Valeman. Jair almost turned away again, but then his stubbornness got the better of him and he forced himself to remain. Deliberately, he took a seat next to the Gnome.

      "He should have asked you," he said quietly.