Terry Brooks - Ilse Witch

They flew through the morning with only a single stop to rest Obsidian and to give themselves a chance to eat and drink. By midday, they had crossed the Tirfing and left the Westland behind. The Duln Forests passed beneath, then the slender ribbon of the Rappahalladran. The rains began to lessen, the storm clouds to move south, and snatches of blue sky to appear on the horizon. They were flying east and slightly north now, the Wing Rider taking them along the southern edge of the Borderlands below Tyrsis and across the Rainbow Lake. Lunch was consumed on the lake’s western shores, the day clear and bright by then, their clothing beginning to warm in the sun, their interest in their mission beginning to sharpen once more.

“The castaway, Walker—was he Kael Elessedil?” Hunter Predd asked as they finished the last of the cold grouse Dorne had provided them on leaving that morning.

Walker nodded. “He was. I couldn’t tell at first. I haven’t seen him since he was not much more than a boy and don’t remember him all that well in any case. Even if I had remembered how he looked then, it would have been difficult to recognize him after what he had been through. But there were other signs, scattered traces, that revealed his identity.”

“He didn’t die in his sleep, did he? Not of natural causes. Someone helped end his life.”

The Druid paused. “Someone did. How did you know that?”

The Wing Rider shrugged, his whipcord-tough body lengthening as he stretched. “Dorne is a talented Healer and a careful man. The castaway had survived days at sea before I found him. He should have survived a couple more in a Healer’s bed.” He glanced at Walker questioningly. “Our assassins’ employer?”

The Druid nodded. “I would guess so. Magic was used to kill the man, to steal his life. Not so different from what was done to those men sent to kill Allardon Elessedil.”

For a moment the Wing Rider was silent, sipping at his cup of ale and looking off into the distance. Then he said, “Do you know yet who your enemy is?”

My enemy. Implacable and deadly . Walker’s smile was ironic. “I’ll know better by tonight.”

The Wing Rider cleaned and packed their gear, made certain his mount was fed and watered sufficiently, then motioned Walker back aboard. They flew east across the Rainbow Lake, passing below the mouth of the Mermidon and the broad, rumpled humps of the Runne Mountains. A handful of fishing boats floated on the lake below but, absorbed in their work, the fishermen did not glance up. The day wore on, the sun dropped toward the western horizon, and the light began to fade. The moon brightened in the skies ahead, and a single star appeared close by. Shadows lengthened across the land below, stretching out like fingers to claim it for nighttime’s coming.

It was twilight by the time they started up the south end of the Rabb Plains for the Dragon’s Teeth. By then, the huge jagged peaks were dark and shadowy and stripped of definition, a forbidding wall that stretched all the way across the northern skyline. The temperature was dropping, and Walker pulled his cloak closer about his body for warmth. Hunter Predd seemed unaffected. Walker marveled at how little the Wing Rider seemed to mind the weather, aware of, but untroubled by it. He supposed that to be a Wing Rider, one had to be so.

It was fully dark when they reached the foothills leading up to where he would go this night. Guided by the light of moon and stars, Obsidian landed on an open rise, safely away from rocks and brush that might hide enemies or hinder a quick escape. After seeing to the needs of the Roc, the Wing Rider and the Druid set camp, built a fire, and cooked and ate their dinner. In the distance, they could hear the hunting cries of night herons and the strident wail of wolves. Moonlight bathed the plains south and east, and through the pale brightening, furtive shadows moved.

“I’ve been thinking about the castaway,” Hunter Predd declared after a period of silence. They were almost finished with their meal, and he was digging at the hard ground with the heel of his boot, sitting back from the fire with his cup of ale. “How could a blind man have escaped his captors unaided?”

Walker looked up.

“How could he have made his way from wherever he was imprisoned to come back across the Divide to us?” The Wing Rider’s frown deepened. “Assuming he was returning from the voyage Kael Elessedil made thirty years ago, he’d have had to travel a long way. A blind man couldn’t have managed it without help.”

“No,” Walker agreed, “he couldn’t.”

The Elf hunched forward. “Something else’s been bothering me. How did he get his hands on the map? Unless he drew it himself, he either stole it or it was given to him. If he drew it himself, he must have done so before he was blinded. How did he hide it from his captors? If someone else drew it, they must have given it to him. Either way, he must have had help. Even to escape. What became of that other person?”

Walker nodded approvingly. “You’ve asked all the right questions, Hunter Predd. Questions I have been asking myself for several days. Your mind is as sharp as your instincts, Wing Rider.”

“Have you answers to give?” Hunter pressed, ignoring the compliment.

“None I care to share just yet.” He stood up, setting his plate and cup aside. “It’s time for me to go. I won’t be back before morning, so you might as well get some sleep. Do not come looking for me, no matter how tempted you might be. Do you understand?”

The Wing Rider nodded. “I don’t need to be told to stay out of those mountains. I’ve heard the stories of what lives there. I’ll be content to stay right where I am.” He wrapped his cloak more tightly about him. “Good luck to you.”

It grew colder on the walk up from the foothills and into the Dragon’s Teeth, the temperature dropping steadily as the Druid climbed. Within the massive rock walls, the night was silent and empty feeling. The moon disappeared behind the peaks, and there was only starlight to guide the way, though that was sufficient for the Druid. He proceeded along a narrow pebble-strewn trail that angled through clusters of massive boulders. The jumble of crushed and broken rock suggested that an upheaval in some long-forgotten time had changed the landscape dramatically. Once another peak might have occupied the place. Now there was only ruin.

It took him almost two hours to make the climb, and it was nearing midnight when he reached his destination. Cresting a rise, he found himself looking down on the Valley of Shale and the fabled Hadeshorn. The lake sat squarely in the valley’s center, its smooth waters dull and lifeless within the bowl of polished black rock that littered the walls and floor. Starlight reflected brightly off the stone, but was absorbed by the Hadeshorn and turned to shadow. Within the valley, nothing moved. Cupped by the high, lonesome peaks of the Dragon’s Teeth, it had the look and feel of a tomb.

Not far from wrong, Walker thought to himself, staring out across its lifeless expanse.

Faced toward the Valley of Shale, he seated himself with his back against a huge slab of rock and dozed. Time slipped away without seeming to do so, and before he knew it, the night was almost gone. He rose and walked, moving steadily but cautiously over the loose rock, picking his way down the valley’s slope to its floor. He was careful not to trip and fall; the edges of the polished rock were razor sharp. Only the crunching of the rubble beneath his boots broke the silence of his descent. Starlight flooded the valley, and he made his way without difficulty to the edge of the lake by the hour before dawn, when the spirits of the dead might be summoned to reveal secrets hidden from the living.