Terry Brooks - Ilse Witch

He looked at her from out of the cowl’s darkness, the green slits of his eyes empty and cold. Once, she would have been terrified to have him regard her so. Once, she would have done anything to make him look away. Now, she returned his gaze, her own colder and emptier still.

“Allardon Elessedil is dead,” he said softly. “Killed by mistake by his own guards in an assassination attempt by Elves who had been mind-altered. Who do we know who has the ability to use magic in that way?”

It was not a question that required an answer, and so she ignored it. “While you were gone,” she replied calmly, “a castaway was found floating in the Blue Divide. He carried with him an Elessedil bracelet and a map. A Wing Rider bore him to the village of Bracken Clell. One of my spies told me of him. When I went to have a look, I discovered who he was. Kael Elessedil. The map he carried was already on its way to his brother, but I extracted much of its writings from the memories in his head.”

“It is not your place to decide to take the life of a King!” the Morgawr hissed angrily. “You should have consulted with me before acting!”

She went very still. “I do not need your permission to do what I deem necessary. Ever. The taking of a life—of anyone’s life—is my province and mine alone!”

She might as well have told him the sun would rise in less than an hour. His reaction to her words was indifferent, his response unreadable, and his body posture unchanged. “What of this map?” he asked.

“The map is of a treasure, one of magic formed of words, come out of the Old World from before the Great Wars.” She used her voice to draw him close, to bind him to her own sense of urgency and need. He would sense what she was doing, but he was vulnerable still. “The magic is hidden in a safehold in a land across the Blue Divide. Kael Elessedil has been there and seen the magic. It exists, and it is very powerful. Unfortunately, his brother knew of it as well. Until I stopped him, he intended to act on the matter.”

The Morgawr came into the room, not toward her, but away, sidling along the far wall, as if to retrieve something from the cases that lined it. A potion, perhaps? A recording of some discovery? Then he slowed and turned, and his voice was like ice. “You intend to go in his place, little witch?”

“The magic should be ours.”

“You mean yours, don’t you?” He laughed softly. “But that’s as it should be.”

“You could go with me,” she said, hoping as she said it he would not.

He cocked his reptilian head, considering. “This is your discovery and your cause. Pursue it if you wish, but without me. If the magic will belong to both of us, I am content.”

She waited, knowing there would be more. “But?” she said finally.

His eyes glimmered. “You will go alone?”

“Across the Blue Divide? No. I will need a ship and crew to take me.” She paused. “And there is a complication.”

The Morgawr laughed again, slow and faintly mocking. “I sensed as much from the way you approached this business. What sort of complication?”

She walked toward him a few steps and stopped, showing she was not afraid, that she was in command of what she intended. Presence was of great importance with Mwellrets and with the Morgawr in particular. If they thought someone confident, they were less likely to challenge. The Morgawr was a powerful warlock, and he had spent a lifetime learning to command magic that could destroy his enemies in a heartbeat. She was his equal now, but she had to be careful of him.

“Before he died, Allardon Elessedil sent the map to Paranor and summoned Walker to Arborlon.”

“The Druid!” the warlock said, loathing in his voice.

“The Druid. He arrived in time to agree upon the terms of a search for the map’s treasure before witnessing the King’s death. If luck had favored us, he would have died, as well. As it was, he lived. He will lead an Elven expedition in quest of the magic.”

The Morgawr studied her wordlessly for a moment. “A contest with your greatest enemy. How keen your anticipation must be.”

“He is a formidable opponent.”

“One you have sworn you would one day destroy.” The warlock nodded. “Perhaps that day has arrived.”

“Perhaps. But it is the magic I covet more than the Druid’s death.”

The Morgawr shifted within his cloak, and one clawed hand gestured at the air. “A Druid, some Elven Hunters, and a Captain and crew. A few others, as well, if I know Walker. He will draw a strong company to support his quest, particularly since he knows that Kael Elessedil has failed already. Even with the Elfstones to protect him, he failed.”

He glanced sideways at her. “And what of them, little witch? What of the precious Elfstones?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. He did not bring them back with him. His memories did not reveal what had become of them. Perhaps they are lost.”

“Perhaps.” His rough voice had lost its edge and taken on a contemplative tone. “Where is the Druid now?”

“He was in Bracken Clell a day ago. He left and has not yet resurfaced. My spies watch for him.”

The warlock nodded. “I leave him to you. I know you will find a way to deal with him. It is left to me to give you the rest of what you need to undertake your search—a ship, Captain, and crew, and a handful of suitable protectors. I shall supply them all, little witch. You shall have everything you need.”

She did not like the way he said it, and she knew that by doing her this favor he intended to keep close watch and perhaps even control over her while she was away from him. He did not trust her anymore. Where once he had been the teacher and she the student, now they were equals. Worse still, she knew, they were rivals—not yet at odds, but headed there. But she could not refuse his help. To do so would be to acknowledge her fear of his intentions. She would never do that.

“Whatever assistance you can give me will be welcome,” she told him, inclining her head slightly as if in gratitude. It was better to keep him appeased for now. “Where do we begin?”

“With the details of the map you reconstructed from Kael Elessedil’s memories.” He glanced past her to the table at which she had been seated and the drawings that lay there. “Do I see the beginnings of your work?”

Without waiting for her response, he walked over for a closer look.

It was well after dawn when Walker departed from the Valley of Shale. His meeting with the shade of Allanon had sapped him of strength and energy in a way he hadn’t expected. It had been a long time since he had come to the Hadeshorn, a long time since he had needed to, and he had forgotten how draining the experience could be. So much concentration was required. So much intuition had to be applied to interpretation of the shade’s words. Even though the Druid knew as much as he did and was prepared for the rest, it was necessary to be careful while he listened and not to make false assumptions or to forget any of what he was told.

When the spirits of the dead were gone and the sun had crested the horizon, he had looked at himself in the now still waters, and his face seemed weathered and lined beyond his years. For just an instant, he imagined himself an old, old man.

This day was sunny and bright, the clouds and rain of the past two had disappeared east, and the air carried the smell of living things once more. Over the course of the next several hours, he retraced his steps, too weary to complete the journey more quickly, using the time to contemplate what he had learned. The shade of Allanon had spoken to him of a past he already knew, of a present he suspected, and of a future he did not understand. There were people and places with whom he was familiar and ones with whom he was not. There were riddles and strange visions, and the whole was a jumble in his mind that would not straighten itself out until he was better rested and had time to consider the information more thoroughly.