Terry Brooks - Ilse Witch

Quentin thought the whole governing business an appropriate one for old men. Leah was a drop in an ocean, to his way of thinking. There was so much more out there, so much else happening, and none of it was affected in even the tiniest way by events in Leah. Entire nations had never even heard of the Highlands. If he wanted to have an impact on the future of the Four Lands, and possibly even on countries that lay beyond, he had to leave home and go out into the world. He had talked about it with Bek until his cousin was ready to scream. Bek didn’t think like that. Bek wasn’t interested in affecting the rest of the world. Bek was quite content to stay pretty much where he was. He viewed Quentin’s relentless search for a way out of Leah as an obsession that was both dangerous and wrongheaded. But, he had to admit, at least Quentin had a plan for his life, which was more than Bek could say for himself.

They passed through farmlands, across horse and cattle fields, and past estate grounds and manor houses until they had reached the outskirts of the city proper. The Leah house occupied the same site on which their palace had been settled when the family ruled the Highlands. The palace had been destroyed during Federation occupation—burned, it was rumored, by Morgan Leah himself in defiance of its occupiers. In any case, Coran’s father had replaced it with a two-story traditional home, multiple eaves and dormers, long rooflines and deep alcoves, casement wraps and stone fireplaces. The old trees remained, flower gardens dotted the grounds front and rear, and vine-draped arbors arched above crushed-stone walkways that wound from the front and rear entry doors to the surrounding streets.

Lights already burned in the windows and along the paths. They gave a warm and friendly feel to the big house, and as the cousins walked up to it Bek found himself wondering how long it would be before he would enjoy this feeling again.

They ate dinner that night with the family, with Coran and Liria and the four younger Leahs. The children spent the meal clamoring for details about their adventures, especially the boar hunt. Quentin made it all sound much more exciting than it really was, accommodating his younger brothers and sisters with a wild and lurid tale about how they barely escaped death on the tusks and under the hooves of a dozen rampaging boars. Coran shook his head and Liria smiled, and any discussion of Walker’s unexpected appearance and proposed journey was postponed until later.

When dinner was finished and Liria had taken the younger children off to bed, Bek left Quentin to speak alone with his father about the Druid and took a long, hot bath to wash off the dirt from their outing. He gave himself over to the heat and damp, letting go of his concerns long enough to close his eyes and soak away his weariness. On finishing, he went to Quentin’s room and found his cousin sitting on the bed holding the old sword and studying it thoughtfully.

Quentin looked up as he entered. “Father says we can go.”

Bek nodded. “I never thought he wouldn’t. Walker wouldn’t be foolish enough to lie to us about something like that.” He brushed a lock of damp hair off his forehead. “Did he tell you why he’s had this change of heart about our leaving?”

“I asked. He said he owed the Druid a favor for something that happened a long time ago. He wouldn’t say what. Actually, he changed the subject on me.” Quentin looked thoughtful. “But he didn’t seem disturbed about our going or about Walker’s appearance. He seemed more … oh, sort of determined, I guess. It was hard to read him, Bek. He was very serious about this matter—calm, but intense. He made sure I knew to take the sword.”

He looked down at the weapon in his hands. “I’ve been sitting here looking at it.” He smiled. “I keep thinking that if I look hard enough, I’ll discover something. Maybe the sword will speak to me, tell me the secret of its magic.”

“I think you have to do what Walker said. You have to wait until there’s a need for it before you learn how it works.” Bek sat down on the bed next to him. “Walker was right. The sword is perfect. Not a mark on it. Hundreds of years old and in mint condition. That’s not something that could happen if magic wasn’t warding it in some way.”

“I suppose not.” Quentin turned the blade over and back again, running his fingers along the smooth, flat surface. “I feel a little strange about this. If the blade is magic and I’m to wield it, will I know what to do when it’s time?”

Bek chuckled. “When did you ever not know what to do when it was time? You were born ready, Quentin.”

“And you were born twice as smart and a lot more intuitive than I was,” his cousin replied, and there was no joking or laughter in his response. His steady, open gaze settled on Bek. “I know my strengths and weaknesses. I can be honest about them. I know I rush into things, the way I did the chance to go on this expedition. Sometimes that’s okay, and sometimes it isn’t. I rely on you to keep me from wandering too far astray.”

Bek shrugged. “Always happy to bring you back into line.” He grinned.

“You remember that.” Quentin looked back down at the sword. “If I don’t see what needs doing, if I miss the right and wrong of things, I’m counting on you not to. This sword,” he said, hefting it gently, “maybe it is magic and can do wonderful things. Maybe it can save lives. But maybe it’s like all magic and can be harmful, as well. Isn’t that the nature of magic? That it can work both ways? I don’t want to cause harm with it, Bek. I don’t want to be too quick to use it.”

It was a profound observation for Quentin, and Bek thought his cousin did not give himself nearly enough credit. Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement. “Now go take a bath,” he ordered, standing up again and moving toward the door. “I can’t be expected to think straight when you smell like this!”

He returned to his room and began putting together clothes for their journey. They would leave early in the morning, getting a quick start on their travels. It would take them a week to track down Truls Rohk and then to reach Arborlon. How much longer would they be gone after that? What would it be like in the lands beyond their own, across the Blue Divide? Would the climate be hot or cold, wet or dry, bitter or mild? He looked around his room helplessly, made aware again of how little he knew about what he had let himself in for. But that kind of thinking wasn’t going to help, so he put it aside and went back to work.

He was almost finished when Coran Leah appeared in the doorway, grave and thoughtful. “I wonder if I might talk to you a minute, Bek?”

Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. For a moment he just stood there, as if undecided about what to do next. Then he walked over to the bench on which Bek was laying out clothing, made a place for himself, and sat down.

Bek stared, still holding a shirt he was folding up to put in his backpack. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Coran Leah shook his gray head. He was still a handsome man, strong and fit at fifty, his blue eyes clear and his smile ready. He was well liked in Leah, well regarded by everyone. He was the kind of man who made it a point to do the small things others would overlook. If there were people in need, Coran Leah was always the first to try to find help for them or, failing that, to help them himself. He had raised his children with kind words and gentle urgings, and Bek didn’t think he had ever heard him shout. If he could have chosen a father for himself, Bek wouldn’t have looked farther than Coran.

“I have been thinking about this since Walker came to see me yesterday and told me what he wanted. There are some things you don’t know, Bek—things no one knows, not even Quentin, only Liria and I. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you, and I guess maybe I’ve waited as long as I can.”