Terry Brooks - Ilse Witch

He did not hobble or hood the great bird; Rocs were trained to stay where they were put and come when they were called. Leaving Obsidian at the base of the rise and the edge of the trees, Hunter Predd began the short walk up. He arrived at the towering walls as the sunlight slid away completely, leaving the Keep bathed in shadows. He stared upward, searching for signs of life. Finding none, he walked to the closest gate, which was closed and barred. There were smaller doors set on either side. He tried them, but they were locked. He stepped back again and looked up at the walls once more.

“Hello, inside!” he shouted.

There was no response. The echo of his voice faded into silence. He waited patiently. It was growing increasingly dark. He glanced around. If he didn’t rouse someone soon, he would have to retreat back down the rise and make camp for the night.

He looked up again, scanning the parapets and towers. “Hello! I have a message from Allardon Elessedil!”

He stood listening to the silence that followed, feeling small and insignificant in the shadow of the Keep’s huge wall. Maybe the Druid was traveling. Maybe he was somewhere else, away from the Keep, and this was all a big waste of time. The Wing Rider frowned. How could anyone even know if the Druid was there?

His question was cut short by a sudden movement at his side. He turned swiftly and found himself face-to-face with the biggest moor cat he had ever seen. The huge black beast stared at him with lantern eyes in the manner of a hungry bird eyeing a tasty bug. Hunter Predd stayed perfectly still. There was little else he could do. The big cat was right on top of him, and any weapons he might call upon to defend himself were woefully inadequate. The moor cat did not move either but simply studied him, head lowered slightly between powerful front shoulders, tail switching faintly in the darkness behind.

It took Hunter a moment to realize that there was something not quite right about this particular moor cat. In spite of its size and obvious power, it was vaguely transparent, appearing and disappearing in large patches as the seconds passed, first a leg, then a shoulder, then a midsection, and so forth. It was the strangest thing he had ever seen, but it did not prompt him to change his mind about trying to move.

Finally, the moor cat seemed satisfied with his inspection and turned away. He advanced a few paces, then turned back. Hunter Predd did not move. The moor cat walked on a few paces more, then looked back again.

To one side of the main gates, a small, iron-bound door swung open soundlessly. The cat moved toward it, then stopped and looked back. It took a few more tries, but finally the Wing Rider got the message. The moor cat was waiting on him. He was supposed to follow—through the open door and into the Druid’s Keep.

Hunter Predd was not inclined to argue the matter. Taking a deep breath, he passed from the bluff face through the entry and into the Keep.

The man who had once been Walker Boh and was now simply Walker had seen the Wing Rider coming from a long way off. His warding lines of magic had alerted him to the other’s approach, and he had stood on the walls where he could not be seen and watched the Rider land his Roc and walk up the rise to the gates. Black robes gathered close about his tall, broad-shouldered frame, Walker had watched the Wing Rider scan the Keep’s walls. The Wing Rider had called up, but Walker had not answered. Instead, he had waited to see what the other would do. He had waited, because waiting until he was sure was an advisable precaution.

But when the Wing Rider called up a second time, saying that he carried a message from Allardon Elessedil, Walker sent Rumor down to bring him in. The big moor cat went obediently, silently, knowing what he must do. Walker trailed after him, wondering why the King of the Land Elves would send a message with a Wing Rider. He could think of two reasons. First, the King knew how Walker would respond to an Elf from Arborlon and to her King in particular, and he was hoping a Wing Rider would do better. Second, the Wing Rider had special insight into what the message concerned. Descending the stairs from his perch on the battlements, Walker shrugged the matter away. He would find out soon enough.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs and moved out into the courtyard, the Wing Rider and Rumor were already waiting. He drew back his hood and left his head and face bare as he crossed to give greeting. There was nothing to be gained by trying to intimidate this man. Clearly the Wing Rider was a tough, seasoned veteran, and he had come because he had chosen to do so and not because he had been commanded. He owed no allegiance to the Elessedils. Wing Riders were notoriously independent, almost as much so as Rovers, and if this one was here, so far from his home and people, there was good reason for it. Walker was curious to learn what that reason was.

“I am Walker,” he said, offering his hand to the Wing Rider.

The other accepted it with a nod. His gray eyes took in Walker’s dark face, black beard and long hair, strong features, high forehead, and piercing eyes. He did not seem to notice the Druid’s missing arm. “Hunter Predd.”

“You’ve come a long way, Wing Rider,” Walker observed. “Not many come here without a reason.”

The other grunted. “Not any, I should think.” He glanced around, and his eyes settled on Rumor. “Is he yours?”

“As much as a moor cat can belong to anyone.” Walker’s gaze shifted. “His name is Rumor. The joke is, wherever I go, I am preceded by Rumor. It fits well with the way things have turned out for me. But I expect you already know that.”

The Wing Rider nodded noncommittally. “Does he always show up like that—in bits and pieces, sort of coming and going?”

“Mostly. You called up that you had a message from Allardon Elessedil. I gather the message is for me?”

“It is.” Hunter Predd wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you have any ale you can spare?”

Walker smiled. Blunt and to the point, a Wing Rider to the core. “Come inside.”

He led the way across the courtyard to a doorway into the main keep. In a room he used for storing foodstuffs and drink and for taking his solitary meals, he produced two glasses and a pitcher and set them on a small wooden table to one side. Gesturing the Wing Rider to one seat, he took the other and filled their glasses. They drank deeply, silently. Rumor had disappeared. He seldom came inside these days unless called.

Hunter Predd put down his glass and leaned back. “Four days ago, I was patrolling the Blue Divide above the island of Mesca Rho, and I found a man in the water.”

He went on to tell his story—of finding the castaway Elf, of determining his condition, of discovering the bracelet he wore and the map he carried, of conveying him to the Healer in Bracken Clell, and of continuing on to Arborlon and Allardon Elessedil. The bracelet, he explained, had belonged to the King’s brother, Kael, who had disappeared on an expedition in search of a magic revealed in a dream to Queen Aine’s seer thirty years earlier.

“I know of the expedition,” Walker advised quietly, and bid him continue.

There wasn’t much more to tell. Having determined that the bracelet was Kael’s, Allardon Elessedil had examined the map and been unable to decipher it. That it traced his brother’s route to the sought-after magic was apparent. But there was little else he could determine. He had asked Hunter to convey it here, to Walker, whom he believed might be able to help.

Walker almost laughed aloud. It was typical of the Elf King that he would seek help from the Druid as if his own refusal to supply it in turn counted for nothing. But he kept silent. Instead, he accepted the folded piece of weathered skin when it was offered and set it on the table between them, unopened.