The Witch
As Robby and his company moved west and fought their way across the bridge at Redwater Gorge, Esildre rode very slowly eastward along the same way that the travelers from Barley had come to Nowhere. She did not urge her mount on, but let him take his own pace along the forest path. Her two companions, who rarely spoke but were always attuned to her mood, followed closely behind, sometimes exchanging glances with each other. Her silence never bothered them in the least, and they instinctively knew that hers was the silence of contemplation, of the careful consideration of possibilities, and of choices being weighed. When she had something to say, she would say it. And the two great-nephews correctly surmised that the root of her present meditation was a very simple fact, one that was only discovered the day before.
Bailorg was dead.
Vengeance for her brother's death was gone. Hope of capturing Bailorg and returning him to reveal the mastermind of his deed before the King's judges was now entirely extinguished.
"At the hand of a mere boy!" she inwardly mused. "A mortal, too, until he suffers the Change."
Her purpose was now gone. To come all this way! A needless journey, putting her servants at risk, alone in her castle without her protection. And putting her kin in harm's way as her escorts. Going all the way to Duinnor, then coming all the way here. What was the point of it all?
Raynor told her she should bide her time, preparing instead to confront he who sent Bailorg with Navis, he who rewarded Bailorg for the foul deed. Her own father! But she refused to believe Raynor. How could she believe him? She insisted on leaving, to look for Bailorg herself and bring him to justice, or to at least force a confession out of him for her own ears to hear, so that she at least would know who had planned her brother's murder. Raynor acquiesced, maintaining it was a foolish thing to attempt, convinced of her father's guilt. Folly, he said it was.
Folly, indeed, she now accepted, letting her buckmarl come to a halt. Bailorg was dead. And now what? Should she turn around and join Robby and his company westward? No. She remembered Ullin, and mistrusted herself. No, her company would only put them at greater risk.
Her two companions halted, too. They had never succumbed to the temptation to look behind her veil, taking brotherly strength from each other to resist. And they knew that she trusted them for that, as she trusted no one else. Or perhaps there was one other, one she spoke of only briefly, only once. The man who had escorted her to Duinnor. But she never said his name.
"There is only one other whom I would trust as my escort," she had told them one night when she was expressing her gratitude for their patience. It was the night she told them that she intended to go southward instead of continuing east toward Karthia on the River Osterflo. "But, with my sight restored, I would not trust myself in his company."
It was an interesting declaration, and the twins, who rarely needed to speak to each other, had even chatted about it later. But that conversation was distant from their minds as they now settled in their saddles and waited.
Esildre was reviewing again those things that Collandoth and the others had told her, and the mysterious gaps in their explanations. Why did they seem so deferential to Robby? Because he killed Bailorg? Or was there something else about him that demanded such respect? And if they went west to Duinnor, why did they not send the Kingsman ahead, to carry swift news of the invasion? What held him back from that obvious duty?
Oh, Ullin Saheed!
She should have said something to Collandoth. She should have warned them to be wary of the Kingsman. But her shame kept her silent. That the Kingsman was not immediately lost to madness was a wonder and a mystery. Truly Ullin's longing was a torment to him, long before Esildre encountered him. If it had not been for that torment, might he have resisted her? And might she, perhaps, have resisted him? No, most likely not. It was his torment that made her unable to resist, for all his loneliness. What must his love be to produce such feelings? More powerful, and more terrible, than she had ever felt from any of her previous victims. A man like that, filled with such anguish, ought to already be made mad by it. But, she wondered, why wasn't he? A man like that, carrying such weight, could be capable of anything.
She sat for a long time on her patient buckmarl, speaking not a word to her escorts, and they not a word to each other or to her. The day grew long and overcast, then it began to rain. Still Esildre pondered her questions, heedless of the downpours. Finally, when the gloom of the day could hardly be discerned from the coming night, she reined around.
"We shall abide with the little people," she said to her escorts, "and help them prepare, if we may. Then we shall decide where we should go."
• • •
The next morning came in subtle changes, gray and foggy, but a bit of sunshine tried to break through during midmorning. Robby and his companions were glad to be away from the damp, exposed place where they had uncomfortably slept. When noontime came, the clouds had gathered again and it was a wet, gloomy day of uphill and downhill. They rode where they could, but when the rains came again, they dismounted and proceeded on foot along the slippery way. There were more breaks in the clouds during the afternoon, sometimes raining while the sun shone. Both rain and sunlight were fitful and restless until, as if out of exhaustion, Sir Sun gave a last glare at the travelers and then disappeared behind a thunderstorm that came booming over the steep slopes. It was such a heavy downpour that they stopped in the middle of the way and huddled with their horses, calming them as best they could against the blinding jabs of lightning and splitting cracks of thunder. It did not last long, thankfully, and they continued with what light that was left to them. The road descended and remained fairly steady and easy, allowing them to ride again. This they did for several miles through a forest where even the trees seemed to droop from the heaviness of rain.
"Ho! Look," Billy called ahead to the others. "What have we here?"
It was perhaps a sign of their fatigue that those in the lead did not notice the little side path that Billy pointed to. Ashlord came up from the rear, and Ullin came back from the front. Dismounting and handing Robby their reins, the pair walked toward the path's opening for a closer look.
"How did I miss seeing this?" asked Ullin.
"Well, it seems to lead off to'ard some clearin' beyond," said Billy, leaning sideways out of his saddle to see under some branches. "A good place to camp, maybe?"
Ashlord craned his neck but could not see where the path led.
"We may as well have a look," he said. "It will be dark soon enough, and any Damar that passes at night will surely not see this."
"Lead on, Billy," Ullin said. "We will follow."
After passing through thirty or forty yards of a dense wood, there opened a broad flat clearing. In the center stood a wooden cottage made of hewn planks with cedar shingles. All around were gardens gone untended for many months. A dense tangle of vines had nearly taken over one side of the cottage. Otherwise, it looked as if it had once been neat and trim and well-kept. No smoke came from its chimney, and the cottage had every appearance of being empty.
"Well, if anyone is there, we've been seen, certainly," said Sheila.
"Let us put friendly faces on, and feign that we are lost if necessary," said Ullin. Ashlord nodded and then approached the cottage just as the rain resumed in a downpour.
"Hullo!" called Robby. "Is anyone home?"
No reply and no movement could be heard or seen.
"Hullo!" he cried again as Billy walked up and gave the door a loud knock. After a pause, listening, Billy shrugged.
"Shall we enter?"
"Go ahead," said Ashlord. "I don't think anyone is home."
"The door's locked on the inside," said Billy pulling and pushing on the handle. "Solid, too!"
"Robby," Ullin nodded at the door. "Why don't you have a go?"
Robby grasped the latch handle and turned it then pushed gently. The crossbar within burst from its pintles, and the door swung open with a loud protest from its hinges.
Robby stood back, peering within the gloom and sniffing. The memory of opening the house of Sheila's uncle suddenly sprang to mind, and he didn't fancy another sight like that. But he smelled nothing other than the musty odor of disuse. Billy pushed past him and confidently strode in.
"Hullo!" he called, then turned to the others. "Nobody's home, an' don't look like thar's been anybody here for some while, judgin' by the dust. It's dry though."
It was a modest, two-room place, the largest portion with a stone fireplace for heat and cooking, a table with a dried-out oil lamp and equally dried-out onions on it. There was dried corn dangling from the rafters, along with large pots, some tools, and a chair, hung upside down to be out of the way. Sheila poked at the ashes with the fire-iron and sent a crowd of swallows fluttering away up the chimney and a couple others right out and through the door, startling her. The other room had a cot and a clay washbasin and pitcher. There were clothes stacked neatly on a chest which, when opened, revealed more clothes, woolens, and the like.
Ibin and Billy looked longingly at the cot.
"It must get very cold in here in the winter," Robby said, peering over Billy's shoulder. "See all of the knotholes stuffed with bits of cloth?"
"Yeah," Ibin nodded, reaching down and pulling out a clump from a nearby wall. "Mustget, mustget, itmustgetprettycold, prettycoldwhenitssnowing, Robby."
Back in the other room, Ashlord looked over the pots and pans and all the accoutrements for living, but saw no evidence of recent occupation.
When Robby came back from the bedroom, Ashlord was scratching his head, examining the door and the crossbar that Robby had dislodged.
"I don't see a very easy way to lock the door from outside," said Robby.
"Nor do I," replied Ashlord, picking up the crossbar.
"And yet there is nobody inside and the windows, such as they are, are boarded up tight, too," added Ullin.
"The only way out is through the chimney," said Sheila, "but only for a tiny person."
"Which I don't think's the case," said Billy holding up a pair of trousers that were nearly broad enough for Ibin.
"Well, let's see," said Ashlord, attempting to reassemble the pieces. By balancing them together and then closing the door very carefully, he managed it so that the crossbar fell into place as the door closed.
"There you have it," he said, unsatisfied. "Perhaps the dweller left one day, the door accidentally barred itself behind him, and he never returned."
"I guess we'll never know," said Ullin.
"Is it safe to stay the night here?" asked Sheila.
"Well, there is something odd about all this," Ashlord replied, examining the carving about the lintel. "But it is dry, at least, and the rain seems to be getting heavier. Yes. Let's stay the night and be away as early as we can. Shall we?"
Ullin and Robby nodded in agreement, and they all went out to gather in their things from the horses and to tend to them.
"Let's see 'bout gettin' some farwood, if thar's any dry enough to light," suggested Billy to Ibin.
By the time all of the saddles and bags and packs were inside, the cottage was fairly crowded. They stacked their things neatly enough to allow space on the floor for sleeping, and Sheila was already coaxing a smoky fire in the fireplace by the time more firewood arrived and the horses had been seen to.
"There's good feed for the horses," Ullin said when he entered, stamping off water. "And the well water is good. I could find no stable or barn, so I don't think this farmer had any livestock. But I found these."
He dumped some onions, radishes, and little carrots onto the table near the fireplace, saying, "Looks to me like they were laid out in the spring but let go. Deer and rabbits have had a feast, and weeds have all but choked the rest of the gardens."
It was now pouring in earnest, thunder rolled through the mountains in the peculiar way it does in such regions, and night came swiftly and dark. They shut and latched the door against the wind-driven rain, cooked and ate, and were all thankful and quite satisfied with the cozy place. Ibin took down the chair from the rafters and gave it to Ashlord to sit before the fire, and then he took away the pots and pans to clean. Certina explored the rafters and the nooks and crannies of the place, coming and going from Ashlord's shoulder. At last she found a place on the mantel to sit, and with lazy eyes she watched Ashlord smoke his pipe. A candle was found and lit and placed on a shelf on the other side of the room above where Sheila and Robby slept on the floor. Ibin remade the cot in the bedroom with their own blankets, after removing the musty covers that were tangled there. Billy commented on how the last occupant must have been a restless sleeper, judging by the state of the bed. He thanked Ibin for the favor, noting to himself that the bed was far too small for Ibin's long and heavy frame.
"The owner must've had a dog er cat er somethin'," Billy commented as he tested the mattress and pulled off his boots. "An' he must've been fond of playin' with some toy whilst his master slept. Just look at them scratches on the floor an' against the wall, over yonder near that knothole, the one what ain't got no stuffin' in it."
"Yeah,Ibet, Ibet, Ibethehadadog."
"Yep. Pro'bly follered his master to wherever he went off to."
Since there was no mattress too lumpy for Billy and no floor too hard for Ibin, the two were soon gently snoring.
In the next room, the others also made themselves comfortable.
"I think the rain will not last," said Ashlord to Ullin. "But I would prefer that you stay here the night through, rather than scouting ahead as is your custom."
"Suits me," Ullin said, trying to stifle a yawn as he stretched out nearby and leaned against his saddle. He took out his pipe and lit it. They watched the low flames together, listening to the rumble of the passing storm outside.
"It seems to work uncommon well," Ullin pointed the stem of his pipe at the fireplace.
"Yes, it will be a warm cottage, tonight."
"I do not think I have seen stonework such as that," he observed, stretching forward to tamp out his pipe into the fire. "Or the likes of these wreathed vines surrounding the fireplace. Seem something of a fire risk, so close to the hearth."
He referred to the flat stones framing the fireplace and, surrounding that, a densely woven frame made of thin knotty vines, dried and brittle. The flat stones had writing painted on them and there were runes carved into the mantel.
"I have seen them before," observed Ashlord, "and it is still a common practice among some folk. The writing and the runes on the stones are various charms, and the wreath frame is made of witchbane, all intended to keep evil spirits from entering through the chimney. You may notice, too, the few windows also have the same wreathes surrounding them as has the doorway. Similar charms are carved into the lintel there."
"Hm." Ullin looked at the door, settling back against his saddle and pulling up a blanket.
"These days, the practice is merely traditional, or even decorative in its simple way, much like the hanging of a horseshoe, or mistletoe, or wreaths of holly."
They said no more and continued to stare at the flames. Ullin's eyes closed just as the rain tapered off, and he fell asleep to the sound of a gusty breeze that shook the drops from the trees and persisted well into the night, blowing away clouds. At last, even the breeze died, and misty fogs rose up and wandered along the surrounding mountain shoulders and drifted and curled through the forest.
Robby and Sheila slept peacefully, though Sheila snored lightly. Billy and Ibin slept somewhat peacefully, too, but each snored as if in competition with the other. Ashlord continue to stare at the fire, letting it die down since it did make the cottage uncommonly warm. Ullin slept lightly, and from time to time he stirred and briefly opened his eyes before quickly drifting back into unsettled dreams.
Ibin was dreaming, too. It was a fantastic feast, with cold foamy beer in huge tankards suited to his size, ham aplenty, fruit pies and sweet cake, and juicy roasted apples dipped in sugar syrup. The best thing was that he was the only guest, and he sat at the table mysteriously located in the woods just outside the cottage with no one else around. The woodland clearing was lit by an uncanny greenish glow that also illuminated all of the wonderful victuals. As he sat on a bench to eat his fill, he noticed a tall shadow pass behind him. He thought little of it, though, for the food was the tastiest he had ever put his lips around. Yet, the more he ate, the more famished he became. No bother, since the more he ate the more food appeared, out of nowhere, on the table before him. So he ate, and he ate, and he ate, becoming hungrier all the while. So full of food that he was nearly starving, he noticed that the table seemed to be growing taller, or else his bench seemed to be sinking, and his feet could not get any purchase on the ground. As he crammed a slab of pie into his mouth and reached far up and over the table for a tankard, he had the distinct sensation that he was being pulled under the table.
He awoke with a start, relieved somehow, but saddened, too, that it was only a dream and now all that food would go to waste. Suddenly he realized he was sliding slowly across the floor. Something had him by the ankles and was tugging on him. He tried to sit up, but he could only get to his elbows. In the dim light, he perceived two long arms, the spindly hands of which grasped his ankles, and he was being dragged toward a knothole in the wall through which those arms impossibly reached. His heart jumped straight into his throat, and though he tried with all his might, he could not get any sound to come from his mouth except, "Gala-, Gala-, Gala-," choked and high-pitched. But it was loud enough.
Ullin sat up, alarmed, the hairs on his arms standing on end. Ashlord was already standing, stiff and erect, looking about, his head tilted, listening.
"Help!" came Billy's cry, loud and desperate, waking Robby and Sheila. Ashlord snatched a burning stick from the fireplace and held it up as they all burst through the bedroom door. What they saw astonished them so completely that they were momentarily frozen with fear and horror. During that moment, Billy, who was clutching Ibin under the arms while the big one was thrashing about, screamed, "He's bein' pulled out through that thar knothole!"
In fact, Ibin was already up to his waist into the wall when Ullin and Ashlord and Sheila and Robby leapt forward, and each took hold of Ibin and pulled with all their strength. Back through the knothole he came, and then there appeared those long bony arms clinging to his ankles, provoking more screams of dismay from them all. Robby let go of Ibin and flung out Swyncraff to curl around the hideous arms. Instantly the terrible hands let go, sending the others tumbling backwards into the room. A powerful metallic wail went up from outside like the grating of iron against iron inside a massive rusty hinge. Robby released Swyncraff from its grip on the arms and saw them recede quickly through the knothole. Ibin finally managed to get out a scream, adding his own wail of terror to the ferocious shriek of pain and anger from outside that struck new fear into the company.
Ashlord flew from the room, grabbing up his walking stick but leaving his sword. Flinging open the door, he ran around to the side of the cottage. Ullin and Robby, swords in hand, quickly followed, then Sheila came with her bow. When they rounded the corner, they came to a sudden stop some yards behind Ashlord.
"Begone!" Ashlord cried.
Facing him, about ten yards away, was a thin shadow, draped in black gauze, two feet taller than any of them. By the bright light of Ashlord's glowing stick, they perceived long matted hair and a pale gray face, yellow bloodshot eyes, and thick blood-red lips surrounding the bared teeth of a canine. Everything about the creature was crooked, and even though it stood on two feet, it leaned sharply sideways, defying gravity. They saw that she, for surely it was a feminine figure, floated rather than walked, and as she hissed and wailed, her mouth opened so wide, and her jaws so far apart, that all of her teeth, white and sharp from front to back, were bared at them.
"Begone!" cried Ashlord again. He repeated it in the Ancient Tongue. It was in that tongue, a version of it, and in a voice like rasping pipes of iron, that the creature replied.
"Paltera will have her dinner, Collandoth. These are my mountains, now!"
With that she swept up a rock and spat on it. The rock burst into orange flames, and she hurled it at Ashlord's head. Instantly, he held his stick upright before him and did not wince as the missile struck the stick and splintered into hundreds of sparks, trailed by sulfurous lines of smoke. One of these sparks bounced from Ullin's sword, and it instantly glowed so hot in his hand that he flung it down, hissing and steaming as it landed in the wet grass.
"Begone, I say! Or suffer the fate of your forebears!" cried Ashlord, stepping toward her as she held up another flaming missile. Sheila let fly an arrow but it only passed harmlessly through, provoking a scream from the creature as it turned to her new assailant.
Ashlord struck the ground three times with the base of his stick.
"Hold!" he cried.
He stepped again toward the witch, pointing the base of his stick at her.
"Talitempos, retempas tardas!" he uttered.
The world seemed to slow, all movements long and drawn out, and each in the company felt their own breathing become calm. The clouds racing to cover the stars seem to pause, and an eerie stillness fell upon the clearing. They heard Ashlord's voice, soft and lulling, singing in an ancient language as he slowly advanced to the creature. Her eyes grew wide, filling with a kind of mist, though she remained poised with her rock crackling with fire, ready to hurl it at Sheila. Instead, she turned her eyes to Ashlord and stared at him as he gently sang. Continuing to sing at almost a whisper, he came closer and closer until he was standing right in front of her. The song came to an end, and Ashlord thrust his stick through her body.
The spell broke, the witch screamed in terror, and the flaming stone she held fell harmlessly to the ground as she turned into smoke and floated away on the breeze.
"She is dead," Ashlord pronounced, still facing away from them and now leaning heavily on his stick, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.
"What was that?" cried Billy, coming up from behind the others. Ashlord sighed and turned back to them, wiping his brow with his sleeve.
"A mountain witch, surely," said Ullin as he took the obviously shaken Ashlord by the elbow.
"I am not ready for this," Ashlord muttered, shaking his head. "It is not yet time for me. Yes. Yes, a mountain witch. Indeed."
"What? Like a galafronk?"
"Galafronks are just tales, Billy," Ullin said sharply, gingerly picking up his sword, which was still hot.
"I must rest," said Ashlord. "And have some water. How is Ibin?"
"I'mI'mfine," came the reply. Ibin was hiding at the corner of the cottage, peeking at the others. He cautiously stepped out as they approached. "Didyoukill, didyoukillthegalafronk?"
"It warn't no galafronk, Ibin," said Billy. "Just a dang witch."
"How are your legs?" asked Sheila.
"Theyhurt, Sheila, theyhurtwhereitgrabbedme."
"Let's go in, and I'll have a look at them."
"I guess we know what happened to the person who once lived here," Robby said as he closed he door behind the others. Then in a voice a bit softer so that Ibin would not hear, he asked "Might there be others? What would she have done with Ibin?"
"Mountain witches are flesh-eaters, Robby," Ullin said as he eased Ashlord into the chair. Ashlord appeared to be in a kind of shock or deep distraction. "But I thought they were all hunted down years ago."
Ashlord looked up at Ullin absently and then back at the fire.
"Apparently not all," he said. "And I now understand these runes better."
"And the witchbane," added Ullin.
"Yes. My stick is of the same sort of plant, though of a kind seldom found anymore. Fortunately for me."
"For us."
"Yes."
"What was that you sang?" asked Sheila from across the room. She was holding the candle over Ibin's bare legs and examining the new marks there.
"An ancient lullaby, actually," said Ashlord. Then, more to himself than to the others, he said, "It was all I could think of."
Robby handed Ashlord a flask of water. He nodded in thanks and drank it down.
"Ashlord, would you take a look?" Sheila asked.
Ashlord rose and went to where Ibin was sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out. Ashlord crouched, and Sheila held the candle so that he could see the red splotches just above Ibin's ankles in the exact form of the witch's hideous hands, fingers clearly outlined like a red shadow.
"Hm. I'd say those marks will be permanent, dear fellow. But with some salve and with time the burning pain will subside and go away. How are you otherwise? Not every person who has been pulled through a knothole has lived to tell of it!"
"I'mfine, I'mfine, ohI'mfine. ButI'mkindoftired, andmy, andmyanklesburn."
"Well, let Sheila dress your legs and you should lie down and rest," Ashlord smiled and stood.
"Should I use the same salve that would be for a burn? Or would the stuff for Slobberfang be better?"
"I would say the regular salve. It doesn't look like the skin is broken. But you should watch him for any sign of fever. He still has that other leg wound and so is already weakened. Watch for festering."
Ashlord took another drink of water and slowly paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.
"Do you think it is safe for us to remain here through the night?" asked Robby, seeing Ashlord's agitation.
"Oh, now we are indeed quite safe here. But something is not right about all this," Ashlord said. "I cannot explain, because I do not yet know. That mountain witch should not be here. In fact, all her kind should have been destroyed long ago. It is all wrong. A mountain witch, this far east, centuries after the last of them were thought to have been annihilated. I should not have been able to combat her so easily. Somehow, I knew what to do. Though it made no sense, I knew. I felt a kind of authority. You must understand that I am not of the race of Men, nor am I Elifaen. I am of another kind. I and my kind were tasked to look after things, to watch, as I have done, and to be helpers and advisors, acting only when the action was required and when the moment of action was ripe."
"I don't understand. Put here by who?"
"Not a who, Robby. The Great What. That which strives in every thing, living and nonliving, beast or fowl or lowly creature. There is a way of things that should be, and a way that should not be. There are those of us who contend for the one way. And, just as surely, there are those who contend for another way."
"Some say you are a wizard, and that is why you are so different and influential. Some liken you unto Begrimlin the Kingmaker."
"Begrimlin was not one of my kind. I am not a wizard. I don't make things other than potions and salves and such. And the age for wizards is not yet upon us, if ever it will be," Ashlord said. "It is too soon, for the power of the earth is still strong, and its spirit still abides and holds much in check. Until the Elifaen depart from the world, it is said, other powers will not arise. That such creatures as what we just saw stir once again in the world is a sign, perhaps, that a time of great change is upon us. The struggle to determine which power will hold sway over the earth has begun."
"You mean that the Elifaen might leave the world?" asked Sheila from across the room, "as did the Faerekind that went with Aperion?"
"Yes, they might, if certain conditions are met and the world is done with them. Conditions that seem impossible to fulfill."
"What conditions?" asked Robby. "What do you mean done with them?"
"That is a long tale, and sorrowful," Ashlord sighed, "and has to do with why they are a melancholy folk, and every work that they do has some shadow upon it and cannot be pure. It is also why no evil act can be purely so, and while they are in the lands, the light of goodness cannot be wholly extinguished from the earth."
"I don't understand."
Ashlord smiled and put a hand on Robby's shoulder.
"It is not in our power to understand all things," he said. "However, I think you will, in time, come to understand more than most do. Meanwhile, our hope is to get by on what we have yet learned, while we learn the rest as we go."
"I thought that the race of Men were the ones fated to go away and that the Faere would regain dominion over the earth."
"That, too, is said. It is foretold that for a time all Faerekind will be called away, abandoning the world and re-emerging only when it is the turn of Men to go away."
"Go away where?"
"No one knows."
"Well, what does all this have to do with that witch?"
"Much. You see, mountain witches are the creatures of darkness, a breed of hunters fashioned by one of the many demons of the First Age to serve him. After he was destroyed, they scattered until they in turn were hunted and killed by both Faere Folk and the Dragon People alike. If one persists unto this day, it must mean some other demon now walks the earth, or dwells within its bowels, for, unlike other witches, mountain witches cannot survive long lest the blood they swallow mingles in union with their liege and offspring are made. Offspring that then become servants of the demon, or servants of he who holds the leash of the demon."
"Offspring? You mean...?"
"Yes, a vile marriage, repeatedly consummated. And somewhere nearby must be her lair. She knew my name, too. That is a sign that she bears the memory of her wretched mother, and I have only encountered one other in all my days who knew my name. Indeed, I was taken by her, one called Vinkasinea, to feed her young. I managed to escape with the help of a friend who slew her. For years, I was hunted by their kind, but the hunters became the hunted by a twist of events. I, like all others, thought the threat was gone."
"This lair you spoke of, somewhere nearby you said, is that where the demon is?"
"I will not be sure until I find it. Certainly her spawn will be. And they must be destroyed."
"Collandoth," interrupted Ullin, "surely you are not considering—"
"Yes. I'm afraid I must."
"What?" asked Robby.
"This is enemy land," Ullin insisted. "What do we care if it is harried by witches or banshees?"
"Who is the greater enemy?" countered Ashlord. "If they are permitted to grow here, out of sight and out of mind, they will eventually pour out from this place, and no person would be safe from here to the sea, north to south. I must do this thing. And I must find the source of her seed, the demon by which she has continued to exist. And, by the way, do not mistake witches for banshees. They are entirely different creatures."
"You are not ready to face them! You said so yourself. It would be folly! Your sword will be useless, no metal can harm them. Did you see what it did to mine? Even now, it is still warm from her fire."
"I have my staff!" shot back Ashlord testily. "And I have my training, my knowledge, and the experience of over twenty-seven score of years. I have hunted witches before, though I have never faced a full demon. Perhaps I was put here for just such a task. I must at least find and destroy the lair. True, this is an unexpected turn, but that cannot be helped. Do you think I wish this? I do not. And yet I welcome the chance to strike a blow against such wickedness!"
His glare at Ullin eased after only a moment when he saw the worry and frustration in Ullin's eyes.
"Dear friend, how long do you think Duinnor or any realm will last when a power such as this is growing? Our little war may be but an out-of-the-way matter in the great pattern of things. This is another proof that a greater power, dark and patient for eons, is now stirring in the world, putting together its forces, one day to be drawn together from all quarters. You have heard me speak of it before. What is this war the Redvest make compared to the collision of doom that comes? What is this conflict that continues between Elifaen and Dragonkind in the face of this? They only feed the true Enemy, weakening each other and those who may oppose him. Surely it is Secundur's hand in all these workings, the disunity of Men, the oppression of the Elifaen, the rising of the Dragonkind and their aims of conquest, even the hunting down of a future king."
Here Ashlord looked at Robby.
"Do ye mean to say we'll be goin' witch huntin'?" Billy asked, standing beside Robby with his thumbs in his belt and his chest puffed out, proud and ready.
"No. Only I will hunt. The rest of you must continue on as fast as you can go. I will strive to catch up with you by and by."
They looked at one another, Billy shaking his head, Ullin and Robby silent and unhappy. Sheila said nothing, but her expression spoke her dismay. Even Ibin realized that something serious was happening.
"When will you go?" asked Sheila at last.
"When you do. After dawn. Meanwhile, let us try to rest. We will all need strength on the morrow."
They nodded in agreement, and Ashlord returned to his seat by the hearth and took out his pipe. He lit it with an ember from the fire and sat puffing while the others stood about, uncertain whether they should try to sleep or if they should abide with Ashlord. But after a while they, too, were again stretched out, this time all tightly squeezed into the single small room, the other room being still too fearful for comfortable sleep. Light snores soon came from Ibin, followed shortly after by Billy and even Ullin nodded off. Only Robby and Sheila remained awake, sitting at either side of Ashlord on the floor before the hearth.
"Ashlord," said Sheila after nearly an hour of silence. "Who knows of us? Who knows about our party and the true reason why we travel west?"
Ashlord considered the question for a moment before answering.
"Mirabella. Lord Tallin. Lyrium and her daughters. My colleague, Raynor. I suppose Bailorg's master, wherever and whoever he is, must soon learn of us. But for now, I think word has perhaps not yet reached that far. Queen Serith Ellyn no doubt knows or has guessed, perhaps Thurdun her brother, and one or two of their court. The Damar must certainly know this is an important company, but I do not think they know the true reason for our travel."
"How might we be pursued?" asked Robby. "If Bailorg's master is the Dark One, and he learns about me. What will he do to stop us?"
"I do not think Bailorg served Secundur directly, but rather some lieutenant, perhaps. Or a high-placed person of Duinnor, loyal to Shatuum. Or perhaps the traitor of Tulith Attis, wherever he is. A small distinction, but I do not think the Dark One wishes for many to know of us, either."
"Why not?"
"Because, through agents and mischief, he may hold too much sway in Duinnor under the present King. He may fear that our quest could find allies powerful enough to protect you from him. So he cannot openly put a bounty on your head, for that might in itself thwart his efforts to destroy you and actually give you more allies. Only his most trusted servants would be given the task. I fear they are his most powerful ones, too. Still, the hatreds and conflicts that have spread across the world have created many who would have no qualms in stopping you. Our stated purpose, to go to Duinnor to plea for help for the Eastlands, is enough to make enemies among the Damar and the Redvests. The Dragonkind King and his spies would surely try to stop us from that as well. But our true plan, to get you to Griferis, is likely to play into Secundur's hand, too. The closer we get to Griferis, the more apparent will be the aim of our journey. It is a risk that must be taken."
"Ashlord, do you think we will ever learn who the traitor at Tulith Attis was?" Robby asked.
"Hm. Already there are clues, if you but think carefully," Ashlord said thoughtfully. "But I think that, should you succeed in your quest for kingship, you will have the power to discover the traitor's identity. I cannot foresee how that knowledge would be of much use, though."
"Well, who might our allies be along the way?" asked Sheila.
"Those loyal to the Seven Realms. Those who long for peace, and have a hope for justice from Duinnor. Those who resent the King's treatment of them, yet love their own people and their own lands without coveting that which belongs to others. Those who have been cheated and hurt by the lords and regents of the court, and who have given their deeds and titles and sons as trade for protection or royal assistance, but remain loyal nonetheless to Duinnor and will not revolt."
"You mean the Elifaen?"
"Yes, and others, too."
"Does Duinnor have so many enemies among its subjects?"
"They are not all enemies of the Realms, nor of Duinnor, nor even of the King. Some are people who have had no redress of wrongs and are neglected. People who seek rightness and justice and who feel they have given to Duinnor and to the throne far more than is returned. They do not wish to oppose Duinnor, many even wish to serve with honor. Some may feel, in the face of Tracia's Redvests and the threat of the Dragonkind, that it is better to make pacts with the enemies of Duinnor than to remain loyal and be laid waste by invading armies. But there are others who, although they may not be friendly to the Duinnor of today, may yet be true friends of the future kingdom. Those we left in Nowhere, for example. And in Tallinvale, too. And in other places, very far away."
With this Ashlord's eyes twinkled as he glanced at Robby, and he managed a smile. "I would only counsel you to support each other. There is far to go, yet, and many things may come to pass, for good or ill."
Sheila put her head down in thought, then looked again at Ashlord.
"Is there no other way than for us to leave you behind? Surely there is something we can do to help you find the lair."
"I will have all the help I need," he replied. "And I will not expose any of you to the vulgar contents of her den if I find it. No. This I should do alone, confident that you are all far along your way. Now, I bid you let me ponder for awhile."
Robby and Sheila moved to the other side of the room and took their places in their bedrolls, spooning one another, Sheila's hand clutching Robby's arm that was around her. In spite of themselves, they fell asleep, and sometime in their slumber they separated, Sheila curled up and Robby on his back with his arm over his eyes. He awoke with a start, and he carefully sat up so as not to disturb Sheila. He could hear the snoring of Billy and Ibin, and in the dim light of the low burning fire he saw Ullin asleep in his place. Ashlord's chair was empty. Robby saw that the door was wide open. Instantly he grabbed Swyncraff and got up to peer outside. There, a few yards away with his back to the cottage stood Ashlord, his arms outstretched, his stick held high in one hand. Taking a few steps forward, Robby stopped, listening as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Ashlord was speaking so softly that Robby could not make out the words, a strange, smooth tongue. The breeze tugged at Ashlord's robes and hair and the low light coming from the open doorway of the cottage gave him a ghostly appearance. Goosebumps broke out on Robby's arms, and he shivered. Ashlord repeated a phrase three times and said more words, then the phrase three times again followed by different words. Over and again, he chanted softly until, after a few minutes, he lowered his arms, leaned on his stick and bowed his head, his shoulders slumped as if with exhaustion. He turned and saw Robby.
"Robby," he said, coming toward him.
"Were you praying? I didn't mean to intrude."
"You didn't. Yes. In a manner of speaking. I was asking for guidance. To find what I must find. And strength. To do what I must do."
Ashlord paused, standing beside Robby, looking into the darkness of the surrounding woods. He smiled.
"You will have to carry on without me. For a little while, at least."
"But, Ashlord—"
"If all goes well, we will meet again before you reach Griferis," Ashlord said, leading Robby back inside the cottage.
"How will I find that place if we do not meet up with each other in time?"
"Go to the city of Linlally, in Vanara, and to the Hall of Ministers. There is a great library there. Find the Last Book of Nimwill. Read it. The Last Book of Nimwill. Some answers may lie therein. Pardon me," Ashlord looked back to the fireplace, "I must rest before dawn. And so should you."