"Let her try to sort that out," Truls Rohk grunted as he led the boy through the drifting images in a zigzag fashion, making for a set of mountains east. "We'll do it again a little farther on, somewhere close to water."
They ran on, not so quickly and furiously as before, the shape-shifter setting a more reasonable pace, one the boy was able to keep up with more easily. They did not speak, but concentrated on their effort, on putting as much distance between themselves and their pursuer as possible, on conserving their strength. Twice more they stopped to produce a confusing set of images, a tangled trail, crossing a deep stream once, doubling back twice at right angles, choosing difficult, rocky terrain for their passage.
It was nearing nightfall when they stopped finally to rest and eat, the light fading rapidly west, the forestland already cloaked in lengthening shadows. Night birds lifted out of the growing twilight, dark winged shapes against the sky. Bek watched them fly away and wished he had their wings. He carried no food or water, but Truls Rohk had come bearing both, stolen from Black Moclips on leaving, the shape-shifter prepared as always.
"Though I did not think it would come to this," he admitted grimly, handing over his water skin for the boy to drink.
Bek was exhausted. He had not faltered, but his muscles were drained and his body aching. He was used to hard treks and long hikes, but not to running for so long. Life aboard the Jerle Shannara had helped prepare him, but even so his endurance had its limits and did not begin to approach that of Truls Rohk.
"Will she give up now?" he asked hopefully, passing back the water skin and gnawing hungrily on the dried beef the other passed him in return. "Will she lose interest and go back for Walker?"
The shape-shifter laughed softly, wrapped in his robes and hood, his expression and thoughts hidden away. "I don't think so. She isn't like that. She doesn't give up. She'll find another way to track us. She'll keep coming."
Bek sighed in resignation. "I'll have to face her again sooner or later. There isn't any help for it." The Sword of Shannara lay at his side, and he glanced down at it. His expectations for its use against his sister seemed foolish and desperate.
"Maybe. But we have other problems to solve first. We can't just keep running for no better purpose than to escape the witch. Even if we lose her or she gives up, where does that leave us? Somewhere in the middle of a strange country without an airship or friends, without adequate supplies or weapons, and without a decent plan, that's where. Not so good."
"We have to go back for Quentin and the others," Bek answered at once, convinced that was the right choice. "We have to help them if we can. We have to try to find Walker."
It sounded so obvious and so logical that the words were out of his mouth before he realized that he was ignoring obstacles that rendered his response only a few steps shy of ridiculous. Even given their respective magics and the shape-shifter's skill and experience, they were only two men-one man and a boy, he amended ruefully. They had no idea where their friends were. They had no means of searching for them other than to go afoot, a mode of transportation hardly conducive to the sort of search required. Their enemies outnumbered them perhaps fifty to one and that wasn't counting whatever it was that lived belowground in Castledown.
Truls Rohk didn't say anything. He simply sat there, looking out at the boy from within the shadows of his hood.
Bek cleared his throat. "All right. We can't do it alone. We need help."
The shape-shifter nodded. "You're learning, boy. What sort of help?"
"Someone to even the odds when we go back to face the Ilse Witch and the Mwellrets and whatever else is waiting."
"That, but also someone who knows a way past the things that guard those ruins and protect the treasure Walker's come to find." Truls Rohk laughed bitterly. "Don't think for a moment that the Druid, assuming he still lives, will give up on the treasure."
Bek thought of all that the company of the Jerle Shannara had endured to come so far, of what had been promised and what given up. He thought of how much Walker was risking to make the journey, both of life and reputation. Truls Rohk was right. The Druid would rather die than fail, given what was at stake. Even from the little he knew of Walker, it was certain that failure to gain the support of the Elves for a Druid Council at Paranor would be the end of him. It was everything he had worked for, all that mattered to him now. He had spent his life as a Druid seeking that support. Bek knew it from their conversations. He knew it from what he had heard from Ahren Elessedil. Walker had tied his fate to this voyage, to the recovery of the Elfstones and the finding of the treasure on the castaway's map.
And weren't they all tied in turn to the Druid in coming with him, Bek as well as the others? Weren't their fates all inextricably linked?