Ilse Witch

Morning arrived in a haze of mist and light rain. Crowded together in leaden skies, dark clouds hid the sun and foreshadowed a gloomy day. The air was windless and warm and smelled of damp earth and new leaves. Silence wrapped the world in a veil of hushed expectancy and whispered caution, and even the small comfort of yesterday’s birdsong had disappeared.

In the valley’s pale brume, the ruins of Castledown hunkered down in glistening, sharp-edged relief, dark metallic surfaces streaked bright green by rain-dampened lichen and moss.

Walker divided the search party into three groups. Ard Patrinell would take Ahren Elessedil, Joad Rish, and three of the nine Elven Hunters on the right flank. Quentin Leah and Panax would take another three Elven Hunters on the left. He would occupy the center with Bek, Ryer Ord Star, and the remaining three Hunters. They would enter the ruins with the center group slightly ahead of the other two, all of them spread out but in sight of one another. They would move directly through the city to its far side and then reverse their march displaced by the width of the search party. They would do this for as many times as it took to complete a sweep of the city, changing their route each time. Anything that appeared worth investigating would be given a look. If they failed to turn up what they were looking for today, they would resume their search on the morrow. It was a huge city. Even if they were quick and encountered no difficulties, it could take them more than a week.

Everyone was to stay quiet and listen carefully, he cautioned. There would be no talking. They were to watch out for one another and keep one eye on the leader of their group, taking directions from him. If something required a look, signal by hand or whistle. Stay low and use the buildings for cover. There was every reason to believe that an enemy who was on watch for intruders had laid traps throughout the city. What they had come to find would be carefully guarded.

“Which is what exactly?” Panax asked, an uneasy look in his eyes. Like the others, he was wrapped against the weather in a cloak and hood. In the misted gloom, they looked like wraiths. “What is it we’ve come to find, Walker?”

The Druid hesitated.

“We’ve come a long way not to be told now,” the Dwarf pressed. Rain ran down his seamed face into his beard. “How are we supposed to find what we’re looking for if we don’t know what it is?”

A moment’s silence followed. “Books,” Walker answered softly. The silence returned and lengthened. “Of spells and magic,” he added with a quick glance around. “Gathered during the time of the Old World, then lost in the Great Wars. Except that some of those spells and that magic may have been saved. Here, in Castledown. That’s the treasure the map says is hidden here.”

“Books,” the Dwarf muttered in disbelief.

“They will be of immense value to the races, if we find them,” Walker assured him. “More so than you can imagine. M1ore so than anything else we might have set out to find. But your skepticism is not unwarranted. As far as we know, no books survived the Great Wars. They would have been one of the first things destroyed, if not by fire, then by time and weather. The writings of the Old World were lost two thousand years ago, and only our oral storytelling traditions have preserved the information they contained. Even that small knowledge was diluted and changed over time, so that much of it was rendered useless. What books we have now were assembled by the Druids during the First and Second Councils at Paranor. The Elves have some at Arborlon and the Federation some in Arishaig, but most are kept in the Druid’s Keep. But they are books of this world and not the old. So if there are books here that have survived, they will have been sealed away. That they are books may not be immediately apparent. Their form may have been changed.”

“If the books are numerous and have retained their original look, it will take a large building to house them,” Bek offered quietly.

Walker nodded. “We begin our search with that in mind. We search for anything that might serve as a safehold, a container, or a storehouse. We might not know it when we see it. We will have to be open-minded. Remember, too, that we’ve come here to discover what became of Kael Elessedil’s expedition and the Elfstones he carried with him.”

No one said anything. After a moment, Quentin adjusted the Sword of Leah where it was strapped across his back and glanced at the sky. “Looks like the rain’s letting up,” he advised to no one in particular.