Ilse Witch

Allardon Elessedil stared hard at him, but the Druid held his gaze and kept his expression neutral. The seconds dragged past with neither man speaking further, eyes locked.

“I cannot agree,” the Elven King repeated firmly.

Walker’s brow creased thoughtfully. “I will make a bargain with you,” he said. “A compromise of our positions. You will share fully in what I find, magic or no. But we shall make an agreement as to the nature of that sharing. That which you can use without my help, I will give to you freely. That which only I can use belongs to me.”

The King studied him. “The advantage is yours in this bargain. You are better able to command the use of magic than I or my people.”

“Magic that is Elven in nature will be readily understood by Elves and should belong to them. The Elfstones, for example, if found, belong to you. But magic that has another source, whatever its nature, cannot be claimed by Elves alone, especially if they cannot wield it.”

“There is no magic in the world except that which was handed down by the Elves out of the world of Faerie! You know that!”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

The King shook his head helplessly. “There is a trick in all this.”

“Describe it, then.”

“All right, all right!” The Elf sighed. “This matter has to be resolved. I’ll accept your compromise. That magic that is Elven in nature and can be commanded1 by us is ours. The rest stays with the Druid Council. I don’t like this bargain, but I can live with it.”

They shook hands wordlessly. Walker rose, squinting against the sharp glare of the sunrise as he looked east over the trees. His black robes rippled softly in the breeze. Allardon Elessedil stood up with him. The sharp features looked pinched and tired despite the early hour. “What do you intend to do now?”

The Druid shifted his gaze back to the King. “I’ll need the use of the Wing Rider and his Roc.”

“Hunter Predd? I’ll speak with him. Will you fly to Bracken Clell?”

“Will you go with me, if I do?” the Druid countered. “Or have you done so already?”

Allardon Elessedil shook his head. “I’ve been waiting on you.”

“It is your brother, perhaps, who lies dying in the Healer’s home, Elven King.”

“Perhaps. But it’s been thirty years, and he’s been dead to me a long time already.” The King sighed. “It complicates things if I go with you. Home Guard will insist on going as well, to protect me. Another Roc will be needed. It might be better if I remain here.”

Walker nodded. “I’ll go alone then, and afterwards farther on to find a ship and crew.”

“I could help you with that.”

“You could, but I would prefer that you helped me in another way if you choose to remain here. There are certain things I want from a ship and crew that will take us in search of the map’s treasure, things that I must determine for myself. But I will rely on you to select those who would defend us. Elven Hunters, of course, but perhaps a handful of others as well. Bordermen and Dwarves, I should think. Are you willing to find them for me?”

The Elven King nodded. “How many do you wish?”

“Two dozen to choose from, no more.”

They began to walk back across the heights, moving toward the gardens once more, taking their time. All around them, the city of Arborlon was waking.

“Two dozen is a small number of blades and bows on which to depend,” the King observed.

“Three ships with full crews and dozens of Elven Hunters were apparently too few, as well,” Walker pointed out. “I prefer to rely on speed and stealth and on the heart and courage of a few rather than on sheer numbers.”

“One ship is all you will take, then?”

“One will suffice.”

Allardon Elessedil hunched his shoulders, his eyes lowered. “Very well. I will not go with you myself, as I have said, but I will want to send someone in my place.”

“Send anyone you like, only …”

Walker was shading his eyes against the sun’s brightness as he spoke or he would have missed the flash of the metal blade as it was hurled. The assassin was one of the gardeners, inconspicuous in his working clothes, just another worker at his job. He had come to his feet as if to move his tools, and suddenly the knife appeared.

Walker’s swift gesture sent the blade spinning harmlessly, knocked aside as if it had struck a wall.

By now, the second assassin was attacking, this one with a blowgun. Another of the seemin1g gardeners, he knelt in a patch of bright yellow daffodils and fired three darts in rapid succession. Walker yanked the King aside and blocked that attack as well. A third assassin came at them with a rapier and a knife. All of the assassins were Elves, their features unmistakable. But their eyes were fixed and unseeing, and the Druid knew at once that they had been mind-altered to assure their compliance in making the attack.