Ilse Witch

Screams rose across the Carolan as the other Elves realized what was happening. Black Watch soldiers charged to the King’s defense, massive pikes lowered. Elven Hunters appeared, as well, lean, swift forms bolting from the trees. All were too far away.

Walker gestured toward the assassin with the rapier and knife, and a massive, ethereal form materialized before the man, a giant moor cat lunging out of nowhere to intercept him. The man screamed and went down, weapons flying as the beast sailed into him and vanished, leaving him huddled and cringing against the earth. The remaining two assassins charged, as well, silent and determined, skirting the third man, madness in their empty eyes. They barreled into the Druid and were cast aside as if made of paper. Black robes flaring like shadows released, Walker turned from one to the other, stripping them of weapons and blunting their attacks.

But the Home Guard and Black Watch were close enough now to respond as well. Frightened for their king, they acted instinctively and unwisely to protect him. A hail of spears and arrows took down the assassins, leaving them sprawled on blood-soaked earth, their lives draining away. Even the third man was caught in the barrage, come back to his feet too quickly to be spared. Walker yelled at the Elves to stop, to leave the assassins to him, but he was too late to save them.

Too late, as well, to save Allardon Elessedil. An arrow meant for the assassins struck the Elf King squarely in the chest. He gasped at the impact, lurched backwards, and went down in a heap. Walker had no chance to save him. Focused on stopping the assassins, he could not react to the King’s guards in time.

The Druid knelt at the King’s side, lifted his shoulders, and cradled his head in his lap. “Elven King?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Allardon Elessedil’s eyes were open, and his gaze shifted at the sound of the Druid’s voice. “I’m still here.”

Elven Hunters had surrounded them, and there were calls for a Healer and medicines. The heights were a maelstrom of activity as Elves pushed forward from every quarter to see what had happened. Black Watch formed a ring about their stricken ruler and pushed the crowds back. The assassins lay dead in their own blood, their lifeless forms bathed in sunlight and bedded in deep grasses.

Allardon Elessedil was coughing blood. “Call a scribe,” he gasped. “Do it now.”

One was found almost at once, a young man, barely grown, his face white and his eyes frightened as he knelt next to the king.

“Move everyone back but this boy, the Druid, and two witnesses,” Allardon Elessedil ordered.

“High Lord, I cannot …,” a Captain of the Home Guard began softly, but the King motioned him away.

When an area had been cleared around them, the Elven King nodded to the scribe. “Copy down what I say,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on Walker as he spoke. “Everything.”

Carefully, detail by detail, he repeated the agreement that he had reached with the Druid moments earlier. A v1oyage was to be undertaken with Walker as its leader. The purpose of the voyage was to follow the route described on a map carried by the Druid, a copy of which was held by the King’s scribe at the palace. A search for the missing blue Elfstones was to be undertaken. And on and on. Slowly, painstakingly, he repeated it all, including the bargain struck regarding the recovery of magic. A Healer appeared and began work on the injury, but the King kept talking, grimacing through his pain, his breathing raspy and thick and his eyes blinking as if he was fighting to see.

“There,” he said, when he was finished. “They have killed me for nothing. See this through, Walker. Promise me.”

“He’s bleeding to death,” the Healer announced. “I have to take him to my surgery and remove the arrow at once.”

Walker lifted the Elven King as if he weighed nothing, cradling him in the crook of his good left arm and with the stump of his right, and carried him from the plains. All the while, he talked to him, telling him to stay strong, not to give up, to fight for his life, for it had worth and meaning beyond what he knew. Surrounded by Home Guard, he bore the King as he might a sleeping child, holding him gently within his arms, head cushioned against his shoulder.

Several times, the King spoke, but the words were so soft that only Walker could hear them. Each time the Druid replied firmly, “You have my promise. Rest, now.”

But sometimes even a Druid’s exhortations are not enough. By the time they reached the surgery, Allardon Elessedil was dead.

SEVEN