Ilse Witch

He was aware that Truls Rohk was studying him carefully, and in the stillness that followed, it seemed as if something reached out and touched him, brushing against his forehead with feathery lightness. It was there and gone so quickly that he might only have imagined it.

Truls Rohk moved a step to his right, and the movement revealed a flash of arm and leg of huge proportions, all muscle and thick hair, bare to the mountain night. Bek had a strong sense that the other was stooped within his cloak, affecting a kind of guarded crouch, a readiness that never left him. As big as Truls Rohk already seemed, Bek believed he would be much bigger still if he was to stand upright. Nothing got that big that wasn’t a Rock Troll, but Truls Rohk lacked a Rock Troll’s thick hide and cumbersome, deliberate movements. He was too quick and fluid for that, and his skin was human.

“The Druid sent you to be tested,” he growled softly. “Tes1ted against your own fears and superstitions. Your magic and your grit are untried weapons.” He gave a low chuckle that died away into the familiar hiss. “Panax, are you party to this game?”

The Dwarf grunted irritably. “I play no games with anyone. I was asked to see these Highlanders into the Wolfsktaag and out again. You seem to know more about this than I do.”

“Games within games,” the shadowy form murmured, stalking a few steps to the right, then turning back again. This time Bek caught a glimpse of a face within the hood, just a momentary illumination by the edges of the firelight. The face was crisscrossed with deep, scarlet welts, and the flesh looked as if it had been melted like iron in a furnace. “Druid games,” Truls Rohk went on, disappearing again into shadow. “I do not like them, Panax. But Walker is always interesting to watch.” He paused. “Maybe these two, as well, hmmm?”

Panax seemed confused and said nothing. Truls Rohk pointed at Quentin. “Those wolves would have had you if not for me. Better practice your sword’s magic if you expect to stay alive for very long.”

Bek felt the other’s eyes shift and settle on him. “And you, boy, had better not trust anyone. Not until you learn to see things better than you do now.”

Bek was conscious that both Quentin and Panax were looking at him, as well. He wanted to ask Truls Rohk what he was talking about but cowed by the giant’s size and dark mystery, he was afraid to question him.

Truls Rohk spat and wheeled away. “Where do you go to meet Walker?” he called over his shoulder.

“Arborlon,” Bek answered at once.

“Then I’ll see you there.” His words were soft and whispery. “Now get out of these mountains, quickly!”

There was a rush of wind, cold and sharp, and a whisper of movement in the night. Bek and Quentin shrank involuntarily from both, shielding their eyes. Behind them, the fire flickered and went out.

When they looked back toward the silent darkness, Truls Rohk was gone.

Far south, below the Highlands of Leah, the Prekkendorran Heights, and the older, more industrialized cities, Wayford and Sterne, in the Federation capital city of Arishaig, Minister of Defense Sen Dunsidan was awakened by a touch on his shoulder.

His eyes blinked open and he stared through the gloom toward the ceiling without seeing anything, uncertain what had disturbed him. He was lying on his back, his big frame sprawled on the oversize bed, the sleeping room cool and silent.

“Wake up, Minister,” the Ilse Witch whispered.

His eyes settled on her slender, cloaked form as she bent over him. “Dark Lady of my dreams,” he greeted with a sleepy smile.

“Don’t say anything more, Minister,” she advised, stepping back from him. “Rise and come with me.”