Ilse Witch

Afterwards, Quentin fell into bed and off to sleep so quickly that Bek, now awake, was unable to measure the time lapse between the two. It seemed somehow inevitable that he should be going. Even when Hunter Predd had warned that there were too many chosen for the voyage and some would be left behind, it had never occurred to him that he would be one of them. It was logical that he would be, of course. He was the youngest and the least skilled. On the face of things, he was the most expendable. But something in the Druid’s insistence that he come, coupled with his encounters with the King of the Silver River and Truls Rohk, had convinced him that his selection was no afterthought and was tied inextricably to secrets of the past and to resolution of events yet to be determined. Bek was there because it was necessary for him to be so, and his life was about to change forever.

It was what Quentin had wanted for them both. But Bek Rowe was inclined to wonder if one day soon they would have cause to remember the danger of getting what you wish for.

EIGHTEEN





Bek Rowe woke the following morning to sunshine and blue skies and no sign of Quentin Leah. He took a moment to orient himself, decided he was still in Arborlon, and jumped out of bed to dress. When he checked the adjoining bedrooms, he found that Panax was missing as well. A quick glance out the window revealed the sun at midmorning height, a clear indicator of how late he had slept. There was grain cereal, cheese, and milk on the table in the anteroom, and he wolfed them down hungrily before charging out the door in search of his friends.

He was running so fast and so hard he ran right into the black-cloaked figure coming in.

“Walker!” he gasped in shock and embarrassment, and jumped back quickly.

“Good morning, Bek Rowe,” the Druid said formally. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Did you sleep well?”

“Too well,” Bek answered, chagrined. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a layabout—”

“Please, young traveler, don’t be so anxious to apologize.” Walker was chuckling softly now. He put his big hand on Bek’s shoulder. “You haven’t missed anything. Nor have you neglected any obligations. You were right to sleep. That was a long journey up to Depo Bent and then west to here. I1 would rather have you rested when we set out from here.”

Bek sighed. “I guess I just assumed that since Quentin and Panax are already up and gone I was lagging in some way.”

Walker shook his head. “I passed the Highlander on my way here. He had just gotten up. Panax rose a little earlier, but he doesn’t sleep much. Don’t think on it again. Did you eat?”

Bek nodded.

“Then you’re ready to go out to the airfield and have a look around. Come with me.”

They left the sleeping quarters and walked through the palace grounds, moving away from the city and out toward the south end of the Carolan. They passed any number of Elven Hunters and Home Guard on the way, but few regular citizens. No one paid them any attention. It was quieter where they walked than in the main sections of the city, less traveled by those who lived and worked there. On the backside of the Gardens of Life, they passed a pair of Black Watch guarding one of the entrances. The pair stood as if frozen, towering over everyone in their sleek black uniforms and tall hats, everything smooth and clean and trimmed in red. Within the gardens, birds darted and sang, and butterflies flitted from bush to bush, as bright as the flowers they touched upon, but the Black Watch might have been carved from stone.

Somewhere deep in the center of those gardens was the legendary Ellcrys. Even Bek, who had traveled so little, knew her story. The Ellcrys was a tree imbued with magic that formed a Forbidding to shut away the demons banished by the Word from the Faerie world centuries ago at the beginning of life. She had begun her life as an Elf, a member of an order called Chosen, and had transformed into the tree as a result of exposure to the Bloodfire. So long as she remained strong and healthy in her changed state, her magic would keep the Forbidding in place. When she began to fail, as she one day must, another would take her place. The need for replacement did not happen often; the Ellcrys on average lived for a thousand years. But the order of the Chosen was kept filled and ready even so. Once, not so long ago, almost all had been slaughtered by demons that had escaped a weakened Forbidding. Only one had survived, a young Elessedil girl named Amberle, and she had sacrificed herself to become the present Ellcrys.

Bek thought of how Coran had told him that story when he was still very little. Coran had told him any number of Elven stories, and it had always seemed to Bek that the history of the Elves must be more colorful and interesting than those of the other races, even without knowing what they were. Seeing the Gardens of Life now and having passed through the Valley of Rhenn earlier, a visitor at last to the city of Arborlon, he could believe it was so. Everything had a feeling of magic and enchantment, and all that history imparted to him by Coran felt newly alive and real.

It made him think that coming on the journey was not such a bad idea after all, though he would never admit it to Quentin.

“Did Truls Rohk arrive?” he asked Walker suddenly.

Walker did not look at him. “Did you ask him to come?”

Bek nodded. “Yes.”

“Did he say he would?”

“Yes.”