by Terry Brooks
Amberle stretched and came awake, her sleepy eyes settling quickly on the Valeman.
“Have you slept?” she asked drowsily.
He shook his head. “I couldn’t.”
She pushed herself into a sitting position. “Then sleep now. I will steer the boat while you do. You have to get some rest.”
“No, it’s okay. I am not tired.”
“Wil, you are exhausted.” There was concern in her voice. “You have to sleep.”
He stared at her wordlessly for a moment, his eyes haunted.
“Do you know what happened to me back there?” he asked finally.
She shook her head slowly. “No. And I don’t think you do, either.”
“I know, all right. I know exactly what happened. I tried to use the Elfstones and could not. I no longer command their power. I have lost it.”
“You don’t know that. You had trouble with the Stones before when you tried to use them in the Tirfing. Perhaps this time you tried too hard. Perhaps you did not give yourself enough of a chance.”
“I gave myself every chance,” he declared softly. “I used everything I had within me to call up the power of the Elfstones. But nothing happened. Nothing. Allanon told me this might happen. It is because of my Elf blood mixing with my human blood. Only the Elf blood commands the Stones, and mine is thin indeed, it seems. There is a block within me, Amberle. I overcame it once, but I can no longer do so.”
She moved over to sit close to him, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
“Then we will get by without the Stones.”
He smiled faintly at the suggestion. “The Elfstones are the only weapon we have. If the Demons find us again, we are finished. We have nothing with which to protect ourselves.”
“Then the Demons must not find us.”
“They have found us every time, Amberle, despite every precaution we have taken; they have found us wherever we have gone. They will find us this time as well. You know that.”
“I know that you are the one who insisted that we not turn back after our flight from Havenstead,” she responded. “I know that you are the one who has never once suggested giving up. I know that you are the one Allanon chose as my protector. Would you desert me?”
Wil flushed. “No. Not ever.”
“Nor I you. We began this journey together and we shall end it together. We shall depend on each other, you and I. We shall see each other through. I think maybe that will be enough.” She paused, a quick smile crossing her face. “You realize, of course, that you should be giving this talk to me, not I to you. I was the one without faith in my heritage, without belief in the words the Druid spoke. You have always believed.”
“If the Stones had not failed me …” Wil began glumly.
Amberle’s hand came up quickly against his lips, silencing him. “Do not be so certain that they have failed you. Think a moment on what you tried to do with them. You sought to use them as a weapon of destruction. Is this possible for you, Wil? Remember, you are a Healer. It is your code of life to preserve, not destroy. Elven magic is but an extension of the one who wields it. Perhaps you were not meant to use the Elfstones in the way in which you tried to make them act when you faced the Reaper.”
The Valeman thought it over. Allanon had told him that the three Stones acted to mesh heart, mind, and body into the power that formed the magic. If any one were lacking…
“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “The distinction is too finely drawn. My grandfather believed in the preservation of life as strongly as I and yet he used the Elfstones to destroy. And he did so without the difficulty that I have experienced.”
“Well then, there is another possibility,” she continued. “Allanon warned you of the resistance caused by the mix of human blood with Elven. You have experienced it once already. Perhaps this has caused you to create your own block—a block within your mind that convinces you subconsciously that the power of the Elfstones is lost, when in fact it is not. Perhaps the block you experienced at the catwalk was one of your own making.”
Wil stared at her wordlessly. Was that possible? He shook his head. “I don’t know. I cannot be sure. It happened so fast.”
“Then hear me.” She moved close, so that her face was next to his. “Do not be so quick to accept as truth what is only conjecture. You have used the Elfstones once. You have called upon their power and made it your own. I do not think that such a gift is so easily lost. Perhaps it is just misplaced. Take time to look for it before you decide that it is no longer yours.”
He looked at her with amazement. “You have more confidence in me than I do. That seems very strange. You thought me worthless on our journey north from Havenstead. You remember that?”
She drew back slightly. “I was wrong to think that. I said things that I should not have said. I was afraid …”
For an instant it appeared as if she would say more; but, as on the other occasions when she had seemed ready to explain her fear, she let the matter drop. Wil was wise enough to do likewise.
“Well, you were right about one thing,” he offered, trying to keep the tone of his voice light. “I should be giving this talk to you, not you to me.”
There was a wistful look in her eyes. “Then remember to do so when you see that I need it. Now will you sleep?”
He nodded. “I think I might—for a little while, at least.”
He eased forward, letting the Elf girl slip her arm about the small rudder. Lowering himself into the bottom of the boat, he made a pillow of his cloak and laid his head down wearily. Thoughts of the Elfstones played teasingly within his mind. He closed his eyes, enfolding such thoughts in blackness. Believe in yourself, Allanon had told him. Did he have that belief? Was that belief enough?
The thoughts scattered, drifting. He slept.
He was awake by midafternoon. Cramped and sore, he eased himself up from the hard bottom of the skiff and moved back to take the rudder from Amberle. He was hungry and thirsty, but there was nothing to eat or drink. They had lost everything in their flight through the Pykon.
A short time later, the channel began to narrow, and the limbs of the trees on either bank closed above them like a canopy. Shadows lengthened across the spread of the river; in the west the sun dropped low above the wall of the Rock Spur, its golden light turning red with the coming of dusk. A stretch of rapids bounced the skiff wildly along the channel, but Wil kept their little boat free of the rocks and straight on her course until they were clear. When the river again began to swing south on its long journey back toward the grasslands of Callahorn, the Valeman brought the skiff ashore and they disembarked.
They spent the night at the base of a massive old willow several hundred yards back from the river’s edge. Concealing the skiff in the brush beside the riverbank, they gathered fruit and vegetables for an evening meal and set out in search of drinking water. There was none to be found, however, and they were forced to make do with the food. They ate, conversed briefly and fell asleep.
Morning dawned bright and pleasant, and Valeman and Elven girl began the hike westward to the Rock Spur. They walked briskly, enjoying the warmth of the early morning, consuming as they went the remainder of the fruit they had gathered the previous evening. The hours passed quickly, and the stiffness they had experienced on first awakening disappeared as they wound their way steadily ahead. By midmorning, they had discovered a small stream where rapids emptied down into a pond and the water was suitable for drinking. They drank their fill; but, having no containers, they could take nothing with them.
As the day wore on, the mountains of the Rock Spur loomed closer above the wall of the forest in a massive, humped line of peaks that stretched away across the whole of the western horizon. Only to the far south, where lay the vast impenetrable mire of the Shroudslip, were the mountains absent, and there the skyline was filled with thick, gray mist that rose out of the swamp like heavy smoke. For the first time since they had escaped the Pykon, Wil began to worry ab
out where they were going. Their decision to follow the Mermidon down to the forests bordering the mountains had seemed obvious enough. But now that they were there, he found himself wondering how they were ever going to manage a crossing of these monstrous peaks. Neither of them was familiar with this range; neither knew if there were passes that would take them safely through. Without the Elven Hunters to guide them, how were they to keep from becoming hopelessly lost?
By sunset, they were right up against the Rock Spur, staring upward thousands of feet at a maze of peaks that loomed one above the next and offered no sign of passage nor hint of break. Valeman and Elven girl climbed out of the forest until they had reached the lower slopes of the nearest mountain. Broad, grassy pastures there were covered with brilliant blue-bells and red centauries. The sun was almost gone, and they looked for a campsite. They quickly found a stream that emptied down out of the rocks; at a small pool within a grove of pine, they settled in for the night. Another meal of fresh fruit and vegetables was consumed, but Wil found himself hungry for meat and bread and ate what they had without much interest. A new moon and a spectacular display of stars filled the sky. Bidding each other good-night, they rolled themselves into their traveling cloaks and closed their eyes.
Wil was still wondering how they were going to get through the mountains when sleep came to him.
When he awoke, a boy was sitting there, looking at him. It was dawn, and the sun was rising out of the distant forestland in a hazy, golden burst of light that scattered night in fleeting bits of gray. On the broad, open slopes of the mountain which rose above them, the wildflowers were just opening and the dew glistened damply on the grass.
Wil blinked in surprise. At first he thought that his eyes were playing tricks on him, and he waited expectantly for the boy to disappear back into his imagination. But the boy remained where he was, seated on the grass, legs crossed before him, silently contemplating Wil. This was no illusion, the Valeman decided and pushed himself up on one elbow.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” the boy replied solemnly.
Wil brushed the sleep from his eyes and took a moment to study the boy. He was an Elf, rather small, his tousled, sand-colored hair falling down about a rather ordinary face that displayed a light sprinkling of freckles. Leather pants and tunic fitted close on his small frame, and a number of assorted pouches and bags hung about his neck and from his waist. He was very young, certainly much younger than either Wil or Amberle.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” the boy announced.
Wil nodded. “You were very quiet.”
“I know. I can walk through a stretch of dry pine without making a single sound.”
“You can?”
“Yes. And I can hunt to a fox lair without starting him. I did that once.”
“That’s very good.”
The boy looked at him curiously. “What are you doing out here?”
Wil grinned in spite of himself. “I was just wondering the same thing about you. Do you live here?”
The boy shook his head. “No. I live to the south, below the Irrybis. In the Wing Hove.”
Wil did not have the faintest idea what a Wing Hove might be. Behind him, he heard Amberle stir awake.
“She is very pretty,” the boy ventured quietly. “Are you married?”
“Uh, no—just traveling together,” the Valeman managed, a bit taken back. “How did you get here?”
“I flew,” the boy answered. “I’m a Wing Rider.”
Wil stared at him speechlessly. The boy glanced past him to Amberle, who was just sitting up, still wrapped in her cloak.
“Good morning, lady,” he greeted.
“Good morning,” Amberle replied. Amusement mixed with puzzlement in her green eyes. “What is your name?”
“Perk.”
“My name is Amberle.” The Elven girl smiled. “This is Wil.”
The boy got to his feet and came over to grip Wil’s hand in greeting. The Valeman was surprised to find the youngster’s palm heavily calloused. The boy seemed conscious of the fact and drew his hand back quickly. He did not offer it to Amberle, but simply nodded.
“Would you like some breakfast?” he asked.
Wil shrugged. “What do you have in mind, Perk?”
“Milk, nuts, cheese, and bread. That is all I have with me.”
“That will do nicely.” The Valeman grinned, glancing back quickly at Amberle. He had no idea what Perk was doing here, but the food sounded delicious. “We would be very happy to share breakfast with you.”
They seated themselves in a circle. From one of the pouches he carried, the young Elf produced the promised nuts, cheese, and bread together with three small cups. The cups he filled with milk he carried in a second pouch. Valeman and Elven girl consumed the small meal ravenously.
“Where did you get the milk?” Amberle asked after a moment.
“Goats,” the boy mumbled, his mouth full. “A goatherd keeps a small flock in a meadow several miles north. I milked one earlier this morning.”
Amberle glanced questioningly at Wil, who shrugged.
“He tells me that he is a Wing Rider. He flies.”
“I’m not really a Wing Rider—not yet,” the boy interrupted. “I’m too young. But one day I will be.”
There was an awkward moment of silence as the three stared wordlessly at one another.
“You didn’t say what you were doing out here,” Perk said finally. “Are you running away from something?”
“Why do you ask that, Perk?” Amberle wanted to know immediately.
“Because you look like you are running away from something. Your clothes are torn and dirty. You carry no weapons and no food and no blankets. You build no fire. And you look like something has frightened you.”
“Perk, you are a bright boy,” Wil responded quickly, deciding at once how he was going to handle this. “Will you promise to keep it secret if I tell you something?”
The boy nodded, anticipation showing in his face. “I promise.”
“Good.” Wil leaned forward confidentially. “This lady—Amberle—is very special. She is a Princess, a granddaughter of Eventine Elessedil, the King of the Elves.”
“King of the Land Elves,” Perk corrected. When Wil hesitated, confused by the distinction, the boy edged forward anxiously. “Do you go in quest of treasure? Or is the lady enchanted? Is she bewitched?”
“Yes. No.” The Valeman stopped. What had he gotten himself into? “We go in search of a … a talisman, Perk. Only the lady can wield it. There is a very great evil that threatens the Elven people. Only the talisman can protect against that evil, and we must find it quickly. Would you be willing to help us?”
Perk’s eyes were wide with excitement. “An adventure? A real adventure?”
“Wil, I don’t know about this …” Amberle interrupted, frowning.
“Trust me, please.” Wil held up his hands placatingly. He turned back to Perk. “This is a very dangerous business, Perk. The things that hunt us have already killed a number of Elves. This will not be a game. You must do exactly as I ask, and when I tell you that it is finished, you must leave us at once. Agreed?”
The boy nodded quickly. “What do you want me to do?”
The Valeman pointed toward the Rock Spur. “I want you to show me a way through those mountains. Do you know one?”
“Of course.” Perk sounded very indignant. “Where is it that you are going?”
Wil hesitated. He was not certain that he wanted the boy to have that information.
“Does that matter?” he asked finally.
“Certainly it matters,” Perk replied at once. “How can I show you how to get to where you want to go if I don’t know where it is that you are going?”
“That sounds very sensible,” Amberle offered, giving Wil a knowing glance that suggested that he should have foreseen all this. “I think you had better tell him, Wil.”
The Valeman nodded. “Al
l right. We are going into the Wilderun.”
“The Wilderun?” Perk shook his head solemnly, some of the enthusiasm fading from his eyes. “The Wilderun is forbidden to me. It is very dangerous.”
“We know,” Amberle agreed. “But we have no choice. We have to go there. Can you help us?”
“I can help you,” the boy declared firmly. “But you cannot go through the mountains. That would take days.”
“Well, if we don’t go through the mountains, then how do we get there?” Wil demanded. “Is there another way?”
Perk grinned. “Sure. We can fly.”
Wil looked over at Amberle for help.
“Perk, we cannot … really fly,” she said gently.
“We can fly,” he insisted. “I told you, I’m a Wing Rider—almost a Wing Rider, anyway.”
Some imagination, thought Wil. “Look, Perk, you have to have wings to fly and we don’t have wings.”
“Wings?” The boy looked confused. Then he grinned. “Oh, you thought … Oh, I see. No, no, not us. We have Genewen. Here, come with me.”
He rose quickly and moved out of the shelter of the pine grove. Mystified, Wil and Amberle trailed after, exchanging confused glances as they went. When they were all beyond the trees and standing on the open slope, Perk reached into a leather pouch tied about his neck and produced a small, silver whistle. Putting the whistle to his lips, the boy blew into it. There was no sound. Wil looked at Amberle a second time and shook his head slowly. This was not working out the way he had intended it. Perk slipped the silver whistle back into its pouch and turned to scan the skyline. Mechanically, the Valeman and the Elven girl looked with him.
Suddenly a great, golden-hued form soared out of the Rock Spur, shimmering brightly in the warm morning sunlight as it dipped downward through the mountains and came toward them. Wil and Amberle started wildly. It was the biggest bird they had ever seen in their lives, a huge creature with a wing span of fully thirty feet, a sleek, crested head the color of fire tinged with flecks of black, a great hooked beak, and powerful talons that extended forward as it approached. For just an instant, both were reminded of the winged black thing that had very nearly caught them in their flight through the Valley of Rhenn, but then they realized that this was not the same creature. It dropped to the meadow not a dozen feet in front of them, wings folding close against its golden, feathered body, crested head arching upward as it came to roost. Its piercing cry split the morning stillness, and it dipped its head sharply toward Perk. The boy gave a quick, odd call in reply, then turned again to his astonished companions.
