Healer, what is it called?»
«Spire’s Reach,” Wil offered.
She nodded. «Spire’s Reach. Can you show us how to get there, Wisp? Can you take us there?»
Wisp glanced uncertainly at Wil, then past him to the burning tower. His eyes remained fixed on the tower for a moment, then shifted back to Eretria.
«I will take you, pretty one.»
Eretria rose and took the little fellow’s hand. «Don’t worry, now. I’ll take care of you, Wisp.»
As they moved past Wil, the Rover girl winked. «I told you that you needed me, Healer.»
They melted into the gloom of the forest. Wisp led, slipping eel–like through the mist and the tangle of the woods, Eretria’s hand gripped firmly in his own. Hebel followed with Drifter, then Wil with Amberle, his arm about her waist to lend support as she limped along gamely beside him. But almost immediately, the others began to widen the distance between them; in trying to catch up, Amberle stumbled and went down. Wil did not hesitate. He simply picked up the Elven girl and went on, cradling her in his arms. To his surprise, Amberle did not protest. He had expected that she would, so fiercely self–reliant had she been throughout their journey. But she was quiet now, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms draped loosely about his neck. Not a single word passed between them.
Wil pondered her behavior momentarily, then his mind was racing on to other matters. Already he was working on a plan for their escape — not just from the Hollows, but from the Reaper as well. For it did them no good to escape from the Hollows, if they did not escape from the Reaper as well. Certainly the Hollows were dangerous, but it was the Reaper that really frightened Wil — a relentless hunter that nothing seemed able to stop, a creature that defied the laws of reason and probability and simply pushed aside the obstacles that hindered its search for the fragile woman–child the Valeman carried. He knew he must not let it find her. Even the Elfstones, could he find a way to unlock their awesome power, might not be enough to stop this creature. They must escape it, and they must escape it quickly.
He thought that he had the means to do so. It was the fifth day of their descent into the Wilderun — the last day that Perk would fly Genewen across the valley before winging home. The Valeman dropped one hand from Amberle momentarily to feel the outline of the small object that nestled in his tunic pocket the silver whistle that Perk had given him to summon Genewen. It was their sole link to the youthful Wing Rider, and Wil had guarded it carefully. He knew that he had promised Amberle that he would not call upon the boy if their situation were not desperate, but surely it could not be more desperate than this. If they were forced to hike back through the Hollows, back through the Wilderun, and back through the whole of the lower Westland in order to reach the safety of Arborlon, they would never make it. The Reaper would find their trail and catch them. It would be foolish to believe otherwise. They must find another way back, and the only other way he knew was to fly Genewen. The Reaper would still come after them, just as it had come after them before, but by then they would be safely beyond its reach.
Maybe, he cautioned himself. Maybe. They still needed time to escape, and what time remained was slipping rapidly away from them. There had not been much to begin with, and most of that had already been used up. The Reaper hunted them. Even though they had outmaneuvered it in the ruins of the Witch Sister’s tower, still it would find them again quickly enough. If they were to escape, they must reach Safehold, locate the Bloodfire, immerse the Ellcrys seed, gain the high slopes of Spire’s Reach, signal Perk, who could be anywhere over the Wilderun, board Genewen, if the great Roc could carry them all, and fly to safety — all before the Reaper caught up to them. That was asking a lot, Wil knew.
The forest brushed and tore at him as he followed after Eretria’s slim form, branches and vines slapping at his face. He cradled Amberle close, the strain of carrying her already beginning to wear at his arms. All about, the forest lay deep and still.
He wondered momentarily about Arborlon and the Elves. By now, the Demons must have broken through the Forbidding and flooded the Westland, and the Elven people must be engaged in the defense of their homeland. The terrible conflict that Eventine had sought to avoid must have come to pass. And what of the Ellcrys? Had Allanon found a way to protect the dying tree? Had the Druid’s power been strong enough to withstand the onslaught of the Demons? Only a rebirth of the Ellcrys could save the Elves, Allanon had said. Yet how much time remained before even that would come too late? Pointless questions, Wil Ohmsford chided himself. Questions that he could not answer, for it was not possible for him to know what was happening beyond the Hollows. Yet he found himself wishing that it were possible for Allanon to reach out to him, tell him something of what was happening in the homeland of the Elves, and let him know that there was still time — if Wil could just find a way to get back again.
Despair washed through him then, sudden, frightening in its certainty — as if he knew that even if he were to succeed here in what he sought to accomplish, still it would be too late for those who awaited his return. And if that were so…
Wil Ohmsford did not let the thought finish itself. That way lay madness.
The terrain began to rise, gently at first, then sharply. They were upon the slopes of Spire’s Reach. Rock slides and clumps of boulders materialized through the tangle of the woods, and a narrow trail curled upward into the mist. They pushed ahead. Gradually the mist began to fade, and the roof of the forest fell away below them. Large stretches of gray sky appeared through breaks in the trees, and the gloom of the lower forest began to dissipate in small streamers of sunlight. Slowly, carefully, the climbers worked their way up the slopes, catching brief glimpses through the thinning trees of the Hollows spread out beneath them in a sea of tangled limbs.
Then abruptly the trees opened before them and they stood upon a bluff that faced out across the Hollows to the higher walls of the Wilderun. Clusters of scrub and deadwood rose out of deep swatches of saw grass and ran back to the cliff face and a massive cavern that opened down into Spire’s Reach like a great dark throat.
Wisp led the little company to the entrance to the cavern, skirting the maze of heavy brush, then stopped just outside and turned quickly to Eretria.
«Safehold, pretty thing — there.» He pointed into the cavern. «Tunnels and tunnels that wind and twist. Safehold. Good Wisp.»
The Rover girl smiled reassuringly and glanced back to Wil. «Now what?»
Wil came forward and peered unsuccessfully into the darkness. He set Amberle upon her feet momentarily and turned to find Wisp. The little fellow moved at once behind Eretria, hiding his face within the folds of her pants.
«Wisp?» Wil called him gently, but Wisp would have nothing to do with the Valeman. Wil sighed. There was no time for this foolishness.
«Eretria, ask him about a door made of glass that will not break.»
The Rover girl bent down so that Wisp was facing her again.
«Wisp, it’s all right. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Look at me, Wisp.» The little fellow raised his head and smiled uncertainly. Eretria stroked his cheek. «Wisp, can you show us a door made of glass that will not break? Do you know of such a door?»
Wisp cocked his head. «Play games, pretty thing? Play games with Wisp?»
Eretria was at a loss. She glanced quickly at Wil, who shrugged and nodded.
«Sure, we can play a game, Wisp.» Eretria smiled. «Can you show us this door?»
Wisp’s wizened face crinkled with glee. «Wisp can show.»
He bounded up, dashed into the mouth of the cavern, then back out again to grab Eretria’s hand and pull her after him. Wil shook his head hopelessly. Wisp was more than a little crazed, whether from all that had happened to him during his confinement within the Hollows or from the shock he had suffered at losing his Lady, and they were risking a great deal in believing that he could show them the chamber of the Bloodfire. Still, they had little choice. He glanced again at the blackness of the cavern.
«I’d hate to become lost in there,” Hebel muttered next to him.
Eretria seemed to be of the same opinion. «Wisp, we can’t see anything.» She pulled him to a stop. «We have to make torches.»
Wisp froze. «No torches, pretty thing. No fire. Fire burns — destroys. Hurts Wisp. Fire burns the tower of the Lad… The Lady… Wisp serves…»
W broke down suddenly, tears flooding his eyes, his small arms wrapping tight about the Rover girl’s legs. «Not hurt Wisp, pretty thing!»
