you come visit me sometime? Or I could come to see you — but that wouldn’t be until I’m older. My family won’t let me fly out of the Westland.»
«I will come visit you,” Wil promised. «Soon.»
Perk gave a sort of half–wave and walked to the door. His hand was on the latch when he paused and glanced back at the Valeman.
«I really liked her, Wil — a whole lot.»
«I liked her, too, Perk.»
The little Wing Rider smiled briefly and disappeared through the door.
Chapter Fifty–Four
They went home then, all those who had come to Arborlon to stand with the Elves, all but two. The Wing Riders went first, at the dawn of the day that began the reign of Ander Elessedil as the new King of the Land Elves — three who remained of the five who had flown north together and the boy called Perk. They left quietly, with barely a word to anyone but the young King, and were gone before the sun fully crested the eastern forests, their golden–hued Rocs chasing after the disappearing night like the first rays of the morning sun.
At midday the Rock Trolls departed, Amantar at their head, as fierce and proud as when they had come, weapons raised in salute as the Elven people gathered along the streets and in the tree–lanes to cheer their passing. For the first time in more than a thousand years, Troll and Elf parted not as enemies, but as friends.
The Dwarves stayed several days longer, lending to the Elves the benefit of their vast engineering expertise by assisting in the drafting of plans for the rebuilding of the shattered Elfitch. A most difficult task lay ahead in that rebuilding, for not only was it necessary to replace the demolished fifth rampway, but most of the remainder of the structure was in need of shoring up as well. It was the kind of challenge that the redoubtable Browork relished; with the aid of hose Sappers yet able to work, he traced for the Elves the steps by which the task might best be accomplished. When finally he did take leave of Ander and the Elven people, he did so with the promise that another company of Dwarf Sappers — one in better condition to serve than his own — would be sent at once to give whatever aid was necessary.
«We know that we can depend upon the Dwarves.» Ander gripped Browork’s rough hand in parting.
«Always,” the crusty Dwarf agreed with a nod. «See that you remember that when we have need of you.»
Finally it was the turn of the men of Callahorn to depart the handful of Legion Free Corps and Old Guard who had survived the ferocious struggle to hold the Elfitch. Not a dozen of the former remained and of those not six would fight again. The command had virtually ceased to exist, the bodies of its soldiers scattered between the passes of the Breakline and Arborlon. Yet once more the tall, scarfaced Borderman called Stee Jans had survived where so many others had not.
He came to Ander Elessedil early on the morning of the sixth day following their victory over the Demon hordes, riding out on his great blue roan to where the Elven King stood at the edge of the Carolan and reviewed with his engineers the pans drafted by the Dwarf Sappers. Excusing himself hurriedly Ander walked quickly to where the Free Corps Commander had dismounted and stood waiting. Ignoring the nod of respect the big man gave him, Ander seized the other’s hand and gripped it firmly.
«You are well again, Commander?» he greeted him, smiling.
«Well enough, my Lord,” Stee Jans smiled back. «I came to thank you and to say goodbye. The Legion rides again for Callahorn.»
Ander shook his head slowly «It is not for you to thank me. It is for me — and for the Elven people — to thank you. No one gave more to us and to this land than the men of the Free Corps. And you, Stee Jans — what would we have done without you?»
The Borderman was quiet for a moment before speaking. «My Lord, I think we found in the people and the land a cause worth fighting for. All that we gave, we gave freely. And you did not lose this fight — that is what matters.»
«How could we lose with you to aid us?» Ander gripped his hand anew. He paused. «What will you do now?»
Stee Jans shrugged. «The Free Corps is gone. Perhaps they’ll rebuild. Perhaps not. If not, perhaps there will be a new Legion command. I will ask for one, in any case.»
Ander nodded slowly. «Ask me, Stee Jans — ask me and the command is yours. I would be honored to have you. And the Elven people would be honored. You are one of us. Will you consider it?»
The Borderman smiled, turned, and swung back into the saddle. «I am already considering it, King Ander Elessedil.» He saluted smartly. «Until we meet again, my Lord — strength to you and to the Elves.»
He reined the big roan about, gray cloak flying, and rode east across the Carolan. Ander watched him go, waving after him. Until we meet again, Borderman, he replied without speaking.
Thus they went home, all those who had come to Arborlon to stand with the Elves, all the brave ones, all, but two…
One was the Valeman, Wil Ohmsford.
Sunshine lay across the Carolan in a blanket of warmth and hazy brightness as the noonday neared and Wil Ohmsford approached the gates leading into the Gardens of Life. Down the gravel pathway the Valeman walked, his stride measured and even, and there was no sign of hesitation in his coming. Yet when he stood at last before the gates, he was not sure that he could go further.
It had taken him a week to come this far. The first three days following his collapse in these same Gardens had been spent in his chambers in the Elessedil manor house, asleep most of the time. Two more had been spent in the seclusion of the grounds surrounding the ancient home, wrestling with the jumble of emotions that seethed within him as memories of Amberle came and went. The last two days he had spent studiously avoiding the very thing he had now come to do.
He stood for a long time at the Gardens’ entrance, staring upward at the arch of silver scroll and inlaid ivory, at the ivy–grown walls, and the pines and hedgerows leading in. Heads turned toward him questioningly as the people of the city came and went, passing into and out of the gates before which he stood. They were there for the same reason that had brought him and were wondering as they saw him if he were perhaps even more awed and self–conscious than they Sentries of the Black Watch stood rigid and aloof to either side, eyes shifting momentarily to watch the motionless figure of the Valeman, then looking quickly away again. Still Wil Ohmsford did not go forward.
Yet he knew he must. He had thought it through quite carefully. He must see her one time more. One final time. There could be no peace within him until it was done.
Almost before he realized it, he was through the gates, following the curve of the pathway that would take him to the tree.
He felt oddly relieved as he went, as if in making the decision to go to her he was doing something not only necessary, but right. A bit of the determination that had seen him through so much these past few weeks returned to him now — determination that had been drained from him when he had lost the Elven girl, so complete was his belief that he had failed her. He thought he understood that feeling better now. It was not so much a sense of failure that he had experienced as a sense of his own limitations. You cannot do everything you might wish that you could do, Uncle Flick had told him once. And so, while he had been able to save Amberle from the Demons, he had not been able to save her from becoming the Ellcrys. Yet saving her from that, he knew, was not something that had ever been within his power. It had only been within hers. Her choice, as she had told him — as Allanon, too, had told him. No amount of anger, bitterness, or self–remorse would change that or bring him the peace he needed. He must reconcile what had happened another way. He thought he knew that way now. This visit to her was the first step.
Then he passed through an opening in a tall row of evergreens and she was before him. The Ellcrys rose up against the clear blue of the noonday sky, tall silver trunk and scarlet leaves rippling in the golden sunlight, a thing of such exquisite beauty that in the instant he saw her tears came to his eyes.
«Amberle…» he whispered.
