would Allanon be interested in meeting with him?
Nevertheless, he left his quarters and dutifully trooped off through the growing darkness across the village square toward the guest house where he knew Flick would be waiting. Much as he mistrusted the purpose behind this meeting, he was determined to go anyway. He was not one to back away from trouble — and besides, he could be wrong in his suspicions. Perhaps the Druid merely wanted to thank him for his help.
He found Flick waiting on the porch of the guest cottage, wrapped tightly in his heavy travel cloak, mumbling irritably about the weather. The elder Ohmsford came down the porch steps to join him, and they struck off together down the roadway toward the Stor rest center.
«What do you think he wants, Uncle Flick?» Wil asked after a moment, pulling his own cloak closer about him to ward off the evening chill.
«Hard to say,” Flick grunted. «I’ll tell you one thing. Every time he appears, it means trouble.»
«His coming to Storlock has something to do with us, doesn’t it?» Wil ventured, watching his uncle’s face.
Flick shook his head uncertainly. «He’s come here for a purpose sure enough. And he’s called us over to say something more than hello and how are you. Whatever it is he has to say, it won’t be anything we want to hear. I know that much. It never has been before and I see no reason to expect anything different this time around.» He stopped abruptly and faced his nephew. «You watch yourself in there with him, Wil. He is not to be trusted.
«I’ll be careful, Uncle Flick, but I don’t think there is much to worry about,” Wil replied. «We both know something of Allanon, don’t we? Besides, you’ll be there to key an eye on things.»
«I fully intend to.» Flick turned and they continued walking. «Just remember what I said.»
Moments later they mounted the porch steps of the rest center and stepped inside. The center was a long, low building constructed of stone and mortar walls and a clay–tiled roof. A large, comfortably furnished lobby opened on either side into hallways that disappeared into the wings of the center, where numerous small rooms provided for the care of the sick and injured. As they entered, one of the white–robed Stors in attendance came up to greet them. He beckoned wordlessly, then led them down a long, empty hallway. At its end was a single closed door. The Stor knocked once, turned, and left. Wil glanced uneasily at Flick, but the elder Ohmsford was staring fixedly at the closed door. Together they waited.
Then the door swung open and Allanon stood before them. He looked for all the world as if he had not been injured at all. No wounds were visible. The black robes that cloaked his tall frame were clean of blood. His face was somewhat drawn, but showed no sign of any pain. His penetrating gaze settled on the Valemen for a moment, then one hand motioned toward a small table with four chairs set about it.
«Why don’t we sit there while we talk?» He made the suggestion seem almost an order.
They entered and seated themselves on the chairs. The room was windowless and bare of furnishings, except for the table and chairs and a large bed. Wil glanced about briefly, then turned his attention to the Druid. Allanon had been described to him by both Flick and Shea on dozens of occasions, and he looked now exactly as he had been described. But how could that be, Wil wondered, when the descriptions were of a man they had not seen since before the time of his birth?
«Well, here we are,” Flick said finally, when it appeared that no one was ever going to say anything.
Allanon smiled faintly. «It seems so.»
«You look well enough for a man who was half–dead just few hours earlier.»
«The Stors are very adept at their art, as you of all people should know,” the Druid replied rather too pleasantly. «But I’m afraid I do not feel half so well as I should. How are you, Flick?»
«Older and wiser, I hope,” the Valeman declared meaningfully.
Allanon did not respond. His gaze shifted abruptly to Wil. For a moment he said nothing further, his dark face inscrutable as he studied the younger Ohmsford. Wil sat quietly and did not turn away, though the Druid’s eyes made him uneasy. Then slowly Allanon leaned forward in his chair, his great hands settling on the table top and folding together.
«I need your help, Wil Ohmsford,” he stated quietly. Both Valemen stared at him. «I need you to come with me into the Westland.»
«I knew it,” muttered Flick, shaking his head.
Allanon smiled ruefully. «It is comforting to know, Flick, that some things in this life never change. You are certainly proof of that. Would it matter at all if I were to tell you that Wil’s help is needed not for me, but for the Elven people and in particular, a young Elven girl?»
«No, it would not,” the Valeman replied without a moment’s hesitation. «He’s not going and that’s the end of it.
«Wait a minute, Uncle Flick,” Wil interjected quickly. «It may well be that I’m not going, but I would like to be the one who makes that decision. At least, we can hear something more about what it is that I’m needed to do.»
Flick ignored the reprimand. «Believe me, you do not want to hear another word. This is exactly how the trouble begins. This is exactly how it began for your grandfather fifty years ago.» He looked quickly at Allanon. «Isn’t that true? Isn’t this exactly how things started when you came to Shady Vale and told us all about the Sword?»
Allanon nodded. «It is.»
«There — you see!» Flick declared triumphantly. «Exactly the same. I’ll wager this journey you’ve got panned for him is dangerous, too, isn’t it?»
Again the Druid nodded.
«Well, then,” the Valeman sat back, satisfaction etched into his bearded face. «I should think that settles the matter. You’re asking too much. He’s not going.»
Allanon’s dark eyes glittered. «He must go.»
Flick looked startled. «He must?»
The Druid nodded. «You will see why, Flick, once I have explained what has happened in the Four Lands these past few days. Listen closely to me, Valemen.»
He edged his chair closer to the table and leaned forward. «A long time ago, a very long time ago, before the Great Wars and the evolution of the new races, even before the development of Man as a civilized species, there was a terrible war fought between creatures that, for the most part, no longer exist. Some of these creatures were good and caring; they revered the land and sought to protect and preserve it against misuse and waste. For them, all life was sacred. But there were others who were evil and selfish; their ways were destructive and harmful. They took from the land and from its life without need or purpose. All were creatures whose physical characteristics and capabilities differed in the main from your own — that is to say, their appearance was different from yours, and they were capable of behavior no longer innate to the men of this world. In particular, they possessed to varying degrees powers of magic — at least, we would call it magic or sorcery or the mystic. Such power was common at that time, though some among these creatures possessed the Power to a greater extent than others; thus their capacity for good or evil was enhanced proportionately. All of these creatures, both good and evil, existed together in the world and, because plan had not yet developed beyond a primitive life form existing within a narrow geographical space, the world was theirs alone. It had been so for centuries. But their existence together had never been harmonious. They lived in continuing conflict, for they worked at cross–purposes — the good to preserve, the evil to destroy. From time to time the balance of power between the conflicting sides would shift, as first the good and then the evil would dominate the drift of things.
«The struggle between them intensified through the years until finally, after centuries had passed without resolution of the conflict, the leaders in each camp banded together all who supported them, and the war began. This was not a war the like of which we have seen since. This was not a war on the order of the Great Wars, for the Great Wars employed power of such awesome proportion that the men who wielded it lost control entirely and were engulfed in the resulting cataclysm. Rather it was a war in which power and strength were skillfully employed at each turn — in which the creatures involved stood toe to toe in battle and lived and died on the skill they wielded. This was like the Wars of the Races, which have dominated the history of the new world; in the Race Wars, the Warlock Lord perverted the thinking of those who served him, turning them against one another so that in the end he might enslave and rule them all. But in this war, there was never any deceit or illusion that swayed those who fought it. Good and evil were polarized from the beginning; no one stood aside in neutrality, for there were no neutral corners to be found. This was a war fought to determine forever the character and mode of evolution of life
