What are you trying to do to me? Do you think you can bribe me? Is that what you think?»
«No,” Jair answered hastily. «I just…»
«Well, you can’t!» the other cut him short. «I don’t take bribes! I’m not some… !» He sputtered off into silence, unable to find the words to express what it was that he wasn’t. Then he straightened. «If it means this much to you, if it’s this important, then all right, I’ll come. If you want me to come, I’ll come — but not for a bribe! I’ll come because I want to come. My idea, understand? And just to the border — not a step further! I want nothing to do with the Dwarves!»
Jair stared at him in astonishment for a moment, then quickly stuck out his hand. Solemnly, Slanter shook it.
It was decided that Spilk would be left just as he was. It would take him considerable time to free himself, but eventually he would do so. If worse came to worst, he could always chew his way through the ropes, Slanter suggested blackly. If he yelled for help, perhaps someone would hear him. He would have to be careful though. The Black Oaks were populated by a particularly vicious species of timber wolf, and the calls were likely to draw their attention. On the other hand, the wolves might drift in for water anyway…
Spilk heard the last of this, stirring awake as Jair and his companions were preparing to set out. Dazed and angered, the burly Gnome threatened that they would all meet a most unpleasant end when he caught up with them again — and catch up with them he would. They ignored the threats — though Slanter appeared somewhat uneasy at hearing them — and minutes later the Sedt was left behind.
It was strange company in which Jair found himself now — a Gnome who had tracked him down, taken him prisoner, and kept him so for three days, and a legendary adventurer who had killed dozens more men than he had seen years on this earth. Here they were, the three of them, and Jair found the alliance thoroughly baffling. What were these two doing with him? Garet Jax might have gone his way without troubling himself about Jair, yet he had not done so. At risk to his own life, he had rescued the Valeman and then chosen to make himself temporary guardian. Why would a man like Garet Jax do such a thing? And Slanter might have rebuffed his request for help in avoiding whatever lay between them and the Anar, knowing the danger to himself and knowing that Garet Jax clearly didn’t trust him and would watch his every move. Yet quite unexpectedly, almost perversely, he had chosen to come anyway. Again — why?
But it was his own motives that surprised him most of all when he began to consider them. After all, if their decision to be with him was baffling, what of his to be with them? Slanter, until just moments ago, had been his jailer! And he was genuinely frightened of Garet Jax, his rescuer. Over and over again, he thought of the Weapons Master facing those Gnomes — quick, deadly, terrifying, as black as the death he dealt.
For an instant, the picture hung suspended in the Valeman’s mind; then quickly he thrust it aside.
Well, strangers on the road became companions for safety’s sake, and Jair supposed that that was the way to view what had happened here. He must keep his wits. After all, he was free now and in no real danger. In an instant’s time he could disappear. A single note of the wishsong, sung with the whisper of the wind, and he could be gone. Thinking about that gave him some sense of comfort. If he hadn’t been so deep within the Black Oaks, if it weren’t for the fact that the Mord Wraiths were searching for him, and if it weren’t for his desperate need to find help somewhere…
He tightened his mouth against the words. Speculation on what might have been was pointless. He had enough with which to concern himself. Above all, he had to remember to say nothing about Brin or the Elfstones.
They had walked less than an hour through the Oaks when they came to a clearing in which half a dozen trails merged. Slanter, leading the way through the darkened forest, drew to a halt and pointed to a trail leading south.
«This way,” he announced.
Garet Jax looked at him curiously. «South?»
Slanter’s heavy brows knitted. «South. The walker will come down out of the Silver River country through the Mist Marsh. It is the quickest and easiest way — at least for those devils. They’re not afraid of anything that lives in the marsh. If we want to take as few chances as possible, we’ll go south around the Marsh through the Oaks, then turn north above the lowlands.»
«A long way, Gnome,” the Weapons Master murmured.
«At least that way you’ll get where you’re going!» the other snapped.
«Perhaps we could slip by him.»
Slanter put his hands on his hips and squared his stocky frame about. «Perhaps we could fly, too! Hah! You haven’t any idea at all what you’re talking about!»
Garet Jax said nothing, his eyes fixing on the Gnome. Slanter seemed to sense suddenly that perhaps he had gone too far. Glancing hurriedly at Jair, he cleared his throat nervously and shrugged.
«Well, you don’t know the Mord Wraiths like I do. You haven’t lived among them. You haven’t seen what they can do.» He took a deep breath. «They’re like something stolen from the dark — as if each were a bit of night broken off. When they pass, you never see them. You never hear them. You just sense them — you feel their coming.» Jair shivered; remembering his encounter at Shady Vale and the invisible presence, just beyond the wall. «They leave no trail when they pass,” Slanter went on. «They appear and disappear just as their name would suggest. Mord Wraiths. Black walkers.»
He trailed off, shaking his head. Garet Jax looked over at Jair. All the Valeman could think about was what he had felt when he had come back to his home that night in the Vale and found one of them waiting.
«I don’t want to take the chance that we might stumble onto one of them,” he said quietly.
The Weapons Master readjusted the pack across his shoulders. «Then we go south.»
All afternoon they wound southward through the Black Oaks, following the pathway as it snaked ahead through the trees. Dusk fell over the forest, the gray light of midday fading rapidly into night. A faint mist began to seep through the trees, damp and clinging. It thickened steadily. The trail became more difficult to follow, disappearing at regular intervals as the mist settled in. Night sounds came out of the growing dark and the sounds were not pleasant.
Slanter called a halt. Should they stop for the night? he wanted to know. Both men looked to Jair. Stiff and tired, the Valeman glanced quickly about. Giant oaks rose about them, glistening black trunks hemming them in like a massive keep. Mist and shadows lay all around, and somewhere within them a black walker hunted.
Jair Ohmsford gritted his teeth against the aches and the weariness and shook his head. The little company went on.
Night also came to the clearing where Spilk sat bound to the great oak. All afternoon he had worked at his bonds, loosening the knots that held them and forcing them slack. Nothing else had passed through the clearing that day; no travelers had stopped to water; no wolves had come to drink. The crumpled bodies of his patrol lay where they had fallen, shapeless forms in the dusk.
His cruel features tightened as he strained against the ropes. Another hour or so and he would be free to hunt the ones who had done this to him. And he would hunt them to the very ends…
A shadow passed over him, and his head jerked up. A tall black form stood before him, cloaked and hooded, a thing of death strayed from the night. Spilk went cold to the bone.
«Master!» he whispered harshly.
The black figure gave no response. It simply stood there, looking down on him. Frantically the Sedt began to speak, the words tumbling over one another in his haste to get them out. He revealed all that had befallen him — the stranger in black, the betrayal by Slanter, and the escape of the Valeman with the magic voice. His muscled body thrashed against the bonds that held him fast, words inadequate to halt the fear that tightened about his throat. «I tried! Master, I tried! Free me! Please, free me!»
His voice broke, and the flood of words died away into stillness. His head drooped downward, and sobs wracked his body. For a moment, the figure above him remained motionless. Then one lean, black–gloved hand reached down to fasten on the Gnome’s head, and red fire exploded forth. Spilk shrieked, a single, terrible cry.
The black–robed figure withdrew his hand, turned, and disappeared back into the night. No sound marked its passing.
In the empty clearing, Spilk’s lifeless form lay slumped within its bonds, eyes open and staring.
