«Do not be frightened, Prince of Leah.» The Druid’s voice was tired, but reassuring. «The power truly belongs to you. You have shown that here. You are indeed the Valegirl’s protector — and for this one time at least, mine as well.»
The hand lingered a moment longer, then the big man was moving back along the path that had brought them in.
«There was only the one,” he called back to them. «Had there been others, we would have seen them by now. Come. Our business here is finished.»
«Allanon…» Brin started to call after him.
«Come, Valegirl. Time slips from us. Paranor needs whatever aid we can offer. We must go there at once.»
Without a backward glance, he began to climb from the valley. Brin and Rone Leah followed in silent resignation.
Chapter Ten
It was midmorning before Jair and his companions finally broke clear of the Black Oaks. Before them, rolling countryside stretched away — hill country to the north, lowlands to the south. They took little time admiring either. Exhausted almost to the point of collapse, they took just enough time to locate a sheltering clump of broad–leaf maple turned brilliant crimson by autumn’s touch. In seconds they were asleep.
Jair had no idea whether either of his companions thought to keep watch during the time he slept, but it was Garet Jax who shook him awake as dusk began to settle in. Wary of being so close yet to the Mist Marsh and the Oaks, the Weapons Master wanted to find a safer place to spend the coming night. The Battlemound Lowlands were fraught with dangers all their own, so the little company turned north into the hills. Somewhat refreshed by their half–day sleep, they walked on almost to midnight before settling in to sleep until dawn within a grove of wild fruit trees partially overgrown with brush. This time Jair insisted at the outset that the three share the watch.
The following day, they traveled north again. By late afternoon, they had reached the Silver River. Clear and sparkling in the fading sunlight, it wound its way west through tree–lined banks and rocky shoals. For several hours after, the three travelers followed the river east toward the Anar, and by nightfall they were well away from the Marsh and the Oaks. They had encountered no other journeyers during their march, and there had been no sign of either Gnomes or black walkers. It appeared that for the moment, at least, they were safe from any pursuit.
It was night again by the time they found a small pocket sheltered by maple and walnut trees on a ridge above the river and made their camp. They decided to risk a fire, built one that was small and smokeless, ate a hot meal, and settled back to watch the coals die into ash. The night was clear and warm; overhead, stars began to wink into view, clustering in brilliant patterns across the dark backdrop of the sky. All about them, night birds sang, insects hummed, and the faint rush of the river’s swift waters murmured in the distance. Drying leaves and brush gave a sweet and musty smell to the cool dark.
«Think I’ll gather up some wood,” Slanter announced suddenly after being silent for a time. He pushed himself heavily to his feet.
«I’ll help,” Jair offered.
The Gnome shot him a look of annoyance. «Did I ask for any help? I can gather wood by myself, boy.»
Scowling, he trudged off into the dark.
Jair leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest. That typified the way things had been ever since the three of them had started out — no one saying much of anything and saying what they did without a great deal of warmth. With Garet Jax, it didn’t matter. He was taciturn by nature, so his refusal to contribute anything in the way of conversation was not surprising. But Slanter was a garrulous fellow, and his uncommunicative posture was disquieting. Jair much preferred Slanter the way he had been before — brash, talkative, almost like a rough uncle. He wasn’t like that now. He seemed to have withdrawn into himself and shut himself away from the Valeman — as if traveling with Jair had become almost distasteful.
Well, in a way it was, Jair supposed, reflecting on the matter. After all, Slanter hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. He had only come because Jair had shamed him into it. Here he was, a Gnome traveling with one fellow who had been his prisoner before and another who didn’t trust him a wink, all for the sole purpose of seeing to it that they safely reached a people who were at war with his own. And he wouldn’t have been doing that, except that, in helping Jair, he had compromised his loyalties so that he was now little better than an outcast.
Then, too, there was the matter of the Log Dweller. Slanter had come to Jair’s aid in an act of bravery that the Valeman still found mystifying — an act not at all in character for a fellow as opportunistic and self–centered as Slanter — and look what had happened. Slanter had failed to stave off the Log Dweller, had himself become a victim, and had been forced to rely on Garet Jax to save him. That must rankle. Slanter was a tracker, and trackers were a proud breed. Trackers were supposed to protect the people they guided, not the other way around.
Sparks shot out suddenly from the little fire, drawing his attention. A dozen feet away, stretched out against an old log, Garet Jax stirred and glanced over. Those strange eyes sought his, and Jair found himself wondering once more about the character of the Weapons Master.
«Guess I should thank you again,” he said, drawing his knees up to his chest“ ”for saving me from that thing in the Marsh.“
The other man looked back at the fire. Jair watched for a moment, trying to decide if he should say anything else.
«Can I ask you something?» he said finally.
The Weapons Master shrugged his indifference.
«Why did you save me — not just from the thing in the Marsh, but back there in the Oaks when the Gnomes had me prisoner?» The hard eyes suddenly fixed on him again, and he hurried his words before he had time to think better of them. «It’s just that I don’t quite understand what made you do it. After all, you didn’t know me. You could have just gone your own way.»
Garet Jax shrugged again. «I did go my own way.»
«What do you mean?»
«My way happened to be your way. That’s what I mean.»
Jair frowned slightly. «But you didn’t know where I was being taken.»
«East. Where else would a Gnome patrol with a prisoner be going?»
Jair’s frown deepened. He couldn’t argue with that. Still, none of what the Weapons Master had said did much to explain why he had bothered to rescue Jair in the first place.
«I still don’t see why you helped me,” he pressed.
A faint smile crossed the other’s face. «I don’t appear to you to possess a particularly humanitarian nature, is that it?»
«I didn’t say that.»
«You didn’t have to. Anyway, you’re right — I don’t.»
Jair hesitated, staring at him.
«I said I don’t,” Garet Jax repeated. The smile was gone. «I wouldn’t stay alive very long if I did. And staying alive is what I do best.»
There was a long silence. Jair didn’t know where else to go with the conversation. The Weapons Master pushed himself forward, leaning into the fire’s warmth.
«But you interest, me,” he said slowly. His gaze shifted to Jair. «I suppose that’s why I rescued you. You interest me, and not many things do that anymore…»
He trailed off, a distant look in his eyes. But an instant later it was gone, and he was studying Jair once more. «There you were, bound and gagged and under guard by an entire Gnome patrol armed to the teeth. Very odd. They were frightened of you. That intrigued me. I wanted to know what it was about you that frightened them so.»
He shrugged. «So I thought it was worth the trouble to set you free.»
Jair stared at him. Curiosity? Was that why Garet Jax had come to his aid — out of curiosity? No, he thought at once, it was more than that.
«They were frightened of the magic,” he said suddenly. «Would you like to see how it works?»
