«So it ends,” Allanon repeated softly.
His eyes found those of the Valegirl then, and it was as if they shared some unspoken secret that neither quite fully understood. Then slowly Allanon turned his horse about. With Brin and Rone trailing after, he rode east toward the forests of the Anar.
Chapter Fourteen
Late in the afternoon, Jair Ohmsford and his companions reached the Dwarf community of Culhaven. It was a journey just as well over and done with in the Valeman’s opinion. Leaden skies and a chill wind had followed them east through the Silver River country, and even the changing colors of the great Eastland forests had a gray and wintry cast to them. Geese flew southward over the land through threatening autumn skies, and the flow of the river whose course they followed was rough and unfriendly.
The Silver River had begun to show signs of the poisoning foretold by its King. Blackish scum laced its waters, and its clear silver color had turned murky. Dying fish, small rodents, and fallen birds floated past, and the river was choked with deadwood and scrub. Even its smell was bad, the fresh cleanness become a rank and fetid odor that assailed their nostrils with each change in the wind. Jair remembered his father’s tales of the Silver River, tales told since the time of Shea Ohmsford, and what he saw now made him sick at heart.
Garet Jax and Slanter did little to improve his mood. Even without the constant reminder of the river’s ill and the harsh cast of the day, Jair would have found it difficult to keep a smile on his face or cheerfulness in his voice with the Weapons Master and the Gnome for traveling companions. Withdrawn and taciturn, they trudged beside him with all of the enthusiasm of mourners at a death watch. Not a dozen words had been exchanged since the march had resumed early that morning, and not a smile had crossed either face. Eyes riveted on the path ahead, they went forward with a single–minded determination that bordered on fanaticism. Once or twice, Jair had ventured to speak, and the response each time had been little more than a muted grunt. The noontime meal had been a strained and awkward ritual of necessity, and even the silent march east had been preferable to that.
Thus their approach into Culhaven was more than a little welcome to the Valeman, if for no other reason than that it meant he would soon have a chance to talk to someone civil for a change — although there was some reason to doubt even that. Dwarves had sighted them as far west as the border of the Anar, silent watchers who had made no effort to make them feel welcome. All along the trail leading in, there had been patrols of Dwarf Hunters — hardened men wrapped in leather waistcoats and forest cloaks, armed and purposeful in their walk. None of these had given greeting, or paused for even the briefest that. All had passed and gone their way without inquiry. Only their eyes had strayed over to view these visitors — and their eyes had not been friendly.
By the time Jair and his fellow travelers reached the edge of the Dwarf village, they were being studied openly by every Dwarf they passed, and there was more than a hint of suspicion in those looks. Still in the lead, Garet Jax seemed oblivious to the eyes that followed after them, but Slanter was growing increasingly edgy and Jair was almost as uncomfortable as the Gnome. Garet Jax led along the roadway that crisscrossed the village, clearly familiar with the community and certain of what he was about. Neatly kept homes and shops lined the pathways they walked, sturdily built structures fronted by immaculate lawns and hedgerows, and brightened by lines of flowerbanks and carefully tended gardens. Families and shopowners looked up as they passed, hands gripping tools and wares as they paused in their day’s work. But there were armed men even here — Dwarf Hunters with hard eyes and belted weapons. This might be a community of families and homes, Jair thought to himself, but just at the moment it has more the look of an armed camp.
Finally, as they entered the central part of the village, they were brought to a halt by a foot patrol. Garet Jax spoke briefly with one of the sentries and the Dwarf disappeared on the run. The Weapons Master stepped back with Jair and Slanter. Together they faced the remaining members of the patrol in studied silence and waited. Dwarf children came to stand about them curiously, eyes fixed on Slanter. The Gnome ignored them for a time, then tired of the game and gave a sudden growl that sent the entire bunch scurrying for cover. The Gnome glowered after them, glanced irritably at Jair, and withdrew into a determined funk.
A few minutes later, the sentry dispatched by Garet Jax returned. With him was a rugged–looking Dwarf with a great curling black beard and mustache and a bald head. Without slowing, he went directly to the Weapons Master, his hand extended in welcome.
«Took your sweet time getting here,” he growled as the other clasped the callused hand in his own. Sharp brown eyes peered out from beneath heavy brows, and the look of the man was hard and fierce. His stout, compact body was clothed in loose–fitting forest garb, belted and booted in soft leather, and he wore a brace of long knives at his waist. In one ear, a large gold earring dangled.
«Elb Foraker,” Garet Jax introduced the Dwarf to Jair and Slanter.
Foraker studied them wordlessly for a moment, then turned back to the Weapons Master. «Strange company you’re keeping, Garet.»
«Strange times.» The other shrugged. «How about a place to sit and something to eat?»
Foraker nodded. «This way.»
He led them past the patrol to where the roadway branched right and from there into a building that housed a large eating hall filled with benches and tables. A handful of the tables were occupied by Dwarf Hunters absorbed in their evening meal. A few glanced up and nodded to Foraker, but no one this time showed any particular interest in the Dwarf’s companions. Apparently it made a difference whom you were with, Jair thought. Foraker chose a table for them well back against one wall and signaled for food to be brought.
«What am I supposed to do with these two?» the Dwarf asked when they had seated themselves.
Garet Jax turned to his companions. «Direct sort of fellow, isn’t he? He was with me ten years ago when I was training Dwarf Hunters for a border skirmish along the Wolfsktaag. He was with me again in Callahorn a few years back. That’s why I’m here now. He asked me to come, and he doesn’t take no for an answer.»
He looked back at Foraker. «The Valeman is Jair Ohmsford. He’s looking for his sister and a Druid.»
Foraker leaned back frowning. «A Druid? What Druid? There aren’t any Druids anymore. Haven’t been any Druids since…»
«I know — since Allanon,” Jair interjected, unable to keep still any longer. «That’s the Druid I’m looking for.»
Foraker stared at him. «That right? What makes you think you’ll find him here?»
«He told me that he would be going into the Eastland. He took my sister with him.»
«Your sister?» The Dwarf’s brows were fiercely knit. «Allanon and your sister? And they’re supposed to be here somewhere?»
Jair nodded slowly, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Foraker looked at him as if he were crazy. Then he looked at Garet Jax.
«Where did you find this Valeman?»
«On the way,” the other replied vaguely. «What do you know about the Druid?»
Foraker shrugged. «I know that no one has seen Allanon in the Eastland for more than twenty years — with or without anybody’s sister.»
«Well, you don’t know much, then,” Slanter spoke up suddenly, the faintest hint of a sneer in his voice. «The Druid’s come and gone right under your nose!»
Foraker’s fierce countenance swung around on the speaker. «I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Gnome.»
«This one supposedly tracked the Druid out of the Eastland,” Garet Jax offered, gray eyes wandering off casually about the empty hall. «Tracked him from the Maelmord right to the Valeman’s doorstep.»
Foraker stared at him. «I’ll ask again — what exactly am I supposed to do with these two?»
Garet Jax looked back at him. «I’ve been thinking about that. Does the Council meet tonight?»
«Every night, these days,”
«Then let the Valeman speak to them.»
Foraker frowned. «Why should I do that?»
«Because he has something to tell them that I think they’re going to want to hear. And not just about the Druid.»
