They proceeded until they stood even with the foremost line of benches. Jair glanced around uneasily. The faces that stared back at him were not simply the faces of Dwarves. A handful of Elves sat immediately to his right, and half a dozen Bordermen from Callahorn far to his left. Foraker was there as well, black–bearded face dour and set as he leaned against the far wall.
«Welcome to Culhaven,” the voice spoke again.
The speaker rose from behind the table on the dais. He was a gray–bearded Dwarf of some years, rough– faced and bluff, skin browned and lined in the harsh light of the lamps. He stood centermost among the Elders at the Council.
«My name is Browork, Elder and citizen of Culhaven, First at this Council,” he informed them. His hand lifted and beckoned to Jair. «Come forward, Valeman.»
Jair came toward him a step or two and stopped, glancing at the line of faces that looked down at him. All were aged and weathered, yet with eyes still quick and alert as they studied him.
«Your name?» Browork asked him.
«Jair Ohmsford,” he replied. «Of Shady Vale.»
The Dwarf nodded. «What would you say to us, Jair Ohmsford?»
Jair glanced about. The faces all about him waited expectantly — faces he did not know. Should he reveal what he knew to them? He looked back at the Elder.
«You may speak freely.» Browork assured him, sensing his concern. «All gathered here are to be trusted; all are leaders in the fight against the Mord Wraiths.»
He sat down again slowly and waited. Jair looked about once more, then took a deep breath and began to speak. Step by step, he revealed all that had happened since the arrival of Allanon in Shady Vale those many nights past. He told of the Druid’s coming, of his warning of the Mord Wraiths, of his need for Brin, and of their departure east. He described his subsequent flight, the adventures that had befallen him in the highlands and the Black Oaks, his meeting with the King of the Silver River, and the prophecy foretold by the legendary King. It took him some time to tell it all. While he spoke, the men gathered about him stayed silent. He could not bring himself to look at them; he was frightened of what he might see in their faces. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the seams and hollows that molded Browork’s weathered countenance and the deep–set blue eyes that stared fixedly back at him.
When at last he was finished, the Dwarf Elder leaned forward slowly, his rough hands folding on the table before him, his gaze still holding Jair’s.
«Twenty years ago, I fought with Allanon to keep the Demon hordes from the Elven city of Arborlon. It was a terrible battle. Young Edain Elessedil —” He indicated with his hand a blondhaired Elf barely older than Brin. “— was not even born then. His grandfather, the great Eventine, was King of the Elves. That was when Allanon last walked the Four Lands. Not since that time has the Druid been seen, Valeman. He has not come to Culhaven. He has not come to the Eastland. What say you to that?»
Jair shook his head. «I don’t know why he didn’t come this way. I don’t know where he has gone. I only know where it is that he goes — and my sister with him. And I know, too, that he has indeed been within the Eastland.» He turned toward Slanter. «This Hunter tracked him from the Maelmord west to my home.»
He waited for confirmation, but Slanter said nothing.
«No one has seen Allanon for twenty years,” another Elder of the Council repeated quietly.
«And no one has ever spoken with the King of the Silver River,” a third said.
«I spoke with him,” Jair said. «And my father also spoke with him. He helped my father and an Elf girl flee the Demons to Arborlon.»
Browork continued to study him. «I know of your father, youngster. He did come to Arborlon to aid the Elves in their fight against the Demons. It was rumored that he was the possessor of Elfstones, just as you have said. But you say that you took the Elfstones from your home and then gave them up to the King of the Silver River?»
«In exchange for magic I could use,” Jair affirmed quickly. «For a wish I could use to save Brin. For a vision crystal to find her. And for strength for those who would help me.»
Browork glanced now at Garet Jax. The Weapons Master nodded. «I have seen the crystal of which he speaks. It is magic. It did show to us the face of a girl — one he says is his sister.»
The Elf identified as Edain Elessedil came suddenly to his feet. He was tall and fair–skinned, his blond hair reaching to his shoulders. «My father has spoken to me of Wil Ohmsford many times. He has said that he is an honorable man. I do not think a son of his would speak anything but the truth.»
«Unless he mistook fantasy for truth,” one of the Council suggested. «This tale is difficult to swallow.»
«But the waters of the river are indeed fouled,” another pointed out. «We all know that in some way the Mord Wraiths poison them in an effort to destroy us.»
«As you say, common knowledge,” replied the first. «Hardly proof of anything.»
Other voices rose now, arguing the merits of Jair’s tale. Browork raised his hands sharply.
«Peace, Elders! Give thought to what we are about!» He turned back to Jair. «Your quest, if it be true, requires that we give you aid. You cannot succeed without that aid, Valeman. Armies of Gnomes lie between you and the thing you seek — this place you call Heaven’s Well. Understand, too, that none among us have ever been where you would go or seen the source of the waters of the Silver River.» He glanced about for confirmation; heads nodded and no one spoke in contradiction. «For us to help you then, we must first be certain of what we do. We must believe. How are we to believe a thing of which we have no personal knowledge? How are we to know what you tell us is the truth?»
«I would not lie,” Jair insisted, flushing.
«Not knowingly, perhaps,” the Elder mused. «Yet all lies are not intended. Sometimes what we believe to be truth is but a falsehood which deceives us. Perhaps that is what has happened here. Perhaps…»
«Perhaps if we waste enough time talking about it, it will be too late to do anything to help Brin!» Jair lost his temper completely. «I have not been deceived in anything! What I spoke of happened!»
The voices murmured in dissatisfaction, but immediately Browork signaled for quiet. «Show to us this pouch of Silver Dust that we might gain some measure of belief in what you say,” he ordered.
The Valeman stared at him helplessly. «It will not aid you. The dust appears as common sand.»
«Sand?» One of the Council members shook his head in disgust. «We are wasting our time, Browork.»
«Let us at least see the crystal, then,” Browork sighed.
«Or prove to us in some other way that what you say is true,” another demanded.
Jair felt his chance of convincing the Dwarves of anything slipping rapidly away. Few, if any, of the Council believed what he was telling them. They had seen nothing of Allanon or Brin; none of them had ever heard of anyone speaking with the King of the Silver River; for all he knew, they didn’t even believe that such a being existed. Now he was telling them he had given away Elfstones for magics they could not even see.
«We waste time, Browork,” the first Elder muttered once more.
«Let the Valeman be questioned by others while we get on with our business,” another said.
Again the voices rose, and this time they drowned out Browork’s pleas for silence. Almost to a man, the Dwarves of the Council and those gathered with them called for the matter to be disposed of without further delay.
«I could have told you this would happen,” Slanter whispered suddenly from behind him.
Jair went crimson with anger. He had come too far and endured too much to be shoved aside now. Give us proof, they were telling him. Make us believe.
Well, he knew how to make them believe!
Stepping forward suddenly, he lifted his hands high, then pointed into the shadows of the aisle leading back from where he stood. So dramatic was the gesture that the voices went abruptly still, and all heads turned to look. There was nothing there, nothing but darkness…
Then Jair sang, the wishsong quick and strident, and a tall, black figure wrapped in cloak and cowl emerged from out of the nothingness of the air.
The figure was Allanon.
There was a sharp gasp from those assembled. Swords and long knives slipped from their sheaths, and men bounded from their seats to defend against this shade that had emerged from the dark. Within the cowl, a dark lean face lifted to the light, eyes fixing on the men of the Council. Then Jair’s song faded and the Druid was gone.
Jair turned once more to Browork. The Dwarfs eyes were wide. «Now do you believe me?» the Valeman
