asked quietly. «You said you knew him; you said you fought with him at Arborlon. Was that the Druid?»
Slowly Browork nodded. «That was Allanon.»
«Then you know that I have seen him,” Jair said.
All assembled turned back now to stare at the Valeman, uneasy and shaken by what had happened. Behind him, Jair heard Slanter chuckle, a low nervous laugh. He caught a glimpse of Garet Jax from the corner of his eye. The Weapons Master had a curious, almost surprised look on his face.
«I have told you the truth,” Jair said to Browork. «I must go into the deep Anar and find Heaven’s Well. Allanon will be there with my sister. Now tell me — will you help me or not?»
Browork glanced at the other Elders. «What say you?»
«I believe what he says,” one old man ventured quietly.
«But it could yet be a trick!» another said. «It could be the work of the Mord Wraiths!»
Jair glanced quickly about. A few heads were nodding in agreement. In the smoky light of the oil lamps, suspicion and fear clouded many eyes.
«The risk is too great, I think,” yet another Elder said.
Browork rose. «We are pledged to give aid to any who seek the destruction of the Wraiths,” he said, blue eyes quick and hard. «This Valeman has told us he is allied with others of like mind and purpose. I believe him. I believe we should do what we can to aid him in his quest. I call for a vote, Elders. Give me your hands in support if you agree.»
Browork’s hand lifted high. Half a dozen more from the Council lifted with it. But the dissenters were not to be silenced so easily.
«This is madness!» one shouted. «Who will go with him? Are we to send men from the village, Browork? Who is to go on this quest to which you have so unwisely given your blessing? I call for volunteers if this is to be done!»
A scattering of voices muttered in support. Browork nodded. «So be it.» He looked about the chamber silently, his eyes shifting from one face to the next, searching, waiting for someone to accept the challenge.
«I will go.»
Jair looked around slowly. Garet Jax had come forward a — single step, gray eyes expressionless as he faced the Council.
«The King of the Silver River promised the Valeman that I would be his protector,” he said softly. «Very well. The promise shall be kept.»
Browork nodded, then looked about the room once more. «Who else among you will go?» he called out.
Elb Foraker pushed away from the wall against which he was leaning and walked over to stand with his friend. Again Browork looked out among those gathered. A moment later there was a stirring from among the men of Callahorn. A giant Borderman rose to his feet, black hair and beard close–cropped about his long, strangely gentle face.
«I’ll go,” he rumbled and came forward to stand with the others. Jair took a step back in spite of himself. The Borderman was almost as big as Allanon.
«Helt,” Browork greeted him. «The men of Callahorn need not make this quest their own.»
The big man shrugged. «We fight the same enemy, Elder. The quest appeals to me, and I would go.»
Then suddenly Edain Elessedil came to his feet. «I would go as well, Elder.»
Browork frowned. «You are a Prince of the Elves, young Edain. You are here with your Elven Hunters to repay a debt your father feels he owes from the time the Dwarves stood with him at Arborlon. Well and good. But you carry the price of the debt too far. Your father would not approve of this. Reconsider.»
The Elven Prince smiled. «There is nothing to reconsider, Browork. The debt owed in this matter is not to the Dwarves but to the Valeman and his father. Twenty years ago, Wil Ohmsford went with an Elven Chosen in search of a talisman that would destroy the Demons who had broken free of the Forbidding. He risked his life for my father and for my people. Now I have a chance to do the same for Wil Ohmsford — to go with his son, to see to it that he finds the thing he quests for. I am as able as any man here and I would go.»
Still Browork frowned. Garet Jax glanced at Foraker. The Dwarf merely shrugged. The Weapons Master looked over at the Elven Prince for a moment as if measuring the depth of his commitment or perhaps simply his chance of surviving, then slowly nodded.
«Very well,” Browork acquiesced. «five, then,”
«Six,” Garet Jax said quietly. «An even half–dozen for luck.»
Browork looked puzzled. «Who is the sixth?»
Garet Jax turned slowly about and pointed to Slanter. «The Gnome.»
«What!» Slanter’s jaw dropped. «You can’t choose me!»
«I have already done so,” the other replied. «You are the only one here who has been where we want to go. You know the way, Gnome, and you are going to show it to us.»
«I’ll show you nothing!» Slanter was livid, his face contorted with rage. «This boy… this devil… he put you up to this! Well, you have no power over me! I’ll throw you all to the wolves if you try to make me go!»
Garet Jax came up against him, the terrible gray eyes as cold as winter. «That would be most unfortunate for you, Gnome, for the wolves would reach you first. Take a moment and think it through.»
The Assembly went deathly still. Weapons Master and Gnome faced each other without moving, eyes locked. In the eyes of the man in black, there was death; in the eyes of Slanter, hesitation. But the Gnome did not back away. He stood where he was, seething with anger, trapped in a snare of his own making. Slowly his gaze shifted to find Jair, and in that instant the Valeman actually found himself feeling sorry for the Gnome.
Slanter’s nod was barely perceptible. «I’ve no choice, it seems,” he muttered. «I’ll take you.»
Garet Jax turned back once more to Browork. «Six.»
The Dwarf Elder hesitated, then sighed in resignation. «Six it is,” he declared softly. «Fortune go with you.»
Chapter Fifteen
Late the following morning, their preparations completed, the little company departed Culhaven for the deep Anar. Jair, Slanter, Garet Jax, Elb Foraker, Edain Elessedil and the Borderman Helt, armed and provisioned, slipped quietly from the village and were gone almost without notice. Only Browork was there to see them off, his aged countenance reflecting a mix of conviction and misgiving. To Jair, he gave his promise that warning of the Mord Wraiths would be sent to the elder Ohmsfords before their return to the Vale. To each of the others, he gave a firm handshake and a word of encouragement. Slanter alone evidenced an understandable lack of appreciation for the good wishes. No other fanfare accompanied their departure; the Council of Elders and the other leaders, both Dwarf and outlander, who had participated in last night’s gathering remained divided in their feelings as to the wisdom of this undertaking. More than not, were the truth to be made known, felt the entire venture doomed from the start.
Yet the decision had been made, and so the company went. It went alone, without escort, despite strenuous objection from the Elven Hunters who had accompanied Edain Elessedil east from the home city of Arborlon and who felt more than a little responsible for the safety of their Prince. Theirs was but a token force, after all, dispatched hurriedly by Ander Elessedil upon his receiving a call for aid from Browork and, until a larger force could be mobilized, dispatched in recognition of an obligation owed the Dwarves for their aid in the Demon–Elf struggle of twenty years earlier. Edain Elessedil had been sent in his father’s place, but without any real expectation that he would see battle unless the Gnome armies advanced all the way to Culhaven. His offer to join the company on their quest into the heart of enemy country had been completely unexpected. But there was little that the Elven Hunters could do about it — since the Prince was free to make his own decision in the matter — other than to insist that they, too, be made a part of the undertaking. There were those among the Dwarves and Bordermen who would have gone as well, but all were refused. Garet Jax made the decision, and it was supported by the others who comprised the company of six, even Slanter. The smaller the group, the greater its mobility and stealth and the better its chances of slipping through the great forests of Anar unseen. With the unavoidable exception of Jair — and he had the magic to protect him, he kept reminding them — all were skilled professionals, trained in survival.
