only way down was across catwalks or through underground passageways that tunneled into the rock.
«Gnomes would love to have this,” Foraker grunted, his arm sweeping over the complex. «Controls nearly the whole of the water supply for the lands west to the Rainbow Lake. In the rainy seasons, without this, there would be flooding, as there used to be before the locks and dams were built to guard against it.» He shook his head. «In a bad spring, even Culhaven would be swept away.»
Jair looked about slowly, impressed with the size of the complex, awed by the effort that must have been expended in its construction. Foraker had already taken him on a tour through the inner workings of the locks and dams, explaining the machinery and the duties of those who tended it. Jair was grateful for the tour.
Slanter was absorbed in reworking Dwarf maps of the lands north to the Ravenshorn — maps, the Gnome had been quick to point out when they were shown him, which were entirely inaccurate. Anxious to avoid the necessity of a return to the storage room where the Mwellret was caged and determined to establish his own expertise, Slanter had agreed to make notations on the maps so that the little company would be properly advised as to the geography of the lands they must pass through during the journey that lay ahead. Edain Elessedil had excused himself and gone off on his own. When Foraker, therefore, had offered to show Jair something of the locks and dams, the Valeman had been quick to accept. Part of the reason for the tour, Jair suspected, was to take his mind off Garet Jax, who had still not returned. But that was all right, too. He preferred not to think about the missing Weapons Master.
«Cliffs don’t allow the Gnomes a way down to the lower dams,” Foraker was saying, eyes turned back toward the distant watchfires. «The fortress guards all passage that way. Our ancestors knew that well enough when they built Capaal. As long as the fortress stands, the locks and dams are safe. As long as the locks and dams are safe, the Silver River is safe.»
«Except that it’s being poisoned,” Jair pointed out.
The Dwarf nodded. «It is. But it would be worse if the whole of the Cillidellan were let loose into the gorge. The poisoning would be quicker then — all the way west.»
«Don’t the other lands know this?» Jair asked quietly.
«They know.»
«You would think they would be here to help you, in that case.»
Foraker chuckled mirthlessly. «You would think so. But not everyone wants to believe the truth of things, you see. Some want to hide from it.»
«Have any of the races agreed to aid you?»
The Dwarf shrugged. «Some. The Westland Elves are sending an army under Ander Elessedil. It’s still two weeks away, though. Callahorn promises aid; Helt and a handful of others already fight with us. Nothing from the Trolls yet — but the Northern territories are vast and the tribes scattered. Perhaps they will at least help us along the northern borders.»
He trailed off. Jair waited a moment, then asked, «And the Southland?»
«The Southland?» Foraker shook his head slowly. «The Southland has the Federation and its Coalition Council. A bunch of fools. Petty internal bickerings and power struggles occupy all of their energies. And the new Southland has no use for the peoples of the other lands. The race of Man reverts to what it was in the time of the First War. If there were a Warlock Lord alive now, I fear the Federation would be a willing follower.»
Jair winced inwardly. In the First War of the Races, fought hundreds of years earlier, the Warlock Lord had subverted the race of Man and convinced it to attack the other races. Man had been defeated in that war and had still not recovered from the humiliation and bitterness of their loss. Isolationist in policy and practice, the Federation had absorbed and become spokesman for the majority of the Southland and the race of Man.
«Still, Callahorn stands with you,” Jair declared quickly. «The Bordermen are a different breed.»
«Even the Bordermen may not be enough.» Foraker grunted. «Even the whole of the Legion. You’ve seen the gathering of tribes without. United, they are a power greater than anything we can match. And they have the aid of those black things that command them…» He shook his head darkly.
Jair’s brow furrowed. «But we have an ally of our own who can stand against the Mord Wraiths. We have Allanon.»
«Yes, Allanon,” Foraker murmured, then shook his head once more.
«And Brin,” Jair added. «Once they’ve found the Ildatch…»
He trailed off, the warning of the King of the Silver River suddenly a dark whisper in his mind. Leaves in the wind, he had said. Your sister and the Druid. Both will be lost.
He shoved the whisper aside roughly. It won’t happen like that, he promised. I’ll reach them first. I’ll find them. I’ll throw the Silver Dust into Heaven’s Well to cleanse its waters, throw the vision crystal after, and then… He paused uncertainly. What? He didn’t know. Something. He would do something that would keep the old man’s prophecy from coming to pass.
But first there was the journey north, he reminded himself glumly. And before that, Garet Jax must return…
Foraker was walking along the battlements once more, bearded face lowered into his chest, hands stuffed into the pockets of the travel cloak he wore wrapped about his stocky frame. Jair caught up with him as he started down a set of broad stone steps to a lower ramp.
«Can you tell me something about Garet Jax?» the Valeman asked suddenly.
The Dwarf’s head remained lowered. «What would you have me tell you?»
Jair shook his head. «I don’t know. Something.»
«Something?» the other grunted. «Bit vague, don’t you think? What sort of something?»
Jair thought about it a moment. «Something no one else knows. Something about him.»
Foraker walked to a parapet overlooking the dark expanse of the Cillidellan, resting his elbows on the stonework as he stared out into the night. Jair stood silently beside him, waiting.
«You want to understand him, don’t you?» Foraker asked finally.
The Valeman nodded slowly. «A little, at least.»
The Dwarf shook his head. «I’m not sure that it’s possible, Ohmsford. It’s like trying to understand a… a hawk. You see him, see what he is, what he does. You marvel at him, you wonder at his being. But you can’t ever understand him — not really. You have to be him to understand him.»
«You seem to understand him,” Jair offered.
Foraker’s fierce countenance swung sharply about to face him. «Is that what you think, Ohmsford? That I understand him?» He shook his head once more. «No better than I understand the hawk. Less, maybe. I know him because I’ve spent time with him, fought with him, and trained men with him. I know him for that. I know what he is, too. But all that doesn’t amount to a pinch of dust when it comes to understanding.»
He hesitated. «Garet Jax is like another form of life compared to you, me, or anyone else you’d care to name. A special and singular form of life, because there’s only one.» The eyebrows lifted. «He’s magic in his way. He does things no other man could hope to do — or even try to do. He survives what would kill anyone else, and he does it time after time. Like the hawk, it’s instinct — it lets him fly way up there above the rest of us where no one can touch him. A thing apart. Understand him? No, I couldn’t begin to understand him.»
Jair was quiet for a moment. «He came to the Eastland because of you, though,” he said finally. «At least, he says that is why he came. So he must feel some sort of friendship for you. You must share a kinship.»
«Perhaps.» The other shrugged. «But that doesn’t mean I understand him. Besides, he does what he does for reasons that are all his own and not necessarily what he says they are — I know that much. He’s here not just because of me, Ohmsford. He’s here for other reasons as well.» He tapped Jair on the shoulder. «He’s here as much because of you as because of me, I think. But I don’t know the reason why. Perhaps you do.»
The Valeman hesitated, thinking. «He said he would be my protector because that was what the King of the Silver River had said he must be.» He trailed off.
«Well and good.» Foraker nodded. «But do you understand him any better for knowing that? I do not.» He paused, then looked back out across the lake. «No, his reasons are his own and the reasons are not ones he would tell to me.»
Jair barely heard him. He had remembered something, and a look of surprise flitted over his face. Quickly he turned away. His mind froze. Were the reasons that Garet Jax would not tell to Foraker ones that he would tell to the Valeman? Hadn’t the Weapons Master done just that in the dark, chill rain that second night out of Culhaven when the two had crouched alone beneath that ridgeline? The memory stirred slowly to life. I want you to
